Hard Winters RPG

[Thinlómien]

The great hall was always so full with breakfast time! And it was the same struggle every morning, too. The fist morning she had sat with Fréa and Caranthir, the second she had been kindly accepted to sit with Modtryth and Leodthern and they had later been joined by other household women. Now she was again wondering who could she sit next to.

"Westu hal, Lady Brithiel."

Brith turned her head quickly to see she had been approached by Ledwyn. She nodded, and smiled.

Ledwyn went on in Rohirric: "I something you our bread and mead. You are our something something, but this is more than something. I something to ask for your something. I something you something not something the rest by my doings and something. My something is something, but the something of the Hall is something. If there is a something I can do to something your something, you must name it to me."

Oh dear, Brith thought, keeping the smile on her face. What can I say? It didn't help that Ledwyn looked dead serious, and Brith sensed that whatever the other woman had just said had a great importance to her.

"No, no," she said a little uncertainly, in Rohirric. "Everything is good. Thank you, Ledwyn."

She swallowed uneasily and smiled. She hoped she hadn't just made an even bigger mess, and even more she hoped it was all settled now. If not, someone who spoke Westron had better rescue her soon.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine was not too keen on the free cuss coming out of Wilheard, but it was his own fault for playing at not being himself. And the poor - er - cuss looked unwell, now that he had a good look at him.

Ah, he had mentioned Wulfric. Eodwine lost his grin and shook his head sadly. The brother who had been killed in battle. Eodwine remembered him, the one on whom his brother and father had depended.

"You are unwell, Wilheard," Eodwine said kindly. "Feverish, by the looks of it. I will see that you are cared for." He reached for the blanket and covered the shivering man, then bent over and fetched his pillow. "Here. Take this."

Wilheard opened a bleary eye and took the pillow, holding it as if it were a toddler's doll.

"We shall talk when you are well." He left the room and found Saeryn. "Wilheard has a fever."

[littlemanpoet]

"There, that's enough," Rowenna said quietly. "We know where this came from, and that it should go back where you found it."

Ruari did not argue. She felt herself fortunate so far and did not think she should press her luck. She leaned forward a little. "Will you put some on my porridge first?" she whispered.

Rowenna allowed herself half a grin. She remembered herself when she was this age. She had been the little ruler of the house, herself. And then everything had changed. Her smile disappeared. She had had to learn late and through great anguish how to survive. It should not be so for Ruari. She would not be harsh with the girl, but she had to know that she would have to work at getting what she wanted instead of just thinking it would come to her.

"No. I already gave you your treat. This needs to go back and must not have too much less in it than before."

Ruari shrugged a shoulder and lowered her head, a slight pout coming across her face. She considered how effective a show of temper would be, and decided a full blown protest would not be well accepted. She settled for stomping her feet unnecessarily in the mud - after Rowenna had turned her back and begun leading the way back to the kitchen.

Rowenna had good ears and heard the stomping. She couldn't help smiling. The little cut up was a little version of herself. This could be fun. She stopped with a pleasant smile and held out her hand. "Take my hand, Ruari. Let's go back inside. It looks like rain."

Ruari crossed her arms and became quite still in the mud. Her pout deepened until her eyebrows were lowered crossly.

"I won't go in until you promise to give me some," she said.

Rowenna turned around and looked at the girl, tilting her head, her eyes narrowed. A dangerous smile came to her face. "Do not pick a fight with me, little girl, you will not win. So what will it be?"

Ruari almost backed down. She probably would have, if Rowenna hadn't been smiling, even if it was the wrong kind. Briefly, she weighed the possibilities. She decided to try her luck.

"If you don't give me some in my oatmeal, I will tell Mama that you stole some, too."

Rowenna's brow rose. This girl had spunk. Rowenna bent down and got eye level with her, holding the jar of honey close to her chest, to put it out of reach but within range of her eyes so as to be a useful bait. Rowenna stared into her eyes, her own eyes hard as stone and her own smile as threatening as cut crystal.

