Eorling Mead Hall

[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.

[JennyHallu]

Linduial jumped in surprise as Léoðern took off running, and she caught her breath watching the child running through the rubble. What if she should fall? But the girl's footfalls were swift and sure, and Lin scrambled to her own feet as quickly as she could. Léoðern was already out of sight, and Lin followed where she thought she'd gone more sedately, wondering how her father (or any parent, really) had the energy to keep up with such a vivacious little squirrel of a person. As she reached the corner where the girl had disappeared, she found it easy to follow the sounds of giggling to where she could see reddish hair poking up behind the short remains of a wall.

Lin smiled to herself and began searching the rubble in earnest, careful to keep her skirts out of the dust as she overturned boulders and pebbles alike. "Léoðern...!" she called. "Léoðern? Where could she be? Is she under here?" Lin lifted a thin piece of wood and checked for a girl in its miniscule shadow. The giggling from behind the wall intensified, but Lin cheerfully didn't show any notice of the small head peeking at her as she straightened up, carefully schooling her features into a perplexed frown.

"Hmm...," Lin tapped a slim finger against her face, rolling her eyes around in a parody of concentrated thought. "Maybe she didn't come this way at all." Another fit of giggling from the wall. "Maybe she disappeared! Like magic!"

There was a quickly stifled "No, I didn't!" from the wall, followed by more giggling, and Lin spun around as though searching for the source of the sound.

"I knew it!" she crowed happily. "Léoðern's invisible! She's probably following me around! Maybe if I go back into sunlight I'll be able to catch her by her shadow." She stepped carefully out of the rubble into the clear courtyard. The sound of footsteps behind her nearly made her giggle, but she forced it down and schooled her face back into perplexity before spinning around, searching the ground with her eyes, but carefully never meeting Léoðern's impish grin. "I know you're back there...I can hear you. Make yourself visible again!"

"I'm not invisible...," the little girl said, but she seemed a little unsure of it, and Lin once again fought off a smile, as she turned and walked a little further into the courtyard, as Léoðern followed her, tugging on her skirt and insisting "I'm right here!! Right here!"

Lin ignored her completely until they had almost returned to the cart and the party there, then swooped around as fast as she could and tickled the girl, who squealed and tried unsuccessfully to get away. Lin picked her up and happily handed her over to her father with a serious expression on her face. "Your daughter, sir," she said, "bears watching. Did you know she can turn invisible?"

[Celuien]

"Léoðern! What have you been doing?" Garstan's face took on a expression of alarm as Linduial plopped the child into his arms. "Invisible? What sort of mischief have you been in?"

Léoðern cast a puzzled glance at her father. "I've been playing with Linduial. What's mischief?"

"Mischief is trouble. Which is what I'm sure you've been in." Turning to Linduial, Garstan said, "I hope Léoðern hasn't caused you any inconvience. Thank you for bringing her back to me." He sighed. "Léoðern, Léoðern. Whatever am I going to do with you?" Garstan's free hand went to his chin as he braced himself for the scolding he feared was coming from Linduial. He had heard it so many times before. Lectures on letting his children run wild. Speeches about lack of discipline. It had been so difficult caring for Léoðern and Garmund alone for these past years. For Léoðern in particular. She was so high-spirited, forever in some scrape or another, and Garstan didn't know what to do about it. The problems she caused were never the result of meanness, and for that reason he found it impossible to scold her. Garmund, at least, was more sedate, more easily directed. Already, he had started to teach his son the ways of stonecraft. But Léoðern was so hard to manage. Garstan couldn't look at her without calling up the image of sunlight on a brook, but the sunbeams could easily turn to shadows at the slightest harsh word. And he couldn't bear to see her unhappy. Or worse, risk suppressing her irrepressible joyousness permanently. More than once, the sound of her laughter had banished the aching weariness of a too-long day's work, and Garstan had given thanks for her cheerful ways.

The clouds were already forming. Léoðern's blue eyes began to tear. "I wasn't in any trouble. I was only playing." Her lip quivered dangerously, and she began to sniffle.

Garstan gently stroked her curls. "There, child. Don't cry. I know you didn't mean to do anything wrong. But you should act more like a big girl now. How old are you?"

"Five and a..a...a...a half." Léoðern was still on the verge of sobs.

"Well then, you have to be ever so much bigger than you were when you were five, don't you?"

"Y..yes."

