Scarburg Meadhall

[Firefoot]

Léof was amazed by how calm the boy was being, trying to show him what had happened. Léof couldn’t tell if the boy’s lack of words was because the boy was too young to talk much or if it was because he was in distress – he hadn’t spent that much time around small children. Even so, he found himself anxiously looking around for someone who actually knew about children to come and take the boy off his hands. He had reacted instinctively, but didn’t know what to do next.

“Why?” whimpered the boy.

“Well,” said Léof, hoping that talking would keep the boy from beginning to bawl, “fire makes the things it burns very hot, and when you touch hot things they burn you.” He didn’t know if the boy would understand this explanation or not, but fortunately just then someone ran up with a water pail.

“Thanks,” he said, paying no attention to who it was. He touched the water to make sure it wasn’t freezing. “Now,” he said to the boy, “you need to put your hand in the cold water, alright?”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine came back from the kitchen with a wooden cup of mead. He sat down by Laerdil.

"Here is drink that is maybe worthy of an Elf. At least, we Eorlingas think it most worthy."

"My thanks."

Laerdil raised it to his nose and sniffed it first. His brow rose a moment, then he sipped. "It is good," he said, then put it down and plucked at his harp.

It was clear to Eodwine that Laerdil was not overly impressed. Not that it mattered.

Just then he caught out of the corner of his eye someone coming into the hall. Scyrr. An ill feeling came into Eodwine's belly. He would have to deal with this, and soon, like it or not. Best get it done. He waited for Scyrr to be seated, and stood across from him.

"Scyrr."

The man's frown deepened upon hearing his name. He wanted at this moment to be left alone so that he could fill his empty stomach and drink some water, and try to relieve the aching in his head. He looked up sullenly and his mood did not improve when he saw that it was Eodwine.

"What?" he asked.

"You insulted my wife and me last night. You are in my debt. Will you make amends willingly?"

"I may have said some hasty words, but it was the mead speaking, not me. And it was your wife who wronged me, sir, and she ought to say sorry to me."

This could make things more complicated, but it was one of the most classic tricks known to man - shifting blame. Eodwine allowed a hint of a smirk.

"That is another matter. We are sticking to this point for now. You own your own words, man, overflowing with mead or not. Will you make amends?"

"Your wife forced me to speak them, as you well know. I would not have spoken them were you not called out by name by her. But I have further quarrel to make with you - allowing your wife to address me on a problem that is clearly your authority to care for."

Eodwine had been mild but firm so far. This, however, was a variation on the accusation of the previous night. Eodwine looked down at him coldly. "Have you learned nothing, man? I give not two coins for who said what, or who sent whom when and where and how. You are proud and vain. What you think of me means less than nothing. But by your words and your deeds you are judged. You spoke insult against me and my wife last night. Will you make amends, or not? And Scyrr, be careful how you answer, for you tread close to the same as last night."

Scyrr leant back and spread his hands in a mock show of defeat. "Oh, I am sorry." His tone was insincere. "What would you have me do now, then?" He looked up at Eodwine, a challenge in his eyes. No, he would not directly defy Eodwine again, but his words were obviously nothing less than a rebellious challenge.

"Simple, soldier," Eodwine replied with a cold smile. "I would that you take your punishment like a man for your cheek. I will speak with your lord about this." With that he turned from the man and went back to the Elf. Yes, much better company, the Elf.

[Folwren]

Javan

Javan put the bucket down by Léof and stood with his arms crossed as he watched Léof try to coax the youngster into putting his hand into the water. He was not impressed that the tyke didn’t know that a stick that had been lying in the fire was hot. However, it was admirable how the little boy did not cry after those first screams. And, really, those yells had sounded more angry than hurt.

He crouched next to Léof, facing the child. “See? I got the water so it will stop the burning in your hand.” He stuck his hand in to demonstrate the procedure. “Aaaah,” he said, and popped his hand back out again. “Then it will be all better.”

