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.

[Celuien]

The last notes of the song faded, mingling into the soft rustle of the alder leaves in the breeze and the warbling of the finches. Lèoðern's eyes were wide as she looked at the singer, now silently running his fingers over the lute once again.

"That was pretty, 'egas."

"Thank you, my little lady." He gave a bow from the shoulders, sending Lèoðern into giggles again. She quieted herself and sat still, her elbows on the ground, propping her chin in her hand. Degas absently strummed a few chords in accompaniment to the songbirds. The birds redoubled their singing, seeming to understand the sympathies of the human musician and to be eager to join him in a duet.

Degas' song was pretty. But the words were so sad for an early morning in the springtime, with the sun shining through the trees and casting the shadows of the merrily waving leaves on the ground. The poor harper and his lady didn't seem happy. Lèoðern glanced upward again, tilting her head to one side in a question.

"'egas?"

"Yes?"

"I like that song. There's a story. But it's a sad story. Did the harper really die? And the lady too?" Lèoðern's face was frank and open in its curiosity, unsuspecting of the song's significance to its singer. "What happened to them?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas smiled sadly at Lèoðern, wondering for a moment what it would be like if she were his own. He'd always liked children and already missed Feo's presence. He started at the thought and pushed it away.

"I do not know what happened to them, m'lady, for their story was not finished before the song was completed."

[Celuien]

If Degas knew the beginning and middle to the tale told in his song, surely he would know the end, if ever it were to be written. She shook her curls and smiled softly, still puzzling over the unfinished story.

"Someone has to know what happened to them. Will you tell me the end, if you hear it? And will you sing me another song? Please."

~*~

Garstan and Garmund stirred inside the Hall. The latter was eager for the day to begin, already anticipating games with Cnebba once chores were finished. But Garstan feared the new day, not knowing how to behave to Linduial after their scene the evening before. He knew, after a night's rest, that he had most likely overreacted and caused her unnecessary discomfort. He hoped that Linduial would understand.

[JennyHallu]

Lin stood silently in the doorway to the stable, heart full of an emotion she did not yet know how to handle. She had run out with a saddlebag she'd forgotton had been stashed under her bed, and heard the whole of Degas' song. Now she watched Degas smoothing Lèoðern's pretty hair, and listening to their conversation, unwilling to break the spell by speech. Farahil was in the stall with her mare, and Lin wondered fleetingly if Garstan had spoken to him yet, and what he thought.

But not even the looming threat of that particular conversation could spoil her joy right now, and as Degas straightened up she met his eyes with her own starry ones, as eager as the child to hear his answer.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Of course, my lady; you shall be among the first to know. And what sort of song should this be?"

"A happy song."

"Oooh," he nodded, looking past Lèoðern and into Lin's wide eyes. He wished he could read her thoughts. He wished he knew what emotions, if any, had been stirred by his song; if she had even understood its significance past the sleepiness of dawn. He wanted to go to her, to hold her close, and whisper into her ear what he had said in song, but now could not be the time. "A happy song. That I can do."

He looked back down at Lèoðern and tapped out a beat on his knees, one hand twice as quick as the other, and smiled to see the little girl before him mimicking the motions with limited success. He let Lèoðern take up the beat when she had mastered it and chanted softly and slowly, rather than singing, playing a few notes with one hand as he spoke the light rhyme and snapped his fingers lazily on the downbeat.

She flaps her wings
And lands on things
With painted gown
And blackened crown.

The flowers of fall,
The grass so tall,
They call her name;
She plays her game.

Dancing swift,
Her feet she'll lift
In thoughtful care
Into the air.

When winter's here,
Sleep 'til next year
And wait to see
What new there'll be.

In spring she wakes;
First flight she takes
To greet the sun
And everyone.

Wings whisper song;
She floats along
Up in the sky...
Look, she goes by.

By lucky chance, a beautiful butterfly chose that moment to flutter through the courtyard, and Lèoðern's delighted laughter danced through the air. Farahil came to stand behind Linduial, and she did not see him. He watched Degas as he pointed to the butterfly, seeing the child follow his finger and watch the delicate creature cast a magical spell over the girl. Degas wondered at what luck had made the butterfly come just then, as if planned, to punctuate his words so beautifully.

He smiled and looked at pretty Lèoðern, laughing with her. She would have a story later, that he could be sure. He set his instrument carefully upon the ground, leaning back against the great stone Falco, and wondered if Lin was still watching. Hesitantly, he stole a look, and Lèoðern followed his gaze.

She jumped to her feet and ran to Linduial, speaking excitedly.

"Did you hear 'egas talk about the pretty butterfly and then it came! Did you see it come? It flew by! And he sang about a harper that promises to wait for a lady but he says he does not know the rest of the story. Did you hear him sing about the harper? And the butterfly came!"

As Lèoðern spoke, Farahil silently went back to his work, and Degas saw him. He wondered at the man's thoughts, and knew that he would never ask him what they were. But now Lèoðern asked Lin if she had heard... perhaps she would speak and Degas could hear what she would say.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine woke to the sound of a lute and voice. "Do you hear that, Ké?" He turned over; she was not there, only in his dreams. He sighed.

a man still haunted by his past

He peaked out the window; the sun was just rising above the plains of the East Emnet. He got up and stretched, donned his clothes, and washed his face from the bucket he had refilled last thing before abedding. He wondered how Saeryn had slept.

I would not have my sister taken into courtship

He wondered more what she thought.

...it is better that you refrain from the asking

But Linduial was leaving this day, and he must speak with her. There had been no chance earlier between her own healing and his court duties. He hoped catch her before they left. Fool, all you needed was to have Marenil ask her to wait. Why had he not thought of that? Oh, he knew why. He passed through the kitchen, bidding Kara a quick good morning and snatching a bite of bread from the tray she kept out. Many a friend had told him that once he got a thing in his head, all else flew away on the wind.

I hope you find what you seek

He wondered what that was, and knew the answer quick as that: peace of mind. He needed to know whether Ké was alive or dead. Yet the finding out must wait, no matter how it gnawed at him, no matter how she haunted his dreams. Are you real, Ké, or just me wishing in a vain dream?

I hope all three of us do.

Or something like that. ...find what we want ... He wondered what Degas wanted.

He heard a child's excited voice. "Did you hear him sing about the harper? And the butterfly came!" It was Lèoðern asking Linduial. Good. He was not too late. He held back just shy of the stables, choosing to wait a moment.

[JennyHallu]

JennyHallu's post


Lin looked down at Lèoðern with an effort, grinning easily. "I saw the butterfly, you little squirrel. A lovely thing, don't you think? I heard both songs actually, and I must admit my favorite is the first. I myself am rather curious to hear the ending." She looked again to Degas, eyes shining with hope.

Lèoðern looked back and forth between her friends with confusion, aware somehow that something was going on between the two. The silence was full of expectation, and Lin began to wonder whether she had perhaps been forward in thinking the song was for her. Would he say nothing to her?


------------------------------------------------------------------------


Taralphiel's post


Lys looked up worriedly. The morning had wrung out sunshine through the cold for some hours, and Lys had woken startled. He had expected to be woken the night before! Had Thornden forgotten to collect him?

Lys tried to sit up, holding at his waist gingerly. He looked to the corner of the room, and saw Thornden slumped in the chair by the door. He had likely snuck in later that night, and Lys did not wish to wake him. He sat and watched him carefully, smiling at his steady breathing and calm expression. Lys saw him most often with creases of worry lining his brow, and Lys felt guilt for being the cause of those lines.

Thornden stirred and lifted his head. His eyes opened and his chest expanded as he drew a deep breath of air.

“Oh, Lys! You are awake,” he said, noticing the boy at once.

“Yes,” Lys said softly. “Thornden, why didn’t you wake me? We did not go to eat dinner in the Hall, like you promised.”

Thornden had forgotten, until that morning when he woke up, and he felt sorry for it. Lys saw it immediately as the familiar wrinkles of worry returned. Lys quickly muttered a few apologies, until Thornden got up and walked to his bedside. He gently laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Now, now, Lys! Do not be sorry. I’m the one who should ask pardon. The court of yesterday turned bitter-sweet. Our Lady Linduial is leaving this morning for home, and there were some changes,” he paused slightly. “I am not to be appointed to Lord Eodwine’s side in the rank you supposed. I did not wish to disappoint you...”

Lys shook his head thoroughly at Thornden’s words. “I could not be! You have taken care of me all this time. I am no blood to you, nor have I any thing or promise to serve you benefit for being so kind. You have given freely, and nothing you could do would make me feel disappointment. You are all at the once my family, and, mayhap, my Father…”

Lys stopped after this, and lowered his head. In all of the healing his body was yet to endure, Lys knew he could feel safe in the care of Thornden. And with no family in his free memory, Thornden was all he had.

[Laiudanama]

Beside the road, just over the wall, there was a soft rustling: the sound of someone moving deliberately quietly, a sound practically designed to attract attention. Silence for a moment as an eye peered through a gap in the stonework, then silence for a moment more as the eye withdrew. Then, with a swift motion, the owner of the aforementioned eye grasped a sturdy branch of the overhanging tree firmly, braced his feet against the wooden wall, and pulled himself up and over in a sort of half-abseiling fashion, landing squarely in the mud on the other side on a pair of well worn walking shoes. The boy, a scruffy, dark haired youth of about nineteen years, wrinkled his nose, shifting his feet disdainfully as water seeped through the battered soles and into what remained of much-patched socks, then shrugged, to no one in particular: after all, these feet had seen more than little mud in the past few years, and particularly in the last, particularly eventful month that had led up to his standing there in the only muddy patch of the road for miles, it seemed, shaking long, untidy brown hair out of his eyes to survey the building in front of him: the Eorling Mead Hall.

