Eorling Mead Hall

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Welcome." Saeryn said, holding her hands wide and with a smile. She stood tall, confident but wondering, trusting that Eodwine's loving hands had well-cleared her cheeks of tear-stains. The old man smelled comfortably of horse with a light touch of something spicy... perhaps pipe tobacco. A light floral scent lingered about the woman. "Do you require lodging? A meal? Certainly a drink to ward off the unwelcoming dust of the road. As you can see, we are in the midst of change, so things are not quite as they will be. However what you need can be acquired, if only you ask."

Saeryn spoke clearly, her voice stronger and more sure than it had been for days, even when she had impishly informed Eodwine of her role in his hall. A light shiver danced upon her shoulders and she wondered at the warmth in Eodwine's hands. She could still feel his fingers upon hers. Blushing slightly, she thrust the sensations to the back of her thought to reflect upon another time. Had she known about the new light that danced almost hidden in her eyes, she'd have blushed all the more, wondering at its existence and meaning.

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine watched Léof leap from his seat to help the visitors outside. He was now sitting alone, with nothing to do but sip his mead and try to convince himself (without success) that the Dunlending was a poor bard. Near the fire sat Eodwine and Saeryn, speaking in hushed voices. Everyone else had wandered away shortly after they had forgotten the Dunlending's words.

Inside Gárwine's mind two sides were debating the Dunlending. One side, sounding like Léof, argued for Manawyth, and the other, with Gárwine's ordinary voice, argued against trusting him. They both spoke to Gárwine, trying to persuade him either to like or to loathe Manawyth.

You know, Gárwine, Léof has a point there. You really don't know if those stories about Dunlendings are true, and if they are, you don't know if they apply to this Dunlending, said the first stream of thoughts.

There's some truth in every rumor, said the opposite thoughts, and besides, this Dunlending is an outlaw. All outlaws should be avoided. The thoughts seemed to snarl at the end of each sentence.

So he ran away from his family, but so did you. When you ran away from Uncle Wilfrid, were you not deciding to be an outlaw?

The snarling voice took a gentler tone. Gárwine, you did nothing bad in leaving Uncle Wilfrid. You are at an age where you can take care of yourself and seek your own destiny. It was right of you to leave the farm. You committed no crime; you neither are nor were an outlaw. You're now a man-at-arms of a great mead hall. Don't feel guilty about Uncle Wilfrid. He's the one who kept you as a laborer in his fields. Now, that Dunlending, there's an outlaw.

A third voice, a real one, broke Gárwine's thoughts. "Posture, posture! Don't sag!" The visitors whom Léof had left to help were entering, and Saeryn was already at her feet and welcoming them. Gárwine promised the two debaters in his mind that he would tolerate Manawyth but still be wary around him, and with those thoughts in mind he stood to greet the visitors.

[JennyHallu]

The second Linduial walked through the door into the great room her bearing completely changed, years of training and learning kicking in instantly. It was almost as if a different young woman walked into the room than had walked into the inn: this girl was tall, slim, and straight, her face austere and proud; rather coldly beautiful. A suitor had once told her that if the legends of Mithrellas were true, then she was the proof, and it had taken poor Marenil weeks to cut her back down to size.

Not that he disagreed, but this public ice-maiden her tutors had created was certainly not the proof. No, the proof was in her eyes, still dancing with warmth, heat even, as though the coolness of her carriage demanded some opposite balance in her eyes.

Marenil stepped forward carefully to greet the pretty young woman who came to greet them. In her bearing he detected much the same training as his Lin had had, but none of the ice, and he hoped that in her stay here, Lin might learn graciousness. Having practically raised the young woman behind him, he certainly didn't miss the traces of tears in her eyes, but he knew Lin would never notice, and he was far too much of a gentleman to bring it up.

"My lady," he said courteously, bowing. "I am Marenil, and I am guardian of Lady Linduial of Dol Amroth, kinswoman of the Prince, and of his daughter Lothiriel, who is known to you. My Lord Farlen has given his blessing to his daughter's desire to live in Rohan for a spell, and the Queen Lothiriel told us in a letter that she might find lodgings here."

He paused for breath, determined to get the whole request out at once so that he could rest. His breath seemed to be coming a little short. "I request that the Lord of this hall offer his protection to the Lady Linduial, that I might return home to fulfill the duties of my oath" --he took a deep breath, unconsciously lifting his right hand to his chest-- "to her father." He was hurting a little, in his chest. "If you could" --a ragged breath. The pain was getting worse-- "present me to him..."

