Eorling Mead Hall

[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?"

[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.

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine dined on breakfast alone in his room, but kept the door open so he could be first to know of the injured boy's condition. He was probably attacked when traveling through the city at night, Gárwine thought, and once he was beaten senseless, robbed. And what with the likes of Larswic's sons loitering outside at night, Gárwine couldn't help but feel that the boy should've been a bit more prepared. But then again, he could be new to Edoras. And country life is very different than town life. He remembered his life in Wilfrid's tiny village: serene and safe, though at times very dull.

Gárwine returned to thinking about the wounded boy, and Larswic's sons. It was not impossible for them to have attacked the boy. They were near the same age, were they not? And the sons' midnight laughter could just as easily have been about freshly robbed coin as about a lewd joke.

That's ridiculous, Gárwine thought, chasing the suspicions out of his head. The product of an over-imaginative mind looking for adventure, as my Uncle always said. Garwine finished his breakfast, and as he exited his room he remembered the horse fair was today. Hurrying down the hall, past the room with the injured boy, he found Eodwine near the cellars. Eodwine quickly gave Gárwine leave to visit the fair, and Gárwine bounded out of the inn, glad to be able to take a walk around town.

Gárwine walked through the streets, taking in all the marvels of the crowds. Street musicians played their music right in the road. Riders led their fine horses through the streets to the fairgrounds and the racetrack. People were everywhere. The entire Mid-Emnet had arrived for the occasion.

Gárwine headed to the racetrack first, to see the racers and their horses before the races began. He fingered the few bronze coins in his pocket, but wisely decided not to spend them gambling, remembering how Thornden had warned him against even playing dice. It's too bad Léof's foot still hurts, he thought. He would've liked to race his horse today.

He ambled past the racers, both because of the natural flow of the crowd and because the wanted to see the colorful pavilions and stalls built beyond the racetrack. There he saw innumerable shops selling treasures from all over Middle-earth. Such trade had grown rapidly since the end of the War, when the roads were made safer for the merchants. With four pennies Gárwine bought a little dwarf knife, straight out of the North. The stall-keeper said the best knives were all made by the dwarves, and Gárwine could not resist buying one. He continued browsing through the attractions. There was a group of acrobats tumbling across the ground, and more musicians, and more stalls selling their wares, and men on stilts in fanciful costumes. Wonder upon wonder from all across Middle-earth, and all here at the horse-fair.

[Kath]

Having been running around on errands all morning Kara wasn't best pleased when Eodwine headed toward her, his mouth opening to issue another one. However, when she learnt that Saeryn was still refusing to leave off her work even for a bite to eat, she felt that this errand was particularly important. The girl obviously wanted to be left alone to work herself out of this mood, but she wasn't going to manage that if she was faint with hunger.

Kara headed back to the kitchen and noted that Eodwine had been right. A few rolls and some cheese were missing, as well as part of a loaf of bread. Shaking her head she mentally scolded the thieves, before realising that her absence most of the morning meant that anyone requiring a later breakfast than the one she had set out had no choice but to take what they needed. Thinking she ought perhaps to mention this to Eodwine, and suggest setting up a table that guests knew they were allowed to help themselves from, Kara collected a few small items, hoping that if the food was presented in a way that would make it easy to eat Saeryn would accept it. Some bread, cheese and slices of fruit were soon on a tray along with a cup of water and Kara headed back to the cellar.

As she reached the corridor she found Frodides hobbling down the stairs. The woman seemed to be in some pain still, but on catching sight of Kara she straightened up and removed any trace of a wince from her face.

"What are you doing!" Kara asked curiously. "Æðel said you were to stay in bed and off that leg for two more days yet."

"Bedrest doesn't suit me." Came the reply, more snappish than usual due to the pain being hidden. "I don't like to take boons from anyone and while I'm laid up like this I'm not working for my keep."

"Lord Eodwine said -"

"Never mind what he said my girl, it's me you'll be listening to, unless you really intend to give some poor soul yesterdays bread."

Following Frodides' eyes to the tray Kara saw that the bread she had picked up was indeed old, and very likely stale. Blushing she berated herself for being so distracted as not to notice and looked up, expecting to find disapproval in the old cook's eyes, but instead finding a quiet amusement.

"No one would have noticed so don't you worry. Just let me be of use. Help me along to the kitchen and I'll run through what we've got and make sure this doesn't happen again."

Kara still hesitated. Æðel knew what she was talking about, especially with these lessons she was having now, and it didn't seem right to go against what she said. On the other hand, Frodides would be happier with something to do, and it would mean there was always someone in the kitchen when Kara had to leave it. Finally agreeing she put the tray down on the stairs and helped the woman to her old haunt. Leaving her sat comfortably in a chair with her leg propped up on a stool and a stick in her hands that she might whack the knuckles of anyone trying to take anything, Kara headed back out again.

Carefully making her way down the cellar steps with the tray in her hands she found Saeryn still scrubbing away at the floor, seemingly the same patch she had been doing moments earlier.

"How long does one bit of floor take to clean?" She commented, intending it to be a joke, but from the look Saeryn gave her it didn't appear that she had taken it as such, and from the look she was giving the food it didn't look as though she was going to give much consideration to that either.

"I'm sorry if you don't wish to eat." Kara cut in before Saeryn could speak. "Lord Eodwine asked that I bring you something and it isn't much, just a little bit of food that will help you keep going if you intend to do this all day. Most of our guests have gone now and Frodides is watching the kitchen so I may take my mid-morning snack with you if you don't mind."

Gathering her skirts she sat down on the bottom step and placed the tray in between her and Saeryn. Taking a piece of bread from the tray she bit into it and then looked at Saeryn inquiringly, silently asking if she intended just to watch or to join her.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

After checking the Lèoðern for injuries at her fall, Degas allowed himself to be led away, his mind still connected to the music just as his hand was to the enraptured little girl beside him. While the musician had played a few off notes, Degas doubted that any but a practiced ear had noticed. He spotted a hiccup of breath as the man played, his well-experienced eye recognizing a hidden cough when he saw one; the player was ill. The instrument, though, that was of high quality, and that was what caught Degas's eye. He'd spotted a maker's mark just below the mouth piece and wondered at how its owner had acquired it. Degas's own was by the same maker and he'd gone through much to secure it, tracking down the reclusive craftsman and convincing him more through words and play than through gold, that he was worthy of the flute. Degas wondered if the people now surrounding him realized the worth of the instrument they had just heard, or the talent of the man who played it. His own fingers now itched to dance on his own pipes, or to pick a melody from a harp. Music he'd not played in weeks played through his head. He remembered late nights in Gondor's halls as he'd entertained his fellow lords and their ladies.