Not that Trystan, young vagabond that was was, knew that was what this rather splendid, barn like building was, of course; and neither did he particularly care for that matter. What mattered to the boy, at that particular moment, was firstly that this building was as far from Gondor, and thus that dratted city Minas Tirith and his unwanted pursuers with it, through street as his legs could carry him, and if he didn’t find somewhere to rest during the day he would surely collapse; and secondly, upon closer inspection, that it was some kind of Inn – and where there is an Inn, there are people…and where there are people, there’s profit to be made.

Trystan turned and tugged a forelock ironically at the tree which had so assisted his passage over the wall, his sharp eyes slanting slightly in self-amusement, then picked up his dirty leather satchel where it had fallen beside him, slinging it over his head and across a skinny chest, and began to approach the wall with the careful, almost stealthy walk of one who is more than prepared to run at the slightest sight of any human life. Thank the stars it was still relatively early in the morning, he thought, gratefully; there were few people around, it seemed, leaving him time and space to maybe grab a handful of something tasty and find somewhere to lay low for the rest of the day. And a beautiful early morning it was turning out to be as well, he mused to himself, sniffing the air appreciatively and taking in the soft scent of dew and sunshine; the kind of morning where one could almost be glad to be alive, no matter what their position – whether a lady combing her golden hair in an ebony tower by the sea, or, indeed, a scrawny vagabond on the run from gods-only-know what punishment, with stealing and cheating becoming a way of life.

Not that the aristocratic sorts within any sort of dressed-up Inn would recognise that; too lazy to get out of their beds, he added, bitterly, his jaw setting angrily. Still, all the better for you, Trys lad; get in, grab, get out. Easy, right?

Stealthily, the young man approached the buildings, keeping close to the wall as he crept along, always ready to run. Approaching a tall, wide open door, he paused, checking for any sound of life. Suddenly, a giant, wet snorting noise made him duck, hand to his boot, wide-eyed to the ground, looking around for the threat…

…and found it, regarding him with some amusement in it’s big brown eyes from within the hazy gloom inside the door. From over a stall wall in fact, contentedly munching on hay as it watched this strange boy crouched on the floor with interest. Trystan unfolded himself, sliding the slim knife back into hiding in his boot and glared at the his equine companion venomously. The horse tossed his – or her? Petty thieving was Trystan’s trade, he barely knew one end of a horse from the other, he was a city boy through and through – head disdainfully in reply and turned back to grasp another mouthful of hay in yellowing, tombstone teeth. Trystan wrinkled his nose slightly at the sight but, despite himself, stepped forward tentatively into the gloom of the stable building, a surprisingly peaceful place, all dust and gloom and the sounds and smells of contented steeds. He approached his new found friend and smiled slightly, pushing his hair once again away from a handsome, bony face.

“Hey, hey…” he whispered softly, his eyes flickering over the beast’s face in a kind of admiration and fascination. “Bet you weren’t expecting to see me, eh? Handsome boy, yeah?” The words were fairly meaningless, but somehow just being able to speak to something living, and for once not in his own defence or to give another spiel of lies, was surprisingly comforting. And unlike most who Trsytan met, this one was unlikely to judge him – or at least, not audibly, and not to a court. He, or she, was truly a beautiful creature too, even Trystan could recognise that with his very limited knowledge of all this animalian. Then a new thought struck him, a sudden idea which seemed to fall into place to solve all of his problems, and he suddenly looked anew at the horse.

“Handsome indeed, aren’t we?” he said slowly, a plan forming. Carefully, tentatively, he began to stretch out his hand, long fingers reaching towards his nose. He grinned slyly as his hand rested on the animal’s coarse, dappled fur. “And probably worth a pretty penny too, aren’t we, eh…?”

The sound of singing, sudden, unexpected and pure, made Trystan jerk suddenly and the would-be horse thief hurled himself backwards into the opposite stall in a defensive crouch, hand once more on his boot; but this time, in his haste, his fingers fumbled and the knife slid out of his hand and into the walkway between the stalls on either side of the stable building. But it wasn’t the sound of a harmless, tuneful ditty that kept Trystan crouching there rather than rising to get the knife: it was the realisation, suddenly, that he was no longer alone in the stables – and he wasn’t counting the horses…

[Firefoot]

Busy inside of Linduial’s horse’s stall, Léof did not notice anyone entering the stable. He thought he heard a quiet voice, but attributed it to Farahil two stalls down. Even so, he could not quite shake the feeling that something was not quite right… perhaps because the voice didn’t quite sound like Farahil’s, perhaps because the sounds of horses that he was so used to weren’t exactly right, or perhaps it was simply intuition. Whatever it was, after a few minutes Léof was sure he heard something drop and decided he ought to go check and make sure everything was all right.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to Farahil. He glanced up and down the aisle; nothing seemed amiss. You’re just imagining things, he told himself – but he didn’t believe it. He walked slowly down the aisle, checking the horses; and the farther he went, the more stirred up they seemed to be: pricked ears and alert expressions, one or two had ceased eating and poked their head out of the stalls. That’s funny.

Then when he was nearing the end of the aisle, he spotted a knife on the floor. He immediately frowned. Not only was it not safe, but he had no idea as to why anyone would have a knife out here in the stables – much less drop one. He stepped closer to pick it up, then jumped back in surprise when he realized that someone was actually occupying the empty stall nearest the knife. “Hey! What are you doing here, sneaking around the stables?” Léof’s surprised expression turned to a scowl as he contemplated the options. The young man in the stall was scruffy and roguish looking, crouched and hiding there in the stall – and not from Rohan, by the looks of him. Léof glanced over his shoulder quickly, not trusting his back to the stranger – the horse in the stall was none other than Eodwine’s Flithaf, an appealing horse to any thief… His glance also showed that Farahil was coming to find the source of the commotion. “You had best explain yourself.”

[Nogrod]

Stigend and Modtryth woke up early but didn’t want to wake Cnebba too soon. Modtryth went on with an inventory of what they were lacking. If they were to live here now, they might need a few items to make it their home, she told Stigend. They should have fresh flowers beside the window and so they would need a nice little vase for it, the rocking chair absolutely needed a rug on it...

“But you heard what the Eorl said. It’s just a month now, and only then will our fate be decided. I think you should worry about the vases and rugs then. Nothing’s certain yet”, Stigend tried to argue, but to no avail.

“C’mon now dear, surely we have savings enough to buy some essential things”, Modtryth looked at her husband half-challengingly. Then her face lightened and she said with a triumphant tone: “Remember, we don’t have to pay for our quarters or the food here, so we have at least a month’s expenses saved already.”

Modtryth was right as always. Lord Byrthold had paid him handsomely for his job and they had some left from the horse fair earnings too. And then there was Stigend’s secret “reserve” he had never mentioned Modtryth about. That meant the golden ring and the ornate silver necklace with two small gems on it he had been given by his Great aunt, the only person who somewhat approved of their marriage. She had given them to him when they were leaving their village. “I don’t have any eye for beauty anymore as I’m almost blind now, and I will not be suffering poverty on my last years. So take these and change them to silver to get you a living in times of despair.” Stigend had tried to decline the offer but his Great aunt had been resolute enough. And surely Stigend had appreciated the gift. He still appreciated it.

So Stigend had calculated that with a scanty living they might get on almost half a year with the money they had. And with the Great aunt’s gifts something more. Stigend didn’t have a clear idea of their worth. But he always wanted to be rather safe than sorry. He never wanted to use more money than was necessary as one never knew what the fate had in store. They had discussed this issue of using money during the years. They surely had.

It was not unexpected then, that when Cnebba finally woke up and Modtryth got something else to think about, Stigend was quite relieved.

After Cnebba had made a detailed account of his dream where he, Garmund and Lèoðern had adventured in the halls of the great King, tightly escaped a couple of dragons into a dead end and meeting there a horse-sized caterpillar that had turned into a butterfly and carried them to safety, they decided to go down and see whether there were breakfast still on offer.

As they opened the door the somewhat melancholic tune reached them. They just stood and listened to the melody. They didn’t hear well enough to make out the words but the player succeeded in getting the emotions through. As the song ended, Modtryth turned towards Stigend, almost whispering “That was so beautiful, wasn’t it?” Stigend was quiet for a second, just coming back from the world into which the melody had carried him. He couldn’t play any instrument and was quite bad a singer, but music sure was his weak spot, something that carried him away from the here and now easily and effortlessly. He looked at his wife smilingly, touching her cheek tenderly with his palm. “If we are going to be welcomed like this every morning to the breakfast, we sure are in the land of the dreams”.

“C’mon! I want to see it!” called Cnebba, already running towards the stairs. A new song had begun. Modtryth took Stigend by the hand and they both followed Cnebba downstairs and out to the courtyard.

Cnebba had stopped some ten yards away from the young man that was singing and playing. Even as he would so much have wanted to go and listen to the song beside Lèoðern, the stranger made him stay a bit farther away. Cnebba didn’t quite understand what he felt. It was something new. The man sang nicely and he admired him for it, but still he felt a bit disappointed to see Lèoðern being so deeply drawn into him and his song.

