Eorling Mead Hall

[littlemanpoet]

"Do you play the harp, then?" Eodwine asked with sudden interest.

"I - I touch it," Manawyth replied, uncertain of his words.

"Then you shall touch mine!" Eodwine declared. "Gudryn, dear!"

"Yes, father?"

Eodwine asked her to fetch his harp, which she did gladly, running off quickly.

"'Tis almost the noon hour," Eodwine said. "You are thirsty, Manawyth of Dunland?" Manawyth acknowledged his thirst.

"Then mead you shall have to loosen your tongue, and mayhap the difference in our speech will be overcome by good ale and better song. Come! Sit by the hearth!" With that, Eodwine placed his arm on the Dunlending's shoulder, to the surprised and wide eyed stares of all those who had seen the tension between them. Murmurs passed between this and that onlooker. Eodwine was aware of it all, and smiled within.

Gudryn came back with the harp, and Aðelhild came out of the kitchen with a tray loaded with tall ale-cups, followed by Kara, who held a ram's horn, the flaring end held high. Eodwine smiled. This was one of his immediate changes, in keeping with the traditions of the Eorlingas, mead served in a ram's horn. Aðelhild came to Eodwine first, handed him a cup, then took the ram's horn from Kara, and filled his cup to the brim. He brought it to his lips and tasted it. He smiled.

"It is good!" Everybody cheered. "Let the horn be passed, starting with our new bard!"

So it was done.

After Manawyth had drunk from his mead cup, and set about tuning the harp, looking somewhat bemused at the turn of events, Thornden sat next to Eodwine.

"Lord, I am curious, and unsure how to broach my-"

"You wonder at my change toward yonder bard."

Thornden nodded.

"Bards have a special place in my heart. If this man is such a one, his place of birth matters not to me. That is the all of it."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn's room was near to the hall. After a short but heartfelt cry, she set about to neatening up; a pointless diversion, given her room's spotless state. She fussed about, occasionally tugging at the corners of her blankets. She threw open her hastily closed curtains, hoping that the bright sunlight would cheer her. She splashed the tear stains from her cheeks with cold water and loosely braided her hair afresh.

As she bustled about, considering her hopes and her fears, she decided that what would come would come. She knew what she must do if asked to swear fealty... she would move on. She could not be bound again, no matter who her lord might be. She could only hope that Eodwine would overlook it when ascertaining loyalty of all those under his watch. Perhaps she would stay out of sight for a time... out of sight out of mind, she had heard. She would test it, she decided, and make the likelihood of the inevitable conversation far lower. Saeryn hoped that none of the new arrivals would be inquisitive enough to draw attention to her ambiguous place.

Finally, unable to find either speck of dust in need of wiping or paper out of place, Saeryn sat on her bed with her head in hands. She closed her eyes for several moments and merely breathed. Suddenly the unmistakable and unearthly sound of harp strings met her ears. She looked up and toward the wall that her room shared with the mead hall, mouth open slightly in surprise.

The tense voices had subdued and tentative tuning notes were plucked on the instrument. Saeryn's innate curiosity strove against her new found resolve to keep her head low. Compromising with herself, she slipped into the hallway and opened the door to the mead hall an inch or so, peeking through. She blushed to realize how young and foolish she must look and so slipped her way through the door to stand in front of it. Eodwine nodded a welcome back, though all other eyes were now on the Dunlending. Saeryn curtsied slightly, acknowledging her friend. She stood away from the crowd and waited now to hear what would come.

[Firefoot]

Léof really had not accomplished very much since Gárwine had taken the Dunlending inside – he was too distracted. He glanced around the stable and saw a few things that could be done but nothing that he absolutely needed to do at that precise moment. He would return later… after he had heard the news, and after he had found a bite to eat. Despite the large breakfast, a good lunch sounded excellent to him.

Pleased with his decision, he left the stable and entered the mead hall, where he heard the gentle sounds of a harp filling the air. Now even more curious, he stepped closer and realized that it was the Dunlending who played. Léof had certainly missed something here, but he guessed that the Dunlending had been accepted into the Mead Hall by Eodwine, at any rate. He spotted Gárwine standing off to the side, and something was stiff about his stance. Apparently his welcome had not warmed much.

Léof headed towards his friend, hoping Gárwine would fill him in. “What has happened here?” he asked rather quietly. “Have I missed something?” His second question had two possible meanings, though he left it up to Gárwine to decide: he might take it as an extension of the former question, but what Léof was really hoping was that Gárwine might explain to him his apparently instant dislike for the man, a sentiment that Léof could neither wholly understand or, unless given better reason than he had worked out for himself, approve of.