Eorling Mead Hall

[Celuien]

"Quick! She's seen us! Let's hide under the cover." Garmund hurriedly retreated behind the heavy canvas, pulling Léoðern after him. The children huddled in a their corner of the cart, a little area free of Garstan's tools and made soft and warm with pillows and quilts.

Léoðern giggled merrily. "It's a game! She's so big and grown to play with us. What should we do? I think I'll make a face like this." She twisted her face and held her breath until Garmund joined her laughter and made a face too. They scurried to the opening in the canvas and peeked out again, ready to startle their new friend. But she was ready for them with yet another face that sent the children into shrieks of laughter as they ducked back inside.

"She's funny," Léoðern said. "Garmund, did mother play with us like that?"

The boy's face turned sad and oddly thoughtful for a child of nine. "I think she did. It was so long ago. I hardly remember." He looked at his sister, trying desperately to bring up distant memories. Their mother's face was fading from his memory, though he kept a few vivid moments with him. Dancing under the trees in their old home. Her voice as she sat by the fire telling tales. And there was Léoðern. She reminded him of their mother. Their eyes were the same shade of blue. And they had the same red hair. But Garmund couldn't remember if their mother had shared Léoðern's freckles.

"Brother's sad. Don't be sad. Do you think we'll stay here? I hope so."

"So do I." Garmund shook off his reverie. "Do you think she's still watching? Let's see what she's doing."

And the children peeked out again to catch a glimpse of the funny big girl, wondering if they would be able to stay long enough in this place to become friends with her.

[littlemanpoet]

"Forgive me. They are good children, but over eager in manner sometimes." Garstan the stoneshaper laughed. "As is their father. But come! Tell me. May we rest here?"

Eodwine smiled. "I give you good greeting, and rest here you may, though I wager you'll find more work than rest if you've a will to it! I am Eodwine of the Gap, newly made eorl of the Middle Emnet, and you have happened upon my humble mead hall to be. This is Saeryn of the Folde, my hostess, and this is Master Falco Boffin, of the Shire in the north."

Falco bowed low, receiving a stare of wonder from Garstan, and giggles from the cart. Falco straightened and aimed a big wink at the two lumps with eyes peering at him from the cart, and was rewarded with fresh giggles.

Saeryn spoke up. "Is there anything to eat or drink I can offer you, sir?"

"Well - I - uh - have little coin..."

"Fear not!" Eodwine interrupted. "My guests are true guests. I do not take their coin." He turned to Saeryn. "'Twas a good thought, Saeryn. See what Kara may have to offer if you will." Saeryn nodded and made her way to the back of the kitchen.

"You look in need of some coin, if I may dare to say so," Garstan said in a somewhat conspiratorial tone.

Eodwine laughed. "Yes, we have had an accident this day. The wall fell over this morning. 'Twould seem the roof that had rested on it was propping it up and we knew it not. We'll have some clearing to do and a new Great Hall to build, and -" Eodwine paused. "-did you say you're a stoneshaper?"

"That I did, lord."

"Would you stop a while and ply your trade here?"

Intro to Eorling Mead Hall rpg

[Celuien]

"Would you stop a while and ply your trade here?"

"That I shall, lord, if you wish it. In truth, little could please me better." Garstan hesitated, but went on. Despite their difference in position, there was something in the Eorl that inspired Garstan to speak openly. "I had hoped to find a place to work and earn a reputation. In truth, lord, this wandering life wearies me. And it isn't fair to the little ones. So you see, the greater the task, the better! I'll not impress half the countryside with my talents by building a simple hearth."

Léoðern's voice suddenly chirped, "May we come down now?"

"Yes. We'll be staying for a while." Cheers rose from the cart as the children scrambled to the ground and ran, Léoðern to the tall girl and Garmund to the winking hobbit.

Garstan looked thoughtfully after the children. "Yes, they need a home. I was mad to go back to roaming the countryside. Though there was little to keep me home after..." His voice trailed off. "But enough of the past! I thank you for your hospitality, lord. When shall we speak of your plans for the hall."

Eodwine smiled. "Over supper, perhaps?"

"Yes, lord. My thanks to you again!"

[JennyHallu]

Linduial's attention was drawn fully to reality as the young girl ran helter-skelter toward her across the yard. Her sister's son was about this age, but he was a shy, reserved boy, and Linduial had always longed to play with him. With a friendly smile, Lin caught the trusting child as she approached, lifted her up, and spun her quickly around, feet flying out, as the girl squealed in excitement. Lin made a full circle, then pulled the child safely in, sitting down on the stoop as she suddenly seemed much heavier than she had in the first throes of impulse.