But then there was the butterfly! Cnebba’s eyes went round and the others might as well have heard how his jaw dropped from amazement and wonder. Wor a while he couldn’t say anything but just follow the butterfly as it danced around the singer and Lèoðern and then gracefully got farther, going up and down, left and right.

When the music stopped, he just couldn’t hold it any longer. He turned around to see his father some yards behind him and ran to him. “Daddy! Daddy! Did you see that! Was that the caterpillar we found yesterday?”

Stigend took the boy into his arms and answered, pretending to be serious “Well, it might have been. For that you must ask Garmund. But more probably that was the butterfly that saved you last night, don’t you think?” Cnebba looked into his father’s eyes intently for a moment and then bursted into laughter. Stigend laughed too and just couldn’t resist the chance and threw Cnebba high up, catching him only at the last moment before his feet would have touched the ground. They both laughed.

Only after he had let Cnebba to the ground did he realise that there were other people on the yard too. He hadn’t seen them the last evening, but they had to be people of the Mead Hall. He straightened his back and met some curios faces looking towards him and his family.

“Good morning to you sirs, mylady.” Stigend said a bit hesitatingly. He had no idea who these people were or how to address them. But they seemed to be of higher class. Still at least Lèoðern seemed to be in very close relation to that young man.

“My name is Stigend and I’m your new carpenter. This in my wife Modtryth and this is my son Cnebba. Nice to meet you all, in a good morning like this accompanied by the beautiful songs of you good Sir.” He bowed slightly and Modtryth followed his example.

[Laiudanama]

Trystan thought fast, skimming through the options, but he was already so tired that it was almost like thinking through mud. The boy who stood in front of him looked at least a good few years younger than him, and was even slighter in build than him. His eyes flickered to the knife on the ground, which was almost within reach of his long legs, if he stretched to it – but then again, even if he couldn’t, he could overpower this boy, surely…

“Oh no you don’t!” The boy had seen Trystan’s eyes move towards the weapon and he kicked it quickly out of reach. Trys’ eyes narrowed, and he was about to rise, before pausing, frozen mid-motion and Leofric looked nervously to the side, nodding to another who was just out of Trystan’s line of vision, sprawled rather awkwardly on the floor as he was. Just my ruddy luck – not just one, but two of them… His heart sank, too, when he saw this next new stranger, and the thought of fighting flashed only briefly into his mind before disintegrating. Two stable-hands, nervous and probably less experienced in fighting than Trystan, he could have dealt with: but this young man was rather more sturdily built, broad across the shoulders and with obvious strength – besides which he was probably an inch or two taller than Trystan. He hesitated, trying to think of some plan of action, but before he could say anything, the younger lad spoke again.

“Here, you’re Gondorian, aren’t you?”

Panic seized Trystan. He tried to tell himself it was his accent, or his distinctive colouring, dark hair and grey eyes, but his mind was running away with itself. They’d heard about it, they must have done! He could imagine the line on the wanted poster: Gondorian criminal wanted for murder and robbery, young man likely on the run or in hiding… He tried to speak, but his tongue seemed to have dried up completely. The other man frowned, his arms folded across his chest, and seemed about to speak, but Trystan pulled himself together, determined to get the next word before they said anything else. “Why do you say that, friend?” he replied, trying to keep his tone light. Bother. Too jovial. He tried again. “I am indeed from Gondor – bit of travel never hurt anyone, right?”

“Not if they’re travelling purely for the sake of travel, no…” The older man spoke for the first time, slowly and deliberately, watching Trystan carefully with a look that made the boy feel like he was under examination – a feeling he usually associated with soldiers and guards. Now that really would be just his luck, seeing how the last few months had gone – to get miles from Dol Amroth and run straight into a soldier!

“And why else would I be travelling?” he replied, his voice carefully neutral. It wasn’t quite a challenge, but was coming close. He tried to relax slightly, but his sinking feeling was increasing as the man spoke, and what is more, he was looking more familiar by the second. “Your accent… You are from Dol Amroth?”

“Aye. And I take it from yours that it is from the same that you yourself hail from?”

Should have spoken less, Trys… He forced a smile. There was no point in denying it at this point. “I am – and a pleasant surprise it is indeed to run into a kinsman this far from home.” He was rewarded with a wary smile from the man, although his expression remained guarded, and although the younger lad had been watching the exchange with his head jerking from one to the other, as if watching a sport, he still looked utterly unconvinced. Shaking himself out of silence, he gestured towards the beautiful horse behind him, scowling down at Trystan. “Well, that may be all well and good, but may I ask what you’re doing in lying in a horse stall, miles from Dol Amroth, with your eye on one of the most beautiful horses this side Edoras? Like I say, you’d best be explaining yourself!”

Trystan was getting into his stride now, and instead of showing the panic inside, he allowed a smile to slip onto his face and looked away, nodding slightly. Looking back up at the boy, he grinned ruefully and put his hands up as if caught red handed. “Fair enough, sir, a good point – I can see how that might look. But I promise you: I have only just arrived, and was making my way around to the front of the Inn when I was distracted by this beautiful creature. I have a fondness for horses – although not, of course, in that way!” he added, grinning amiably. Just a little white lie: as one who had grown up all his life in a city, he didn’t know the slightest thing about horses, but it was about the closest he could get to the truth as possible, and at this stage, the truth was just about acceptable. But the charm worked, or at least melted the boy’s defences slightly, so Trystan decided to seal the blow by putting himself right out there, showing (oh, the irony) that he had nothing to hide. Wiping a hand quickly on his trousers, he held it out to both the boy and the older man, open to either. “My name is Trystan, sir, traveller and general no-good, I believe would fit the bill?”

His tone was relaxed, the last comment even slightly tongue in cheek, though his heart was beating furiously as the boy hesitated. After a second of silence, though, it was the boy who answered, smiling and grasping Trystan’s hand and pulling him to his feet, where he did indeed stand an inch or two taller than the boy. “And I’m Léofric, and this here is Farahil; I work as ostler here at Eorling Mead Hall – and anyone who likes horses is fine with me, I suppose. But…I don’t suppose this knife is yours, is it?” So the suspicion remained. Trystan didn’t even hesitate, allowing a puzzled expression to address his features as he tipped his head slightly to one side. “Why….why would I have a knife out in a stable?”

Léofric nodded slowly, digesting the reply and seeming to accept it. “Just thought I’d check, y’know. Although I can’t think why it is in here; must have been dropped by someone or other… Never mind, anyway, you looked like you could do with a good drink – you haven’t been travelling all night have you?” Léofric’s tone was now far friendlier, chatting to Trystan, but the thief doubted he was entirely taken in. And as he followed him out of the stables, he noted that the other man, Farahil, did not immediately follow. Instead, he could feel narrowed eyes watching him leave, as if he was familiar but couldn’t quite be placed, before Farahil too followed them.

[Firefoot]

“Wait a second,” said Léof as they exited the stable; he had forgotten the knife on the ground. He would not have that laying around for someone to step on – human or horse. He set it up on a shelf containing a few other odds and ends that hadn’t been properly put away, making sure it was easy to access. Whoever it was that had dropped it would surely come back for it – and Léof wasn’t so sure that it wasn’t this Trystan – he had been looking at it mighty keenly before Léof kicked it away. Léof had no proof that he was not who he said he was, and so did not want to judge him by his appearance. Indeed, had he not been hiding in the stall, Léof probably would not have been very suspicious at all – but if his motives truly were honest, he should not have minded being found there in the stables.

“So what brings you here?” asked Léof. “It’s a fair way from Gondor, especially on foot.”

“Just traveling,” Trystan replied easily, but Léof thought he saw a hint of something – worry, perhaps? – in his eyes.

“Just traveling,” Léof repeated curiously. “You travel much?”

“Some.”

Léof nodded, still not wholly convinced. Trystan obviously was not telling him some things… but who was he to blame people for carrying secrets? Léof’s place was not to judge people on what they had done; Trystan ought to at least be given a chance. “Well, you can go ahead and sit down; some breakfast should be brought out soon. I’ll let the Lord Eodwine know you’re here, and then I’d best get back to the stables.”

“Thank you,” said Trystan, and Léof just nodded in acknowledgment. He walked over to where Eodwine appeared to be watching something in the courtyard. “Sir?” Eodwine turned. “A traveler just arrived – said his name was Trystan from Dol Amroth. Or, he didn’t say he was from there, but Farahil recognized the accent. Anyhow, I probably wouldn’t have said anything, except that I found him, well, hiding in an empty stall… he didn’t seem too happy to find me and Farahil in the stables with him. I can’t prove anything by it… but I thought you ought to know.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Farahil followed only as far as the doorway and watched from there. The lad, for lad he was to Farahil, was ill at ease, though he seemed practiced enough at pretending otherwise. Farahil thought back to a lazy night on the dock, sipping ice cold cider as an old friend drank mead and enjoyed a smoke. A gaggle of youths had found their way near as the two men watched the stars begin to show in the faded night-blue sky. They laughed riotously, possibly drunk, and Farahil had looked at them in vague disdain. His companion had thought to inform them of their rude loudness, but Farahil had motioned for him to remain silent. Why waste a perfectly good moment of peace by chasing children along the water?

