Eorling Mead Hall

[Laiudanama]

Trystan thought fast, skimming through the options, but he was already so tired that it was almost like thinking through mud. The boy who stood in front of him looked at least a good few years younger than him, and was even slighter in build than him. His eyes flickered to the knife on the ground, which was almost within reach of his long legs, if he stretched to it – but then again, even if he couldn’t, he could overpower this boy, surely…

“Oh no you don’t!” The boy had seen Trystan’s eyes move towards the weapon and he kicked it quickly out of reach. Trys’ eyes narrowed, and he was about to rise, before pausing, frozen mid-motion and Leofric looked nervously to the side, nodding to another who was just out of Trystan’s line of vision, sprawled rather awkwardly on the floor as he was. Just my ruddy luck – not just one, but two of them… His heart sank, too, when he saw this next new stranger, and the thought of fighting flashed only briefly into his mind before disintegrating. Two stable-hands, nervous and probably less experienced in fighting than Trystan, he could have dealt with: but this young man was rather more sturdily built, broad across the shoulders and with obvious strength – besides which he was probably an inch or two taller than Trystan. He hesitated, trying to think of some plan of action, but before he could say anything, the younger lad spoke again.

“Here, you’re Gondorian, aren’t you?”

Panic seized Trystan. He tried to tell himself it was his accent, or his distinctive colouring, dark hair and grey eyes, but his mind was running away with itself. They’d heard about it, they must have done! He could imagine the line on the wanted poster: Gondorian criminal wanted for murder and robbery, young man likely on the run or in hiding… He tried to speak, but his tongue seemed to have dried up completely. The other man frowned, his arms folded across his chest, and seemed about to speak, but Trystan pulled himself together, determined to get the next word before they said anything else. “Why do you say that, friend?” he replied, trying to keep his tone light. Bother. Too jovial. He tried again. “I am indeed from Gondor – bit of travel never hurt anyone, right?”

“Not if they’re travelling purely for the sake of travel, no…” The older man spoke for the first time, slowly and deliberately, watching Trystan carefully with a look that made the boy feel like he was under examination – a feeling he usually associated with soldiers and guards. Now that really would be just his luck, seeing how the last few months had gone – to get miles from Dol Amroth and run straight into a soldier!

“And why else would I be travelling?” he replied, his voice carefully neutral. It wasn’t quite a challenge, but was coming close. He tried to relax slightly, but his sinking feeling was increasing as the man spoke, and what is more, he was looking more familiar by the second. “Your accent… You are from Dol Amroth?”

“Aye. And I take it from yours that it is from the same that you yourself hail from?”

Should have spoken less, Trys… He forced a smile. There was no point in denying it at this point. “I am – and a pleasant surprise it is indeed to run into a kinsman this far from home.” He was rewarded with a wary smile from the man, although his expression remained guarded, and although the younger lad had been watching the exchange with his head jerking from one to the other, as if watching a sport, he still looked utterly unconvinced. Shaking himself out of silence, he gestured towards the beautiful horse behind him, scowling down at Trystan. “Well, that may be all well and good, but may I ask what you’re doing in lying in a horse stall, miles from Dol Amroth, with your eye on one of the most beautiful horses this side Edoras? Like I say, you’d best be explaining yourself!”

Trystan was getting into his stride now, and instead of showing the panic inside, he allowed a smile to slip onto his face and looked away, nodding slightly. Looking back up at the boy, he grinned ruefully and put his hands up as if caught red handed. “Fair enough, sir, a good point – I can see how that might look. But I promise you: I have only just arrived, and was making my way around to the front of the Inn when I was distracted by this beautiful creature. I have a fondness for horses – although not, of course, in that way!” he added, grinning amiably. Just a little white lie: as one who had grown up all his life in a city, he didn’t know the slightest thing about horses, but it was about the closest he could get to the truth as possible, and at this stage, the truth was just about acceptable. But the charm worked, or at least melted the boy’s defences slightly, so Trystan decided to seal the blow by putting himself right out there, showing (oh, the irony) that he had nothing to hide. Wiping a hand quickly on his trousers, he held it out to both the boy and the older man, open to either. “My name is Trystan, sir, traveller and general no-good, I believe would fit the bill?”

