Eorling Mead Hall

[littlemanpoet]

Eorling Mead Hall

Eodwine paced around the common room with a knotted rope, measuring. It was early morning, the rising sun peaking in through the cracks between the joists that joined wall to ceiling.

Eodwine had much to think about.

Two days past, Bêthberry had taken her leave with the Easterling, Sööng. Eodwine wondered what old Tom Bombadil and Goldberry thought of their daughter running about middle earth with an Easterling. From what Eodwine had heard of the pair living far away on the edge of the Old Forest near the Shire of the Halflings, Bêthberry had their blessing.

Eodwine sighed, mostly contented and a little anxious.

Yesterday, he had gone to see the King, and had sued for mercy and understanding, begging his liege-lord to give the Wardenship of the Dunland Marches to another more deserving servant. Eodwine shook his head and smiled in bemusement at the King's response.

'I take back the Wardenship from you, Eodwine of the Gap,' King Éomer had said, 'and in its place lay upon your shoulders a new yoke mor fitting to one of my vassals that I would keep nearer out of friendship and proven trust.'

Eodwine had cocked his head and looked up at his king, surprised, pleased, and worrited as to what new yoke was coming; he could not refuse a second time, so he would have to live with whatever the king chose to bestow and hope for the best, or the least of the worst. He needn't have worried.

'I make you Eorl of the new Middle Emnet, for I have need of a trusted servant to be the lord, under me, of Edoras and its outlyers whilst I see to the needs of the whole Mark. Make a Mead Hall of this White HOrse Inn that you wish to inn-keep. Know then that as Eorl of your Mead Hall, all your guests stay without pay, for that is your duty as Eorl. Your livelihood must come by fees from vassals and fines from wrongdoers.'

Eodwine had been relieved that he was going to be allowed to keep the inn. And he was anxious regarding his new office. None in his family had been more than a freeholder, and the king had made him an Eorl! It was beyond all he had ever hoped! And not a little scarey. He'd need a bailliff, a couple soldiers at arms, and a few other folk to help run his mead hall.

And there was Gudryn to think about. More than ever the girl needed a mother, for he would be greatly distracted. He wondered if he should seek out Giedd. Not right now, though.

Master Falco Boffin of the Shire had been a greater help than Eodwine would have imagined, full of ideas and a willing pair of hands; though short of stature, the hobbit was quick and could get in small places with his deft hands. Very useful. Garreth and Harreld the blacksmiths had been quite congratulatory; they were off in their smithy for the day.

Saeryn and Æðelhild were still under roof, and of that Eodwine was glad. They had already spoken their willingness to be employed in his mead hall. It had been a great relief to have so many willing hands. Eodwine still needed to figure out what to do with the two pair of the willing lasses.

Frodides had offered to stay on as cook for a little while, but had said that her family needed her, and that as soon as she could be replaced, she would take her leave. Eodwine had thanked her for her willingness to stay on until replaced. But he felt pressed to give Frodides her freedom.

The ostler had also requested to move on. So someone new for the stables would need to be found, too.

There was much to do. The fireplace would have to be destroyed, the roof unmade and laid aside, its wood used to gird the new roof, and then thatch it. There was much to do, many questions to be answered. Eodwine whistled an old riding song of the Mark, basically happy with his lot.

[Esgallhugwen]

Gudryn's eyelids flickered lazily trying to pinch out the rays of the sun that flashed through the folds in her drapes. The sun was just making it's way above the horizon, the soft chirping of dawn birds already filling the air.

She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and made a mighty stretch before sitting up in bed. Gudryn was still getting used to the fact that Bêthberry no longer would be here as the Innkeeper, but Gudryn was more then happy when she asked that Eodwine take her place.

Her father an Innkeeper?

Gudryn giggled lightly before finally getting out of bed to get dressed for the day. For today would indeed be a busy one what with all the comings and goings of carpenters and craftsmen and those looking for a place to rest and perhaps a place to work.

She smiled as she made her way downstairs, noticing her father looking up at the support beams scratching his golden haired head while holding a piece of knotted rope in the other hand.

Her bare feet walked gracefully over to Eodwine and resumed the same stance of looking upwards to the ceiling a quizzical look played across her face.

"Goodmorning Father, would you have my help in this task?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn woke up to bittersweet memories. Bethberry had left... Saeryn had wept long over the loss. The woman had been so kind, helping her in many ways. Now Eodwine, Saeryn's friend and protector, would run the White Horse... but it was no longer to bear that name... As with every new beginning, there must be an end.

Saeryn climbed from her bed with a wince. Though it had been several days since her fall, her injuries were not quite healed to perfection. Her ribs still ached if she moved too uncarefully and her head still swam if she stood too quickly. She washed and dressed in soft breeches and a laced shirt, as was her custom these days, and left her hair unbraided. It still hurt too much to raise her arms long enough to tie it away from her face, much less to tame the stubborn curls in a long plait.

Padding barefooted into the Great Hall, she saw that nobody had yet risen. The Inn had been quiet for the past few days, which she could only be thankful for. She'd had much to think about and had slept long on Bethberry's parting orders to let herself heal before trying too much.

Now she needed to speak with Eodwine. While she did not believe that her friend would even consider turning her out, Saeryn felt useless and unhappy with her unhelpfulness. She could think of no place within a working Mead Hall, as this was, where she would fit. A run-away noble in hiding could not very well take a public role.

As she fretted, her footsteps slowed until she came to a stop still some feet away from Eodwine and his Gudryn. She stood, indecisive, and looked from her friends to the door she had entered from. Perhaps she would wait a little longer... she was uncertain... she should think longer before making a nuisance of herself...

She began to turn and retreat when she heard Eodwine address her.

[Nerindel]

Æðelhild was up with the dawn and had already completed the morning task of helping Frodides light the ovens ready for the morning bread then that done she set about airing and changing the linens of the unoccupied rooms, of which there were more than usual, with many of the guests leaving unsure of the inns future now that Bethberry gone.

She too had been at a loss wondering what she would do now. Bethberry had been kind to take her in and to give her work, but now she was gone and a new keep may not be so disposed to do so. However Eodwine had quickly allayed her fears informing them that he was to be the new proprietor and that he would have need of staff if she was willing. She had only been at the inn for a short time but already it held a place of warmth and safety for her amidst the air of uncertainty that was her life, so she had willingly agreed to stay on.

She walk down the stairs now carrying an armful of dirty linens for washing, Her dark hair bouncing about her shoulders, no longer the tangled mass it had been when she had first arrived and two days of rest and good food had brought some colour to her pale cheeks. Eodwine had not said what job he would have her do so she thought it best just to continue on as she had, wondering thoughtfully as she reached the bottom of the stairs if Eodwine had given thought to any of the more womanly tasks.

The fleeting image of the kings former messenger in apron with scrubbing board and soap to hand made her chuckle, almost causing her to catch her footing on a trailing linen but she saved herself just in time. Passing the opening to the old common room she saw that others where now up, the young auburn haired woman Saeryn who had befriended her in the stables stood talking with Eodwine and Gurdyn seeing her pass gave a small wave. Her hands full she simply nodded in reply and moved on through the kitchen to the large wooden wash basin that waited her and the linens out in the back courtyard.

[littlemanpoet]

"Goodmorning Father, would you have my help in this task?"

Eodwine turned, smiling, upon hearing the familiar voice of his daughter Gudryn. "Well now. Yes! I would. If you would take one end of this measuring rope in hand, then I can begin to jot down some numbers that I'll need for the work that must be done."

Gudryn took the rope-end quickly, and stood where her father asked. He was just about to begin stretching the rope across the room when he heard quiet footsteps.

"Ah! Good the morn, Saeryn! You're up early! How are you feeling?" Gudryn matched Eodwine's words with a greeting of her own.

"I am well, though a long night abed makes these sore ribs ache a bit. But that'll pass."

Eodwine grew stern of face, but with a smile and a wink. "Now now, you remember Bethberry's words. Rest up and let your ribs heal. Think not that I'll be letting you straddle a ladder and start wielding a mallet, not for a few days at least."

Saeryn's eyes went wide a moment. "Not until I can get my arm over my head!"

A fleeting shadow passed from hallway to kitchen almost quicker than eye could follow.

"Good morning to you, Æðelhild," Eodwine said out of hearing of the girl, a smirk on his face. So the mead hall was beginning to stir with the day. Much to do, much to do. When was Frodides arriving? He hoped it would be soon; measuring and figuring on and empty stomach was little to his liking. In the meantime, he and Gudryn continued measuring off the lengths and widths he needed for the making of the Hall that his mead hall was to be named for. Much to do, much to do!

One more thing he thought of, suddenly, was quick and willing feet for errands to be run to carpenters and the like. He glanced again at Saeryn, wondering if her legs were more fit than her arms.

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine son of Gárulf trotted his brown mare through the wooden gates of Edoras. His thick blond hair was matted with dirt and sweat and his clothes and skin were covered with dust. Across his back was strapped his spear, an iron-headed staff of oak, and his shield, planks of wood with peeling green paint. His chest was closed in a tarnished breastplate. His Gárwine felt hot and stifled in it, but there was no other way to carry it. Across his shoulders was wrapped a threadbare green cloak. His horse, Herefola, was tired and slow, but trotted on at her master's bidding. She wore the simplest saddle and bridle; it was barely suitable for anyone nobler than a farmer. Gárwine was the young son of a dead warrior, and he had traveled for days to reach Edoras, hoping to become a warrior in the service of a local Eorl. Since his father's death at the hands of orcs near the Entwood, Gárwine had not had the opportunity to travel to Edoras until now.