She grinned over at the golden-haired little girl, the two of them catching their breath together on the stoop. Had Lin not been significantly taller, neither of the two would have looked much older than the other, just at that moment. As soon as she had breath enough to talk, Lin introduced herself to the girl. "My name's Linduial, and I'm from Dol Amroth, in Gondor. What's yours?"

[Folwren]

“I’ve seen my uncle play with those before,” Garwine said, leaning against the stable wall to watch the knucklebones in the hands of a man Thornden didn’t know. Thornden looked in the direction that his young friend’s eyes had been drawn. He cocked an eyebrow testily when he saw it and then looked at the mild interest on Garwine’s face.

“I’d advise you not to be a fool with that man, Garwine,” he said. “I’ve seen that game before, too, at the guard room when there was nothing better to do.” Garwine’s eyes flicked towards him briefly, but Thornden didn’t explain himself. He fixed him with a silent look that could have meant lots of things, but only of grim nature, and then walked away.

He went to Eodwine, just finishing a conversation with a new arrival. The man smiled and thanked him just as Thornden stopped behind Eodwine and turned to tend to his animal. Eodwine turned to Thornden.

“Well, how did it go? Is Léof properly looked after?”

“Yes, my lord. He didn’t want to be and wouldn’t have if he had had any choice in the matter. He demanded that Garwine and I leave before he even took the boot off, so I’m afraid I can’t tell you how he is. You’ll have to wait for Æðel to get a full report.”

A slight smile came to Eodwine’s face at Thornden’s words, likely imagining the struggle the little ostler had put up. “Well, good. I will wait for her, then.”

“You’ll have trouble with the lad if it ends up being badly hurt, and he can’t work. I heard what he told her as we were leaving, and he’s either scared or angry that he won’t be able to do what’s necessary. Perhaps, if Æðel does think that it’s so serious he should lay up for a few days, it would be best if you talked to him yourself to tell him that it’s alright if he doesn’t do his work just now, that it won’t make your decision of his being your ostler go one way or another. That’s what he’s worried about, I’m almost sure of it.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas went this way and that, wherever he was needed, answering calls from here and there. He took the new party's horse from their custody and led it carefully to the stables with a polite word to the man and a sereptitious wave to the children.

"Lèof!" he called softly. "Are you here?"

He'd long felt that it was unneeded to speak loudly over stable noises. Ostlers, in his experience, had a sixth sense about visitors. Perhaps it was the perk of the horses' velvet ears or a creak of the floorboards, but he'd never needed so speak above a polite resonance to be heard.

A pained squeak, nearly suppressed, led him to Lèof and Æðel. Degas admired the cloudy sunset of Lèof's foot, taking notice of the blues and purples of a few of his toes.

"Ouch." he said, conversationally. He still held the reins of the horse, careful to keep his active fingers from wrapping the leather around his hands. He'd broken his fingers that way as a youth when a stranger's horse in his care had startled and cinched the leather tight. He expected that Lèof's foot felt about the same as his hand had then, though the lad had been walking on it in attempt to under-play the injury.

Lèof looked up at him and looked almost as though he were about to hide his foot.

"I'll take care of the horse," the lad said. "If you can just-"

"I think not." said Degas. "I'll handle it, unless you think that a lord of the Folde has no horse sense? Come now," he added with a kind smile. "Æðel would shoot me the most paining of looks were I to leave you with a charge just now. How about a deal? Young Kara will need help quite soon for building an outdoor fire. I'll tend the beast until she sends for me, if she sends for me, and then I'll let the rest stand for you. At least let me clear the drying mud from this poor fellows hooves? Just think how you'd feel in that state."

Lèof, foot still in Æðel's firm grasp, nodded finally.

"Besides," Degas added. "It's been an adventurous morning and I need a calming task before I face less important work again."

[Celuien]

"My name's Linduial, and I'm from Dol Amroth, in Gondor. What's yours?"

"I'm Léoðern. I come from in there." She pointed to the cart, still breathlessly laughing after her whirl in the air. What fun that was! "We go everywhere in that. It's crowded and my brother teases me. But I like games. Do you? What kinds of games do they play in Dol Anrug?" She stopped her lighthearted prattle and giggled. "Antrun? That's a hard word to say."

