Hard Winters RPG

[Firefoot]

Going to Edoras! Cerwyn still could not believe her luck, though it had been a full two days since her father had given her permission. Clothes and supplies were strewn everywhere, none of them in her pack: she could not decide what to bring. Probably she did not need to bring so many things, but she had never been more than a few leagues from home before and did not know how to pack.

Perhaps Father really was changing, she mused. It had taken long enough – more than half her life, since mother had died. She did not remember well how it had been before then. Léof had and he used to talk to her about it. Even her memories of his stories had started to fade, though: it had been five years since he’d left. At first, she’d been terribly lonely without him. They had been each other’s greatest ally and friend. Now, she’d grown accustomed to his absence, and no longer felt such a great emptiness at home. She had friends, of a sort, in the village nearby, but Father discouraged her from spending much time there. He did not often grow violent any more – but she had also gotten better at not getting caught. She knew when he was likely to miss her.

So now, to let her go to Edoras! Not alone, of course. She would be traveling with Everild, a widow of three years, and her oldest son. Theirs was the cabin closest to Cerwyn’s, and the two families had been of great help to each other during the harsh winter. During that time, it seemed Cerwyn’s father had formed quite a connection with Everild, and they had announced their intention to wed just a few weeks ago. Cerwyn thought that she must be the only woman for leagues around who wasn’t put off by her father’s drinking.

Then again, maybe she was changing him. Already Cerwyn was seeing it.

Maybe Léof could come home.

She knew, or thought she knew, two things of Léof since he’d left. She’d received one letter from him, long ago, and in it he’d said he’d taken up a post with the new Eorl in Edoras. She did not know why he’d stopped writing, and it rankled with her, but mostly she missed him too much to be truly angry. Then, sometime later but still now a couple years ago, she had happened to be in town when a traveler passing through was discussing this same Eorl, and how he’d moved his Hall to a place called Scarburg, somewhere east of Edoras. She guessed that Léof would have gone with him, and hoped that he might still be there.

This might be the one chance she had to find him. He would not come home on his own, she felt sure of that by now: he was far too stubborn. And their father, in turn, would never seek him out to invite him back: even if he wanted to, he was also too stubborn. In this, at least, did Léof take after him.

Well, neither would she be deterred. Already she had a plan. She was sorry already for the worry that she would cause Everild, but unrepentant of her plan. Once they reached Edoras, she had no doubt that she would be able to learn the whereabouts of this Scarburg, and then she would sneak away and go. This brought to mind the first thing she had to pack.

She went over to Léof’s old trunk of clothes and possessions and sifted through it. Father had never touched it, and when Léof left he had been about the same size as she was now. She found a serviceable pair of breeches, a shirt, and a hat, and stowed them at the bottom of her pack. A boy travelling alone would be less remarked upon than a girl, and a disguise would make it harder for anyone trying to come after her.

She was so eager to put this plan in place that she did not even mind that once she was caught her father would probably never let her leave the cabin again – at least not until he married her off, a possibility that loomed increasingly likely now that she had passed her eighteenth birthday and now that her father was remarrying, thus gaining a wife to care for his home as his daughter had for so many long years. She wouldn’t have it. She had not yet thought of a suitable resolution to this problem, but pushed it to the back of her mind for now.

She had to finish packing.

[Mithalwen]

Elfthain left the kitchen to find Safran where he had left her, eyes closed seemingly dozing and resting her white hind foot. "Wake up Saff, he said softly "let's get you sorted out". The mare flicked an ear and blinked at him as if to say that she hadn't been asleep, merely resting her eyes. It was only when he had unhitched her and retrieved his helm from the waggon seat where he had abandoned it before he had started unloading that he realised that no one had actually told him where the stables were. Deciding he couldn't go back and ask yet again, and that they couldn't be so far away he let the mare around the Meadhall buildings and before long found the stable yard. He paused to allow Safran to drink from a trough and caught fragments of a less than cordial discussion. One voice he recognised, that of Wilheard. The other was strange to him as was the name he thought he heard, Jan or something like it.

Saffy finished drinking and spattered her master with water. resigned that I was hardly going to mar his appearance at this stage he led her on in to the stables talking to the mare so as to give warning to the men lest they prefer their discussion unwitnessed.

He acknowledged his commander as military discipline required, then turned to the other, who was a perhaps a little more than him in age though a little less in height .