The thatched houses of Edoras shone with a golden light on this early morning. The entire city, perched upon a hilltop, shone across the land, crowned by Meduseld, where the King held his court. As Gárwine passed between the houses he craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the famed Golden Hall, where his future as a warrior would be decided. Herefola trotted up the cobblestone street, and Gárwine watched from her back the golden roofs move down the hill past them. Herefola halted at Meduseld's stone steps. Gárwine slid from her back. His legs ached from the days of riding, and when he walked it was with a stiff swagger. He ascended the steps, which offered a magnificent view of the sunrise over the fields of the Mark. The golden sun was rising and everything shone more magnificently than any field Gárwine had ever rode through. He greeted the doorward and removed his arms and the guards swung open the doors. Then Gárwine entered the Golden Hall.

The light was dim and only lit by sunlight slanting out of the eastern windows. The air was cool, and the fire was nothing more than a few embers. Tapestries hung in the shadows along the wall, retelling the Mark's history and the deeds of the kings. Across the hall, seated upon a dais, was Éomer Éadig, King of the Mark, speaking with a retainer. Gárwine felt embarrassed for a moment to be seen in such a noble hall in such an unkempt state. He brushed the hair out of his eyes and approached the king. He summoned his courage and spoke:

"Hail, Éomer Éadig, King of the Mark. My name is Gárwine son of Gárulf, and I seek to become a warrior in the service of the Mark." He bowed.

King Éomer turned his attention away from the retainer, who took his place to the side of the king. "Welcome, Gárwine son of Gárulf. I recognize that name. Now tell me, did your father ride with me when I was Third Marshall of the Mark?"

Gárwine nodded, "Yes, my lord." He hoped his father's reputation with the king would aid him.

"He was a brave man. He died valiantly for the Mark, a hero's death. I will remember him as a faithful companion in battle." He sighed, feeling the nostalgia of the old war and remembering those who had fallen in the thick of battle. "And your brother, Gárláf, also rode alonside me, no? His death was just as heroic as his father's; swinging his sword against the Easterlings at Pelennor." The king paused again. "And did your father teach you how to ride? How to wield a sword?"

"Yes, my lord. He taught me as much as he could."

The king nodded in approval, smiling. "Well, young Gárwine son of Gárulf, your father was a true warrior of the Mark, and it should be that sons follow their fathers' footsteps. I have recently established the new Middle Emnet. Its Eorl is Eodwine of the Gap, and he requires soldiers at arms. He is constructing a mead hall in this city by renovating an old inn that was once called the White Horse, and that is where you are to serve. It is not far from here."

Gárwine swore an oath of fealty, bowed once more, and then left the hall. Outside the sun was crawling its way above the horizon. The city was awakening, and more people were in the streets. Gárwine, elated at his new job, mounted Herefola and rode in the direction of the mead hall as he was instructed. He reminded himself that without his father's good reputation, he would still be laboring for Uncle Wilfrid, without any chance of becoming a soldier at arms.

He and Herefola turned a corner and found themselves before one of the thatched buildings, but this one was surrounded by stacks of boards and piles of hammers and nails. Measuring ropes lay coiled atop a crate, and a ladder led up to the roof. All that was needed was a handful of carpenters and this would be a perfect building project. This was surely the soon-to-be Mead Hall. Even a sign, carved and painted in the likeness of a white horse, lay upon the ground, removed from its place above the door. This was the former White Horse Inn.

Gárwine slipped off of his horse and tied the reins around a post across the cobblestone street. Then he entered the inn and came into a common room of sorts, where a man and a young maiden stood at the wall measuring out the size of the room and its various beams of the walls and ceiling. Another maiden, with auburn hair, stood nearby, rubbing her ribs and arms as though they ached. They were greeting each other good morning, and when Gárwine entered they had just said hello to yet another woman passing by a doorway. Gárwine gave a gentle cough to alert them of his presence.

[Folwren]

A few of the men-at-arms from Meduseld stood clumped together to one side of the night’s fire. They ignored the dying flames, now that the sun’s light peeped through the window of the small room - the fire’s heat and light would not longer be needed. They spoke quietly together until one of them laughed and stepped back.

“Nay, not me, friends,” he said. “I’m well enough off here. But Thornden here might be willing.” He motioned with his head and thumb over his shoulder towards a figure sitting off alone underneath the window. The pouring sunlight fell on a piece of paper in his hand and his head was bent above it. “He needs a change of scenery.”

One of the man’s companion’s laughed and looked at Thornden. “I say, fellow, what’s the news that keeps you so secretly apart?”

Thornden raised his head and looking up, caught sight of all four eyes studying him. An easy smile broke out across his face. “Nothing secret,” he said, folding the letter and tucking it away in a pocket. “My sister has had a son, that is all, and she was writing to tell me of it.” He stood up, unfolding his long legs and walked towards the others. “But what’s kept you and your heads locked together for so long? I’ve a right to ask that question, now I’ve told you what’s in my letter.”

“Have you heard the news - about the new mead hall? King Eomer has set Eodwine of the Gap over it. He’ll be needing all sorts of people. . .men-at-arms, and whatnot.”

“I wouldn’t need so little a change of scene just to become a guard somewhere else,” Thornden said, nodding to the man who had said that earlier. “Too much trouble for too little change.”

“No, but he’ll need a bailiff of some sort,” another one said. “And you with your, well, imposing figure, would be enough to scare any villainy out of any villain as soon as you walked into the room! Eodwine wouldn’t have any trouble for months, if you stayed around.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Thornden asked, laughing. He stopped their cries of protest and defense, waving his hand. “No, no, I understand you mean no harm. But that is an interesting thought, now isn’t it? And being out of the regular guard and being there would give me a chance to see. . .at least my sister, if not the others. . .” he was elapsing back into his own thought, still talking aloud. His four companions stood by, listening and watching intently, waiting to see if he would make up his mind. And after a moment, he did. His head lifted again and his merry, hazel eyes had the answer written inside them. “Well, I think I’ll take your idea and go. The worse he can do is say that he doesn’t want me, and then I’ll come back and join you. No doubt it’d be a simple matter enough. Where’s the captain?”

It took little time to make his request and get permission to leave the company of guard, and before an hour had passed, Thornden was walking away from the Golden Hall and down the cobbled streets of Edoras, towards the new mead hall. His tall, broad figure brought a few glances as he passed through the familiar streets, but he paid no mind. He knew the way to the old White Horse Inn and his feet with their long strides brought him quickly to the front doorway. There, he paused one minute, glanced down at the old sign of the White Horse leaning against the wall and at the building materiels gathered about.

Well, this was it. Something new was to begin here, hopefully. He put his hand to the door latch and went in, bowing his head ever so slightly in the doorway.

[littlemanpoet]

After Særyn left them, Eodwine handed the measuring rope to Gudryn. "Break your fast, my dear, before you're blown away by the wind. And ask Frodides if there might be any fare for me, if you please."

"Yes, father!" Gudryn grinned and ran off to the kitchen.

Gárwine looked to be a stout young lad, if a little dirty and travel worn. Eodwine, in his turn, seemed tallish and well kept for a man of his forty or so years. His hair was the color of corn ripe in the cob, but soft as silk; and his eyes were the deep blue of the sky on a hot summer day at noon. He smiled quickly and often.

"Well met and welcome, Gárwine," Eodwine said. "Who is your father? And what brings you here?"

And so the conversation began. Eodwine learned of Gárulf, and of the king's orders upon the young man.

"You would be a guard in my hall then?" Eodwine looked him in the eye, but kindly.

"Aye, I would, lord."

"Well then, we must swear oath each to the other, and then I must decide just what I need guarding from! But first, food! You look hungery!"

It seemed that Frodides had not only arrived to prepare breakfast, but had done so very quietly and unnoticed while he and Gudryn had measured the room's fixtures: Gudryn brought out with a tray bearing three hot mugs and three plates piled high with eggs and rashers of bacon, and hearty black bread. Eodwine and Gárwine pulled a table away from the wall, set three chairs about it, and the three of them fell to.

Not long after they had begun to break their fast, a tall man came through the front door, a warrior in the employ of Meduseld by the look of him. Eodwine wiped his mouth on his sleeve and stood.

"Hail, Eorlinga! I am Eodwine of the Gap, Eorl of the Middle Emnet. How are you called, and how may I host you?"

[Folwren]

“Hail, Eodwine,” Thornden said, bowing slightly to the man, “I am Thornden, son of Thrinlite, recently of the Guards of Meduseld. I’ve been sent by some of my companions who thought that this new opening of a mead hall may offer me some new change.” He paused a moment, and Eodwine waited for him to continue.

“I have no one to recommend me but myself, sir, but if you are in need of someone to. . .work as a bailiff, keeping your hall clear of any uncertain, or unruly visitors, I would be very much obliged if you allowed me to take such a place. I have been a part of the Company of Men-at-Arms at the Golden Hall for the past year. . .the captain has given me leave to come and ask you if you would need my services.”

[Kath]

Stopping beside a tree for a moment to rest her weary legs, Kara looked in relief at the wooden building not too far from where she stood. She felt to have been walking for weeks though in reality it had been but three days. Three days since the place she called home had burnt down thanks to the foolishness of the man who had taken more drink that was good for him and had gone to smoke on the roof. Kara had woken up amid screaming and thick smoke and had joined the rest of the Inn's patrons outside, where she watched the flames take hold.

