Eorling Mead Hall

[littlemanpoet]

The group were walking in the direction of the Mead Hall as they talked. Saeryn had taken her arm from Eodwine's and was walking behind he and Garstan, and was holding Æthel's reins while Léof rode her. Garwine strode happily at Léof's side, and they were trading reminiscences of the race, reliving its moments from one point of view then the other. Meanwhile, Garstan was mulling and talking through the problem of the alder. Before they had left the grounds, Garstan posed his question. Eodwine liked the idea very much of building the kitchen a little farther back and making the alder the centerpiece of the new courtyard and garden. It would be a very sunny, pleasant spot, one that could be a special gathering place for the folk of his household instead of guests. It would be a good thing to have a pleasant place where people like Garstan, Searyn, Léof, and the others, could go knowing that it was theirs.

"Yes. I like it greatly. You have my yes to it. Show me a drawing of it to firm it in my mind as well as yours, to be sure."

"Yes, lord!" Garstan smiled, his step becoming lighter with the prospect of his idea being not only approved but given the go-ahead.

"My lord," said Saeryn from behind them, "you have somewhat to speak of to me."

"Oh?" Eodwine said, looking back. "What might that be?"

But before Saeryn could say what she meant, up ran Degas with Lèoðern bouncing dangerously on his shoulders, looking a little scared and even more excited for riding the wild horse of a man so high up and without a proper saddle. But Degas did not look as gleeful as the child. Quite the opposite. His face was white.

"What is the matter, Degas?" asked Eodwine. "Where is Linduial? I thought she was with you."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas hoisted Lèoðern above his head, bringing her down into his arms gently and smiling to reassure her. He'd been very careful, though he moved quickly enough to worry any father. Garstan accepted her with a paternal smile, a quick tickle, and a nod to Degas, saving his questions of her day for a moment better suited to an eruption of excited chatter. All present looked at Degas as he ran long fingers through his hair, catching his breath.

He looked around, his eyes haunted. Saeryn stepped forward, trusting the reins to Garwine.

"Degas... Lin?" She was afraid of the look on his face, his usually smiling mouth drawn tight, his eyes utterly bereft of the twinkle so often decorating them. He bent over, hands on his knees, breathing hard still. He straightened to meet Eodwine's hard stare, unable to stand it more than a second or two before looking away.

"She..." He'd been preoccupied with the music, the tune still within his ears. She'd spoken to him as he showed Lèoðern the jewelry, but he'd hardly heard over the sounds of the crowd. He watched Lin's shapely figure move along the line of vendors, unconcerned that she would stray far.

"Degas, Degas," squealed Lèoðern, tugging at his hand. "Come and see!"

He'd knelt beside her, admiring to her satisfaction the litter of kittens she had discovered, smiling at her enthusiasm over their tiny grey forms, climbing over each other, their pink tongues licking spotted noses, worrying only about the light pink her pale skin was turning.

"Would you like a pretty scarf, my lady?" he asked, standing and swinging her up into his arms. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened adorably. A vendor, wide from the sampling of his own wares, smiled at the young man and his companion, pointing toward a stall a dozen yards away. Degas nodded his thanks and, with the girl's head on his shoulder, he worked his way through the crowd.

"Pick anything that meets your fancy." he said, setting her down to better inspect. This vendor was an austere old woman, sharp eyes keen. The transaction went smoothly and, with Lèoðern's burning neck now safely covered with brightly colored silk, Degas turned to find Lin, Lèoðern's hand in his.

He scanned the crowd, eyes searching for her unmistakable form. Her bearing alone should have been enough to find her, with those in her presence acting in such a way that would turn any lovely young maiden's head. He thought of her posture as he looked for her. Her back straight, her shoulders squared; she presented an imposing figured when she cared to do so. He couldn't get enough of those moments when she relaxed with a carefree laugh. He felt his chest warm those times that her cold demeanor broke and she favored him with a shy smile, though it was such a rare occurence that he often thought he had imagined it all.

His meandering thoughts were brought quickly to an end when he realized that she was nowhere to be seen. His usually relaxed gait shifted into a stride as he lifted Lèoðern again to move faster.

"The Lady of Dol Amroth?" he asked those he passed. "Have you seen her?"

Trying not to panic, Degas worked his way smoothly back toward the Hall, eyes scanning the crowd for familiar faces. If she had lost him when Lèoðern had drawn his attention to the kittens, if she had merely wandered too far and lost her way, Linduial would return to the Hall. Degas hoped beyond hope he would see her smiling, sharing a gossip with Saeryn in the sun, or some such female action, upon his return; his chest felt heavier than usual, the hot sun doing nothing to dispell the shiver now dancing across his shoulders.