"I seek the ostler, Leof, the Lady Saeryn bids me tell him and any other here that food is now ready... and I also need to know what to do with my mare". He though he heard a stifled snort from Wilheard though maybe he imagined it. He knew some of the older knights laughed at his "pony" though he couldn't imagine why Wilheard had any cause to sneer. Saffy might have the soup-bowl feet, abundant mane and sturdiness inherited from her cob ancestor but she was brave and enduring and wise, while it seemed to Elfthain that Wilheard's mare was simply the most malevolent thing on hooves he had the misfortune to ever encounter. "where to stall her I mean.. or she could be turned out if that is easier.. she is very well tempered" he said pointedly "but I need to rub her down first .." his voice tailed off and he wondered if they would realise that he must have heard their conversation to know that Leof wasn't present. Saffy bumped his arm with her nose... she was ready for a bite of hay now and ideally a nice bit of mud to roll in. Her winter coat was starting to shed and it itched.

[Thinlómien]

Wilheard

"If by strict you mean he does not take offense at the slightest provocation, then yes, Eodwine may be less strict, but at least he doesn’t overlook the misdeeds of people close to him, or treat men in his household differently than others outside of it."

Genuine disbelief washed over Wilheard's face. For once, his words failed him. He had his own grievances with his father, and his own misgivings about his nature, but Javan's view was so badly skewered he wouldn't have known where to start.

"Lord Athanar disinherited his own son for the benefit of the unborn babe of another man, yet you accuse him of favouritism," Wilheard said quietly. That old wound still hurt. Everything still hurt that had to do with Wulfric.

As he was talking, he almost missed another lad entering the stables and greeting him curtly. This one had been with them from Edoras, and Wilheard would have barely noticed him if not for his ridiculous mountain pony. It was no steed for the rolling plains of Riddermark.

"I seek the ostler, Leof, the Lady Saeryn bids me tell him and any other here that food is now ready... and I also need to know what to do with my mare," the newcomer announced. Wilheard suppressed a snort and turned back to Bolt. She was what you would call a mare, not the shabby little thing the boy rode, however sturdy and reliable the pony was.

Wilheard let the peasants sort out the care of the pony while he finished grooming Bolt, then made his way out of the stables. He wouldn't mind something to eat and drink.

[Folwren]

Ruari scampered off to wake her father, barely listening as her mother called after her, “Do not wake Eoghan!” She ran to their room and paused at the door. She reached up, hanging on the handle a moment before slowly letting her weight push the door open. It swung in silently on its hinges just enough to let her slip through. She pattered up to the bed and peered over the edge, right into Eoghan’s face.

Ruari squinted her eyes and frowned and then carefully made her way to the other side of the bed. She climbed up and crawled across to where her father lay, his back to her. She leaned across him, resting her arms on his shoulder and bending her head over his, and her red hair falling in his face.

“Papa,” she whispered, stifling a laugh. “Papa, wake up. Mama says there is something to eat!”

[littlemanpoet]

Something interesting or funny? He walked by her side. Her eyes were on the sack she carried, a small smile on her face. He walked beside her, hugging the crate to himself. Little had happened that could be called funny, and it was not her way to have such thing ready to mind. There was the other thing, and she had already promised herself not to brag of it. She did not mean to leave him hanging, waiting on her words. They were back to the kitchen door when she finally spoke.

"We were attacked by Easterlings."

She opened the door and let herself in, holding it open for him.

Eodwine

His eyes fluttered open. Red hair hung over his eyes. The sweet giggles of his daughter floated by his ears. He kept his voice quiet for Eoghan's sake.

"Something to eat? Are you playing make believe, Ruari?"

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine took the letter from Nydfara, looking him in the eye. The man seemed ill at ease, to say the least. Anxious. He opened the letter and read it.

Greetings, Eorl Eodwine

I hope this missive finds you well.

It is with mixed feelings that I write this, for I do not relish the memory of my kidnapping. However, I remember with fondness the hospitality afforded me at your warm, if plain, Mead Hall. I also remember with gratitude he whom you know as Nydfara, whose real name is Scyld, for it is through his kindness and skill that I am alive today.

I was imprisoned by the dastard Sorn for ransom, and Scyld was at first my jailor. However, he did not like Sorn nor relish the evil man's ways, and helped me to escape, and protected me from murder at the hand of Sorn.

By the time you arrived at Scarburg, with the assistance of Scyld I had accomplished my freedom. I offered, at that time, to defend his innocence and honor, but in his natural humility he requested that I not do so.

I invited Scyld to stay on at Dol Amroth, and would happily have placed him in a good situation. However, he was determined to return to Scarburg, though why he would wish to live in such a backwater, I have no idea. I mean no disrespect to you for living there Eodwine, as you have been assigned to the place and would no doubt prefer a better.