The Innkeeper, a kind man who after hearing her tale of the death of her parents and brother had allowed her to stay in the Inn without paying for room and board so long as she did whatever needed to be done around the place, had been devastated. His home and his livelihood had been destroyed, yet he still offered Kara money to help her with the journey she must now undertake to find a new home. She had refused, unwilling to take anything from this man who had already lost everything. All she had been willing to take was advice.

"Well at least then you must go where you will be needed." He had told her. "I have heard tell that there is a new Mead Hall not so far from here, and Eodwine, the Eorl, is sure to need a set of willing hands and feet. Go there girl, and good luck."

So Kara had done as he asked, and was now standing just a few feet away. She had seen people going in, and they had all seemed to receive a warm reception. Hoisting her bag a little further up she set her shoulders and marched onwards. Reaching the door she could see two men inside, clearly involved in conversation. Slipping in quietly, she lowered her pack to the floor and waited.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn, bored quickly with staying out of the action, had slipped back into the hall. Eodwine shared his meal with his daughter and the young man whose horse Saeryn had cared for. She liked the young man, though knowing him little, based solely on his horse's temperment. The beast was gentle and patient, social, and sweet-tempered. She hoped Eodwine would keep him around... new faces were always welcome, so long as they were not her brother's spies.

She sat as unobtrusively as she could, taking advantage of the shadows left unhindered by the early morning light. While she did not wish to interrupt private business, she was unable to keep herself occupied alone for long. Her thoughts had returned to her place the moment she had finished caring for Gárwine's mount.

Until she had run from home, she had known her place. With Bethberry, she had felt secure even though she was uncertain of her future. Now that Eodwine had assured her that she was not to concern herself with payment or attempts to leave for foolish reasons, she wondered constantly what constituted a foolish reason and how she would earn her keep. It was unfair of her to stay, she thought. There was nothing she was good at. I talk to people, she thought. I make them smile. A lot of good that will do my lord. Unhappily, she watched the shadows play across the floor.

Now the door slid open and Eodwine looked up, noting a girl standing there. He looked to Saeryn who was surprised, though should not have been, that he had known her there. She nodded imperceptibly and rose, walking to the girl.

"My name is Saeryn. The master of the hall is in the middle of something, however he will be with you in a moment. While you wait, may I be of assistance?"

[Firefoot]

Léofric shifted his weight anxiously from foot to foot. This was the first man he’d talked to that hadn’t turned him down outright, and while he didn’t have a lot of hope, he was running out of options. The man sighed. “How old are you, lad?”

“Sixteen, sir.” He would have lied about his age, but with his thin frame and boyish (and probably dirt-smudged) features he already looked more like thirteen or fourteen. He wasn’t a terribly good liar, anyway.

The man looked like he wanted to say yes, but Léof could tell he wouldn’t. “Listen, I wish I could help you, and I’m sure you’re a hard worker, but I really don’t need any more help around here. Good luck, though.”

Léof tried not to let his disappointment show on this face. “Thank you anyway, sir.” He started to turn around and head out when the man called out to him. “Hang on, there, I may be able to help you a bit after all.” Léof turned around, trying not to get his hopes up too much. “The inn in these parts, The White Horse, has just closed down – they’re making a mead hall out of the place, if what I hear is correct. You may be able to find some work there.” He gave him directions, and Léof set off again with a word of thanks.

He untied his chestnut mare Æthel from the post and led her down the road. She had picked up a stone in her hoof sometime yesterday, and while she seemed to be walking all right now, Léof saw no need to take any risks when he was traveling such a short way.

He found the building as it had been described and once again tied Æthel out in front. “If we’re lucky, girl, you might have yourself a stall here soon,” he murmured. He left her with a fond pat and walked up to the former inn. He took a deep, hopeful breath and opened the door with some trepidation, wondering what he might find.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer interior, but he found that there seemed no one likely to talk to who wasn’t already busy. He considered just leaving, but he had found his first real opportunity and didn’t care to blow it. He could only wait uncomfortably either for someone to notice him or for someone to become un-busy.

[littlemanpoet]

Thornden had introduced himself confidently and forthrightly. Eodwine liked that, and expected no less of a Guard from the Golden Hall.

"Indeed I do need a steward, but the man that I would take under me in such a stead must be willing to do more than keep my hall clear of unruly visitors, as needful as that may be from time to time. I need a right hand man. A man who can take my place when I cannot be here. A man to keep order of other men, and my ledgers, and to give orders in my name. Such a man must be my almbudsman as well, and take coin paid in fee and fine both honestly and justly. It is a high place in my hall. Are you worthy of it?"

Thornden's eyes had widened slightly as the job had become much greater than he had at first realized, but quickly regained his composure. He was about to speak when Eodwine stopped him with a raised hand.

"A moment, friend, for this is the very kind of thing I need you for, if you it be. Come with me." Eodwine nodded to the front door. Strangers were arriving faster than a mountain stream, it seemed. Særyn was busy with one of them, while another waited. Eodwine was quite glad that Særyn had taken it upon herself to act as hostess. He would have to speak more with her about that; the role seemed to come to her as easily as flight to a bird.

"Good morn, friend!" Eodwine approached the lad, Thornden at his flank. He was not quite a man but no mere boy by the look of him. "I am Eodwine of the Gap, Eorl of Middle Emnet and host of this hall. How are you called, and how may I host you?"

"I am called Léofric, lord, and I came hoping to earn my keep if that can be."

"I see. Can you do wood work? cleaning? stabling? guarding?"

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine now sat alone with Gudryn as Eodwine and Thornden welcomed visitors at the entryway. He munched on his bacon in silence. His experience with females was limited, especially during his stay with Uncle Wilfrid. So he ate breakfast and pretended to watch Eodwine and Thornden meet Léofric. He was a carpenter or some other sort of laborer, who had probably came to aid with the construction of the mead hall.

Gárwine's stomach had ached with hunger all during his ride to Edoras. Now as he filled the void in his stomach he only felt hungrier and hungrier as he realized how long it had been since good, hearty food like this had passed his lips. His plate emptied at an alarming rate. Gárwine, not wanting to seem too gluttonous, paused his feasting to stretch his arms. He decided to ask Gudryn about the many women of the inn.

"So, you are Eodwine's daughter?" He asked.

She nodded, chewing a mouthful of bread.

He asked about the other women he had seen. "And Saeryn, what is her relation to Eodwine? She is not your sister, is she?" He took a bite of bread. "And I saw, as I entered, a maiden, arms piled high with laundry, pass by that door. Who was she?"

[Folwren]

“Let us go sit by the hearth fire while it still stands in the wall,” Eodwine said, “and I would hear you speak at length of how you would be my steward.” He turned and nodded towards the hearth and they walked together to it. Thornden pulled two chairs near and placed one for Eodwine and sat in the second. There was a short pause between the two of them and Thornden considered his words carefully before speaking.

“I have to be entirely honest with you and say that when I came, not but ten minutes ago, I had no idea that such a stewardship would require so many duties, and even traits of character that you have mentioned. You ask me if I am worthy of it, but if you ask any man of the guard at Medulseld, you’ll likely get a ready answer of ‘yes, indeed I am, sir!’ for we can be overly proud in our manner and thoughts, if merely because we guard the King and his hall. I would that you had not asked me. . .

“However, because you have asked me, I will answer as straight forward as I may. You say you need a right hand man, one who can take your place when necessary, giving orders, and keeping books, and keeping order of the place. I think I am capable, yes. I am the oldest of several children, therefore can lead. My mother taught me to read, write, and know how to handle numbers when I was still a youth - your ledgers and your money keeping could be accurately and well kept. As for my honesty, well, it seems lame to tell you myself that I wouldn’t cheat the least of the king’s subjects, but I could call on any of my companions at Meduseld, or my sister, and others I know here in Edoras, and they would tell you the same.

“As for my character in itself. . .” he paused uncertainly. “It’s hard for me to explain that, sir, but I hope it wouldn’t disappoint you. I am not a violent man, but I do hate to see wrong done and not resolved or paid for. I’m sorry to say that when my anger is got up, I act quickly and rarely turn back from a purpose till it’s done. However, it may be good for you to know that I’m not easily angered, really.

“I would be willing to serve you as your steward, if you are willing to take me as that. I have no obligations elsewhere and can take the post at once, learn your will, and help you with the building of your new Mead Hall.” Thornden looked Eodwine full in the face as he finished. His expression was serious and entirely open. He had begun to like this man, Eodwine of the Gap, and thought to himself that he would be a very good lord and master to work under, and he would be honored to stand at his right hand.

[Nerindel]

‘Well they seem nice enough, don’t you think?’ Gudryn was saying as she watched the two men leave to attend their horses. It seemed the younger of the two was to try his hand as Ostler while the other was to be made a guard of the hall.

‘Yes, they do both seem well disposed, M’Lady’ she replied smiling thoughtfully as she considered how many rooms would be required to accommodate Lord Eodwines fast growing house hold. By her reckoning the inn had fifteen rooms, the ostlers off course would be housed in the stable house, then there was Bethberry’s rooms, which as yet she had been reluctant to touch, she naturally assumed Eodwine and his Daughter would be taking the rooms and had left them be. The other rooms had already been aired and the linens stripped and that afternoon she intended to sweep the floors and re-stuff any mattresses that needed it, by which time the linens would be dried and ready to put back on the beds.

Coming out of her silent contemplation she realised that Gudryn was staring at her with a look of stunned surprise that caused Æðelhild to hurriedly recount in her mind what she had said wondering if somehow she had managed to offend.