He couldn't be sure, but this lad's lanky frame seemed to match one from that night. He'd certainly seen him... somewhere... Farahil could not remember where and was loathe to assign the boy, Trystan, he reminded himself, an identity not his. He may have been one of the young men on the wharf that night... but just as easily he may not have. Farahil pondered the smallness of Middle Earth that he could travel anywhere and spot a familiar face.

He went back to his horse, rubbing her soft nose pensively. Why did the boy seem familiar? Perhaps it was merely the interest of finding one from Dol Amroth so far from home.

--------------------------------

Degas saw Cnebba watching him with what appeared to be wistfullness and beckoned him close. He leaned in, gesturing as if for secrecy, and the children leaned in with him, fascinated.

"My lord, my lady," he bowed at the waist over his crossed legs and they giggled. "I would have you do me a great favor..." Anything, they assured him, in all seriousness. "My mind is tired... I can think of no more rhymes. Would you spend a moment, perhaps two, and find me rhymes to sing about?"

Excusing himself from their activity, he brushed the dirt from his clothes and looked at Linduial. He smiled and nodded to Cnebba's parents, and waved casually to Leof, and he looked at Linduial once more. He walked to her, nervous; she might say anything.

"My lady." he spoke the greeting softly. "How did you sleep?"

[Celuien]

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Garstan looked out of the window to the front Inn yard. It was still abandoned, quiet, and peaceful in the early morning. He thought he heard faint singing. Though Garmund was yet in their room, Lèoðern had vanished. Fond of melodies as she was, Garstan thought she had most likely gone off in search of the singer. She would most likely return to him with the words to the song on her lips and an excited gleam on her face. Lèoðern had a quick ear. She learned tunes and the words that went with them easily. As had her mother, long ago.

Garstan distracted himself from the melancholy thoughts that threatened to intrude on him by tousling Garmund's hair and taking a few swift steps to the washbasin. He splashed water over his face. Linduial was leaving today. He did not know what to say to her, or what had already been said to her by her brother. He would find out soon enough.

"Well, my boy. Shall we go find your sister? And decide what chores need doing before you go off with Cnebba today?"

At the mention of Cnebba, Garmund's face grew nearly as animated as his sister's usually appeared. Garstan laughed. "I see where your mind is today. Very well. We'll finish the measuring and I'll show you some stone cutting, then you can go."

"Yes. Hurray!" Garmund, it seemed, was already counting the moments to the end of the day's work.

They left the room and made their way to the alder court, arriving just as Degas finished his second song and Stigend made his introductions. Garstan hung back at the kitchen wall to watch Linduial, hoping she would speak to him first, as Garmund hurried forward to tell Lèoðern and Cnebba about his chores.

[JennyHallu]

The courtyard was getting crowded and chaotic, but Lin barely noticed in her frustration with Degas. How did I sleep? Surely he can guess...

"My lord," she said demurely, though her hands, tightly clasped before her, betrayed her impatience and emotion. "I fear my sleep was haunted by a question. I do not think I shall rest easily until I know the answer, and I have not long to learn it."

And she didn't. Farahil had finished with the packs, and had disappeared into the stables, presumably to get the horses. And there were doubtless many who would wish to bid her farewell today. She looked up into his eyes, mind and soul hanging on the answer to her question of the night before.

[Laiudanama]

Trystan thanked Léofric, but he felt anything but thankful, sitting at the table the boy had led him to, torn as to do what to do, and feeling utterly trapped. He was inside the Inn now, true - but the morning was rather later than he had hoped to arrive at such a place, and was downright bustling with people moving too and fro about their daily business. By the commotion by the stables as they had left, and the general purposefulness of movement - aye, and indeed also by a fair amount of careful eavesdropping - Trystan gleaned that this Farahil character was leaving today. Well, at least that was some luck. Something about the man made Trystan uneasy: he would doubtless make an excellent ally, but he somehow doubted this was a man likely to be easily won over, and he was sure about one thing, that he would be a formidable enemy.

No. He didn't want to make enemies. He had just wanted to do what he always did: get in, grab a quick something to eat and maybe something to sell, and then lay low until it was dark so he could begin travelling again. But it had all been scuppered by that Léofric! He looked around quickly to find where the other had got to - and saw him talking to an authoritative looking figure, an elegantly dressed man standing with his arms folded in the doorway. The Lord Eodwine, would this be? He decidedly disliked the title assigned to this man: ‘Lord’s generally didn’t bode well for people like Trystan, and he could just imagine Léofric describing to his…his master?...the circumstances under which he had met Trystan. Well, my Lord, not to make him sound suspicious, but he was all crouched in one of the stables, a knife by his feet and a keen eye on this rather fine horse… Eodwine glanced around and Trystan looked quickly away, staring at his hands, his long fingers entwined around each other, although the main part of his right was covered with a dirty bandage.

‘Lords don’t like people like you’: and what exactly are ‘people like you’ Trystan? Thieves? Petty criminals? Or potential murderers?

Trystan felt the panic and fear rise in his throat once again, his mind snapping back to that gloomy house in Dol Amroth. It was an accident! It was never meant to turn out that way, he could swear it! Wrong place, wrong time, wrong bloody people to get involved with – way to go, Trys, this time you really messed up…

As a girl passed, he rose quickly, catching her by the arm, then quickly withdrawing his hand, not wanting her to get the wrong idea and call over this Lord figure. She was a pretty thing, possibly some kind of waitress or server, and of about his age, even in his panicked state Trystan couldn’t help but remark upon it in his mind, but there were other, more pressing matters to be thought of right now. “Ex…excuse me, ma’am,” he began, humbly – a little humbleness and charm never did any harm, especially with a pretty girl. “I…well, I was just wondering whether I could perhaps speak to the owner of this establishment, or…” he tailed off, his hand nervously straying to push hair away from a handsome, if probably rather dirty face, and hoped he didn’t look too foul. Glancing around, just to make sure no one else was within earshot, he decided to cut straight to the chase; leaning forward almost conspiratorially, he continued. “You see, I…well, I don’t actually have any payment with me, and, not liking to presume upon the kindness of your generous persons, I was wondering if there was some job or other that I could do or get, maybe just on a temporary basis, in exchange for a few nights of rest here?”

The girl hesitated, and Trystan saw he glance towards Eodwine. Drat: he had been hoping she would just give in and assign to him some easy gardening job or handy job, but apparently there would be no such luck. She came to a decision and looked back at Trys. “You’d best talk to Lord Eodwine, or Lady Saeryn, the Hostess, about that sort of thing. Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite,” she added with a slight smile; apparently some of Trystan’s worry had shown on his face. He had to be more careful about that – it was just tiredness, but he couldn’t let his mask slip, because the consequences of being found out really didn’t bear thinking about. Maybe later. First up, he’d indeed have a word with this Lord Eodwine – and no matter what he had said in his opening statement, the one thing he really didn’t want to do was blatantly draw the attention of any sort of nobility to himself. Unless, of course…

“Lady Saeryn, you say?” he replied thoughtfully, still watching Eodwine in the doorway carefully. “I shouldn’t like to disturb Lord Eodwine – may I ask where I may find this Hostess…?”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"You may find her behind you, and a bit to the left." Saeryn was sleepy, but she had a knack for overhearing things that pertained to her, and she doubted that the young man would notice. As it was he appeared uncomfortable addressing Eodwine; nothing new, she thought, hoping that her light voice might put him at ease. Many are uncomfortable with lords. Not all lords, she added bitterly, are as kind and approachable as Eodwine is.

She glanced over the young man, taking him in quickly... he was young, though perhaps older than her... she couldn't be sure. As it was, they seemed to be about the same age, and he was certainly underfed. She would see to that before he left. He was filthy... travelling, that was apparent, and seemingly not under the best of circumstances. She would see to that as well. She'd need to think of a diplomatic way of suggesting a hot bath.

"How may I help you this morning? Come, I've yet to eat and I am terribly hungry; we shall have breakfast together while we speak."

Leading him toward the kitchen, she waited for him to respond, wondering how and what he would say.

[Kath]

Kara had been headed outside to find out what Degas' singing had been about, but had been waylaid as she crossed the Hall by a stranger, and a rather shabby looking one at that. He'd been asking after jobs, and though Kara could think of a good few that needed doing, she knew it wasn't up to her to say who could and couldn't stay in the Hall. Still, she could see that the fellow seemed frightened to talk to Eodwine, and suggested instead that he talk to Saeryn, who was now an equal to Eowine, yet young enough not to scare him.

Just as she was thinking this the lady in question appeared behind her, offering the newcomer some food and company. Noting that they were planning on conducting their meal in the kitchen Kara hurried back to warn Frodides, who wasn't always keen on being interrupted when in the middle of something. She appeared through the back doorway just a few seconds before the two visitors voices could be heard in the hallway, giving her time to ready Frodides and throw some extra goods on the breakfast tray, which was looking a little empty since half the Hall had already been by that morning, and the children always took as much as they could fit in their hands and mouths.

Listening to Frodides' half-hearted and quite facetious grumbling about not being able to get any work done if her kitchen was invaded like this all the time, Kara returned to arduous task that she had been trying to avoid earlier, of cleaning the burnt pans that had so far resisted any attempts to shift the grime on them.

Just as she'd managed to pick the first one up Saeryn and the stranger entered. Kara nodded to them and indicated that they should help themselves from the tray, holding up the pan as an excuse for not having some ready for them. Saeryn smiled in understanding, and directed the boy toward the food.