"So you see, you should try not to run off into trouble all the time."

Linduial began to feel sorry for the little girl. "Léoðern wasn't that much trouble. In fact, I'd say that we had a good time together." She directed a conspiratorial wink at the child, who smiled faintly and began to wipe the tears from her eyes.

[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.”

[JennyHallu]

Linduial smiled at the girl's father. "I did not mean to express a complaint, goodman," she continued, aware of little Lèoðern's eyes imploring her to get her out of trouble. "Your daughter is a wonderful child, and I am sure she shall be well-loved here."

Garstan's face relaxed, and he dropped a kiss on his daughter's forehead before dropping her back on the ground. Lèoðern ran the few steps toward Lin, and gave her a quick hug (mostly around the knees) which Lin returned before the girl ran off to join her brother in exploring their new home. Lin smiled at the man watching the two run off with love in his eyes. "I am Linduial, daughter of Lord Farlen of Dol Amroth. My father's steward and I traveled here to visit my cousin. Please, I am a guest here like yourself, but might I show you to an empty room or two?" Lin gestured toward the rubble with a wry smile. "I am afraid Lord Eodwine and Lady Saeryn are busy at the moment, but I'm sure they won't mind if we recquisition a couple of rooms on the ground floor. Almost no one is down there at the moment."

She led the man towards the building, waving him away from his luggage. "Garwine can help you get that later." She paused suddenly, then turned to him with an amused smile. "You daughter charmed me so, sir, that I have not yet asked your own name."

[Celuien]

Garstan felt himself relax at Linduial's welcoming words. Daughter of Lord Farlen of Dol Amroth? He thought that he had heard the name before. But where? Garstan had no memory for names, but this was strangely familiar. He resolved to ponder the mystery later. The more practical matter of introductions still needed attention.

"I am Garstan, at your service, my lady. I am a stoneshaper out of the north of Rohan, journeying to Edoras in search of work." He smiled grimly. "There are few places to ply my trade in the far reaches of the Wold. A stove here, a wall there, and there's nothing more to be done." Garstan paused, fearing that tales of his journeys through Rohan would bore - were already boring - the Lady from Dol Amroth. He returned to pleasantries. "My thanks for your kindness to my daughter. Too often her high-spirits are taken for ill-manners."

They arrived at the entrance to the hall. Hoping to find the correct protocol, and hoping that he wouldn't look too ridiculous, he caught the door and held it open for Linduial with a slight bow. He couldn't tell if the faint smile that crossed her face in response was out of acknowledgment or amusement. Four years of crisscrossing Rohan with only his children for company had caused him to forget many of the niceties of social convention.

They entered an area of the hall devoted to guestrooms, and Garstan selected the room nearest the entrance to the great hall. He surmised that most of his work would take place there or in the kitchen, and he had no wish to disturb the other guests on his way to and from the work site. Garstan gave a word of thanks to Linduial and watched as she headed back outdoors.

It was only after she left that Garstan recalled where he had heard of Lord Farlen. From a herald, announcing the marriage of King Éomer and Queen Lothiriel. He stood in stunned silence in his room, the sound of his children's laughter drifting in from the yard.

[littlemanpoet]

“Thank you, sir,” Léof said. “But if it’s all the same, I would prefer not to completely give up working. It wouldn’t feel quite right.”

Eodwine smiled. He had noted an expression on the young man's face that was not a part of the pain of the foot, nor the humiliation of having been injured by a horse in his own stables. He could not guess surely as to what Léof was thinking, but he sensed that pride of ownership in one who has taken to a job like wet to water.

"You're the ostler here, Léof my lad. We'll find a few others to be your back and arms and legs, but this stable is still yours to run. You've got a head for it, and you know these horses and their care. Whoever is sent to do the labor shall take his orders from you. What say you?"

Léof's eyes brightened in gratified surprise, but he quickly took control of himself and reined in his surprise. He became grave of face and nodded. "I think that is the best thing for this stable, sir."

"I'm sure of it!" Eodwine rose. "My thanks, Æðel, for all that you have been doing for those among us who have fallen ill or hurt. The healer from Meduseld has put in a good word for you, and thinks you would make an able student. Would you like to spend part of your days up at the Golden Hall, learning from his skills?"

Æðel's eyes gleamed. "I would like that much, lord."

"Then I will arrange it. Kara cooks our evening meal in the backyard. See to it that the both of you are there to take your fair share of it."

