Eorling Mead Hall

[Folwren]

Thornden was crossing the hall right before the door leading into the Mead Hall when the catastrophe occurred. Instinct caused him to step back and stand with his back against the nearest, steady wall, and this he did, until the falling crash had ended. But even before those few seconds were through, his mind was racing as quickly as his heart about the others outside. He had no idea what exactly had fallen, only that it was big, nor where it had fallen, except that it was awfully near where everyone was sitting together.

He carried in his hands the small chest that Eodwine had sent him to get. Turning, half blinded by the dust that had invariably risen, he hurried down the hall away from the hole that was now rent in the building, with the hope of setting it somewhere where it would be safe. He set it on a chair near the corner of it and hurried back the way he had come, nearly at a run.

He came out into what was now the open. From where he stood, he could see where the wall had fallen and how much damage had been done. He looked around him quickly, squinting through the white, dusty fog that was rising he noticed out in front, the group of would be story tellers, crouching in the drizzly, incessant rain. No one was hurt, but they all looked considerably dazed. He nodded in satisfaction and turned his head about and looked the other way. That, he saw, was where the trouble would be. The door of the kitchen was half covered up with stones and wood. The bottom of the wall was rammed in, though it didn’t fall, and Fordides was caught inside.

With one more glance towards the others, he began to pick his way as quickly as possible through the rubble towards the kitchen door. Through his mind he tried to think of someone who could help him to clear the door and get Fordides out. He hoped that she wasn’t hurt, but from where he was, he could not tell if it was likely or unlikely.

A thought struck him at a happy moment. Two people had not been present when they gathered in the makeshift hall. “Léofric! Gárwine!” he shouted. He hoped his voice was carry into the stables where they both were. “Léof! Gárwine! Come out here, quick, I need your help!” He stopped before the kitchen door, as close to before it as he could get, and tried to look in. “Fordides?” he called. “Fordides, are you alright in there?”

“Oh, aye, I’m all very well and good,” came her voice, but it was sounded strange, and somewhat broken. “But my poor kitchen’s all busted in from the outside.”

Thornden drew back and knit his brows, shaking his head at the mysteries of women. The poor cook was bewailing her wounded kitchen.

[Firefoot]

“We’ve had Æthel since she was old enough to be broken to the saddle, and that was when I was seven or eight – just old enough to be the one sitting in the saddle,” added Léof with a wince. He had certainly learned something about being dumped from this experience. Æthel had been about as young as a horse could get for riding, and his father had not wanted to put his own full weight on her back, while Léof’s scant frame had been ideal. “But she was the product of a local breeding, so if our horses were related, it would have to be further back than that. I know that Æthel’s sire came from somewhere close to Edoras; he was the foal of Therlaf and Merufel. But beyond that I can’t say that I know. It was hard for me to get information.

“As long as I’m moving Æthel around anyway, why don’t you bring Herefola out? I wouldn’t mind having a close look at the two of them side by side,” said Léof.

Gárwine agreed and led Herefola out of her stall. They lined the two of them up and Léof handed Æthel’s lead rope to Gárwine. Léof marveled now at how very close the two of them really were, not only in markings but also in stature and build. Æthel was perhaps half a hand shorter and somewhat slighter, but besides a few other subtle differences, it would be easy to believe he was looking at twins.

Suddenly there was a creaking, then a cracking, then a loud crash. Both horses snorted and tugged at their ropes; Léof could see the whites of Herefola’s eyes, and Æthel looked ready to rear. Many of the other horses in the stable had also become agitated, but Léof was much more concerned about these two. He was taking Æthel’s lead from Gárwine when he heard a shout, “Léofric! Gárwine!” Léof felt a brief flash of fear and anger, not at Thornden but because of the connotations his shouted full name carried, but he had no time to dwell on it in the ensuing chaos. Somewhere down the shed row he heard a bang, as if one of the horses had kicked the stall wall. “Léof! Gárwine! Come out here, and quick!” The shout and bang were the last straws for the panicked horses. Æthel reared, and Léof could feel the rope sliding through his hands, burning them. He had enough sense not to let go of the rope, but he also was not about to let himself get hauled from the ground. From the side of his vision, Léof had the impression of Herefola struggling; he could not tell what was happening to Gárwine. But he could do nothing until Æthel was under control. She had reared up again, and her flailing hooves were uncomfortably close to his head. He backed up, giving the lead a slight tug and talking to her in a soft voice. Inwardly, however, he was starting to panic, not for her but for Herefola. Gárwine seemed to be having a hard time with her, and she didn’t seem to be getting any calmer.