Hooking her feet around the stool she was on, Kara continued to scrub quietly, hoping that she would remain unobtrusive enough that the two conversed in the room while eating. She wanted to know more about this boy.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas looked into Linduial's eyes, searching for something that he wasn't sure how to find.

How would Linduial react to Degas having gone to her family before going to her? Though his conclusions had proven correct, Degas had not ascertained before from Linduial that she even wished to be courted. Should a suitor assume such things from Saeryn, she would be furious. She would certainly not care to court a man that would change her life in such a way without her say so. What would Lin say? Degas looked at her, wondering what he should say.

Should he tell her how he had so desired to ride to her rescue, but could not? It sounded like a childish excuse, even to his ears. Perhaps recount the tale of finding Feo in the road? Give her fair warning of a new face in her home... What had that to do with her question, though? She needed an answer, but which answer should he give?

My lady, the answer to your question was ascertained the moment I begged leave of your father to court you.

Lady Linduial, I didn't check with you to see if it was what you wanted, but I asked your father and brothers if I could court you and, surprising though it may be, they said yes.

Didn't you know? Your father doesn't hate me. West wind take it, your brothers even approve!

My lovely Linduial... fair maiden... I will wait for you always. And your family does not mind.

Beautiful girl, I'd wait forever with arms open if I knew that you would return to them.

"Lady Linduial," he finally began. "You have my word. I will be here upon your return."

[Formendacil]

When Náin awoke at his usual early hour, he found himself rather more disinclined than usual to get out of bed. His body responded sluggishly as he forced it through the motions of getting up, and he was chagrined to discover that he was not among the first to make it to the kitchen that morning.

After mumbling a grumpier than usual 'Good Morning' to Frodides and Kara, he brought his breakfast to the hall, and noted to himself that clearly late-night tempers and chiselling were not beneficial to one's body.

Thinking over the past night did little to improve his mood, since he recalled his late hour decision to apologize to Saeryn, Degas, and Eodwine. In the morning light was no less ashamed of himself than he had been under the moon the night before.

Swallowing the last of his breakfast, Náin shoved himself to his feet, and headed off to find Degas. He knew the young man was already awake, having head (together with half the Hall's population, it would seem) the strains of his song coming down to breakfast.

Steeling his iron Dwarven courage, Náin headed in the direction of the courtyard and his now-finished statue, only to find himself blocking the way of Saeryn and a young man of similar age as they were about to enter.

"Excuse us, Náin," said Saeryn, blushing ever so slightly- perhaps remembering the last occassion on which she had seen the Dwarf. "We were just going in to breakfast. Trystan, this is one of the guests of the Hall, Náin son of Narin of Erebor. Náin, this is Trystan, of Dol Amroth."

Náin nodded, a bit tongue-tied himself. "Err... excuse me," he said, not really wanting to apologise in front of a stranger. "I've got to rush away- need to meet someone."

"At this hour?" Saeryn looked surprised. Náin, though friendly with most, wasn't known to be closely associated with anyone. "It's still quite early. Who can you possibly want to see so soon?"

"Well... er... ah... that would be Degas," said Náin, stumbling over his words, realizing precisely how awkward this was getting.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine was watching the goings on near the stables. It was a busy morning, so soon after dawn! So it must be, he supposed, when nobility takes their leave. Eodwine was studiously turning a deaf ear to the seemingly intimate words passing between Degas and Linduial - and smirking a bit, considering that Degas was now the 'pot calling the kettle black'; at least, so it seemed. Just then, Léof came up to him from the stables.

“Sir? A traveler just arrived – said his name was Trystan from Dol Amroth. Or, he didn’t say he was from there, but Farahil recognized the accent. Anyhow, I probably wouldn’t have said anything, except that I found him, well, hiding in an empty stall… he didn’t seem too happy to find me and Farahil in the stables with him. I can’t prove anything by it… but I thought you ought to know.”

Léof looked as doubtful of the young man as his words sounded. Eodwine looked at the man, who had been watching him carefully, only to look quickly away in seeming fear when their eyes met. Eodwine narrowed his eyes. Such a way with the eyes bespoke falsity or fear, or both.

"My thanks, Léof. I will talk to this Trystan."

Eodwine was just about to go to the young man when he noticed that Saeryn had taken charge of him and had led him off to the kitchen. Very well.

"It would seem, Léof, that Saeryn has the matter well in hand. I will hear from her later. Thanks again. You did well to warn me."

Léof thanked him and went back to the stables.

Eodwine approached Degas and Linduial, their moment together seeming to him to have lasted long enough to have said whatever it is they had thought to say. He made a point of not reading their faces, for it was not his business to pry into the hearts or minds of others unless asked.

"Good morning to you both, Degas and Lady Linduial. I trust that Léof and others of this house have done well by you?"

[JennyHallu]

Linduial flashed a loving smile at Degas before turning to Eodwine with arms outstretched, the joyous smile still (and likely to be for a while) brightening her face. "Of course they have, my Lord; you know they have," she assured him, taking his hands with a friendly grin. "I shall miss it here, it has come to feel dear as home to me."

And it has, it really has. Her mind sped over the events of the last few months. They had been...eventful...at the least. She had run the gamut of human emotion, had learned who she was and who she wanted to be. And now...home for a little while, and then back here, to friends and fellowship. A nagging thought pattered at the back of her mind. Ah-but what will you do? Can you settle for wandering the world, looking for adventure? You've had adventure. You've had just about enough, I should think. She pushed the thought aside.

"I'll be back, though, as soon as I may. I must see Father and my Uncle and assure them I'm all right, and hopefully I'll be able to talk my way back out of the bower fairly quickly. You don't mind me leaving things in my room? Of course, pack them away if you need the space, but as long as I have a room here I'll feel like you're all looking forward to my return."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"You'll want to wait, I suspect." remarked Saeryn very quietly, flushing crimson as she spoke. "Linduial is leaving this morning and I expect that Degas is indulging in a childish, or at least less than adult, though certainly without speaking of being a hooligan, desire to see a pretty lady off."

Embarassed at her lack of control, though thanking whoever could hear her thoughts that she'd had the ability to speak quietly, even though she couldn't seem to avoid speaking pettily, Saeryn fled with Trystan.

[littlemanpoet]

"Of course we will be looking for your return!" Eodwine smiled.

He was glad to see Linduial happy, for he had feared for her life and her wellbeing. Indeed, he had known that it was his own failing that had led to her falling into the hands of Sorn at all. Yes, Degas had shouldered the burden of guilt for his part in it, which, now that Eodwine had heard all the facts, was greatly without warrant; but Eodwine knew that he had not given serious thought to Linduial's safety until after she had been stolen from them. True enough, as Eodwine had said that first night after the abduction to Saeryn, the only one who bore true guilt was Sorn, for doing the deed. Nevertheless, he knew that he could have given better thought to Linduial's safety than he had.

"I am happy that you look so hale after all you have been through, Lady." He grew serious of face. "I have not in more than three weeks said what need be said, though. I am partly to blame for the harrowing that befell you. I should have taken more care than I did to see that you were safe. That you have been brought back to us with little harm - I will not say none for to have lived through such a thing must change one - that you suffered so little harm is a gift to us all. And so I ask of you, forgive me for how I failed you."

[Formendacil]

This was not going to be even as relatively easy as he had hoped, Náin realised, as Saeryn departed swiftly from view, the perhaps bewildered Trystan in tow.

So. Degas was currently engaged in bidding Lady Linduial farewell. Having arrived at the Hall only just in time to see Degas depart for Dol Amroth, Náin was entirely unfamiliar with the young man, save for their confrontation in Eodwine's chamber. And, come to think of it, the few words exchanged on the matter of Saeryn becoming Lady of the Mead Hall during the Court the previous day.

In essence, then, Degas was probably not going to welcome another encounter with Náin. Well, no one ever said that apologizing was easy. In fact, Náin was becoming distinctly sympathetic with Thorin II's stubborn refusal to allow the Elvenking or Bard any compromise in the matter of his treasure. It was, by and large, a whole lot easier to starve.

But, having made up his mind, there was nothing to do but go and wait Degas out. In theory, Náin could have gone after Saeryn and apologised to HER, first, but that seemed rather inappropriate at the moment, having just been on the end of a rather sorry encounter with her, and if she was still with Trystan...

There was Eodwine too, but Náin had privately made up his mind to leave the Eorl for last- if only because he was likely to be easier to find alone and unbusy come evening.

Still mulling things over, Náin came down to the stables, and heard Eodwine's voice speaking to Linduial in the courtyard. He sat down cross-legged on the floor of the stable and waited. As soon as Linduial had departed, he would accost Degas, and apologize.

[Laiudanama]

Trystan stumbled a few steps after Saeryn as she suddenly took off towards the kitchen, and from behind her could see her neck reddening in apparent embarasment. As they reached the kitchen and the Lady began bustling around, putting the kettle on, Trystan grinned and leant back against one of the work surfaces, an apparently relaxed position.

"You are not a friend of this Degas, my Lady?" he asked, his smile audible in his voice. Saeryn did not turn immediately, then replied slowly, "I'm not sure I would say that exactly. He is my brother, Trystan."

The smile vanished from the boy's face and he felt his cheeks redden in embarasment. You idiot, Trys... "I...I'm sorry, I didn't realise..." he stammered in reply.