Much good had been done by many of Eodwine's new household. He thought that the evil of the fallen wall had been more than redressed by all that had come to pass since then. He spent the remainder of the day welcoming the new guests at the evening meal, as well as giving Garreth and Harreld the full story of the fallen wall over late evening drinks, with details of all kinds supplied by one storyteller after another. Falco took special joy in relating Linduial's prank of getting Frodides out of the kitchen before the men could free up the front door.

The stars had come out and the night was mild and calm. The guest rooms were filling up. Had he been a mere innkeeper, he would have looked upon that as a profitable thing. However, as mead hall lord, his guests got bed, board, and stabling free, and fees and fines from his landholders were his income. It was true that the landholders, as well as those who worked land in feof, would find their rents raised due to the new eorl, but Eodwine hoped that he would be able to make it worth it to them in some way. He would have to give thought to that.

At last all were abed and Eodwine thought of all those who had rooms. It was quite an assortment of folk, from the high to the lowly. Stories there were behind every last one of them, and most of those were still unknown to him. The Eorling Mead Hall looked to be a good place for him right now, and maybe for the rest of his life. New floor plans shimmered in his mind as he dozed.

[JennyHallu]

Marenil sat awake in his room, reading and rereading the letter Lin had finally gotten to him after dinner, with tears in his eyes. His Enna, his dearest joy, his partner over so many years, so many trials and triumphs...and in her final sickness he had not been there, had not been with her. Enna...

He leaned back in his chair, memories running through his mind. Enna as he'd first saw her, the farmer's daughter swathed in dark hair, silhouetted against the sunrise. Introducing her with pride to his Lord, when he'd still been a young man working as a jack-of-all-trades. Farlen (the present Lord's father, still a young man back then) had given all his men a house when they wed, but, thrilled with the young bride's wit and will, had deeded the house to her. The threats she made to kick him out of it when they argued. Enna...

The birth of their son, and then another. Watching them grow. Listening to her teaching little Lin the womanly skills she'd perfected long ago. Watching her playing with her grandchildren. The strength in her eyes when he and his sons had followed the present Lord Farlen to the battle of Pelennor Fields. The tears he'd wiped from her eyes when the second son never came home. Enna...

He'd seen almost every important moment in her life, felt her hand in his in all his lowest times. And his memory had made record of all of that. But he had no memory of her growing old. No memory of age spots, or wrinkled skin, or slower movements, gray hairs, early evenings. Perhaps that was how life went, passing you slowly as you dwelt stubbornly in your disappearing youth. Enna...

Enna would always be the slim girl in the sunrise, working in her father's fields. Always.



He lay awake in the dark thinking of her, and of the contents of Lord Farlen's letter, and did not sleep, feeling only the ethereal pressure of a womanly hand in his own, and a cool touch of lips on his brow, and his heart was eased in her presence. He would grieve in his own time.

[Folwren]

Thornden pulled an extra vest over his white shirt and then picked up an empty pouch. He would make a short visit to the kitchen and pick up some left over bread and maybe some cheese before starting out. The evening before Eodwine had spoken to him, telling him that he would need to go and act as his coin gatherer among the people of the First Emnet.

“I’m low on coin, Thornden,” the Eorling lord admitted. “Things would have been just fine had that wall not collapsed, but as it is. . .we need more.”

“Well, of course. That’s absolutely understandable. I’ll leave early tomorrow morning, and on my way back, I’ll visit my sister. She doesn’t live far from the city gates and will be directly in my path.”

So Thornden rose early that morning, a few minutes before the sun peeped her own head above the mountains. He took a carved staff from the corner behind his bed and went out into the hall.

Kara was in the kitchen preparing breakfast and she gladly filled his pouch quite generously for him, putting in not only the bread and cheese that he thought would be all he needed, but also added some of the smoked ham they had. And for breakfast, she handed him a newly baked roll, still hot from the oven, wrapped in a clean napkin. He thanked her and went out.

The even before, he had told Léof that he would need a mount for the next day’s work and Eodwine had given him instructions to take his horse, Flíthaf. When Thornden exited the building, he was pleased to see Léof leading old charger out of the stable. He approached the ostler and as the reins exchanged hands, Thornden spoke.

“Good morning, Léof!” He smiled broadly and didn’t notice Léof’s slight response and his tight lip as he looked over the finely groomed Flíthaf. “How’s the foot this morning?” he asked, turning his attention back the ostler.

