Eorling Mead Hall

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine awoke when the morning's bright light shone through his window. He stirred, and stretched his arms and groaned deeply. He could hear footsteps outside in the hallway; people were already awake. He rolled out of bed and stood slowly. He shook the tiredness out of his limbs, and slowly got dressed, yawning a few times, stretching his arms again, and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The sunlight through the window seemed less harsh now, and his limbs were less heavy. He was soon ready for the day and left his room to see what all the noises in the hall were about.

Gárwine left his room and walked down the hall. Near its end he could see an open door, and Thornden in the doorway, looking inside with a solemn look on his face. Gárwine approached.

"Thornden, what's going on? I woke up when I heard the footsteps in the hall, and I thought something might've happened."

"Look," said Thornded. He pointed into the room. Resting on the bed was a boy, younger than Gárwine, and obviously wounded. Across his face were the drying remains of blood. He seemed half-asleep and bewildered by the way his eyes would flicker open and shut. "I found him out in the city."

"Good grief," said Gárwine, "He sure took a knock to the head." But Thornden wasn't listening and was back to watching the boy. Gárwine shrugged, and decided he was hungry. Though Gárwine was curious, whatever had happened to the wounded boy could wait until after a good breakfast. By then they should have him up and talking. I bet they'll bring a Healer from Meduseld, then he'll be awake in no time.

Gárwine wandered into the kitchen, where the rubble of the collapse had been cleared away and shoved aside to make adequate room for the necessities of a working kitchen. The kitchen was empty; either everybody was still asleep this early in the morning or watching the wounded boy. Larswic and his boys were in the hall, though, probably up to no good. Gárwine distinctly remembered hearing the two boys laughing outside in the dead of night.

A tray of rolls was on the table, still a bit warm from the oven. Gárwine grabbed one and started munching on it as he searched for other food. He found a loaf of dark bread and a wheel of bright yellow cheese nearby. He cut a piece of each with one of the long knives Kara always used and arranged his food neatly in a napkin. Garwine would carry it back to his room to eat and not into the hall. He did not like the looks of the two boys. Larswic seemed kind enough, but his boys had gained a place of suspicion in Gárwine's mind. What were they laughing so loudly about in the wee hours of the morning? Even Manawyth now was tolerable and had proved his good will through the test of time.

[Firefoot]

“They treat their horses well, whatever else may be said of them,” answered Léof slowly, “or at least Larswic sees to it that the boys do. Whether that is simply because they intend to sell them, I do not know. But…” The truth was, Léof’s initial misgivings had not been eased, but rather settled into uncertain feelings of unease. He still had little to back up these feelings, and for this reason hesitated. He may be suffering from nothing more than paranoia.

“You may speak your mind freely here,” said Eodwine.

“I have had little contact with Larswic himself,” began Léof, “although I have noticed that he is rather close-fisted with his coin. A small tip is not uncommon, and he certainly has many horses, but I have received neither tip nor thanks. Not that I’m complaining,” he hastily added. “It was just an observation. In fact, the way he lets his boys have such free rein in the stables, having them guard their horses and the like, I wonder if he notices that I am here at all. As for the boys, I am not comfortable with them. They seemed to come in here with an attitude of sizing the place and me up. Since then, I have not seen much else from them except confidence, quite like they belonged here, so whether I was imagining it, or if they have since decided that I am not a threat, I do not know.” A doleful glance was sent towards his foot. He certainly would not be much of a threat to them, not physically. “Responsibility does not seem to be one of their virtues, either,” he added, thinking again of the previous night. “Larswic seems to keep a pretty tight hold on them and they listen, but when he doesn’t…” He shrugged. Irresponsible or simply idiotic, Léof didn’t suppose it made a notable difference.

Eodwine appeared thoughtful. “Léof, I would like you to keep an eye on those three. They do not seem to have noticed you much, which is good. I would be grateful if you would report to me if you see or hear anything that seems suspicious or makes you uncomfortable.”

Léof was rather surprised, and his mind worked quickly. He guessed that he was not the only one uneasy with these newcomers, and this heightened his confidence in his own observations. He nodded. “Aye, sir, I can do that. Is there anything else?”

“Not for now. If a healer is needed, I or someone else will let you know.”

Recognizing the dismissal, Léof said, “I will be in the stables.” He made his way back out there to begin feeding, wondering what the day would bring.

[JennyHallu]

Lin rose late on the morning of the Fair, morning sunlight streaming through the windows of her room. Cheerfully she thought through all she hoped to do that day, as she stretched luxuriously in the soft linens of the bed. Her tapestries had been hung the day before, by Léof, walking carefully on his injured foot, with young Garmund hanging in his shadow.

The sunlight promised a beautiful spring day, and she rose and dressed in light linens, singing a lullaby in Adunaic in a light, high voice. She slipped out of her corner room and danced cheerfully down the hallway and down the stairs. There was a small crowd gathered by a room on the first floor, one that Lin didn't think had been occupied (even by the hosts of nameless merchants that had been filling all the corners the past few days), but she slipped past and outdoors, heading for the kitchen-tent. A picnic, that's what she needed. She'd go outside the walls to where the Fair was set up and explore the booths and events she'd seen merchants setting up over the past few days, and bring a picnic basket from the Hall.