Saeryn looked over her shoulder at him, giving a small smile, then turned around fully, shaking her head and grinning. "Calm down, Trystan, I will not bite your head off," she laughed. Trystan smiled back bashfully, feeling relieved and a little foolish. Her eyes twinkling, Saeryn looked carefully at him and, taking advantage of the light-heartedness of the moment, got to the point. "My brother aside, what brings you to Eorling Mead Hall anyway? You are not from around these parts, I suppose?"

Trystan wasn't taken in for an instant: he wasn't easily enough distracted by a pretty face not to realise that she was weighing him up carefully with her eyes and coming to gods only know what conclusions. He was a mess, after all: torn breeches, battered and worn boots, a loose shirt and dark jerkin that had certainly seen better days. He crossed his arms across his chest in a self-conscious and rather futile gesture. "What, was it my enchanting Gondorian charm..." he struck a knightly pose, "...or maybe just the accent?"

Saeryn laughed, with him rather than at him, and the thief took advantage of the moment to alter the conversation in a rather less dangerous direction. "Would I be right in guessing you too are from rather more Southerly parts?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Actually," she responded, liking the young man already, "I was born not a day's ride from here. It is my brother that can claim time spent south; he spent several years in Minas Anor and recently travelled to Dol Amroth.

"But you are right in how you gave yourself away... t'was the charm." She shrugged helplessly, her cheeks pink with amusement, and her eyes squinted up in flirtatious laughter that she tried and failed to repress into a look of seriousness. "Gondorian charisma cannot be rivalled, it is true, and it would appear that yours is on par with the highest of lords."

He looked at her wide-eyed for a moment before laughing outright. She handed him a buttered roll filled with meat and cheese as well as an apple and bit into her own fruit before continuing.

"Now, you may, of course, refrain from telling me your business in Edoras, but I cannot guarantee that it will not be asked again later, perhaps by my lord. We have no desire to appear nosy or ungenerous, or unwelcoming, but we've recently had quite the time of it, so all suspicions are at high.

"Pressing onward, and you'll forgive me, I hope, for the rush; my dear friend is leaving this morning and I've yet to say farewell... What would you have my lord or me do for you?"

[JennyHallu]

"And so I ask of you, forgive me for how I failed you."

Lin laughed and looked at the older man earnestly. "Indeed, my lord, I see no failure. It was my own carelessness that earned me my fate that day, and only the courage of my friends that got me out of it. You still wear my father's signet, lord, and the favor of my house still goes with you, for what it's worth."

She hesitated, then embraced Eodwine, losing all hint of formality. "In truth, my friend," she said fondly, "I think of you as a brother or another uncle. And I think my natural brother wishes to complain of how much I have packed." She granted both men a joyous smile, and swept off towards the stables, taking the offending package from her brother and stuffing it into a saddlebag despite him, sticking her tongue out at him insolently. With that, their preparations were complete, and she scanned the courtyard, hoping that Saeryn and perhaps Garstan would find her before her brother demanded they start. The day was getting advanced.

She'd said her goodbyes to Marenil the night before, promising to plant some flowers for him by Enna's resting place, and she was not surprised he had not come out this morning. He had told her he likely wouldn't--he'd wished to go over Eodwine's books as a first step in taking the reins as Steward, and she expected he was already busy, despite the early hour.

[Laiudanama]

Trystan took the apple gratefully, although he did not immediately bite into it. In a strange sort of way, he was not quite willing to take something from this young lady unless he was sure he could repay it. Ridiculous really, for a fellow who made his living from thievery, but it was a weakness of his - and one that had nearly cost him his life in Dol Amroth. She was mocking him, he was sure, but it was quite, quite charming. He rubbed the skin of the apple gently with his thumb as he watched Saeryn sidelong biting into hers. Sweet fruit indeed.

Her mention of Dol Amroth had made him slightly nervous, to say the least. First Farahil, the soldier in the stables, and now this Degas fellow who he was yet to meet - although if the sister was anything to go by, surely the brother could not be too bad. She mentioned suspicions: what sort was she speaking of? He would have to find that out certainly, if he was to spend any sort of length of time in this place - and maybe if attention was that way focused, his own past would not be so pryed into? Although it could easily work against him too: a recent crisis could mean more interest into his own past as a stranger and a newcomer, especially if he was to appear to deliberately withhold it...

"My own story is nothing much to dwell on, Lady Saeryn, so do indeed press on - although I would not withhold it from you if you were so inclined to hear it, of course," he added quickly. "But to move on...my lady, as you may have guessed, I...well, I find myself on rather hard times, and am somewhat unable to pay for my own breakfast, let alone any length of stay in such a grand place as this Hall. But I have been travelling for a mon- for a good few weeks now, and so would be very glad of a place to stay. So, if you would be so kind, and I will of course understand if you cannot oblige, but I would be glad to do any sort of oddjob in payment..."

Trystan trailed off uncertainly, his eyes fixed intently on the apple's still untouched surface, before he raised them to Saeryn's hopefully, awaiting her answer.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Please, Trystan, eat. Call it a courtesy gift, if you wish." Saeryn heard the young man's story seriously and pondered it.

"I would gladly give you work in payment for room an board, but at this moment, I am not sure what work we have for you. It has been a rather busy few weeks, culminating in a court day yesterday that the household is still recovering from, so to speak. I'll need to speak with Eodwine--"

Saeryn felt a touch on her elbow and turned to see Degas; he had come in without her noticing. She was not sure how to act around him; she withheld a glare and met his eyes, but it was with an uncertain indifference, hiding her thoughts.

"Excuse me for a moment, Trystan. Degas, what may I do for you?"

He was startled by her formality and half expected to hear her mouth the word Lord before his name as she would to a stranger or one that she did not know well. He was relieved that she didn't, however the tone of her voice was less than happy to see him, though it was by no means impolite. How could he fix this? She treated him, her twin, as politely distant as she did this stranger. Moreso, he thought grimly. She joked and flirted with the young man; did Eodwine kno-- No, wrong thought. Why was Saeryn flirting with a rapscallion such as him? Was it womanly revenge for Eodwine's-- No, surely she was not that petty. What in the world was Saeryn doing? And why was there no chaperone over this interchange?

He spoke quietly, uncertain exactly to whom he was speaking; it was certainly his sister, but he could barely recognize her beneath her exterior.

"Linduial is leaving. She wishes to see you, though hasn't said as much. Also, I met the woman, Modtryth, on my way inside; she seeks you as well."

"I will go to them momentarily. Has Nain found you? He sought you earlier."

"No." responded Degas, on his arrogant nobility, with a sudden coldness directed toward the Dwarf that had so recently slighted him and his sister. "Perhaps he sought half-heartedly."

"Degas, do not be unkind."

"Very well, lady." She looked up, surprised to hear Degas call her 'lady' rather than Saeryn, Saeri, or Saer. She met his equally hazel eyes for a moment, looking into them searchingly before closing herself back off into disinterest.

Degas excused himself and Saeryn offered her hand to Trystan; he extended his arm and she placed her hand on it and they walked as she spoke.

"I am sorry to cut our visit short, but I must turn you over to Lord Eodwine. I cannot make a deal with you as of the moment, but he can, and other duties call me."

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine called Garstan and Stigend to him and told them to sit at a table in the Hall just off the kitchen. He left them talking together, hunting for Saeryn. It turned out that she was looking for him, with the new lad, Trystan, dogging her steps like an eager puppy. He gave the boy one quick, dismissive glance (he had seen him leering at Saeryn while gobbing on a wrinkled but still juicy apple (it being spring and not the season for ripe ones), and he had taken an instant disliking to the lad). Saeryn seemed to be a bit pinker in the cheeks than was her wont, which suggested things about her private thoughts toward this young pup that Eodwine did not like at all. He was feeling suddenly very, very protective, more so that he had in regard to Farahil the day before.

"I have been looking for you, Saeryn."

"And I you. This is Trystan," she gestured. "He has asked to work for room and board."

Eodwine eyed him again, remembering Léof's words of doubt. The boy had fear in his eyes. Did he fear all lords and masters? Why? Or had he marked Eodwine's dislike of him? No matter.

Eodwine wrinkled his nose: the boy stank. Did Saeryn not notice? Or did she choose not to notice? And why? But it gave Eodwine an idea: it was time for a test of this Trystan.

"The privies are getting full. Have him clean them out and take the filth to the Ravine."

Saeryn blanched, knowing that there was no worse chore to be found at the Mead Hall. "Lord?" she queried as if she could not believe her ears.

"The boy is filthy enough already. It will do no greater harm than for anyone else here." He looked straight at the lad, willing him to glance away from his stare; in moments he did. "Look at me, boy." The lad swallowed and met his eyes unwillingly, fear written in them clear. "Do this chore, lad, and you wil be well fed and roomed, and allowed to bathe. I charge no fee for room and board save loyalty and a man's good word. Prove your worth to me in this small task, and I will show you that at least my word is good as any bond."

Saeryn's mouth was hanging open and she was looking at Eodwine from beneath a lowering brow. At least she said no word from her anger; he would have to ask her what she had been angry about, though he could guess well enough.

"I'll have Garwine show Trystan where the privies are. I want you, Saeryn, to go to Kara and request breakfast for four to be brought out to you, me, Garstan, and Stigend. Planning the work to be done will be hungry work." She stood watching him yet, some kind of retort stalled on her saucy tongue.

