Eorling Mead Hall

[Anguirel]

Manawyth had at first thought, as he sat at the hearth with the foreign harp in his prematurely hardened hands, that he had best stick to his oblique promise to sing of his own story. But as he plucked at the strings gently, and the hours grew darker and darker, he realised that he was neither mentally nor verbally prepared for such an undertaking. In practical terms, many changes would need to be made, to keep the Rohirrim from despising him for insulting their kind. But more importantly, the memories of the days in the company of the dark host of Caerissin, the horror of the Hornburg, he loss of poor Orwindoc, the one of his brothers least quick to anger, the shortest one, with kind, dreaming eyes...

It would make a fine song, he realised, a beautiful song, but not at such a time and in such a company. It would be six hundred verses long, each beginning with "They went to Caerissin," and ending with "Crebain-meat they." He looked from the pretty, hesitant Saeryn, to the jovial halfling to whom he owed his reception. On these, he could not inflict his bloody past. Tonight another ballad would have to do.

Yet he was a Dunlending, and sadness grew in his nature like ivy on a proud, regal oak. He would have none of the light, brisk, coarse, witty carousal-songs of the mark. No, he would show the Horse-Lords of the beauty of sorrow on which the remnants of his people prided themselves. In such a mood he rose.

"I will to you sing," he started, "a song known by every true-hearted man in Dunland," (ha! many would not admit to the existence of such beings!) "yet one that comes not from us, nor from your country."

"This is a tale of the old days, and the King in the North at Annuminas, and a voyage he bade be made unto distant Forochel. Our legends say it thus, that a Dunlending was among the crew, and alone survived to sing...but to the song itself..."

He was proud of the short speech he had delivered. He found the Rohirric tongue easier to construct in the high style of song.

"Of course, we sing it in our tongue, but in the south changed it has been somewhat, so that our languages meet. I hope that when our tongues meet again, in the age upon us now, they will bring happier times than those of which I shall now sing."

A long strum on the harp, echoing about the rafters of the hall. And he began.

The King sits in Annuminas
Drinking the blude-ried wine:
'O quhar will I get a guid sailor,
To sail this schip of mine?'
Up and spank an eldernmon,
Sat at the king's richt knee
'Pengolodin is the best sailor,
That sails upon the sea.'

The King has written a braid letter,
And signed it wi'his hand;
And sent it to Pengolodin,
Was walking on the sand.
The first line that Pengolod red,
A loud lauch lauched he:
The next line that Pengolod red,
The teir blinded his e'e.

'O quha is this has don this deid,
This ill deid don to me,
To send me out this time o'the yier,
To sail upon the sea?
Mak haste, mak haste, my mirry men all,
Our guid schip sails the morne.'
'O say na sae, my master deir,
For I feir a deadlie storme.

Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone
Wi' the auld moone in hir arme;
And I feir, I feir my deir master
That we will come to harme.'
O their North nobles wer richt laith
To weet their cork-heil'd schoone;
Bot lang owre a' the play wer played,
Thair hats they swam aboone.

O lang, lang may thair ladies sit
Wi' thair fans into their hand,
Or eir they se Pengolodin
Com sailing to the land.
O lang, land may the ladies sit
Wi' thair gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for thair ain deir lords
For they'll se thame na mair.

Haf owre, haf owre to Angleton,
It's fiftie fadom deip:
And thair lies guid Pengolodin,
Wi' the North lords at his feit.

The ballad, with inconsequential alterations, is a version of Sir Patrick Spens, one of the traditional Scottish Child Ballads by an unknown hand.

[Firefoot]

The day was finally drawing to evening by the time Léof returned to the Mead Hall. He had stopped by once to make sure Marenil was doing all right; Gárwine’s hurried explanation had worried him and he was relieved to find that he would eventually be fine. But other than that brief sojourn, he had spent the rest of the time happily alone in the stables.

Before returning to the hall, he did remember to clean himself up a bit. He washed his face with the same fresh water he used to fill the horses buckets and straightened his hair out as best he could without being able to see his reflection. He could do little about his rather worn clothes except brush the worst of the dirt off; changing them would be no good since his only other outfit was equally worn and dusty. At least he did not look like some stray lad off the streets anymore – or so he hoped.

The sound of merry music greeted his ears as he pushed through the doors. The lord Eodwine and Saeryn had struck up a vigorous dance, and many of the people were contributing to the music in some way, whether with real or makeshift instrument. As Léof picked up the beat, he began to clap along in appreciation. He was not much of a musician himself, nor had he ever learned much of dancing, but he appreciated good music as much as anyone. He did feel stabs of regret, however: not for himself, but rather for his sister, three years his junior. When would she ever learn to dance like that or have time to enjoy herself as all young lasses should? She had been even worse off than he, and she was still trapped at home. And within a few years, their father would undoubtedly marry her off, thus sealing her cage. She did not have any way out, either, not like him. Not that she ever complained. She held her head high and bore it all in silence – the obedient child that Léof could not be. Léof had always regretted that he had never been able to help her in any consequential way, and had been wishing over the past several days that he had not needed to leave her behind. He had to get her out of there. Eventually, when he could save up enough money, he would bring her out of there to Edoras. He did not have much of a plan for after that, but he knew that he had to get her out. He knew that he was his only hope, and it was a burden he placed willingly upon himself.

