Eorling Mead Hall

[Firefoot]

All the strength and will that Léof had been drawing from to fight Thornden suddenly died as the last of the stable collapsed in flame and Thornden released him. He felt weak, powerless, numb.

He had failed.

He had not gotten all the horses out; Herefola had been left. He had tried – how he had tried! And if it wasn’t for Thornden - ! A word of reproach rose to his lips and died – he felt too tired and sick, both emotionally and physically, to raise an argument. He could only watch dumbly as the flames consumed the remnants of the stables. Soon there would be nothing left.

Nothing left. So where did that leave him? An ostler without a stable! Now there was a jest, and a sick one at that. More than his work – all of his possessions had been kept in that small room. Not that he had many; clothing could be replaced, and the coins making up his small savings had probably survived the fire if he cared to look through the ashes. The thought nauseated him. Even so, there had been a few small keepsakes that he would miss, and Æthel’s saddle and bridle would have to be replaced… that might be more expensive than he could afford…

His thoughts drifted off into vagueness. How could this have happened? So quickly – all of it gone. So quickly, gone.

[littlemanpoet]

The stable roof fell in. The drenched walk-through adjacent to the guest wing did not catch fire. Slowly the flames died down, a people throwing half-empty and half-hearted pails of water on the dying embers. Soon the heat from the flames dissipated and the glowing coals darkened. People walked around listlessly, transfixed by the process of the dying fire.

Kara, Modtryth and Ginna came around passing out cups water to everyone. Sitting on the ground, his back to the wall of the guest wing, Eodwine took one from them and downed it in one series of crackingly thirsty gulps, with his thanks.

How had this happened?

There was Léof, with Thornden, who stood with his back to the ostler, staring at the remains of the stable. Eodwine got up achingly, and walked over to the two.

Léof, having seen his shadow, looked up at Eodwine. Thornden turned.

"How did this happen?"

"I do not know," Léof responded listlessly. "It was already alight when I came back from supper."

"Nor I," said Thornden. "I learned of it from Æðel."

Eodwine nodded. He looked around the courtyard and his eye caught a stranger kneeling by Javan. From a distance and gathering twilight it was hard to tell, but the boy looked covered in soot.

"Javan!" Eodwine said, his brow furrowing. Léof, rising from the ground, and Thornden both looked at Eodwine in startlement, which turned to stiffening and dark looks. No words passed between the three, but it was as if each of them knew what the other was thinking. The three walked together to Javan.

They stopped before the two, glowering.

"What happened?" Eodwine asked curtly.

[Folwren]

Javan was aware of nothing except an extreme dryness in his throat and lungs. And then, slowly, he felt the ground beneath him and a hand on his shoulder. Many loud voices filled the air around him and as his senses became more firm and his mind began to work again, he could make out words, and the sound of fire, and everything else in the chaotic scene.

Slowly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He faced the stables and his eyes were fastened to the burning remains. Men were working on putting the last fires out. Matrim was kneeling beside him, no longer taking hand in the attempt to quench the flames – the job was nearly finished anyhow.

“Matrim,” Javan said, his voice hoarse. “Matrim, what happened? I don’t remember…I was letting the horses out. . .”

“Yes. And then you fainted, or something, and I carried you out.”

“It’s all gone, then…” Javan said. “All of it…all because…” He stopped and pressed his mouth close. He felt a hot sensation in his eyes, but no tears. He drew his knees up to his chin and clasped his arms about them. “What will he say?” thinking of Thornden. His stomach knotted itself. “What will the eorl say?”

Perhaps he could go and hide somewhere. Perhaps he could escape, until it had blown over. It would never blow over. But if they didn’t have to find out immediately. . .

And then suddenly they were there. Not only Thornden and Eodwine, but also Léof. They stopped just by him, looking down at him. Matrim stood up and took a step back, and Javan was left alone sitting on the earth.

“What happened?” Eodwine asked.

Javan looked up at him. Fear, worry, regret were all written clearly over his face. But also question – for he silently, furiously questioned himself what he could possibly say in answer. He could not lie – Thornden stood there, grimly looking at him. His own brother. He could not lie.

He stood up, his limbs trembling, and stood before the three of them. All of them he wanted nothing but to please. And now he had done something horrible, despicable. But it had been an accident.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, sharing a glance between Eodwine and Thornden.

“Sorry for what?” Thornden asked sharply. Javan didn’t reply at once. He looked down at the ground. “Answer it, Javan!”

“It was an accident!” Javan gasped out. “I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean to start the stables on fire, I swear it! It was a straw from trying to light a pipe. I dropped it and it caught another straw, and then it just went up!”

So that was it. Thornden stared at his brother without the slightest glint of friendliness or brotherliness in his eyes. He didn’t understand, but he almost felt he didn’t want to understand. Eodwine would certainly have more questions, surely. And Léof…he at least deserved an explanation. But Thornden, besides being Javan’s brother, had very little to do with it. So he remained silent.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco Boffin sat down against the wall, letting the bucket lie nearby. He had done what he could to help.

"The inconvenience!" he muttered to nobody in particular. "Here I am trying to pack and plan my way back home and somebody up and lights the stables on fire. Most inconsiderate. I could use a smoke."

