Eorling Mead Hall

[Folwren]

A new day and a new start, Thornden thought. Good luck, anyway. He held a letter limply in his hand as he stood at the window, half dressed for the day. His face had an odd expression on it and had anyone been there to see it, they would probably have asked him what the trouble was.

He watched a bird distractedly as it flew about at almost eye level with him, chasing a bug. It darted about, turning at sharp, startling angles, and suddenly it made a snatch with its beak and flew off.

Thornden blinked and sighed and looked down at the paper in his hand.

My Dear Thornden, it read, You quite astonish me, brother. I’ve not seen or heard anything of your for months on end, even though two months ago I’m sure you got my letter I wrote about your nephew. I’m quite astonished, though I don’t see why I should be.

I did receive your short letter telling me about your employment at the new Eorl’s Hall there in Edoras, however, and you may be happy, though surprised, to hear that I didn’t write only to tell you how shocked and disapointed I am in you, but also to tell you that I am coming to do it in person. Expect me on the 22nd, hopefully a few hours before noon.

I will be coming with someone accompanying me, but I may need an escort on my return journey. You will be good enough to arrange something?

Yours, etc. . .

The letter had arrived two days ago and Thornden had nearly leaped out of his chair. Medreth – here? It wasn’t so much that Medreth would be a bad person to introduce. . .just not one who he hadn’t visited in months when he should have weeks and weeks ago. . .how was he going to receive her and what was she going to say?

Thanks goodness the Lady Linduial has left! he thought as he picked up his shirt. Still. . .Medreth might go so far as to ask about Saeryn or Kara. He winced visibly and scowled as he picked up a comb. Women and their infernal opinion that everyone should be married instantly upon their twentieth year! All the same, he must face it like a man, he decided, and looked at the bright side of things. He would see his nephew and maybe his youngest brother. That would be enjoyable. And it had been a long time since he’d seen Medreth. Perhaps she wouldn’t ask him too many questions and maybe, just maybe, she would accept his excuse of being far too busy to slip away earlier and visit her. . .

He tugged on his last boot with a decided jerk and went out.

[Celuien]

Dawn had hardly broken before Garmund, Lèoðern, and Cnebba ran out of the Inn to play. Since their meeting, the children had spent most of their free time together. All three were now friends. Though to Garmund, it seemed that there was something not quite right. Before Cnebba came, Garmund and his sister had each been the best and only friend to the other. Things were different now. When Garmund was called to learn his father's stonecraft, Cnebba was often free, and Lèoðern had often gone to play with the carpenter's son, leaving Garmund to catch up on their games only as they neared their ending. And then, in their room in the evening, she spoke often about Cnebba. In his own thought, Garmund found himself in envy of the attention the new boy had from his sister. His sister. If Lèoðern played with anyone, it should be her brother.

But in the early morning, all three were together, and those thoughts did not come to Garmund. They huddled in a corner of the yard where Cnebba had drawn a circle on the ground. Each of the children had made a set of clay balls the day before, and now played at knocking one ball against the other, trying to push the others' out of the circle.

It was Lèoðern's turn. Cnebba suddenly whispered something in her ear. She giggled and sent one of her balls flying towards one of Garmund's, his last in the circle. Garmund's rolled outside the circle's border, and Lèoðern laughed again, clapping her hands.

"Poor Garmund. You're out."

Garmund clenched his jaw. He was out, yet again. The unsettled envy returned.

"I am. But I have work to do anyway. I should go." He stood and started to leave, and then in a hasty moment, turned to give a parting jab, knowing well that he was acting wrongly.

"Unlike some others."

Almost instantly, Garmund was ashamed, but he kept walking, angry at Cnebba for taking so much of Lèoðern's attention, angry at Lèoðern for not siding with him, and, most of all, angry with himself for making matters worse.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine had been up since the crack of dawn, going over his books. Shortly after having returned Marenil to his status as guest, Eodwine had ordered Thornden up to Meduseld to see to the issue of taxation of the market shops; and his almbudsman had returned with the information that Eodwine had expected: the King expected a tithe of the market taxes, as he expected a tithe of all other fees Eodwine collected. This seemed overly generous to Eodwine, since Eomer had been receiving all the fees and taxes himself until he had made Eodwine the Eorl of the new Middle Emnet. What possible benefit could come to the king at giving up so much revenue? The only answer Eodwine could discern was that the king was freed from the headaches of daily management. But could that possibly make up for the loss of revenue?

Such questions as these had created the need for Eodwine to go to Meduseld. He rose, returned the small tray of breakfast he had been given by Kara, and stopped in at Saeryn's room. He knocked and waited, and momentarily she came to the door. He greeted her good morning, which she returned; he marked that her smile did not reach her eyes, but it was early morning and one should not expect too much.