He'd found Saeryn and Eodwine both, accompanied by several others of the household. Lin was not with them. He tried to speak again, afraid to meet Eodwine's gaze again. He spoke to Saeryn's waist, voice hesitating, trying to keep his words light enough that Lèoðern, eyes happily following the erratic flight of a butterfly, would not be upset by them.

"We were separated. I had hoped to find her at the Hall." His words carried a weight that revealed his worry and Saeryn responded, her own light voice laced with nerves.

"Eodwine--" She could see the Hall in the distance, the view broken only by visitors to the city as they passed. Marenil sat outside and all was calm there. She could not see Lin.

[Formendacil]

A new stranger stepped over the threshold of the being-renovated Eorling Mead Hall. He stood an impressive four foot six, sported a two foot-long, red beard, and muscular arms wider around than some people's legs. He carried a massive pack, off of which dangled various hammers and chisels, and at his side he sported a wicked-looking bearded battle-axe. His name was Náin, son of Narin, son of Nori, and he was a Dwarf of Erebor.

The first thing that Náin noticed, as he entered the Mead Hall, was the general absence of people. He presumed, rightly, that they were all about in the streets of Edoras, entertaining themselves or being entertained by others, at the horse fair.

He dropped his pack to the ground, the steel heads of his hammers clinking on the stone, and the pack itself landing with a thud that belied the idea that it was filled with mere clothing and food. He stretched, looking around, but saw no one.

Making use of the time he had until someone discovered him, Náin opened up his pack, and began digging around, eventually pulling out a rather crinkled piece of parchment, which he hastened to try and smooth out with his massive, muscular hands. Once again, he read the words inscribed thereon:

"To the Eorl of the Middle Emnet, Keeper of the Mead Hall," it read, "from Thorin III Stonehelm, King of Durin's Line, King Under the Mountain, Lord of Erebor, with greetings.

We have long conversed with our Royal peer, King Éomer son of Éomund, Lord of the Riddermark, regarding the establishment of a colony of our people in the realm of the Riddermark, for the mutual benefit of both our peoples. Our well-renowned kinsman, the Lord Gimli son of Glóin, begins even at this time to establish the Dwarven colony in the great fortress of your people known as Helm's Deep.

Having received so much in the way of aid and assistance from your King, we have desired to repay him in some small way for his generosity, and have sent a renowned sculptor of our people, one Náin son of Narin son of Nori, who bears this letter, to the city of Edoras to adorn it with such statues and scuptings as he may in thanks for the friendship between your people and ours.

Having informed the King Éomer of this intent, he has directed us to send our servant Náin to seek the hospitality of the Eorl of the Middle Emnet's Mead Hall. We trust that he shall be an honourable representative of the people of Erebor, and commend him to your famed hospitality."

And the letter ended with a crest portraying an anvil and hammer, surmounted by a crown with seven stars- the emblems of Durin and his heirs, and the signature of Thorin III Stonehelm.

Náin turned the letter over somewhat nervously in his hands, unsure of what his welcome would be like. The Mead Hall appeared to be in a state of either disrepair or major renovations, and he was unsure if the Eorl would be eager to accept a guest, although he was willing to help with the construction if needed. Though his chosen field of expertise was sculpture, he was well-enough versed in basic masonry and smithying- as are nigh on all Dwarves, among whom such crafts are widespread and well refined.

Still, Náin was a Dwarf in a strange land, and uncertain of his welcome. The Lord Gimli had by his exploits and friendship with King Éomer made the Rohirrim friendly to and somewhat familiar with the Dwarves, but they were not the Men of Dale, accustomed to their everyday presence. And since he had taken his leave of Gimli and the Dwarves making for Helm's Deep, he had been uncomfortably aware of his alienness.

It is therefore, perhaps, somewhat natural that upon someone entering the Hall behind him, he was somewhat startled, and jumped in the air, hand on his battle-axe, only to realize that all the other person had said was:

"Excuse me? Can I help you?"

[Kath]

Kara had been in the kitchen with Frodides for most of the day, preparing food for the meal for the rest of the Hall's inhabitants upon their return. Thanks to Saeryn's relentless checks on the state of the cupboards they had enough food to serve a small army, but with all the excitement of the horse fair Kara thought that the young ones in particular would be especially hungry, and set about making a larger meal than normal. There was not much she could do in the way of hot food, as the stove was not yet fully complete, but the makeshift oven outside was still burning gently and gave more than enough heat to cook some essentials.

