Eorling Mead Hall

[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."

[Celuien]

The fair was a sea of chaos, threatening to swallow the reserved stoneshaper in its midst at every moment. People came at Garstan from all directions, hawking their wares, inviting him to their shows, begging a coin. He was terribly uncomfortable. Not a familiar face in sight.

No familiar faces. Where, in all this crowd, had Lèoðern been? He pushed aside the thought that he had come in no small part to check on her. Garstan didn't want to doubt the pair who had been so kind as to take his daughter to visit the fair for a treat, but it was difficult to leave her in their charge. She had never been out of his supervision before. He hoped to find them soon.

First he would find a wheelwright. The cart still needed repairs. The search wasn't difficult. Near the stables, there was a booth surrounded by stacks of wheels. A crudely drawn sign with the image of a wheel hung at its front. But the booth was empty. Garstan asked a nearby loiterer if the booth's owner had been seen, and received a curt reply in the negative. He would return later.

Shouts and cheers echoed in the distance. The horses were running. Garmund would probably enjoy the race. So too would Lèoðern. Maybe that was where she had gone, cheering on the horses and riders from the edge of the race. Garstan led his son in the direction of the din, listening to the boy's excited speech about horses. Lèoðern and her brother weren't so very different in some respects.

They came up to the crowd gathered around the horse race. Garstan quickly scanned the watchers, searching for a wisp of red hair, listening for Lèoðern's familiar laughter. But instead of his daughter, Garstan spotted Lord Eodwine and the hostess from the Mead Hall. It dawned on him, even at a distance, that there was something different about her, though he was unsure what it was.

If frustrated in one search, Garstan had at least succeeded in another. He approached Eodwine and Saeryn, and found himself staring at the latter's gown and hair, despite trying not to notice the difference from her usual appearance. She was blushing, and he thought that Eodwine looked a bit flustered.

Garstan now felt confused himself, though he could find no good reason for it. He had come to speak to Eodwine on business, though he feared that he had arrived at an inopportune moment. Still, there was nothing to be done about it now. He couldn't vanish without a word. Garstan raised his eyes to meet Eodwine's face.

"My lord," he said. "May I speak to you?"

[Undómë]

Away -- Wistan's farm - Dunstede

‘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.

‘Why yes, little Alfrid was sent to give him your message,’ returned Mayda. She flicked her gaze toward Ardith, who nodded her head in agreement and sat forward on her bench.

‘It will take some time for Father Wistan to get here, you know,’ Ardith went on. ‘The men have all gone down to the far western field to mend fence and begin to clear that field for plowing. We’ve let it lay fallow for a number of years; let the grasses come up and kept it for pasturage. But now it’s time for getting that field into production and moving the pasture elsewhere . . .’ Ardith flustered a bit, thinking she had said more than was really needed. ‘But Alfrid would have got there by now and they should be on their way back, unless there was one project they really wanted to get finished.’

Cwen beamed at Ardith, giving her an assuring smile. ‘Tis true Master Thornden, And we’re sorry for the inconvenience. But by your own words, you have come early to collect. Had it been nearer the time we usually expect the steward, my dear Wistan would not have gone so far afield or he would have left one of our sons near to conduct the farm’s business.’ She put her plump finger to her chin as if a sudden thought had just come to her.

‘We’re I younger,’ she went on, ‘I would take you out myself to where the men are.’ She shifted stiffly on her cushion as if her hips were aching a little. ‘But these old bones just don’t travel that easily.’ Cwen looked expectantly toward Mayda and Ardith, who both made their very good excuses how they had tasks they really needed to get back to, and no, it just wouldn’t be possible for them to take the time.

Rose all this time had kept quiet as a mouse, making herself as small and invisible as she might. She was, in fact, thinking of slipping silently away and back to her bees. Most of her morning had been spent building frames for her hives, and she wanted to exhange some the old ones filled with honey for the new. She put her mug on the nearby table and slid to the end of the bench she was on. She was just bending down to retie the laces about her breeches cuffs when she heard her name mentioned . . . no, not mentioned, offered, more like, as a solution to the whole problem.

‘Why that’s just the thing, Mayda!’ she heard her mother say. ‘Rose would be just the one. She’d be delighted to take you out to where the men are. Wouldn’t you, dear?’

There was an imperative in that last question that made her rethink her first answer, but she would not altogether give up the hope she might say ‘no’. Her head bobbed up, and she was almost ready to make her own excuses as had the others, save her mother had that look of authority, that is that bone deep knowledge she could exude at the most inconvenient times that she still and would always know what was in the best interest of her daughter.

Thornden had turned, too, to look at her. And while she didn’t wish him ill, she did curse the new lord who had sent such a convenient possibility into the hands of her mother and her sisters-in-law. She was still about to say ‘no’, except that Mayda, from outside the steward’s view, was giving her a severe look and cocking her head toward Mother Cwen. As was Ardith, who had straightened her back quite stiffly and shook her head in a most emphatic manner.

Thorns and thistles!

Her mother would be crushed if she made a scene. And she would never hear the end of it from her brothers’ wives. The lot of them, when banded together in a cause, could make one’s life a living hell . . . if they so chose to do so . . . and wouldn’t they just!

And then of course there was her dear mother, a quite accomplished actress when she wanted something her way and who was and always would be the central jewel of Wistan’s life. If Cwen were happy, he was happy. She sighed thinking how he would look at her with his grave face, saying, ‘Don’t be selfish, now, Rose. Do this one thing for your poor mother who’s done so much for you. It’s just a little thing . . .’ And then, of course, with a half smile, add, ‘Give me a little peace, my darlin’ girl . . .’

