Eorling Mead Hall

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine and Thornden were discussing what should be done for warmth between the time the wall hearth was unbuilt and the new mead hall hearth was put in place, when Gárwine approached them, a dark haired youth in tow. A Dunlending! Eodwine's hackles rose.

"My lord," said Gárwine," he wishes to speak with you." Gárwine stepped aside so that both eorl and steward could get a good look at the newcomer. He was too young to have been amongst those who had ravaged his family during the War, so he could not hold that against him. Eodwine tried to unclench his jaw. What was a Dunlending doing here? Clearly the worse for wear with one eye closed for good, what would make a Dunlending youth leave his homeland, degraded as it was, and come to the heart of the sworn foes of his folk?

The youth shifted his stance, seeming discomfited by the lengthening silence with which Eodwine regarded him. Thornden coughed into his hand. Eodwine cleared his throat.

"What do you want?" He was aware of the tension in his own voice; no, the veiled wrath, would be a better way to describe it. Did the youth wince at his question and the tone with which it was asked, or had he just blinked? The youth opened his mouth when a noise from the nearest corridor interrupted him.

"Good morning everyone!" It was a somewhat high pitched voice for a Rohirrim, and no wonder, for it was Master Falco Boffin, the Holbytlan, up late and yawning cavernously. "Hail, Lord Eodwine, my friend. Goodness, but it's hard getting used to calling you that, you old lout! Where's breakfast! Or at least second breakfast! And how's about finishing that ol' yarn about Gob and Twid-" Falco stopped and seemed to sense for the first time that things were not as they usually were in the common room. "What have we here? Who's this?"

"Good morn to you, Master Falco," Eodwine answered, his jaw feeling quite unnatrually tight around the name that he usually said in a much friendlier fashion. "We have here a Dunlending youth. Know you what that portends?"

"Nay, but you'll tell me, I'm sure!" Falco approached and bowed deeply to the youth, whose eyes widened in startlement at the hobbit's courteous but odd behavior. "Welcome to the Eorling Mead Hall! I am Master Falco Boffin, erstwhile shirriff of the Shire in the north, now guest of Lord Eodwine of the Gap, Eorl of Middle Emnet, as he now styles himself, quite fittingly as the King has so named him! Please pardon my late rising this morning, for I had grave business to apply myself to last night."

"Aye," Gárwine smirked, "grave business with Eodwine's mead cellar."

"One must find what rewards one can when given the the task of counting and classing the wares of the hall! And how are you called, sir?"

The youth of Dunlending's one good eye opened wide in surprise to be addressed so, and with such courtesy, in the heart of the enemy of his folk.

"Answer the question, young man," Eodwine said, finding himself just a little relaxed by the easy confidence of his friend Falco. He even managed a grim and rueful half smile. "And do not forget to tell us your purpose for coming here."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn had bustled about the property all morning. She'd spoken with Æðel over the guests rooms and to Gudryn over trifling matters of clothing and hair, sparking grins and laughter. As she cleaned her own room and saw that others were fed and without need, she spoke to Kara in the kitchen and was delighted to see the girl up to her elbows in flour with a tune on her lips and a smudge extra of the flour decorating her cheek.

She'd not seen Eodwine since just after sunrise, busy as they were with their own tasks, but she thought perhaps a cup of tea would be appreciated. Brewing one, light and sweet with just a hint of milk and sugar, she carried it and a fresh honey-cake out to the hall, humming.

She smiled wide at the appearance of a small kitten around a corner and paused to pet it. She laughed, startled, as it jumped to her shoulder, and she stood slowly, giggling as it sniffed her ear. She'd gotten to know the creature several days before and it had taken to following her around, showing itself at the most unexpected times. Now she backed the door open, careful to keep tea in cup and cake out of reach of kitten.

Had her mind been on such things, she'd have noticed instantly the tension of the room. As it was, she had already forced the tea into Eodwine's hands with a motherly order to drink up and eat before he fell sick of exhaustion and hunger.

She was surprised when his answer was merely a curt nod. He was tense, standing tall, and seemingly trying to hold himself in a state of calm collectedness. Saeryn looked around, taking in now those else who stood there. Master Falco, of course, and she nodded to him. Several others she knew, and a stranger.

From him seemed to radiate uncertainty and from some of the others what almost felt of disdain and at least unsure welcome. Saeryn looked from face to face. She was too young to appreciate fully the past's influence on now. Those were matters of tales and parents, and her parents were long since dead. As it was, she felt little of the uncertainty and much of the discomfort. It would not do at all.

"And you sir?" she asked the Dunlending. "A cup of tea?"

There was silence. She'd bustled in before the youth could answer Eodwine's question and now she stood without nerve, or perhaps with too much, welcoming all those who wished it. She hoped she was not fighting a losing battle.

"Tea it is, and I'll be right out with it." Without waiting for response, she left again, returning swiftly and disappearing, so much as she could, to the back of the room. Tea solves every problem, her mother had always told her. She hoped that it would, though she was sensible enough to know that her hopes might prove false. There was no harm in trying though... the youth looked haunted and that was never a sign Saeryn wished to see. Ghosts of the past, though a fact of life, were not welcome to stay around if she had anything to say.