[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas rose before dawn. He scrubbed his face with cold water to wake up better, and found himself vainly wondering why no one had noticed he had recently taken to sporting a short beard. He cleaned his teeth and, shivering, pulled on a sapphire blue shirt over his gray breeches. Boots on, he fastened a dagger to his belt and tied his hair back with a thin strip of hide.

And then he went in search of Rowenna.

She was in the kitchen, sipping tea with a look on her face that suggested total displeasure.

"A word?" said Degas quietly. "Outside?"

She rose and followed him, wondering what in the world her lord could possibly want from her this early in the morning, unless perhaps it was to commiserate about the way the Mead Hall had fallen to ruin so quickly. Not, she reminded herself, that it was the lady Saeryn's fault, but things would never have been this ridiculous if Eodwine had been here. He would be ashamed of his men, brawling, and the boy for striking the little girl. Yes, he was over-indulgent, but he would never have tolerated grown men behaving the way the new lord's sons behaved.

She shivered as the full brunt of the morning wind hit her as she rounded the stable corner. It was a miserable, grey sort of day, and the wind was wet and chafing. If she'd known her lord would demand a word with her outside the warmth of the kitchen, she'd have worn a shawl. She would say something to him about his lack of consideration, that she would.

"I shall make this short," he said, leading her into the stables. The sudden transition from the loudly blowing wind and wet air to the warm stable, which smelled of horse must and hay, meant a sudden silence broken by the stamp of hooves and the munching of hay. Leof would be in and out, working, but Degas did not mind his presence. Any others would be noted before they reached earshot.

"My lord," Rowenna interjected irritably, "It is still dark out, and my breakfast is getting cold."

After a month working closely together, she felt comfortable sharing her brusque opinions with him. In private, of course. And, as long as it was in private, Degas was tolerant of her tone. He even smiled.

"Then I shan't keep you from your breakfast. As your lord, I ask a favor of you. No, it is not a command. I understand that there are many reasons why you would desire to say no. And a good lord never makes a command he cannot be sure will be followed. That sort of thing forces followers to question their allegiances. In any case, it has come to my attention that my sister may neglect her own care in favor of coming to the rescue of others, and I fear that of the others that would leap to her defense, most would be punished depending on the nature of the problem."

Rowenna tapped her foot, used to Degas's mannerisms. He'd keep it short, would he? Her eggs would already be cold and rubbery. Pig food, she thought. Perhaps Kara would replace her breakfast, if Frodides was not in a mood. Her hands found her hips and she glared at Degas, clearly insinuating that he should get on with his point.

"I need someone that can play a quiet and unnoticed guard for my sister. Clearly not in terms of physical situations: I do not foresee such a thing occurring, and I believe that Lord Athanar would grievously punish anything of the sort. Still, however, I wish for Saeryn to have a companion whose presence will not draw unwanted attention. A lady's maid," he finished. "As I said, this is a request, not a command. Wenna, I wish for you to attend to my sister. As her maid, you would be privy to much information, and your presence would be excused in places anyone else would be forbidden.

"If I could stay here indefinitely, it would not be an issue, as I could act on my own sister's behalf. However, there are too many matters that call me away. You know how things are at home... I cannot stay away for much longer, and it would give me great peace of mind to know that my sister was not left with no useful allies."

Rowenna sniffed and brushed an imaginary speck of dirt from her apron. "I shall consider your request, my lord." She curtsied. "Now if I may return to my breakfast?"

He dismissed her with a flick of his hand toward the kitchens and she wrapped her arms around herself as she emerged back into the blowing wet.

Degas stopped to cosset his horse, and spotted Leof entering with a bale of hay.

"I will assume you heard some or all of what was just said," he said quietly, meeting the younger boy's eyes. "While I wouldn't presume to forbid you from mentioning anything to your lord if directly questioned, and I believe Athanar would understand my motive, this is a matter in which discretion could mean the difference between more troubles in your home, or fewer. Do I make myself clear?"

Confident Leof would not run off immediately to tell the Hall that Degas worried about his sister enough to solicit the aid of the woman who had wanted Saeryn's husband for herself, he left the stables in search of his own breakfast.

The day would be long, and he preferred to be at Athanar's side before the drama began.