--

Quin

He could not help but overhear Eodwine’s and Scyrr’s conversation, though throughout the duration of it, he kept his head down and his eyes on his trencher. He wished Scyrr had not sat so near him and that he did not have to hear it. With each passing remark from Scyrr, he winced within himself, and finally when Eodwine made his last answer, he raised his eyes to Eodwine’s face. His expression was hard to read, but it clearly lacked the general good will it usually bore. Instead, he looked implacably stern and cold as he informed Scyrr that he would be telling lord Athanar of this and turned away.

Quin glanced swiftly at Scyrr and then lowered his eyes again to his plate. He and Léof had frequently talked about Eodwine. He had learned from Léof that Eodwine was a gentle man, slow to anger, but just in his actions. Everyone who had lived in Scarburg under Eodwine’s lordship had respected him. Quin wondered if anyone had ever insulted him like Scyrr had and if even Léof could guess what Eodwine would ask to be done. He looked about apprehensively. The conversation had lagged at the table. The men were sitting with their eyes mostly downcast, but he caught covert looks being sent after Eodwine and towards Scyrr. Quin realized he had not been the only one to overhear the confrontation.

“What did you expect, Scyrr?” Quin said, standing up and preparing to leave the hall. “That’d he’d stand by to let you insult him and his wife? You should’ve made amends and let it go. He wouldn’t have asked for a punishment then.”

“Mind your own business, Quin,” Scyrr growled. “I don’t need your advice.”

“Not now, certainly. Maybe if I’d given it sooner.”

Scyrr looked angrily at him. “Move along, I said.” Quin shrugged and went.

[Galadriel55]

Theolain

Were they showing him a game? Theolain did not understand. Why were the boy and the man crouching next to him with a bucket of water, telling him to put his hand in?

Theolain reached out and dipped the fingers of his left hand into the chilled water. “No, your other hand,” the boy corrected him and guided his right arm – the burnt one – to the bucket. The water was soothing, but stung at the same time; it was a different kind of pain. Theolain made to draw his hand away from the water to escape the queer feeling.



Ledwyn

The wails from outside made Ledwyn freeze in the middle of crossing the kitchen, causing Gina to almost run into her. Looking around, she did not see Theolain where she left him. The other wenches seemed to understand her thoughts. “Your son?” asked one of them. Ledwyn nodded. She hastened to finish her task at hand and rushed outside, forgetting to close the door behind her.

Theolain stopped crying by now. This was some unusual quality that she noticed in her son only, not in any other children. They were all always at the wrong place at the wrong time, and all ran around the village grabbing things and knocking things over, and all tripped and all fell. But the difference was that Theolain never cried for long over his cuts and bruises. He never dwelt on any one thing for long if it held no interest to him, not even crying.

Ledwyn spotted him next to two young men who were speaking soothingly to him. “What happened to my son?” she demanded, approaching them.

[Firefoot]

“I know it hurts, but it’s going to help your hand heal better!” said Léof in frustration to the little boy. He grabbed the boy’s wrist more firmly to forcibly immerse the boy’s hand, but just then an angry-looking woman strode up to them and demanded, “What happened to my son?”

Léof hastily released the boy’s hand and stood up, bobbing his head toward her in a way that could almost be called a bow. “He pulled a stick out of the fire, ma’am,” he said. She wasn’t any bigger than he was, but the desire to protect her boy seemed to have brought out every fierce and protective notion the woman had. “He burned his hand, and we’re trying to get him to put it in the pail of cold water so it won’t blister.”

[Galadriel55]

Theolain

Theolain was hurt. No, not the hand. He was hurt that the man told Mother the wrong story. Theolain explained everything to him, how the stick was not supposed to bite, and how it tricked him. He knew he should not touch fire. The stick was not in the fire, though. Did the man not understand what he said?



Ledwyn

Ledwyn was surprised to see that the twain next to her son could hardly be called grown men. Although one was clearly older than the other, he was barely out of boyhood. Neither looked old enough to be a Rider.

When she heard the story she wanted to hold Theolain close and at the same time to slap him. How many more times can he burn himself before he takes the lesson to heart? But all other feelings were pushed out by a sense of simple gratitude to the two boys. They were strangers to her and Theolain, yet they took care of him as though he was one of their own. A basic act of kindness, and yet not even all wizened old men could boast such. “Thank you,” Ledwyn whispered.