His tone was relaxed, the last comment even slightly tongue in cheek, though his heart was beating furiously as the boy hesitated. After a second of silence, though, it was the boy who answered, smiling and grasping Trystan’s hand and pulling him to his feet, where he did indeed stand an inch or two taller than the boy. “And I’m Léofric, and this here is Farahil; I work as ostler here at Eorling Mead Hall – and anyone who likes horses is fine with me, I suppose. But…I don’t suppose this knife is yours, is it?” So the suspicion remained. Trystan didn’t even hesitate, allowing a puzzled expression to address his features as he tipped his head slightly to one side. “Why….why would I have a knife out in a stable?”

Léofric nodded slowly, digesting the reply and seeming to accept it. “Just thought I’d check, y’know. Although I can’t think why it is in here; must have been dropped by someone or other… Never mind, anyway, you looked like you could do with a good drink – you haven’t been travelling all night have you?” Léofric’s tone was now far friendlier, chatting to Trystan, but the thief doubted he was entirely taken in. And as he followed him out of the stables, he noted that the other man, Farahil, did not immediately follow. Instead, he could feel narrowed eyes watching him leave, as if he was familiar but couldn’t quite be placed, before Farahil too followed them.

[Firefoot]

“Wait a second,” said Léof as they exited the stable; he had forgotten the knife on the ground. He would not have that laying around for someone to step on – human or horse. He set it up on a shelf containing a few other odds and ends that hadn’t been properly put away, making sure it was easy to access. Whoever it was that had dropped it would surely come back for it – and Léof wasn’t so sure that it wasn’t this Trystan – he had been looking at it mighty keenly before Léof kicked it away. Léof had no proof that he was not who he said he was, and so did not want to judge him by his appearance. Indeed, had he not been hiding in the stall, Léof probably would not have been very suspicious at all – but if his motives truly were honest, he should not have minded being found there in the stables.

“So what brings you here?” asked Léof. “It’s a fair way from Gondor, especially on foot.”

“Just traveling,” Trystan replied easily, but Léof thought he saw a hint of something – worry, perhaps? – in his eyes.

“Just traveling,” Léof repeated curiously. “You travel much?”

“Some.”

Léof nodded, still not wholly convinced. Trystan obviously was not telling him some things… but who was he to blame people for carrying secrets? Léof’s place was not to judge people on what they had done; Trystan ought to at least be given a chance. “Well, you can go ahead and sit down; some breakfast should be brought out soon. I’ll let the Lord Eodwine know you’re here, and then I’d best get back to the stables.”

“Thank you,” said Trystan, and Léof just nodded in acknowledgment. He walked over to where Eodwine appeared to be watching something in the courtyard. “Sir?” Eodwine turned. “A traveler just arrived – said his name was Trystan from Dol Amroth. Or, he didn’t say he was from there, but Farahil recognized the accent. Anyhow, I probably wouldn’t have said anything, except that I found him, well, hiding in an empty stall… he didn’t seem too happy to find me and Farahil in the stables with him. I can’t prove anything by it… but I thought you ought to know.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Farahil followed only as far as the doorway and watched from there. The lad, for lad he was to Farahil, was ill at ease, though he seemed practiced enough at pretending otherwise. Farahil thought back to a lazy night on the dock, sipping ice cold cider as an old friend drank mead and enjoyed a smoke. A gaggle of youths had found their way near as the two men watched the stars begin to show in the faded night-blue sky. They laughed riotously, possibly drunk, and Farahil had looked at them in vague disdain. His companion had thought to inform them of their rude loudness, but Farahil had motioned for him to remain silent. Why waste a perfectly good moment of peace by chasing children along the water?

He couldn't be sure, but this lad's lanky frame seemed to match one from that night. He'd certainly seen him... somewhere... Farahil could not remember where and was loathe to assign the boy, Trystan, he reminded himself, an identity not his. He may have been one of the young men on the wharf that night... but just as easily he may not have. Farahil pondered the smallness of Middle Earth that he could travel anywhere and spot a familiar face.

He went back to his horse, rubbing her soft nose pensively. Why did the boy seem familiar? Perhaps it was merely the interest of finding one from Dol Amroth so far from home.

--------------------------------

Degas saw Cnebba watching him with what appeared to be wistfullness and beckoned him close. He leaned in, gesturing as if for secrecy, and the children leaned in with him, fascinated.

"My lord, my lady," he bowed at the waist over his crossed legs and they giggled. "I would have you do me a great favor..." Anything, they assured him, in all seriousness. "My mind is tired... I can think of no more rhymes. Would you spend a moment, perhaps two, and find me rhymes to sing about?"