‘You called me M’lady?’ the stunned young woman whispered. Æðelhild sighed visibly glad that she had not insulted her, then smiled broadly. ‘Off course, it is only proper that I address you thus M’lady’ she replied giving a polite incline of her head as she did so. ‘Your Father is Eorl and as he has no wife and you are his only Daughter that makes you the Lady of this Mead hall!’ And with a light wave of her arm she gestured around the Hall.

Æðelhild watched with a mixture of amusement and sympathy as this simple realisation settled over the young Lady, for while there were many good things about being of nobility their was also great responsibility, for from now on anything Gudryn did would reflect greatly on her father and Æðelhild hoped that Gudryn would be mindful of this, she seemed smart enough and loved her father dearly, so it didn’t seem to great a thing to mention.

So instead she continued to smile, waiting patently for Gudryn to again find her voice.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine liked the strength of courage in this young man Thornden. He also liked that he was able to speak with care at need. He had one more, no, two more tests, and the two would be wrapped one in the other so that they would be hard to tell apart, except in the mind of Eodwine. Thornden was probably somewhat bemused at the smirk that had appeared on Eodwine's face, but that would pass. Eodwine sat forward.

"You speak well, and that is a great thing. What is more, if your words, as I hunch me, are good grain from a good root, all the better. We shall put it to the test. Since you have said that you wish to be my steward, I give you the task for a little while. Be my steward for a month, and when that time has passed, we shall make a choice, you and I, whether this binding of man to man is as ought to be." He rose. "Let us shake on it!" Thornden rose and the two closed hand on hand. Thornden had a good grip, and a good smile.

"Good!" said Eodwine. "The first thing I need is for you to have a mind of your own that I may speak my thought to you, and you tell me what you think of it." Eodwine proceeded to describe to Thornden his plans, in some detail, to transform the great room into a mead hall, leaving the halls and rooms to the west, and kitchen at the back, as they were; and the east wall open to the stableyard. He described that which was in his mind for the hall itself, showing with word as well as gesture, pointing here and there, what was in his mind.

"The thing is, Thornden," Eodwine said at last, "the king has given me a manor with much land, and a building around which to rule it. The land is all my wealth. I hold it from the king, and the fees and fines that would have gone to him will now come to me, less that which the king requires of me as his liegeman. The long and short of it is that I have little coin, and need to get some to pay for all my dream as I have told you of it. This is where you come in. I was in earnest when I said I need an almbudsman. This afternoon, you must go to the king, learn from him what fines and fees are outstanding, and begin to bring the coin in so that we can pay for not only the building but the needs of those who will be of my house. And I would hear you on anything I have told you, as you will. You have my ear. I do not require it of you this minute, but come with me and let us see how the hall fairs."

With that, Eodwine with Thornden at his side moved about the hall and grounds, seeing how things went in the kitchen, stables, rooms, and amongst the few carpenters who had arrived as yet.

[Anguirel]

Forgoil...strawheads... It had not been the first word Manawyth had been taught, true, but it had come quickly enough; it had followed "mother", "father", "mud", and "blade".

And as Manawyth had grown into a likely boy, taller than any of his brothers, and-a rare accomplishment in his homeland-an able rider; as it became clear that war would be his domain, a landless fourth child in a society where sisters as well as brothers stood to despoil his patrimony; as he had joined the chieftain's warband and trained with the other whelp-fighters, forgoil had recurred still more frequently. The strawheads had driven his people into the chilly foothills, but now matters were turning against them, so the Elders said. Their king was too old to take to battle; their Riders scattered; and at Caerissin the wise magician Saruman had received the envoys of the Elder Council.

Then everything had happened at dizzying speed. The bands of reavers had set off, and returned with plunder, so much plunder. There was talk of reclaiming the old realms, wealthy with wheat. Then the Chieftains had called every able man of arms to muster beside Caerissin.

It had been a fearful and splendid day; on the one hand to see the vast strength of their ally's army was astonishing; but it could not comfort. Manawyth, like many of his kin, feared the Orcs he fought beside much more than he hated the pale-haired thieves.

But things are never as certain as they appear. Against all possibility, the strawheads had triumphed utterly at the Hornburg. The horde from Caerissin had been culled; and most of the Dunlendings who fought beside it were slain also. The rest were spared by the Old King of Rohan; but they could find little comfort in it. So many Chieftains were dead that the Elder Council could not sit and was disbanded. The few remaining warriors returned to the cold stares of their womenfolk, carrying their brothers' bodies under their arms. Manawyth had lost two.

Without the Council or the warbands to maintain order, the scattered families in the mountains were easy prey to bandits or even Goblin raids. Feuds and grudges, uncompensated, further rent the people of Dunland. Then there were still Rohirric reprisals, from headstrong youths who had lost fathers in the Wizard's War.

In such a climate Manawyth had killed a man; scarcely worthy of notice as a crime anymore, save that the other had been heir to a Chief. And so forgoil was heard again.

For Manawyth had only Rohan to turn to.

***

So it was that the stranger, so obviously black-haired and foreign amid the proud Riders, on his equally dark steed, (not, as it happened, his own), one eye shut perpetually, unease guiding his movements, entered the town of Edoras, and made his way to the Mead Hall of Eodwine. Information had been hard to come by, for the old troubles still ran deep, but Manawyth had heard there was employment to be had, anonymity, and a chance to rid himself of forgoil ghosts.

[Firefoot]

Before Gárwine could respond, Léof heard the clopping of hooves stop just outside. He indicated to Gárwine where he was going and headed down the stable aisle to find a rather surprising sight: the horse’s rider was a Dunlending. Léof could feel the suspicions of his upbringing rising, for while he had never himself met one of them, he had certainly heard enough stories.

But perhaps even more surprising than his actual presence was that he had a horse at all; Dunlendings were not generally riders, or so Léof had heard. Yet he seemed to sit the horse well, which brought the unknown man up a notch or two in Léof’s estimation. He seemed uneasy, nervous perhaps, a trait Léof would not have noticed had the strange man not been atop a horse, but as it was, he could see the subtleties in the man’s posture and seat.

The man dismounted and noticed Léof for the first time. “This is the Mead Hall?”

Léof nodded guardedly. “It is. I can take your horse, and stable him if you intend to stay for a while.” Since he still stood out so starkly amongst the fair Rohirrim, Léof added, “There is good food inside for travelers, and if it is the master of the hall you are seeking, I believe that he is inside as well.”

[Folwren]

It was nearly and hour after nightfall when Thornden rode slowly up the streets towards the mead hall. He had completed the day’s work, but, it having taken more time than he expected, he had not stopped by his sister’s home. Inwardly, he scolded himself for it, but it couldn’t he helped. He had wanted to reach Edoras as early as possible after dark, hoping to have less trouble getting through the gates. There had not been much delay there, but he knew had he come much later, they would have been less likely to let him in so easily. He’d make the visit soon, he promised himself. Very soon. But, even telling himself that, he could just hear his sister’s teasing rebuke at not coming sooner.

But now his mind turned towards home. He hoped for a warm meal, and some merry company. The boy he had found, too, would be there. Not waiting for him, he realized in a moment, for he wouldn’t know him, but he’d be there, bandaged up and cared for.

“Hopefully he’ll be asleep,” he said to himself. “He should be sleeping, anyway. He’ll need all the sleep he can get in the next couple weeks until he’s mended.”

He entered the yard and after dismounting, he led his horse into the stables. Leof met him, for he had been expecting Flithaf’s return since nightfall. With a few quiet words and a goodnight bidden, Thornden left the horse in his care and hurried inside.

It was with surprise that he noticed that the hall was empty. He paused in the doorway and looked about. In a moment, Kara exited one room and walked across the floor, an empty plate in her hands. She looked at him as she passed on the opposite side of the room, but said nothing before disappearing into another doorway. She was the only living thing to be seen, though.

Thornden didn’t know how to explain the strange silence to himself. He shrugged and went in, shutting the door behind him. He would find some water and then report to Eodwine with the money he had gathered and the different messages from his freeholders for requests and whatever else they had thought to write or send by word. But the next moment he changed his mind. It would take some time speaking with Eodwine, and he would like to talk to the boy if he possibly could, but the longer he waited, and the later the time got, the less likely it would be that he would find him awake. So, having made up his mind, he washed his hands in his room, put his pouch down on the bed, took off the dusty vest he wore, and then went to the room where the injured boy lay.

The door slowly and silently swung back on its hinges as Thornden pressed against it gently. He put his head in first to see in what state the boy lay before he went in. Slowly and carefully so as to make no noise, he approached the bed.

The boy lay on his back. He wore a clean shirt, and the covers of the bed were pulled up over his stomach. One arm was folded over the blankets, and the other, splinted and wrapped in clean white bandages, lay by his side. His head was bandaged also and his face was turned away from the door and Thornden could not tell if he slept or was awake. But then he suddenly moved and turned his head and looked at him.

Thornden stopped abruptly and stood completely still. There was a complete silence as they looked and studied each other for a moment. Then Thornden let out the breath he had caught and walked forward freely to the bedside.

“Well, lad, how do you feel?”

[Folwren]

The horse trotted merrily along over the gold-tossing grass and Falco’s pony kept up a steady, loping canter just by their side. Thornden had his arm wrapped securely about young Garmund’s waist to keep him from bouncing too high. He wondered how the lad was getting on – surely such riding would get tiring – but Garmund didn’t seem to mind, and often he laughed with glee and excitement, and begged to go faster.