"Amroth." Linduial sounded the word slowly. Léoðern repeated it several times, struggling over the foreign syllables.

"Am...roth. Amroth. It's hard, but nice. It must be very far away." Léoðern's eyes twinkled mischieviously. "Do you know tag?" Linduial nodded, and Léoðern tapped her arm. "You're it!" she shouted and ran off at full speed toward the ruined kitchen, glad to be in the open after so many days in the cramped cart.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine had just welcomed Garstan's prolonged stay as his new stone-shaper when Thornden came up from behind and tapped him on the shoulder, fresh with a report on the state of their young ostler. It seemed the boy was finally being properly cared for by Æðel. But Thornden's next words set Eodwine to thinking and rubbing his stubbling chin (rainy days always did cause him to forget his beard-knife).

“... he’s either scared or angry that he won’t be able to do what’s necessary," Thornden said of Léof. "Perhaps, if Æðel does think that it’s so serious he should lay up for a few days, it would be best if you talked to him yourself to tell him that it’s alright if he doesn’t do his work just now, that it won’t make your decision of his being your ostler go one way or another. That’s what he’s worried about, I’m almost sure of it.”

Eodwine gave Thornden a measuring look. Thonden coughed into his hand, looking anywhere but back at Eodwine for the moment. The Eodwine broke into a wide smile. "Your thoughts are one with my own, Thornden. I was thinking that I would have to have words with Léof to allay his fears. Your agreement makes me all the more sure. You read people well! That is a good trait in a steward! But more to the point, you have thought of the best way to deal with the problem, at least to my thinking. Well done!"

Thornden coughed into his hand again, taken somewhat aback by his lord's praise. "Well I - I am simply doing what seems right."

"That you are! Of course!" Eodwine grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "Now I will go see our stubborn young ostler."

[Firefoot]

As Æðel examined and treated his foot, Léof offered no more in the way of conversation, sitting quietly and resentfully. This feeling only grew as Degas came and went – doing his job. Oh, Léof did not hold this against Degas. The work did have to be done, and he was quite unable to do so at the moment with Æðel in control of his foot. But this did not change the fact that he felt that he ought to be doing it – he wanted to. His line of thought was broken off as another set of footsteps echoed at the end of the stable – Eodwine this time. Léof had little strength left to feel anything other than resignation: no desire to flee, no hope of deceiving the lord.

“How is the foot, Léof?” he inquired as he drew nearer.

Fine, just fine… “Æðel has not yet told me,” Léof answered somewhat stiffly, biting off any further and probably sarcastic comments. She had let him stew in his silence, and Léof now wondered if she was annoyed with him as well… let her be, then. He was annoyed with her, too.

“I think,” she began, more to Eodwine than Léof, it seemed, “that complete rest will not be necessary, although it might be better. A couple of toes are certainly broken, but the rest seems to be just very badly bruised.”

“I can still work,” said Léof firmly.

A look that Léof could not quite read crossed Eodwine’s face. “Léof, I do not want you to overwork yourself. Neither Thornden nor I will judge you harshly on account of an injury. You are doing fine work here in the stables and can continue to do so when you are properly recovered. The position will not go away because you are laid up for a few days.”

A thread of relief wound through Léof’s mind, but in other ways he felt no differently. Eodwine did not seem to have a full grasp of Léof’s motives for wanting to continue to work, and Léof did not know how to explain. He felt a further sense of duty here, but more than duty. He belonged here; here in these stables, he was in charge. Having someone else, or a few others, take over his duties even for a few days would be like… well, like some other woman taking over his mother’s duties and running her household for a few days. Léof felt protective of his job, all the more so after the incident earlier, when Gárwine had not quite known how to handle the spooked Herefola. Not that there weren’t others capable of handling the horses – probably mostly feeding them and mucking out their stalls, anyway – but Léof still felt responsible. To sit idly by while others worked with “his” horses in “his” stable felt wrong to him.

And, of course, if he was forced not to work for a few days, it would mean that his foot really was as hurt as his friends had figured. For them to be right… what pride remained to him would shrivel up to a small, hurt speck.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, and meant it. That did not mean he intended to give up, however; he was a fighter, or otherwise would not have survived. Nor had he forgotten that he was still irritated with most of these people. “But if it’s all the same, I would prefer not to completely give up working. It wouldn’t feel quite right.”