She was just coming back from the oven, bearing a tray of bread rolls this time, when she heard clanking and a thud from inside the Mead Hall. She stopped and listened for a moment, but could hear nothing else. Looking around she couldn't find evidence of anyone's return, be it Thornden's horse or the squealing of Lèoðern. Cautiously she made her way round to the front of the Hall, and peered in through the door and caught sight of a figure in the shadows. For a moment she thought it was Garstan's son dressed in a child's battle costume, but as she got closer she realised her mistake and blushed, glad that she had not made the comment out loud, for many Dwarves were notoriously sensitive about their height.

He seemed not to have noticed her, being engrossed in a letter. She didn't wish to startle him, so stepped forward slightly as she spoke.

"Excuse me? Can I help you?"

Her attempt failed however. As the words left her mouth the Dwarf spun round, hand on axe. Kara let out a sharp shriek as he did so, dropping the tray. Bread rolled everywhere, and the Dwarf immediately lowered the axe and held his hands up, trying to gesture that he meant no harm.

[Formendacil]

"Sorry!" Náin raised his hands quickly in peace. "Sorry! You startled me! Here, let me help!"

Feeling extremely flustered, and quite sure that his cheeks were as red as his beard, he bent over, and started to pick up some of the bread rolls.

"No, no," insisted Kara, "it's as much my fault as yours." She too bent over to pick up the rolls. "But, as I was saying, can I help you? It's clear that you're a stranger here."

"Well, I, ah, I'm looking for the Eorl of the Middle Emnet," said Náin, still rather flustered. He dropped several of the rolls he had just picked up, half-missing the tray he was trying to put them on. Kara held up a hand.

"Here, let me!" She picked up the re-dropped rolls, put them on the tray, then faced Náin.

"Now," said Kara, "you said you wanted to see Eodwine. I'm afraid he's not in right now. He went down to the Horse Fair. Is it urgent?"

"Yes- I mean No!" said Náin. He really didn't like talking to the womenfolk of Mankind. At the height that he was, it was generally difficult not to stare at various parts of the female anatomy, which weren't even camouflaged, as they might be on a Dwarf woman, by a full, healthy beard- or any beard at all. He did his best to control his nervousness, and look Kara in the eyes.

"What I mean is," he said as carefully as he could, "is that I was told that I might find hospitality here while I stay in Edoras. I've got a letter-"

Náin held up the crumpled parchment he'd been reading over.

"But if things are too busy with the construction and all," he rushed on, "then I can find somewhere else. I saw an inn on the way in, and I've got plenty of coin for my purposes and it'd really be no trouble at all-"

"Whoa!" said Kara. "There's no problem at all! At least, I think there isn't. How about you just settle into the Great Hall until Eodwine returns? I'm sure there won't be a problem. Let me give you a hand with your sack."

"Don't bother!" Náin interjected as she reached for his sack. "I doubt if a delicate human like you could hoist that. With a heave, he grabbed the hammer-laden pack off the ground two-handed, and slung it onto his back. He appeared to sag an inch or two under the weight.

"I don't think I got your name. I'm Kara, I'm sort of the assistant cook around here."

"Náin son of Narin son of Nori, at your service," said he, sweeping off his dark brown hood in a low bow that had his hammers and chisels jangling forward. He rather clumbsily regained his feet.

"You said something about a Great Hall? Would it be possible to find a tankard of ale? It has been a long journey..."

[Kath]

Kara couldn't help but smile at the new arrival. He was so obviously uncomfortable around her, craning his neck to ensure he couldn't possibly be accused of looking anywhere he shouldn't, and so dropping everything he picked up because he wasn't watching where he was putting it down. Taking pity on him she gently pushed his hands away and set about recovering the fallen rolls herself while he told her something of his business there. Finally getting everything back into place, she wondered where to put the Dwarf while he waited for Eodwine. Most of the place was still in a bit of a shambles what with all the repair work going on, but she supposed the Great Hall would do for now. Her offer to carry Náin's bags for him was quickly rebuffed, and she thought perhaps with good reason, as even the Dwarf had to heave it up onto his shoulders. However, the suggestion of finding him somewhere to wait was more gratefully received.

"You said something about a Great Hall? Would it be possible to find a tankard of ale? It has been a long journey..."