In half an hour they reached the place of the ruins. It was among the foothills of the mountains, small hills rolled about them. They reached the place by a rare-used path, overgrown with grass and weeds. Before them, the high, rocky back of a hill rose, and at it’s base, trees and bushes grew. Thornden and Falco brought their mounts to a stop. Thornden swung down from his horse and then reached up to help Garmund down. The boy nearly tumbled out of the saddle in his excitement. Scarcely had his feet safely touched the ground that he looked about him excitedly.

“Are we there? Where is it?”

Thornden laughed as he turned to his horse. “Oh, they’re here alright. Falco, if you like, you can take Garmund on. I’ll tend the horses and follow you.”

Falco seemed happy enough with this arrangement. He left his pony where he stood and beckoned Garmund to follow him as he turned towards the tangled mess of bushes and little, shrubby trees.

“There in here,” he called. Garmund ran to catch up.

Thornden smiled as he watched them go, disappearing into the brush, they were both so short. He chuckled and set to work unsaddling the horse. No knowing how long they’d be there. . .

When both of the animals were unsaddled and unbridled, left to wander and graze at will, Thornden turned to follow the hobbit and boy.

[Folwren]

At the same time that Thornden was wading through a bunch of bushes, a fair haired, merry looking young woman was riding up towards the entrance to Edoras. Near her rode another figure, a boy, scarcely thirteen summers, if that. They both looked eagerly forward at the city built upon the hill.

“Here we are, Javan!” she called brightly to her companion. Javan urged his horse forward to her side.

“Do you suppose he got your letter? And is expecting us?”

“Oh, yes, I’m quite sure of it,” Medreth responded, for Medreth it was, Thornden’s sister, and his youngest brother rode with her, too. “I sincerely hope he hasn’t forgotten,” she added after a moment’s pause. “If he has, I don’t know what I shall do.”

“Probably knock his head in,” Javan responded knowingly. “I hope he hasn’t forgotten, too.” He didn’t say why, but his eyes sparkled with anticipation. He hadn’t seen his brother for nearly a year and was quite looking forward to the meeting.

In a few minutes, they reached the gate of the city and passed through. Medreth stopped her horse and turned towards one of the guards standing there.

“Excuse me, but could you tell me where the Hall of Eorl Eodwine is? I understand it used to be the White Horse Inn?” Yes, the guard knew of it, and in a moment, Medreth had acquired directions to the place. She smiled and thanked him and she and her brother went on.

In little time at all they reached the mead hall. With a clatter of hooves against the stones, they came into the courtyard and rode to the stables. Medreth dismounted in one swift and easy movement. She took the mare’s reins in her hands as she looked about her with curiosity. Her bright blue eyes studied the building that must be the hall, now apparently busy being added onto. A tug on her rein reminded her of the task at hand.

“Javan,” she said absently without turning. “Will you find the ostler or somebody to take the horses?”

“Sure thing!” Javen replied. He slipped off the horse, pressed his reins into Medreth’s extra hand, and walked into the stables to find the ostler.

[Taralphiel]

The floorboards were cold and damp, and Lys shivered. It was not with discomfort that he looked at his feet pressed to the floor, but joy. Lys had made almost a full recovery since being brought into the Meal Hall. The gash on his head had healed, and only a small scar near on eyebrow remained. He had recovered enough to sit up in bed without his ribs giving out jutting pains, and all that was left for him to discover was the healing of his ankle.

Hrethel stood nearby, gently patting his hips. He smiled over at the boy, watching his nervous expression. He chuckled and cocked out his knobbly elbows, wriggling them and saying with a wink “I may not look strong, but I’ll give my best should ye fall! Now don’t be nervous, young Lys! Your ankle is strong and healed well! All that should remain is a limp and a pain, and I’m afraid both will linger given how poorly ye came to us…”

Lys took a last look up at Hrethel, before placing his hands firmly on the small mattress and pushing off. Pressing and straightening his knees, he felt a momentary panic before he found he was standing quite prefectly on his own. Hrethel had not moved to catch him, but stood and clapped, nodding and bending to peer at how Lys stood on his poor foot. Lys smiled, and began to take a few more steps, before his legs began to shudder, and he let out an involuntary wince. This would be the lingering pain, Lys thought quietly. It was manageable, and Lys was grateful for that. Turning carefully on that foot, he faced Hrethel and beamed.

“Thank you Hrethel! I have no means to repay you, save a deep wish in my heart to help you in any way I can. I hope I can be of service to you in some way…”

Hrethel gave Lys a gentle pat on the shoulder and and pointed to the door, holding out his arm for Lys to take. “For now, young man, you can walk with me and help me find Master Thornden! I am sure he will be happy to see you up and about. And as ye’ve told me no fewer than a handful of times, he owes you for a missed dinner outing!”

Lys bit his lip as Hrethel mentioned this ‘dinner outing’. True enough, Thornden had been unavoidably taken from his promise. That evening was hard on Thornden, and after all the nightmarish weeks Lady Linduial was captured, Lys could not hold blame to him very long. Still, his disappointment could not be contained. He had told Hrethel about how much he had wanted to be seen out of his room. Out and about with people that had only known him as the ‘sickly boy in Thornden’s care’…

This thought lead Lys into a cascade of others about the kind man that had rescued him. Thornden had sat along with him and cared for him quietly. Always listening when needed, always keeping Lys informed of all the events of outside. Rarely did Thornden asked questions that were hard for the boy, and this relieved him greatly. Since Thornden had found him broken and bundled in his fine quilt, Lys had not remembered any of his past, nor any more of the events that left him in that state. And now, a month or more later, Lys had now resigned himself to gladness. Whatever his mind hid from him, must be hidden for a reason.

The door creaked open, and Lys noticed the bustling of the regular worker’s about the Mead Hall. Lys smiled as the young lady that brought his meals briskly walked past. She slowed and grinned widely, nodding respectfully to Hrethel. Lys couldn’t help an overjoyed laugh as he turned from her, and headed in the direction of the hearth.

“All the Hall will marvel to see the young lad we’ve kept hidden up in his room. I say you looked like a broken boy’s toy when I first set my healing eye on you. Now, it does this old heart good to see such happiness on your face…”

Lys slowly pressed foot to floor, as he began to learn the sensation of walking again. But it took only a small time for him to get weary. Taking the young boy to sit on a small bench enough for them both, Herethel sat by Lys and patted his knees contentedly. “Aye, a fine day! We shall make a small trip of it, you and I. I cannot see Master Thornden about, but he shall return yet! For now, let us enjoy the sun!”

With that Hrethel began to give Lys a small tour of the Mead Hall, complete with an ending in the courtyard in the sun. This seemingly small trip took the two a fair while, and not for that reason of Lys alone. There were more complaints from the healer about sore bones than from his patient.

Lys sat in the sun and breathed in deep. It felt wonderful to have the full sun on his face and the smell of baked bread wafting into his senses. He felt freedom like he had never remembered it before. And for some reason, that did not lead him to despair. Strange comfort was all he could feel.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco led Garmund into the tangle of brush and trees. Vines crossed from tree to tree, making for a thick tangle that reached at least twice as high as Thornden's head. It was not easy going, even with the remains of a path. In point of fact, somewhat to Falco's mild suprise, the path seemed to be less overgrown than he expected.

"Ah! There. Have a look at that, Garmund!"

"It looks like a little bit like Náin," Garmund said.

It was true, after a fashion. It was a stump of grouted stone, or rather layer upon layer of old, old stone with the grouting slowly by slow age rotting and falling away.

"Or a little like an old giant's chipping molars and gums, only sideways," Falco said. "And there's more of it over that-a-way." Falco pointed.

Vine strewn and matted with moss, the dwarvish looking stone column before them grew into a wall of varying heights to their right. Garmund got his hands into the middle of it, touching the old stone, and looked back at Falco.

"How far in does it go?"

"Let's have a look. The path leads that way."

As they passed beyond the first wall, Garmund in the excited lead now, Falco thought that he caught something moving out of the corner of his eye, but a second look revealed nothing. Maybe Thornden's looking over that way and I caught but a glimpse of him. But that didn't seem right. Probably nothing. Falco shook off the jibblies and followed Garmund.

[littlemanpoet]

"Explain your arrangement with the Lady Saeryn, Eodwine." Lothiriel the queen was seated in a chair lined with soft furs. Waterbowls in which floated flower petals, lit beneath by candles, rested upon small wooden tables in each corner of the room, filling the air with the warm fragrance of mixed rose, lavender, and apple.

Eodwine was standing before her alone, her ladies in waiting having been dismissed. He was suddenly very ill at ease, having expected thanks for rescuing Linduial, only to be confronted with this.

"She is," he paused, "my apprentice in the mead hall, doing all the things a Lady has authority to do."

"All things?"

Further discomfited, Eodwine wondered what the queen was implying.

"I beg your pardon, lady, but I fail to take your meaning."

"The Lady of a mead hall such as yours, Eodwine, would be understood to have wifely duties to perform to her lord's satisfaction. Does Saeryn perform these as well?" She held him with her eyes, having caught him off-guard with both subtlety and directness at once.

"No! I would never-!"

Lothiriel raised a hand. "The girl has no parents. It is known that you have made of yourself her guardian, which certainly is becoming of a man of your station. But it is said, Eodwine, that you treat her in all ways, seen by others, as a man treats she who is his betrothed. Eodwine, you cannot have it both ways. Are you the girl's stand-in father, or lover? What are your intentions?"

The situation had not been put to him quite in this way before. Seen in this light, it was obvious to Eodwine that things could not remain as they were. The queen was right. He was 'riding two horses into battle at once', as the saying went among the Eorlingas; and he had been blind to it.

