Eorling Mead Hall

[Laiudanama]

Trystan thanked Léofric, but he felt anything but thankful, sitting at the table the boy had led him to, torn as to do what to do, and feeling utterly trapped. He was inside the Inn now, true - but the morning was rather later than he had hoped to arrive at such a place, and was downright bustling with people moving too and fro about their daily business. By the commotion by the stables as they had left, and the general purposefulness of movement - aye, and indeed also by a fair amount of careful eavesdropping - Trystan gleaned that this Farahil character was leaving today. Well, at least that was some luck. Something about the man made Trystan uneasy: he would doubtless make an excellent ally, but he somehow doubted this was a man likely to be easily won over, and he was sure about one thing, that he would be a formidable enemy.

No. He didn't want to make enemies. He had just wanted to do what he always did: get in, grab a quick something to eat and maybe something to sell, and then lay low until it was dark so he could begin travelling again. But it had all been scuppered by that Léofric! He looked around quickly to find where the other had got to - and saw him talking to an authoritative looking figure, an elegantly dressed man standing with his arms folded in the doorway. The Lord Eodwine, would this be? He decidedly disliked the title assigned to this man: ‘Lord’s generally didn’t bode well for people like Trystan, and he could just imagine Léofric describing to his…his master?...the circumstances under which he had met Trystan. Well, my Lord, not to make him sound suspicious, but he was all crouched in one of the stables, a knife by his feet and a keen eye on this rather fine horse… Eodwine glanced around and Trystan looked quickly away, staring at his hands, his long fingers entwined around each other, although the main part of his right was covered with a dirty bandage.

‘Lords don’t like people like you’: and what exactly are ‘people like you’ Trystan? Thieves? Petty criminals? Or potential murderers?

Trystan felt the panic and fear rise in his throat once again, his mind snapping back to that gloomy house in Dol Amroth. It was an accident! It was never meant to turn out that way, he could swear it! Wrong place, wrong time, wrong bloody people to get involved with – way to go, Trys, this time you really messed up…

As a girl passed, he rose quickly, catching her by the arm, then quickly withdrawing his hand, not wanting her to get the wrong idea and call over this Lord figure. She was a pretty thing, possibly some kind of waitress or server, and of about his age, even in his panicked state Trystan couldn’t help but remark upon it in his mind, but there were other, more pressing matters to be thought of right now. “Ex…excuse me, ma’am,” he began, humbly – a little humbleness and charm never did any harm, especially with a pretty girl. “I…well, I was just wondering whether I could perhaps speak to the owner of this establishment, or…” he tailed off, his hand nervously straying to push hair away from a handsome, if probably rather dirty face, and hoped he didn’t look too foul. Glancing around, just to make sure no one else was within earshot, he decided to cut straight to the chase; leaning forward almost conspiratorially, he continued. “You see, I…well, I don’t actually have any payment with me, and, not liking to presume upon the kindness of your generous persons, I was wondering if there was some job or other that I could do or get, maybe just on a temporary basis, in exchange for a few nights of rest here?”

The girl hesitated, and Trystan saw he glance towards Eodwine. Drat: he had been hoping she would just give in and assign to him some easy gardening job or handy job, but apparently there would be no such luck. She came to a decision and looked back at Trys. “You’d best talk to Lord Eodwine, or Lady Saeryn, the Hostess, about that sort of thing. Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite,” she added with a slight smile; apparently some of Trystan’s worry had shown on his face. He had to be more careful about that – it was just tiredness, but he couldn’t let his mask slip, because the consequences of being found out really didn’t bear thinking about. Maybe later. First up, he’d indeed have a word with this Lord Eodwine – and no matter what he had said in his opening statement, the one thing he really didn’t want to do was blatantly draw the attention of any sort of nobility to himself. Unless, of course…

“Lady Saeryn, you say?” he replied thoughtfully, still watching Eodwine in the doorway carefully. “I shouldn’t like to disturb Lord Eodwine – may I ask where I may find this Hostess…?”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"You may find her behind you, and a bit to the left." Saeryn was sleepy, but she had a knack for overhearing things that pertained to her, and she doubted that the young man would notice. As it was he appeared uncomfortable addressing Eodwine; nothing new, she thought, hoping that her light voice might put him at ease. Many are uncomfortable with lords. Not all lords, she added bitterly, are as kind and approachable as Eodwine is.