“Just fine,” was the short reply. Thornden grinned again.

“Well, I hope so, Léof. Thank you for preparing Flíthaf, he looks excellent and seems to be quite excited to be getting out. Goodbye! Have fun at the horse fair, today - I imagine you’ll be out there, whether it’s good for your foot or not.” Léof scarcely answered as he stepped away and walked back towards the stables. Thornden mounted swiftly and turned Flíthaf towards the road and then in the direction of the city gate.

There were few people up yet. He bid those he met good morning as he walked his horse through the streets. But he had hardly gone three hundred yards from the Mead Hall and turned only a couple corners when his eyes were arrested by a prostrate figure stretched out on the ground on the edge of the street. Thornden stopped Flíthaf quickly and for a moment sat just looking at it, shocked and appalled, for the sight was ugly. The next moment, he swung down quickly from the horse, and led him carefully forward. He knelt beside the figure, draping the long reins over his shoulder where he could feel and grab them if the horse drew back or moved away.

It was a young man, no - practically a boy, Thornden realized in a moment. It was hard to make out his features, for blood covered his face. A deep gash in his forehead above his right eyebrow caused by a hard blow from a blunt instrument had bled freely until it had dried in the wind and rain of last night, covering the gaunt face with a gruesome, red mask. Thornden slowly tore his eyes from his face and looked over the rest of the form - the body seemed broken and wounded in many places and he could not tell from sight alone what all was wrong with him.

He was quite at a loss as to what to do. His mind raced and his hands trembled as they hovered uselessly above the boy, unwilling to touch him for fear of making matters worse. With a great intake of breath for pity and horror, Thornden drew his hands back abruptly to himself. His eyes traced his face and then his body again. The right arm lay at odd angles with his body, his chest rose in jerks as he breathed in and blood had stiffened his shirt. Thornden half wished the boy was conscious, but then thanked the stars that he wasn't and couldn't feel the pain.

Hesitant as he was, Thornden realized he had no choice but to touch him. He moved closer, crouching low to the ground. Before he picked him up, however, he adjusted the reins so that when he stood up, they would rest in the crook of his elbow, not taught, but tight enough that Flíthaf would follow as though he were being led. Then, moving as gently as he possibly could, he lifted the boy's head and shoulders and then slipped his arm under it, then, with the same careful movements, put his other arm beneath the knees. He bent his head and shoulders and heaved upward as he stood.

The burden was lighter than he expected, much too little weight for a boy that height, he realized, as he turned and walked back towards the Mead Hall. The head fell back and the arm farther from him fell limp and he made no movement, nor gave sign of life, save for each struggling breath.

Thornden hurried his footsteps onward and he reached the Hall in just a couple minutes. In the yard, he hesitated, wondering what to do with his hands full, and the horse fairly attached to him. The only one he knew who might possibly be awake was Léof, but he was in the stables. Thornden walked quickly to the door and there called for the ostler.

Léof came out almost at once, stopping abruptly in surprise when he saw the bloody figure Thornden bore in his arms. But Thornden didn’t give him much time to gape.

“Take the horse, Léof. Tie him up inside there, I’ll probably be coming out in a bit to take him again. Thanks,” he added, as Léof did as he was bidden quickly. Then, without another word he hurried inside, pushing open the door impatiently and bearing the lad in. He looked about quickly, hoping to see someone who could tell him what to do, or at least help. To his relief, Eodwine entered at just that moment, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. His hand stopped as he caught sight of Thornden and then they both walked towards each other at once.

“I found him, not too far from here. . .I don’t know what all’s wrong with him, and I’ve no doubt he’s more than half dead all ready,” Thornden said, before Eodwine could ask a single question. “I’m sorry I had to come back so soon - I was only my way out - but I couldn’t just leave him.”

[littlemanpoet]

"Lay him down in the first room downstairs, Thornden." Eodwine looked at the boy in concern. He mulled as they moved the boy to the room. So many young ones, orphaned, wounded, fleeing and out in the open, unprotected! If any had thought all evils would pass away with the end of the Dark Lord, that had been proven false in the first year; and each year since.

Thornden lay the boy down on the bed as carefully, Eodwine noticed, as if it had been his own child. Good man, this one, Eodwine thought.

"Best be on your way, Thornden. I'll see to his care."

"I'll be back by sundown I hope. I'll be eager for news of him then."