It might have seemed to any of the Eorlings that wanting to smoke his pipe moments after a major fire had been put out, but to Falco it seemed just the thing. There were not many creature comforts that seemed right at home to the hobbit, here and the Eorling lands, so his own pipe would have to do. He reached in his pocket. It wasn't there.

"Now where did I last leave it?"

He traced back his steps, and with sudden horror realized that he had left them in the stables.

"Oh no! Lost for good!"

Just then he noticed Eodwine, Thornden, and Léof standing over Thornden's little brother. He got up and walked over to them.

"Eodwine, I fear my pipe has been lost in that there fire."

Eodwine looked down at him, his face set and grim. "I know. This boy started the fire with your flint." Eodwine turned to Thornden. "Take him home. You shall leave today."

Eodwine turned and trudged across the courtyard and into the Hall.

[Folwren]

Javan had told the truth, the entire story being dragged from him reluctantly with direct, sharp questions from Eodwine. And now to cap it off, Falco, the very person from whom Javan had stolen the items to start the fire, walked up and learned at once that Javan had started it. The boy new that soon everyone would know – it wasn’t something that would be kept secret – but it did burn a bit. The way Eodwine said it sounded as though he had done it on purpose.

And then Eodwine turned away from him and spoke to Thornden. “Take him home,” he said. “You shall leave today.”

Without looking again at Javen, the eorl turned and strode back towards the hall. Javan looked after him, feeling crushed. “Lord Eodwine!” he called out, finding his tongue before the eorl made it to the door. “Lord Eodwine, please! I’ll do anything!”

Thornden reached out and grabbed Javan’s arm. He turned him about sharply to face him and shook him. “Be quiet! Be quiet, do you hear?”

“But, Thornden,” Javan pleaded, tears welling up in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to, and I want to make up. I don’t want to go home.”

“I don’t think you have much choice.”

“Please let me talk to him…plead my case. He is a judge of a court, isn’t he? I should be heard, shouldn’t I?”

“A judge!” Thornden exclaimed. “Javan, if you were to stand before him in his court, there would be worse judgment than just being sent home, I can promise you!”

“But if he didn’t kill me and let me stay, then I wouldn’t care what the judgment was,” Javan said, beginning to cry.

Thornden had no patience to stand and talk with him. Daylight was fading quickly. Their ride would be done in the dark, obviously, and the sooner they set off, the better. He directed Javan towards the Hall and let him go with an emphasized nudge. “Go get your things together. We’re leaving as soon as I can find horses.”

Javan made off obediently, his head hung low and his shoulder’s hunched forward, weighed down with guilt and shame. Thornden turned to Léof. He had not said a word the entire time.

“Léof,” Thornden began quietly. He didn’t know if he should ask him just now, or apologize, or what. But he had been given orders. “Léof, are there two horses that can bear us tonight?”

“The horses are fine,” Léof said. His voice was flat, void of emotion, and he didn’t look at Thornden. “But I think all the saddles were burned.”

“No, actually,” Thornden said. “Someone managed to save a few at the very beginning. It was one of the men who stopped from the street.”

Léof nodded and turned. “I’ll get Javan’s horse and another for you.”

Thornden paused a moment. He looked towards the door of the hall and then after Léof, and decided to follow the ostler and lend a hand there.

---

Javan entered the Hall by the same door Eodwine had. He kept to the shadows of the wall as he went into the main hall and scurried as quickly as he could towards the door to the residential wing. He was half way there when he spotted the eorl, standing in the twilit gloom of the open hall.

Javan’s feet stopped. He looked at Eodwine, his heart thumping against his ribs. The eorl did not seem to be aware of him. Slowly, Javan turned from his course and approached him.

“Sir?” he asked as he finally drew near. Eodwine looked up, and Javan’s advance halted abruptly. “I – I would like to stay, sir. Is there no way I can make up? I’ll promise to do whatever you want. I won’t cause trouble – I’ll do my best to be good.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine had been making his slow way to the kitchen, and stopped by his eorl's chair when the boy, Javan, the culprit, the arson, had come up to him.

Eodwine had just been thinking about how court would be held the next day, and how it would not be out of the way to bring charges against the boy, to make him work for years to pay the debt of the lost stable and the horse and all else that had been lost in the fire. It would make the boy his serf for a long, long time, and amply deserved; but it was not something he cared to do. Better to send the boy on his way back home. He would see to it that Kara provided bread and drink for Thornden, and coin enough to find an inn or bribe for a stranger's bed.

The boy had nerve, or such desire. Of course he could not stay. It did not matter what promise he might make right now, he had little self-control, even for one of his own age. Apparently he had been spoiled back home, and not trained to do what he was told and earn his way. Eodwine was not moved by his plea. He was young, and would recover given the right circumstances. But for Eodwine the decision had been easy and would not be easily changed. The boy was too reckless, too out of control, too in need of constant supervision, to be --- and suddenly Eodwine was caught in a possibility. He looked over the boy's head, allowing the silence to stretch on, no doubt uncomfortably for the boy.

"I will think on it this night and decide in the morning. Send for Thornden, boy. I must talk to him. Do this one thing now and do not delay, and perhaps it may go well for you."