She glanced over the young man, taking him in quickly... he was young, though perhaps older than her... she couldn't be sure. As it was, they seemed to be about the same age, and he was certainly underfed. She would see to that before he left. He was filthy... travelling, that was apparent, and seemingly not under the best of circumstances. She would see to that as well. She'd need to think of a diplomatic way of suggesting a hot bath.

"How may I help you this morning? Come, I've yet to eat and I am terribly hungry; we shall have breakfast together while we speak."

Leading him toward the kitchen, she waited for him to respond, wondering how and what he would say.

[Kath]

Kara had been headed outside to find out what Degas' singing had been about, but had been waylaid as she crossed the Hall by a stranger, and a rather shabby looking one at that. He'd been asking after jobs, and though Kara could think of a good few that needed doing, she knew it wasn't up to her to say who could and couldn't stay in the Hall. Still, she could see that the fellow seemed frightened to talk to Eodwine, and suggested instead that he talk to Saeryn, who was now an equal to Eowine, yet young enough not to scare him.

Just as she was thinking this the lady in question appeared behind her, offering the newcomer some food and company. Noting that they were planning on conducting their meal in the kitchen Kara hurried back to warn Frodides, who wasn't always keen on being interrupted when in the middle of something. She appeared through the back doorway just a few seconds before the two visitors voices could be heard in the hallway, giving her time to ready Frodides and throw some extra goods on the breakfast tray, which was looking a little empty since half the Hall had already been by that morning, and the children always took as much as they could fit in their hands and mouths.

Listening to Frodides' half-hearted and quite facetious grumbling about not being able to get any work done if her kitchen was invaded like this all the time, Kara returned to arduous task that she had been trying to avoid earlier, of cleaning the burnt pans that had so far resisted any attempts to shift the grime on them.

Just as she'd managed to pick the first one up Saeryn and the stranger entered. Kara nodded to them and indicated that they should help themselves from the tray, holding up the pan as an excuse for not having some ready for them. Saeryn smiled in understanding, and directed the boy toward the food.

Hooking her feet around the stool she was on, Kara continued to scrub quietly, hoping that she would remain unobtrusive enough that the two conversed in the room while eating. She wanted to know more about this boy.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas looked into Linduial's eyes, searching for something that he wasn't sure how to find.

How would Linduial react to Degas having gone to her family before going to her? Though his conclusions had proven correct, Degas had not ascertained before from Linduial that she even wished to be courted. Should a suitor assume such things from Saeryn, she would be furious. She would certainly not care to court a man that would change her life in such a way without her say so. What would Lin say? Degas looked at her, wondering what he should say.

Should he tell her how he had so desired to ride to her rescue, but could not? It sounded like a childish excuse, even to his ears. Perhaps recount the tale of finding Feo in the road? Give her fair warning of a new face in her home... What had that to do with her question, though? She needed an answer, but which answer should he give?

My lady, the answer to your question was ascertained the moment I begged leave of your father to court you.

Lady Linduial, I didn't check with you to see if it was what you wanted, but I asked your father and brothers if I could court you and, surprising though it may be, they said yes.

Didn't you know? Your father doesn't hate me. West wind take it, your brothers even approve!

My lovely Linduial... fair maiden... I will wait for you always. And your family does not mind.

Beautiful girl, I'd wait forever with arms open if I knew that you would return to them.

"Lady Linduial," he finally began. "You have my word. I will be here upon your return."

[Formendacil]

When Náin awoke at his usual early hour, he found himself rather more disinclined than usual to get out of bed. His body responded sluggishly as he forced it through the motions of getting up, and he was chagrined to discover that he was not among the first to make it to the kitchen that morning.

After mumbling a grumpier than usual 'Good Morning' to Frodides and Kara, he brought his breakfast to the hall, and noted to himself that clearly late-night tempers and chiselling were not beneficial to one's body.