Since Scyld is indeed determined to return to you, with full pleasure, I take it upon myself to do as I offered then, and swear to his uprightness, faithfulness, decency, honor, good heart, and above all, innocence. I hope that you will accept this letter in its intent, and declare Scyld to be not guilty of any crime, but instead a hero and a man of honor.

sincerely, Princess Linduial of Dol Amroth

Eodwine looked over the letter at the man, eyes narrowed. "Scyld. That is your name?"

"Aye, Eorl."

"Of what crime are you accused? Being Sorn's jailor?"

[Firefoot]

As unendurably suspenseful as it should have been to stand there as Eodwine read Linduial’s letter, Scyld found himself oddly at ease. He had borne the burden of that letter for so long, carrying it across the long leagues of Gondor and the Mark both, considering its contents, contemplating its delivery. The decision was made; the consequences largely out of his hands.

He was also grateful for the moment to collect himself before being addressed. He had been caught by surprise, not expecting to find the Eorl here, and had been less composed that he might have liked. By the time Eodwine had finished reading and turned his attention back to Scyld, Scyld met his gaze calmly.

"Scyld. That is your name?"

"Aye, Eorl."

"Of what crime are you accused? Being Sorn's jailor?"

“No one has accused me of any crime,” Scyld answered carefully, “though I have long feared it. Rather, I freely confess to you that I was Sorn’s jailor, in hope that my later deeds might earn my pardon, with Lady Linduial as my witness.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine's eyes narrowed further a moment, then he relaxed his face.

"Come inside, Scyld, and let us break our fast."

Eodwine's thoughts sped like a stream coming out of the White Mountains, crashing and splashing over rocks and around sharp curves. For months, this Scyld had claimed to be someone he was not, and now he came clean with a letter from someone of high repute ... whom Eodwine did not particularly like, which should not really matter, and didn't so much; Scyld could not help that his captive was an overbearing, arrogant princess whose personal business seemed to extend well beyond her realm. But Scyld. He had been lying to them all. Duplicity. Deceit. Eodwine hated it. And now.

He gestured for Scyld to sit opposite him, and raised looked around to see who might serve them. Rowenna happened to be just inside the kitchen. He called her name and waved her over.

"Good morning Rowenna, please fetch Sc - Nydfara and me some food and drink."

The serving woman raised a brow and then a furrow appeared between her
brows, then she nodded, and glanced at Scyld before hurrying off to get them food.

"Why did you wait, Scyld?"

[Firefoot]

It was difficult for Scyld to discern the Eorl’s thoughts. His tone, so far, had been measured and thoughtful, though Scyld would have expected little else. Scyld could not tell what lay underneath that though, whether his admission was being received well or poorly.

When Eodwine called Rowenna over to serve them breakfast, Scyld felt his anxiety rising again, and began to second-guess his decision to say nothing to her. She would be angry at him, he felt suddenly. But why should she be? He still had not been able to figure out what that first conversation they had exchanged at his arrival meant, and since then he had not spoken to her much. Maybe he overestimated her regard for him, and she would not care at all, save to be glad to finally have discovered his secret. Who could tell?

He knew that she did not miss Eodwine’s near slip of calling him by his right name, though she said nothing. Again, what was there for her to comment on, though? She was only here now to serve them breakfast.

He was jerked back from his trailing thoughts by Eodwine’s question. Why had he waited? The question seemed almost absurd at first, to him who had for so long not even considered saying anything at all. But sensing the seriousness of the question, he did not smile as he might have had someone with less authority asked.

He thought, I could have stayed Nydfara forever if I never had to fear being caught. But he did not think that saying so would endear the Eorl to him; nor was he sure if it was true.

Instead he said, “The only master I had ever known was Sorn, who was neither kind nor just, and the other lords nearby are cut from much the same cloth. I did not believe Lady Linduial when she said she would support me, and I did not believe her descriptions of you and your people. I believed myself a hunted man, and I feared what would happen if I stepped forward nearly as much as I feared being found out.” He might have stopped there, not naturally being prone to long speeches and still feeling reticent to speak honestly about himself after hiding for so long. He suspected, though, that his answer so far would not satisfy the Eorl. “In truth, I was not waiting to confess, because in the beginning I never meant to make myself known. Curiosity brought me back to Scarburg when you moved in, and I stayed longer than I ever thought I would. It was only when I ran into a farmer whom I have long known and he started asking questions – to my mind, the wrong sort of questions – that I knew I could not hide here forever. Eventually someone would figure it out. I left shortly after, to find Lady Linduial and ask her to write that letter for me.”