He was brought from his reverie by Lèoðern's excited giggle and a sharp intake of breath from Linduial. A full table of shimmering jewels set within delicate laces of gold and silver had caught their eyes. Degas picked up one necklace, a silver one set with emerald, and allowed the fine chain to fall across his fingers.

"What think you?" he asked Lin. "Does anything catch your interest?"

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

A dream. The words would not leave Saeryn's head. They began quickly to take on the rhythm of her scrubbing. I had hoped [scrub] to tell you my [scrub] dream last night. His words could not have tantalized her more if they had been the most irresistible sweets or promises a man could offer. [scrub] Intent to finish her job, she tried to push the words away, but Eodwine's voice filled her ears and his eyes filled her own. She was cold, hidden away in shadows. But the work needs doing, she told herself. [scrub] If I don't, someone else must. Why should they work while I play? Someone must work so that the young ones may escape into adventure for the day. Though she told herself this, she barely believed it. She could not understand her own stubborn refusal to let herself enjoy the fair. His dream.

Saeryn knew that Kara's kitchen was stocked. [scrub] She and the girl had talked over a small breakfast. Saeryn had been nearly unwilling to eat, not in the mood to take breaks or chat, but Kara had insisted and Saeryn was, after all, hungry... once she'd slowed down enough to notice. After Kara left, looking satisfied that Saeryn would not, at least, faint, Saeryn went back to work. Guests sought her out when they were in need... [scrub] she'd discovered it early, and appreciated the gesture. It saved her making rounds as often. Her job as hostess [scrub], keeping things running smoothly and caring for the household came too easily for her taste. She felt as though she were barely working. An oath sworn to her and a home to live in, food at every meal, a warm bed to sleep in, and nearly nothing asked in return. Saeryn felt unworthy, and she was uncertain why.

She'd been given all rights and privileges in the Folde with Fenrir, but she had paid for them several times over with sacrificed privileges of other sorts. Here, in Eodwine's home, she could do any sort of thing she desired. The freedom frightened her, almost, and she set her own limits to keep from merely floating away upon the plains breeze.

I had hoped to tell you my dream last night.

She picked up her cleaning supplies, standing and stretching. Her knees ached and her nose burned from the smell of the harsh soap. Her hands felt raw and looked red in the flickering lamp light. She wanted to hear that dream.

Climbing the stairs carefully, she fought herself for a moment. Decision made upon the top step, she finished her chore, stepping out the back door of the building and tossing her filthy washwater away and placing all else wheresoever it belonged. Disappearing into her room for a moment, she unbelted her breeches and unbuttoned her shirt quickly, removing her damp and dirty clothes. She folded them carefully and set them aside to wash, standing in thought for a moment. A dream... The fair...

She remembered her favorite gown as she washed, one light and scarlet and delicately embroidered with black and gold thread. Curls of careful stitching decorated the dipping neckline. She pulled it over her head and followed it with a soft black corset, fumbling with aching fingers to secure its ties. She untied her hair, finger combing her plait loose. Standing in the warm sunlight she blinked the darkness away from her eyes. She rubbed her cheeks briskly, waking herself to the daylight, and pulled a pair of soft slippers on. She closed her door quietly and went to the kitchen. Much the cook already, Kara tended to know more of each person's whereabouts than did even Saeryn.

"He's gone to the fair." the girl said, seeing Saeryn. She made no comment of the swift change, of the loose curls or the slender waist accented by the gown. Saeryn thanked her, making her way through the halls to the door. She wanted to hear that dream.

Opening the door, she blinked away the sudden burst of sunlight. People were everywhere. How could she ever find him in this crowd?

[Folwren]

Away -- Wistan's farm - Dunstede

The young woman remained as her mother walked slowly back into the house. When she disappeared within, Rose turned and addressed in a most business like manner.

“You have the advantage of me. I do not know your name, sir,” she said. “And from the new lord, too? Is that so?” Even as Thornden nodded in consent, she put out her hand. “Might I see your papers of authority to transact his business for him?”

Thornden smiled at her quick thought. She was no simpleton. He complied at once and took out a rolled parchment. He undid the string of leather around it and handed it to her for her perusal. She unrolled it and glanced over it, studied the signature and handed it back.

“It is unexpected, I know,” Thornden said as he took the paper back, “but he being a new Eorl needs the coin now rather than later. He is building the Mead Hall, and he hopes to see many of his freeholders in time there. You, and your mother and father, are welcome, of course. He also, to show his thanks for receiving the coin due, wants to know anything you would ask of him, in favor or as some judgement of law, as is necessary.”

[JennyHallu]

"Does anything catch your interest?"

Lin blushed, looking at the glittering gems sparkling in Degas' hands to avoid meeting his eyes. "They're all beautiful," she murmured. "Something like this, though--this would reflect the color of your sister's hair and bring the warmth out of her skin." She held up a slim golden chain with a delicate pendant of rubies and filagree sparkling in the bright spring sunlight. "The red is a good color for her."

Lin was a trifle confused. For the last few minutes, as they'd wandered out of hearing distance of the flautist, Degas had seemed a little...detached, perhaps? Like his thoughts were elsewhere. The old musician had had a young girl dancing for him, a pretty enough lass...Lin's thoughts turned to Saeryn's stories of her brother: a bit wild, and somewhat of a womanizer, however gentlemanly he seemed to her now. Had he noticed the dancer? Was that what he was thinking about now, that disturbed his fascination with her so much? Lin wracked her brain, trying to call up details about the girl she'd dismissed earlier, sure that her hold on Degas' heartstrings was firm. A whirl of golden hair, flirtatious blue eyes, a voluptuous, supple body that enticed the men watching her with glimpses of white skin and athletic movement. There was no way Degas wouldn't have noticed her.

Would he try to find the lass before the fair was out? She was barely able to resist his charm...the dancer would think him a fine conquest. Lin was sure that Degas had forgotten all about her, and she turned away silently, trying not to show her hurt. Degas was bent over the jewelry, Lèoðern's little hand held firmly in his large one. Lèoðern was fine, Lin didn't need to help watch her.

