Eorling Mead Hall - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

littlemanpoet · 08-02-2006, 05:33 PM

Nogrod's post

Stigend had been busy the days that followed. The first days passed at the planning board; one of the tables of the Hall had to serve as one. Stigend and Garstan drew and redrew, discussed and sat in silence. They talked with Frodides and Kara several times a day and every now and then they consulted Eodwine, and Saeryn.

Stigend had made an inventory on the building materials on the second day, making himself familiar with the Mead Hall’s supplies and tools at the same time. There was enough timber to start building, but a lot more was needed. The saws seemed well enough, but the chip axes and framework-drills were rusty and dull. Stigend had his own with him and could start by himself, and the tools of the Hall could be made usable with some care. On the third day they ordered timber and other things needed.

Within a week they had started the actual work, beginning with the kitchen oven and the fireplace. Garstan had designed the oven and the fireplace with the help of Frodides and Kara, and Stigend had designed a firewall to surround them; and came up with a solution of how it should be attached to the wooden wall. Somewhat familiar with masonry and bricklayer’s work, Stigend needed a little guidance from Garstan every now and then.

It was during these days that he became familiar with Náin. He hadn’t met a dwarf in his life before. It was a place of personal reflection and discovery that greatly humiliated Stigend. From the beginning he had been prejudiced towards the dwarf, going over in his mind with all the generalisations people had about dwarves and trying to see them in Náin. It took one visit of a travelling stranger that had given Modtryth a bad look, complaining about the Dunlending rabble around him in a decent Hall, to make Stigend realise his own prejudices.

He had been so happy with this new place whose dwellers had taken Modtryth and Cnebba as themselves, that he had had no need to keep an eye on how others thought of his family. But that way he had also forgotten to keep an eye on his own mind. Now he realised he had begun to think like the people he had despised all his life. Stigend was ashamed. Luckily he hadn’t made any nasty remarks or behaved badly towards Náin. But they had been only fellows at work. There had been nothing else.

After the incident he started looking at the dwarf with open eyes and was astonished with what he saw when he was not bringing all his prejudices along. Náin seemed flexible and friendly enough, but his skills with stone were just incredible. Even though this seemed not to be his real trade – he had heard he was more of an artist – he helped them every now and then and proved to be a real help indeed, able to do many of the things Garstan did. And the grace of the things he had touched! Náin seemed to be able to shape stone into any form he willed, like it was clay.

After the first week they started to have conversations during the work and at the pauses when Náin was around. Stigend appreciated the dwarf and he seemed not to think bad about him either. Even Stigend’s mediocre skills in masonry started to get better day by day.

On the third week the timber arrived and Stigend had to change his focus. Garstan would still have work to do with the fireplace now that the oven and firewall were finished, but the hewing of the logs, and especially preparing the framework, required an experienced hand; so he stuck to the logs by himself. As he had helped Garstan with the easier tasks, Garstan could help him when the time came. And anyhow, as they would start to hoist the logs to their places they would need lots of strong arms to help them.

That was a happy time. There was work that gave him satisfaction and he had been getting on very well with Garstan whom he considered now his friend. And his family was accepted! Stigend and Modtryth were enjoying their new appointments to the fullest. And what warmed Stigend the most was to see Cnebba’s shining eyes every evening when he made minute descriptions of the games and plays he had had with Lèoðern and Garmund.

And Cnebba kept speaking about Lèoðern all the time. Stigend had thought of it a couple of times. Indeed he had noticed a little uncomfortableness in Garmund’s expressions one or two times when he had seen all the three together, but he was too busy with his work to mind much.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Thinlómien's post

Modtryth was helping the cooks with unloading the newly bought random household goods - such as butter, salt, syrup, honey and herbs, carrying them to the kitchen and putting them to their right places. From the corner of her eye she could see her son running around the yard with his friends.

He looked very happy. He’s probably happier here than any place we’ve been in after Field Marshal Laudwine’s house, Modtryth thought, and that was many years ago. She knew the happiness wouldn’t last for ever – nothing ever did – but she hoped that it wouldn’t end too soon. Cnebba turned and saw his mother. This time, she saw, he was even smiling at her. And so was life.