He looked away from her to the lad. "Trystan, come with me." He did not wait for the lad to follow, but went toward the front door which was Garwine's usual outpost. The guard was there, and Eodwine told Garwine to show Trystan the privies. Only then did he turn around to see if the boy had followed, or if he had high-tailed it, rascally terrier that he seemed to be, far away from the Mead Hall.

[Laiudanama]

Trystan had been taken in by Saeryn’s advances, her almost flattering if confusing attentions to him and for a moment he had thought – fool! – that maybe her motives could be innocent. Fool! Could ever a woman be straight in her affections? Apparently not: for she too had been playing with him, it seemed, building him up just so that her Lord could knock him down – and in so humiliating a fashion.

Eodwine stormed off, then swung around with a scornful eyebrow raised to check that Trystan had followed. The boy met his gaze with an impassive, neutral expression. Truly, short though their exchange had been, Saeryn had not made Eodwine out to be a cruel or unreasonable man, and the words of the server, Kara, floated to the surface of his mind. Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite!” So why did Trystan see, and even tangibly feel, such dislike radiating off the man towards him.

Suddenly it came to him, a thought so delicious that it almost made him smile, although he kept his expression carefully solemn. The Lord and Lady of the Hall, those were the titles addressed to the pair; and from Eodwine’s body language towards Saeryn, even as he tried to appear aloof and distant, quite the master, there could be found something in that pairing. A couple, of sorts? Could it be? But then, why had Saeryn adopted such a sweet manner towards him? No matter: Trystan would not be seen to bow or scrape before any man, and surely this Lord Eodwine could not find any lower task to bestow upon him, so a little small revenge would not go amiss if impeccably timed now…

Turning to Saeryn just as Eodwine turned back towards him, Trystan took her delicate hand carefully and, in an exaggerated, courtly motion, leant and kissed it, his lips softly brushing her smooth skin. Amusement played in his eyes as he straightened to face Saeryn again: he was well aware of the how ridiculous so courtly an action was from one about to be forced into labour in the privies. But so solemn was the rest of his demeanour that Saeryn could not help but laugh, her free hand coming to her mouth as the gentle sound rippled from her lips. Inside, Trystan threw back his head and laughed: it was exactly the reaction he had hoped for, and, although he refrained from looking immediately, he knew it was bound to have had the desired effect on Eodwine too. Remaining serious, he inclined his head to Saeryn. “My Lady, I must take my leave: there is, I believe, a desperate situation awaiting my attentions.”

Saeryn shook her head, still smiling, and he finally yielded a grin himself, turning towards the door quickly to follow Eodwine – although he did not immediately let go of Saeryn’s hand, his rough fingers caressing her skin just slightly before he let go. He did not much care at this moment in which direction her affections leant – he had exacted a small, satisfying amount of revenge against Eodwine, and for the moment, that was all that mattered. He had not intended to hang around, he had not intended to make enemies – and certainly, the latter still very much stood, he had no wish to provoke enemies or make trouble unnecessarily. But he would not be humiliated: Trystan was not the sort to take undeserved punishment lying down. Who is smiling now, my Lord? he thought, mischieviously.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Eodwine," Saeryn called quickly after them, glad that the youth had not crumbled beneath Eodwine's unpleasant greeting. He turned. "You may want all you like, but I have business that awaits me before I can attend to a breakfast. I will speak with Kara when I finish."

With that, she turned lightly and seemed to flounce from the room. It was not in her nature to flounce, but why must Eodwine be so disagreeable? Yes, the boy was hiding something, that was certain, but so had been Saeryn when she'd first arrived. It had not taken scrubbing privies to open her, it had taken an extended hand of friendship. Eodwine's hand, no less, and he felt the need to treat this young man with disdain? Saeryn rolled her eyes at his... at his mannishness, she thought with an exasperated sigh, and found her way to the kitchen.

"Kara, dear, Eodwine requests a breakfast for four to be brought into the hall. Trystan will need a large meal when he finishes the task Eodwine's put him to work on."

She found her way next to the stables and was glad to see that she had not missed her friend. She smiled to Farahil and bade him a polite farewell before finding Linduial. She threw her arms around her friends and hugged her tight.

"Travel safely, and come home to us soon." she whispered.

[Celuien]

Garstan sketched lines onto a sheet of paper, showing Stigend the plans Eodwine and he had planned for the hall's renovations. There was work in plenty for both stone shaper and carpenter.

He pointed around the hall. They sat in the left corner, near the wall to the kitchen. A door, Garstan said, was to be cut almost directly behind the spot where they sat, connecting the great hall to a corridor that would go to a new kitchen. Both had yet to be built. The old kitchen, its rear wall still only half repaired from the earlier collapse, would then be merged into the great hall. The three walls of the great hall, kitchen, and corridor would then enclose a new courtyard, with the alder as its centerpiece.

There was, of course, other work as well. The firepit in the great hall needed completion to make a fireplace. There would be shelving and pantries in the new kitchen and the corridor between it and the main hall and any number of other projects. Garstan's head spun with the enormity of the project. He hadn't time to consider it before, with the news of Linduial's kidnapping coming hard upon his proposal and the days upon days of searching afterward that banished all thought of work from his mind. He had only started measurements to position the new kitchen and hallway yesterday. Now, with Stigend before him, he was beginning to plan in earnest, and was nearly overwhelmed by the massive amount of work that truly had to be done before the construction would be finished. It was fortunate, indeed, that both the carpenter and Dwarf were present.

Garstan led Stigend back out to the alder court, pointing out where the lines had been drawn for the new portions of the building. While he was showing Stigend the progress, little as it was, that had been made, Lèoðern suddenly ran around the corner from the stables to tug at Garstan's sleeve.

"Come, hurry! Linduial's leaving. We have to say good-bye."

Farewells. This would be awkward. But the farewells would have to be said, and quickly, hopefully putting to rest any discomfort after last night's episode.

"Your pardon, Stigend. If Linduial is about to depart, I should bid her farewell. I will return shortly. Please, think upon the plans! We shall have much to discuss."

"Of course," he replied. "I wouldn't have you miss the chance to say good-bye."

Lèoðern and Garstan headed to the stable.

"Do you think she'll come back?" Lèoðern's voice was sad.

"Yes. I think she will." Garstan looked down at Lèoðern's tangled curls and, clutching her hand, added, "I know she will."

Inside, Saeryn and Linduial stood close together. Garmund had preceded his father and sister's arrival by a few moments and stood at the edge of a stall, waiting. Lèoðern pulled away and ran to Linduial, hugging her around the knees. Garstan jumped forward as Lèoðern's quick motion nearly toppled Linduial, but stopped as Saeryn caught them, lifting Lèoðern to Linduial's uninjured arm.

"Good-bye, Lin! Come back soon, please. I'll miss you." Linduial lifted her gently and Lèoðern rested her head on Linduial's shoulder, questioning her friend's departure until she received assurance that their separation would not be permanent.

With her farewells said, Lèoðern left the stable, and Garstan approached Linduial with some trepidation to add his well wishes for her journey. "Farewell, my lady. May you have a safe journey." In his thought, he added, Please, don't let last night come between us. Let us part as friends.

[JennyHallu]

Lin embraced Saeryn enthusiastically, only releasing her when Lèoðern ran firmly at her knees, wrapping her arms around them and throwing Lin off balance. Saeryn caught both Lin and the little girl, laughing, and held Lèoðern high enough to properly hug her friend.

"Goodbye, Lin! Come back soon, I'll miss you!" Lèoðern's goodbye was fervent, and it was clear that she was not looking forward at all to the absence of her friend. Lin smiled and hugged cheerfully back, wrapping her good arm around and under the child, taking the weight herself.

"Thanks, Saeri," she chuckled, lifting her wrapped arm with a grin. "Couldn't have gotten her up here." She reached out with the injured arm and clasped Saeryn's firmly in the Rohirric fashion. "I will miss you, friend. Do write to me! I want to hear all the gossip and goings-on while I'm gone."

"Stay here! Don't leave!" Lèoðern's urging made both young women smile, especially as the girl's voice was muffled from where she had her face pressed into Lin's shoulder. Lin turned solemnly to her, speaking with the same reasonable frankness she'd use with an adult.

"But I must, squirrel. My father is worried about me, and wants to know that I am safe, and it is far too busy in spring on his lands for him to visit himself. If you were with me, and your father needed to see you, I would do all in my power to make sure you could."

Lèoðern nodded seriously, seeing the logic of her friend's explanation. "You'll come back soon, won't you? I won't have anyone to play with."

"Yes, you will. There will be Garmund and that new boy you were playing with last night, and I bet Lady Saeryn here will let you help her sometimes...when I get back, you'll have so many stories to tell me you won't know when to start! And I'll be back as soon as I can. I won't tell you how long, but only because I don't know, but I'll write a letter to you when I find out, and tell you. I'll send it to you at the same time as I send one to Saeryn, so she'll bring it to you."

Saeryn smiled and agreed, and when Lin indicated the weight of the girl was getting to be too much for her, cheerfully helped Lèoðern get back to the ground.

Garstan had been listening to the conversation for a while, and as Lèoðern, worries assuaged (and excited over the rare prospect of a letter) scrambled off to play, he offered his own hand and his farewell. Lin took it tentatively, sparing a glance for Saeryn, who seemed determined to see her off, then took the plunge. "Did you--did you tell Farahil?"

