Scarburg Meadhall

[shaggydog]

Oeric Late morning

“So what do they call you?” Oeric asked, still grinning at some unnamable feeling nestled in his chest.

“Dagan-Turi_Dan, but Dan is probably easier.” The swarthy, stocky man replied. “And thanks, I owe you my life.”

Oeric tilted his head to look up to the skies and thought about the saving of a life, when it might happen and when it could not happen. After a long moment, he said, “I’m glad that I was able to do that for you, Dan.”

The other, whether through natural reticence, or more probably due to his ordeal, said no more, merely looking away towards the boggy spot that had almost been his tomb. Oeric wondered at this strange looking man, but was reluctant to ask him about his origins. That he was alive and well at this particular moment seemed enough.

Considering the possible outcomes of his question, Oeric asked hesitantly, “Would you be willing to do something in return?”

Dan looked at him, his expression unreadable. Oeric looked back, their eyes meeting. “I would like to keep my presence here unknown, at least until . . . until I decide the time is right. I don’t know if you have come here with these settlers, but if so, I would ask that you say nothing of me.”

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld smiled at Léof's bout with the beer, but his mind was elsewhere. He had never been around a corpse before, but for some reason it did not sour him much. Death comes to all. No, his mind was on another who was not far from where they sat eating their noon meal. He thought about all the words that had passed between he and Ginna; he had memorized them all. He also had memorized the turn of her face and the movement of her arms as she plied the bellows, how a strand of her blonde hair fell into her face as she worked, and how she let it hang and did not shirk from the bellows until he told her to rest; then he would watch furtively as she pushed the rebellious strand of silky hair out of her face. He had memorized that motion too.

For a long while as they worked together, he had been happy with all that had been said, and enjoyed the quiet of the work. But then he had begun to think that maybe more ought to be said, and while he concentrated his skill on his work, he focused his mind on the question of what to say next. He had not been sure. At least, he had not been sure if he dared to speak his mind more clearly than his blundering words already had. "Ginna, I know you are of higher birth than I, and so I almost fear to ask." No. That would not do. "Ginna, I would have you to wife. Are you willing to think on it?" Or, "Ginna, will you be my wife?" That last had seemed all the wrong timing, to be said over a smithy's fire. But then, why not? Would that not be the most appropriate place, as it was so much a part of him? So he had been getting up his nerve to say those risky words when Rowenna had come by and ruined the moment, no fault of hers.

So now he sat with his back to the baker and could not see Ginna, and did not wish to call attention to himself by turning to look. Why, he wondered, had he sat on this side of the table? He could not say; he had not given it thought when they had come for food. Maybe that was indication that he did not want her to wife as much as he thought. Don't be a fool, Harreld Smith! he said to himself.

"Harreld, you're quieter than usual, and that's saying something," Eodwine ventured.

"Oh, just thinking on this and that."

"What this and what that?" Eodwine asked.

"Oh, about smithing. Some of the finer points," he said, and smiled, pleased with his own personal joke in regard to Ginna at the bellows.

"I'll leave such things in your good keeping, Harreld!"

Just then Rowenna came from the kitchen. "Frodides can spare me for the afternoon," she said.

Eodwine rose. "I suppose we ought to get back to the animal pens, then, if we can get Léof out of his ale cup!"

[Gwathagor]

As Eodwine and the others were rising from their noontime ale-bench, Crabannan appeared nearby, walking slowly amongst the scattered tents. His face wore its customary solemn expression, dark eyes shadowed by dark brows and mouth forming a slight frown. It took him a moment to notice the group, as he craned his head this way that, evidently looking for someone or something. However, when he realized that they were looking at him, he came to an abrupt halt.

In fact, he had been looking for Javan, but without success, and so had proceeded to follow the trailing wisps of smoke back to the kitchen; he was hungry again. He wondered how long he would be able to come and go as he pleased, unnoticed and free of responsibility. The longer the better, he thought. No sense in binding yourself down; it'll only make it all the harder when you have to move again. And that would doubtless be sooner, rather than later, he felt sure, though the thought dampened his spirits. This surprised him.

They had noticed him first, and they now stood about the table with surprise, all staring at this stranger. He was too tall for a Dunlending, but too dark for a man of Rohan. He was clad in worn garments and tall boots, and was very grave of expression - apart from a glint in his dark eyes. It could have been anything, but it struck some of those standing there as dangerous.

Crabannan stepped forward and lifted his hand in greeting, trying to look more confident and at ease than he felt. He made an effort not to glower.

"Good day...I was looking for the lad Javan. He's a friend of mine. Do you know him?"

Perhaps they would just point him in the right direction and assume that he was one of the settlers. No, he thought. I couldn't pass for a Rohir with any amount of luck.

In the ensuing several seconds, as he awaited a response, he surveyed the group. They were all strangers to him, though he felt he might have noticed one or two about the camp earlier that day. One fellow was still sitting at the bench, head on the table, hand on his mug. Crabannan smiled. Of the others, none stood out to him immediately - save one, the first to rise, who was taller than the rest and had an air of authority in his glance, which Crabannan caught for a moment. Then it dawned on him in a flash of realization. Eodwine, Crabannan thought. I'll wager that's him.