Ruari withdrew the tiniest fraction, though she did not step back. She flinched as Rowenna continued to stare, and she began to question the wisdom of holding her will against this woman. Then she squared her shoulders, remembering that Rowenna was not her mother, and could not do anything to her.

"You're a spunky little thing, aren't you." Rowenna reminded herself that she was choosing not to be harsh with this girl. "You are like I was when I was your age. If you were to tattle, you would make a foe of me, and I do not think you want to do that. It would not serve you well, for I have much I could teach you, that no-one else here knows. Do you understand me, Ruari, Saeryn's Daughter?"

Ruari didn't understand, but her curiosity was piqued. "What kinds of things?" she asked.

"I can teach you to make others want to do what you want them to do."

This was still a little above Ruari's understanding, but it sounded like it would be useful. She nodded her head slightly. "Alright," she said. "I won't tell Mama, then."

"Very well. You must trust me to teach you when the time is right. In the meantime, we can be friends. Take my hand."

Ruari took it and together they went back into the kitchen. By now they were quite wet, and while Rowenna put the pot of honey back on the shelf, Ruari stood by the fire. She watched Rowenna and inwardly promised herself that later, when the time was better, she would get the honey, and even Rowenna wouldn't know about it.

[Firefoot]

“Don’t worry over your colt,” Léof assured Elfthain. For a while, when Athanar had still been Scarburg’s lord, the stable had been full – overfull, even. There had been talk for a while of expanding the stables and building more stalls. Since Athanar had left, however, there had always been some empty stalls. “Once the caravan leaves, a lot of space will open up.” He smiled. “I’d also be curious to see how you’re handling your colt. I’m thinking about bringing along my yearling filly rather than sell her.”

It was the first time he’d said it out loud to anyone, but the thought had been growing on his mind for several months now. He liked the idea of having a second mare to continue breeding when Æthel grew too old, and he was steadily growing more attached to Æthel’s daughter, whom he had called Wren after the small birds who had hatched in their nest under the stable eaves the week the filly had been born. If a more promising filly were to come along, he could always sell Wren later, but it was certainly possible that the rest of Æthel’s foals would be all colts.

[Folwren]

Thornden split ways with Léof and the others. Eoghan followed at his side as he walked across the hall to Eodwine.

"Eodwine, have you met the lad, Elfthain, who came with the caravan? He is about Javan's age."

"I do not believe so."

"Oh." Thornden turned and glanced about the hall quickly, but Elfthain and Javan had already gone outside. He realized that to best put his query, he should have brought Elfthain with him. "He came with Wilheard in the caravan. He has expressed interest in staying here with us and being a squire here, instead of returning to his master when the caravan leaves. I told him I would put the question to you. I find him to be humble, and he has a good wit, and I think he would be a good addition to our hall."

"Does he owe anything to his master? Is he sworn to him until any fixed time?"

"That I do not know. His master is Elwin, Captain in the King's Guard, and was his father's friend. Elfthain says he was sent with the convoy to give him experience, and he thought Elwin would not be against his staying here longer, if you were willing to let him stay."

Eodwine nodded. "I will be holding court later today. Have him come. You may speak for him at that time, but he will need to speak for himself. Tell him so. Then tell me how he receives this."

"I will do so," Thornden said, and departed to find Elfthain and his brother.

Eoghan tarried behind and once Thornden had left, he approached his father with a hopeful smile on his face.

"Papa, Leof says I may ride his horse when the weather clears, but that you must first say I can. May I?"

Eodwine smiled at his son's excitement and interest. This was to be expected, and encouraged, but in the right time and way. He sat down. "Come here, Eoghan. Sit on my lap."

Eoghan trotted over to him and clambered up onto his knee. He faced his father, laying one arm across Eodwine's, with his hand resting on his shoulder. His bright eyes shone with eager expectation as he looked up at his father's face, waiting.

Eodwine gave the boy a hug and kept his arm behind his back, smiling. "Did you get to ride a horse today? Tell me all about it!"

