Hard Winters RPG

[Folwren]

Javan attended to the duties Léof gave him in a methodical way. He often helped in the stables though it was not his only job, and he knew what must be done. He noted where the men who brought their own horses stabled them and then went and fetched hay for them.

He approached the latest stalled horse, thinking more of his own upcoming supper than the one he held in his arms for the mare, when the man addressed him.

“It’s Javan, isn’t it?”

Javan stopped, the hay hanging rather limply in his hand. He raised his head and looked at the man. He knew him at once and frowned, not at all pleased to see him.

“Are you still in the habit of beating women?” Wilheard asked with an unpleasant sneer.

Javan’s lip curled with disgust, and he dropped the bundle of hay at Wilheard’s feet.

“She was more a brat than a woman,” he replied, turning on his heel.

[Firefoot]

This shirt would certainly have to be washed before he wore it again, Scyld mused as he juggled the muddy potatoes in his arms and looked about for a place to put them. He was interrupted from his task by the sound of a familiar voice, however, as he looked up to see Rowenna standing there. A glimmer of a true smile crossed his face before settling into something more reserved.

"I greet you, Nydfara. It has been years. Who brings this food?" she asked.

He felt suddenly guilty – it had indeed been a long time. Had she thought to hear from him? Did she intend for him to feel this way? Surely not – he must be reading into her words that which was not there. Better, safer, to focus on her question.

“Well, I helped to bring it,” he remarked smartly, “but Athanar’s son Wilheard led our convoy, and the food was sent by the King from Edoras.” He paused. “How have you fared, these last few years?”

[Folwren]

The two pots of porridge were nearly boiling. Saeryn stood by the stove and stirred first one pot then the other. She laid her hand on her belly. Her hands were trembling again. They often did now after very little exertion, and what with lifting and pouring the grain into the bins, she was very tired.

Stefnu and Modtryth came into the kitchen, carrying a sack between them. “This is the last one,” Modtryth said.

“Good. These will be done shortly. The fire’s hot enough, we can start more water.”

“Should we prepare anything else? Potatoes? Some of the dried meat, perhaps?”

Saeryn shook her head. “Not yet. The porridge will do us all good, but eating too much all at once would do more harm than good, I think.” She laid the spoon over the rim of the pot. “I will be back,” she said.

She went out the door into the hall and across to her and Eodwine’s room. She opened the door cautiously, so as not to wake her son, and was surprised to see Eodwine stretched out on the bed beside Eoghan. She went to the bed and laid her hand gently on her son’s forehead. He was still hot, but he seemed fast asleep and did not respond to her touch. She reached across him and touched Eodwine’s forehead. He, at least, was not feverish. He was asleep, though, and Saeryn took the moment to study him. He may not be sick, but he was far thinner than what was right. The skin was pulled tight over his cheekbones and his eyes were sunk far back.

“Are you asleep?” she asked in the tiniest whisper. If he was, she would let him lie until the porridge was entirely finished, and then she would wake him.

[Galadriel55]

The mud was brown and sticky on her fingers. It was on her dress and in her hair and on her hands, and on others’ hands as well. Many muddy feet came towards her, and many muddy hands dropped the muddy potatoes into the now muddy sack. It was a muddy world today.

Ledwyn stayed behind after the others have left, having recovered most of the scattered produce. On her hands and knees, she felt the area, searching for any hidden ones that may be buried in the dirt and puddles. No potato may be left to waste, not when each one could have meant the difference between a living person and a person otherwise. Her search yielded four potatoes and half as many stones. She only stopped when she covered a circle around the fallen sack twice.

She was filthy. There is no way she could come into the kitchen in this state. Ledwyn gave thought to it, and walked to the well. Drawing up some water, she washed herself first as best as she could. She splashed some on her skirt and shoes. They are wet already. At least they will be a little cleaner. She rubbed the fabric until the worst of the dirt came off. Last, she washed each precious potato, as well as the sack, taking care not to drop them into the well.

Once back inside the kitchen, Ledwyn dried her load so that rot would not form, and placed them gently into a clean, dry sack. She put them away with the rest of the stores – oh how blessedly full now! – hung the wet sack to dry, and joined the rest of the women in their duties.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

New kettles of porridge were already simmering slowly next to the ones lady Saeryn had already prepared. Stefnu trod from one to the other with a spoon, humming quietly. Behind her, steady flow of suddenly frantically active Scarburgians as well as many of the newcomers were still streaming into the kitchens. More and more sacks of oats, vegetables, and all manner of edibles appeared that made Stefnu's mind already devise intricate ways of how they all could be used and what amazing and different kinds of meals they could be put into. As the supplies piled up, however, she began to think more soberly. There was much more to do.