Thinking over the past night did little to improve his mood, since he recalled his late hour decision to apologize to Saeryn, Degas, and Eodwine. In the morning light was no less ashamed of himself than he had been under the moon the night before.

Swallowing the last of his breakfast, Náin shoved himself to his feet, and headed off to find Degas. He knew the young man was already awake, having head (together with half the Hall's population, it would seem) the strains of his song coming down to breakfast.

Steeling his iron Dwarven courage, Náin headed in the direction of the courtyard and his now-finished statue, only to find himself blocking the way of Saeryn and a young man of similar age as they were about to enter.

"Excuse us, Náin," said Saeryn, blushing ever so slightly- perhaps remembering the last occassion on which she had seen the Dwarf. "We were just going in to breakfast. Trystan, this is one of the guests of the Hall, Náin son of Narin of Erebor. Náin, this is Trystan, of Dol Amroth."

Náin nodded, a bit tongue-tied himself. "Err... excuse me," he said, not really wanting to apologise in front of a stranger. "I've got to rush away- need to meet someone."

"At this hour?" Saeryn looked surprised. Náin, though friendly with most, wasn't known to be closely associated with anyone. "It's still quite early. Who can you possibly want to see so soon?"

"Well... er... ah... that would be Degas," said Náin, stumbling over his words, realizing precisely how awkward this was getting.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine was watching the goings on near the stables. It was a busy morning, so soon after dawn! So it must be, he supposed, when nobility takes their leave. Eodwine was studiously turning a deaf ear to the seemingly intimate words passing between Degas and Linduial - and smirking a bit, considering that Degas was now the 'pot calling the kettle black'; at least, so it seemed. Just then, Léof came up to him from the stables.

“Sir? A traveler just arrived – said his name was Trystan from Dol Amroth. Or, he didn’t say he was from there, but Farahil recognized the accent. Anyhow, I probably wouldn’t have said anything, except that I found him, well, hiding in an empty stall… he didn’t seem too happy to find me and Farahil in the stables with him. I can’t prove anything by it… but I thought you ought to know.”

Léof looked as doubtful of the young man as his words sounded. Eodwine looked at the man, who had been watching him carefully, only to look quickly away in seeming fear when their eyes met. Eodwine narrowed his eyes. Such a way with the eyes bespoke falsity or fear, or both.

"My thanks, Léof. I will talk to this Trystan."

Eodwine was just about to go to the young man when he noticed that Saeryn had taken charge of him and had led him off to the kitchen. Very well.

"It would seem, Léof, that Saeryn has the matter well in hand. I will hear from her later. Thanks again. You did well to warn me."

Léof thanked him and went back to the stables.

Eodwine approached Degas and Linduial, their moment together seeming to him to have lasted long enough to have said whatever it is they had thought to say. He made a point of not reading their faces, for it was not his business to pry into the hearts or minds of others unless asked.

"Good morning to you both, Degas and Lady Linduial. I trust that Léof and others of this house have done well by you?"

[JennyHallu]

Linduial flashed a loving smile at Degas before turning to Eodwine with arms outstretched, the joyous smile still (and likely to be for a while) brightening her face. "Of course they have, my Lord; you know they have," she assured him, taking his hands with a friendly grin. "I shall miss it here, it has come to feel dear as home to me."

And it has, it really has. Her mind sped over the events of the last few months. They had been...eventful...at the least. She had run the gamut of human emotion, had learned who she was and who she wanted to be. And now...home for a little while, and then back here, to friends and fellowship. A nagging thought pattered at the back of her mind. Ah-but what will you do? Can you settle for wandering the world, looking for adventure? You've had adventure. You've had just about enough, I should think. She pushed the thought aside.

"I'll be back, though, as soon as I may. I must see Father and my Uncle and assure them I'm all right, and hopefully I'll be able to talk my way back out of the bower fairly quickly. You don't mind me leaving things in my room? Of course, pack them away if you need the space, but as long as I have a room here I'll feel like you're all looking forward to my return."