Garwine was already in the kitchen, and she could hear the sounds of Garstan working on the hearth chimney outside, which was taking beautiful shape despite her initial doubts. She said a cheerful good morning to Garwine, who returned it with a friendly wave, his mouth full of hot bread. A small basket was quickly procured from a cabinet, and Garwine cut her a wedge of the cheese when he got some for himself. She found the ham from the night before and cut off a few slices, and added a few of the fresh rolls on the table. All this she wrapped in a napkin and packed into her basket before leaving the kitchen in the direction of the sounds of Garstan's work, with a wave at Garwine, who was leaving the other way.

"Garstan?" she said loudly, over the high ringing of his chisel. "Garstan!" The man finally heard her, and set down his tools, turning a face covered in rock dust to her.

"Yes, Lady?" he answered, with a respectful nod.

Lin smiled at him, the basket hanging by her side. "Master Garstan, today is the first day of the horse fair, as I'm sure you know." He nodded, and Lin continued. "It looks to be beautiful out, and I thought I would attend the festivities. I wondered if I might have the loan of your daughter for the day. I am sure she'd enjoy getting out of the hall, and I would be glad of her cheerful company."

The influx of so many from the countryside was keeping the Hall's staff busy, and Lin had noticed the little girl seemed to feel mostly underfoot, as her father was working and her brother helping Léof in the stable. Lin herself had had the same feeling. Her friend Saeryn had been kept hopping, Kara had barely left the kitchen, and Aedhel had been helping Kara, when she wasn't in Meduseld working on her new lessons. Most of the men were also busy at their own duties, Marenil at a host of self-appointed tasks...Lin couldn't keep up with all he'd been doing. Only Manawyth and Degas had had any time to spare, really, and the language barrier made long discussions with Manawyth difficult, as they were both translating everything mentally. Degas...was Degas, and Lin was still cautiously trying out her 'ignore him' advice, doing her best to look exceedingly busy whenever he came near.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas rose later than he had meant. The revelry of Larswic's sons had kept him awake for longer than he was content with. He'd slipped out of doors in the wee hours to see what troubles they were causing themselves and, content that they were no harm to anything but perhaps their next day memory, he had let them be. Eodwine would care for their irresponsibility if it was required. Degas had simply intended to make certain that they were harmless in the short term. Still, if they chose to make such actions a tradition, he would have a word. Saeryn had spoken to him of equally interrupted sleep and Degas suspected that Lin's may have been restless as well. The lord's hall hosted children that needed their rest and the sick that needed nightly quiet, among many others.

He thought of this as he washed, finding clean clothing folded neatly and smelling of light spring breeze and something else he was uncertain of; when he did his own washing, if he could do it before she found it, it was clean, yet it did not have that light scent of something extra. Degas had no idea how Saeryn managed it, but she was simply good like that. No matter how often he tried to shut her from his room, she continued to silently slip in and take care of him. He smiled. His twin liked to pick up after him and see to it that he was content, and she would never accept his gratitude. A pert laugh and a tart comment would be all he would get for it, he knew. He would ask Lin, he thought, how best to thank his beloved sister.

He thought of Saeryn. She was tired. He could see it in her eyes, though he doubted any of the others noticed it. No, Eodwine, he corrected himself. Eodwine has seen it as well. Since the fall of the wall and the influx of so many guests, she had worked herself harder than Degas thought necessary. He could find her at times that she ought to be resting, on her knees, scrubbing the floor of an unused room. Perhaps he would have a word with Eodwine, though Saeryn would scold him to near death if she were to find out about it. He shook his head and pulled his damp coppery locks into a horsetail.

Securing a coin purse and a dagger to his belt, he checked himself over to see if he'd forgotten anything. Coal black boots clean and on; dark brown breeches tucked neatly into them; shirt buttoned and tucked in; belt cinched. He caught himself worrying over his appearance and pushed it out of his head. There were plenty of ladies, he told himself, that he could have if he wanted them. There was no reason to worry what this one thought of him. He shook his head and called himself hopeless and grinned for a second in knowledge of his own lack of seriousness of his past thought. Tell himself what he may, he knew that he took care in his appearance over the past few days for one lass in particular.

She had done everything to him but acknowledge his continued existence, except in circumstances wherein it would be impolite to remain silent. When Degas spoke to her, and he sought opportunites to do so, she seemed preoccupied. Degas had approached Saeryn to learn if the lass had a pair of warm arms waiting at home to pull her close upon reunion and Saeryn had laughed at him and left him in more confusion than he had already felt.

Pulling a pair of sweets from where, upon his neatly folded bed, he had left them, he opened his door and made his way toward the early noise of tired voices murmering communication. A lad was injured; Eodwine assured Degas that he was in the best of care and not to worry.

Degas followed the sound of a lovely light voice and found she for whom he searched. He smiled at her and she blushed. Kneeling to her level, Degas spoke to Lèoðern, and her father at the same moment.