Modtryth was having a job she liked. She had some kind of a place of trust – achieved only after a short discussion. Furthermore she was doing well in it, at least in her own opinion. And because the Lady Saeryn had never criticised her (except the one shameful time when she bought wrong sort of flour) and sometimes she had praised her for a work well done, she thought that she couldn’t be doing very badly in her eyes either.

Frodides and Kara discussed the evening meal as they worked. Nowadays they were so used to Modtryth that they didn’t mind her being present while they planned, and knew she wouldn’t mind them talking about their own business. Modtryth actually thought it was quite nice to listen their homely everyday talk about the ingredients of the stew.

Sometimes Frodides irritated Modtryth. She had basically interrogated Modtryth about the tiniest details of her life until she had let her be and accepted her as a part of the household. Older women were like that everywhere, and Frodides had a good heart, so Modtryth didn’t have problems with getting along with her. Kara, she thought, was a nice girl, friendly and good company. It would have been difficult not to like her.

“I’ll go and find the children. I know my Cnebba well enough to know that if he doesn’t have food before the meal, he’ll get impossible. I wouldn’t be surpised if that was so with Lèoðern and Garmund as well”, Modtryth said after they were done with all the organising.

"Strange that they haven't yet come looking for food, they must be so caught up in their games they've clear forgotten about eating."

Modtryth smiled. “I’ll go and get them then.” Even before she had stepped out of the kitchen, she heard the two cooks start discussing about the stew again.

Feanor of the Peredhil · 08-02-2006, 10:15 PM

Saeryn sat down in the courtyard, taking a short break from her errands, and she let herself relax enough to enjoy the warm sun and the mouth-watering scent of baking bread. She needed still to speak with Modtryth, but it was a matter of no hurry. Trystan had gained a little weight, Saeryn liked to hope, in his stay, but he was still in need of new clothing; Saeryn hoped that, with Modtryth's tactful and easy-going help, she could nudge the young man into the direction of looking more upstanding and less like a rapscallion. She'd grown used to his presence and his roguish chivalry, and she smiled to see it, and frowned to see Eodwine's obvious distaste for the theatrics. She thought of Degas now, whenever she thought of Eodwine.

She closed her eyes, tilting her face toward the sun, a daisy sprouting, seeking the light. She wanted Degas to come back. She'd been unable to find him that day with Nain, a month ago already. He'd slipped into her room late that night and awoken her.

"Saera, I'm going to leave."

"What?"

"Saer," he repeated, pushing her hair away from her eyes, sitting next to her on her bed. "Saer, I cannot stay here."

"Of course you can, Degas." She sat up, scooting back, wrapping her arms around her knees and smoothing her nightdress. She was sleepy; he wasn't making sense. Why did he always choose the middle of the night? It was the same when they were children; always so late. "You are my guest. You are my brother. Of course you can stay here."

"Saera, what do I do? I do not earn my keep here, and Eodwine will not accept a coin in recompense for my stay because I am your brother. Even if he would, I have very little to give to him. The days grow long, Saer, when there is no work to fill them."

She sighed and looked at him, breathing out through her nose. "You told her you would wait."

He swallowed hard. "I know."

"Where will you go?"

"Home. Our childhood home." he clarified. "Fenrir and I have words to exchange... our last visit was less than friendly, if you remember the break in my nose."

Saeryn ran a finger along the bridge of it, noting where Bethberry had tended to the disconcerting shift of flesh. "Why return?"

"Because it is my home. Because what do I have, if I have no roots? I study in Minas Tirith and I play for every man woman and child between the cold streets and King Elessar's courts, and I live as a guest in his halls. Because I am a guest. I stay in Eodwine's Hall as a guest as well, with no work to qualify me. What do I have here, Saeri?"

"You have me." He took her hand.

"You have Eodwine."

"He has the memory of his wife. You have Linduial."

"She has her duty. She has her life. You have the young scapegrace Trystan to brush your hand with his lips as you giggle."

"Degas..."

"Do you think I did not see it? Do you hold Eodwine's past against him? No answer... Saeri, he is a man. He did not spring into existence the day that you met him in Bethberry's Inn. Did it hurt to remember it?"