He was partly relieved to see Rowenna approaching with their breakfasts, for it put an end to what felt like rambling to him. It was all so complicated; maybe it had been foolish to think he could make Eodwine understand, but it was too late for second-guessing now.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine thanked Rowenna for their breakfast served.

"Let us eat for a bit while I think over what you have said." Eodwine began to eat and gestured for Scyld to do likewise.

So Scyld had not so much been waiting, as had changed his mind. He had tried to control his circumstances by means of a false persona as he tested his experience of Scarburg against what he had heard of it, and apparently his fears of the worst had abated. Or, not quite so. Rather, his fears of being found out a liar had become stronger than his original fears of being mishandled by unjust rulers.

And so he had come back, with a letter of good report, which would be of little value with an unjust ruler. And this spoke volumes about Scyld's opinion of himself, thought Eodwine, and of Scyld's hope.

Well, he thought, I shall be just. And I do lean toward mercy, all here know that. There is no reason why it should be any different now, with this man, just because his crime is duplicity rather than some other wrong like fighting or drunkenness so such.

He swallowed, looked up at Scyld, holding his hands over his plate, and allowed a not unfriendly smile. "What do you hope for, Scyld?"

[Folwren]

Athanar had disinherited his eldest son? Javan had not known that. Perhaps it had been common knowledge in the hall at the time, but Javan had been a mere boy, and had spent every free moment he had outside with the Cnebba and Garmund. They had not paid attention to the heir of the eorl, for they felt no love either for him or his offspring. Still, the information came something as a shock. It certainly proved Javan’s words unfounded, and left him feeling more than a bit foolish after all.

He was grateful for the interrupted that the stranger brought. He would have felt inclined to retract his words and possibly apologize, and that was an idea he did not much care to think about.

“Léof’s up there,” Javan said, waving somewhere past the young man. “I can tell you where to take the mare, though. If she’s good tempered, as you say, she can go out into the yard with some others. You can rub her down here first, if you’d like.” He walked down several paces from the stall where Wilheard had stabled his mare and indicated a ring set into the wall where the mare could be tied while groomed.

“I am Javan,” he said, as the boy tied the mare to the ring. “What are you called?”

[Mithalwen]

“I am Javan,” he said, as the boy tied the mare to the ring. “What are you called?”

"I am Elfthain" replied the young soldier, "and this is Safran," he added unbridling the little mare. "Say hello Saff" he added tapping her shoulder lightly and the horse lifted her right foreleg up and before her and waved it as if shaking hands a few times. "Well done girl", praised her master finding a rather batterd bit of carrot in his pocket which Saffy deigned to accept. "She can do other stuff too...even a proper bow on one knee...or could" Elfthain added a bit sheepishly,realising it might seem a bit babyish to teach one's horse tricks.

He was itching to ask about the evident bad blood between Javan and Wilheard but hadn't the nerve, and his babbling was the consequence. "I was only thirteen when I got her and it seemed like a good idea then" he covered, trying belatedly to give the impression that he was much too grown up for such things now. He hefted the heavy saddle from Saffy's back to a saddle horse, and unfolded the saddle blanket to cover her back so she wouldn't get a chill while he worked on her. He had retrieved grooming kit from his luggage and set to work chatting to Javan as he did so "I came with the waggons as is no doubt obvious. Can't say it was the most enjoyable time I have had. He..." Elfthain nodded at Wilheard's departing back, "is not a ray of sunshine. In fact he is a complete misery... I think even that brute of a horse of his is better company but unfortunately he is my commanding officer.. or maybe he isn't anymore now we are here!" The boy's face brightened wondering about this technicality. "but aren't you in a hurry to get something to eat? I won't be very long though, there is no point getting her very clean since she is being turned out". As he talked he had been checking Saffy's feet for stones and her legs for injuries then rubbed her coat where her tack had been and made sure there was no sign of soreness and brushed off the worst of the loose hair. "That will do for now, but I will sweep up if you lend me a broom". Elfthain looked ruefully at the drifts of dusty bay hair on the stable floor. "Apart from that she is ready to go out if you show me where..but shouldn't we tell Leof about the food first?".

[Firefoot]

Rowenna was quiet for a time, and at first Scyld thought she was merely taking the time to think of a story. Perhaps it truly had been an uneventful time in the Hall.

Then she said, “We were attacked by Easterlings,” and Scyld wondered instead if this was a story she was reluctant to tell for some reason. She certainly did not seem eager to share more details, which, of course, only intrigued Scyld more, as if this thoroughly unexpected opening to a story were not enough. They dropped off their loads and headed back outside for another load.

