Scarburg Meadhall

[Folwren]

In the time that it took Laerdil to produce his herb and break it in the water, Saeryn, in the kitchen, had gathered together a clean cloth and some string to give to Léof to make a sort of bandage. She handed it to him and sent the two boys off. She would have followed, but she knew that Ledwyn was out there with her son already and she could handle whatever needed to be done.

Javan and Léof took the cloth back out to the hall and hurried towards the boy and his mother. As they turned the corner and came in sight of the fireplace again, they stopped short. The elf was kneeling close to Theolain and his mother and he was smiling down at the child as the boy lifted his hand towards him.

Javan and Léof approached slowly. “We brought something for his hand, if you still need it,” Javan said.

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn did not stop her son from his game; it would do no harm, and he would sit quietly for a time. She wondered at the quickness of Theolain's trust. Barely few minutes passed since he has met the Elf, and already he behaves like he would with a long-time neighbour. More often than not his reaction to strangers was like with the Lady Saeryn. But this time...

“We brought something for his hand, if you still need it,” a familiar voice said, bringing Ledwyn out of her thoughts. Looking around, she saw that it was Javan who spoke. Léof stood next to him, holding some bandages. Ledwyn stood up softly, not to disturb Theolain from his game.

"I thank you," she said. "I shall put the bandage on when it is time to take his hand out of the water." Seeing that Theolain was not meaning to run away any time soon, she added quietly, "This is not the first time he burns himself. I do not know what to do to make him learn. Whatever he does, he ends up hurting himself." She looked at her son with pity, mixed with exasperation. How many more times until he thinks before he does?

[littlemanpoet]

Laerdil took the leaf from the boy's hand and crushed it, then dropped it in the water. "Is that better?" he asked.

Before the boy could respond, the report of many feet could be heard coming down the stairs. The men and women of the hall rose. Eodwine did as well, and Laerdil followed their example.

A man of noble bearing appeared from out of the staircase, his lady's hand in the crook of his elbow, preceded and followed by two men at arms, a lady in waiting following them all. The man stopped and nodded, and the crowd settle back into their seats. Eodwine approached the man.

“Lord Athanar and Lady Wynflaed, good morning. We have a most singular guest this morning." Eodwine gestured to the Elf, and the lord and lady looked his way.

Laerdil allowed a slight bow and a nod of his head. “Good morning lord and lady of the Rohirrim. I am Laerdil, of Lothlorien. Your home is warm and welcoming.”

[littlemanpoet]

Athanar's nod matched that of the Elf.

"In the name of the Eorlingas I welcome you, Laerdil. Have you been given food at our board?"

"Aye, I have."

"Good. I would be honored if you would sit with the Lady and me as we break our fast, accompanied of course," Athanar added with a nod, "by Eodwine."

"I am willing," Laerdil said. Though his words were few, his mien was warm; but his eyes held years beyond their reckoning.

Athanar asked for the Elf's story and was told it as they were served and ate their meal.

"How do you find us, Laerdil?" he asked at length.

The Elf considered. "Very young. Often rash. In truth, you seem to me a wild plant in the field that grows quickly in the spring and flourishes for a time, and dies before it has had time to do more than spread its seed for the next spring. No wonder you are rash."

Athanar laughed. "If that is what you see, then I suppose that I see you as a tree with legs, with more time than one can know what to do with. Do you not grow bored or weary?"

"Indeed, I have grown weary of Middle Earth." The Elf looked more tired in that moment than he had as of yet. "It is time for me to pass into the west soon. If we leave Middle Earth to such as you, I guess that there is hope of a kind." He smiled kindly despite his dim praise.

[Nogrod]

The last evening, the migraine had hit Athanar exactly when Saeryn brought Scyrr to the hall. Why is this cursed illness picking it's moments like this? Athanar swore as he quietly backstepped away from his table while all the eyes were nailed on the center of this new row. As soon as he got to the stairs he had to twist down and with a violent shook he fell down. He was gaping for air and it felt like his head was exploding with pain. Spirits forbid! he thought holding the wail inside.

Wynflaed was there as soon as he fell down and helped him into their corners. Athanar breathed slowly and heavily just to vent off the pain by blowing air out from his lungs in a steady rhythm, for to some odd reason it felt it helped a little under the crushing pain. After aiding him to his bed and laying some cold wet cloths to his forehead Wynflaed went back to the hall to see what was going on - and that was how Athanar knew this morning what he knew - of the last evening.

Now he eyed the elf and lord Eodwine in turn, still amused by the elf's words and eyeing Eodwine with interest to learn what he thought of the last night's incident - or what had happened for real in the first place.

It was not hard for him to figure Scyrr being the centerpiece of a brawl. He was a fiery and a rash man, a proud harsh-tongued man with tendency to drink too much. But on the other side of the scales there was his loyalty, skills and bravery. Lord Athanar would trust his life in Scyrr's hand any day - like his father would have trusted his life with Scyrr's father's hands. It was not easy to punish him even if that was what he had to do. Especially in a situation where he had been almost killed by those mutinuos rebels who called themselves loyal to lord Eodwine. So he understood too well how Scyrr's antipathies might run against Eodwine... but mocking a lord, or a lady, was an act which should not go unpunished. That was clear above the obvious and he knew it.