"We'll hope for the best. Send Kara to me on your way out, Thornden."

Eodwine knelt by the side of the bed. This boy was in sad, sad shape. Bleeding from too many wounds, broken bones, pain shown in the sleeping grimace he wore.

Kara came into the room. "Thornden told me there was a bo-" she stopped with a sudden intake of breath. "Oh my ....."

"Kara, please wake Æðel and have her come to me, then get food and drink for the boy."

"And for you and Æðel, of course!" Kara answered.

Eodwine smiled at her earnest face. "That would be welcome."

After Kara had left the room, Eodwine looked out the window over the silent child, still except for his slight breathing. He could see the mountains rising up, glinting in the new risen sun. A little of that light reflected into this room. Eodwine was impressed with the cleanliness of it, and made a point to himself to give words of praise to Saeryn and Æðel for keeping it so well while unoccupied.

The boy stirred and coughed, grimacing in pain. He sounded not well. That moment, Kara came in bearing a pitcher of water.

"Here. Drink."

The boy accepted the water eagerly.

[Lalwendë]

Wultheof walked from the stables to the Mead Hall in the growing light. He was tired and moved slowly, and he coughed as he went. He had spent the night in the stables, as had Leocsley. Their job was to guard the horses through the night, a job they did not mind, nor did they mind camping out in the stables as it gave them a chance to have a bit of fun away from Larswic. There had been a bit too much fun last night as they'd got hold of a flagon of ale and had been up laughing into the early hours. There had been no chance to sleep off their beer because as usual, their day had started early.

The lad was not alone. He walked ahead of a tall, fair young man who carried a long sword and an older man who carried something carefully hidden in the folds of his threadbare brown cloak. This was a young and high born man of Edoras and his steward. They had come to buy horses in the earliest hours of the new day to ensure they got the first choice.

In the Mead Hall Wultheof knocked softly on the door of his father's chamber and the men went in. The lad sat down on the floor outside the door to keep watch, but he soon nodded off.

***

Fifteen minutes later, the door opened and Wultheof jumped up with a start. The steward was offering his hand to Larswic, but the horse trader appeared to be busy with something in his pockets. The hand was soon dropped. Larswic did not stop chatting to the younger man for a moment; this was who he needed to convince, not the steward. He had told him all about how fine his horses were, what races they had won, their lineage, their promise. Most of all, he had told him exactly who in Rohan owned horses he had bred, and the names were impressive.

The young man was not leaving with horses, only with the thought of them. No money had changed hands, and Larswic had done no deals, he had been most careful to avoid any kind of binding agreement, such as a handshake. He knew that this young noble would talk all morning about the fine horses and others would hear of this and come to the Mead Hall to speak with him about them. So the price would rise throughout the day, and by the end of it, the young noble would be quite desperate to have the horses he most admired, and would be prepared to pay even more for them.

Larswic took them to the door and wished them good morning with a nod of the head and a warm smile. They had been charmed by the man from Middle Emnet and went away feeling excited about the deal to come.

"Now lad," said Larswic to his son, who stood behind him, yawning widely. "how's about a good breakfast eh?" He ruffled his son's hair and then pushed past him back into the Hall.

[Firefoot]

Léof had awakened early as usual, making his slow way down the aisle to check on the horses. He still walked with a noted limp and probably walked more on it than he ought, though he did readily accept the help of those who came out to the stables. This had worked out considerably better than he had originally thought, and at least in this way the past few days had run smoothly.

In other ways, though… he still had not worked out his feelings toward Gárwine, Thornden, and Æðel, and while relations were not precisely hostile, nor were they very friendly. Léof had lost much of the trust he had gained in his first week. He might be able to understand why they had wanted his foot checked out, but as for how… the memory of the man-handling still stung.

Then, of course, there was the previous night. Léof did not know exactly what Leocsley and Wultheof had been doing, but they had been quite noisy about it, and far into the night. Several times he had been tempted to go and ask them to be quiet, but had always refrained, thinking that even if it was his place, they probably would not listen to him. Léof did not mind if they chose to sleep in the stables so long as they were quiet about it and did not disturb the horses (or him), although he did feel rather insulted that Larswic felt the need for them to guard their horses, as if Léof had no qualifications whatsoever. He had noticed in smug annoyance how tired and unwell they looked this morning – perhaps they had found some ale, then, last night. Served them right.