"Degas... yes. Yes, brother, it hurt. I'd denied myself thoughts, but still I'd wondered at what it would be. He is my friend, Degas, but I began to wonder if it could be more, and what would happen if there was more, and whose nod would I seek should he care to look my way, and I let myself wonder as I worked, because what else had I to think of except the place I once called home, the place that I can't return to, or the dreams of our parents?"

"You dream of them?"

"Every night, Degas. They call me. And Caeli too, since I learned... There are paths and it is dusk, and the grass is trampled and there are birds crying intrusion, and their voices say to follow, and I wake in a sweat and I want to cry. Degas, since I learned, I have not wept for our family. I cannot find the tears. I would rather not dwell on the past... so I let myself wonder lazily about the future."

"And the past found you."

"Yes."

"My past is my future. Yours is as well, though you do not want it to be. I have to go home, Saeryn. What am I in this world? A younger son of a lesser known house. Our parents were loved by all. Saeryn, King Eomer knew our father, and loved him. Without Mother and Father, though, Saer, what do I have? I have that which I claim from Fenrir. But to claim my birthright, whatever it might be, I cannot run away. I cannot spend my days lazily writing, locked in my room, or flirting with tavern wenches."

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

"But..."

"I know, Saer."

"It has been four years."

He cupped her cheek. "You do not want me here. I would lessen the spirit of the day. It does not need me."

"But I do..."

"Our birthday remains ours, even if we are apart."

"We haven't celebrated our birthday together--"

"Not since before I left."

"You cannot leave after? Or come back more quickly than you will?"

He hung his head and did not answer.

"Lady Saeryn?" She startled a little, her attention removed from that night, and sought for the voice in the yard. It was Modtryth.

"Yes, Modtryth?"

"Have you seen the children? The time is nearing for lunch and they are sure to be hungry."

"I cannot say that I have, though I meant to speak with you. May I have a word as we look? I would ask a favor, if you would entertain me the question. What think you of our Trystan?"

