Eorling Mead Hall

[littlemanpoet]

"Well said, Frodides," Eodwine replied. He smiled at his cook. "Let us return to the Mead Hall, my friends." Randvér and Marenil followed him back out of the kitchen.

Eodwine had not known Frodides very long, having become a regular at the White Horse Inn, the Mead Hall's old name, just months before Bêthberry had decided to run off on adventure and leave it in his hands, cahooting no doubt with the King to have him Eorled. Eodwine shook his head. And the Frodides had noised about ending her time as cook once a suitable replacement could be found. That replacement had now been found, but truth be told, there was enough work for both Kara and Frodides, even with Ginna's help on top of it all. And he still had to find a new hostess, somehow. The train of his thought finally made it to the point he had been aiming for: he was happy to have Frodides about. She was solid and stolid and knew when to apply barbed word as well as salvy speech. And that was all beyond her excellent cooking! So he hoped she would not leave any time soon. She would be needed, especially with a new property for Eodwine to see to. Which reminded him of Marenil.

Once they had sat down again, Eodwine broached the subject as they ate and drank.

"Marenil, I recall the many ideas you had to improve this place."

"Yes, Eorl."

"I thought well of them all as good ideas but did not feel them all well-suited to my Eorling." Eodwine paused and let the silence bring out whatever question might be poised in Marenil's mind.

"Pray, what, lord, do your words this morning tend toward?"

Eodwine smiled. "The King has given me the land of Sorn, to turn it into the new ways. The very same ways you had spoken of. I will of course obey the king's wishes. But I need a man I can trust to go there and see this thing through. What would you think were you that man?"

[Folwren]

Javan’s head jerked up and turned as he heard the sound of a woman’s scream. It was near enough to send his heart leaping to his throat, but the very idea that anyone could have made such a sound reach them was in itself startling enough. Startling and exciting. He quickly followed Léof’s example, released the horse from his restraint and led him into another empty stall. He quickly released him and exited, closing and latching the door behind himself.

Léof had already come out and he waved to Javan to follow him. Javan ran up the aisle after him and together they burst out into the open sunlight.

“Who was it?” Javan asked, as they crossed the yard towards the hall.

“I don’t know,” Léof said, “but she may need help.”

Out of one of the side doors of the hall came a short, round figure. Javan slowed his steps and turned his head to look again. He had never seen a hobbit before and he couldn’t help his eyes becoming round at the sight of a man only three feet high. But someone followed Falco who caused Javan to forget about the hobbit, and also caused his eyes to become even larger and rounder, and made his feet stop altogether. His mouth dropped open half an inch and his mind was completely wiped of any memory of his mother ordering him not to stare.

What was it? Not man, not elf (Javan had never seen an elf, but he’d heard of them, and this certainly wasn’t one of them), not an animal - it had the faces of men. But what was it?

The answer was impossible for Javan to come by, so instead of doing what an older and more sensible person might do and either go ask or leave immediately so as not to be rude, he stood stock still and stared.