Seeing the horses all right, Léof wandered out to find some breakfast. He had discovered a rather stiff way of walking so as to put more weight on his heel and minimize the pain in his toes. He was enjoying a hot roll when Thornden came rushing in with a limp and injured boy in his arms. At Thornden's orders he went to tie up Flíthaf; then, curious, Léof followed slowly as they took the boy into one of the downstairs rooms and Eodwine issued a set of orders. He stopped in the doorway, getting his first good look at the boy. He seemed in pain, and there was a gash on his forehead. Léof felt a wave of pity for the boy.

“Anything I can do to help, sir?”

[Folwren]

Somewhere in the country of the Middle Emnet

Outside the city walls, Thornden found the wind strong, but not terribly overbearing. He hardly thought of it, though, as he rode, for his mind was still lingering on the boy he'd found. He wondered where he came from, and how he got to be in such a state as he was. Were the wounds and broken bones really as bad as they had appeared, or had only the blood made it appear so? Thornden knew well how cuts and bruises could make the damage appear far worse than it really was. If the blood was washed away, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all. And they could always set the broken arm. . .

But what if it was worse than he expected? "Come now, Thornden," he told himself harshly. "Keep your mind on your business or you'll befuddle it all." He was approached the first home off the list of names and places that Eodwine had given him. He dismounted at the wooden gate and walked boldly up to the door and knocked. A kindly looking woman opened the door and greeted him rather merrily. He stated his business and though the smile didn't leave her face, she looked somewhat surprise.

"I didn't think they were due yet," she said. She flashed him a quizzical look from her sparkling brown eyes.

"Well, it's not the quarter, if that's what you mean," Thornden admitted. "But I'm not coming for all of the tax. Lord Eodwine needs some of the coin in advance, for he is setting up the Mead Hall, and an accident that happened not four days ago has caused him to over run his own purse. I'm here to gather only the last two month's due."

"Oh, well, if that's the case," she replied, the cloud in her face clearing. "Just wait here and I'll be back. Thendre sets aside coin for such happenings." Thornden nodded and she disappeared inside, leaving the door open. Thornden half turned and looked about the yard as he waited. In a moment she returned, a cloth coin purse in her hand. "Tell me how much you need," she said.

Thornden referred to a slip of paper and then told her the sum. Without question, she poured some of the coins into her right hand, counted them, placed two back within the purse, and handed the rest to the Thornden.

"Thank you very much, ma'am," he said, and bowed slightly. “In return for such payment, the Eorl Eodwine wishes to fulfil some boon or act of justice that you and your husband, may ask for. Likely in a month’s time, his work at the Mead Hall will be completed, and there you are welcome to come and speak with him concerning anything that you would have him hear.”

“Like what, sir?” the woman asked, a twinkle in her eye that may have been described as merry.

“That is best for you to decide,” Thornden answered with a smile. “You know what you need most concerning what the Eorl can give you. If all is not well, for instance, and animals or other such things are being stolen, tell him so, and he will do more to protect you. An unsettled argument, perhaps, between you and a neighboring freeholder he will be able to judge between. And he will judge fairly, I can promise you,” he added, almost on impulse. He knew it to be true and wasn’t going to hide the fact.

"Give our new lord Eodwine our best wishes then, young man," she said, bobbing her head, a new and brighter smile glowing on her face. "And good day to you!"

Thornden was happy that that had gone so well, and he hoped, rather than believed, that the rest of the land owners would give the same sort of reception to his coming.

The next farm was nearly eight miles from the first. Fields of cultivated and plowed lands laid between. Some fields contained livestock, sheep, goats, horses, and sometimes cows. He reached the clump of buildings, dismounted at the barn, and while he made out which one was the house, he tied Flíthaf to the hitching bar. He walked towards the door. It was open, allowing the fresh, morning breeze to flow into the house and Thornden stopped outside and knocked briskly on the door frame.

[Undómë]

Away -- Wistan's farm - Dunstede


‘Who is it dear?’ Cwen’s muffled voice called out. She’d misplaced her little shears and was snipping the length of blue yarn off with her teeth. The woven tapestry she was working on was that of Wistan’s return from that ‘awful war’ as she called it. She’d gotten the top border done and was just switching from the triumphant blue of the sky to begin to weave in the top of her dear husband’s head. His helm, she had decided would be off, held in the crook of his right arm. For a moment her fingers lingered over the grey grizzled yarn and then as quickly moved on to the rich, chestnut brown. ‘I’ll put a few grey in . . . later,’ she said to herself, conceding that it wouldn’t do to have him looking as young as his sons are at present for this bit of family history. ‘Still,’ she sighed, her hand resting on the shuttle of brown worsted, ‘’tis how I see him, even now.’