"My queen, I have been a fool. And you have been most wise and discreet in showing it to me so pointedly yet gently." Eodwine relaxed, no longer on his guard; he had not been aware that he had been defending a castle, as it were, but having his confession off his chest made him see it. Not only had he been on his guard with the queen, but before all his household; for though he had not allowed himself to see the quandary of his position quite in the light Lothiriel had rightly shown him, he had known it to be the case deep down in the places of his mind where he put things he preferred not to see.

Lothiriel nodded once. "Foolish you have been, but wise to see it now. Folk do talk, and what they say is not what should be heard of the Eorl, true or not. What does your heart tell you, Eodwine?"

Eodwine imagined Saeryn in his arms; her eyes, full of love, looking into his, then closing as she drew near for a kiss. His blood heated with desire. Then he imagined her huddled by the hearthfire, wrapped about in furs against the cold, himself seated beside her, holding her gently as she leaned on him, trusting him completely; for tears slid down her face in worry for her brother Degas. He felt his heart go out to her in care and affection, with the protectiveness of a father; and he knew in his heart of hearts that it was right and best.

"My heart tells me to father her until she finds a suitable husband."

Lothiriel studied him before saying, "I did not advise you one way or the other, for I knew not which way your heart would speak. You would not be the first man of four decades to take a bride who could be his daughter, and both happy with the marriage."

"Yes, I know 'tis done, but when I think of her need first, the father comes to the fore in me."

"What if she feels otherwise, my friend?"

Eodwine allowed a small smile. The queen had changed the air between them with a word, 'friend'. "I know not, lady. What she feels may change over time, and I would not have her bound to a mouldering husband that she ceases to love."

"Although-" Lothiriel smiled.

"Although," Eodwine replied with increasing ease, assuming a more spreadlegged stance, his hands clasping behind his back, "as you suggest lady, she may grow in love for an elderly husband as the years live on. But I doubt me that she knows her own heart in the matter. Lothiriel, queen, I will tell her all my thought and ask her mind."

"I think you must. Now, if she says that she would espouse you, Eodwine, she cannot remain at the mead hall; she must come here."

The queen's words had come like a thunderclap. Eodwine stood stock still. Again, the queen was right.

"It is as you say, my queen."

After he had taken his leave of the queen, he considered. What did he want, Saeryn as beloved betrothed at a distance or as foster-daughter nearby? He did not want her at a distance, that much was sure; so it seemed that it was best to have her as foster-daughter. But what would Saeryn want?

[Firefoot]

Before any conversation with Trystan could really be started, Thornden had come to the stables requesting horses saddled. Léof had smiled apologetically and left, and by the time he had finished Trystan was gone again. He shrugged to himself. It wasn’t as if there had been anything in particular that he had wanted to say.

His stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him that he had yet to see to his own breakfast, but once more he was interrupted as a lad walked into the stables; Léof placed him at about twelve or thirteen years. “Excuse me,” said the lad, “but are you the ostler here?”

“That I am,” Léof confirmed as he approached the lad. “I am called Léof. Can I help you?”

He nodded. “My sister and I have just arrived… she’s waiting with the horses outside.”

“Then let’s relieve her of that duty, shall we?” said Léof, letting the other lead the way. “Will you be staying long at the hall?” he asked.

The lad answered vaguely over his shoulder. “A while.”

Léof asked no more until they emerged into the sunlight where, just as the lad had said, a woman waited with two horses. “Good morning,” Léof said and repeated his introduction. “Neither the lord of the hall nor his almbudsman is around at the moment, I’m afraid,” he continued, “but if you’re hungry, I’m sure the cooks would be happy to find you a meal, and if you’ll be wanting rooms or aught else, the Lady Saeryn can help you.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"I would accompany you, Modtryth, but it appears that guests have arrived and neither the lord nor Thornden are on hand to welcome them." Saeryn smiled, tilting her head toward the stables where a woman now gave her reins to Leof. "If you are willing, I would love to share evening meal with you and your family. If you'll excuse me?"

Without waiting for a response, Saeryn found herself beside the new woman. She caught her attention easily and clasped her hand, introducing herself politely and with a friendly wave to Leof and Trystan, now both inside with the horses.

"We are pleased that you join us for a time. How may I assist you?"

[Thinlómien]

"Where do you wish me to put this barrell?" Modtryth asked Frodides. "Put it over there on the floor", the cook replied, organising the spices. "Is there anything else I could do?" Modtryth asked. "There's nothing you can do in the kitchen", Frodides replied and laid the pot containing rosemary on the table. She turned and looked Modtryth straight in the eye. "You could, however, go after your son. It seems he got rather angry at something, I saw him run out of the hall just a moment ago."

For a while Modtryth just stared at Frodides and then took a few steps and glanced quickly to the hall. Stigend was still in his place, looking from Garstan to Lord Eodwine. Garmund and Lèoðern were on their way out from the great hall.

"I didn't hear or see it all, but to me it seemed like the boys had some sort of quarrel", Frodides said. Modtryth nodded. "Thank you, Frodides, for informing me", she said speeding out of the kitchen to the yard.

Now where has that boy gone? she wondered.

----------

Cnebba ran. He didn't have any certain place in his mind when he ran from the hall. He just wanted to go away. The tears were blurring his vision, but the anger was giving him speed. He wanted to be alone for a while so that no one could see his tears.

When he had ran enough he sat down and wiped his tears to his sleeve. "I won't cry. I don't cry. Only girls and babies cry", he told to the little sprout facing him. "I'm not a girl or a baby", he assured the young tree, "I'm not." The tree didn't answer. Cnebba kicked it. "Stupid tree", he muttered. Even trees seemed not to agree with him. Even trees were against him. He felt the hot tears rising again, but he defied them. "I'm not a baby", he whispered.

But it was all still so unfair. Everyone was unfair. They were all against him. Garmund had insulted him. Lèoðern had backed away, not protesting to her brother. That hobbit, Falco, had requested Garmund to conspire against him. Lord Eodwine hadn't done anything to prevent this. Cnebba's dad hadn't said anything, maybe he was surely conspiring with Garmund and Falco. His mother hadn't done anything either. Even the twins themselves surely had been plotting against him somehow, he knew.

------

Modtryth found Cnebba sitting on a small rock, hugging his knees. She walked to him in silence and sat down beside him. He glanced at her (his face was wet and eyes red) but then he turned his gaze away and looked at the maltreated little tree. "Go away", he said. She didn't. She just sat there.

"Go away mum", Cnebba repeated. She made no reply. This time the boy looked at her. "Mum, I asked you to go away, didn't you hear me?" he said, this time rather faintly. "I did hear you, Cnebba, but I won't go away." She looked at her son. He seemed to be in the brink of tears. "I don't cry", Cnebba told her. When she made no reply again, he added, "only girls and babies cry."

Modtryth looked at him. Her face was serious. "Not only babies and girls cry, Cnebba. Boys cry too" she said, looking at Cnebba and making a little pause. He turned away. "Grown-up men and women cry too. I cry sometimes", she told her son. Cnebba looked at her. "Even your dad cries sometimes too. There's nothing to be ashamed of in crying, dear", she told him and gave him a warm smile.

------

That smile was just too much for Cnebba. He burst in tears again. He felt his mother put her arms around him gently and stroking his hair. "It's alright, dear", he heard her familiar voice say, "it's alright".

After a while he became aware that he was in his mother's arms like a little baby. He squirmed away from Modtryth and she let him go.

"What happened?", his mother asked. This time, unlike all the times he had broken something, there was no trace of inquisition in her eyes, only concern. He hesitated, and then replied: "I and Lèoðern went to say hello to the twins and asked them to play with us tomorrow. Then Garmund came and said we should have waited for him to introduce the twins. As if they were his private property, only because he was taken to the adventure, not I and Lèoðern." He crushed an ant with his shoe, but as his mother still loked at her with a question in her eyes, he continued, struggling to keep his tone even: "Then he insulted me and said that I'm a bad friend and then Falco came and rebuked me. He said that he had ordered Garmund to hide the twins form us and that I was making a fuss over stupid things and I should go back to sit."

-------

Modtryth thought about the mess for a moment. I can't form a proper picture of this before hearing other versions of what happened, she decided. She took Cnebba's hand, but he didn't want to hold her hand. "Will you come with me, Cnebba? We must speak with your dad. And with others too. I'm sure there are apologies that should be offered." Cnebba looked at her defiantly. She stood up. "If you wish Falco or Garmund to apologise to you, you must come with me. No one's coming here to apologise you anything, dear."

Cnebba looked at her. "Do we have to go just now?" She looked at him, pondering. "Please mum, not yet, but soon", he asked. "Very well then, dear, but we shouldn't be away for long." She sat down again. "Will you play a match of stone-éored with me, mum?" Cnebba asked after a while. "Definitely", Modtryth said and smiled, "but just one match, then we really should be going, otherwise your dad will get too worried."

[littlemanpoet]

"I am sorry for my children's fighting, Lord." He bowed and turned to Stigend. "It would seem that our problem is worse than we thought."

"You are forgiven, of course," Eodwine said, smiling. "Children will fight." He turned to Falco with narrowed eyes. "And Hobbits will nose into other folks' business." Then he turned to Lefun and Ritun. "What would you in the matter of the young ones?"

Ritun spoke for both of them, as usual. "Earn my keep first." Lefun nodded. "We'd five make it in games. Why less? But weary we be this day."

Eodwine smiled. "There you have it, Garstan, until I can hit upon a good way for the Lefun and Ritun to earn their keep here, the children may take as much of the twins' time as these two can stand. Do I have the right of it, Lefun? Ritun?"