The rest of his speech was forgotten as a sudden spell of dizziness overcame him and he toppled to the floor, clutching a hand to his chest and gasping. Lin's cool, proper demeanor was abandoned instantly, and she threw herself at his side, uselessly taking a hand and crying that someone help her. Marenil was her compass and her guide, he'd taught her the best of everything she knew, and in this crisis all she could see was that the tall tree she leaned on was falling before her eyes. She panicked, unable to see anything but the withered hand of her dearest friend, nor hear anything but his labored breathing.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn politely listened to the old man's request, knowing that Eodwine could hear it well from his position and would soon come to answer. The kindly fellow's breath seemed to come short as he spoke. Saeryn meant to offer him a seat as soon as may be. Journeys were long and not always easy for the most hale of young riders, and these two had travelled far from what he said. She saw his left fingers twitching and clenching into a tight fist before falling loosly at his side.

When he collapsed, Saeryn's breath caught in surprise. Quickly, she knelt beside him, calling to Eodwine as she did. In seconds he knelt beside her, looking to the old man and carefully shifting him to a better position. Saeryn felt the warmth of Eodwine's leg where it touched against her own; she smelled the soft soapy musk of him.

"I know nothing of healing, Eodwine." she murmered, careful to keep her words between them. "I know that the lass, Æòel, tended wounded in Gondor's healing houses... are there any here with more experience? She is so young..."

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine knelt beside Saeryn, over the ailing Marinel. He looked as white as birch bark, and pasty; an odor of panic and illness exuded from him.

"Go fetch Æòel, then, my dear - child," Eodwine replied.

With a glance that rested momentarily on Eodwine's eyes, Saeryn got up and rushed out of the room; he watched her hurrying form before pulling his attention back to the matter at hand. Eodwine looked up and saw Gárwine standing stock still in surprise, having been moving toward Marinel and Linduial from Dol Amroth.

"Gárwine! Get to horse and to Meduseld and call for a healer!"

Gárwine nodded and ran out of the hall as well.

"Has this happened before?" Eodwine asked of this princess Linduial.

"No! Never! I do not understand!"

"We shall see to his care," Eodwine replied, looking her in the eyes. "I promise you!"

Eodwine rose and called Thornden over. Between the two of them, they lifted Marinel onto one of the tables, and waited. Linduial caressed one of his hands. Eodwine watched Marinel's eyes go back into his head. That couldn't be good! He hoped Saeryn would find Æòel quickly.

[Nerindel]

Æðelhild let self-pity and fear wash over her as she struggled bitterly with the memories of that last night in Minas Tirith vainly trying to convince herself that she had acted only in her own defence and that none of what had befallen was her fault, but the image of a cold dead stare haunted her. He had come to help her, it was her fault he was dead! Visitors were forbidden and there would be recompense if her uncle found out all this she knew but still she let him come, it was her fault she should have told him not to come ..no she should have insisted!

Much of what actually happen that night was a blank to her. Finding them together in her fathers study her Uncle had flown into a mad rage turning on her childhood friend, demanding to know what he was doing in his house with his niece, as though she were his possession and Halfric some roguish ruffian.

She had stepped between them hoping to reason with her uncle only to earn the back of his hand as she had so many times before hard across her face which sent her to the floor where she must have banged her head on something hard, for the next thing she remembered was waking up next to the unmoving form of her dearest friend, his glassy dark eyes staring out at her cold and empty.

She shuddered at the memory letting her tears fall even more uncontrollably. For there was more, more that she hoped the others, those within who had shown her not only kindness but had given her work and a place to stay would never discover a horror that she herself wished she could forget.

Gárwine's words echoed over and over in her mind… an outlaw… an outlaw… an outlaw… Fear turned quickly to guilt as she thought on what price the goodly Lords kindness would undoubtedly cost him if what she had done were to be uncovered or worse still if they came for her.

She was still debating this and weighing if truly anyone would still be searching for her after so long , it was almost a year since, and she had passed through several towns and villages without so much of a murmur of pursuit, when suddenly she heard a distant voice calling her name.

“Æoel, Æoel!”

She stood quickly wiping away any trace of the tears that had just fallen, dabbing her puffy eyes with the corner of her apron.

“Æoel, Æoel!” the voice called again this time closer and seemingly with a sense of some urgency.

