Eorling Mead Hall

[Firefoot]

As Æðel examined and treated his foot, Léof offered no more in the way of conversation, sitting quietly and resentfully. This feeling only grew as Degas came and went – doing his job. Oh, Léof did not hold this against Degas. The work did have to be done, and he was quite unable to do so at the moment with Æðel in control of his foot. But this did not change the fact that he felt that he ought to be doing it – he wanted to. His line of thought was broken off as another set of footsteps echoed at the end of the stable – Eodwine this time. Léof had little strength left to feel anything other than resignation: no desire to flee, no hope of deceiving the lord.

“How is the foot, Léof?” he inquired as he drew nearer.

Fine, just fine… “Æðel has not yet told me,” Léof answered somewhat stiffly, biting off any further and probably sarcastic comments. She had let him stew in his silence, and Léof now wondered if she was annoyed with him as well… let her be, then. He was annoyed with her, too.

“I think,” she began, more to Eodwine than Léof, it seemed, “that complete rest will not be necessary, although it might be better. A couple of toes are certainly broken, but the rest seems to be just very badly bruised.”

“I can still work,” said Léof firmly.

A look that Léof could not quite read crossed Eodwine’s face. “Léof, I do not want you to overwork yourself. Neither Thornden nor I will judge you harshly on account of an injury. You are doing fine work here in the stables and can continue to do so when you are properly recovered. The position will not go away because you are laid up for a few days.”

A thread of relief wound through Léof’s mind, but in other ways he felt no differently. Eodwine did not seem to have a full grasp of Léof’s motives for wanting to continue to work, and Léof did not know how to explain. He felt a further sense of duty here, but more than duty. He belonged here; here in these stables, he was in charge. Having someone else, or a few others, take over his duties even for a few days would be like… well, like some other woman taking over his mother’s duties and running her household for a few days. Léof felt protective of his job, all the more so after the incident earlier, when Gárwine had not quite known how to handle the spooked Herefola. Not that there weren’t others capable of handling the horses – probably mostly feeding them and mucking out their stalls, anyway – but Léof still felt responsible. To sit idly by while others worked with “his” horses in “his” stable felt wrong to him.

And, of course, if he was forced not to work for a few days, it would mean that his foot really was as hurt as his friends had figured. For them to be right… what pride remained to him would shrivel up to a small, hurt speck.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, and meant it. That did not mean he intended to give up, however; he was a fighter, or otherwise would not have survived. Nor had he forgotten that he was still irritated with most of these people. “But if it’s all the same, I would prefer not to completely give up working. It wouldn’t feel quite right.”

[JennyHallu]

Linduial smiled at the girl's father. "I did not mean to express a complaint, goodman," she continued, aware of little Lèoðern's eyes imploring her to get her out of trouble. "Your daughter is a wonderful child, and I am sure she shall be well-loved here."

Garstan's face relaxed, and he dropped a kiss on his daughter's forehead before dropping her back on the ground. Lèoðern ran the few steps toward Lin, and gave her a quick hug (mostly around the knees) which Lin returned before the girl ran off to join her brother in exploring their new home. Lin smiled at the man watching the two run off with love in his eyes. "I am Linduial, daughter of Lord Farlen of Dol Amroth. My father's steward and I traveled here to visit my cousin. Please, I am a guest here like yourself, but might I show you to an empty room or two?" Lin gestured toward the rubble with a wry smile. "I am afraid Lord Eodwine and Lady Saeryn are busy at the moment, but I'm sure they won't mind if we recquisition a couple of rooms on the ground floor. Almost no one is down there at the moment."

She led the man towards the building, waving him away from his luggage. "Garwine can help you get that later." She paused suddenly, then turned to him with an amused smile. "You daughter charmed me so, sir, that I have not yet asked your own name."

[Celuien]

Garstan felt himself relax at Linduial's welcoming words. Daughter of Lord Farlen of Dol Amroth? He thought that he had heard the name before. But where? Garstan had no memory for names, but this was strangely familiar. He resolved to ponder the mystery later. The more practical matter of introductions still needed attention.

"I am Garstan, at your service, my lady. I am a stoneshaper out of the north of Rohan, journeying to Edoras in search of work." He smiled grimly. "There are few places to ply my trade in the far reaches of the Wold. A stove here, a wall there, and there's nothing more to be done." Garstan paused, fearing that tales of his journeys through Rohan would bore - were already boring - the Lady from Dol Amroth. He returned to pleasantries. "My thanks for your kindness to my daughter. Too often her high-spirits are taken for ill-manners."

They arrived at the entrance to the hall. Hoping to find the correct protocol, and hoping that he wouldn't look too ridiculous, he caught the door and held it open for Linduial with a slight bow. He couldn't tell if the faint smile that crossed her face in response was out of acknowledgment or amusement. Four years of crisscrossing Rohan with only his children for company had caused him to forget many of the niceties of social convention.

They entered an area of the hall devoted to guestrooms, and Garstan selected the room nearest the entrance to the great hall. He surmised that most of his work would take place there or in the kitchen, and he had no wish to disturb the other guests on his way to and from the work site. Garstan gave a word of thanks to Linduial and watched as she headed back outdoors.

It was only after she left that Garstan recalled where he had heard of Lord Farlen. From a herald, announcing the marriage of King Éomer and Queen Lothiriel. He stood in stunned silence in his room, the sound of his children's laughter drifting in from the yard.

[littlemanpoet]

“Thank you, sir,” Léof said. “But if it’s all the same, I would prefer not to completely give up working. It wouldn’t feel quite right.”

Eodwine smiled. He had noted an expression on the young man's face that was not a part of the pain of the foot, nor the humiliation of having been injured by a horse in his own stables. He could not guess surely as to what Léof was thinking, but he sensed that pride of ownership in one who has taken to a job like wet to water.

"You're the ostler here, Léof my lad. We'll find a few others to be your back and arms and legs, but this stable is still yours to run. You've got a head for it, and you know these horses and their care. Whoever is sent to do the labor shall take his orders from you. What say you?"

Léof's eyes brightened in gratified surprise, but he quickly took control of himself and reined in his surprise. He became grave of face and nodded. "I think that is the best thing for this stable, sir."

"I'm sure of it!" Eodwine rose. "My thanks, Æðel, for all that you have been doing for those among us who have fallen ill or hurt. The healer from Meduseld has put in a good word for you, and thinks you would make an able student. Would you like to spend part of your days up at the Golden Hall, learning from his skills?"

Æðel's eyes gleamed. "I would like that much, lord."

"Then I will arrange it. Kara cooks our evening meal in the backyard. See to it that the both of you are there to take your fair share of it."

Much good had been done by many of Eodwine's new household. He thought that the evil of the fallen wall had been more than redressed by all that had come to pass since then. He spent the remainder of the day welcoming the new guests at the evening meal, as well as giving Garreth and Harreld the full story of the fallen wall over late evening drinks, with details of all kinds supplied by one storyteller after another. Falco took special joy in relating Linduial's prank of getting Frodides out of the kitchen before the men could free up the front door.

The stars had come out and the night was mild and calm. The guest rooms were filling up. Had he been a mere innkeeper, he would have looked upon that as a profitable thing. However, as mead hall lord, his guests got bed, board, and stabling free, and fees and fines from his landholders were his income. It was true that the landholders, as well as those who worked land in feof, would find their rents raised due to the new eorl, but Eodwine hoped that he would be able to make it worth it to them in some way. He would have to give thought to that.

At last all were abed and Eodwine thought of all those who had rooms. It was quite an assortment of folk, from the high to the lowly. Stories there were behind every last one of them, and most of those were still unknown to him. The Eorling Mead Hall looked to be a good place for him right now, and maybe for the rest of his life. New floor plans shimmered in his mind as he dozed.

[JennyHallu]

Marenil sat awake in his room, reading and rereading the letter Lin had finally gotten to him after dinner, with tears in his eyes. His Enna, his dearest joy, his partner over so many years, so many trials and triumphs...and in her final sickness he had not been there, had not been with her. Enna...

He leaned back in his chair, memories running through his mind. Enna as he'd first saw her, the farmer's daughter swathed in dark hair, silhouetted against the sunrise. Introducing her with pride to his Lord, when he'd still been a young man working as a jack-of-all-trades. Farlen (the present Lord's father, still a young man back then) had given all his men a house when they wed, but, thrilled with the young bride's wit and will, had deeded the house to her. The threats she made to kick him out of it when they argued. Enna...

The birth of their son, and then another. Watching them grow. Listening to her teaching little Lin the womanly skills she'd perfected long ago. Watching her playing with her grandchildren. The strength in her eyes when he and his sons had followed the present Lord Farlen to the battle of Pelennor Fields. The tears he'd wiped from her eyes when the second son never came home. Enna...