Kara nodded and led Náin through. She helped him unload his bags from his shoulders and down onto the floor again, noting that that was the noise she must have heard before, and left him to settle into a chair. She returned to the kitchen to fetch his ale and some more dough, as the rolls were ruined now, and a new batch would need to be made. She also picked up some food. The Dwarf had not requested any, but he had said the journey had been long, and good food was always the best way to recover from such things. Leaving Frodides happily complaining about the extra work she detoured round by the oven to put the rolls in, and then headed back to the Hall.

Náin seemed startled when she re-entered from a different direction to the one she had left, but his eyes soon focused on the food and drink she was holding in her hands. Putting down in the table in front of him she was rewarded with a smile and a cry of thanks, as he tucked into what lay before him. Kara realised that, for now at least, she had nothing pressing to attend to.

"I wonder sir, would you mind if I joined you for a while? It has been a long time since I met one of your kindred and I would like to hear more news of the outside world."

[Formendacil]

While Kara headed away with the rolls, and then out of the room, Náin eased his pack off his back, and sat down, taking note of the construction around him, and noting with interest what the builders had been doing.

Then Kara re-entered the room from another door, startling him yet again, but carrying food and drink for which he was grateful. Accepting it with eager thanks, he began to tuck in, when Kara sat down opposite him, and said:

"I wonder sir, would you mind if I joined you for a while? It has been a long time since I met one of your kindred and I would like to hear more news of the outside world."

At least, Náin thought, sitting down it was easier to talk to them face to face. But he was still somewhat flustered. Men, and their womenfolk in particular, had no idea what pieces of art they were. Compared with a Dwarf, even an average Man or Woman looked graceful. Dwarves were made practically, which Náin approved of, but with a great love of things beautiful. And as a sculptor, Náin was particularly aware of the beauty of Men.

"Yes- I mean, no, I don't mind," he said through a mouthful. At least, he thought, he had managed not to spew any of it across the table.

"Though I fear," he continued, "that you probably know more than I, as Edoras is much more centrally located than any of the lands between here and Erebor. And a sorry journey it is from there, too. The Old Forest Road is once again somewhat passable, but it is a sorry road indeed, and once one reaches the lands of the Beornings, there are no roads south. The Lord Gimli said that he's travelled by boat down the Anduin, but we Dwarves are more comfortable travelling on our own feet, so we had to stump it through the Wilderland on foot. Other than passing through the Golden Wood"- Náin shuddered- "it was a decent, if lonely journey. The Gladden fields was the worst- mosquitoes EVERYWHERE! There's talk of a north-south road from Dale to Dagorlad, but that's a very long way indeed, and we'll see if it ever happens."

"But what brings Dwarves to the Riddermark in the first place?" asked Kara.

"The Glittering Caves!" said Náin. "I have not seen them, but the Lord Gimli has described them so well that I can almost see them in my mind's eye. They are to the Dwarves what flower gardens are to a gardener- but like the largest, most beautiful, well-tended garden ever. Or it will be, once we have begun our work. For now it is more like a lovely, but dishevelled, forest vale of wildflowers."

"I've never heard of them, I don't think," said Kara. "They are here in the Mark, you say?"

"Never heard of them!!" This time Náin did spew some ale in Kara's direction. "Oh! Beards and bullfrogs! I'm sorry. I didn't realize the Lord Gimli was so right in saying that the Rohirrim did not know the treasure they have! When he said that you used them for storage and a place to hide during war, I assumed he was jesting! Chisels and chests, I'm sorry about the ale..."

"It's nothing," said Kara, wiping her face on her sleave. "Don't worry about it. I still don't know where these Glittering Caves are, though."

"Oh... what was it called?" Náin absentmindedly twisted his jaw as his tongue sought something caught in his teeth while he pondered. "They're behind a big fortress... the Gondorians built it..."

"Helm's Deep?"

"Yes! That was it!"

"So what are you doing Edoras then?" asked Kara. "I assume that this Lord Gimli and the rest of your countrymen went on to Helm's Deep?"

"Yes, they did," nodded Náin. "I've been sent to Edoras by King Thorin as thanks to King Éomer for allowing us to colonize the caves. I'm a sculptor, so I'll be making statues and busts and whatnot as King Éomer wishes."

"So you'll be staying here at the Mead Hall for a while, then?" asked Kara.

"That's the plan," said Náin, poking a finger in his mouth, still trying to get at the food stuck between his teeth. Then he noticed what he was doing. "Er... excuse my bad manners. It's been a long time on the road. You don't need any real manners out there."