Excusing himself from their activity, he brushed the dirt from his clothes and looked at Linduial. He smiled and nodded to Cnebba's parents, and waved casually to Leof, and he looked at Linduial once more. He walked to her, nervous; she might say anything.

"My lady." he spoke the greeting softly. "How did you sleep?"

[Celuien]

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Garstan looked out of the window to the front Inn yard. It was still abandoned, quiet, and peaceful in the early morning. He thought he heard faint singing. Though Garmund was yet in their room, Lèoðern had vanished. Fond of melodies as she was, Garstan thought she had most likely gone off in search of the singer. She would most likely return to him with the words to the song on her lips and an excited gleam on her face. Lèoðern had a quick ear. She learned tunes and the words that went with them easily. As had her mother, long ago.

Garstan distracted himself from the melancholy thoughts that threatened to intrude on him by tousling Garmund's hair and taking a few swift steps to the washbasin. He splashed water over his face. Linduial was leaving today. He did not know what to say to her, or what had already been said to her by her brother. He would find out soon enough.

"Well, my boy. Shall we go find your sister? And decide what chores need doing before you go off with Cnebba today?"

At the mention of Cnebba, Garmund's face grew nearly as animated as his sister's usually appeared. Garstan laughed. "I see where your mind is today. Very well. We'll finish the measuring and I'll show you some stone cutting, then you can go."

"Yes. Hurray!" Garmund, it seemed, was already counting the moments to the end of the day's work.

They left the room and made their way to the alder court, arriving just as Degas finished his second song and Stigend made his introductions. Garstan hung back at the kitchen wall to watch Linduial, hoping she would speak to him first, as Garmund hurried forward to tell Lèoðern and Cnebba about his chores.

[JennyHallu]

The courtyard was getting crowded and chaotic, but Lin barely noticed in her frustration with Degas. How did I sleep? Surely he can guess...

"My lord," she said demurely, though her hands, tightly clasped before her, betrayed her impatience and emotion. "I fear my sleep was haunted by a question. I do not think I shall rest easily until I know the answer, and I have not long to learn it."

And she didn't. Farahil had finished with the packs, and had disappeared into the stables, presumably to get the horses. And there were doubtless many who would wish to bid her farewell today. She looked up into his eyes, mind and soul hanging on the answer to her question of the night before.

[Laiudanama]

Trystan thanked Léofric, but he felt anything but thankful, sitting at the table the boy had led him to, torn as to do what to do, and feeling utterly trapped. He was inside the Inn now, true - but the morning was rather later than he had hoped to arrive at such a place, and was downright bustling with people moving too and fro about their daily business. By the commotion by the stables as they had left, and the general purposefulness of movement - aye, and indeed also by a fair amount of careful eavesdropping - Trystan gleaned that this Farahil character was leaving today. Well, at least that was some luck. Something about the man made Trystan uneasy: he would doubtless make an excellent ally, but he somehow doubted this was a man likely to be easily won over, and he was sure about one thing, that he would be a formidable enemy.

No. He didn't want to make enemies. He had just wanted to do what he always did: get in, grab a quick something to eat and maybe something to sell, and then lay low until it was dark so he could begin travelling again. But it had all been scuppered by that Léofric! He looked around quickly to find where the other had got to - and saw him talking to an authoritative looking figure, an elegantly dressed man standing with his arms folded in the doorway. The Lord Eodwine, would this be? He decidedly disliked the title assigned to this man: ‘Lord’s generally didn’t bode well for people like Trystan, and he could just imagine Léofric describing to his…his master?...the circumstances under which he had met Trystan. Well, my Lord, not to make him sound suspicious, but he was all crouched in one of the stables, a knife by his feet and a keen eye on this rather fine horse… Eodwine glanced around and Trystan looked quickly away, staring at his hands, his long fingers entwined around each other, although the main part of his right was covered with a dirty bandage.

‘Lords don’t like people like you’: and what exactly are ‘people like you’ Trystan? Thieves? Petty criminals? Or potential murderers?