"No, Papa!" Eoghan said, somewhat reproachfully as he knit his eyebrows together a little. "I couldn't ride today - it was raining! Leof showed me Cinderfoot and said she is almost ready to have her baby. I asked if I could have the baby, and he said, no, I wasn't big enough yet, but maybe I could ride his horse, when the rain stops. But I must ask you if I may." Eoghan looked solemnly up at his father. He cupped his two little hands around Eodwine's face, beginning to be impatient for an answer. "Can I?"

"Of course you may, as long as Leof or someone he trusts is with you. You are high up on a horse's back, and I want you to be safe just as much as I want you to love riding."

Eoghan's face beamed with excitement. He wriggled free from Eodwine arm and jumped down from his lap. "I'm going to find Leof and tell him straight away!"

Eodwine was tempted to tell his son to wait, that he would go with him; but he judged this a moment to allow him a small amount of being in charge of himself. If anything happened, he was sure that he would hear of it soon enough.

[Firefoot]

“Indeed,” said Scyld, cocking an eyebrow. So now she chose to be civil with him? Well, if she wished to pretend that nothing had happened that morning, he could play along, but he would not forget.

He followed her inside, pushing back the hood of his cloak. As he stepped down on the wet floor, his foot slid out from under him. His arms flailed as he strove to catch his balance. He managed not to fall, but the pouch that had made it clean and dry all the way down the trail dropped and landed in the mud skid with a clatter. Feeling both foolish and irritated but wishing to show neither, he quickly knelt to collect his pouch and began wiping it off with the edge of his cloak. It had fortunately stayed closed, saving him the further embarrassment of scattering his tools across the floor. “It seems my boots were muddier than I thought,” he said.

[Folwren]

Thornden went towards the door in thought. He was drawn out of his reverie when he opened it and found water streaming down just outside. He turned back around, went to the guardroom and fetched his hooded cloak.

The raindrops had become large and fast by the time he exited the hall, and the cloak did only kept him partially dry. He stopped inside the stables to shake the excess water from the folds of cloth and to try to scrape some of the mud off his boots before he went on to find Javan and Elfthain.

They were working out back behind the stables but still under the awning. They had not made much progress by the look of things.

"Elfhain!" Thornden hailed as he drew near. "I spoke with Eodwine, and he said he would like to hear more of you. He plans to hold court today and he wishes to decide on the matter then. He will ask you about your master and how long you are bound to him, and why."

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine sat at the head table, as he always did. Thornden sat a few seats away, busy with his own thoughts, which was just as well.

Eodwine felt weary. More than weary. Truth be told, he felt exhausted. He also felt that he had done as well as he could. He wondered, then, why he felt so dreadfully terrible. Was it another illness coming on? It surely was possible, considering the matter they had been dealing in all day.

But no, it was not that. Food had been brought to him first, by his wife Saeryn. When she had set his plate before him, he took hold of her hand while it still held the plate.

"Sit with me as soon as you are able, please."

He had not meant his words to sound so forlorn, but he could not keep it out of his voice, nor out of her awareness. She looked at him, concern in her eyes.

"Is something the matter?"

He shrugged and gave her a wan smile. "Just come when you can." She nodded, her lips closed in a ribbon.

He ate his food. He hardly tasted it. Were he to give attention to its flavor, he felt that it would taste no better than sawdust. It seemed a long time before she came to sit with him.

[Firefoot]

As much as Léof usually kept his nose out of others’ business, it was hard not to overhear the quarrel at the next table over. Rowenna was in a foul mood, it was clear; but then, so were many others: nearly everyone in the Hall felt worn out and hungry after a thoroughly unpleasant afternoon of work.

But then she turned around and her gaze fell on him and Scyld, who for some unknown and unwelcome reason had sat down beside him.

"Do you both think you deserve these plates more than the women?"

“Of course not,” answered Léof quickly, wanting no part of the fight (and also hoping that if he answered correctly, one of the plates she was holding might be his). Rowenna’s gaze swiveled to Scyld.

“Only a foolish man would say so to the woman serving his food,” answered Scyld. Léof nodded, missing the hint of jest and forgetting briefly who it was he was agreeing with.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna gave Scyld a sideways smile. "Then you are no fool."