"Stop worrying," said Kara. "And especially don't worry about finding anywhere else to stay. If you're here to aid King Éomer, I'm sure Eodwine will be more than honoured to have you. And he should be back before TOO long to tell you so himself. Meanwhile, eat up!"

[littlemanpoet]

"We were separated," Degas said morosely. "I had hoped to find her at the Hall."

"Eodwine--" Saeryn murmured in a nervous tremor, not finishing her thought. She was looking toward the mead hall where Marenil could be seen sat outside. Linduial was not with him.

"Where have you searched, Degas?" Eodwine asked, his voice tight and low, his words as gently spoken as he could manage.

Degas looked at his feet, then slowly lifted his gaze to meet Eodwine's eyes with a reddened face. "From the shops to here. That is all." His eyes flitted nervously for another place to look before he blinked them back to Eodwine. He blurted, "I asked many on the way and no-one has seen her!"

Eodwine swallowed. This was not good. It was not like Linduial to be hidden in a fair. It was her way to promenade and draw attention. If she could not be found, something ill had happened. A weight as of lead settled inside Eodwine. What could have happened to her? he wondered. Captured? Kidnapped? Worse?

"Degas, I charge you to search the fairgrounds, every inch. Leave no possible hiding place unsearched. Garwine, go with him. Saeryn, Léof, Garstan and I will go to the mead hall and seek for news of her there. Do not return to the mead hall until you have asked any who might know. She must be found! Do I have your yes?"

Degas looked pale, but nodded. Garwine spoke his yes, and the two left at a trot. Eodwine started off at a quick pace, Saeryn tugging at the reinds of Æthel to keep up. Garstan carried Lèoðern in his arms, jostling her gently; she was crying, having sensed the bleak tenor of the exchange between Degas and Eodwine.

What will I do? Eodwine thought. If she is murdered I am no Eorl worth the name. If she is captured, I must rouse a rescue party and bring her back to safety. If she is kidnapped, I have little wealth. He shook his head as he strode to the mead hall.

When they came there, Marenil looked up.

"Marenil," Eodwine called, "has Linduial been here in the last hour?"

"Nay, lord, she has not." Marenil's face fell and creased in sudden worry. "Is she lost?"

"Aye." Eodwine apprised him of all that had happened in the last hour, forgetting in his mood the horserace just won by Léof. Nobody mentioned it.

[Anguirel]

At the Horse Fair

Manawyth stood among the rest of the tussling throng, their long, yellow locks swaying about, making him conscious of his own dark ones. He had known Dunlendings to have rinsed their hair pale, but he was not yet ready to stoop to such artifice to embrace a people still not his own.

"A fine stallion," he called out, swallowing some of his lilt. "He's seen much battle, my lords..." He tugged on the black horse's halter gently.

"I'll bet," a loud, coarse voice answered. "Probably 'gainst us, waelsman..."

Manawyth swallowed the "strawhead" that had risen to his gullet and ignored the cry. Instead, his eye roving the crowd, he caught the glance of a tall man-at-arms with a sword at his side, a freeman at least, and by the look of his garb in the service of some great patron, perhaps one of the Eorls who attended the King.

"Sir, you seem a judge of quality..." the Dunlending started. The man of Rohan returned his look evenly, brazenly, and Manawyth bit his cheek slightly.

"How much would you take for it, trader?"

"Sir thegn, if you prefer to pay in kind, I am a singer with a borrowed instrument. I'll swap this horse for a harp o' gold with the best, most supple gut."

"A singer. Your folk have always been inventive," the stranger acknowledged. "You have a deal. Keep your horse back and meet me in Goldwine Street three hours from now, and you will have what you ask for."

***

A long wait, seeming ever more estranged, Manawyth thought, as he remembered the continuing excitement of the Horse Fair not so far off. In contrast, the Goldwine-way was almost emptied. Beside him, the horse tossed its head in apparent anxiety.

"That's him!" Manawyth heard in the distance. At first he thought his acquaintance from earlier in the day had come back with his master. He was not so far wrong in this, for amid the mob of men appearing on the street the stern fighting-man could be seen, and a haughty nobleman on a white horse was not far off. But evidently they had not come alone, and there was no sign of a harp. Besides, it was not the soldier who had shouted, but the coarse man who had insulted him before. This could not be a good sign.

Manawyth automatically felt for his blade, then remembered that, to cement his position as a cleansed man of peace, he had sold it.

"There's the wolf's-head Dunlending with his stolen horse!"