He'd seen almost every important moment in her life, felt her hand in his in all his lowest times. And his memory had made record of all of that. But he had no memory of her growing old. No memory of age spots, or wrinkled skin, or slower movements, gray hairs, early evenings. Perhaps that was how life went, passing you slowly as you dwelt stubbornly in your disappearing youth. Enna...

Enna would always be the slim girl in the sunrise, working in her father's fields. Always.



He lay awake in the dark thinking of her, and of the contents of Lord Farlen's letter, and did not sleep, feeling only the ethereal pressure of a womanly hand in his own, and a cool touch of lips on his brow, and his heart was eased in her presence. He would grieve in his own time.

[Taralphiel]

Lys winced. He felt pain; it seemed to radiate through his body, following little channels. First his left foot, then through his ankle and leg until it made him dizzy with the pain. It razored through to his chest and throbbed, making him wheeze for breath. Too little air filtered through his dry throat, and he had to close his eyes and feel the rain on his mud-streaked face to avoid a panic. His hair was over his eyes, and when he opened them, everything had a sickly tinge of red. The darts of pain spiralled through his right arm, which he could figure was also broken, and ended at his head with what he could only guess was a cut or gash of some sort.

‘Where…am I? Who…’

His thoughts jumbled around, like his head was being tossed though his body was still and deathly cold. Was it day or night? So much confused him. He knew it was foolish to try to move, stand, or walk. His blanket, as he observed, was finer than he, woven through with threads of gold and russet, sliding into deep blue oceans of soft cloth. But it was ruined, soaked in with this angry-smelling mud. He saw in front of him a barrel, though he knew not its contents. Maybe, if he later had the strength, he could try to push it over and see what was inside. Though, he doubted any contents would be of profit of him. No person would leave foodstuffs or warming blankets in a keg out in the middle of the mud and rain.

His stomach grumbled, rousing his hurt muscles, and he let out a soft, pathetic groan of pain. It seemed to comfort him a little to let it out, though it didn’t stop his stomach from protesting all the more fervently.

How long could he lie out here like this? A day, or maybe two? He had no idea how bad his injuries were, or where he was…not even who he was. This was the most frightening of all his troubles. He searched his memories. All he could find were dim lamps, cloaking darkness, cold mud and pounding rain…and screams for help. He tried the simplest of things – his name.

He began to see the dawn rise slowly through the line of the roof that sheltered him, and as he did he began to try and force out his own name.

“L…lll…Leee…” He frowned and raised the hand of his good arm to his face. He remained quiet for a few moments, trying to keep his breathing short but regular, and his mind empty of pain or hunger. He closed his eyes and let out in a voice lighter than a whisper:

“L-lys…Lys”.

He looked up at the warm dawn. Well, he knew two things now. His name (or part of it), and what time of day it was. All the other questions could wait a while, for he was exhausted already and in moments had fallen into a pained slumber.

[Folwren]

Thornden pulled an extra vest over his white shirt and then picked up an empty pouch. He would make a short visit to the kitchen and pick up some left over bread and maybe some cheese before starting out. The evening before Eodwine had spoken to him, telling him that he would need to go and act as his coin gatherer among the people of the First Emnet.

“I’m low on coin, Thornden,” the Eorling lord admitted. “Things would have been just fine had that wall not collapsed, but as it is. . .we need more.”

“Well, of course. That’s absolutely understandable. I’ll leave early tomorrow morning, and on my way back, I’ll visit my sister. She doesn’t live far from the city gates and will be directly in my path.”

So Thornden rose early that morning, a few minutes before the sun peeped her own head above the mountains. He took a carved staff from the corner behind his bed and went out into the hall.

Kara was in the kitchen preparing breakfast and she gladly filled his pouch quite generously for him, putting in not only the bread and cheese that he thought would be all he needed, but also added some of the smoked ham they had. And for breakfast, she handed him a newly baked roll, still hot from the oven, wrapped in a clean napkin. He thanked her and went out.

The even before, he had told Léof that he would need a mount for the next day’s work and Eodwine had given him instructions to take his horse, Flíthaf. When Thornden exited the building, he was pleased to see Léof leading old charger out of the stable. He approached the ostler and as the reins exchanged hands, Thornden spoke.

“Good morning, Léof!” He smiled broadly and didn’t notice Léof’s slight response and his tight lip as he looked over the finely groomed Flíthaf. “How’s the foot this morning?” he asked, turning his attention back the ostler.

“Just fine,” was the short reply. Thornden grinned again.

“Well, I hope so, Léof. Thank you for preparing Flíthaf, he looks excellent and seems to be quite excited to be getting out. Goodbye! Have fun at the horse fair, today - I imagine you’ll be out there, whether it’s good for your foot or not.” Léof scarcely answered as he stepped away and walked back towards the stables. Thornden mounted swiftly and turned Flíthaf towards the road and then in the direction of the city gate.

There were few people up yet. He bid those he met good morning as he walked his horse through the streets. But he had hardly gone three hundred yards from the Mead Hall and turned only a couple corners when his eyes were arrested by a prostrate figure stretched out on the ground on the edge of the street. Thornden stopped Flíthaf quickly and for a moment sat just looking at it, shocked and appalled, for the sight was ugly. The next moment, he swung down quickly from the horse, and led him carefully forward. He knelt beside the figure, draping the long reins over his shoulder where he could feel and grab them if the horse drew back or moved away.

It was a young man, no - practically a boy, Thornden realized in a moment. It was hard to make out his features, for blood covered his face. A deep gash in his forehead above his right eyebrow caused by a hard blow from a blunt instrument had bled freely until it had dried in the wind and rain of last night, covering the gaunt face with a gruesome, red mask. Thornden slowly tore his eyes from his face and looked over the rest of the form - the body seemed broken and wounded in many places and he could not tell from sight alone what all was wrong with him.

He was quite at a loss as to what to do. His mind raced and his hands trembled as they hovered uselessly above the boy, unwilling to touch him for fear of making matters worse. With a great intake of breath for pity and horror, Thornden drew his hands back abruptly to himself. His eyes traced his face and then his body again. The right arm lay at odd angles with his body, his chest rose in jerks as he breathed in and blood had stiffened his shirt. Thornden half wished the boy was conscious, but then thanked the stars that he wasn't and couldn't feel the pain.

Hesitant as he was, Thornden realized he had no choice but to touch him. He moved closer, crouching low to the ground. Before he picked him up, however, he adjusted the reins so that when he stood up, they would rest in the crook of his elbow, not taught, but tight enough that Flíthaf would follow as though he were being led. Then, moving as gently as he possibly could, he lifted the boy's head and shoulders and then slipped his arm under it, then, with the same careful movements, put his other arm beneath the knees. He bent his head and shoulders and heaved upward as he stood.

The burden was lighter than he expected, much too little weight for a boy that height, he realized, as he turned and walked back towards the Mead Hall. The head fell back and the arm farther from him fell limp and he made no movement, nor gave sign of life, save for each struggling breath.

Thornden hurried his footsteps onward and he reached the Hall in just a couple minutes. In the yard, he hesitated, wondering what to do with his hands full, and the horse fairly attached to him. The only one he knew who might possibly be awake was Léof, but he was in the stables. Thornden walked quickly to the door and there called for the ostler.

Léof came out almost at once, stopping abruptly in surprise when he saw the bloody figure Thornden bore in his arms. But Thornden didn’t give him much time to gape.

“Take the horse, Léof. Tie him up inside there, I’ll probably be coming out in a bit to take him again. Thanks,” he added, as Léof did as he was bidden quickly. Then, without another word he hurried inside, pushing open the door impatiently and bearing the lad in. He looked about quickly, hoping to see someone who could tell him what to do, or at least help. To his relief, Eodwine entered at just that moment, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. His hand stopped as he caught sight of Thornden and then they both walked towards each other at once.

“I found him, not too far from here. . .I don’t know what all’s wrong with him, and I’ve no doubt he’s more than half dead all ready,” Thornden said, before Eodwine could ask a single question. “I’m sorry I had to come back so soon - I was only my way out - but I couldn’t just leave him.”

[littlemanpoet]

"Lay him down in the first room downstairs, Thornden." Eodwine looked at the boy in concern. He mulled as they moved the boy to the room. So many young ones, orphaned, wounded, fleeing and out in the open, unprotected! If any had thought all evils would pass away with the end of the Dark Lord, that had been proven false in the first year; and each year since.

Thornden lay the boy down on the bed as carefully, Eodwine noticed, as if it had been his own child. Good man, this one, Eodwine thought.

"Best be on your way, Thornden. I'll see to his care."

"I'll be back by sundown I hope. I'll be eager for news of him then."

"We'll hope for the best. Send Kara to me on your way out, Thornden."

Eodwine knelt by the side of the bed. This boy was in sad, sad shape. Bleeding from too many wounds, broken bones, pain shown in the sleeping grimace he wore.

Kara came into the room. "Thornden told me there was a bo-" she stopped with a sudden intake of breath. "Oh my ....."