She flicked a glance toward Leof and set a plate in front of him. Then she stepped over the bench, sat down, and placed the remaining plate halfway between herself and Scyld. She took a slice of bread and ripped off a chunk with her teeth, and chewed. She watched Scyld, whose eyes moved up and down between the plate and her face.

"You're welcome to share."

[Folwren]

Saeryn shifted the basket in her hands to her hip and wiped her forehead. She glanced around the room, taking mental stock of what needed to be done that day. She turned to Eodwine.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"In his quarters. He did not rise this morning."

"I will see to him." She turned and went back to the kitchen. She found Ruari and Rowenna there. "Heavens, I forgot your breakfast! Why didn't you go out to the hall with the others? Rowenna, poor me some hot water for tea." She set the basket down on the table and reached for a dried bunch of herbs. She set them on the table and began snapping off dried twigs. Her hurried glance fell on her daughter again. "Why are you wet?"

Rowenna set a brimming mug on the tabletop next to her and drew back to the stove. Saeryn absently dropped the leaves into the water while staring down at Ruari.

Ruari looked back, wide-eyed. "I went outside," she said.

"Well, I guess you did! You probably got your dress all..." she glanced over the edge of the table and saw the muddy hem and shoes clotted with mud. "Ruari, you should be more mindful!" She turned away and went to the shelf to take down the honey. Ruari's eyes widened with eagerness, but Saeryn took no notice.

"Go on out and find your brother. Sit with him. Kara will get you some porridge. Rowenna, you may go get your breakfast as well."

"Can I have some honey, Mama?" Ruari asked.

"No. Run along." She did not glance up as she carefully spooned some of the honey into the tea and mixed it. Ruari and Rowenna quietly exited the kitchen. Saeryn glanced in the basket she had brought in. There was still some bread left. She doubted that Wilheard would have much appetite, but in case he did, she took a couple slices to accompany the tea.

She found him only semi-conscious, lying in a crooked, uncomfortable looking position. She placed the victuals she had brought on the ground beside his bed and touched his forehead. He was hot, sure, but she had seen worse.

"I've brought you some tea and bread, I'd like you to try to eat and drink some of it."

[Mithalwen]

“I’d also be curious to see how you’re handling your colt. I’m thinking about bringing along my yearling filly rather than sell her.” Elfthain smiled at Leof's words. It was good news and he was only too happy to talk horse.

"You will have to show her to me later. I haven't ridden my colt much yet.. but he is home-bred so I have known him since he was foaled and he only became my own a few weeks ago. We take things very slowly with the youngsters. We get them used to the halter and being handled from the start. They do some long reining as two year olds but we don't usually back them til they are at least three, then turn them out again to let them develop before starting to school them seriously the next summer . By five they are ready for anything.

" Some people go quicker but most of our home-breds go as remounts for the muster of Edoras so they need to be strong enough to carry a full grown rider in mail. However my colt was a late summer foal and so he is rising four and well grown so I don't really want to wait another year. But I wouldn't want to be riding him a lot, or in armour yet so I still need Saff. I had planned on breeding from her next year but her devotion to wallowing in mud makes me worry she will have piglets rather than a foal." He grinned and grimaced as he thought of his beloved mare still more covered in mud than not. "Sorry, you won't want me to stay if I keep rambling on" he added realising he had let his tongue carry him away again having started on one of his favourite topics.

[Folwren]

Elfthain's comment about piglets caused Thornden to chuckle. Then the lad's suddenly self-conscious expression and mumbled apology made him laugh outright.

"Right, then," Thornden said, still chuckling. "The problem of the horses has been resolved - there is plenty of room - and I will speak to Eodwine. You, Elfthain, do wait until you hear if he says yea or nay. The letter to your master will best be written either by Eodwine himself, or by me, I should think."

He paused when he saw Ruari coming towards them. She made a direct line for their table and Thornden guessed she was come to eat. He made room so she could sit between him and Eoghan. As he helped her climb onto the bench and get settled, Javan addressed Elfthain.

"So you plan to have your colt sent for?" he asked. "He sounds like a nice 'un. I'd like to meet him."