08-02-2006, 05:33 PM	#1
littlemanpoet Itinerant Songster Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: The Edge of Faerie Posts: 7,066	May 22, Fourth Age Year 15 Nogrod's post Stigend had been busy the days that followed. The first days passed at the planning board; one of the tables of the Hall had to serve as one. Stigend and Garstan drew and redrew, discussed and sat in silence. They talked with Frodides and Kara several times a day and every now and then they consulted Eodwine, and Saeryn. Stigend had made an inventory on the building materials on the second day, making himself familiar with the Mead Hall’s supplies and tools at the same time. There was enough timber to start building, but a lot more was needed. The saws seemed well enough, but the chip axes and framework-drills were rusty and dull. Stigend had his own with him and could start by himself, and the tools of the Hall could be made usable with some care. On the third day they ordered timber and other things needed. Within a week they had started the actual work, beginning with the kitchen oven and the fireplace. Garstan had designed the oven and the fireplace with the help of Frodides and Kara, and Stigend had designed a firewall to surround them; and came up with a solution of how it should be attached to the wooden wall. Somewhat familiar with masonry and bricklayer’s work, Stigend needed a little guidance from Garstan every now and then. It was during these days that he became familiar with Náin. He hadn’t met a dwarf in his life before. It was a place of personal reflection and discovery that greatly humiliated Stigend. From the beginning he had been prejudiced towards the dwarf, going over in his mind with all the generalisations people had about dwarves and trying to see them in Náin. It took one visit of a travelling stranger that had given Modtryth a bad look, complaining about the Dunlending rabble around him in a decent Hall, to make Stigend realise his own prejudices. He had been so happy with this new place whose dwellers had taken Modtryth and Cnebba as themselves, that he had had no need to keep an eye on how others thought of his family. But that way he had also forgotten to keep an eye on his own mind. Now he realised he had begun to think like the people he had despised all his life. Stigend was ashamed. Luckily he hadn’t made any nasty remarks or behaved badly towards Náin. But they had been only fellows at work. There had been nothing else. After the incident he started looking at the dwarf with open eyes and was astonished with what he saw when he was not bringing all his prejudices along. Náin seemed flexible and friendly enough, but his skills with stone were just incredible. Even though this seemed not to be his real trade – he had heard he was more of an artist – he helped them every now and then and proved to be a real help indeed, able to do many of the things Garstan did. And the grace of the things he had touched! Náin seemed to be able to shape stone into any form he willed, like it was clay. After the first week they started to have conversations during the work and at the pauses when Náin was around. Stigend appreciated the dwarf and he seemed not to think bad about him either. Even Stigend’s mediocre skills in masonry started to get better day by day. On the third week the timber arrived and Stigend had to change his focus. Garstan would still have work to do with the fireplace now that the oven and firewall were finished, but the hewing of the logs, and especially preparing the framework, required an experienced hand; so he stuck to the logs by himself. As he had helped Garstan with the easier tasks, Garstan could help him when the time came. And anyhow, as they would start to hoist the logs to their places they would need lots of strong arms to help them. That was a happy time. There was work that gave him satisfaction and he had been getting on very well with Garstan whom he considered now his friend. And his family was accepted! Stigend and Modtryth were enjoying their new appointments to the fullest. And what warmed Stigend the most was to see Cnebba’s shining eyes every evening when he made minute descriptions of the games and plays he had had with Lèoðern and Garmund. And Cnebba kept speaking about Lèoðern all the time. Stigend had thought of it a couple of times. Indeed he had noticed a little uncomfortableness in Garmund’s expressions one or two times when he had seen all the three together, but he was too busy with his work to mind much. -------------------------------------------------------------- Thinlómien's post Modtryth was helping the cooks with unloading the newly bought random household goods - such as butter, salt, syrup, honey and herbs, carrying them to the kitchen and putting them to their right places. From the corner of her eye she could see her son running around the yard with his friends. He looked very happy. He’s probably happier here than any place we’ve been in after Field Marshal Laudwine’s house, Modtryth thought, and that was many years ago. She knew the happiness wouldn’t last for ever – nothing ever did – but she hoped that it wouldn’t end too soon. Cnebba turned and saw his mother. This time, she saw, he was even smiling at her. And so was life. Modtryth was having a job she liked. She had some kind of a place of trust – achieved only after a short discussion. Furthermore she was doing well in it, at least in her own opinion. And because the Lady Saeryn had never criticised her (except the one shameful time when she bought wrong sort of flour) and sometimes she had praised her for a work well done, she thought that she couldn’t be doing very badly in her eyes either. Frodides and Kara discussed the evening meal as they worked. Nowadays they were so used to Modtryth that they didn’t mind her being present while they planned, and knew she wouldn’t mind them talking about their own business. Modtryth actually thought it was quite nice to listen their homely everyday talk about the ingredients of the stew. Sometimes Frodides irritated Modtryth. She had basically interrogated Modtryth about the tiniest details of her life until she had let her be and accepted her as a part of the household. Older women were like that everywhere, and Frodides had a good heart, so Modtryth didn’t have problems with getting along with her. Kara, she thought, was a nice girl, friendly and good company. It would have been difficult not to like her. “I’ll go and find the children. I know my Cnebba well enough to know that if he doesn’t have food before the meal, he’ll get impossible. I wouldn’t be surpised if that was so with Lèoðern and Garmund as well”, Modtryth said after they were done with all the organising. "Strange that they haven't yet come looking for food, they must be so caught up in their games they've clear forgotten about eating." Modtryth smiled. “I’ll go and get them then.” Even before she had stepped out of the kitchen, she heard the two cooks start discussing about the stew again. Last edited by littlemanpoet; 08-02-2006 at 05:49 PM.