"These are almost ready," she said to Modtryth, pointing at the kettles. "Did you see how many people arrived? I just hope this will be enough."

"There are no more kettles to make it in," Modtryth said. "These will have to do."
Stefnu nodded, laid the spoon aside and walked to the nearest pile of sacks. She surveyed it critically.

"These cannot just all be clumped about the hall, true?" she said. "Somebody should sort them out."

"Maybe that somebody should be us," Frodides's voice chimed in from behind.

Stefnu turned around, her braids whipping her back.

"And right you are, Frodides!" she exclaimed. "We cannot wait with everything for lady Saeryn, and she will have the little ones to take care of anyway. Leave that to me! As soon as everyone gets their meal, I will take a look at these-"

She noticed a curious look from Modtryth, and paused.

"I don't think I am going to eat much anyway," she finished. "When we are done with the meal, you can eat and I can make sense of these. And we need to know what we have here." Her gaze fell on one of the small sacks.

"Nuts," she noticed, picking it up. She rattled the bag. "What if we threw a couple into the porridge! There's not much, but just for the look! And for the flavour! I am so sure everyone will be happy to just have something they can crunch with their teeth."

[Mithalwen]

Elfthain had probably never worked so hard in his life before as he did unloading the waggons. He had helped with harvest of course and that work was long and hot, scything and gathering from dawn til dusk, but he hadn't done anything so strenuous as lifting full grain sacks in chainmail, the combined heft of which was not far off half his own body weight. And so eager were the locals to have the goods safely in their stores that they set a brisk pace, almost as if they feared that the carts might be driven off yet part laden if they were not swift enough. He was determined to keep up even though his legs threatened to buckle each time he lifted a full sack.

By the time his waggon was unloaded he was almost on his knees and hugely relieved that the unloading of the other carts seemed under control and not in immediate need of his help. He reckoned he could be spared to take care of Safran who had waited patiently amid the chaos. The mare turned her sweet head towards him and whickered softly. Elfthain stood close to her and gently pulled her ears. The sight of her bulging saddlebags had reminded him of something "Sorry Saff, I have one more thing to do and then I will get you sorted" he promised. "I won't be long", He extracted a bulky and heavy oilcloth wrapped parcel from one of the big leather panniers, No point lugging this back from the stables when I am right by the kitchen door he had thought.

He had been inside before of course but not in any state to take in the detail of the environment. Now he noticed several women who seemed to be part of the household, about his mother's age or older he guessed for the most part though there was a younger looking one who was looking rather grimy and damp. Not that Elfthain was in any position to judge. Already less than fragrant after several days travel, his exertions hadn't improved matters. He knew a hot bath would be out of the question but a swill under a pump or a bucket or two from the well would be a start.. even that would have to wait . The women were all busy either with pots on the stove or examining their new stock of provision and even though he didn't really believe Cenric's theories on the unpredictability of women past first youth, he became diffident in the presence of the strangers.

He tapped gently on the doorframe before speaking "Is it alright if I leave these with you?" he enquired entering the kitchen and setting his burden on the table and loosening the wrapping to reveal two large stoneware jars. One of the women raised an eyebrow and asked what he had so he continued, "my mother sent them for the lady of the house - this is leaven, she thought you might not have been able to keep yours going if you had run out of flour ... I have fed it during the journey so it should be alright." At least the antisocial nature of the travellers camp had meant that he had evaded this strange procedure being witnessed. He unstopped the smaller jar and the lump of wet dough was still obviously fermenting."She thought it would let you have bread that bit quicker" he explained. "And this is honey from our own bees. there wasn't much to spare so she said to give it to someone who would know how it would be best used" He didn't unseal this. It had been used sparingly even at home for many months and hadn't been part of the requisition more a personal gift from one household to another made in the knowledge of its value. To smell it would be too tantalising. He tried not to think of it's sweetness let alone the meadows at home where the hives would be set in proximity to the spring flowers and where his colt was no doubt growing sleek on new grass. That jogged his memory again.. "oh and can you tell me where the stables are... I need to see to my horse" ..

[littlemanpoet]

“How have you fared, these last few years?”

"Well enough." Her exploits in turning away the Easterlings came quickly to mind, but she would not brag to him. He would have to ask her to get that out of her. Better for him to learn of it from others.

"I know a thing or two about finding food in the wild, so I am not as hungry as some here. So this food is not for sale but free? The king is a good man."

He was fiddling with the potatoes, as if wondering what to do with them.

"Here, I will take those inside." She took them from him one at a time, wiping the dirt and mud from each in turn before taking the next. While she did this she asked, "Where did you go that took you four years?"