"Have you yet had breakfast, m'lady Lèoðern?" Garstan nodded behind the little girl as she nodded wide-eyed. Degas proffered a piece of chocolate to her, balanced upon one knee. Her eyes widened, if possible, further. "Then please take this."

As her small white hand took the candy from his large, callused one, Degas bade Garstan good morning, asking of his health and his thoughts of the weather.

Carefully ignoring Linduial, Degas complimented Garstan for a job well done, admiring the tight fit of the stonework before him. Finally, carefully, Degas turned to Linduial, hiding the second piece of chocolate in his hand.

"Good day, my lady." he murmered, brushing her own hand with his lips. As he released it, he tucked the chocolate within it. "I heard mention that you planned to attend the festivities today. I've come to beg of you a favor..."

[JennyHallu]

Linduial mentally cursed her revealing blush. You've been working too hard at this to let him get to you that easily! she scolded herself, taking the moment he leaned over her hand to school her features into their proper disinterest. When she found herself the possessor of a rather sticky candy, she almost laughed in delight, but caught herself handily. Trying a little hard, wasn't he? Saeryn was right. Except...he surely doesn't think my heart is as easily won as Léoðern's, to be swayed by sweets and manners. But...he is such a dear. Lèoðern is completely charmed, and I as well. Mustn't show it!

She tucked the chocolate away into a handkerchief she pulled from her basket, smiling at Lèoðern's sticky happy face. "Thank you, Degas," she said smoothly, in the calm, friendly tone she used with strangers. "You remind me of my brothers; they always used to give me such things when I was a child."

Oh, Lin, that was mean, she told herself, laughing inwardly at the look on Degas' face. You'll have to try harder, my dear. I love watching you try... "I hope you don't mind if I save it. I don't like to eat such sweet things before a proper breakfast. And what favor might I do you? Please speak quickly, Lèoðern and I have much to do, if her father agrees she might accompany me today."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

He hoped he looked far less foolish than he felt. As he picked up pieces of his broken ego, he tried to think of words and was at a loss. No, he thought... I look exactly as foolish as I feel. His bright eyes beseeching and without the devilish gleam so often present, he spoke quietly, still balanced upon his knee. He had not yet stood when the lady had so calmly swept him from his mooring. All the better, he groaned inwardly, or I may have fallen and then what would she think of me? He was glad Saeryn hadn't witnessed this. He shuddered to think of the teasing he would receive if she'd been here.

"I wish to thank my sister for a deed she would prefer remain thankless. I've no idea how. I'd come to beg of you advice and in return, offer my service as your escort today as you explore what delights the fair has for you."

He tried fruitlessly to think of more words to say... something to impress the lady, or to sweep her off of her feet. He would have settled for a cool insult, even, yet nothing came forth. His full concentration was spent on the proper pronunciation of what had formerly been his rather large vocabulary.

[JennyHallu]

Lin saw that she had hurt the young man, and his quiet, deflated, honesty tore at her heartstrings. How to handle this? she wondered. Same way father told you to handle an Ambassador you wish to come to an agreement with, she realized with a mental *click* as several half-developed thoughts and lessons fell into place. Show him that he is honored, and that his desires may come to fulfilment more easily than he might think.

She turned to Degas a heartfelt, friendly, and loving smile, handing her basket to him cheerfully. "You would be most welcome, Lord," she said softly and feelingly. She paused, then continued in a more casual tone. "And I am sure that Garstan also shall feel better, knowing his daughter defended by so doughty a warrior. And as for your other request...haven't you seen the host of vendors flooding Lord Eodwine's crumbled hall these last few days? All sorts of treasures will be laid out today! If you would do something sweet for Saeryn, I will help you to choose some pretty gift, fit for a lady of her worth."

[Celuien]

Garstan watched the interaction between Linduial and Degas with the faintest hint of amusement twinkling in his eyes. The lady's initial coldness was so obviously feigned, particularly considered in contrast to her quick transformation to smiles. Should there have been any doubt, the young gentleman's crestfallen appearance following her rejection was sign enough. The rules of flirting, it seemed, were the same everywhere.

The horse fair. Should he allow Lèoðern to go with them? Her shining face told him that she wanted to go. The precious sweet offered had won Degas the child's affections. Linduial had been her friend from day one: not a day had passed when they didn't wander the yard together, telling stories and playing games. Garstan was truly honored and thankful for her attention to his daughter. And he liked both Linduial and Degas. But would it be unwise to put Lèoðern under the charge of a pair with so many distractions to be found in each other? He thought there should be no difficulties: both of them appeared trustworthy, and had certainly been kind and attentive to Lèoðern. Still, how much attention could he expect for her while Linduial and Degas were off on some mutually evasive conversation?

He studied the edge of his chisel, wiping bits of stone-dust from its surface, while catching glimpses of Lèoðern's red curls below the metal. She was looking up at Linduial, chattering about horses and chocolates. She wanted to go. She should go.

Garstan spoke. "Indeed, Lady. It would be my pleasure to send Lèoðern to the fair with you. I am sure that it would make a pleasant day for the child. My thanks to you again for your attention to her." He smiled at Degas. "And to you, sir."

He hoped that he had made the right decision.