Eorling Mead Hall

[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."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"You'll want to wait, I suspect." remarked Saeryn very quietly, flushing crimson as she spoke. "Linduial is leaving this morning and I expect that Degas is indulging in a childish, or at least less than adult, though certainly without speaking of being a hooligan, desire to see a pretty lady off."

Embarassed at her lack of control, though thanking whoever could hear her thoughts that she'd had the ability to speak quietly, even though she couldn't seem to avoid speaking pettily, Saeryn fled with Trystan.

[littlemanpoet]

"Of course we will be looking for your return!" Eodwine smiled.

He was glad to see Linduial happy, for he had feared for her life and her wellbeing. Indeed, he had known that it was his own failing that had led to her falling into the hands of Sorn at all. Yes, Degas had shouldered the burden of guilt for his part in it, which, now that Eodwine had heard all the facts, was greatly without warrant; but Eodwine knew that he had not given serious thought to Linduial's safety until after she had been stolen from them. True enough, as Eodwine had said that first night after the abduction to Saeryn, the only one who bore true guilt was Sorn, for doing the deed. Nevertheless, he knew that he could have given better thought to Linduial's safety than he had.

"I am happy that you look so hale after all you have been through, Lady." He grew serious of face. "I have not in more than three weeks said what need be said, though. I am partly to blame for the harrowing that befell you. I should have taken more care than I did to see that you were safe. That you have been brought back to us with little harm - I will not say none for to have lived through such a thing must change one - that you suffered so little harm is a gift to us all. And so I ask of you, forgive me for how I failed you."

[Formendacil]

This was not going to be even as relatively easy as he had hoped, Náin realised, as Saeryn departed swiftly from view, the perhaps bewildered Trystan in tow.

So. Degas was currently engaged in bidding Lady Linduial farewell. Having arrived at the Hall only just in time to see Degas depart for Dol Amroth, Náin was entirely unfamiliar with the young man, save for their confrontation in Eodwine's chamber. And, come to think of it, the few words exchanged on the matter of Saeryn becoming Lady of the Mead Hall during the Court the previous day.

In essence, then, Degas was probably not going to welcome another encounter with Náin. Well, no one ever said that apologizing was easy. In fact, Náin was becoming distinctly sympathetic with Thorin II's stubborn refusal to allow the Elvenking or Bard any compromise in the matter of his treasure. It was, by and large, a whole lot easier to starve.

But, having made up his mind, there was nothing to do but go and wait Degas out. In theory, Náin could have gone after Saeryn and apologised to HER, first, but that seemed rather inappropriate at the moment, having just been on the end of a rather sorry encounter with her, and if she was still with Trystan...

There was Eodwine too, but Náin had privately made up his mind to leave the Eorl for last- if only because he was likely to be easier to find alone and unbusy come evening.

Still mulling things over, Náin came down to the stables, and heard Eodwine's voice speaking to Linduial in the courtyard. He sat down cross-legged on the floor of the stable and waited. As soon as Linduial had departed, he would accost Degas, and apologize.