Eorling Mead Hall

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas stretched beneath the statue of Falco, leaning lazily against its base with a lute in his hands. He strummed it, tuning it quietly, and hummed a little for a moment. He had not sang in Eodwine’s Hall and was uncertain as to what the reaction would be, yet it was a beautiful day.

It was early yet; the sun was just breaking the horizon. Farahil and Leof readied mounts inside the stable. Saeryn slept still, having woken suddenly in the middle of the night and relocating herself to her room after the initial confusion of her whereabouts. Lèoðern had met Degas coming from his room with the instrument and had taken his hand sleepily, a thumb in her mouth. He smiled and now she sat in the dirt before him, watching his fingers caress the lute strings.

“Sing me a song, ‘egas?”

“What song would you have me sing, little lady?”

“A pretty one.”

“Ah, a pretty one…” He pretended to think for a moment, running his fingers practicedly over the lute to make it hum. Lèoðern giggled, as he’d known she would. He took a sip of the water he had brought with him and coughed lightly to clear his throat before plucking a few short practice chords. Quietly he began, not wanting to wake anybody, and his voice grew as the song went on. It started slow, with soft notes, and he sang as if to Lèoðern.

A heart beat ever heavily,
Its feet to tread the world alone;
It asked its master pleadingly
To find a lass and make a home.

It wandered hills with only song
As comfort for its loneliness
Begging softly all along
To settle down in happiness.

The master heard the heartfelt plea
And begged his heart to hear.
Wouldst thou, heart, please wait for me?
‘Til settling I no longer fear.

The heart spoke back to master’s words
And softly it did say
I’ll wait for you, loyal to you,
Until our dying day.

From hill and field the harper lad
Sang for his bed and mead
But ever onward thought he had
Of what his heart did plead.

With laughter then he met a lass
And thought of her as fair
And so a time did come to pass
That none other could compare.

Her voice and laugh was its own song,
Her heart the beat he cared for best
And finally time did come along;
He wished to stop and rest.

His wandering days he left behind
But cared less than he’d guessed.
But time now came to try their minds
And put devotion to the test.

The lady made a heartfelt plea
And hoped his promise true:
Wouldst thou, love, please wait for me?
‘Til I return to you.

The harper spoke to lady’s words
And softly he did say
I’ll wait for you, loyal to you,
Until our dying day.