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“My name is Javan, son of Thaldon.” There was a momentary pause while Javan wondered if there was some other form of polite greeting he was supposed to give. He could think of nothing while he felt the wood in his arms grow heavy, so he instead turned while saying, “Come on in,” and led the way into the kitchen.
“Lady Saeryn,” he said as he pushed open the door. “There’s a guest who’s come.” He edged towards the woodbox, keeping his face towards Saeryn as he went and indicating the door where Laerdil appeared a moment later. “His name is Laerdil, from Lorien.”
Saeryn straightened. She had a large knife in one hand and her other was holding a slab of meat she’d been cutting into strips for frying. She laid the knife down and wiped the cold blood on her apron as she stepped around the table.
“You are welcome here, Laerdil of Lorien,” she said, making her courtesy. “I would offer you something to eat, but as you see, breakfast is only half prepared.” She indicated the work in process. “My husband, Eodwine, and the other men are probably in the hall. If you wish, Javan can show you the way.”
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