[Mithalwen]

Elfthain answered slowly "Well until a few minutes ago I was planning to go back with the convoy but yes I would like to get him out here if I can, he is more than nice... and I could use more of my own gear. I only brought what I expected to need for the return journey which wasn't very much."

He thought how it could work, "So if Lord Eodwine agrees to my staying ... I better ask my mother to arrange it - I will write her a letter to go with the one to Elwin. He will get it to her, I know" - in fact he will almost certainly deliver it personally thought Elfthain, realising that this would also mean it didn't matter so much that the Eorl or his Steward would be writing to his uncle; he was sure that the siblings would confer, "So it will take a while even if she is agreeable. There is a chance she might deliver him herself: I wouldn't put it past her to take the opportunity to check up on me, but it is a risk I will have to take" he added with a grin. "And now she has Poppy to look after she may not be able to get away so long." he added thoughtfully.

[Thinlómien]

His pillow was back and so was his blanket. There had been a kind voice, then another. Surely he must have been imagining? He was still in Scarburg. Or had they moved him? Maybe they had sent him home because he'd been so useless. The voices had been familiar, now that Wilheard thought of it, even though he had trouble putting faces to them. I was never good with people. It was Wulfric who was good with them, I was always better with horses, yes, and hawks and hounds...

Wilheard wondered if Eorl Eodwine would let him have a puppy. His father had never let him - he'd always said Wilheard could have one when he was a respectable young man. He guessed he'd never been one. Too wild, too reckless, too disinterested.

"Tea?"

Oh, the woman was still there. Wilheard opened his eyes, then touched his face. It felt damp. His eyes focused on the form of the woman by his bedside. Saeryn. Lady Saeryn. That was her. No friend of mine, Wilheard reminded himself. Usurper, and mother of another. Adopted by Lord Athanar, to succeed him in place of his own son. After all these years, after Wulfric was gone, it was still a bitter thought, but not entirely without amusement value.

"Tea? Yes, please. Sister."

[Firefoot]

Scyld watched a moment as Rowenna hurried off before turning his attention back to his pouch. He’d gotten the worst of the mud off; the rest could wait until later when he had something better to clean it than his wet cloak. He set the pouch aside, then took off his cloak and hung it up to dry nearby. He felt a bit foolish then standing there with naught to but guard the mud puddle, but it also gave him a few moments to collect himself before Rowenna came back from the kitchen.

She returned soon enough, laden down with a broom, bucket, and rags: a somewhat unwieldy combination, but she managed well. It occurred to him that he never seemed to see her at ease: she always seemed burdened down, or to have taken on some particularly difficult or unpleasant task. He’d not paid much attention to it once, but now having spent much time with his sisters and his brothers’ wives, it struck him as odd. His sisters, though hard working, were forever asking each other or the older children for help, not because they were unable to do without it but because (he supposed) they valued the companionship and sought to ease everyone’s burden by sharing the work around (though he was unconvinced of the efficiency of this way of thinking). Rowenna seemed to act far more independently, almost as if she felt she had something to prove.

He did not have long to think on it as she walked up and handed him the broom. He was a little surprised but did not mind, and he set to sweeping out the muck. He changed his mind about letting go of her ire and decided to try again. “So did you learn what you wished to know this morning?” he asked dryly.

[Galadriel55]

Balan winked at the lad. He thought the young man would refuse his offer, but it was worth a try.

"A road shared by two is only half as long. I have food enough for both of us, and a canvas sheet to cover us from the rain while it is heavy. You look tired; let us rest a while, and continue our journeys with double speed when the downpour stops. Quicker steps do not always lead to a quicker finish, you know."

Cerwyn hesitated. If this man had been sent after her, he would be seeking a young woman, not a lad, and his offer might be just as it seemed, if she could keep up her disguise. Nor was he wrong: her stomach rumbled at the mention of food. Her own fare on the road had been basic, and all she had left was some dried meat, which would be plenty sufficient if indeed she were to reach Scarburg today. Sufficient, but not satisfying. As she stood there deciding, the rain suddenly picked up, and, with that, physical discomfort won out over caution. "Your offer is much appreciated," she said. "Thank you."