Garstan's reply was equally tentative. "I did, lady."

"Ah." Lin was quiet for a moment, standing with brows furrowed, but her face cleared quickly, and the sincere smile she gave Garstan was a little rueful. "You did rightly, of course, and I thank you for it. Not wanting him to know was--childish. Keeping secrets wouldn't make anything easier. I wish you fond farewell, and hope your place here prospers you. Navaer, Garstan, until we meet again."

She then turned to Saeryn, ignoring her brother, who had their horses saddled now, and was gesturing at her to mount. "And if I keep no secrets from my family, I should keep none from you. Your brother--Degas and I are courting. I don't know what will come of it, and I've never had a sweetheart before, so I don't know what I'm doing, but I think I love him, and I hope we have your blessing. And I'm sorry I didn't talk to you right off."

Lin's brother rode up, leading Lin's little mare. "We need to go, Lin. I wanted to leave at dawn."

"I know, I know," Lin said, giving a somewhat stunned Saeryn a last hug and mounting the horse with a minimum of graceless scrambling. She couldn't wait for her arm to finish healing. "Farewell!" she called waving at the occupants of the courtyard. "Farewell!"

Then she turned a corner and was gone.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn gathered herself. Degas had done what? Did you ask her father, my boy? she asked herself bitterly. Did you get permission from her brothers? Did you ask Linduial if it was what she wanted?

Saeryn pushed her unkind thoughts away and tried to concentrate on happiness for her friend. Why didn't Degas tell me? Linduial is so happy... If he must be begged permission for me to court, why must not I be for him to do the same? It is not fair! She clenched her fist and felt her nails bite into her palm.

Lèoðern was watching her as Lin rode away with Farahil, handsome Farahil, into the morning.

"Garstan, Eodwine requests our presence over breakfast; did you know?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Very good." They walked back inside together, the children following them. They saw Modtryth and Stigend's child and asked permission of their father with a look. He nodded and they ran to play.

"Garstan, I will join you soon. I must attend to Modtryth." Excusing herself, she beckoned to the woman, calling her to a table far from Eodwine's. "Modtryth, do you have a moment to speak of duties?"

[piosenniel]

Thinlómien's post


The morning had been a pleasant one for Modtryth. She enjoyed the new place. The new home, she corrected herself. She wondered how everything would turn out and how would their little family settle in the lifenof the eorl's hall. Cnebba at least had found his place, and was clearly enjoying the new place and the new company. Everything will settle as it will, no need to fret over that, she reached the same conclusion as always. She was confident their little family would find its place in the hall, in one way or another.

Modtryth watched the two children, Lèoðern and Garmund, run to Cnebba. She had no reason to hide her smile. She turned to her husband. Stigend was smiling too. Oh, he doesn't look anxious, Modtryth remarked to herself half-seriously.

Then lady Saeryn caught her attention. The lady called Modtryth to her. She gestured Modtrth to sit opposite to herself. "Yes, my lady?" Modtryth asked. "I'm to give you your duties", Lady Saeryn answered. She looked at Modtryth thoughtfully and asked: "What kind of work you are used to do? What would you like to do?"

Modtryth didn't except the last question. Maybe it showed in her face, for Lady Saeryn smiled. "I have mostly done cleaning, cooking, looking after children and such. I'd be pleased to do it in the eorl's hall too", Modtryth answered simply.

"We have two cooks, Kara and Frodides, already, so I doubt there's need for kitchen staff", Lady Saeryn said. "We don't have very small children here so that rules out the babysitting... So I guess that leaves us with cleaning." Modtryth nodded. The work was familiar for her, and so were the words. She was about to open her mouth to tell the Lady that she was fine with her new duties and to thank her, but something in the Lady's expression made her not. There was something strange in her eyes and Modtryth could not imagine what was she thinking about.

Then lady Saeryn smiled again. There was a shrewd glint in her eyes. "But surely cleaning is not all you can do. And besides, there's not enough work for a person who only cleans. Kara and Frodides clean the kitchen and the tables in the hall and I do some cleaning myself. Have you ever done shopping for a big household?" At first Modtryth thought she had misheard the lady's words. She was offering her, a half-dunlending and a newcomer, a position of trust.

"Well, have you?" Lady Saeryn repeated her question seriously, though there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. Modtryth nodded. "Yes, my lady. I've done it twice. In the place I was born in and I worked in for many years, Lord Godhere's household in Western Wold. The second such job was in Field Marshal Laudwine's household." She didn't add that in both places she had had to work at least for months to achieve the position.

"Good", Lady Saeryn replied. "Then I can trust you with it." She looked at the dark-haired woman. Her face was serious. "Thank you, my lady. I'm honoured to receive such a duty", Modtryth replied, still wondering if it was really happening. "I won't prove untrustworthy."

"I am the one to oversee your work, both cleaning and shopping", Lady Saeryn told her. "The household doesn't need anything from the town today. I think you could start with the laundry. Come, I'll show you", she continued.

Modtryth rose to follow the Lady. She had heard only good of her, but now it was proved. Unlike so many, she managed to gain my respect in a very short time, Modtryth thought, wondering if it was good or bad.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"If you have any questions about anything in or of the house, Modtryth, please feel free to come to me."

Saeryn turned to leave before a thought crossed her mind. The harsh scent of hard soap was burning her throat; she would bring Modtryth honey-sweetened tea before she left her entirely.

But Marenil... as steward of Eodwine's house, he should surely be involved? And certainly, with Linduial and Farahil gone, he would look forward to a diversion...

"Modtryth, when you have finished, and it should not take long... Kara helped me to do most of what was needed only a few days past... please find Marenil. You may not remember him from yesterday; he is the kindly old man that you may have seen by the fire. He is Eodwine's steward and he can tell you more about shopping and the like. And, if you don't mind, when you are done, can you ask him to meet with Eodwine, Garstan, Stigend, and I in the Hall? Please tell him that we are discussing business and that he might wish to be in attendance. If you cannot find him, Kara in the kitchens usually knows where members of the household are lurking."

Saeryn left Modtryth now, hoping that her hastiness had not been taken for curtness. She liked Modtryth; the woman struck her as kind, patient, hard-working, and down to earth; all qualities that Saeryn respected.

What next? Saeryn counted off chores on her hands, using her fingers more to keep from fidgeting than for need of them. She toyed with her fingers, marking off duties quickly. See off Linduial; check. Feed Trystan, find him work; check. Find Modtryth, give her duties; check and check. Find Degas and smack him upside the head for not telling me that he was courting Lin; ooh, how I wish I could check that... She sighed heavily, finding herself in the kitchen again.

Making small talk with Kara, she prepared sweetened tea and brought that and cold water to Modtryth, depositing it with a preoccupied smile.

"Laundry is thirsty work, I've learned."

What am I forgetting? Eodwine wants me... he can wait. But I cannot, in good conscience, make him wait unless I have reason for it... Seeing to Linduial and Modtryth was fine; it needed doing. But I cannot find hidden corners to secretly clean to spite him. But why must he be so disagreeable? Ugh! He is never this way. Such a welcome to give a guest of his hall, no matter how unclean or travelworn. It was nothing more than unkind. I will have a word with him later, that is for sure. What must he be thinking, to greet the poor boy, trickster though he may be, with such hostility? Ugh!

She shook her head at her own folly as much as Eodwine's and found her way to the table at which he sat. She slipped onto a seat across from him, crossing her legs beneath her skirts. She clasped her hands gently on top of the table and when the men looked at her, she spoke quietly.

"Kara will come soon with breakfast; she was just finishing it. What have I missed?"

[JennyHallu]

Marenil was entering the Great Hall just as Modtryth was exiting in search of him. He listened to her tell him of her new duties, and pledged to speak to her of it later in the morning. For now, the meeting Eodwine was calling with his laborers was more urgent.

And he had not even been told of it, except as an afterthought from Saeryn, with poor Modtryth as proxy. He chuckled to himself. This young Lord Eodwine was unused to the vast household he was rapidly acquiring, and had never had a Steward. He was clearly unaware of what Marenil was capable of, and hadn't yet learned that at times it was best to stand out of the way and let him do it. He'd even been a trifle startled when Marenil had asked for the key to the lockbox where Eodwine kept his books, and Marenil had spent the morning groaning over the disorganized state thereof. Oh, they weren't too bad, for a man who'd grown up overseeing nothing more than a midsized farmhold, but Marenil had overseen Lord Farlen's holdings for over twenty years: The country estate, the palatial home in the city...and at the same time he'd worked to support Farlen's other tasks: as soldier, diplomat, merchant...

He had high standards.

Not that he thought Eodwine and his Lady should not be attending this meeting. They should: it was, after all, their home and the seat of the Eorl that was being rebuilt. But he dearly hoped that Eodwine would learn to welcome, and in best case seek, the expertise Marenil had spent a lifetime garnering.

He arrived at the table just as the Lady Saeryn did, remembering as he saw her something he had meant to speak to her about. The Hall was too large for her to be serving as housekeeper and Lady of the Emnet. It was time another took that task from her, some woman strong enough to pry it from the girl's stubborn fingers. After the meeting. Don't get ahead of yourself, plenty of time to take the rudder of this disorganized little ship. You need to speak to everyone, really. One at a time!