Scarburg Meadhall

[Folwren]

Thornden glanced up from wiping the last of the eggs from his plate with a piece of bread to look at the stranger. “I don’t know,” he answered Scyrr. “He came this morning before very many people were astir. I have not met him yet, but I think he is an elf.”

At this, several of the men, including Quin, turned their heads to look at Laerdil. Thornden’s eyes dropped again to his breakfast and allowed them to make what they would of it.

Quin turned back to the table after casting a swift glance up and down the figure by the fire. “That would explain his music, then,” he said, finding nothing else to say. Thornden nodded, but found it unnecessary to say anything else. “And no one knows why he’s here?” Quin continued. “I wonder what his name is.” He looked again over his shoulder at the elf.

“I met him first,” Javan said, coming up to the table with a full plate. He squeezed in between Léof and Thornden. “His name is Laerdil, and he’s from Lorien. He came into Scarburg as though he did not feel cold at all, with his cloak open and his hood back and everything. He did not talk much, and said nothing to Lady Saeryn when he met her.”

“He speaks freely with Eodwine now,” Thornden noted, with another brief glance across the floor.

“Did he happen to say what he’d come for?” Quin asked Javan.

Javan indicated that he did not with a shake of his head, but his mouth was too full to say anything.

“I’m sure it would not be a difficult matter to find out,” Thornden said, rising. “He will probably answer anyone’s questions, and he has probably heard them all, if what I have heard about elves’ hearing is true.” And as he stepped out from the bench by the table and walked away, the others cast abashed looks amongst one another.