That made Manawyth start, because it was so true and yet so false. The black horse had never belonged to him; but certainly never to any of these Rohirrim either.

"You lie, churl," he yelled back. "I will swear on it."

"What worth is a waels' word," a proud voice cut in, "when set against that of Cuichelm of the Mark?" It was the splendid Rider, who had slipped easily from his horse.

"Men, take hold of his arms," the nobleman cried, his voice seeming ugly when raised in anger, rather than left in languid smoothness. "Adlaf...take that horse back to my stables...we shall try this wretch after he has spent some time in suitable...quarters..."

"Stop, off, get off, you forg..." Manawyth flailed his arms impotently, but caught the errant word even now. "I mean-halt! I am under the protection of the Eorl of the Mid Emnet!"

"How quaint," Cuichelm answered laughingly. "He's one of those new men, isn't he? Perhaps he commonly feels sympathy for outlaws..."

[Celuien]

At first, Garstan thought nothing of Linduial's disappearance. Most likely, she had merely wandered off at the fair, drawn from booth to booth by the finery displayed at the many stands. She could easily have lost track of time and drifted to the far edges of the fairground. Degas would find her. He had, after all, kept good charge of Lèoðern. The two, Linduial and Lèoðern, were alike. That fact had not escaped his notice. And because Garstan could easily imagine Lèoðern drifting away in the fairgrounds, he could think the same of Linduial.

Yet how could the very noticeable Linduial have managed to go unseen through the fair? That was the only part of Degas' story that troubled him. Somone must have seen her. Why hadn't they? Of a sudden, Eodwine's worried face struck him, and the Eorl's fear spread to Garstan's mind. Linduial might be in trouble. The girl didn't seem the most able to defend herself from attack, should such a mischance have befallen her. Garstan's heart sank at the thought. Linduial, with her kindness and cheerful high-spirits, deserved better. It would, too, go hard with Degas and Eodwine to have been unable to protect her. And Lèoðern, now chattering lightly and eagerly to her brother about the fair, would lose her double. Disappointment at Linduial's absence was already working its way into her words.

But it was senseless to worry now. Garstan still hoped that she would find her way back to the Mead Hall separately from the rest of their party. Then they would all have a good laugh over dinner when they knew their fears had been for nothing. But Marenil's statement that she was not at the Hall shattered that hope.

All of their hopes now rested with Degas, still searching the fairgrounds. He would find Linduial. He had to find her.

[JennyHallu]

Queen Lothiriel of Rohan strove to be a conscientious ruler. She had loved the wild, verdant beauty of her adopted homeland from the moment Eomer had first brought her here, so many years gone, and had worked hard to gain the respect of these people. They had once been rough and strange to her, but now they were dearer to her than the tall, proud, sea-bent warriors of her youth.

But family was family.

Lothiriel had been thrilled to see young Linduial had arrived. She remembered her cousin only vaguely, as a dark-eyed, serious child, and the poised slender young woman who had presented herself at Court had come as something of a shock. The girl's wit, beauty, and natural charm, however, had won over the older and more mature woman in an instant. Linduial had also brought enough letters, luxurious gifts, and cheerful gossip of half-forgotten names and places to make Lothiriel feel like a girl again herself, as her cousin filled her in on the mundane cycle of births, deaths, and 'who-married-whom's for an hour, closeted in her chambers.

"When did this arrive?" she snapped at the guard standing before her, crinkling the paper he'd given her in nervous fingers.

"Only a few minutes agone, Lady. A child brought it to the door guard, said a man had paid him to deliver it, for your eyes only."

"And was the child detained? Have we a description?"

The man held out his arms sheepishly. "No, he'd run off before anyone realized it was a serious matter."

"I see." Lothiriel glanced down again at the paper in her hand, impotent anger rising quickly in her breast. Linduial was intelligent, sure, but young and inexperienced, still adjusting to life here. And this anonymous man... Lothiriel growled in anger. Eomer had spent the last fifteen years rebuilding his country, painstakingly repairing the ravages of war and treason. A calmer part of the Queen hoped, for the sake of this unnamed offender, that he was not of the Rohirrim, for if he were, she and her husband would be responsible for his punishment.

But there were other failures to deal with first.

~<*>~

Lord Eodwine's Eorling Mead Hall was in chaos. Lothiriel found Eodwine in the front courtyard surrounded by people, all of whom were shouting and talking and milling about. There was a young man whose face was a study in guilt and dejection, another was limping badly, the Hall itself was in ruins. A pretty young woman hung on Eodwine's arm, but he seemed oblivious to her in the face of whatever challenge he faced now.