She crouched down and held Theolain’s hand fast in the water herself. The boys did not speak. But before they could leave she addressed them herself:

“I am called Ledwyn. This is my little troublemaker son Theolain.” She was smiling despite the words, ruefully at first, but more merrily with each moment. She thought she must have looked like a fool, kneeling next to a burnt toddler and grinning from ear to ear, but the absurdity of it made her smile the harder. After all, what was wrong with smiling? Theolain was not hurt that badly, and he will harm himself many more times and much worse before he grows to be a man. After so many injuries it was difficult to take each one of them gravely.

[Firefoot]

Léof exchanged a look with Javan over the top of Ledwyn’s head. For his part, it contained relief, both that the woman was no longer upset and that she was here to take care of her own son, as well as general confusion over her reaction. She sounded… happy, as she introduced herself. Why was she smiling like that?

Best not to question it.

“I’m Léof, and this is Javan,” he said in reply. He paused, not sure whether this conversation was over and he should leave, or if he ought to say more. “Um… Do you need any more help? A bandage for Theolain’s hand?”

[Galadriel55]

“Um… Do you need any more help? A bandage for Theolain’s hand?” Léof asked.

“If you would be so kind,” Ledwyn said, sobering up. She reminded herself that she was still a stranger here. “Without them he will pick on the blisters, or scratch the burn if it gets itchy.”

[Firefoot]

“Of course,” said Léof. He glanced at Javan and jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen where there were kept some basic medical supplies. The pair headed off.

As soon as they were out of earshot Léof commented, “Sounds like it’s not the first time that’s happened. I don’t know much about children but that one doesn’t seem very smart…”

[Folwren]

Javan couldn’t claim to know much more about kids. He shrugged his shoulders. “Eh, but he’s tough. He didn’t cry much after the initial surprise. I think he was angry!”

They went into the kitchen together and paused on the threshold. Saeryn looked over at them.

“What do you need, Léof?” she asked.

[Firefoot]

“Bandages, and some salve for burns, if there is any,” Léof said. “The little boy Theolain burned his hand pretty badly in the hearth.” Seeing Saeryn’s alarm, Léof hastened to add, “He seems to be alright, mostly, and his mother’s with him now.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine and Laerdil had noticed the entire goings on since the boy had screamed in pain. Now the boy's hand was in a pail of water.

Laerdil set down his harp and pulled a small package from his pack. Eodwine could smell a faint odor of wood and leaf. The Elf rose and broke a piece of something dark green. He went over to Ledwyn and the boy, and knelt down.

"May I put this in the water? It might help soothe the boy's hand."

[Galadriel55]

The Elf that Ledwyn saw earlier came over to her and Theolain. She instinctively drew her son slightly closer to herself, and greeted the stranger with a wary gaze. Theolain, taking advantage of the shift of her attention, drew his hand out of the water and showed it to the Elf with a proud look on his face.

"May I put this in the water? It might help soothe the boy's hand," the Elf said. He did not sound like a web-weaver or sorcerer from the stories her grandmother used to tell Ledwyn when she was a child. They always had voices that lulled riders to sleep, made them forget about their duties, homes, and families, and ensnared their hearts in webs of treachery.

He did not sound like that. Nothing majestic, magical, or ensnaring. Just a simple, kind, gentle voice, soft and musical, only a little sad. And wise. She would believe the voice, but it was Theolain that the Dwimordene Elf wished to practice his healing on. What if the he thought to enthrall him? His folk have enthralled riders that came too close to their land with their secret arts. She had to know that this is no foul trick.

“What is this herb? Is it like the ones the renowned Healers of Gondor use? It is not…” Ledwyn thought about the word for a moment. “…magic?”

[littlemanpoet]

"I do not know what you mean by magic," he replied gently. "This herb grows in my homeland. I have used it many times to soothe hurts and help heal wounds."

The woman still seemed doubtful, even fearful. He gently reached out to the thoughts on the edges of her mind, in a way that she would not feel. He could tell that she saw him true, but that lore from the Eorlings of dire dwimmerdene arts from the Wood of the Elves, of lulling and entrapping. He smiled sadly.