Lin wandered off towards the next booth, brooding, the threat of angry tears hiding in her eyes, trying to destroy her enjoyment of the day. She recovered a little of her good cheer a few booths further, where she sifted through a pile of fine-crafted toys and bought a cloth doll with a finely carved wooden head and hands and a delicate painted face. Lèoðern would love it, and Lin tried to push her jealousy aside in anticipation of the child's excited face when she presented her with the toy later. She began to make plans of little dresses she could make from fabric salvaged from the green dress she'd been wearing when the wall collapsed, and continued to wander through the booths, admiring flowers and fabrics, buying herself a few girlish silk ribbons and yards of soft and fine navy blue cotton fabric and silver thread, thinking of the lovely dress she could make from it.

She stopped, finally, at a booth selling weaponry, looking over the selection of steel blades. Her father had taught her how to select a good knife when she'd come to him once asking advice for a gift for her brothers, and she began to cheerfully test the balance of a collection of small daggers laid out on the tabletop. The merchant, a bulky, bearded man Lin immediately pegged as not just the seller of the blades but also the smith, appeared almost magically in front of her, quickly and expertly homing in on a customer who was clearly lacking neither knowledge nor coin. Politely, he took the simple blade she had been examining from her fingers.

"My lady," he greeted her. "Surely ye don't require such things for y'self?"

Lin looked up at him, startled, but quickly recovered. "No, Master Smith, but as a gift for a friend."

The man nodded confirmation of her assessment of his role. "But what sort of friend, Lady? A father or a brother? A lover mayhap?"

Lin flashed the man a cold look. "You are too forward, goodman. But...I suppose he would be a suitor, more than anything else. I hope."

"Sorry, Lady. My apologies. I let me mouth run away with me brain, sometimes. Now wait..." He paused, looking at her carefully. "Ye're that cousin of the Queen, Linduial from Dol Amroth or some sech place, bain't ye, Lady? If ye don't mind me askin'?"

Lin nodded acknowledgement, and the man leaned down, rummaging under the table on which he'd displayed his goods.

"Now, Lady, it's a right honor to meet ye. There's some as don't like the Queen so much, her being a furriner an' all, but ye'll never hear me be called one o' 'em. She's a right fine lady, beggin' your pardon." He straightened up, lifting easily a heavy box. "But this be me first year to the Fair, see? I've got a name to build up, and I must have some good tales to bring home to my good wife. Selling a blade to the cousin of the Queen, now that's something to build a reputation on, right there, if ye take me meanin'. But none of those common things for a fine Lady like ye be, even if ye're just goin' to give it to a lad who bain't be deservin' of sech a lovely Lady."

The smith paused for a moment, lifting lthe lid, and pulling out five knives, and five daggers. Lin instantly could see that these were of a finer quality than any else he had displayed, and the pride the man had in them was evident. One in particular caught her eye, and she lifted it in her hands. The ivory handle was inlaid with silver and fine stones in a careful geometric pattern, smooth in her hand, though clearly designed for more mannish fingers. The double-edged blade, eight inches long, was of folded steel, catching the light in random patterns skittering across the surface. It was razor sharp and perfectly balanced, and the smith sighed when it became clear that this was the one that most interested her.

"Ach, Lady, ye have good taste. That's me masterwork, there."

"It's beautiful. How much?"

He named a figure and Lin paid it without blinking, high though it was. It took almost all the coin she had left in her purse, and she turned to return to Degas and Lèoðern.

They were nowhere to be seen. Lin knew she had wandered away while she shopped, but...she tried to retrace her steps, but soon became aware that she was lost and alone, and a little frightened. Get back to the Hall! she told herself. You're lost, and that way people can find you!

She pushed her way through the crowds, but her charmed passage earlier was only a memory. Men were entering the fair, not leaving it, and while she made it, against a strong current, into the city, she soon found herself forced into an area she was not familiar with. The men near her leered at her rudely, and a few even tried to reach out to touch her, though she pushed herself away from them in terror quickly approaching panic. She became increasingly aware of how well she was dressed, of the delicate jewelry she wore without ever thinking about it, the noble carriage that usually served her so well. She didn't have the experience to realize that was all that kept her safe was that unconscious bearing.

Finally she saw a man walking towards her who was well-dressed, and had the same air of command she associated with the nobility. She ran to him in tears, gasping out her story and her fear. The man didn't introduce himself, but repeated her own name back to her.

"Linduial? Of Dol Amroth?" he asked.

She nodded.

"You poor woman," he said, taking her elbow and leading her off the street. "It is so fortunate you thought to speak to me. Very fortunate." He made a gesture to someone behind her, and Lin suddenly picked up on a tone of insincerity in his voice.

With a scream, she whirled around, the blade she'd bought for Degas somehow making its way into her hand. She swung it wildly, and was both gratified and sickened to hear one of the three men advancing on her curse in pain, and see the flash of blood on her knife, before a blow from behind knocked her to the ground, unaware of her surroundings.

"Pity, Lady." The man she'd gone to for help stood over her body, signalling his men to lift her and her basket. "Not very gentlemanly, having to knock you out."

The men asked what they were to do with her things, and their leader told them to leave them and her be. "Carry her to our lodging, boys...and don't nick anything, not even that pretty knife. She's cousin to the Queen, boys. We'll be able to buy as many knives like that as we wish, with her ransom, and then we'll return her with all her things, safe and sound."

He chuckled. "More or less."

[Firefoot]

Léof rode through the streets slowly now, taking note of the vendors and their wares, watchful for something his sister might like. Sometimes he stopped for a bit to watch entertainers perform; there were all sorts, and at any other time Léof would have found them delightful. Now, however, he grew ever more conscious of the groups of people swirling around, talking, laughing, enjoying themselves. Léof began to feel lonely. He would enjoy the fair so much more if only he had someone he could enjoy it with – Gárwine or Æðel would usually have been his choice of companions, but now… They had shown no remorse for him, only given him “it’s for your own good.” None of this was his fault; it was not up to him to make amends, was it?

More than that, he for the first time since arriving at the Mead Hall felt the waves of homesickness. Well, not homesickness, precisely, since he did not miss the situation he had left. Yet he missed his small comforting stable and the small cozy house and the old and fading memories of happiness and love. Most of all, he missed his sister Cerwyn. She had been his only friendly company for years; he knew her better than anyone. Three years his junior she might be, but she would understand his plight like none of them did.