08-02-2006, 10:15 PM	#2
Feanor of the Peredhil La Belle Dame sans Merci Join Date: Feb 2003 Location: perpetual uncertainty Posts: 5,517	Saeryn sat down in the courtyard, taking a short break from her errands, and she let herself relax enough to enjoy the warm sun and the mouth-watering scent of baking bread. She needed still to speak with Modtryth, but it was a matter of no hurry. Trystan had gained a little weight, Saeryn liked to hope, in his stay, but he was still in need of new clothing; Saeryn hoped that, with Modtryth's tactful and easy-going help, she could nudge the young man into the direction of looking more upstanding and less like a rapscallion. She'd grown used to his presence and his roguish chivalry, and she smiled to see it, and frowned to see Eodwine's obvious distaste for the theatrics. She thought of Degas now, whenever she thought of Eodwine. She closed her eyes, tilting her face toward the sun, a daisy sprouting, seeking the light. She wanted Degas to come back. She'd been unable to find him that day with Nain, a month ago already. He'd slipped into her room late that night and awoken her. "Saera, I'm going to leave." "What?" "Saer," he repeated, pushing her hair away from her eyes, sitting next to her on her bed. "Saer, I cannot stay here." "Of course you can, Degas." She sat up, scooting back, wrapping her arms around her knees and smoothing her nightdress. She was sleepy; he wasn't making sense. Why did he always choose the middle of the night? It was the same when they were children; always so late. "You are my guest. You are my brother. Of course you can stay here." "Saera, what do I do? I do not earn my keep here, and Eodwine will not accept a coin in recompense for my stay because I am your brother. Even if he would, I have very little to give to him. The days grow long, Saer, when there is no work to fill them." She sighed and looked at him, breathing out through her nose. "You told her you would wait." He swallowed hard. "I know." "Where will you go?" "Home. Our childhood home." he clarified. "Fenrir and I have words to exchange... our last visit was less than friendly, if you remember the break in my nose." Saeryn ran a finger along the bridge of it, noting where Bethberry had tended to the disconcerting shift of flesh. "Why return?" "Because it is my home. Because what do I have, if I have no roots? I study in Minas Tirith and I play for every man woman and child between the cold streets and King Elessar's courts, and I live as a guest in his halls. Because I am a guest. I stay in Eodwine's Hall as a guest as well, with no work to qualify me. What do I have here, Saeri?" "You have me." He took her hand. "You have Eodwine." "He has the memory of his wife. You have Linduial." "She has her duty. She has her life. You have the young scapegrace Trystan to brush your hand with his lips as you giggle." "Degas..." "Do you think I did not see it? Do you hold Eodwine's past against him? No answer... Saeri, he is a man. He did not spring into existence the day that you met him in Bethberry's Inn. Did it hurt to remember it?" "Degas... yes. Yes, brother, it hurt. I'd denied myself thoughts, but still I'd wondered at what it would be. He is my friend, Degas, but I began to wonder if it could be more, and what would happen if there was more, and whose nod would I seek should he care to look my way, and I let myself wonder as I worked, because what else had I to think of except the place I once called home, the place that I can't return to, or the dreams of our parents?" "You dream of them?" "Every night, Degas. They call me. And Caeli too, since I learned... There are paths and it is dusk, and the grass is trampled and there are birds crying intrusion, and their voices say to follow, and I wake in a sweat and I want to cry. Degas, since I learned, I have not wept for our family. I cannot find the tears. I would rather not dwell on the past... so I let myself wonder lazily about the future." "And the past found you." "Yes." "My past is my future. Yours is as well, though you do not want it to be. I have to go home, Saeryn. What am I in this world? A younger son of a lesser known house. Our parents were loved by all. Saeryn, King Eomer knew our father, and loved him. Without Mother and Father, though, Saer, what do I have? I have that which I claim from Fenrir. But to claim my birthright, whatever it might be, I cannot run away. I cannot spend my days lazily writing, locked in my room, or flirting with tavern wenches." "When?" "Tomorrow." "But..." "I know, Saer." "It has been four years." He cupped her cheek. "You do not want me here. I would lessen the spirit of the day. It does not need me." "But I do..." "Our birthday remains ours, even if we are apart." "We haven't celebrated our birthday together--" "Not since before I left." "You cannot leave after? Or come back more quickly than you will?" He hung his head and did not answer. "Lady Saeryn?" She startled a little, her attention removed from that night, and sought for the voice in the yard. It was Modtryth. "Yes, Modtryth?" "Have you seen the children? The time is nearing for lunch and they are sure to be hungry." "I cannot say that I have, though I meant to speak with you. May I have a word as we look? I would ask a favor, if you would entertain me the question. What think you of our Trystan?" Last edited by Feanor of the Peredhil; 08-03-2006 at 01:48 PM.