"Kara, please wake Æðel and have her come to me, then get food and drink for the boy."

"And for you and Æðel, of course!" Kara answered.

Eodwine smiled at her earnest face. "That would be welcome."

After Kara had left the room, Eodwine looked out the window over the silent child, still except for his slight breathing. He could see the mountains rising up, glinting in the new risen sun. A little of that light reflected into this room. Eodwine was impressed with the cleanliness of it, and made a point to himself to give words of praise to Saeryn and Æðel for keeping it so well while unoccupied.

The boy stirred and coughed, grimacing in pain. He sounded not well. That moment, Kara came in bearing a pitcher of water.

"Here. Drink."

The boy accepted the water eagerly.

[Lalwendë]

Wultheof walked from the stables to the Mead Hall in the growing light. He was tired and moved slowly, and he coughed as he went. He had spent the night in the stables, as had Leocsley. Their job was to guard the horses through the night, a job they did not mind, nor did they mind camping out in the stables as it gave them a chance to have a bit of fun away from Larswic. There had been a bit too much fun last night as they'd got hold of a flagon of ale and had been up laughing into the early hours. There had been no chance to sleep off their beer because as usual, their day had started early.

The lad was not alone. He walked ahead of a tall, fair young man who carried a long sword and an older man who carried something carefully hidden in the folds of his threadbare brown cloak. This was a young and high born man of Edoras and his steward. They had come to buy horses in the earliest hours of the new day to ensure they got the first choice.

In the Mead Hall Wultheof knocked softly on the door of his father's chamber and the men went in. The lad sat down on the floor outside the door to keep watch, but he soon nodded off.

***

Fifteen minutes later, the door opened and Wultheof jumped up with a start. The steward was offering his hand to Larswic, but the horse trader appeared to be busy with something in his pockets. The hand was soon dropped. Larswic did not stop chatting to the younger man for a moment; this was who he needed to convince, not the steward. He had told him all about how fine his horses were, what races they had won, their lineage, their promise. Most of all, he had told him exactly who in Rohan owned horses he had bred, and the names were impressive.

The young man was not leaving with horses, only with the thought of them. No money had changed hands, and Larswic had done no deals, he had been most careful to avoid any kind of binding agreement, such as a handshake. He knew that this young noble would talk all morning about the fine horses and others would hear of this and come to the Mead Hall to speak with him about them. So the price would rise throughout the day, and by the end of it, the young noble would be quite desperate to have the horses he most admired, and would be prepared to pay even more for them.

Larswic took them to the door and wished them good morning with a nod of the head and a warm smile. They had been charmed by the man from Middle Emnet and went away feeling excited about the deal to come.

"Now lad," said Larswic to his son, who stood behind him, yawning widely. "how's about a good breakfast eh?" He ruffled his son's hair and then pushed past him back into the Hall.

[Firefoot]

Léof had awakened early as usual, making his slow way down the aisle to check on the horses. He still walked with a noted limp and probably walked more on it than he ought, though he did readily accept the help of those who came out to the stables. This had worked out considerably better than he had originally thought, and at least in this way the past few days had run smoothly.

In other ways, though… he still had not worked out his feelings toward Gárwine, Thornden, and Æðel, and while relations were not precisely hostile, nor were they very friendly. Léof had lost much of the trust he had gained in his first week. He might be able to understand why they had wanted his foot checked out, but as for how… the memory of the man-handling still stung.

Then, of course, there was the previous night. Léof did not know exactly what Leocsley and Wultheof had been doing, but they had been quite noisy about it, and far into the night. Several times he had been tempted to go and ask them to be quiet, but had always refrained, thinking that even if it was his place, they probably would not listen to him. Léof did not mind if they chose to sleep in the stables so long as they were quiet about it and did not disturb the horses (or him), although he did feel rather insulted that Larswic felt the need for them to guard their horses, as if Léof had no qualifications whatsoever. He had noticed in smug annoyance how tired and unwell they looked this morning – perhaps they had found some ale, then, last night. Served them right.

Seeing the horses all right, Léof wandered out to find some breakfast. He had discovered a rather stiff way of walking so as to put more weight on his heel and minimize the pain in his toes. He was enjoying a hot roll when Thornden came rushing in with a limp and injured boy in his arms. At Thornden's orders he went to tie up Flíthaf; then, curious, Léof followed slowly as they took the boy into one of the downstairs rooms and Eodwine issued a set of orders. He stopped in the doorway, getting his first good look at the boy. He seemed in pain, and there was a gash on his forehead. Léof felt a wave of pity for the boy.

“Anything I can do to help, sir?”

[Folwren]

Thornden left Eodwine as he had been bidden, he hurried to fetch Kara, told her briefly what was needed, and then turned to go and carry out his duty. But his quick pace slowed as he came nearer to the outside door and he stopped altogether at it. Placing his hand on the door frame and lowering his head, he stood thinking about the boy.

What if he didn’t recover? What if he never even woke up? He might slip silently away, taking in less and less air with each struggling breath, and go beyond the reach of the living. Then it would be as though Thornden had never found him. He could die just as easily in a bed as in the street.

Almost against his will, Thornden turned back around and headed up the hall. Half way there, he turned back around. Eodwine had ordered him away, he had many miles to cover before sun down. But he couldn’t just leave the boy without knowing if he would even survive! Once again he turned back and this time walked all the way to the half closed door.

There he stopped once again, but he didn’t retreat this time. He stood waiting, pacing the five feet of hallway in front of the door. There was silence within the room, and then someone stirred, and a hoarse cough came. Thornden bounded towards the door and looked in. He saw the boy’s eyes open slowly and Eodwine bent over him.

“Excuse me, sir,” a quiet voice said at his elbow. Thornden jumped and drew back. Kara glided past him, a pitcher of water in one hand and a cup in the other. Thornden resumed his place by the door and watched as Eodwine poured a full cup of water and went to the boy. He supported his head with his arm and the put the cup to his lips.

“Here. Drink,” he said.

Thornden bent to look around Eodwine and see the stranger. The boy lifted one arm to grasp the cup, putting his hand somewhat around Eodwine’s fingers and he drank eagerly. A warm smile broke out suddenly on Thornden’s face and he drew back. He was satisfied. The lad was well enough to know thirst. He would still be there in the evening when he returned.

Quickly then, with hurried strides, he left the Mead Hall, got his horse, and went once more out on the road. The sun was higher, and the city life was well on its way to being fully awake. Thornden knew he was behind his time, but he couldn’t help but feel uplifted at having seen the wounded boy wake and drink.

[Celuien]

The sound of Garstan's tools grinding over stone echoed under the morning sun. He had started work for Lord Eodwine the day of his arrival, collecting and reshaping the fallen stone from the kitchen to craft a new stove for the Hall. Soot from an open fire in the yard troubled the cook and, in truth, some of guests at the hall. And the food had taken on a smoky flavor. Garstan didn't mind. Meals at the hall were certainly better than the plain food he cooked over his little campfire, but he suspected that they met with little approval from more than one of the other visitors.

His chisel worked down a stone block, carving a groove into one of its faces. The furrow would match a ridge in another piece, and so on for each block he used, holding the new stove together in a interlocking puzzle.

The stove would not fall. Linduial had questioned him about the lack of mortar in the structure, and he had tried to explain that none was needed. Besides, to make mortar, lime and sand would be necessary, and there wasn't any about for miles. It seemed that Eodwine could ill afford the additional, unnecessary, expense. But later, mortar might be needed for the more elaborate plans Eodwine had sketched.

Garstan stepped back to look at his work. The stove was going well. Several rows stood interlocked over a round pit for the fire. The highest row needed only two more stones. A few more rows on top of that would bring the stove to completion, though a chimney would still be needed. But that could wait until the kitchen itself, still a ruin of timbers, was rebuilt.

The last stone in the row locked into place. Garstan stopped work and rubbed his sore hands together. He then went into the Hall in search of a morning snack before resuming his labors to find Larswic and his son already present. He shifted uncomfortably to the side. Something about the man stirred his distrust. But he smiled a good morning to the pair despite his misgivings.

[littlemanpoet]

“Anything I can do to help, sir?” came a shy gruff voice from the doorway. Eodwine turned and saw Léof, and smiled. But the boy was greedily clutching at the cup, and Eodwine brought his eyes and thought back to the boy, making sure he didn't choke. As he aided the boy, he wondered if he had indeed seen a skulking shadow behind Léof. Who might be trying to hide in a Mead Hall corridor in the first hours of the day? He shrugged, lay the boy's head back down on the pillow, and gently released the cup from his grasping, boney hands. Eodwine looked over his shoulder.

"Come, Léof." He hobbled toward the bed. "You seem no worse for wear."

"I'm all right, so long as I have say in the stables."