In the midst of this confusion, Lothiriel finally discovered an outlet for her restless anger. As she strode into the courtyard with her guards struggling to keep up, the company fell silent, surprised at her appearance, waiting expectantly for her to speak. She gratified their curiousity quickly, as she was in no mood to waste time on formalities.

"Lord Eodwine of the Mark," she said clearly, her voice chill. "Where is my cousin?"

Eodwine visibly started. Whatever he had expected to hear, it was not that. "My queen--" he hesitated, knowing that this was going to go badly. "--I do not know. She left for the Fair this morning, and was separated from her party. We were gathered here to go search for her. But how did you know?"

Lothiriel's temper flared. "Don't bother searching for her," she snapped thrusting the letter she held at the confused man. "You won't find her easily."

Eodwine took the paper and read it through quickly, then, with a pale glance at his queen, over again more slowly, before handing it to the young woman at his side, dropping her arm and standing alone, suddenly bone-tired. The woman glanced at her Lord, the queen, and briefly at the distraught young man near her, and as the silence continued expectantly, read the letter aloud with a nervous cough.

"Queen Lothiriel of Rohan,

"Your lovely cousin Lady Linduial of Dol Amroth has fallen expectantly into my care. The expense of her transportation and care are such that I shall require a thousand pounds of gold or I am afraid her safe return shall prove outside both my means and my interest. You shall have three weeks' time before I contact you again, and I will expect payment."

"It's not signed..." the young woman faltered lamely, eyes wide with worry.

"It didn't have to be," returned the Queen, opening her palm with a glimmer of gold to show the slim signet ring Linduial wore on all occasions. She closed her hand tightly around it once more, and returned her attention to Eodwine. "You are sworn to her protection, Eorl."

The man nodded in acknowledgement. "I am."

"One of my men shall be commanding a party to find and rescue her. I shall expect you to join them."

"I will."

"It will also fall to you to inform her father of what has happened. I would suggest you not to delay. My uncle can be a harsh man when his family is threatened."

Eodwine nodded again, and Lothiriel reached out in sudden kindness, gripping his arm firmly as she spoke quietly, for his ears only. "I supported you before my Lord, Eodwine of the Mark, and I do not regret my decision. I hope you do not come to hate me for it. I still see in you what I saw before. Don't be discouraged!"

She straightened and cast a look over the disorganized rubble that had once been the famed White Horse Inn. Where the hearth had been, a new one was rising, and despite her fear for Linduial she smiled to see it. "Your hall shall be great when you have built it, Eodwine," she said. "And your house also.

"My commander shall speak to you of your plans." At a gesture, the leader of her guard stood forth, and she gave him quick instructions to take only volunteers from the eored guarding Meduseld before gathering the remainder of her guard around her and returning to her home.

[Taralphiel]

Lys had spent his day in quiet rest, slowly wandering in and out of sleep, and in relative comfort. He had been provided with a warm and satisfying lunch after the healer Hrethel had left, and the occasional sharp pang of pain from his ankle or arm were his only complaints. He did not voice them, but lay quietly, listening to the bustle outside of the door.

It seemed to him that as the day wore on, a great excitement took the Hall. Many people rushed in, hushed and anxious voices too far away to tell the subject. Lys wondered if it was him they were speaking of, but shook it out of his mind.

'They would not worry so much about you' he chided himself inwardly. 'You're just a broken little boy. You aren't going anywhere for a while, so all debts will be paid...somehow...'

As the day wore steadily on, the movements in the Hall began to fade. Lys heard one particular clang, like tools being dropped hastily, but they were soon hushed. Lys looked slowly about his room, enjoying the last warmth of the afternoon. But in his mind, the young boy could not shake off his sore predicament. No home, no money, no memory.

This last fact caused him to grimace. He could have a family somewhere. They could be searching for him, worrying for his safety. Maybe others were looking for him, out to finsih the work they started. Lys shut his eyes, trying to clean such thoughts from his head, and reassure himself that he was safe.

It was then he heard slow footsteps enter the room. His head was turned from the figure, and slowly he looked over to see. Despite the warmth and comfort of the room, the young boy was quietly terrified. He imagined a dark figure with dagger in hand ready to still his small life. He looked up slowly, trying to mask his fear.