He tried to shake off his bitterness and self-pity and only had partial success. He finally chose a particular booth that was not terribly busy and stopped there, eyeing the fine gems that had been made into jewelry.

“Trying to find something for a sweetheart?” asked the man there with a smile. “I have several nice pieces.”

“Actually, no, sir,” said Léof. “For my sister.”

“Ah.” The man could not wholly hide his surprise.

Looking the table over, one necklace in particular caught his eye: a several-faceted dark green jewel that reflected the sunlight faintly, strung on a light silver chain. It was not fine in the way Linduial’s jewelry was, nor elegant as something he would expect Saeryn to wear, but to his eyes quite beautiful, and just the color of his Cerwyn’s eyes. “How much for that?” asked Léof, fearing that the price would be far too high for his small budget. The man confirmed his fear by naming a sum more than twice what Léof could pay.

“Well… what if you took out the silver chain?” asked Léof. That could be easily replaced by a thin leather strip. But the figure the man gave him was still too high. Regretfully, Léof shook his head. “I haven’t got the money, sir.”

“Well, what about this over here?” asked the man, holding up a similar but not so fine lighter green jewel. Léof shook his head again. The other one fit his sister so perfectly. “No, I think I’ll just have to try somewhere else.” With a mournful glance at the necklace, Léof prepared to mount Æthel again.

“Now hold on there, lad,” the man said. “How much is it that you’re short by?” Léof told him, and the man thought for a moment. “I’ll give it to you,” he decided. “Without the silver chain, but I can give you a leather string if you like. Those come inexpensively enough.”

Léof broke out into a grin. “Yes, sir, and thank you.”

“You’re welcome, lad. Now here you go.”

Léof accepted his package and placed it securely in his pocket. With his spirits improved, he decided to make his way back down to the racetrack; the races would be starting soon and he intended to watch some before his chance came.

[Lalwendë]

"Where’s Leocsley?”

Larswic looked around him for the lad, wondering why he had wandered off. Leocsley sometimes wandered off alone at home, but he was quite a wary lad and he hadn’t expected him to do that in the unfamiliar city of Edoras. He looked towards the stables, squinting in the bright light to see into the shadows cast by the walls. As he looked, a sudden movement caught his eye. It seemed to be a horse and rider, racing off.

“Who the?”

“I saw him too,” said Wultheof, interrupting his father. “That’s the ostler, you know, the one I said who looked to be a born jockey?”

“The lad with the gammy leg?” Larswic strained to see where the lad had gone, but he had ridden out of the stables so swiftly he had quickly disappeared from sight down the lane that ran from the Mead Hall. “We have to try and find him at the fair. By the way he ride out of there, pound to a penny he’s gone to sign up for one of the races, and I’m not missing a chance of a good wager!”

Larswic smiled and felt for the pouch of gold in his pocket, imagining for a moment that it was twice, even thrice as heavy. He looked into the distance for a moment imagining new stallions he could buy, the fine and lavish wedding he might set up for his daughter one day, more acres of good grassland, the lush green turf cut by little streams.

“But we’ve got to find Leocsley!” came the voice of Wultheof, interrupting his father’s daydream.

“Find who? I’m here,” Leocsley walked up behind them and Wultheof jumped and spun round, glaring at his cousin. He had been thinking of whether to tell his father about Leocsley and his skiving off to talk to lasses. He wouldn’t get any coin for it, but his father might decide that Wultheof was the more reliable one, he might even give him some control over his cousin, make him his boss in some way. But he hadn’t decided if it was such a good idea yet, it didn’t feel quite right to him, but he knew it would make him feel better for a while.

Wultheof was a quick witted lad just like his father, and he was strong. He knew he would one day take over his father’s trade and land; that should have given him more than enough of a sense of his own status. He was at times quite bullish about his position as Larswic’s eldest son, especially when pushing around one of his three younger brothers or his sister, and since his mother had died, there was often no hand at home to check him as the indulgent aunts who looked after them all usually spoiled him. When his father was away, he was the head of the family.

But then there was Leocsley, who was always on his mind. A bit taller than him and darker, and despite not being as strong, the lasses seemed to find Leocsley interesting. He was better with the bow of course, and sometimes just a bit too quiet and secretive. Wultheof liked being able to have all the say for the pair of them, but Leocsley seemed to know everything about everyone, and he was so quiet, nobody seemed to miss him when he sneaked off. Even his own father seemed to think Leocsley was the reliable one, but it was just that they didn’t notice when he wasn’t there. On the other hand, everyone always noticed the moment that Wultheof disappeared, and he thought he couldn’t get away with anything, and felt resentful.

“Where’ve you been?” said Larswic, looking at his nephew from under his eyebrows. He looked quite threatening when he did this, and he knew one of his glances was usually enough to keep the lads in check.

“I’ve been behind the fence, watching yon ostler riding out the gate. He’s saddled up for the races, I’m sure of it!” Leocsley had cut down any chance of Wultheof giving him away; he looked at his cousin with a look of triumph.

“Well, come on then, no time to lose!” said Larswic, striding off ahead of them. The two lads looked at each other warily, and as they passed into the lane, they heard the faint sound of a girl giggling.

[Folwren]

Away -- Wistan's Farm - Dunstede

Thornden was half inclined to refuse Rose’s invitation to go take the refreshment that her mother was putting out, but there was little else to do until the father got back, and it wouldn’t be polite to refuse, really. He was grateful to stop at the well and wash his hands and face before being led to the trestle table set out beneath a great, spreading oak. There he was invited to take a seat and as he was passed the biscuits and poured tea, Cwen asked him questions.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I don’t know much of this new Eorl. Though I’m sure he must be a fine man for the king to have raised him up so. What is he like? Can you tell us? And his wife, would I know her?”

“He is not married,” Thornden said. He lifted his hand to accept the mug of tea that Rose offered him, giving her a swiftly ‘Thank you’ and a brief lifting of his eyes before returning to Cwen’s questions. “I am not sure that he has any intentions to be. He is a good man, though. Quite worthy of being the new Eorl. I met him soon after the king raised him to that position. We’re in the midst of rebuilding the Mead Hall and he carries himself remarkably with everything that has to go on. However, a catastrophe happened not a week ago which changed things rather suddenly. I can’t say he was too pleased with that, but he bore himself well.”