Eodwine nodded. "When Æðel comes, she will see to the boy's care. If she asks for Hrethil the Healer, I'd like you to take to horse and go to Meduseld and ask for him."

"Aye, I can do that." The young man's brows worked.

"Something else?"

"This boy. Will he-" Léof was apparently at a loss for words.

"Aye, I think he'll be well. But is that all?"

"Well, no. Those two boys who came with their horse trading father. They stayed in the stables all night and they were noisier than is seemly. All night, or late into the black hours."

Eodwine nodded. Here was information he needed and so far had not gotten. It was not his way to seek out bad word against another, and he had no plans to start such hunting. But, as Eorl, he was now beginning to wonder if he did not need to have his folk be his ears and eyes as well as ostler, hostess, guard, steward, and reeve. He would have to think more on that. Since Léof had offered some word, he took thought to test his hunching and see what came of it.

"What do you make of them? .... boys and father?"

Intro to Eorling Mead Hall rpg

[Taralphiel]

There was warmth around Lys, warmth much more deep and comforting than a blanket in the cold morning. His body was still pulsing with pain from all areas, and he struggled to even open his eyes.

He saw a face. His mind immediately began to race with panic. Someone had found him! But was he the one that left him here? Had he come…to finish his work?

Lys wanted to recoil, yell and scream out for help. But only the smallest exertion brought him to coughing and he winced at the pain in his raw throat and chest. The man did not make a move, only watched Lys carefully.

At that moment a woman entered the room, and Lys felt cornered. He could do nothing to save himself from these people, if they meant ill. Perhaps…he knew them once? Why could he not remember anything? Lys tried as much as he could to curl up into himself, and away from the two faces, however warmly they looked at him.

“Here. Drink.”

Lys looked up, and saw the cup of water being presented to him. His thirst won over his caution, and he allowed the stranger to aid him to drink in great gulps, though it hurt him to swallow so much fluid. Lys let his grasp slip on the cup, and the other man eased his body back against the sheets. He closed his eyes, and tried to work up the courage, and strength of voice to say something to the strangers. But his thoughts were interrupted.

“Anything I can do to help, sir?”

A young man was at the door to the room. He could not have been very much older than Lys, though he looked much stronger. He limped towards the bed, and it seemed he had done something to his foot, though he tried his best to conceal it. The older man began to talk to him of a healer, but Lys was not paying much heed to this conversation.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a man standing by the doorway. His face was creased with worry as he looked on him lying helpless on the bed. This man looked kind to him, and his worry relieved him somewhat. Maybe this place was not a threat to him. Perhaps, he could call these people his rescuers. He watched the man smile at him, then quietly walk away. He looked at the two men in the room talk, and managed a small, contented smile. No, these people were not evil, and he had no need to fear. Again, Lys closed his eyes and tried to rest a little.

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine awoke when the morning's bright light shone through his window. He stirred, and stretched his arms and groaned deeply. He could hear footsteps outside in the hallway; people were already awake. He rolled out of bed and stood slowly. He shook the tiredness out of his limbs, and slowly got dressed, yawning a few times, stretching his arms again, and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The sunlight through the window seemed less harsh now, and his limbs were less heavy. He was soon ready for the day and left his room to see what all the noises in the hall were about.

Gárwine left his room and walked down the hall. Near its end he could see an open door, and Thornden in the doorway, looking inside with a solemn look on his face. Gárwine approached.

"Thornden, what's going on? I woke up when I heard the footsteps in the hall, and I thought something might've happened."

"Look," said Thornded. He pointed into the room. Resting on the bed was a boy, younger than Gárwine, and obviously wounded. Across his face were the drying remains of blood. He seemed half-asleep and bewildered by the way his eyes would flicker open and shut. "I found him out in the city."

"Good grief," said Gárwine, "He sure took a knock to the head." But Thornden wasn't listening and was back to watching the boy. Gárwine shrugged, and decided he was hungry. Though Gárwine was curious, whatever had happened to the wounded boy could wait until after a good breakfast. By then they should have him up and talking. I bet they'll bring a Healer from Meduseld, then he'll be awake in no time.

Gárwine wandered into the kitchen, where the rubble of the collapse had been cleared away and shoved aside to make adequate room for the necessities of a working kitchen. The kitchen was empty; either everybody was still asleep this early in the morning or watching the wounded boy. Larswic and his boys were in the hall, though, probably up to no good. Gárwine distinctly remembered hearing the two boys laughing outside in the dead of night.

A tray of rolls was on the table, still a bit warm from the oven. Gárwine grabbed one and started munching on it as he searched for other food. He found a loaf of dark bread and a wheel of bright yellow cheese nearby. He cut a piece of each with one of the long knives Kara always used and arranged his food neatly in a napkin. Garwine would carry it back to his room to eat and not into the hall. He did not like the looks of the two boys. Larswic seemed kind enough, but his boys had gained a place of suspicion in Gárwine's mind. What were they laughing so loudly about in the wee hours of the morning? Even Manawyth now was tolerable and had proved his good will through the test of time.

[Firefoot]

“They treat their horses well, whatever else may be said of them,” answered Léof slowly, “or at least Larswic sees to it that the boys do. Whether that is simply because they intend to sell them, I do not know. But…” The truth was, Léof’s initial misgivings had not been eased, but rather settled into uncertain feelings of unease. He still had little to back up these feelings, and for this reason hesitated. He may be suffering from nothing more than paranoia.

“You may speak your mind freely here,” said Eodwine.

“I have had little contact with Larswic himself,” began Léof, “although I have noticed that he is rather close-fisted with his coin. A small tip is not uncommon, and he certainly has many horses, but I have received neither tip nor thanks. Not that I’m complaining,” he hastily added. “It was just an observation. In fact, the way he lets his boys have such free rein in the stables, having them guard their horses and the like, I wonder if he notices that I am here at all. As for the boys, I am not comfortable with them. They seemed to come in here with an attitude of sizing the place and me up. Since then, I have not seen much else from them except confidence, quite like they belonged here, so whether I was imagining it, or if they have since decided that I am not a threat, I do not know.” A doleful glance was sent towards his foot. He certainly would not be much of a threat to them, not physically. “Responsibility does not seem to be one of their virtues, either,” he added, thinking again of the previous night. “Larswic seems to keep a pretty tight hold on them and they listen, but when he doesn’t…” He shrugged. Irresponsible or simply idiotic, Léof didn’t suppose it made a notable difference.

Eodwine appeared thoughtful. “Léof, I would like you to keep an eye on those three. They do not seem to have noticed you much, which is good. I would be grateful if you would report to me if you see or hear anything that seems suspicious or makes you uncomfortable.”

Léof was rather surprised, and his mind worked quickly. He guessed that he was not the only one uneasy with these newcomers, and this heightened his confidence in his own observations. He nodded. “Aye, sir, I can do that. Is there anything else?”

“Not for now. If a healer is needed, I or someone else will let you know.”

Recognizing the dismissal, Léof said, “I will be in the stables.” He made his way back out there to begin feeding, wondering what the day would bring.

[JennyHallu]

Lin rose late on the morning of the Fair, morning sunlight streaming through the windows of her room. Cheerfully she thought through all she hoped to do that day, as she stretched luxuriously in the soft linens of the bed. Her tapestries had been hung the day before, by Léof, walking carefully on his injured foot, with young Garmund hanging in his shadow.

The sunlight promised a beautiful spring day, and she rose and dressed in light linens, singing a lullaby in Adunaic in a light, high voice. She slipped out of her corner room and danced cheerfully down the hallway and down the stairs. There was a small crowd gathered by a room on the first floor, one that Lin didn't think had been occupied (even by the hosts of nameless merchants that had been filling all the corners the past few days), but she slipped past and outdoors, heading for the kitchen-tent. A picnic, that's what she needed. She'd go outside the walls to where the Fair was set up and explore the booths and events she'd seen merchants setting up over the past few days, and bring a picnic basket from the Hall.

Garwine was already in the kitchen, and she could hear the sounds of Garstan working on the hearth chimney outside, which was taking beautiful shape despite her initial doubts. She said a cheerful good morning to Garwine, who returned it with a friendly wave, his mouth full of hot bread. A small basket was quickly procured from a cabinet, and Garwine cut her a wedge of the cheese when he got some for himself. She found the ham from the night before and cut off a few slices, and added a few of the fresh rolls on the table. All this she wrapped in a napkin and packed into her basket before leaving the kitchen in the direction of the sounds of Garstan's work, with a wave at Garwine, who was leaving the other way.

"Garstan?" she said loudly, over the high ringing of his chisel. "Garstan!" The man finally heard her, and set down his tools, turning a face covered in rock dust to her.

"Yes, Lady?" he answered, with a respectful nod.

Lin smiled at him, the basket hanging by her side. "Master Garstan, today is the first day of the horse fair, as I'm sure you know." He nodded, and Lin continued. "It looks to be beautiful out, and I thought I would attend the festivities. I wondered if I might have the loan of your daughter for the day. I am sure she'd enjoy getting out of the hall, and I would be glad of her cheerful company."