Lys' eyes softened as he saw the man looking over him. His look was warm and gentle. He stood and smiled almost nervously at the bandaged boy. In silence for a moment, Lys shifted a little and wondered what to say. 'This must be the man who owns this Hall.Lord Eodwine...' he thought.

"Well, lad, how do you feel?"

Lys looked a little startled when the man finally spoke. Pausing a moment, his mouth opened and about to speak, Lys pondered how he should word his thanks.

"I am doing much better Lord Eodwine, a--"

A hearty chuckle escaped the tall mans mouth before Lys could word his 'and I am very greateful'. Lys looked up at him with a puzzled expression.

"You give me a title higher than I have earned" he said, before taking a seat in his chair.

"My name is Thornden, and I am Steward to Lord Eodwine. But I am flattered you think me worthy of such a position!"

Lys smiled a little, and muttered an apology, slowly sinking into the mattress in embarassment. As he did, he noticed Thornden slowly look over his splinted arm.

"The Healer has done quite a good job. When I carried you in this morning, I knew not how bad your wounds were. I am glad you are recovering quickly, young...?" Thornden looked at him carefully, enquiring his name.

Lys almost did not know what to say. He had found his rescuer, to whom he owed a debt he could not fathom to repay.

"Lys." he said while smiling "My name is Lys, and I am truly very grateful to you, Thornden. Had you not found me, I do not know where I would have ended up..."

Thornden touched his shoulder comfortingly "No matter now, Lys. You shall be up in time, and I am sure your family will wish to know of you..."

Lys turned from him at the word 'family'. His state was always in the back of his mind, but bringing his loss of memory out into talk made him feel very small. Thornden's brow creased at his actions.

"I am deeply sorry, Lys. You have no family...?" he prodded gently. Lys did not blame him for his curiosity, but he did not wish to share his troubled.

"Better to say I have no memory of them. Or of anything before this morning." he said, quickly and bitterly, hoping the man would not ask him more. Thornden sat back, taking his hand off Lys' shoulder.

"That is quite a burden..." he managed to say at last. "But not one that you will have forever, I am sure. For now, it is best to rest and recover. I will help how I am able, to find what you've lost."

Lys looked up at the man, his bitterness fading, and a small pang of guilt for speaking so foolishly.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to speak in anger. I am most thankful for your help, Sir Thornden..."

Thornden laughed again. "No need for Sir's and Lord's on me, Lys. It is simply Thornden, and I am very glad to see you'll recover. For now, rest. I shall see you in the morning."

Lys smiled. "Thank you Thornden. Good Night."

Thornden then turned, and slowly eased the door closed, leaving Lys in the warm dark of his room. He fell again into sleep, smiling at the thought of his new found friend and rescuer.

[Ithaeliel]

As the crowd dissipated, Ithaeliel caught snatches of anxious conversation. This one mentioned the Queen of Rohan, that one whispered about a girl at the horse fair, and the word "kidnapped" slipped from the mouth of a worried woman as she passed by. The tall girl gave a slight gasp when she heard that, her green eyes wide in astonishment. "What has happened here of late?!" she wondered aloud. As her gaze drifted around the street, she eyed a pile of rubble where a familiar place had once been. "Oh... oh, dear, the hall! I'd so been looking forward to it!" She turned to a man who stood nearby with a panicked look on her porcelain face. "Do you know what is going on here? What's happened to the Eorling Mead Hall?"

"'Tis only being renovated," a man told her. "No cause for concern, maiden. But... poor Lady Linduial..."
"Linduial?!" Ithaeliel cried. "The Queen's cousin? Is she the one who's been-"

"-abducted," the man finished. "A rescue party is to be organized. Surely you won't help?"

Ithaeliel would have willingly complied, but she had traveled from far away without a mount of any kind, and the moment this man issued his offer she became painfully aware of the exhaustion in her body and the brittle feeling in her bones.

"Sir, I wish I could, however I'm very tired and do not think I could travel any further. I feel as though I were an old woman at the moment," she joked dryly.

The man returned her jest with a chuckle and a dry smile of his own. "Well, I hope you find a place to rest your weary self, as it seems your planned venue of respite is in ruins."

Ithaeliel laughed a little and shook his hand with more enthusiasm than she might have expected of herself. "I am Ithaeliel of Minas Tirith."

"Pleased to meet you," said the man as he bowed. "I am Eorl. Good luck to you in Edoras, and I hope you have a pleasant stay."

"My thanks to you, Eorl," nodded Ithaeliel before walking uncertainly toward the mead hall. Perhaps someone would tell her what to do...