Eorling Mead Hall

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn listened to the soft and slow melody that danced across the Dunlending's harpstrings. She could feel her heart still beating heavily, pounding out a strong rhythm that she smiled to note matched the beat of the music. Others in the hall went about their business, this interlude unnoticed. She looked down modestly and, eyes wide, back up to Eodwine. He met her eyes squarely and she murmered, her soft voice caressing the already gentle vowels of the land.

"I am undeserving." Eodwine began to speak and Saeryn stopped him with a hand placed on his. "You have treated me as a daughter, keeping me safe from the moment we met. I have hardly been fair to you, taking advantage of your friendship without trusting enough to share why I needed such safe-keeping.

"I feared... I fear to swear an oath. I cannot be committed to one land, to one hall... to one lord. I cannot swear to you as you have sworn to me." Her hands shook and she withdrew them from his, hoping he did not notice and knowing that he did. "I can give you nothing more than the love of a daughter... I cannot swear to you a proper oath of allegiance. I will understand..." Her voice broke. "If you choose to protect me and fulfill your oath... by sending me away."

[JennyHallu]

“Or if you prefer, there is a tack room just down the aisle where you could put the saddle and bridle. And might I ask the horses’ names? And… I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name, either…”

"My name is Marenil," the older man said cheerfully, affectionately stroking his horse's nose. "And as for the horses, I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea what their names are. They were gifts from friends of my lord in Minas Tirith, and he was so proud of the oddity of living in Minas Tirith and owning a horse he gave the poor dears the most ridiculous names. No beast needs to live with a name like 'Son of Nahar'...I've been calling Lin's mare Pansy, and my gelding here Apple, and they seem not to mind."

He winked cheerfully at Léof. "I've got a grandson about your age, you know. As a matter of fact, he just entered the service of my lord, as a page. (Which makes me wonder if perhaps I've made an error in calling you 'lad'; but you can't do anything about it. It's healthy to have respect for your elders.) I'll tell you the same as I tell him...I'm sure it wouldn't hurt me to care for these beasts myself, but my bones are old, and frankly, I don't want to. I'll just leave this lad here..." he looped the reins over the boards of the stall. "...and let you do your job."

He felt suddenly particularly old. It had not occurred to him until just now that his son, now head groom back at home, had been a full grown man for quite some time, and that the people he'd seen as boys for years were working becoming men...He sighed, and left the stable feeling slow, and bent over, and tired.

Linduial was still waiting for him in the doorway, holding her saddlebags. "My trunks should get here in...what? A week?" She'd left her things in the hands of a merchant train travelling from the City of Guard slowly and steadily. "Marenil? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, dear. Let's just go in and speak to the lord of this Hall. Maybe I can get off these old feet for a while and rest."

Linduial laughed, a sunny, clear sound, that cut deeply through his self-pity. "Old, Mar? You? You'll never get old." She slipped a slim arm through his. "You know you're like a father to me. I'll miss you when you head back home, but with your son's Filië expecting again, I won't hold you." She kissed him softly on the cheek. "As long as I have to reach up to do that, you're not old. Now come on, you're supposed to be taking care of me. What would my father say?"

For a moment, Marenil understood perfectly why Lord Farlen allowed this slip of a girl around him so easily. He couldn't help it. Men had no natural defenses against youth, beauty, and sweetness, combined in such a perfect triple threat. Then Lin poked him ornerily in the ribs, muttering "Posture, posture! Don't sag!" in such a perfect imitation of her deportment tutor the budding realization was completely lost.

[littlemanpoet]

"I can give you nothing more than the love of a daughter," Saeryn said in a nigh whisper. "I cannot swear to you a proper oath of allegiance. I will understand-" Her voice broke "-if you choose to protect me and fulfill your oath... by sending me away."

She was not looking at him, so did not see the slight flush he felt upon his cheeks. He was old enough to be her father; it was well worth remembering, considering that his arms ached to crush her to him, to dry her tears, to . . . . . well. Just so. He kept his hands folded in his lap.

"Send you away! How could I stand as he who speaks for you and stands against all comers if you are not here? Silly child." Her head still bowed, she looked up at him with questions in her blinking eyes.

He looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. It was thus that he saw two visitors come in, arm in arm, well to do by the look of them, the young lady brimming with life, the somewhat elderly man stooped and tired.

"No more of this!" Eodwine bantered, tapping Saeryn's knee. "We have guests and you are my hostess! Dry those tears and snap to it! You have nothing to fear from me. Nothing at all!"

Eodwine stood, and caused the frowning and confused Saeryn to stand too. He wiped her tears with both his hands again, and gave her a peck on the forehead, which made her only more confused. He gave her a gentle push toward the now waiting pair, and watched as she walked toward them, back straigtening.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Welcome." Saeryn said, holding her hands wide and with a smile. She stood tall, confident but wondering, trusting that Eodwine's loving hands had well-cleared her cheeks of tear-stains. The old man smelled comfortably of horse with a light touch of something spicy... perhaps pipe tobacco. A light floral scent lingered about the woman. "Do you require lodging? A meal? Certainly a drink to ward off the unwelcoming dust of the road. As you can see, we are in the midst of change, so things are not quite as they will be. However what you need can be acquired, if only you ask."