The influx of so many from the countryside was keeping the Hall's staff busy, and Lin had noticed the little girl seemed to feel mostly underfoot, as her father was working and her brother helping Léof in the stable. Lin herself had had the same feeling. Her friend Saeryn had been kept hopping, Kara had barely left the kitchen, and Aedhel had been helping Kara, when she wasn't in Meduseld working on her new lessons. Most of the men were also busy at their own duties, Marenil at a host of self-appointed tasks...Lin couldn't keep up with all he'd been doing. Only Manawyth and Degas had had any time to spare, really, and the language barrier made long discussions with Manawyth difficult, as they were both translating everything mentally. Degas...was Degas, and Lin was still cautiously trying out her 'ignore him' advice, doing her best to look exceedingly busy whenever he came near.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas rose later than he had meant. The revelry of Larswic's sons had kept him awake for longer than he was content with. He'd slipped out of doors in the wee hours to see what troubles they were causing themselves and, content that they were no harm to anything but perhaps their next day memory, he had let them be. Eodwine would care for their irresponsibility if it was required. Degas had simply intended to make certain that they were harmless in the short term. Still, if they chose to make such actions a tradition, he would have a word. Saeryn had spoken to him of equally interrupted sleep and Degas suspected that Lin's may have been restless as well. The lord's hall hosted children that needed their rest and the sick that needed nightly quiet, among many others.

He thought of this as he washed, finding clean clothing folded neatly and smelling of light spring breeze and something else he was uncertain of; when he did his own washing, if he could do it before she found it, it was clean, yet it did not have that light scent of something extra. Degas had no idea how Saeryn managed it, but she was simply good like that. No matter how often he tried to shut her from his room, she continued to silently slip in and take care of him. He smiled. His twin liked to pick up after him and see to it that he was content, and she would never accept his gratitude. A pert laugh and a tart comment would be all he would get for it, he knew. He would ask Lin, he thought, how best to thank his beloved sister.

He thought of Saeryn. She was tired. He could see it in her eyes, though he doubted any of the others noticed it. No, Eodwine, he corrected himself. Eodwine has seen it as well. Since the fall of the wall and the influx of so many guests, she had worked herself harder than Degas thought necessary. He could find her at times that she ought to be resting, on her knees, scrubbing the floor of an unused room. Perhaps he would have a word with Eodwine, though Saeryn would scold him to near death if she were to find out about it. He shook his head and pulled his damp coppery locks into a horsetail.

Securing a coin purse and a dagger to his belt, he checked himself over to see if he'd forgotten anything. Coal black boots clean and on; dark brown breeches tucked neatly into them; shirt buttoned and tucked in; belt cinched. He caught himself worrying over his appearance and pushed it out of his head. There were plenty of ladies, he told himself, that he could have if he wanted them. There was no reason to worry what this one thought of him. He shook his head and called himself hopeless and grinned for a second in knowledge of his own lack of seriousness of his past thought. Tell himself what he may, he knew that he took care in his appearance over the past few days for one lass in particular.

She had done everything to him but acknowledge his continued existence, except in circumstances wherein it would be impolite to remain silent. When Degas spoke to her, and he sought opportunites to do so, she seemed preoccupied. Degas had approached Saeryn to learn if the lass had a pair of warm arms waiting at home to pull her close upon reunion and Saeryn had laughed at him and left him in more confusion than he had already felt.

Pulling a pair of sweets from where, upon his neatly folded bed, he had left them, he opened his door and made his way toward the early noise of tired voices murmering communication. A lad was injured; Eodwine assured Degas that he was in the best of care and not to worry.

Degas followed the sound of a lovely light voice and found she for whom he searched. He smiled at her and she blushed. Kneeling to her level, Degas spoke to Lèoðern, and her father at the same moment.

"Have you yet had breakfast, m'lady Lèoðern?" Garstan nodded behind the little girl as she nodded wide-eyed. Degas proffered a piece of chocolate to her, balanced upon one knee. Her eyes widened, if possible, further. "Then please take this."

As her small white hand took the candy from his large, callused one, Degas bade Garstan good morning, asking of his health and his thoughts of the weather.

Carefully ignoring Linduial, Degas complimented Garstan for a job well done, admiring the tight fit of the stonework before him. Finally, carefully, Degas turned to Linduial, hiding the second piece of chocolate in his hand.

"Good day, my lady." he murmered, brushing her own hand with his lips. As he released it, he tucked the chocolate within it. "I heard mention that you planned to attend the festivities today. I've come to beg of you a favor..."

[JennyHallu]

Linduial mentally cursed her revealing blush. You've been working too hard at this to let him get to you that easily! she scolded herself, taking the moment he leaned over her hand to school her features into their proper disinterest. When she found herself the possessor of a rather sticky candy, she almost laughed in delight, but caught herself handily. Trying a little hard, wasn't he? Saeryn was right. Except...he surely doesn't think my heart is as easily won as Léoðern's, to be swayed by sweets and manners. But...he is such a dear. Lèoðern is completely charmed, and I as well. Mustn't show it!

She tucked the chocolate away into a handkerchief she pulled from her basket, smiling at Lèoðern's sticky happy face. "Thank you, Degas," she said smoothly, in the calm, friendly tone she used with strangers. "You remind me of my brothers; they always used to give me such things when I was a child."

Oh, Lin, that was mean, she told herself, laughing inwardly at the look on Degas' face. You'll have to try harder, my dear. I love watching you try... "I hope you don't mind if I save it. I don't like to eat such sweet things before a proper breakfast. And what favor might I do you? Please speak quickly, Lèoðern and I have much to do, if her father agrees she might accompany me today."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

He hoped he looked far less foolish than he felt. As he picked up pieces of his broken ego, he tried to think of words and was at a loss. No, he thought... I look exactly as foolish as I feel. His bright eyes beseeching and without the devilish gleam so often present, he spoke quietly, still balanced upon his knee. He had not yet stood when the lady had so calmly swept him from his mooring. All the better, he groaned inwardly, or I may have fallen and then what would she think of me? He was glad Saeryn hadn't witnessed this. He shuddered to think of the teasing he would receive if she'd been here.

"I wish to thank my sister for a deed she would prefer remain thankless. I've no idea how. I'd come to beg of you advice and in return, offer my service as your escort today as you explore what delights the fair has for you."

He tried fruitlessly to think of more words to say... something to impress the lady, or to sweep her off of her feet. He would have settled for a cool insult, even, yet nothing came forth. His full concentration was spent on the proper pronunciation of what had formerly been his rather large vocabulary.

[JennyHallu]

Lin saw that she had hurt the young man, and his quiet, deflated, honesty tore at her heartstrings. How to handle this? she wondered. Same way father told you to handle an Ambassador you wish to come to an agreement with, she realized with a mental *click* as several half-developed thoughts and lessons fell into place. Show him that he is honored, and that his desires may come to fulfilment more easily than he might think.

She turned to Degas a heartfelt, friendly, and loving smile, handing her basket to him cheerfully. "You would be most welcome, Lord," she said softly and feelingly. She paused, then continued in a more casual tone. "And I am sure that Garstan also shall feel better, knowing his daughter defended by so doughty a warrior. And as for your other request...haven't you seen the host of vendors flooding Lord Eodwine's crumbled hall these last few days? All sorts of treasures will be laid out today! If you would do something sweet for Saeryn, I will help you to choose some pretty gift, fit for a lady of her worth."

[Celuien]

Garstan watched the interaction between Linduial and Degas with the faintest hint of amusement twinkling in his eyes. The lady's initial coldness was so obviously feigned, particularly considered in contrast to her quick transformation to smiles. Should there have been any doubt, the young gentleman's crestfallen appearance following her rejection was sign enough. The rules of flirting, it seemed, were the same everywhere.

The horse fair. Should he allow Lèoðern to go with them? Her shining face told him that she wanted to go. The precious sweet offered had won Degas the child's affections. Linduial had been her friend from day one: not a day had passed when they didn't wander the yard together, telling stories and playing games. Garstan was truly honored and thankful for her attention to his daughter. And he liked both Linduial and Degas. But would it be unwise to put Lèoðern under the charge of a pair with so many distractions to be found in each other? He thought there should be no difficulties: both of them appeared trustworthy, and had certainly been kind and attentive to Lèoðern. Still, how much attention could he expect for her while Linduial and Degas were off on some mutually evasive conversation?

He studied the edge of his chisel, wiping bits of stone-dust from its surface, while catching glimpses of Lèoðern's red curls below the metal. She was looking up at Linduial, chattering about horses and chocolates. She wanted to go. She should go.

Garstan spoke. "Indeed, Lady. It would be my pleasure to send Lèoðern to the fair with you. I am sure that it would make a pleasant day for the child. My thanks to you again for your attention to her." He smiled at Degas. "And to you, sir."