Saeryn she thought now recognising the voice, quickly taking a deep composing breath she stepped out from behind the small out building and walked towards the young woman.

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine leapt out the door at Eodwine's command and ran into the stables kicking up hay and dust. Léof was tending to the old man's and the girl's horses.

"Léof! The old man's fallen on the floor! I need a horse; I'm going to Meduseld to find a healer." said Gárwine. He found Herefola's stall and was already unleashing her when Léof told him to stop.

"Take Marenil's horse. It's still prepared for a rider. I haven't taken off the saddle or reins yet; I've been tending to the girl's horse since they arrived."

Gárwine nodded his thanks and leapt upon the horse. With a crack of the reins they were out the doors and onto the streets of Edoras. The smaller, narrower streets were fairly clear of crowds, giving Gárwine long clear stretches to gallop through at top speed. But once Gárwine reached the great road that wound its way up from the gates to Meduseld on the hilltop, the way was blocked by crowds shopping in the market, which was apparently held on this day. Gárwine slowed his horse down to a trot and weaved his way through the people. Time was precious; every moment spent in the crowds was another moment the old man spent stretched out on the floor. Gárwine became agitated. He sped up the horse and darted between groups of people.

"Out of the way! There's an emergency!" He shouted as he rode. The people, though irritated, had no choice and moved towards the sides, letting Gárwine gallop through. With little delay he was at the foot of Meduseld's steps, where he gave the horse over to a guard for safekeeping. He rushed up the stone steps and for the second time that day entered Meduseld.

The air was cool inside and stirred by light breezes around the hall. The light was less dim than in the morning, but it was still rather dark. The windows high up the walls were the only sources of light. The throne at the opposite end of the hall was empty. The only occupants of the hall were a few guards in a corner, speaking in whispers, and a few servants who crossed through the shadows where the light failed to penetrate. Gárwine, not sure where to find a healer, stopped a passing solemn-faced attendant, arms piled high with linens.

"Sir, there's an emergency at the former White Horse Inn, and I have come seeking a healer." His words were quiet and calm. It was the tranquil feeling of the hall already calming him.

The attendant only nodded towards a corner and walked away. In the corner was a group of servants and other attendants, quietly talking among themselves. One of them saw the attendant's nod and approached. He was an aged man, with grey, wispy hair curling around his head and a thin and scrubby beard. His face was tanned and wrinkled by his many years out in the sun. He walked with a slight limp but he seemed untroubled by it.

"They call me Hrethel," he said, shaking Gárwine's hand, "What can I do for you, young sir?"

"There's been an emergency down at the mead hall," said Gárwine, but Hrethel shook his head. "The White Horse Inn, it was called," he clarified. Now Hrethel recognized the place. "Anyways, one of our visitors has collapsed upon the floor, and we need a healer quickly. Do you have a horse you can ride?"

"What do I look like, a rider of the Mark?" said Hrethel, "I'm a healer. I don't care much for horses."

"Well, you can ride mine," Gárwine said, noting the man's limp, "I can run. Do you know where the place is?"

"Certainly. I've been there once or twice back when it was ran by Bêthberry. I've heard she's gone east. Is it true?"

"I wouldn't know; I've never met her. Now come, time is passing!"

They exited the hall and ran down the porch steps. Gárwine handed the reins of Marenil's horse over to Hrethel, who mounted the horse with a wheeze. "I'll see you at the inn," Gárwine said, and Hrethel galloped down the hill with Gárwine running after him.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Spotting Æðel, Saeryn hastened to her, her gait a long-legged combination of run and stride.

Æðel looked at her in surprise and moved more quickly to meet her.

"What is it?" she asked quickly.

"A man, a visitor. They've only just arrived, he and a woman." Æðel's mind raced at possibilities, her still puffy eyes a reminder of her plight. Saeryn caught the fleeting look on her companion's face and set it aside for another time's thought. "The man has collapsed. You've experience, you said?"

Æðel blinked at her, taking in her words... or trying to. Saeryn paused now, taking a moment for a deep breath, composing herself, if she had known it, the very same way Æðel just had. She clarified. Little dust devils swirled about their motionless feet as the breeze picked up. A storm moving in, perhaps, though Saeryn recalled this sort of promising weather to be tricksome to predict.

"I have no healing experience, nor does Eodwine. Perhaps some of the newcomers do, however we do not know and have no time to learn. I remembered that you spoke of the houses of healing... Eodwine bade me to find you. Will you come?"