Saeryn spoke clearly, her voice stronger and more sure than it had been for days, even when she had impishly informed Eodwine of her role in his hall. A light shiver danced upon her shoulders and she wondered at the warmth in Eodwine's hands. She could still feel his fingers upon hers. Blushing slightly, she thrust the sensations to the back of her thought to reflect upon another time. Had she known about the new light that danced almost hidden in her eyes, she'd have blushed all the more, wondering at its existence and meaning.

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine watched Léof leap from his seat to help the visitors outside. He was now sitting alone, with nothing to do but sip his mead and try to convince himself (without success) that the Dunlending was a poor bard. Near the fire sat Eodwine and Saeryn, speaking in hushed voices. Everyone else had wandered away shortly after they had forgotten the Dunlending's words.

Inside Gárwine's mind two sides were debating the Dunlending. One side, sounding like Léof, argued for Manawyth, and the other, with Gárwine's ordinary voice, argued against trusting him. They both spoke to Gárwine, trying to persuade him either to like or to loathe Manawyth.

You know, Gárwine, Léof has a point there. You really don't know if those stories about Dunlendings are true, and if they are, you don't know if they apply to this Dunlending, said the first stream of thoughts.

There's some truth in every rumor, said the opposite thoughts, and besides, this Dunlending is an outlaw. All outlaws should be avoided. The thoughts seemed to snarl at the end of each sentence.

So he ran away from his family, but so did you. When you ran away from Uncle Wilfrid, were you not deciding to be an outlaw?

The snarling voice took a gentler tone. Gárwine, you did nothing bad in leaving Uncle Wilfrid. You are at an age where you can take care of yourself and seek your own destiny. It was right of you to leave the farm. You committed no crime; you neither are nor were an outlaw. You're now a man-at-arms of a great mead hall. Don't feel guilty about Uncle Wilfrid. He's the one who kept you as a laborer in his fields. Now, that Dunlending, there's an outlaw.

A third voice, a real one, broke Gárwine's thoughts. "Posture, posture! Don't sag!" The visitors whom Léof had left to help were entering, and Saeryn was already at her feet and welcoming them. Gárwine promised the two debaters in his mind that he would tolerate Manawyth but still be wary around him, and with those thoughts in mind he stood to greet the visitors.

[JennyHallu]

The second Linduial walked through the door into the great room her bearing completely changed, years of training and learning kicking in instantly. It was almost as if a different young woman walked into the room than had walked into the inn: this girl was tall, slim, and straight, her face austere and proud; rather coldly beautiful. A suitor had once told her that if the legends of Mithrellas were true, then she was the proof, and it had taken poor Marenil weeks to cut her back down to size.

Not that he disagreed, but this public ice-maiden her tutors had created was certainly not the proof. No, the proof was in her eyes, still dancing with warmth, heat even, as though the coolness of her carriage demanded some opposite balance in her eyes.

Marenil stepped forward carefully to greet the pretty young woman who came to greet them. In her bearing he detected much the same training as his Lin had had, but none of the ice, and he hoped that in her stay here, Lin might learn graciousness. Having practically raised the young woman behind him, he certainly didn't miss the traces of tears in her eyes, but he knew Lin would never notice, and he was far too much of a gentleman to bring it up.

"My lady," he said courteously, bowing. "I am Marenil, and I am guardian of Lady Linduial of Dol Amroth, kinswoman of the Prince, and of his daughter Lothiriel, who is known to you. My Lord Farlen has given his blessing to his daughter's desire to live in Rohan for a spell, and the Queen Lothiriel told us in a letter that she might find lodgings here."

He paused for breath, determined to get the whole request out at once so that he could rest. His breath seemed to be coming a little short. "I request that the Lord of this hall offer his protection to the Lady Linduial, that I might return home to fulfill the duties of my oath" --he took a deep breath, unconsciously lifting his right hand to his chest-- "to her father." He was hurting a little, in his chest. "If you could" --a ragged breath. The pain was getting worse-- "present me to him..."

The rest of his speech was forgotten as a sudden spell of dizziness overcame him and he toppled to the floor, clutching a hand to his chest and gasping. Lin's cool, proper demeanor was abandoned instantly, and she threw herself at his side, uselessly taking a hand and crying that someone help her. Marenil was her compass and her guide, he'd taught her the best of everything she knew, and in this crisis all she could see was that the tall tree she leaned on was falling before her eyes. She panicked, unable to see anything but the withered hand of her dearest friend, nor hear anything but his labored breathing.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn politely listened to the old man's request, knowing that Eodwine could hear it well from his position and would soon come to answer. The kindly fellow's breath seemed to come short as he spoke. Saeryn meant to offer him a seat as soon as may be. Journeys were long and not always easy for the most hale of young riders, and these two had travelled far from what he said. She saw his left fingers twitching and clenching into a tight fist before falling loosly at his side.

When he collapsed, Saeryn's breath caught in surprise. Quickly, she knelt beside him, calling to Eodwine as she did. In seconds he knelt beside her, looking to the old man and carefully shifting him to a better position. Saeryn felt the warmth of Eodwine's leg where it touched against her own; she smelled the soft soapy musk of him.

"I know nothing of healing, Eodwine." she murmered, careful to keep her words between them. "I know that the lass, Æòel, tended wounded in Gondor's healing houses... are there any here with more experience? She is so young..."