"I can break it and put it in the water, or if you would like I can give it to you for you to do with as you like." He held it out to her, silently grieving the wounds that had been caused between Elves and Humans for three Ages by first Bauglir, then Sauron. He was glad that he was going to leave the shores of Middle Earth, to put the evil and pain behind him once and for all. But he was glad, too, that he could have these moments living with the Younger Children of Eru. It gave him much to think on.

[Galadriel55]

"I do not know what you mean by magic," the Elf said. In truth, Ledwyn knew not herself. Magic was always a part of every tale about another people. The Numenorians built towers as smooth as polished steel; the Dark Lord’s Fell Riders awoke fear even in the bravest of hearts; the Dwarves made doors that had no lock or key, yet would let in no enemy; the Onodrim were trees that could talk and move; the Druedain walked like any other men during the day, but turned into stone statues under starlight; the Elves weave treacherous nets that captured the minds and hearts of Men. And all is magic.

What if the Elf spoke true? What if he only wanted to help her son, and live like a Man would? No Man could match the depth of his eyes or the flow of his voice. But Ledwyn has also heard of tales told about her own people among both friends and enemies. Strawheads, the accursed orcs called her people: not a lie, but a truth twisted. What if the net-weavers and sorcerers of Dwimordene also were not wicked and horrid, as the Riddermark tales told?

"I can break it and put it in the water, or if you would like I can give it to you for you to do with as you like," the Elf said. Ledwyn felt guilty for doubting him. “I think you know best what to do with them, good Master.” She lowered her eyes. She felt that he knew exactly what she thought, as if she was as clear as the crust that forms on the surface of a pond after the first frost of winter. She wanted to hide from this feeling, to feel secure, to feel at home.

[littlemanpoet]

He could see her questioning, pondering. There was fear, distrust, doubt, and a desire to trust.

“I think you know best what to do with them, good Master.”

She looked up at him briefly then dropped her eyes. She wanted to feel that she was safe near him.

He smiled gently. He crumbled the herb in his hands and revealed to her the pieces in his open palm, then dropped them in the pail. He took the burned stick and stirred the water, then set the stick down on the floor.

"The water is ready now."

[Galadriel55]

The hand did not hurt very much anymore, but they were still talking. Why are they so worried? Why are all of them talking about him?

Yes, they are talking about him, Theolain knew. Or about his hand. He looked at his palm in an attempt to see what is so important about it. The red stick bit it, and now it was red. So what?

Theolain watched as the stranger crushed some green leaves into the water and stirred them. How did the stick not bite him? When it bit me all the red cme into my hand, and there's none left for him! I can take it again!

But instead of taking the stick, Theolain put his hand in the water. Not because he knew he should, but because one piece of the herb was not crushed as finely as the others. It swirled around when the stranger stirred the contents of the pail. Theolain had to catch it.

It took him some time. It was difficult; whenever Theolain brought his hand close the wave his hand made carried the leaf away, and it slipped from between his fingers when he was sure they are closing around it. When this did not work, he tried another way. He cupped his hand and slowly brought it to the surface, right where the leaf was. The second time he tried this new strategy he succeeded - the leaf was lying on his palm.

Theolain stretched out his hand to the man. "This one too big," he said. Mother looked on with a blank expression, but the stranger seemed slightly amused.

[Folwren]

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

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

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

[Galadriel55]

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

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

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

[littlemanpoet]

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

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

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

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

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

[littlemanpoet]

Athanar's nod matched that of the Elf.

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

"Aye, I have."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Nogrod]

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

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

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

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

Suddenly he got an idea and addressed Laerdil and Eodwine.

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

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

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

[Galadriel55]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[littlemanpoet]

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

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

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

He pitied them their short lives and high passions.

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

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

[Nogrod]

Athanar listened to the elf staring at the dance of the miniature flames in the lit candles at the table, nodding a few times as he went on. Seeing that the elf had closed with what he was willing to say - out of courtesy or otherwise - he also realised the elf was distracted by something.