Balan nodded. "Then let us find a place to sit," he said with a smile. He soon located a log that could serve as a bench, and draped the canvas sheet over a pole above it to make a tent. The alcove did not shield all the water, but at least it lessened the amount of rain over their heads to a few droplets. While taking out the food, Balan observed the young man. There was something odd about him. He seemed wary and slightly uncertain in his actions. But maybe that came from being small and soft-featured, not seen as a man yet.

"And where does your journey end?" Balan asked as he passed the bread over.

Cerwyn thought it seemed like a harmless enough question. "Scarburg," she answered. She wondered if it meant anything to him; it hardly meant anything to her - just a name, with a slim thread of hope attached to it. "And yourself? You seem well-used to traveling." He was certainly better equipped than herself, between the canvas shelter and the moderately fresh bread, both of which she was extremely grateful for at the moment.

Balan chuckled. "My journey ends ever yonder, across the distant fields, and down the flowing rivers, and beyond the farthest mountains. Aye, I suppose I am well-used to travelling," he added as an afterthought. "But Scarburg..." The name rang in his head with a dim echo. "It cannot be the new Mead Hall here in the Middle Emnet? The young one, built only a handful of years ago?"

He spoke oddly, Cerwyn thought, like a character in a song or tale. Fanciful, her father would say, though he seemed sane enough. She wondered what it would be like to have that sort of freedom, to go where she wanted when she wanted. Then she thought of the miserable rainy road, and her envy tapered.

"Yes, I think so," she said. "It is close, I believe. I hoped to reach it today. Do you know it?"

"I have passed by it once. It was like a sapling - a young place, still fragile and growing, but with firm roots." Something in the lad's voice was too hopeful, too eager. Too afraid. "Yet it seems to me that you hope to reach more than the Mead Hall today."

Balan stopped himself. If this boy - Balan thought of him more and more as such rather than a man - has indeed a deeper hope, that is his story to share. All men have their own stories; Balan respected stories, and he respected men. Stories should never be forced out of people; they will come in their own time. Watching the lad's face closely, Balan realized that he was right not to press more questions.

"But that is your own affair. I am sure it would make a thrilling tale, should you choose to tell it, and I would gladly listen to it, but it is yours alone to give or to keep. As for me, I must stop for the night in the nearest village to gather some food for the next days. I do not usually stay long so as to not be a burden on the village folk, but I could linger for a few days in a Mead Hall." It would be nice to stay awhile in one place, to know its folk and see its life, Balan thought.

Cerwyn eyed the man suspiciously from under the hood of her cloak. She had a hard time believing he was merely being respectful of her privacy, and that he was not backhandedly asking for information. She was not ready to give it to him yet. She must at least reach the Mead Hall. After that, either Leof would help her or she would have to return to Edoras anyway.

"It seems we are going the same direction then," she said. The conversation lapsed briefly, as they chewed their bread and listened to the rain pattering against the canvas. She swallowed, then said, "If you don't mind my asking, what is it you do at all these places you travel to?"

What a curious question. Some people would think he did nothing. Others would think he did everything.

"I watch, I listen, and I tell." Balan did not like to speak too much of himself. He preferred to let people wonder. But he did not ask this lad to join him to sit in secrecy and silence, so he continued. "Every thing has a tale. Some people believe that there is only one true tale - an account of this thing's life, a history. There are men who spend their years learning the lore of the past, following the thread of this tale into the depths of time, trying to unravel it where it knots and intertwines with other threads or disappears from sight completely, or else spinning the thread of their time, making it strong and clear, that ages hence it would still be visible. Theirs is a noble and laborious task. My task is lighter, for I am not bound to a single truth, but rather speak of many truths. I tell stories. I rarely speak of things that are, or that were; that is for men more learned than me. I speak of things that could be, and might be, and would have been. These are tales that cannot be true, and yet are no less true than any other. I believe that each thing can have many tales, all of them possible - though perhaps not here and not now. I can see the tales floating around the objects like the seeds of a lion's tooth flower. I capture the seeds, and let them grow and blossom, and then pick a spray and make a gift of it in hope that some of these flowers would give more seeds that would now grow and bloom in other gardens."