He hoped that he had made the right decision.

[littlemanpoet]

Æðel had come and had had a look at the boy, and asked for Hrethil. Eodwine had gone to the stable and sent Léof to Meduseld. Now it was time to break his fast. He made his way to the kitchen where he expected to find Kara. Instead he found the larders ransacked, and Kara missing. He wondered where she was. He picked up a half a loaf of brown bread and munched at it as he wandered over the grounds looking for Kara.

It was an hour later when he found her in the cellars, talking to Saeryn, who was on her knees scrubbing at the floor beneath the wine casks.

"Will you please stop and have a bite of breakfast?" Kara was saying.

"What's this?" Eodwine asked. Kara turned suddenly, her eyes wide, as though she had been caught misbehaving. Eodwine's brow flickered in confusion as to why she reacted so.

"I was just trying to get Saeryn here to leave off with all the scrubbing and come break her fast."

"Good of you, Kara. I'll see to Saeryn. Your kitchen seems to want looking after. Some hands have had a go at your larder."

Kara 'yes lorded' him and found her way up the stairs.

Eodwine watched Saeryn, who had not stopped with the scrubbing during his words with Kara.

"Saeryn, stop a moment."

[Firefoot]

Léof was glad for the chance to leave the Mead Hall for a bit and get out; for all the time he spent with the horses, he had little chance to ride, and Æthel had not been well-exercised. Remembering how Gárwine had needed to lend the healer his horse on the last occasion, Léof had saddled up Herefola as well; he did not think that Gárwine would mind. They started out at a brisk trot but were soon slowed to a walk as they became caught up in the fair traffic. For himself, Léof did not mind; this was a sight like he had never seen before. The fair was more than horse buying and games; vendors had come to sell their wares, hoping to take advantage of the crowd. Some sold food; others, jewelry; and all sorts of tings that Léof did not have the time to look at. Outside the city, a small oval had been marked out for horse racing, and this most of all caught Léof’s eye. “What do you think, girl?” he asked Æthel. “Maybe we should give it a try.” He knew full well that Æthel would not be the fastest horse, and if the track had been straight he probably would not have stood a chance. But a round track – on a couple of occasions a small round track similar to this one had been set up near his village for people to have a bit of sport out of their normal schedules, and Léof had quickly noticed how much the dynamics had changed. Rather than running in a straight line, the horses tended to bunch up on the inside because it would be shorter, and sometimes the fastest horse might be caught up in that sort of mess, and a slower horse might win. He might have a chance.

Æðel probably wouldn’t approve, said a little nagging voice in his head. Your foot still isn’t right. The voice annoyed him. Of course he would be fine; it was not as if he would be running on it. Stirrups? interrupted the voice. So what? A fierce desire came over him to just prove them all wrong. He was not a baby to be handled gently because he had been foolish enough to get his foot stepped on.

Besides – there would be some kind of reward money. And he needed money, to get his sister here. She would be able to stay at the Mead Hall, of course, but their father would come after her if he just took her away. Léof was not precisely sure how money would help, but he figured that it would, somehow. Buying his father off, perhaps, horrible as it sounded.

His mind returned to the matter at hand as he rode up at the healer’s place. Tying the horses in front, he went inside to find the healer Hrethel. “What can I do for you, lad?” he asked. Then he noticed Léof’s limp. “What did you do to your foot?”

“Oh, it’s not me,” Léof assured him. “Horse stepped on my foot a couple days ago, but I’m doing all right. I was sent from the Mead Hall – it seems we’re needing your services again.” By now Léof was leading him out to where he had tied the horses.

“What seems to be the problem this time?”

“It’s this boy that we found. He’s in pretty bad shape – has a gash on his forehead, among other things.”

“I see.” Then he noticed the two horses and gave Léof an inquiring look.

“I remembered that you didn’t have your own horse, so I brought a second,” he explained.

Hrethel chuckled as he mounted. “Are you folk all trying to tell me something?”

“Well, the horse fair is going on right now…” Léof grinned. The old healer just shook his head.

The ride back seemed quicker. Léof directed Hrethel to the hurt boy’s room and took Æthel and Herefola to the stables. He removed the tack of both, but left Æthel’s out since he would be needing it shortly. As he worked, he tried to think of any other duties he might need to do if he was to race Æthel. It occurred to him that Larswic might be intending to conduct his business here rather than taking his horses out: this would certainly be more convenient, although perhaps less conducive to business. And if so, it might be best for him to stick around for most of the day, only slipping out for a short while – especially if he was to keep an eye on him, as Eodwine had requested. Léof nodded to himself and went to find Larswic.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn set down her supplies and dried her hands as she sat back onto her feet, straightening and lengthening her spine. Turning slightly, she allowed her back to crack the stiffness out of itself. Balancing carefully on the balls of her feet, she rotated her shoulders and turned her head a few times before standing. She hit her head on a low ceiling beam, wincing, and sneezed suddenly at the onslaught of sweetly aged dust that showered her. It fell like weightless rain to coat the newly cleaned floor.

"Troubles?" she asked delicately as she tried to ignore the already swelling bump on the back of her head. Her eyes looked up the few inches to meet his, daring him to laugh, to comment.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine watched Saeryn try to mimic the lythe motions of a cat, only the bump her head on a low beam, sending dust raining all over the floor she had so meticulously scrubbed.

"Troubles?"

Eodwine smirked, but said no word about the ceiling beam and her head. He was aware of his hands hanging at his side, flexing slightly with a sudden scene that filled his mind in which is hands held his hostess close to him and his mouth was not busy with speaking.

"There's a fair today, and you're down here slaving. Why?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Because it needs cleaning," she answered simply, "and because I've no inclination to attend the fair just now."

She looked him in the eye but her seriousness was cut short with another burst of sneezes. With her eyes streaming, she sniffed a few times, feeling foolish and being uncertain why she was being disturbed from her work.

"If there's nothing I can help you with Eodwine, I'd like to finish cleaning down here before I make sure Kara's well supplied and see that the guests are happy."

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine was discomfited. Here he had been thinking that she seemed tired, had been working herself much too hard since the wall had fallen three days ago. That was a lot of work. Was she trying to pay him back for swearing his oath to protect her? Maybe he was wrong. He looked her hard in the eyes. She was watching him with no great patience, waiting for him to let her get back to work. She was not being helpful at all. Well, she was with the cleaning, but not with helping him understand what was going on inside her head. No, the best thing he could do was to speak plainly.

"Saeryn, you're working too hard. Why?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Because I can." she replied, infuriatingly unhelpful still. Had she understood more of her own actions, she might have explained them to Eodwine.

Buried deep within her mind, in a place where she tried not to look because it made her a bit nervous, Saeryn suspected that it had something to do with the apprising look in Larswic's eyes when he had first spotted the hall in ruins. Though Saeryn suspected he had learned her rank by now, she had not mentioned it, not caring for her own title any more than she ever had. Rather had she made an effort for the man's respect of Eodwine to rise, perhaps based on the loyalty and effort put forth by those under his protection.

No, perhaps she'd not have told Eodwine if she'd known it fully. She was uncertain how even she felt of her protectiveness of his home, much less how he would react to it.

[littlemanpoet]

"Because I can."

She did not take her eyes away from his. He frowned, befuddled. That was no answer, and she knew it. His first thought was to say to himself, Women! and all then to latch onto that all the cantankerous nonsense that went with such a single worded casting of blame in the face of doubt. Her eyes, which he had not taken his own from, were tired. She sneezed again, but brought her eyes back to his.

A sudden linking of thoughts came to him. She knew she was working too hard, but did so anyway. What drive could there be for her, who so loved to play, to work so hard? It must be his oath. What else could it be?

"If you are working overhard because I swore to guard you against your older brother, you're being foolish. I need not your payment in overwork. You are of greater worth to yourself, and to me, sound of mind and body. If that be the why of it, set aside your washrag and bucket and come upstairs with me."

[JennyHallu]

Linduial smiled sunnily at Garstan and held out a slim white hand to Lèoðern, who moved to take it with an excited wriggle and half-jump. "We promise to return her in one piece!" she assured the anxious father over her shoulder, as she swept out into the courtyard and then to the street, Lèoðern skipping alongside her, and Degas following.


The annual Horse Fair in Edoras was a huge affair. The streets were filled with people and vendors, and this was merely the beginning. Most of the booths and all the horses and events were set up on the grassy sward outside the city, and it was there that Linduial led her merry little company. Lèoðern soon gave up on moving blindly through the dense-packed crowds of tall adults and rode high on Degas' strong shoulders, where she could see the layout of the fair and catch glimpses of what was going on all around them. Lin's obvious royal bearing had an almost magical effect on the crowd, melting people away so the laughing, happy trio walked almost unimpeded where'er Lèoðern directed.