There was a silenece at the table.

"So, you speak like they say the elves speak... putting what you yourself say or think in a more poetic wrap of silk and throw it back to you as is. Heh, never mind my straightness, I'm human and built like that." With that Athanar raised his hand and wawed for more mead to be brought to the table.

"Excuse me Laerdil, sir. I need to ask the question from my friend lord Eodwine as well before we continue, for I'd like to hear more of you." He nodded to the elf and turned his eyes from him looking straight at Eodwine.

"Now lord Eodwine... what would you say?" He made a pause to let Eodwine anticipate the question coming. "If you knew the details of this case with a servant from both sides, and were not part of it, how would you judge it?"

He eyed lord Eodwine with a faint smile that seemed at the same time deeply sad. Before Eodwine could react he sighed and broke a piece of bread offering the other half to Eodwine. "I will punish Scyrr, naturally. There is no way out for him from this. And there are no excuses... But I'd like to hear what happened and what would be your verdict. Think of it as things happening not to you but with some people you don't know."

[littlemanpoet]

How strange. As Athanar put his question to Laerdil, and then as Laerdil gave silent thought, looking from Athanar to himself and back again, it felt as if he were naked before this Elf, as if his very thoughts and motives were revealed. He felt himself faced with a question: "if you could find a way to be rid of Athanar, what would you do?"

Nothing! He is lord of Scarburg! I would continue to serve him as well as I may!

Verily?

Was the Elf speaking to him from mind to mind, or was he talking to himself? He did not know.

This whole time he had been staring at Athanar because he was finding it difficult to face the piercing eyes of the Elf. Suddenly he realized that Athanar had been talking to him, and had posed a question. He shook his head to get the fog out.

"I am sorry, lord. What did you ask me?"

[Nogrod]

"I am sorry, lord. What did you ask me?" Eodwine asked.

Lord Eodwine was distracted, Athanar had seen that, but that he was soo distracted... Was it the elf, or lady Saeryn, this affair with Scyrr, his comeback, all these new settings in his familiar settings? There were many reasons for Eodwine to be distracted, lord Athanar thought and nodded giving lord Eodwine a warm smile.

"Nevermind lord Eodwine. I'll ask your opinion later but soon enough."

More mead was poured into their table. Lord Athanar raised the cup and eyed both Laerdil and Eodwine, then Wynflaed and Saeryn. "To the health of king Eomer, and to our health, and to the prosperity of the whole Mid Emnet, and..." here he paused for a short while and turned to the elf. "And to your kin, where-ever you may still wonder these days."

They took sips from their goblets and put them on to the table. There was a silence lord Athanar was quick to fill. But his expression had turned from a wide smile into some solemnity.

"I haven't met too many elves in my life, good Laerdil, not to say having been able to sit with your kind in a table in all peace and quiet. So excuse my curiosity. You must be bored with these kind of questions, but still I'd like to hear your take on it."

With that Athanar took another sip and glanced at Wynflaed who smiled at him encouragingly. With the elf's nod Athanar faced him and looked at him more carefully with some real curiosity in his eyes. And it was only then he fully realised that Laerdil wasn't anything near a youth he would instinctively take him to be when looking at him - he knew it, to be sure, but it had been hard to match what he knew to what he saw until now. How old he looks even if he looks so young at the same time... these sure are different folks...

"We men are short-lived and always so keen to create a justification to our fleeting being... Some great men build kingdoms, some yarn to be heroes, others wish their poems to be recited from generation to generation... and even the simplest man and woman teaches their children about their ancestors in hopes of them passing on one's own deeds to the posterity linked to that chain. What I have thought is, that we are people obsessed with time as we have such little of it. And as our being is such a short story, we care for what is told of it afterwards... But how is it with you elves when time is not such an issue? Do you feel the need to leave your mark? To do your duty not only to yourselves but to the posterity? Do you ever grow weary of life?"

[littlemanpoet]

"Not of life, but of grief. Time is much on the minds of the Eldar. It is much on my mind; not the shortness of it, for we have all the time of Arda if we will. It is the passing of all that is good that grieves us. The years are to us a passing breeze. One follows another and may bring a different scent than the last breeze, but we have smelled it before and will again.