Such thoughts for the lively tune! But as he came back to himself, he realized that the harp’s music was no longer vibrant and joyful but poignant and mournful. How odd, he mused, that the Dunlending should take so much of the joy out of this place with his dark song? Is that the manner of his people, to take a near-party and turn it into something sorrowful? As the song drew to a close, Léof found himself more confused about the choice of song than particularly moved by the song itself. And as rustic and out of place as Léof had felt in his short time in Edoras, he could see those traits exemplified tenfold in the Dunlending, however accepting Léof might be. He had no idea how he ought to respond to the music, and for once he was thoroughly glad that he was faded into the background.

[littlemanpoet]

"Falco! May I have this dance?" Saeryn cried, her voice shaking slighlty from the pain, it seemed, as Manawyth's harp slowed. Æðeldhild's pipe faltered. The twins stopped their beating.

"Nay," said Falco, "I'll not be reminded of my childhood adancing with my mama." His light words belied his sombre tone, for he seemed to pick up the feel of Manawyth's harping.

Eodwine guided Saeryn, his hands to her waist and shoulder, to a nearby seat. Once she was seated, a slight wince passing once over her face, Eodwine gave ear to Manawyth's ballad. He'd heard the like before, having grown up so close to the Dunlending borders. He liked it. It was odd how that Dunlendings sang of seafaring, their lands locked far from any shore. Maybe they had come years long since from the western shores into the land they held now. Eodwine shrugged, for there was little chance to prove out the notion, seeing as there were no Ents nor Elves about the place to ask what was within the bounds of their memories.

When the song had ceased, a silence lingered. Well it should, the better to savor such a song. At last, when some had begun to stir, ill at ease it seemed with the lengthening quiet, Eodwine clapped.

"Well done, Manawyth!" For a while he clapped alone. Then others joined him for a space, then all was quiet again. "Set harp aside for now and let us place tables and chairs upon the floor. My measuring's long since done, and this floor need not be cleared for a day or two yet while the shelter outside is put up. Thornden! I bid you go outside and tell the builders to quit their work and come inside to feast. Frodides has been busy at my beck, cooking enough for an Eored!"

Manawyth and others joined in the work of setting tables and chairs.

"You stay seated!" Eodwine said to Saeryn. "I was a fool to tax you so, and I'll not see you lifting heavy tables and chairs, not while your ribs need healing." Saeryn rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue, receiving back a grin from Eodwine.

Soon board was ready, and Frodides and Kara brought out great trays piled high with roasted and seasoned ox flesh, barley-bread, and kegs of ale. The builders joined them and soon the hall was full of the noise of feasting.

[JennyHallu]

Linduial sat in the aftermath of Manawyth's ballad, curled into an old wooden chair just outside the circle of friends familiar with the Hall. She had appreciated the morose melody, though she had not understood the words. Her grasp of the Rohirric tongue, while more than sufficient for conversation, still occasionally struggled with song and verse, and the antiquated language of the song had baffled her entirely. The melody however...it just seemed to fit her mood, a little afraid, and uncertain of her future.

Marenil had not planned on staying for more than a day. The plan had been to exact an oath of guardianship from Lord Eodwine of the new-formed Middle Emnet, so that Marenil could leave, and the young unmarried Linduial could stay in Rohan with no danger to her reputation. But now...

You're feeling sorry for yourself, Lin. Marenil would be disappointed in you. He always urged her to be independent, able to see what needed to be done, and stepping in and doing it--with the added complication of doing so without stepping on any toes, which she was the first to admit she hadn't mastered. She shook her head, forcing herself to focus on what she had accomplished in the hours since Marenil's sudden illness. She'd penned a letter with borrowed ink and paper, sending it off to her father with a messenger of King Eomer's house, and written a letter to the Queen, commending the skills of the physician that had been sent, and asking her if she could offer the man a gift in thanks once her trunks had arrived. She'd sat with Marenil until he had awoken, so that he would first see a familiar face, holding his hand, and telling him he'd be all right. At some point this evening she hoped to speak to Lord Eodwine. With Marenil ill, it was still required by propriety for Eodwine to take official responsibility for her. Sometimes, I just wish I had been another boy. Life would have been a lot simpler.