Lèoðern's joy and excitement was infectious, and both Degas and Lin found it easier than they had expected to push their flirtation and attraction aside for a while, talking and laughing like old companions, and no more or less than friends. Lin still, however, found herself almost preternaturally aware of Degas' presence, and took pleased note of his tireless strength and patience, as well as the myriad of small kindnesses and shared jokes with the little girl bouncing up and down on his shoulder-blades. She masked her fascination with gaiety, and the three found a frank and often funny conversation about their various siblings to be a safe and welcome topic.

With many interruptions to stop and enjoy the performances of various buskers, dancers, storytellers, and acrobats, the three made their way slowly but surely to an area that seemed (from Lèoðern's skyline viewpoint) to be mostly populated with finer merchants, calling out their wares from well-kept colorful tents. As soon as they managed to get there, they set happily to looking through the goods, staying together, and pointing out to each other whatever rare, pretty, or well-made items caught their eye. Linduial, with a wink and a gesture for secrecy, pressed into Lèoðern's hot little hands ten copper pennies. Lin remembered well from her own childhood how dull it could be to go along on adult buying trips without the means to pick things out too.

[Folwren]

Somewhere in the country of the Middle Emnet

Outside the city walls, Thornden found the wind strong, but not terribly overbearing. He hardly thought of it, though, as he rode, for his mind was still lingering on the boy he'd found. He wondered where he came from, and how he got to be in such a state as he was. Were the wounds and broken bones really as bad as they had appeared, or had only the blood made it appear so? Thornden knew well how cuts and bruises could make the damage appear far worse than it really was. If the blood was washed away, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all. And they could always set the broken arm. . .

But what if it was worse than he expected? "Come now, Thornden," he told himself harshly. "Keep your mind on your business or you'll befuddle it all." He was approached the first home off the list of names and places that Eodwine had given him. He dismounted at the wooden gate and walked boldly up to the door and knocked. A kindly looking woman opened the door and greeted him rather merrily. He stated his business and though the smile didn't leave her face, she looked somewhat surprise.

"I didn't think they were due yet," she said. She flashed him a quizzical look from her sparkling brown eyes.

"Well, it's not the quarter, if that's what you mean," Thornden admitted. "But I'm not coming for all of the tax. Lord Eodwine needs some of the coin in advance, for he is setting up the Mead Hall, and an accident that happened not four days ago has caused him to over run his own purse. I'm here to gather only the last two month's due."

"Oh, well, if that's the case," she replied, the cloud in her face clearing. "Just wait here and I'll be back. Thendre sets aside coin for such happenings." Thornden nodded and she disappeared inside, leaving the door open. Thornden half turned and looked about the yard as he waited. In a moment she returned, a cloth coin purse in her hand. "Tell me how much you need," she said.

Thornden referred to a slip of paper and then told her the sum. Without question, she poured some of the coins into her right hand, counted them, placed two back within the purse, and handed the rest to the Thornden.

"Thank you very much, ma'am," he said, and bowed slightly. “In return for such payment, the Eorl Eodwine wishes to fulfil some boon or act of justice that you and your husband, may ask for. Likely in a month’s time, his work at the Mead Hall will be completed, and there you are welcome to come and speak with him concerning anything that you would have him hear.”

“Like what, sir?” the woman asked, a twinkle in her eye that may have been described as merry.

“That is best for you to decide,” Thornden answered with a smile. “You know what you need most concerning what the Eorl can give you. If all is not well, for instance, and animals or other such things are being stolen, tell him so, and he will do more to protect you. An unsettled argument, perhaps, between you and a neighboring freeholder he will be able to judge between. And he will judge fairly, I can promise you,” he added, almost on impulse. He knew it to be true and wasn’t going to hide the fact.

"Give our new lord Eodwine our best wishes then, young man," she said, bobbing her head, a new and brighter smile glowing on her face. "And good day to you!"

Thornden was happy that that had gone so well, and he hoped, rather than believed, that the rest of the land owners would give the same sort of reception to his coming.

The next farm was nearly eight miles from the first. Fields of cultivated and plowed lands laid between. Some fields contained livestock, sheep, goats, horses, and sometimes cows. He reached the clump of buildings, dismounted at the barn, and while he made out which one was the house, he tied Flíthaf to the hitching bar. He walked towards the door. It was open, allowing the fresh, morning breeze to flow into the house and Thornden stopped outside and knocked briskly on the door frame.

[Undómë]

Away -- Wistan's farm - Dunstede


‘Who is it dear?’ Cwen’s muffled voice called out. She’d misplaced her little shears and was snipping the length of blue yarn off with her teeth. The woven tapestry she was working on was that of Wistan’s return from that ‘awful war’ as she called it. She’d gotten the top border done and was just switching from the triumphant blue of the sky to begin to weave in the top of her dear husband’s head. His helm, she had decided would be off, held in the crook of his right arm. For a moment her fingers lingered over the grey grizzled yarn and then as quickly moved on to the rich, chestnut brown. ‘I’ll put a few grey in . . . later,’ she said to herself, conceding that it wouldn’t do to have him looking as young as his sons are at present for this bit of family history. ‘Still,’ she sighed, her hand resting on the shuttle of brown worsted, ‘’tis how I see him, even now.’

She got up from her stool, as no one had yet answered her. ‘Rose? Rose!’ she called out. ‘Now where is that girl?’ She knotted the brown to the blue and laid the shuttled on the little work table she had near the loom. Wistan and the boys were out in the western field, finishing the ploughing there. Brita and Lynet, she recalled, were taking the goats to the north pasture for the day. And Ardith was busy planting in the garden along with Mayda and the children.

‘Coming!’ she called out to the visitor. She knew it was not someone from one of the neighboring farms. They would have called out as they knocked and stepped inside to see who was in. Perhaps it was the man from the village market, come to claim the yearling pig he’d traded for. Goodman Aidan, that was the name Wistan had mentioned. Yes, that must be it.

Her hips were aching fiercely as she walked the length of the hall. And she scolded herself for not picking up her cane to lean on a bit. She was a little startled to see an unfamiliar figure standing on the step. The bright light of a fair spring day was behind him, throwing his face into shadow.

‘Welcome, sir,’ she said, stepping out of the doorway, forcing him to move back a pace. She fussed with the skirt of her long apron, smoothing it down a bit. ‘I suppose you’ve come for the yearling, then?’ she began, stepping off onto the dirt to the side of the little porch. ‘He’s fattened up nicely for us. I think you’ll approve . . . Goodman Aidan. Step along carefully now; mind the muddy places. The piggery’s just there, near the barn . . .’

[Folwren]

Away -- Wistan's farm - Dunstede

An elderly woman answered his knock after a short wait. "Welcome, sir," she said, stepping out towards him. "I suppose you've come for the yearling, then?" and without answer she began to lead the way. "He's fattened up nicely for us. I think you'll approve. . .Goodman Aidan. Step along carefully now, mind the muddy places. The piggery's just there, near the barn. . ."

Thornden followed her a few steps out of pure habit and good manners, but he stopped when she finished. "No, ma'am, I'm. . . not here for the. . .yearling." She turned around towards him. "I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else, and I'm very sorry for that. No, ma'am, I'm here to collect some of what is due to the new Eorling of this Emnet. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, and I know that it isn't at the quarter is it should be, but there is much construction going on and lord Eodwine is in need of coin. I'm only here to collect the last two month's due." He had said the same thing the last goodwife and he hoped this woman would agree as easily and nicely as the first.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"If that be the why of it, set aside your washrag and bucket and come upstairs with me."

Eodwine looked at her in confused wonder, waiting for her answer, hoping it would reveal more of her hidden thought.

"That, I suppose, is some of it." She spoke slowly, gathering her thoughts, careful to let nothing slip. Men! She allowed herself to think it for a moment. They never understand that some actions are not based upon logic. She frowned at the thought and ignored it. She respected Eodwine far too much to label him so half-heartedly, and understood her own work too little to think about it too critically. She knew that logic was missing in one of those thoughts, but Eodwine seemed to require one of two things... a legitimate reason as to why she should be left working, or an accompaniment away from it. Perhaps, she thought, if she left off working for a time, he would leave off questions that she could not answer.

"What awaits me upstairs?" she added tiredly.

[Undómë]

Away -- Wistan's farm - Dunstede

Rose came round the corner of the hall, pushing the long fine veil of netting away from her face, letting it hang down her back. Her leather gloves were stuck in her belt and she’d taken the ties off from round the wrists of her long sleeved tunic. As well, she had loosed those from her ankles that tied the cuffs of her breeches securely to her boots. She learned long ago that bees were very good at finding an opportunity to sting whoever bothered them. She damped down the little smoker-can she carried and set it down for later use on one of the benches at the end of the hall.