She got up from her stool, as no one had yet answered her. ‘Rose? Rose!’ she called out. ‘Now where is that girl?’ She knotted the brown to the blue and laid the shuttled on the little work table she had near the loom. Wistan and the boys were out in the western field, finishing the ploughing there. Brita and Lynet, she recalled, were taking the goats to the north pasture for the day. And Ardith was busy planting in the garden along with Mayda and the children.

‘Coming!’ she called out to the visitor. She knew it was not someone from one of the neighboring farms. They would have called out as they knocked and stepped inside to see who was in. Perhaps it was the man from the village market, come to claim the yearling pig he’d traded for. Goodman Aidan, that was the name Wistan had mentioned. Yes, that must be it.

Her hips were aching fiercely as she walked the length of the hall. And she scolded herself for not picking up her cane to lean on a bit. She was a little startled to see an unfamiliar figure standing on the step. The bright light of a fair spring day was behind him, throwing his face into shadow.

‘Welcome, sir,’ she said, stepping out of the doorway, forcing him to move back a pace. She fussed with the skirt of her long apron, smoothing it down a bit. ‘I suppose you’ve come for the yearling, then?’ she began, stepping off onto the dirt to the side of the little porch. ‘He’s fattened up nicely for us. I think you’ll approve . . . Goodman Aidan. Step along carefully now; mind the muddy places. The piggery’s just there, near the barn . . .’

[Folwren]

Away -- Wistan's farm - Dunstede

An elderly woman answered his knock after a short wait. "Welcome, sir," she said, stepping out towards him. "I suppose you've come for the yearling, then?" and without answer she began to lead the way. "He's fattened up nicely for us. I think you'll approve. . .Goodman Aidan. Step along carefully now, mind the muddy places. The piggery's just there, near the barn. . ."

Thornden followed her a few steps out of pure habit and good manners, but he stopped when she finished. "No, ma'am, I'm. . . not here for the. . .yearling." She turned around towards him. "I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else, and I'm very sorry for that. No, ma'am, I'm here to collect some of what is due to the new Eorling of this Emnet. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, and I know that it isn't at the quarter is it should be, but there is much construction going on and lord Eodwine is in need of coin. I'm only here to collect the last two month's due." He had said the same thing the last goodwife and he hoped this woman would agree as easily and nicely as the first.

[Firefoot]

After a brief search of the Mead Hall, Léof had not found Larswic, nor indeed very many people at all. He guessed that most of them were off to enjoy the fair, which suited him fine. The fewer people who knew where he was going, the better, as far as he was concerned. So horribly protective, they all were! While returning to the stable, he did see Gárwine and smiled briefly before slipping off. Talk would inevitably lead to questions. All this made Léof feel as if he were about to do something wrong, which was absurd, of course. He had the right and the ability to make judgment concerning his own activities. He did not trust any of them enough not to try and stop him.

Reaching the stable, he first went to his room to collect most of his meager supply of coins both for an entry fee and in case he saw anything nice his sister might like… or perhaps Æðel, smirked a little voice, a voice which he quickly hushed. He then re-saddled Æthel and mounted using a fence as a boost up rather shamefully. He could without one, but the affair was rather painful, and with no one watching him…

As he made his way down through the crowded streets of Edoras, he kept fighting the urge to turn around and see if anyone followed him; why would they be following? He was perfectly within his rights to explore the fair, and no one would question that. He rode straight through the fair to the outside of the city and found the track where races would be run a little later in the day. A list had been posted of the various races that would be held, specifying the length of each and any other particular conditions – most were open to any horse, but a few were limited to just mares, or horses older than a certain age, which, Léof mused, made sense – stallions were usually faster than mares, and younger horses than older horses. One race in particular caught his eye: three laps around the track for mares only. Perfect.

He waited in a relatively short line to enter. On his turn, he gave his and Æthel’s names and some other basic information to the man and paid a small fee – and that was all. The man had glanced askance at his foot but not questioned it. He was entered now, and the race would start in only a few hours. Just let someone try to stop him.