“What happened?” Cwen asked. Thornden didn’t know if it was out of genuine curiosity, or simply for something to keep the conversation going.

“A wall fell over,” he answered simply. The four women looked at least mildly surprised. “We had taken the great roof off,” Thornden explained to them, “and a tarp covered it. But that day it rained, and with the extra weight of the water and no roof to help support it up, not to mention the mud that it caused at the foot of it, the wall simply fell in. Fortunately, only one person was hurt, and she wasn’t even wounded too badly at that. But I can’t imagine what Eodwine could have been thinking. What is a man to think when his walls start falling over? But, as I said, he appeared to do well. Never lost his head or his temper with anyone, or anything of the like.

“He’s very kind to everyone. This morning, as I was leaving the city, I found a boy. . .” Thornden paused to consider what all he should tell of this boy. He took a bite as he thought and then as he chewed decided to leave the extent of the damage done to Lys’s body out of the story. “He was rather badly hurt, and I carried him back, and Eodwine was there at once and took him under his own hand. He sent me off, I should have liked to stay, but I had my work to do.

“Then there are many different people at the Mead Hall that he’s greeted and brought in under his wing, you might say. Our ostler, now, he’s just a boy, practically. Came to him weary and hungry with traveling and looking for someplace to work and earn a living, and Eodwine agreed to let him take the job as an Ostler for thirty days to see how he did, and if he was satisfied with the stables and horses, he would be his Ostler for good.

“He’s a good man. Wise and considerate, and willing to accept most everybody who comes, and he’ll help anyone who needs it. Perhaps that’s not necessarily always the best way for business, but he’ll learn that in time without giving up his better traits.”

[Folwren]

Away -- Wistan's Farm - Dunstede

Thornden, unlike Rose, caught no hidden motive in Cwen's and Mayda's questions. They had asked at once of their new Eorl - why not be curious of him as well? They would, after all, (and providing Eodwine thought he worked well as steward) be meeting him at least four times a year. He had often heard of the curiosity of women, and he should have thought that sometimes they had reasons for such curiosity, but he didn't.

"I have no wife," he said, smiling again at Cwen's quick assumption of another match that wasn't. "And no," he added in answer to Mayda's questions. "I am not promised to any woman." He chose to ignore her rather blatant remark to his looks. "Doubtless if my mother or sister had any say in the matter at all, I would have been married years ago, but I avoided their whims and plans." Cwen, Mayda, and Ardith all smiled as one and Thornden wondered at the glance they all sent to one another. He gave one questioning look towards Rose, but she was looking rather hard at her tea with a strange smile on her lips, and she didn't offer any help or explenation at all.

"Well, that's a pity," Cwen said, but not looking at all as though it were. "I had hoped that I might know your wife. But come, tell me, might we know your family?"

"Likely not, ma'am," Thornden answered truthfully. "My father is a a free holder in the first Emnet. He rode with King Theoden to Helm's Deep, and later to Gondor, and he returned wounded, but not dead, and he didn't leave the farm again. My sister is married, and she now lives still in the same Emnet, on different land. A little time before she was married, I went to Edoras. There I worked to become Guard at Meduseld, and there I was for the past year, until I went to Eodwine and asked for a chance to be his steward. So I am really the only one of my family who has ever lived in Edoras."

They politely asked him how many there were in his family and he answered that besides the addition of Medreth's husband there were six children, he being the oldest. There fell a short pause then at the end of which Thornden thought it not very unpolite to ask a question that had begun to tug at his mind for the past five minutes.

"I don't mean to be rude, and it is very pleasant here, to be sure, but how much longer, do you think, until goodman Wistan returns? There are still several places I must go before I can return. Will he be much longer, do you suppose? I understand that one of your sons was sent?" He looked at Mayda expectantly.

[Firefoot]

Once all the horses had assembled in the paddock and were ready, they all rode out onto the track. As they proceeded, another of the jockeys caught his eye. He said no words, but the skeptical look he sent down towards Léof’s foot said enough. Léof tried not to let it shake him. This other rider handled his horse rather poorly, to Léof’s eye, manhandling her rather than working with her. Léof gave the other a look of his own and urged Æthel into a gentle canter with almost no visible effort at all.

The horses lined up at the starting line, and Léof found himself in the fourth position from the rail, straddled on both sides by horses each a hand or two taller than Æthel, one a fine looking black and the other a dark grey. There came a moment of tense stillness; then a bell rang, and the horses charged forward almost as one animal. The race was on.

Léof allowed Æthel to take a place behind the front runners, with one horse between them and the rail. Dimly over the pounding hooves and the wind whistling in his ears he could hear the cheering of the crowd, but this was soon blocked out. Around the first turn they flew, and as the horses shifted positions Léof found the jockey who had caught his eye earlier on his outside – the side of Léof’s bad foot. Very subtly he angled his horse over closer to Léof, bumped Léof’s foot with his own. Léof felt a spasm of pain but tried to ignore it and the other rider. But when he did it again in the middle of the second turn, Léof began looking for ways to change his own position, to no avail: he was boxed in. Three horses were running abreast ahead of him, and the only way to move would be to severely check Æthel and go around, and however strongly Æthel was running now, she would need all the energy she could get when it came to the end of the race. He would have to wait and be patient.

But as they neared the half-way point on the backstretch of the second lap, Léof was beginning to feel desperate. The other rider showed no signs of letting up on his harassment, and the other riders in front of him had not moved sufficiently for him to have an out. Then – there! The horse just in front of the other rider was edging forward, trying to get a shorter distance around the turns. The other jockey was paying so much attention to Léof that he did not seem to notice the small hole. A few more seconds, and it would be wide enough – Léof hoped. He took the chance and urged Æthel through the hole, giving her a little more rein. Her stride lengthened and they shot through the hole, leaving them far on the outside with three more turns to go – but out of reach of the other jockey. Léof’s foot had begun to throb more than it had since it had first been stepped on, but he refused to let it bother him.

They rounded the turn, and as the final lap approached, horses began to really shift around as their jockeys searched for the best positions. Now that Léof could focus on the other horses, he began to take note of their states. As he had expected, the two horses that had started out in the lead were already running close to full-out, having engaged an early speed duel. The black horse on the rail was still running strongly, as was the grey on Léof’s left. Léof glanced back quickly; there still seemed to be a few horses behind him that might make a closing bid. Æthel was still running strongly beneath him, but there was still another lap to go – would it be enough? The real speed in this race had yet to show itself, and Léof did not have any clear experience to tell him how much Æthel had to give him…

[littlemanpoet]

"Eodwine, Lèof is racing. Come!" She took his hand in hers and began to tug him lightly through the crowd. "We should watch him."