Her cheeks were red from the recent confinement beneath the veil; her brow damp with sweat. She swiped at it with her forearm, pushing the stray hairs plastered there back from her face as she did so. Her hair she’d done up in a twist at the nape of her neck was now undone, and the long dark gold tresses cascaded down her back to her waist.

She heard voices, not too far away. Her mother’s . . . and one other she could not place. A man’s . . . Rose hurried down the length of the hall and found her mother with a look of puzzlement on her face, staring up at a young man. From what she could see, the fellow did not look menacing, but she didn’t like the fact that her mother was alone with him.

‘Sir!’ she called out to him, as she drew near the two.

Cwen’s face brightened at the sight of her daughter. ‘Well, here’s my Rose!’ she said smiling. ‘She’ll get this all sorted out for you.’ She grasped her daughter’s hand and patted it affectionately.

Rose listened as her mother explained how she’d thought this fellow was the one come for the yearling pig . . . but he wasn’t . . . he was someone else altogether . . . not that she knew his name . . . he hadn’t told her yet, or if he had she didn’t recall it . . . but it was something about Lord Eodwine . . . and who was that, dear? . . . and he was needing coin for something as was due but not really yet.

‘Perhaps our guest would like a little refreshment, mother-mine. Why don’t you go back to the hall and set some of the lemon-balm to brewing. And the new crock of honey we gathered yesterday. We will be in directly.’ She watched with a fond look on her face as her mother picked her way back to the hall. Then turning back to the stranger, Rose narrowed her eyes, looking at him in a considering way.

‘You have the advantage of me. I do not know your name, sir.’ She paused for a moment, her brow furrowing. ‘And from the new lord, too? Is that so?’ She held out her hand expectantly toward him. ‘Might I see your papers of authority to transact his business for him?’

[Lalwendë]

The lads had been left alone for a while as Larswic was dealing with one of his 'regulars', a fair haired man who wore a good, but plain cloak and who laughed heartily at Larswic's jokes. He was after buying one of Larswic's good ploughing horses, but of course, before the deal could be done, there was a lot of banter to be covered. The two men talked of horse races, other dealers and breeders and then got onto matters of tax and dues. The boys soon started yawning once the interesting talk about who was up to what had been covered and the men fell to discussing Eorls and what they demanded.

Larswic had sent them off, irritated by their loafing about while he talked. Wultheof went to find some more bread and water as his head was still sore and his mouth dry after the last night's ale. He took it into a quiet corner of the Mead Hall and after he had finished eating, dozed off for a while.

He woke up feeling a little better and wandered back towards the stables. His father was nowhere to be seen, and he guessed he might be out with his customer trotting the horse before completing the deal. But he could not see Leocsley anywhere, and wandered around the courtyard bellowing his name, squinting in the sunshine. His head was now not so sore, but he felt groggy after his nap and he was not in the mood to have to go searching for his cousin.

Finally he went around to the back of the stables where a patch of land was bounded by a fence; on the other side was one of the many wooden houses of Edoras. From the other side of the fence he could hear Leocsley's laughter, and the sound of a girl giggling. He stomped over to see what was going on, and found Leocsley aiming his bow at a crude target scratched into the wooden wall of a storehouse. A girl of their age, tall and fair haired, stood by watching him.

"Who's this then? Your fair maiden?" said Wultheof with a sneer. Leocsley spun round, with an arrow still ready in his hand. Wultheof ducked down again behind the fence. "Fool! Put that thing down!"

"I'm just showing her how to use a bow is all," said Leocsley, going red in the face. He liked the girl, she was funny, and he wanted to show her how good he was at this. It was important to him that even girls knew what a good archer he already was, though he didn't quite know why he cared if girls noticed his skills.

"Wait til I tell my father you've been slacking off and playing bows 'n' arrows with lasses!"

"Tell him what?" said the girl, sticking out her tongue at Wultheof. "That you've been snoring away all morning while your cousin has been practising with his bow?"

Wultheof was taken aback by the girl's words, and she stared at him until he felt uncomfortable and he turned away. He stomped back towards the Mead Hall, kicking a stone as he went. He hated how all the lasses seemed to like Leocsley and ignored him. "Still", he thought, "they're only stupid girls." At that moment his father reappeared, alone and without the horse. He had a wide smile on his face.

"A good deal there, my lad," he said. "That's a man you can do business with. he knows who has the best horses, and he doesn't shirk from paying what they are worth, neither. How's about I treat you lads to a look round the Horse Fair itself? Where's Leocsley?"

[Firefoot]

After a brief search of the Mead Hall, Léof had not found Larswic, nor indeed very many people at all. He guessed that most of them were off to enjoy the fair, which suited him fine. The fewer people who knew where he was going, the better, as far as he was concerned. So horribly protective, they all were! While returning to the stable, he did see Gárwine and smiled briefly before slipping off. Talk would inevitably lead to questions. All this made Léof feel as if he were about to do something wrong, which was absurd, of course. He had the right and the ability to make judgment concerning his own activities. He did not trust any of them enough not to try and stop him.

Reaching the stable, he first went to his room to collect most of his meager supply of coins both for an entry fee and in case he saw anything nice his sister might like… or perhaps Æðel, smirked a little voice, a voice which he quickly hushed. He then re-saddled Æthel and mounted using a fence as a boost up rather shamefully. He could without one, but the affair was rather painful, and with no one watching him…

As he made his way down through the crowded streets of Edoras, he kept fighting the urge to turn around and see if anyone followed him; why would they be following? He was perfectly within his rights to explore the fair, and no one would question that. He rode straight through the fair to the outside of the city and found the track where races would be run a little later in the day. A list had been posted of the various races that would be held, specifying the length of each and any other particular conditions – most were open to any horse, but a few were limited to just mares, or horses older than a certain age, which, Léof mused, made sense – stallions were usually faster than mares, and younger horses than older horses. One race in particular caught his eye: three laps around the track for mares only. Perfect.

He waited in a relatively short line to enter. On his turn, he gave his and Æthel’s names and some other basic information to the man and paid a small fee – and that was all. The man had glanced askance at his foot but not questioned it. He was entered now, and the race would start in only a few hours. Just let someone try to stop him.

[Celuien]

Lèoðern sailed over the heads of the folk assembled at the Fair. It was so very, very delightful to be there. Just when she passed one marvel, yet another rose ahead. There had been a puppet show, and a juggler, and a man with a pony that could count just as nicely as you could imagine. And, best of all, another who piped the most lovely melodies on a little flute that shone silver in the sun.

It was in front of the musician that the little group now stood. Lèoðern was quiet. For once! Her tongue, truthfully, needed a rest. For she had gone on more swiftly than the Mearas could gallop all morning until the flute captured her attention and brought her to rapt silence, her two eyes round saucers in her face. She had never heard anything so beautiful.

The music stopped, and Lèoðern's hands flew together. She clapped and shouted, "Again, again!" But though the player smiled at her, the music did not resume, and the flute's owner walked into a nearby tent.

"Oh, Linduial!" Lèoðern gushed. "Wasn't it nice? Did you ever hear anything like it?"

Linduial smiled, for she had heard many more polished performances from the best musicians in the west of Middle-earth. In comparison, she could hear that the performace was flawed (how many times had a false note been struck, or had a long note cracked in mid-breath?) and the melody quaint. Hardly the stuff of an evening's entertainment in Dol Amroth. But here, in the soft morning, and with the eager little girl and the highly interesting Degas, she could agree that the performance was very nice indeed.

Lèoðern beamed her enthusiasm, and cheerfully announced that she would one day play as well as the man with the flute. Degas laughed cheerily and wished her the best of luck, saying he was certain that she would do beautifully at anything she chose to try.

Just then, a white horse went past. Lèoðern instantly wrenched about and slipped off Degas' shoulders to the ground, causing both Degas and Linduial to start in fear that she would join the Hall's growing list of injuries. But a quick laugh assured them that she was unharmed, and tugging at her friends' hands, she pulled them away after the horse.

[littlemanpoet]

"What awaits me upstairs?" asked Searyn in a tone that could only be named bored.

What in Middle Earth? Eodwine shook his head, more fuddled than before. What had gotten into her?

"The horse fair. The sun! A fresh spring day! Ow!" he flung his arms wide, smacking his knuckles against a post. He sucked his knuckles, not tasting blood at least.

She just watched him with that tired look, as if eager to get back to her drudgery. He sighed.

"Very well. If endless work is what you wish for now, maybe you will break free of such a humor by means of work." He shrugged.

Silently she bent and picked up her washrag and soaking it in the bucket yet again, sank again to her knees and began scrubbing. Eodwine watched for a pair of moments before he turned and started back up the stairs.

"A pity," he threw over his shoulder as he climbed. "I had hoped to tell you my dream last night." He reached the top step and let the door fall to behind him. He went to Kara and told her to bring down a bit of food and drink to Saeryn, who seemed not to want to face the light of day. He sighed and made his way into the sun himself, and began to walk to the horse fair.