"We care not for leaving our mark. Ours is the care of stewarding all living things before they pass, for they will pass. Our joy is in speaking with tree and rock, hill and vale, enjoying them for what they are, while they are with us.

"How can one grow bored in such a world as we have? No, it is weariness of grief that sends us to the uttermost West."

[littlemanpoet]

Something had been distracting Harreld all morning in the smithy he shared with Garreld. Not just Garreld, who was, of course, very distracting, either singing too loudly, cracking bad jokes, or haranguing about the evils of women. No, it was something else. He put down his tools.

"I am going to the eatery. Do you want something?"

"Aye, bring me bread and a tankard of ale."

"It is only morning."

"What of it?"

"As you wish."

Harreld left the smithy and entered the Hall. There were still a few folk about, even though the breakfast hours had been over some time ago. There were Lord Athanar and Eodwine with their wives, apparently hosting a stranger. Who?

Harreld came closer. The stranger looked at him. Immediately he felt a presence in his thought. Hello. Is that you, stranger, in my mind?

The stranger's eyes widened. He rose. "I greet you, stranger. I am Laerdil of Lorien. How are you called?"

"I am Harreld Smith, worker of metals here at Scarburg." Somehow he knew better than to say aloud what he suddenly knew. You are surprised that I can speak to you this way.

Aye, 'tis so. Are you not a Man?

I am but a man.

Most astounding. "Will you sit with us, Harreld Smith?"

"I am sorry, I should not. I have come on an errand. You are welcome to visit my smithy if you like, sir." With that he went on his way and the stranger, an Elf, sat down. Harreld knew that the Elf would be by to see him.

[Galadriel55]

Theolain sulked in the corner, sitting on a sack of potatoes. He rolled his eyes at the kitchen. It was not easy to do: he could roll his eyes at Mother, and at the oven, and at the ceiling, but not all of them together. Out of stubborness, or maybe because it was something to do, he tried to roll them in such a way as would encompass the entire room. His head ended up rolling more than his eyes did, but Theolain was satisfied.

He sulked again. He busied himself with untying a hard knot on the piece of rope that held close the sack he sat on. This feat proved to have the better of him, as his fumbling fingers were too clumsy, and the bandages on his right hand got in the way.

Suddenly, a new door opened for him - quite literally. A man opened the door just wide enough for him to get in. He asked the women for something. Theolain did not listen; he was too concentrated on getting past the man, through the door, and out into the open without getting noticed. When the man stepped forward to take a bundle from one of the women, Theolain snuck quietly on his knees behind him until he was on the other side of the kitchen wall. No one seemed to raise any alarm, or, indeed, mark his absence.

Theolain stood aside as the man walked out, closing the door behind him. The stranger was already striding out the big doors when Theolain made up his mind to follow him. Maybe he would go to someplace interesting and bring Theolain somewhere where he could play in this strange and unfamiliar place.

He paused on the threshold, blinking against the bright sun and feeling the frosty wind on his face. Then, spotting the man several feet away, he scrambled head over heels in his wake.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld heard a noise behind him. He turned. It was a boy lying sprawled on the ground. He did not know the lad.

"Hello! Are you hurt?"

The boy used his hands and knees to get on two feet. It was then that Harreld noticed the bandage.

"You are hurt."

But he does not cry. He went back to the boy. "How are old are you, child?"

[Galadriel55]

"Hello! Are you hurt?" asked the man. Theolain took no notice.

"You are hurt," the man added after a few moments. Theolain listened, but made no reply. "How old are you, child?" Theolain gave the man a hesitant grin as he looked up at his tall form.

Then, without any warning, Theolain dashed away. When he was half a score feet - and a few tumbles - away from the man he turned and looked mischievously at him.

[littlemanpoet]

The lad could be no more than four. Harreld allowed a half smile. The child needed a playmate. An overlarge smith would not be the best choice of one, especially as he was still half covered in soot and black and other smudges of unnamed origin.

"Do your mom and pop know where you are?"