"And him with a bad foot?" Eodwine said absently. His hand was sweaty. She had to notice. What did it matter? This would not do, being dragged around a horse fair by a twenty-something young filly, no matter how how elegant her gait. He rolled his eyes.

"Hold up there!" He tugged back and slowed Saeryn down. He pulled his hand gently from his and placed his hands on both her shoulders, standing behind her. "No lead!"

She looked up over her shoulder at him and gave him a quizzical look, then stuck her tongue out at him prettily, and set off at a good pace, snaking through the crowd until they were at leaning against the fence, watching the race.

It was already under way, and seemed to be on the middle lap. Eodwine tried to make out Léof, but could not.

"There!" Saeryn shouted, pointing. "Caught in the middle, lower than the others!"

"Of course. Æthel is the smaller horse." Eodwine watched Léof's progress, worrying his molers against each other. "He's a fool for being out there with his bad foot."

[Folwren]

Away - Winstan's Farm - Dunstede

‘You wouldn’t by any chance know how to go about it, would you? Be a shame to let a good farm like that lie fallow. Be no one to pay the rent . . .’ Thornden glanced at her quickly and smiled again. He and Eodwine had not discussed such matters. There had been no time.

'Oh, no, I don't know anything about it,' he answered. 'Nothing except that you'd have to tell Eorl Eodwine himself. I can tell you what I think the answers would be, though. A good field like that lying fallow doesn't do anyone any good. I will tell him that you and your family would put the land to good use and would like to gain possession of it. I do not doubt that he will be happy to give you that wish.'

He'd remember, later, when he talked to Eodwine and gave his report. It was such a boon that the Eorl had asked people to ask of him. Something he could grant and welcome.

They rode in silence for a little while, until the came to the crest of a small hill. Fields were spread below them, the plowed and upturned rows running evenly in one direction to meet another corner where they ran in another. Thornden and Rose halted their mounts and his eyes ran swiftly over the early green fields.

'Things seem to be going well for you as it is. Are you certain you'll need that other field?' He looked almost mischeviously at her. She merely laughed lightly and started her mare again, heading down the the gentle slope. He cast another glance around and began to follow her. He had seen riding towards them, on the dirt roadway between two fields, a group of horsemen.

'There they are,' Rose called back over her shoulder. Thornden urged Flithaf into a trot and came by Rose's side.

'Who's all there? Your brothers and father?'

[Undómë]

Away -- Wistan's farm - Dunstede

‘Who is that . . . with Rose?’ Wistan stared into the distance as his daughter and a man he had not seen before came riding down the path toward him. ‘You go see to her, Willim. And you, too, Garan. Make sure that everything’s alright.’ He shifted in his saddle looking from one to the other of his elder sons. ‘Aesc, Breca. Ride along with me. It’s most likely just the new Eorl’s steward, as the boy said. But still I find it odd he’s come so early for the fee. And why didn’t he wait at the Hall til I arrived?’

* Ж *

‘Rose!’ Her two brothers swarmed about her, smiling, and in the process effectively separating her from her companion. ‘Didn’t expect to see you here,’ Garan said. ‘I thought you were spending the day working on your bee hives.’

‘And who’s this?’ Willim put in, bringing his horse about to face toward Thornden. ‘Doesn’t look like a bee to me, sister mine.’ Garan came alongside his brother, his face set neutral as he inspected Thornden.

* Ж *

Before Rose could make the introduction, Wistan and the twins drew near her little group. ‘Wistan, good sir,’ he began, nodding at Thornden. ‘And you are . . . the Eorl’s new steward . . . yes? Sorry, my grandson could not remember your name.’ He moved his arm in a wide, horizontal arc, taking in his sons with his hand. ‘How might my family be of service to the Eorl?’

[Folwren]

Away - Wistan's Farm - Dunstede

Thornden thought he knew very well what Rose's brothers were about and he allowed Flithaf to edge away without argument or trouble. He sent an amused glanced towards Rose as her two brother's rode between them. In another moment, the father and two other men joined them.

"Wistan, good sir," the farmer greeted him. "And you are. . .the Eorl's new steward. . .yes? Sorry, my grandson could not remember your name. How might my family be of service to the Eorl?"

Thornden nodded in greeting. "Thornden at your service," he said. "I have been sent for two reasons by the Eorl. I know not if you know that lord Eodwine has been newly appointed by the king. He came into his place not two weeks ago and since has been working on setting up his lordship and also rebuilding the Mead Hall. He has suddenly become too short on coin, due to an unnexpected accident-" most accidents were unnexpected but he neglected to make that point "-and I have been sent out to collect what is due for this first quarter. My second reason was to take any boon or wish that you would have carried to the Eorl to him that he may grant it, if it is in his power, or, if it is not, do all that he can to fulfil what you need.

"Your daughter, Rose," he continued at once with a nod towards her, "has been telling me of the field west of you. The holder of it has recently died, I understand, and you would like to gain possession of it. That is such a thing that I could bring before him, and he would be able give you a fair and good answer." He would have added 'quickly' to the end of his statement, but it occured to him that Eodwine had been extremely busy of late and may not be able to get all of his free holders' wishes immediately.

"If you have anything else you would like said to him, or something else, as well, that you would like to see changed or granted you, I will take it to him and tell him."

[Alcarillo]

Léof had won the race! Gárwine clapped his hands together and shouted out in joy. A great grin spread across his face. He felt jubilant, and not just because his friend has won. There was money to collect!

Gárwine turned from the fence, with eyes set on the red and white pavilion, where wagers were set at all those money-covered tables. He walked through the crowds, bouncing along gleefully towards the pavilion. Not many people were entering, and that made Gárwine happier to know that he had bet against the odds and won. He entered the shady pavilion and strode to the table where the thin man sat.

"I believe you have some money for me," Gárwine said, smiling.

"Ah, yes. Luck was on you're side," said the thin man.

The thin man stood and pushed piles of shining coins across the table with a reluctant sigh. Both Gárwine's eyes and his smile grew wider. So much money! He scooped it up in his hands and dumped it into his pockets. And with a nod of thanks, he walked out of the pavilion, with his pockets considerably heavier.