“Well, it seems the attack failed, seeing as the Hall and most of its people are still here,” said Scyld dryly. “Though how that came to pass, I cannot see.” Scyld was no soldier, but even he could see that the Hall was poorly situated for defense against a determined attacker.

[Firefoot]

Léof was less than pleased to see Wilheard leading his mare into the stable, and it was hard to say which of the two he welcomed less. Probably the horse, he decided. Wilheard, though taciturn and surly, mostly kept to himself and had a good hand with horses, which Léof respected. His horse, on the other hand, had kicked out her stall wall last year and was prone to biting. Léof thought that he had finally come to an understanding with her right before Wilheard had left. Now Léof supposed he would have to start all over.

He went back out to the courtyard and saw that there were still a few horses left who had not been seen to at all, mostly those harnessed to the carts that were still being unloaded. Léof chose one and led him into the stables. He seemed a good-natured animal, and after untacking him Léof started to lead him out of the stable when he caught the sound of his name. He looked down the aisle to see Javan talking to a young man nearby and changed his course.

“I am Léof,” he said to the newcomer. He glanced back and forth between him and Javan. Surely Javan would be able to help him with anything in the stables? “Is all well here?”

[Folwren]

Javan's eyes widened with surprise when Elfthain made his horse show a courteous leg. He grinned broadly from ear to ear as Elfthain explained she knew more tricks. He stood by, watching and listening in silence as Elfthain brushed down his mare quickly, talking all the while.

"That will do for now," Elfthain said as he finished, "but I will sweep up if you lend me a broom. Apart form that, she is ready to go out if you show me where. But shouldn't we tell Léof about the food first?"

"Never mind sweeping up!" Javan said. "Time will come for that later. We do need to find Léof, though."

He turned about as he spoke and nearly bumped into the person in question. "I am Léof," Léof said. "Is all well here?"

"Aye," Javan answered. "All's well. This is Elfthain, just come with everyone else, and here is his horse, Safran." He gave her a friendly slap on the shoulder. "He's taught her all sorts of odd tricks, he says, and sometime I'm going to see them. But Saeryn has sent word that there is food to be had inside, and we were about to find you and tell you so."

Ruari

"No, Papa!" Ruari said, leaning back and sitting on her heels. "There is porridge made! And I found a potato! And a nice man brought honey, and maybe I can have some, if I have been good, Stefnu says. But," she dropped her voice suddenly, remembering abruptly Saeryn's second instructions. "I am not to wake Eaghan up. Just you."

[Mithalwen]

Elfthain was happy to let Javan introduce him to the ostler and merely smiled and nodded but he nearly choked at his next words "He's taught her all sorts of odd tricks, he says, and sometime I'm going to see them. ".

He realised he had been babbling but having replayed in his mind as much of what he said as he could remember he was fairly sure he hadn't promised any such thing. Much as he was grateful that Javan didn't seem to think Saffy's talents juvenile, but was if anything impressed, it was some time since she had performed her full repertoire and they might well need to practise in private before demonstrating before an audience of even one. Maybe he wouldn't be around long enough to need to make good on his "promise".

The possibility didn't cheer him surprisingly. Friendships had become more complicated in recent years. The boys he had grown up with, in and around Upbourn had become.. not distant exactly.. careful as awareness grew that he would be their landlord one day and if he planned only a short military career, that day might be sooner rather than later. Conversely at Edoras he knew some feigned friendship in the hope of advancing their careers, knowing that his great uncle had reached the rank of full Marshal of the Mark and Elwin was tipped to match that achievement ere he was done.

Finally he had been made aware, in the course of perhaps the most excruciating of a series of mortifying and largely one sided conversations he had been subjected to since he reached adolescence, that he was on the brink of being a very eligible bachelor and that not all who might seem interested in him, were interested in him. With every friendly overture being filled with potential peril it was a bit of a relief to be where no one, including it seemed his commanding officer, had a clue about him and consequently no designs on him to provide fortune or favour. The place might be less congenial but it had advantages.

He walked with Javan and Leof to where the horses were to be turned out and thought it best to say something to temper expectation "She may not remember the tricks - it has been a while... we have had to learn so much cavalry training... battle formations and the like, there isn't the time for much else. Saffy isn't big enough to always keep up - my uncle says she is made for comfort not speed. I have a young horse I am bringing on at home over a hand taller, so we may breed from Saff next year, while she is still fairly young - and if we can decide what sort of foal we want". The mare, unware her future was being planned, shook her head now freed from its halter and seemingly deciding that the patches of mud were more tempting than the grass sank to her knees with a contented grunt and rolled happily.