Balan spoke for longer than he intended to. Before he could catch himself, he was swept off his feet in the telling and carried off by a current of words. I cannot say even a simple thing without making it into a story. The thought, though warm on the whole, had a sour echo of a bad jest. Balan pushed it aside. Now it was the lad's turn. He decided to surprise him into speech, not so much to learn his business as to see his character.

"And you? Do you believe that a tale - a thing that to most has no substance, truth, or use - can be a gift?"

"I - I suppose so," answered Cerwyn, startled by the question at the end of the man's poetic philosophizing. She had tried to follow his speech, but, by some combination of lack of context and lack of interest, she had gotten lost in his metaphors.

She liked tales; all of her small village would show up when a wandering storyteller or minstrel came through town. She supposed he must be one of these, though why he had not just come out and say it, she did not know. She considered his question again. Many tales were untrue, of course - legends and fables that may once have had a basis in fact but had become exaggerated or confused over many years of telling. "But tales may have many uses - to teach, or enlighten, or entertain, or distract..." she trailed off. Maybe she had answered over-hastily. "The sort of tale you describe seems like a rather poor gift."

Balan smiled at the lad. "Yet a gift is neither poor nor rich. It is merely what it is. It is the people who give and who accept that make the gift useful or useless. A seashell may be worth more that a dragon hoard, and a feather way more than an iron sword. A word is at times the most useless gift of all, and at times the best gift one can give, but there is no difference in the word itself, only in what people make of it."

Cerwyn made a polite noise of acknowledgement. In truth, she was quite irritated: he'd asked her opinion, and, when she tried to give one, he'd twisted her words around and told her she was wrong. What was she doing here anyway? This was getting to be a waste of time. "I think the rain is letting up," she said, and indeed it was. The downpour had been as brief as it had been fierce, and was now settling into the sort of steady drizzle that could keep up for hours. They'd be sitting here all day if they waited for it to stop. "Thank you for the bread," she added as she reached for her pack.

Balan could sense interest cool in the lad's eyes, replaced with mild annoyance. Balan felt a tinge of disappointment, though he knew he should not have. People were busy with their own lives, he kept reminding himself; not all have time for words and wonders, and it is not always an ill thing.

He nodded in acknowledgement to the lad, who bent down for his sack, preferring not to speak. In that moment, the boy's features appeared even more childish, almost feminine, an illusion heightened by a stray lock of hair falling over his cheek. But in a moment, he brushed it aside, and the vision was gone.

Balan did not need long to bring down the simple tent. He joined the lad on the road as both resumed their trudge northward, towards the shelter of walls and roofs.

[Firefoot]

They were silent for a time as they walked along in the rain, and Cerwyn began to feel awkward with the lack of conversation. However, she wished neither to speak of herself nor to be drawn into another of the man's odd and frustrating conversations.

She also thought it awkward that she did not know his name but as she did not wish to volunteer her own, she did not ask.

Finally, she said, "Might you be willing to tell a story? It would make the road go faster, I think, and the rain seem less dreary."

[Folwren]

"Do you know when it will be?" Elfthain asked. "I should change my clothes and will it go on long - I mean should I try to exercise Saff first or will there be time later?"

Thornden shook his head. “You’ll have time to ride her before court, I’ve no doubt,” he said hesitantly, “but with the rain coming down like it is, and the state of the roads, I would not exercise her today. But you are free to do as you please,” he added. He addressed himself to Javan before departing. “When you have finished helping Elfthain here, lend a hand to Léof.”

After leaving the young men at work on grooming Saff, Thornden went to find Léof.

“I was wrong, Léof,” he said when he found him hard at work mixing the soap for the leather. “There is to be court today after all, so there is probably not enough time to clean all of the leather. However, if you still wish to at least begin, Javan will help. I will, too, as I have time. I must make preparations for this afternoon. You have until the noon meal.”

He left Léof for the time being and spoke to Saeryn about getting dinner set early. He saw to it that the men and women knew that court was to be held that afternoon and to see to their daily tasks early and quickly.