Suddenly he got an idea and addressed Laerdil and Eodwine.

"Now please my lords..." he looked hesitantly to Laerdil to see if it was okay to him to address him that way and as the elf didn't seem to bother he went on.

"Let me ask you a speculative question, as to how you would decide on a matter for a lord. I mean you elves are called the fair and wise folks and you lord Eodwine are renowned for your your wise decisions..." He eyed the two and saw Eodwine was anticipating the exact subject of his question.

"So let's say there is a servant, not a nice person, but rather a harsh soldier of a line that served your father already and to whom you would trust your life at any moment because of his reliability and skills. But then some people who said they were loyal to another lord almost killed him for serving you, and he would then later make a brawl with that lord and insult him and his wife after having too much mead. It is clear he has to be punished for offending a lord and a lady, but how severe do you see his crime?"

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn stood aside as the lords and the Elf exchanged greetings. She considered approaching Lord Athanar at that moment, since he still did not know about her presence in the Hall and her intention to stay there. Really, she did not have his leave to be there at all. But instead of coming forth she shied away from the lords, intimidated by their stature and distinction, and by the time she composed and prepared herself the moment had passed. She did not want to disrupt their conversation. She would have to speak to Lord Athanar later.

With these thoughts in her mind, she turned to Theolain with the intention of bandaging up his hand, judging that it had sat in the water for enough time. She started wrapping the clean linen around the wrist and over the thumb, covering the palm of Theolain's hand in an adept fashion, thanking in her thoughts the two boys that brought her the cloth. The burn was faring well; it barely needed bandaging...

Ledwyn's head turned sharply towards the Elf. Her lips moved, tracing silent words, and her eyes widened. Then, as abruptly as she stopped wrapping the linen, she started undoing it, much to Theolain's chargin. He could not wait for Mother to stop fussing over him so that he could go exploring.

Ledwyn held her breath as she undid the last loop. There it was, before her sight. Or were her eyes playing tricks on her? She brushed a finger against the smooth pale skil of her son's palm. He did not flinch at her touch. She did not see or feel any sign of a burn. It had to be real. But it could not be. It could not be.

Ledwyn looked again in the direction of the Elf. Engrossed in a conversation, he did not seem to notice her disturbed and frightened gaze. She could not puzzle out how else Theolain's hand could heal so quickly. Mere minutes ago it was red, and rough to the touch, and it looked as though blisters were about to form. Now it was as if the whole incident did not happen. This could not be.

In an attempt to overcome the confusion and disarray of her thoughts and trying not to panic, Ledwyn started wrapping the linen cloth around Theolain's hand again. The tyke was longing to go play somewhere out of her sight and control, ostensibly unaware of his mother's dread and anxiety. And to completely disappoint him, she did not let him run off but led him to the kitchen. The wenches all gave their sympathies and inquired about the burn. Ledwyn made short offhand replies, unconscious of what she was saying. Despite her best efforts to look cheerful and unconcerned, she had the feeling none in the room was truly convinced. She tried to busy herself with washing some dirty dishes, and the women, taking the hint, did not question her further, though she could almost feel the question still hanging in the air. Ledwyn prayed that she would not be pressed to answer, for, indeed, she herlsef did not fully know how to explain her story.

[littlemanpoet]

Laerdil heard Lord Athanar's question to the word. He also, carefully, observed the thoughts that shimmered across the surface of his mind. There he sensed that this lord held himself deeply obliged to the underling because of the loyalty of this man's forebears.

Laerdil also read the discomfort in Eodwine at this line of questioning, for the man had been lord here in Scarburg until he had fallen ill and was considered doomed to die from it; and now here he was, lord no longer, determined to do his duty by Lord Athanar to the best of his ability, and yet there was in this Eodwine a chagrin of which he himself was not even aware, that he should be lord rather than Athanar. It was something he did not allow himself to think, but it lay deep within nonetheless.

To complicate matters further, Athanar ruled in a more decisive, straightforward fashion whereas Eodwine led with a lighter hand and by personal touch; and he had grown up a farmer rather than a lord and so believed that Athanar had the greater claim to lordship. A most complicated matter. And here, Laerdil had thought such niceties were only to be found among the Eldar.

He pitied them their short lives and high passions.

"The man of whom you speak is valued," Laerdil began, "but disloyalty to a lord's right hand man is disloyalty to the lord. It does not matter how recently he came to be a right hand man. The punishment should teach the servant through deed the evil of his wrong and the worth of the right. Then he will be a better and yet more loyal liege man, to both lord and right hand man."

Even as Laerdil was speaking these words, he felt a mind focused upon him, from near the hearth, with fear. Now this mind came near and passed him by, and left the Hall, going into the kitchen. It was the woman and the boy with the burnt hand. He sighed. It would have to be dealt with later, if at all.