‘Well, then,’ she said, her voice a bit muffled as she bent down to untie her cuffs once again, her long blond hair falling forward to hide her face. She stood up, pushing the wavy masses away from her cheeks and stuffed the leather thongs in her pocket. ‘I’ll just fetch a horse for me from the barn. Why don’t you bring your own along, Master Thornden, and we’ll start off from there.

She smiled encouragingly toward him.

Sooner done; sooner he’s gone . . . and sooner I’m free of my ‘obligations’ . . .

[Firefoot]

For the barest instant, Léof had a flash of imagination that he was not racing, and that there were no stakes, but that he and Æthel galloped full out through the fields of the West Emnet, purely for the joy of doing so – in much happier times. “For the simple joy of doing so” was not the sort of phrase that had much bearing on his life in recent years. But the recollection flashed away and was replaced with the view of reality, the exulting thudding of hoofbeats mixing with the exhilaration and inherent danger of the race.

They rounded the first turn for the last time, the horses’ long strides eating up the backstretch. It was just before they entered the final turn that Léof made his move; he did not care to make the turn far on the outside as he was. He loosened the reins, urged Æthel on. For him, she willingly dug deeply, flying along faster than Léof would have thought possible given their already fast pace. He felt as much as saw the grey horse accelerating behind and beside him. They entered the top of the stretch; Léof could feel Æthel starting to tire. “Just a little more,” he urged. “We’re almost there.” The wind whipped the words out of his mouth. She plunged doggedly on; he glanced back to see the grey horse tiring as well. Then he noticed something else entirely: the black horse starting to charge up on his outside. The finish line loomed, so close, yet so far; Æthel was tiring while that horse was picking up speed. Very suddenly, Léof realized how very much he wanted to win. He had not expected anything going into the race, but he was so close, now.

“Go, girl, come on, Æthel baby!” The black horse reached her flank, now its neck was even with Léof’s leg. The next moments seemed to pass in slow motion; even the wind buffering his face seemed to die for a moment. Æthel’s legs extended, and with a last effort, they crossed the finish line. In first. Within a couple of strides after that, the black horse had passed them, but not before the finish. Just before complete disbelief and joy could fill him, a sobering thought crossed his mind: the black horse should have won. The jockey had waited entirely too long to let the horse go; the horse still had plenty energy left, so why had he not been given free rein before or during the final turn?

These thoughts were quickly replaced by a wholly other sensation: throbbing pain in his foot. Sitting in his saddle, he kicked free of the stirrups to let the foot dangle uselessly, guiding Æthel with the insides of his legs.

Then concerns for himself subsided in favor of concern for Æthel; she was breathing hard, and her neck was darkened in sweat. He patted her fondly. “You gave it all you had out there, girl. It’s a nice hot mash for you tonight, and plenty of rest.” And plenty of rest for you, too, he told himself. The rush of exhilaration following the stress of getting here in the first place was leaving, draining him. He collected his purse money – easily enough to pay back for the money he had spent that day – and hardly remembered doing so. He felt a touch of dizziness and, after leaving the track, dismounted before he fell out of the saddle. He leaned against a post, absently rubbing Æthel’s nose as he gathered his energies for the trek back up to the hall.

[Folwren]

Away - Winstan's Farm - Dunstede

Thornden got up as Rose did and as she turned towards the barn, he thanked Cwen and the two remaining women. "Thank you very much for the tea and refreshments. I hope we will be seeing you soon at the Mead Hall. Once the roof is raised and a proper kitchen is in tact, we'll be able to return the favour."

"Thank you and you're welcome! We'll come, I'm sure. Goodbye, Master Thornden!" they all replied in their different variations and he turned and followed Rose. She turned towards him when they reached Flíthaf.

“I’ll go in and get my horse. It won’t take but a few minutes.”

“I can help you,” Thornden said at once. She looked at him quickly, lifting an eyebrow slightly, and then casting a sharp look beyond him towards her mother and two sisters. “It will take less time,” he said. She shrugged and then turned and led the way into the barn.

They walked up between an aisle of stalls, half of which were empty, before Rose stopped before one and took the halter. Thornden waited while she went in and brought out her horse, a slender, sleek bay with black mane and tale. Together, then, they continued walking down until they came to where she could tie the horse to an iron ring in the wall.

“I’ll get the saddle for you,” Thornden said as she turned from that. She led the way again in silence to a room where saddles and bridles belonged.

“Take this one for her,” Rose said, laying a brown hand on one saddle. “And this is her bridle as well.” She picked up the bridle she spoke of and laid it across the saddle and then picked up a bucket with grooming tools in it. Thornden took the saddle and followed her back out. He hung it up on the aisle wall and then took one of the brushes and positioned himself on the opposite side of the horse that Rose worked on.

The grooming took very little time at all. Few words were passed between the two of them as they worked. Thornden saddled the horse for her (she probably would have done it, but he had the saddle in his hands before she had quite finished adjusting the blankets), and then he went out, Rose following, leading her horse. He untied Flíthaf and turned him about before putting the reins back up over his neck. Then he mounted and moved his horse up beside Rose’s.

Ardith and Mayda were just leaving the house to go back to their work and Cwen was making a last trip in from the table. They all smiled and waved as the two of them turned their horse's heads about and started.

They said nothing for some time, riding in peaceful silence. Thornden was occupied in looking about him, taking into stock the long fields, separated by wide belts of trees and hedges.

After some time of such riding, Thornden turned towards his companion. "Were those your sisters we were just with?" he asked.