The people of the hall were not idle that morning. Each worked quickly to accomplish as much as possible before the dinner at noon. After their meal, the tables were pushed to the sides of the room and the benches and stools pulled and arranged in a sort of semicircle facing the head table, which remained in place. A free space was left clear before the table.

[Firefoot]

Cerwyn enjoyed the rest of the story well enough, but the spell was broken. When it was over, they trudged along in silence for a time. Cerwyn’s mind wandered as she considered in turn the tale, her irritation at herself for having revealed herself, her even greater irritation at Balan for discovering her secret, and a certain level of resentment at the way he’d spoken to her regarding her secret. He kept talking about her “secrets” as if he knew better than she did, but he’d hardly listened at all when she tried to explain herself. He didn’t know her at all – who was he to give her advice?

Well, she had been doing just fine before he came along. Hadn’t he said, too, that he never stayed in one place long? Likely she would never see him again after a few days. The thought made her feel slightly more agreeable.

She walked with her head bent against the ongoing drizzle, but at some point she looked up and saw a rocky ridge rising before them. It might be pretty, she thought, in more pleasant weather. Now, though, a few ugly, half-melted drifts of snow were still clinging to the earth, and the low-lying fields around them were beginning to resemble small ponds. Rain ought to make the land feel clean, but instead it had created a dreary, muddy mess.

The road was following the base of a few small hills, and as they came around a bend, several buildings suddenly came into sight – much larger than the many small farmers’ crofts they’d passed. A curl of smoke was rising from the chimney. Cerwyn’s breath caught in her throat. “Is that it?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Balan. “It has changed a bit, but it is much as I remember.”

With their goal in sight, their pace quickened. When they drew near, Cerwyn said, “If I know my brother at all, he will be in the stables. I would look for him there first, but I will see you inside, I suppose.”

[littlemanpoet]

The rain pounding on the roof of the Hall made a dull roar. Eodwine sat at the head table and thought how humble this Hall was compared to other Mead Halls he had been in. Meduseld was the king of Mead Halls, and well it should be. It had length of days in its very feel. It was as if you could feel the presence of old dead kings and their eorlings right there in the hall with you. Here, it was just a big room with tables and chairs and all the earmarks of daily bustle. Eodwine smiled. He liked this. It was right for him.

That he was Eorl of this place seemed too grand a title, but he had learned to accept it. The folk gathered and sat in chairs. The tradition was that those with business at court lined up opposite the Eorl, and waited patiently until it was their turn.

Eodwine had done that his first few times, but it seemed unnecessary to him for folk to have to stand and wait. He had had small rocks that could fit in one's palm, gathered from the Scar, and had numbers chiseled in them. Thus, each of the wights who had business at court was given a place in line and could sit or stand where they wished. It was more comfortable.

Almost all had gathered. Just a little more time and they would begin.

[Galadriel55]

Lady Brithiel appeared somewhat bemused while Ledwyn spoke. Her response confirmed Ledwyn's doubts.

"No, no. Everything is good. Thank you, Ledwyn."

The lady's face said that everything was definitely not good. Was she too polite to accept Ledwyn's offer? Did she understand what Ledwyn said? Ledwyn knew that the newcomer knew some of the Eorling speech; more than she knew Westron. She ought to make her understand something.

"My lady, I fear I have not made you feel welcome here as I should have. There must be something I can do to amend that."

Ledwyn prayed that the lady would understand.

[littlemanpoet]

Well, this had turned out to be easier than she expected. Here came the rogue now, from the Scar, walking slowly in the rain as if he reveled in it. He glanced her way and made it to the door to the Hall just before her. He gave her that typically sardonic look, which at this moment she found most annoying.

“May I hold the door for you, or would you prefer to have another reason to glower at me?”

A verbal attack. Why did it have to hit so close to home? She was unable to remove the frown from her face, and knew that she did not have the self-control she needed, so she must say only what was needful.

"You may," she nodded. "Better than standing here in the pouring rain debating the matter." Now, why had that come blurting out of her?