To make matters worse, Léof could hear more shouts coming from the courtyard. Æthel’s ears, which had been slowly flicking forward in attention to him, snapped back again and she lunged. Léof jumped back, but not quite quickly enough to avoid having his foot stepped on. He felt his throat contract and he gasped in pain. He clenched to the lead rope, trying to find words to speak to Æthel. But for her, at least, it seemed the crisis had passed. Her front feet lifted a few inches from the ground once more before her ears flicked forwards and she stood still, quivering slightly and snorting, but calmed. Now, he knew, Gárwine would need help…

[JennyHallu]

Linduial watched in horror as the Mead Hall walls collapsed, a shriek escaping her lips as she spun around and instinctively crouched down beside her chair, hands over her head. She felt the shock-wave of the collapsed wall as a wind pushing against her, tangling her hair and coating her in wet and muck and dust. She stayed frozen, arms protecting herself, for a few long moments, panicked, but as no further sounds warned her of impending doom, she carefully stood, hoping that noone had been hurt.

She glanced over at Marenil and their eyes met, both remembering a bad storm that had blown up off the bay and completely flattened an entire city block in Dol Amroth the autumn past. Such storms were not unknown, but this one had been particularly bad--and even Lin had pitched in to help in the frantic search for survivors, pulling old shirts and sheets to shreds and bandaging the injured. The images of that storm were imprinted painfully on both their memories and each was frantically trying to figure out who might be in there. Shouts and faint figures working their way through the dust let them know that Thornden, Lèof, and Garwine at least were safe, but as they began digging through a seemingly impossibly huge pile of rubble and the rest of the company began to compare the scattered beams and stones to mental maps of the grounds, most came to the same conclusion at once: Frodides.

Eodwine and Degas immediately started sprinting through the rubble to the pile of debris blocking the kitchen door, with Marenil following behind only slightly more slowly. Aedhel was running for her room (the wing of the building that housed them all seemed, thankfully, to be standing) for her healer's kit, and Linduial, Saeryn, and Kara were left watching rather helplessly as the men worked to free the trapped woman.

Suddenly Lin laughed out loud, gaining her the instant attention of the other two women. She quickly sobered and turned to them with a smile. "Those ridiculous men. It will take them half the day to shift that rock. But I just thought of something...Kara, isn't there a backdoor into the kitchen, in the back wall beside the summer hearth?"

Kara nodded, slow to realize what Lin was getting at in the shock of the collapse. Lin laughed again, but sobered quickly. "Frodides must be hurt, or she'd surely use the door. But if we run, we can rescue her before the men even realize what fools they're being."

Saeryn and Kara smiled as they realized what Lin was saying, and seemed willing to go along with her, so Lin, with total disregard (for now) for her ruined dress, filthy skin and tangled hair, led them at an easy run around the back of the kitchen, all three girls giggling quietly at the sound of the men calling to Frodides not to worry, they'd get to her soon enough.

The back walls didn't seem damaged at all, but the three immediately saw why Frodides hadn't emerged. Lin shook her head slowly, for the first time realizing that the Rohirrim, not being terribly familiar with the material, used no mortar: the force of the collapse had caused the tall stone chimney to collapse, and the back door, while not blocked as thoroughly as the ones into the Hall and inner courtyard, was certainly not easily accessible. She experienced a brief stab of frustration, but quickly realized a solution was still at hand. On the same wall, to the other side of the collapsed hearth, the window was wide open to catch early morning breezes and birdsong.

Lin continued to play ringleader, standing to one side of the window, and gesturing for Saeryn to do the same. "Look at us, we three. That window is fairly wide, and none of us are. Nor is Frodides for that matter. If two of us could give the third a boost up, and then help to lift Frodides out, we could rescue our cook without the boys even realizing we'd done so. Kara, you go in, you're most familiar with the kitchen, and it's like to be dark and rather cluttered in there."