Trystan felt the panic and fear rise in his throat once again, his mind snapping back to that gloomy house in Dol Amroth. It was an accident! It was never meant to turn out that way, he could swear it! Wrong place, wrong time, wrong bloody people to get involved with – way to go, Trys, this time you really messed up…

As a girl passed, he rose quickly, catching her by the arm, then quickly withdrawing his hand, not wanting her to get the wrong idea and call over this Lord figure. She was a pretty thing, possibly some kind of waitress or server, and of about his age, even in his panicked state Trystan couldn’t help but remark upon it in his mind, but there were other, more pressing matters to be thought of right now. “Ex…excuse me, ma’am,” he began, humbly – a little humbleness and charm never did any harm, especially with a pretty girl. “I…well, I was just wondering whether I could perhaps speak to the owner of this establishment, or…” he tailed off, his hand nervously straying to push hair away from a handsome, if probably rather dirty face, and hoped he didn’t look too foul. Glancing around, just to make sure no one else was within earshot, he decided to cut straight to the chase; leaning forward almost conspiratorially, he continued. “You see, I…well, I don’t actually have any payment with me, and, not liking to presume upon the kindness of your generous persons, I was wondering if there was some job or other that I could do or get, maybe just on a temporary basis, in exchange for a few nights of rest here?”

The girl hesitated, and Trystan saw he glance towards Eodwine. Drat: he had been hoping she would just give in and assign to him some easy gardening job or handy job, but apparently there would be no such luck. She came to a decision and looked back at Trys. “You’d best talk to Lord Eodwine, or Lady Saeryn, the Hostess, about that sort of thing. Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite,” she added with a slight smile; apparently some of Trystan’s worry had shown on his face. He had to be more careful about that – it was just tiredness, but he couldn’t let his mask slip, because the consequences of being found out really didn’t bear thinking about. Maybe later. First up, he’d indeed have a word with this Lord Eodwine – and no matter what he had said in his opening statement, the one thing he really didn’t want to do was blatantly draw the attention of any sort of nobility to himself. Unless, of course…

“Lady Saeryn, you say?” he replied thoughtfully, still watching Eodwine in the doorway carefully. “I shouldn’t like to disturb Lord Eodwine – may I ask where I may find this Hostess…?”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"You may find her behind you, and a bit to the left." Saeryn was sleepy, but she had a knack for overhearing things that pertained to her, and she doubted that the young man would notice. As it was he appeared uncomfortable addressing Eodwine; nothing new, she thought, hoping that her light voice might put him at ease. Many are uncomfortable with lords. Not all lords, she added bitterly, are as kind and approachable as Eodwine is.

She glanced over the young man, taking him in quickly... he was young, though perhaps older than her... she couldn't be sure. As it was, they seemed to be about the same age, and he was certainly underfed. She would see to that before he left. He was filthy... travelling, that was apparent, and seemingly not under the best of circumstances. She would see to that as well. She'd need to think of a diplomatic way of suggesting a hot bath.

"How may I help you this morning? Come, I've yet to eat and I am terribly hungry; we shall have breakfast together while we speak."

Leading him toward the kitchen, she waited for him to respond, wondering how and what he would say.

[Kath]

Kara had been headed outside to find out what Degas' singing had been about, but had been waylaid as she crossed the Hall by a stranger, and a rather shabby looking one at that. He'd been asking after jobs, and though Kara could think of a good few that needed doing, she knew it wasn't up to her to say who could and couldn't stay in the Hall. Still, she could see that the fellow seemed frightened to talk to Eodwine, and suggested instead that he talk to Saeryn, who was now an equal to Eowine, yet young enough not to scare him.

Just as she was thinking this the lady in question appeared behind her, offering the newcomer some food and company. Noting that they were planning on conducting their meal in the kitchen Kara hurried back to warn Frodides, who wasn't always keen on being interrupted when in the middle of something. She appeared through the back doorway just a few seconds before the two visitors voices could be heard in the hallway, giving her time to ready Frodides and throw some extra goods on the breakfast tray, which was looking a little empty since half the Hall had already been by that morning, and the children always took as much as they could fit in their hands and mouths.

Listening to Frodides' half-hearted and quite facetious grumbling about not being able to get any work done if her kitchen was invaded like this all the time, Kara returned to arduous task that she had been trying to avoid earlier, of cleaning the burnt pans that had so far resisted any attempts to shift the grime on them.

Just as she'd managed to pick the first one up Saeryn and the stranger entered. Kara nodded to them and indicated that they should help themselves from the tray, holding up the pan as an excuse for not having some ready for them. Saeryn smiled in understanding, and directed the boy toward the food.

Hooking her feet around the stool she was on, Kara continued to scrub quietly, hoping that she would remain unobtrusive enough that the two conversed in the room while eating. She wanted to know more about this boy.