Gárwine strode over to the racetrack, where he could find Léof. He pushed his way through the crowds and, passing through a gate in the fence, walked onto the racetrack. Crowds of spectators milled around, meeting all the riders, admiring their horses, chatting about the race's outcome, among all sorts of other festive activity. Gárwine dove through the people to find Léof. Gárwine spied him standing beside Æthel. He was shaking hands, smiling even wider than Gárwine, and speaking with the many fans (mostly young maidens, Gárwine noticed) who had approached him to give their congratulations. Gárwine walked up to him, and Léof turned away from his group of admirers for the moment.

"Gárwine, I've won! Did you see me?" said Leof.

"Yes! I was watching," Gárwine said, "And look at all the money you won me!" He dug a hand into a pocket and withdrew a handful of glittering coins. "Haha! I ought to buy you a reward for winning me all this! Amazing race!"

[Undómë]

Away – Wistan’s farm – Dunstede

‘Well, Master Thornden, perhaps we should head towards the Hall. I’m sure you must have other freeholds to visit for the Eorl.’ Wistan urged his horse alongside Thornden’s, and waved for the others to follow along. ‘I wonder, are you collecting just the coin at present, or will you be wanting to take the pig along with you that we give each year to the Eorl’s household?’

As Thornden and Wistan went along talking together as they rode, Rose and her brothers fell a bit behind.

‘And whose idea was it that you bring the steward out here?’ Willim asked, punching her lightly on the arm. ‘Not yours, surely.’

Rose punched him back a little harder causing him to wince. ‘Guess whose it was,’ she dared him. ‘Light of your life, your star from heaven . . . yes, she was in on it . . . Ardith. Though I have to say,’ she went on, poking Aesc in the arm, ‘it was your Mayda that egged Mother on the worst.’

Garan chuckled as his brothers and sister exchanged words and a friendly succession of pokes and punches. ‘And so . . . what are we to report to our good-wives when they question us tonight, eh?’ He narrowed his eyes in mock sternness. ‘And you know Brita will want a full report.’ He looked about at his brothers, who were attentive to any details they might glean from the conversation.

‘Hmmm . . . well, let’s see . . . we had a leisurely ride for the most part out to meet you and father,’ Rose began. She cocked her head to the side, thinking of the sorts of things the wives and her mother would want to hear. ‘He was a perfect gentleman, good sense of humor, asked intelligent questions. He sits a horse well, admired the fields, the plantings . . . and oh yes, spoke about his family quite at length.’ There were murmurings of approval at this bit of information, as it would be looked on quite favorably. Rose looked up to where her father and Thornden rode, judging whether he would overhear any of the conversation with her brothers. Deciding he could not, she went on. ‘He is most definitely unattached, no prospective bride lurking in the shadows. And,’ she left this plum for last, ‘we did speak, in the general sense, about marriage.’

He didn’t try anything . . . funny, did he,’ asked Willim. ‘While you were riding alone with him . . .?’ He left the question hanging, watching her closely.

Rose lowered her head, as if the question were uncomfortable, then looked up at him, grinning impishly. ‘No! Not even a bad joke passed between us, and besides I would have punched him hard in the mouth if he had.’ She held out her knuckles for inspection. ‘See?’ She brought he horse to a halt, forcing her brothers to a stop also.

‘Now I’ve given you all plenty to divide up and share with your wives. Where’s a little reward for me.’

Breca nudged Aesc. ‘Go on tell her what we saw at old Eadig’s farm.’

Aesc leaned forward a smile on his face. ‘You were right. The oak tree at the edge of the orchard, the bee tree. The old queen has flown and there is a large swarm round one of the branches in that old hawthorn. The scouts are out, we could see them flying back and forth. If we can get your new hives out there, you can capture the lot.’

Her eyes were gleaming with anticipation and delight at this bit of news.

‘Go on,’ he went on. ‘You know you’re dying to have a look. We’ll get your hives moved out there early tomorrow morning.’

As Rose rode off, Willim look after her, a serious look on his face. ‘Don’t know about you all, but I intend to have a little talk with Ardith about sending our sister out by herself with someone we don’t even know. And Mother can complain all she wants to Father. I don’t like it and I won’t have it done again.’

* Ж *

‘Come on!’ came Wistan’s voice. ‘Catch up! Master Thornden here doesn’t have all day to wait for us!’ He caught sight of Rose heading off at a run away from her brothers. ‘Now where is that girl getting off to?!’

* Ж *

Just a short time brought the men to the Hall. Wistan had one of his sons fetch the money box and the rent was passed over to Thornden. ‘If you can wait just a little longer, I’ll write up my request for Eadig’s adjoining farm to the Eorl and send it along with you.’

When he’d finished with his short note, he folded it over and sealed it with his ring. He handed it over to Thornden, saying that they would bring the pig when next they came into the market. ‘Now, would you like a cup of ale before you take your leave, Master Thornden? Wouldn’t want you to be thirsty as you ride.’

[Firefoot]

“Yes, sir,” replied Léof, taking Falco’s pony in hand. He guessed by the expression on Falco’s face that this argument would not end so easily as that, but he was not about to get in the middle of it.

He entered the stable just as Javan was walking out with another horse. “I think that’s the last one,” Léof said as they passed. “Javan, after you take him out, I want you to walk out and brush Falco’s pony here.” The words popped out of his mouth before Léof even thought of them, and he realized that Thornden’s parting comment had decided him. He was going to saddle up Æthel and ride out with the rest of them to help Eodwine. He didn’t really want to think of Javan’s reaction to this.

He clipped Falco’s pony into the aisle and left him there for Javan as he fetched his own saddle and bridle. He paused as he passed the shelf where he recalled so long ago placing the knife he had found on the same day Trystan arrived. A knife might come in handy on this venture. He took it and attached it to his belt as he continued to the tack room. He took his gear straight to Æthel’s stall, not taking the time to tie her out in the aisle – something he wouldn’t have done with any horse except her. Æthel’s ears pricked up and she nudged him hard as he entered – she knew they were going riding, and it had been some time since they last had. As Javan re-entered the stable, he stopped outside the stall. Confusion crossed his face. “I thought you said that was the last horse.”

“It was… until I decided to go with them and had to saddle up my own horse.” Léof told himself that he shouldn’t feel ashamed for being able to do something that Javan clearly wanted to and could not.