Kara nodded, and Saeryn and Lin made steps of their hands and lifted her up and over the high windowsill. "And don't make more noise than you have to!" Lin instructed cheerfully. "It will be loads more fun if the men don't realize Frodides has been rescued!"

[littlemanpoet]

"Step away, Thornden and Degas. Let Falco and me have a go!"

"I would like to lend a hand also," offered Marenil.

"And you just up from bed rest?" retorted Eodwine.

Eodwine and Falco laid hands in and pulled chunks of broken stone and wood away from the pile blocking the way to the kitchen.

Some lord I make, Eodwine thought. I was a fool to take the title. Ill luck's with me, clear for all to see. I ought to bring the title back to the King and have him hand it to another. 'Lord, just let me be a humble innkeeper; charge my guests a fair rater for room and board, live the life of a simple man as I was born to be.' He could imagine the reply: 'Do you question my command? Did I not choose the right man to rule this piece of my realm?' No, lord, you chose wrongly this once, though I thank you for the kindly thought that intended better than I've done with it. Have you seen the wonder of my mead hall? I started out with a homely inn and now I've a ruin. So well I've done with your charge, lord! In fact, I daresay you should give me that Wardenship of the Dunlending Marches after all! In a month and a day I'll have handed the whole of it back to the Dunlendings without having meant to! Better yet, make me king! In a year and a day all Rohan will be divided up between Gondor, Dunland, the Fangorn Ents, and any other kinglet who seeks a realm to be ripped from a luckless churl like me!

"Whoa there, lord," said Degas, "toss those rocks any harder and I'll have a broken leg to show for it."

"Sorry, Degas," Eodwine grunted, "just working with a will. I suggest you step back."

[Folwren]

Thornden stepped back as Eodwine suggested. and leaned against what was left of the kitchen wall, wiping the sweat that had broken out from his forehead. Not that it would do much good when rain would soon replace it. His hand came back down dirty and he sighed as he wiped it on his pant leg.

Quietly he stood watching Degas and Eodwine shovel away quickly. He noticed rocks being shoved and hurled harder and farther out than necessary and he settled his eyes on Eodwine. Clearly he was frusterated and angry. Who shouldn't be? His brows were drawn down over his eyes and he scowled as he worked. Thornden cocked his head to one side and continued to watch. If he kept up at such a rate he'd hurt himself, or someone else. Degas seemed to share this point of veiw.

"Whoa there, lord. Toss those rocks any harder and I'll have a broken leg to show for it."

"Sorry, Degas, just working with a will. I suggest you step back."

"Nay, my lord," Thornden said, standing up straight. "And let you shovel by yourself? There are many of us here, there is no reason why we shouldn't help with the work. At the rate your going, you'll end up hurting yourself and not getting as much done in half the time we could. Come, let us help, and don't take it so hard."

Thornden didn't feel like taking any argument, even from Eodwine, and especially in such a matter. There was room for three of them at least to work side by side, so long as they kept their movements small and concise. Anyone who didn't work could take the rocks they move and throw them farther back, where they would be out of the way until taken care of for good later on.

"Come, Degas," he said. "Stand by our lord and leader and lend him a hand."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Very true, Thornden. Well said. Lord Eodwine," Degas interrupted the man's work with a friendly hand on his shoulder. "there are times that a man must work alone and there are times that it is better for him to do so. But a time where a lord might throw his back out is a good one for him to notice we brawny lads and the amount of room for us to help out."

Eodwine paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. Without waiting for a response, Degas clapped him on the shoulder.

"Good man. Now let me help a wee bit and we'll have our dear Frodides out in no time at all."

[Bêthberry]

Ruthven felt the old wooden walls of the convenience quiver and shake as a loud rumbling and then a deep crash echoed through them. For a moment she thought she would experience the joke of all jokes and find the walls blowing away and leaving her displayed for all to see, and she grabbed onto the door handle. But the walls stood as voices were raised and dust came tumbling through the small cutout window atop the door. With a whistle and a grunt, the old woman composed herself and, door steadied, hurried out to see the lasses nattering outside the kitchen window.

The entire tent roof had been pulled away and down, it appeared, from what she could see.

"Lasses, what in tarnation has happened? And what are you tittering about?" she asked.