The boy just eyed him, waiting for him to give chase.

"Oh, that's right, you don't talk."

Harreld debated whether to bring the food to Garreth or to give chase. Then another thought struck him. He took the wrapping off a little bit of bread and revealed it to the child.

"Mmmmmmmm! Tasty! Do you want some?"

[Folwren]

Saeryn sat at the high table with Lord Athanar and his wife. She sat beside Eodwine and remained silent throughout their discourse. At first, she paid less mind to the talk and more to the food at hand. She had started the morning early and had worked hard up until that point and breakfast was more than welcome.

But when Athanar asked Eodwine and Laerdil his question concerning the loyal servant who wronged the lord’s right-hand man, she paused and raised her eyes to him. When he finished his question, veiled and yet clear as day, she turned her look to Eodwine. Yet it was the elf that answered first.

Saeryn listened with but half her mind. Why should Athanar ask what is to be done? He did not ask when Lithor was half so defiant in his presence. She lowered her eyes again to her breakfast, and slowly resumed eating. She vaguely heard Athanar turn to the question to Eodwine, but she clearly heard, “I will punish Scyrr, naturally. There is no way out for him from this. And there are no excuses...”

Good! Saeryn said to herself, raising her eyebrows. At least he will do that.

“But I'd like to hear what happened and what would be your verdict. Think of it as things happening not to you but with some people you don't know."

Saeryn smirked. How did Athanar expect Eodwine to detach himself from what had happened? He had been openly insulted, as had she, and she knew Eodwine’s pride and honor would not stand for that. No Eorling would stand for such insults without redress of some kind.

But Eodwine said nothing. The pause lengthened until Saeryn lifted her eyes to his face. He was looking at Athanar, but she knew he was not really seeing him. She laid her hand on his. He blinked and stirred slightly.

"I am sorry, lord. What did you ask me?" he asked.

"Nevermind lord Eodwine. I'll ask your opinion later but soon enough,” Athanar replied. He turned the conversation then to the elf.

Saeryn turned with disappointment back to her meal. She listened in silence as Laerdil responded to his question. As soon as she had cleared her trencher, she excused herself. She rose and took her trencher and then gathered others from other tables. Most of the men had already left to see to their daily work.

Saeryn entered the kitchen with her arms loaded with used trenchers and spoons. She deposited them by the washtub.

“Ginna,” Saeryn said, taking her apron off of the peg behind the door. “Will you go out and finish clearing the tables?” She tied the apron around her waist and began to roll up her sleeves. “I will start washing the dishes.”

Using her apron to protect her hands, she carefully lifted the pot of water that sat warming on the stove. As she poured it into the wider tub, she turned her head to look for the newcomer.

“Ledwyn, would you like to give me a hand cleaning these?” she asked.

The young woman complied happily. They began their work in silence, Saeryn washing the trenchers and Ledwyn drying them and stacking them on one side.

“Tell me,” Saeryn said after a lengthy pause, “you say you come from the West Emnet. When did you begin your travels? And why did you come here and not go to Edoras?”

[Galadriel55]

Theolain

Theolain eyed the bit of bread the man held. He broke his fast earlier, and had a good helping of bread and eggs when he ate at the new place. But he could not refuse more. He was walking toward to man before he knew it.

He was reaching out his hand to the bread when the excitement of a chase suddenly stepped in again, and Theolain jumped aside instead. His legs tangled and he fell clumsily to the ground, but sat up in a few moments. He was facing away from the man, so he winked at the fields in front of him.



Ledwyn

Ledwyn started when the Lady Saeryn spoke. She was still dazed by what she witnessed in the Hall, and she was not ready to speak about it yet. However, she loosened slightly when she realized that Lady Saeryn did not ask about it.

“Edoras is farther from my home than Scarburg, my Lady,” she replied, keeping her eyes firmly on a trencher she was wiping, as if she was afraid to drop it, though her expression did not reflect this concentration. “And,” she continued, “Edoras is just so... grand.” She paused her work for a brief moment to glance up at Lady Saeryn, who caught her eye. Ledwyn looked down quickly, taking another trencher to dry.