They nodded.

"Good! Now where is that minstrel of ours, the mighty Manawydd? Let's have some harping!"

The minstrel was found and he sat before the fire as the day waned. Ale kept coming around. The twins left the hall early in the evening. Harreld staggered out in search of his brother Garreth, but not until much time had passed, the sun just setting. Eodwine sat in his chair, silent, mulling. Those who looked his way so a furrowed and lowered brow and lips that twitched and bit and frowned, and an eye that cast about here and there, following Saeryn closely as she walked by from time to time.

Toward sunset Modtryth and Cnebba came to him, and he gave them his full attention. Once they had moved on, he resumed his mulling.

Falco once tried to make small talk with him but Eodwine dismissed him abruptly; Falco left him with raised brows, and pulled out his pipe and sat near Manawydd and the fire himself. None knew his thoughts, and Falco knew better than to try to badger them out of him until the Eorl was ready to speak his mind.

Eodwine was still mulling the words of the King about Sorn's old holdings, and the Queen about Saeryn. He knew what he needed to do and say, but did not relish the doing and saying. He remained in his seat long after Manawydd grew tired and lapsed into silence, and the hall emptied save those who changed their benches into beds. Eodwine was left undisturbed by all, and paid all the to-ings and fro-ings littlo heed.

[Folwren]

Thornden had paid little attention to the siblings’ quarrel. He had grown up with too many bothers and sisters himself to mind a few sharp words. He ate his meal with a good will, having ridden all afternoon and eating nothing since mid-day. He said nothing to any of his neighbors as he ate. His mind worked busily, thinking of everything that had happened that day.

When the meal was over and the board had been cleared, he sat still with his hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea while most of the others got up and moved about in different groups around the room. After a few minutes, he drew a deep break and looked up, as though awakening from a dream. He glanced around, lifted the mug to his lips and drained the rest of the lukewarm liquid and set the mug back on the table as he got up.

He looked around the people still gathered in the hall. Eodwine sat by the fire, apparently lost in deep thought. Off to one side, sitting face to face by the wall, sat Garstan and Stigend, talking with their heads bent close together. Thornden went towards them. He stopped a couple feet away and waited for a pause to come into their conversation and for them to notice him.

Only a few seconds passed before Garstan slowly lifted his hand and then turned and looked at Thornden. Thornden stepped forward. “May I join you? I would like to hear what you accomplished today. I was gone most of the day.”

“Certainly, Thornden, and welcome,” Garstan answered. “Pull up a chair. Stigend and I were only discussing the new member of the hall.”

“The twins, you mean,” Thornden said, half turning to reach behind himself for a chair. He swung it around and straddled it as he sat, placing his arms on the back. “There are two of them, you know. They are an interesting set, to be sure,” he went on, his eyebrows contracting for a moment. But then his face cleared again. “I think all will be well, though. Eodwine is a good judge of character. Besides that, Falco and your son Garmund were the first ones to find them and I have a feeling that if they were dangerous, it would have shown before now.”

[Celuien]

A faint smile curved on Garstan's face. "I met the twins afore they came to their meal and found them safe enough. That they should be as they are is wonderous, but I see no harm in them. And I place my trust in Lord Eodwine's judgment."

Garstan frowned as he came more to the point of his words with Stigend. "We were speaking more upon our children's fighting for their favor. We had known that not not all was as well as we had wished between Garmund and Cnebba." Stigend nodded his agreement. "And we had thought to put an end to the matter by setting their time for chores more alike. But there is more amiss than we had first thought."

"Cnebba ran off crying. That is not like him."

"Nor does Garmund show his anger as he did tonight or try to keep the reasons for his thoughts from his father." Garstan had spoken to his son in their room, but the boy had given little answer, instead sitting with his jaw set and face reddened even after Lèoðern had laughed and teased him to smile.

"I would not have the sons at war when their fathers are friends."

[Lhunardawen]

From afar, Ginna caught a glimpse of the Eorling Mead Hall in the first timid rays of the rising sun. She had never been to the place, indeed this was the farthest she had been from home since she could remember, but she had heard a few stories from when it was yet the White Horse Inn. Despite the change, she imagined that it would remain warm and inviting even from a distance, attracting weary travellers, runaways, or people eager to render their services. But now that she was seeing it with her own eyes, she felt as though she was riding towards a certain, dreadful doom. As the Mead Hall loomed closer in view, she hung back, and gazed wistfully about her, unwilling to let go of her ties to the world she had known.

She caught sight of a pretty yellow butterfly flitting this way and that, flapping its wings enticingly. She begrudged its freedom to go where it would; and when it grew weary and thirsty from its unhindered flight, always a flower would be willing to give it welcome. What I would not give to grow wings and fly away, she thought.

“Hurry up, Ginna!”

Scowling, Ginna urged her steed on with a whispered command and a light kick to his side. Her father had stopped to wait ahead of her.

“I could have made the journey alone. I know the way,” she said defensively. Randvér said nothing, and simply turned back to the road when she had caught up with him.

“Father, I am twenty-three years of age!”

“And yet you still act like a child: gullible and undiscerning,” came Randvér’s reply, his voice level and emotionless, as though he was stating a well-established fact. “No, you are worse, for a child knows not to speak to strangers.”

Ginna noticed that the butterfly had followed her, and she was glad of the distraction; turning to it, she hid the sad smile that had formed on her lips. Gossip ran rampant where there were people and events, and could reach even the most imperceptive ears. She cared not how her father had heard the tale, though she felt relieved that he had received a distorted version of it. Just how greatly he had misjudged her, she was not going to let him know.

“I cannot be fully blamed, Father,” she replied, her voice a show of repentance. “I have had none to keep me company since Mother—”

She could not bring herself to say the word; even after all those years, the wounds left by her mother's passing still stung. Fair Ayessa had been inflicted with a fatal strain of a disease, which first claimed her vitality, then her beauty, then her life. When shortly afterwards the War of the Ring had called Randvér to duty, Ginna had been left alone to contend with her grief, and her fear for her own life. Since then she had not seen as much of her father as she used to, yet she knew that he was still grieving—so much that he seemed to have forgotten that he was not alone in it. She felt it strongly now, as silence fell heavily between them.

“Is this really necessary?” she eventually whispered, almost to herself. Randvér looked away pointedly.

“My old friend Eodwine is a good man. He will keep a keen eye on you.”

“I have learned well from you, Father; I do not need guarding.”

“I do not know why, but somehow it is not what might befall you that worries me, Ginna, but what you might do.”

Ginna peered at her father from the corner of her eyes. She recognised the look of disappointment in his, and could discern what thoughts caused it. He had believed that he and her wife had raised their daughter well, and still could not fathom it: how could her beauty, which surpasses that of her mother, and at which they had always taken pride…how could it have been such a source of disgrace? For Ginna knew her beauty, and knew how to wield it to her own gain, if what she wanted—what she needed—could not be given her.

“I will not be a burden to anyone,” she said resolutely, concealing the bitterness that she felt. Had she not averted her eyes to face the Mead Hall defiantly, she would have seen the hope that replaced the disappointment, and the faint gleam of loving pride appearing out of nowhere into her father's eyes; but they vanished just as quickly as they came, and all Ginna knew of his response was a curt “See that you won’t.”

~*~

If anyone was already awake in the Mead Hall, they certainly had not let it known to those who might be outside. Ginna and Randvér entered quietly, so as not to disturb anyone. As she walked behind her father, Ginna felt that she would burn with shame if someone caught her, a grown lady, accompanied by him. Let them think that he’s leaving a child to their care. And let him arrange the conditions that will allow my stay here. She quietly stole away and wandered around to familiarise herself with her new home.

After a while she felt lost, overwhelmed by the immensity of the place compared to the home in which she had grown up. She knew not where she was, and desired to have someone to let her know, perhaps even give her a tour. So busy she was with her own thoughts that she overlooked the little girl who was then looking curiously at her.

[Lhunardawen]

Lèoðern had jovially taken Ginna's hand and helped her to her feet, and was leading her away excitedly when they heard a man's voice. Ginna took a moment to acknowledge it as her eyes rolled in mild annoyance, but Lèoðern rounded instinctively at the call, forcing Ginna to face her father. Another man came with him. It must be the Lord Eodwine. She obviously could not let him wait.

"Later perhaps?" she asked Lèoðern as she made to walk towards the two men, and tried to extract her hand from the little girl's. Lèoðern's grip was surprisingly firm for a child her age.

"May I come with you? Maybe you can join us for breakfast!" Without waiting for a response Lèoðern tugged at Ginna. The lady followed the young girl helplessly, more being dragged than walking, and reached Randvér and Eodwine sooner than she would have liked.

"Good morning, my lord," she said, bowing slightly, which earned a gentle giggle from Lèoðern. Ginna was eager to leave a favourable impression, for her father's sake as well as hers; though she felt a certain awkwardness in Eodwine's presence. What does he know about me?

[littlemanpoet]

"You called him my lord!" cried Léoðern accusingly to Ginna. "Then I can call you my lady!" The little girl grinned.

"But he is a lord!" Ginna said.

"No he's not! He's just Eorl Eodwine!"

Eodwine laughed. "And your most humble servant, Léoðern. May we take the lady Ginna from you? You see, she is going to stay here and work for me."

"You're going to stay here?!" The little girl's grin widened and her face brightened.

"Yes, she is," Eodwine answered for Ginna. "May we take her?" He looked up. "Ah, there's your father now, and I'd say that he seems to be looking for you."