She watched the impromptu festivities with a shy smile, missing having her brothers around to watch out for her--and, more importantly at the moment--dance with her when there were few she knew around her. As it was, here only Lord Eodwine and the Lady Saeryn seemed, by their manners, to belong to the level of society she was accustomed. She wasn't snobbish, her long association with Marenil and his family had cured her of that...but she was finding that the line was rather vaguer here than in her homeland. These country dances the Lord and his Lady (for such a relationship seemed obvious to her mind, and no one had told her differently) were doing with such confidence--she didn't know them. She only knew the less vivacious, more formal dances of the nobility of Belfalas. She watched silently, but with a quiet yearning, wondering how long it would take before she felt at home here. Actually going home, to Belfalas...she didn't plan on doing that for a while, perhaps a long while.

As the meal was served, she silently rose, took a plate of the simple, homely fare, and returned to her quiet, lonely corner to eat. She missed the seafood and pastas of her homeland, but the food was tasty.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"May I join you?"

Saeryn had watched the young woman, Lin, she reminded herself, and saw the same signs of unease that she had felt upon arrival. She contemplated the wisdom of giving the woman her space before throwing away the idea and offering her companionship.

Without waiting for response, Saeryn slid into a chair beside her.

"An excellent view from here." she spoke quietly. "I find watching others a wonderful experience. You learn so much. Look there: the hobbit, Falco, speaking with the twins, Harreld and Garreth. So at ease, the lot of them. You can see at a glance confidence, comfort, and open hospitality between the races."

Saeryn spoke as though to herself, carefully pointing out and naming each member of the group. She held a cup of tea and occasionally sipped, in no rush.

"Ah, and here Kara comes... she is a new face, only beating your own arrival by a few hours. Frodides has her busy, but by her smile, she enjoys the effort. Yes, Kara, please more tea, and thank you." She smiled to the girl, beckoning for her to give Linduial a cup as well. "Gudryn; the daughter of Eodwine. Do you see how she laughs so sweetly? And the care in his eyes for her."

There was a comfortable silence in which the young women watched the lively group. Eodwine's eyes met Saeryn's from across the room and she smiled, winking. He nodded, seeing her intent, and turned back to Thornden.

"I am cold." Saeryn spoke suddenly, though still quietly. "Would you care to find a blanket with me? I would hate to be seen looking the fool, but if two of us sit curled in quilts, perhaps we could start a trend."

She smiled and winked, hoping to elicit a grin.

[JennyHallu]

Linduial threw Saeryn a grateful, radiant smile before dedicating herself to listening to the names. Luckily her training in statecraft gave her an edge in such efforts and before Saeryn had offered a place by the fireside she had each name and face committed to memory. She looked at the large fireplace, where most of the company were gathered.

"Thank you," she said softly, with a shy grin. "I would not wish my reticence to cause you discomfort. Please, I would love to help you find something." Now that the crisis had past, Lin's voice was pretty and clear, with a soft lilt of an accent as she spoke in the Rohirric tongue. She actually had a fine singing voice, though she rarely sang for anyone other than herself, and Marenil. She placed her empty plate on a cart that had evidently been left for the purpose, and gracefully rose, waiting for the woman (who seemed about her own age) to rise. It was faint, but Lin had clearly seen the woman was favoring one leg, and didn't want to rush her.

"Please, my Lady, events today have been so rushed, I haven't had a chance to really get to know anyone. Your Lord seems such a kind man. He has given Marenil such wonderful care."

Saeryn nodded and smiled, letting Linduial speak, now that the young woman finally seemed to have recovered from the shock of her guardian's fall.

"I wondered...how long have you been wed? I mean no offense, but you are barely older than myself. If you are newlyweds, I must offer my congratulations."

Lin was paying careful attention to the Saeryn's reactions. Part of the reason she had left home was to escape a marriage. She had never really known her mother, and her brothers were unmarried. The only couple she really saw were Marenil and his wife Falas, and they had been together for years. Marenil had supported her flight, knowing the reason, but she knew how happy he was. Marriage terrified her, but here was a woman her own age, who seemed perfectly happy. She wanted to understand.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn choked on her tea, coughing before finally laughing. Eodwine saw and stood, ready to come to her aid. She beckoned for him to sit back down, laughing still.

"Wed?" she asked, amazed. She coughed again, this time intentionally. "Linduial, the lord of the hall and I are not wed. We are merely friends. I left my home lands partly because of the prospect of marriage. The lord Eodwine has sworn an oath for my protection. He has kept me safe in the past and I owe him very much. My position in his hall is as hostess. I merely take it upon myself to see to his health and happiness. Every good man needs a lass to make him smile and eat on time. I daresay he'd work himself too hard without someone to encourage dance and song.

"Perhaps you'll find it rude of me to ask, but I notice you travel with a protector rather than a consort. What of your own status? A fully fledged lady of the land, or one still, shall we say..." she considered her words before projecting her own quandary with a look inviting laughter, "running as fast and far from the fetters our lands place upon us for our own good?"