After two more trenchers she added, as if she suddenly remembered, “My family always lived in the West Emnet, until the War – but fortunately my village was untouched. However, it lies so close to the border the King defined for Middle Emnet that many think we are part of it. In good weather a horsed man can make the journey to Scarburg in less than a day.” And still Ledwyn’s eyes remained wide and blank, seeing neither her village nor the trencher, but fixed on her hands.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld had only had his twin brother Garreth for most of his life, and had little if any experience with children, but seeing the youngling on all fours facing away, he could not resist the temptation to play. He set down his package and reached with both hands around the boy's middle and lifted him high in the air.

"What do you see from way up there, lad?"

If anyone had seen this sudden display of impulse from Harreld, they might have grinned to see the big smile on his face.

[Galadriel55]

"What do you see from way up there, lad?"

For a time Theolain could only turn his head this way and that, getting used to being higher than he has ever been. When he stood on the ground, he measured his world in steps, sticks, and puddles. But now, seeing so many - and so small - they seemed to be inadequate for that task. Theolain gazed to the farthest hills that he could see, fading out to become the clear winter sky, and thought that the world was big.

"Big," he said.

A chickadee flew into his vision. Theolain spread his arms, like he was a bird as well.

[littlemanpoet]

"Big."

Harreld chuckled inside. The boy lifted his arms as if he wanted to fly. Well, Harreld could not make a boy fly, but he could do the next best thing. He started to run around the yard, lifting the boy higher, lower, veering this way then that.

[Folwren]

“Indeed?” Saeryn said. “A day’s ride west. So, we are nearer than Edoras. Edoras is not so very intimidating, though,” she added. “Not once you get to know it.” She paused and as Ledwyn paid careful attention to the job in her hands, Saeryn used the opportunity to consider her carefully.

Here was a hard-working woman, accustomed to the hardened life of a village-woman, but she was tired. The evidence was clear on her face: the taught lines about her mouth, the focused expression of her eyes on her hands as she dried the trenchers. And little wonder. It came back suddenly to Saeryn that Ledwyn had mentioned that her husband had died. An empathetic pain clutched her stomach at her very core. She had come so close to losing Eodwine, she had briefly touched the fear and pain that this woman felt. She also had a child – a little boy who scarcely spoke. How difficult it must have been to leave her home and come here to Scarburg, even if it was just a good day’s ride.

“Tell me about your home, Ledwyn,” Saeryn said, her voice gentle. “And about your family.”

[Galadriel55]

Theolain

The lad laughed and laughed as he felt the air rush against him and saw the ground come higher and lower in exhilarating spins. He wished this would never end. He was not for a moment afraid of falling; he felt the strength and confidence of those big hands that held him, and he knew that the man would never let him fall.

Ledwyn

Ledwyn wondered about the Lady Saeryn. She spoke as if she was accustomed to the wide halls of Meduseld, but while talking she was washing the trenchers like any kitchen wench. She sat next to the lords when she ate breakfast, and she spoke with authority; yet this stature did not stop her from doing servants' work.

“Tell me about your home, Ledwyn, and about your family,” Lady Saeryn asked.

Ledwyn thought for some time. "It is small, much smaller than Scarburg," she finally said. "A few hovels sitting next to each other. The men raised horses, and the womenfolk raised children. Just a village." Ledwyn paused again. "My husband was a woodworker by craft. Whenever someone needed a new chair or shed or wanted a toy for their child, they would go to him. But in a village like mine, if someone needs a new shed, it is a big event. My husband spent most of his time with horses, just like the other men. One day he rode to a neighbouring village to do some business, and his horse returned without him, limping. The men who went to search for him told me that the horse must have had a rock stuck in her hoof, so my husband tried to take it out, but the horse kicked him. The farmers from the other village said that he left it cheerful and in good health. The men checked the horse, and she indeed had a sharp pebble cutting into her hoof, which agitated her."

Ledwyn was surprised at how even her voice was. She felt like she was telling someone else's story, a tale from long ago, a forgotten person in a forgotten place. Maybe she was just weary. Weary of living with it.