Garstan was indeed coming back from across the main road where he had just deposited his son Garmund for sheep sheering.

[Formendacil]

Náin was late for breakfast. Well, he was not quite late, exactly. It would be more accurate to say that he was later. Later than usual. But with Náin this was something of note. The Dwarf was as regular in his routine as the mechanical clocks his kinsmen made in Dale, as predictable as Arien's daily course across the heavens.

When Náin did appear for breakfast, most of the Mead Hall's denizens were half done, or finishing, their meals. Enough had finished eating that he found himself able to sit alone-- something else he rarely did-- and relatively ignored. The various newcomers to the Hall; Rítun and Lefun, Javan, and now Randvér and his daughter; all attracted more interest than the daily Dwarf, which was fine with him.

Náin did not know what to make of himself this morning. He had taken especial pains with his appearance before coming down to breakfast; indeed, such had been the reason for his tardiness. He had combed his beard for twice as long as usual, and had even trimmed some of the stray whiskers. A dwarf's beard should be long, but neat. It is better to grow it slowly, evenly, than to let it run wild like a bed of weeds.

He was wearing a completely fresh set of clothes, from his hooded cloak to his leather shoes. His face and hands were scrubbed clean and even his normally darkened callouses shone.

And he was jumpy, nervous. His stomach felt light and fluttery, but rather than wanting to settle it down with Frodides fine fare, his appetite was slim and he sat at his table nibbling absently at an unadorned slice of bread.

It was not natural, Náin tried telling himself, for the hundredth time. He was simply going to see the local sights today. He was still telling himself that when Kara tapped him on the shoulder half an hour later, startling him into sloshing his mug of tepid water over both himself and her.

[Taralphiel]

Lys fumbled with his tunic, inwardly cross at himself for sleeping for far too long. He supposed it was from all the walking he had done the day before, as he had slept from the moment his head met his pillow. Now toiling with his shoes, Lys wondered if Thornden would be finished with his breakfast. 'More likely than not...' Lys thought to himself with a sigh.

His hurry was more frustrated by his bad ankle. Trying to walk faster only made his right ankle drag more conspicuously. He slowed and gave a shrug, hoping he would not stand out too much when he came to eat. He also hoped no one would treat him poorly for his tardiness.

The young boy found a few people left at the Hall, but could not see Thornden. Grumbling a little, he took his breakfast and went to an empty seat. The portions were more than sufficient, and this brightened his mood a little. As Lys chewed on a corner of dark, hard bread he looked around at all the others seated...

[Lhunardawen]

Ginna's eyes remained fixed on Lèoðern, and so did the smile on her lips, as Garstan led his daughter away. She did not notice that beside her, Eodwine had been regarding her as well.

"Have you taken a liking to her?" he asked.

"Why, yes indeed, my lord," she responded, turning to face him. She looked at her father and saw in his expression that he was...cautioning her. Ginna ignored him. What harm did he think would come of it?

"I look forward to getting to know her more," she continued, "as well as the rest of those who are in this household. But may I first know what arrangement you and my father have come to?"

Before Eodwine could respond, a young man approached and addressed the two newcomers.

"Good morning to you. I am Léofric, the ostler here. Will you be needing stabling for your horses?"

Ginna smiled at him, but said nothing, letting her father answer. Surely for hers, but she did not know if he intended to stay long. Eager as she was to get started, she hoped that he would leave soon.

[littlemanpoet]

"Good morning Léof!" said Eodwine brightly, forgetting his troubles for the moment in the face of the immediate business to hand. "This is Randvér, and old friend of mine from the war, and his daughter Ginna. He holds lands a good day's ride north from here, and it would seem that by sheer accident I am his Eorl. Ginna will be staying at the Mead Hall for some while, so find room in the stables for a longer stay for her mount. Randvér, I am sorry to say, will be leaving us this day, so freshen his horse for the return trip."

"Aye, lord!"

"My thanks, Léof."

Léof regarded Ginna. "Welcome to the Eorling Mead Hall, Ginna." She gave him her thanks, and Léof led the two horses away.

Eodwine turned to Ginna. "As to your question, we have not settled on what you will do."

"I would have her begin amongst the humblest serving maids, lord," said Randvér, "for she is wild and willful and needs taming." Eodwine raised a brow in surprise. Randvér blushed and coughed into his hand. "I did not wish to say such embarrassments before the others in the Hall, my friend, but 'tis true." He glared at his daughter. "Is it not?"

Ginna refused to speak, but turned her face away from him and crossed her arms. Randvér turned back to Eodwine with a sigh. "You see how it is with her."

Eodwine did see, but he thought he saw more than Ginna's father did. The ire lay on both sides and wrongs would have to be admitted on both sides one day, but today was many days too early for such words. He liked the girl's spirit, and truth be told, saw that it told true that she was his daughter.

"Lowest of the low in my hall? I would not have her wilt, scrubbing floors all the day and cleaning out the latrine otherwise. That would not do, Randvér. She shall be a serving wench under the watchful eye of Frodides, my cook, and Kara, her apprentice. To those two she will be obedient, and to me, of course. What say you to that, Randvér?"

"I think, my friend, that you are a kindly lord, and I hope that you do not regret your lightness of hand, as I have too many times over the years."

"Father!" Ginna protested.

"Peace, Ginna!" Eodwine smiled. "I will be your lord and not your father, so I expect the obedience due a lord and head of the Hall, and not the submission due a father. Will you obey me, and Frodides and Kara?"

Ginna paused only briefly before giving her assent. Randvér shook his head that she had paused at all, but Eodwine smiled that she had indeed given thought, and assented so quickly.

"Good! Now let us three go in and break our fast!"

[Formendacil]

Náin and Kara had walked out the Mead Hall, down three or four streets, and into the tradesmen's shops part of Edoras without saying a single word. This struck Náin like a bolt of lightning just as they were coming up towards the first of the shops, the tanner's. They could smell it long before they saw it.

What an idiot he was! Here he was trying to keep from stumbling over his own words, and to keep his flutterly gullet as stony and Dwarven as possible, and all he was really succeeding in doing was nearly ignoring her. Companionable silence was normal among Dwarves, but Náin had noted that Men, and particularly their womenfolk, could often be uncomfortable at long periods of silence. Fool! Bad enough one of them felt distinctly uncomfortable, no need for Kara to join him. Now, if only he actually had something intelligent to say...

"It looks like we might be in danger of showers sometime ere nightfall."

Unfortunately for Náin, he only managed to find those words just as Kara started to ask him a question.

"Is leatherwork a common craft among Dwarves?"

Kara and Náin glanced at each other, Kara looking a little amused, Náin looking mortified.

"S-s-sorry!" he stuttered, turning as red as his beard. Kara laughed.

"No, it's my fault. What were you saying?"

Náin spluttered, completely unable to remember. "N-n-nothing. Please-- go on!"

"I was asking about leatherwork among Dwarves," she continued, determined to squeeze a decent conversation out of the flustered Dwarf. "I've noticed that you have some finely crafted pieces among your effects, and I was wondering if it's a common craft among Dwarves? Or is your kinship to the King evident in it?"

Náin breathed a sigh of relief. Craftsmanship! Here was a topic he could expound on, hopefully without embarrassment.

"Nay," he said, "it is a common trade among Dwarves, though not so highly esteemed as stonework or metalwork. I learned much of the trade ere I came of age, and ere I selected stonework as my trade."

Náin rambled on a good deal more than he needed to have done, but after the unnoticed silence of the walk from the Mead Hall, he was unwittingly swinging in the other direction, becoming overly gregarious.

[JennyHallu]

Marenil arose early, as was his custom, puttering about his cozy little room. A few moments' searching awarded him with three small slates and pencils, wrapped in muslin, that he'd bought the day before at the market place.

Now only to find little Leodern, and then the boys this afternoon.

Marenil looked on the prospects of the coming day with a sigh. A quiet man, he had grown used to living on the edge of the bustling, chaotic life at the Inn. Most of his days were spent on the bench in the kitchen garden, reminiscing with Frodides, whose practical nature and similar years made her a comfortable companion to the old man. He wondered if young Kara, constantly running back and forth through the garden pursuing her own duties, even noticed his presence there, so unobtrusive was he.

Now he would have three rambunctious children in his charge all day long. Not that he minded, he was more than a little fond of young creatures. Small children did not see his years, did not make allowances for the pain of his joints and the slowness of age, they simply saw him: a grown man who would listen to them in seriousness and respect. They would grip his arms and drag him along to see some wonder or another; examining a butterfly or beetle or tree or flower with the awe reserved for the very young. With children Marenil himself felt young.

But the reserved near-silence of this retirement was certainly at an end.

He sighed and put on the knitted house-slippers Frodides had given him a few weeks back, venturing out into the hall. Where might a young thing like Leodern hide herself this early in the morning? A delicate aroma wafted through the hall and Marenil smiled as he followed it. Breakfast, of course. The girl would be at breakfast.

The hall was filled, chaotic, and noisy when he arrived, and it only took a moment to see who wasn't there to see why. Kara was nowhere to be seen. A likely lass, the young cook, and Marenil missed her sensible presence as he descended the stairs and into the fray. Looking for the source of the warm rolls that seemed to be making their way through the room, he wasn't carefully watching where he was going.

Next thing he knew he rammed decidely into the side of--

"Oh, my pardon, lord," he said from his new place seated on the floor. "Lovely morning, is it not? So quiet and peaceful." He chuckled to himself as Eodwine extended a hand to help him up. "So relaxing to retire to the country...Have you seen Leodern? She needs a few inches yet before she can be easily found."