“How come you can go and I can’t?” demanded Javan.

Léof opened up the stall door and led Æthel out. He swung up on her back – it felt good to be riding – and answered Javan simply, “Because I’m four years older than you are.” Perhaps the response was terser than it ought to have been, but they were in haste, and Léof didn’t have time to argue with Javan. Javan appeared to be trying to think of a response, but Léof nudged Æthel forward before he could say anything. If necessary, he could talk to Javan later – after they had come back.

[Folwren]

A new day and a new start, Thornden thought. Good luck, anyway. He held a letter limply in his hand as he stood at the window, half dressed for the day. His face had an odd expression on it and had anyone been there to see it, they would probably have asked him what the trouble was.

He watched a bird distractedly as it flew about at almost eye level with him, chasing a bug. It darted about, turning at sharp, startling angles, and suddenly it made a snatch with its beak and flew off.

Thornden blinked and sighed and looked down at the paper in his hand.

My Dear Thornden, it read, You quite astonish me, brother. I’ve not seen or heard anything of your for months on end, even though two months ago I’m sure you got my letter I wrote about your nephew. I’m quite astonished, though I don’t see why I should be.

I did receive your short letter telling me about your employment at the new Eorl’s Hall there in Edoras, however, and you may be happy, though surprised, to hear that I didn’t write only to tell you how shocked and disapointed I am in you, but also to tell you that I am coming to do it in person. Expect me on the 22nd, hopefully a few hours before noon.

I will be coming with someone accompanying me, but I may need an escort on my return journey. You will be good enough to arrange something?

Yours, etc. . .

The letter had arrived two days ago and Thornden had nearly leaped out of his chair. Medreth – here? It wasn’t so much that Medreth would be a bad person to introduce. . .just not one who he hadn’t visited in months when he should have weeks and weeks ago. . .how was he going to receive her and what was she going to say?

Thanks goodness the Lady Linduial has left! he thought as he picked up his shirt. Still. . .Medreth might go so far as to ask about Saeryn or Kara. He winced visibly and scowled as he picked up a comb. Women and their infernal opinion that everyone should be married instantly upon their twentieth year! All the same, he must face it like a man, he decided, and looked at the bright side of things. He would see his nephew and maybe his youngest brother. That would be enjoyable. And it had been a long time since he’d seen Medreth. Perhaps she wouldn’t ask him too many questions and maybe, just maybe, she would accept his excuse of being far too busy to slip away earlier and visit her. . .

He tugged on his last boot with a decided jerk and went out.

[Celuien]

Dawn had hardly broken before Garmund, Lèoðern, and Cnebba ran out of the Inn to play. Since their meeting, the children had spent most of their free time together. All three were now friends. Though to Garmund, it seemed that there was something not quite right. Before Cnebba came, Garmund and his sister had each been the best and only friend to the other. Things were different now. When Garmund was called to learn his father's stonecraft, Cnebba was often free, and Lèoðern had often gone to play with the carpenter's son, leaving Garmund to catch up on their games only as they neared their ending. And then, in their room in the evening, she spoke often about Cnebba. In his own thought, Garmund found himself in envy of the attention the new boy had from his sister. His sister. If Lèoðern played with anyone, it should be her brother.

But in the early morning, all three were together, and those thoughts did not come to Garmund. They huddled in a corner of the yard where Cnebba had drawn a circle on the ground. Each of the children had made a set of clay balls the day before, and now played at knocking one ball against the other, trying to push the others' out of the circle.

It was Lèoðern's turn. Cnebba suddenly whispered something in her ear. She giggled and sent one of her balls flying towards one of Garmund's, his last in the circle. Garmund's rolled outside the circle's border, and Lèoðern laughed again, clapping her hands.

"Poor Garmund. You're out."

Garmund clenched his jaw. He was out, yet again. The unsettled envy returned.

"I am. But I have work to do anyway. I should go." He stood and started to leave, and then in a hasty moment, turned to give a parting jab, knowing well that he was acting wrongly.

"Unlike some others."

Almost instantly, Garmund was ashamed, but he kept walking, angry at Cnebba for taking so much of Lèoðern's attention, angry at Lèoðern for not siding with him, and, most of all, angry with himself for making matters worse.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine had been up since the crack of dawn, going over his books. Shortly after having returned Marenil to his status as guest, Eodwine had ordered Thornden up to Meduseld to see to the issue of taxation of the market shops; and his almbudsman had returned with the information that Eodwine had expected: the King expected a tithe of the market taxes, as he expected a tithe of all other fees Eodwine collected. This seemed overly generous to Eodwine, since Eomer had been receiving all the fees and taxes himself until he had made Eodwine the Eorl of the new Middle Emnet. What possible benefit could come to the king at giving up so much revenue? The only answer Eodwine could discern was that the king was freed from the headaches of daily management. But could that possibly make up for the loss of revenue?

Such questions as these had created the need for Eodwine to go to Meduseld. He rose, returned the small tray of breakfast he had been given by Kara, and stopped in at Saeryn's room. He knocked and waited, and momentarily she came to the door. He greeted her good morning, which she returned; he marked that her smile did not reach her eyes, but it was early morning and one should not expect too much.

"I am going up to Meduseld today, as I told you yesterday. I leave you in charge of the Hall until I return. I expect to be back before dark, but it depends upon how long my meetings with the King's wítan lasts; so I may not return until tomorrow."

Saeryn nodded.

"One final thing. Trystan needs more than odd jobs. He needs training. Put him in Garwine's charge. Have Garwine turn the boy into a guard and maybe a soldier. He needs some ordering about, that one."

Saeryn frowned, apparently no relishing the task he'd handed her. Eodwine winked. "I like him, Saeryn, but I also know that his trustworthiness must be strengthened. I'll not have a Hall full of rogues, but Eorlingas, even if I have to make the one out of the other.

"Have you any words for me before I leave?"

She shook her head. "No. I will do what you wish, but I do not think such a life is in Trystan."

"We shall see. Good-bye, love." He winked again as her brow rose and her mouth opened in her startelment at his word, and then he closed the door before she could say or do any more, then walked quickly away to the stables so that she could not stop him to make sure she had heard him aright.

After bidding Léof a good morning and quick thanks for having Flíthaf ready as requested the previous night, Eodwine was off and away for the rest of the day.