"I am going up to Meduseld today, as I told you yesterday. I leave you in charge of the Hall until I return. I expect to be back before dark, but it depends upon how long my meetings with the King's wítan lasts; so I may not return until tomorrow."

Saeryn nodded.

"One final thing. Trystan needs more than odd jobs. He needs training. Put him in Garwine's charge. Have Garwine turn the boy into a guard and maybe a soldier. He needs some ordering about, that one."

Saeryn frowned, apparently no relishing the task he'd handed her. Eodwine winked. "I like him, Saeryn, but I also know that his trustworthiness must be strengthened. I'll not have a Hall full of rogues, but Eorlingas, even if I have to make the one out of the other.

"Have you any words for me before I leave?"

She shook her head. "No. I will do what you wish, but I do not think such a life is in Trystan."

"We shall see. Good-bye, love." He winked again as her brow rose and her mouth opened in her startelment at his word, and then he closed the door before she could say or do any more, then walked quickly away to the stables so that she could not stop him to make sure she had heard him aright.

After bidding Léof a good morning and quick thanks for having Flíthaf ready as requested the previous night, Eodwine was off and away for the rest of the day.

[Thinlómien]

“Of course you may ask, my lady”, Modtryth answered automatically and made a little pause after continuing. The question had come as a surprise. What indeed did she think of this young man that had appeared to the hall right after her little family?

“May I put it bluntly, my lady?” she asked the younger woman as they walked in the yard.
Lady Saeryn winced. She hadn’t maybe expected this. “Yes, of course, go on.”

“He’s a young rascal, but not one of irremediable sort. I wish my Cnebba doesn’t grow to be a man like that”, Modtryth said, softening her words with a smile. “Trystan’ll hopefully grow out of it. I don’t know him well, but there’s something strange in him or in his past.”

Saeryn nodded, but kept looking at Modtryth, as if urging her to continue. She did: “I guess he has to be let to forget it and to have a clean start, just like you and the Eorl have done, my lady.” She hoped she didn’t sound too arrogant.

Secretely, she congratulated herself for giving a nonsense answer. She would have liked to point out that the boy clearly needed a proper job, and soon. That would help him to settle down. Modtryth however kept her opinion to herself and looked humbly at the lady. She did not wish to step over the boundaries of her own position here where she had been so warmly welcomed, even when she was evidently asked advice. She did not wish to admonishthe lady and the lord.

“May I ask what are your thoughts on the matter, my lady?” she returned the question instead.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"You may. I am to put him in Garwine's charge, for the time at least."

Saeryn considered Trystan, running other duties through her head. Eodwine had asked her to put Trystan under Garwine's watch, and that was what she would do; and she would not give him other duties besides without consulting Eodwine; it was not her place to do so. Still... if there were other duties better suited to him? Trystan was no soldier. Not every spirited young man should be molded. Would it not be better to find a place for him that he came already fit for?

Saeryn had not yet spent more than a few minutes at a time with Trystan. They'd not yet spoken at length, and she did not know him well. She would need to remedy it. She had an idea, but it was not one it was prudent to speak freely about. She would let it develop and then have a word with Eodwine.

"Trystan is a rascal, you are not mistaken about that, but I do not distrust him. There are none in this house I would not trust with my own life or the lives of others close to me. I've found that the best way to foster trust is to give it. Still, I see your meaning.

"We will give him a home and work for as long as he needs it, as that is Eodwine's way. And he must be outfitted for the work. That is why I came to you; to be put to work under Garwine requires clothing for the work; sturdy, functional, and fit for the duties that Garwine gives to him. Also, though, I believe that Trystan might be better viewed in terms of standing if he is dressed as less a ragamuffin." Saeryn smiled, wishing Trystan's freedom to dress as he would was her own; she'd worn breeches perhaps once since the court day, dressing for her role as lady. She knew that she could still wear men's garb, but with so many visitors, noble and common alike, and all of them eying her, and not all eyes as friendly as others, she kept to gowns that showed her standing, but not exhorbitantly. She knew that a woman's bearing and appearance could do much for her, but she still missed the comfort of bare feet and leggings.

"We can outfit him as a soldier with no eyebrows raised, not even his own, but I would like to see Trystan dressed as an upstanding young man even off duty. Would you help me to clothe him in such a way that we are not merely approaching him with words that we disapprove of his poverty?"

[Folwren]

Thornden wandered quietly through the great hall after having breakfast. His eyes traced the wall and roof, the great fireplace in the center, and the new doorway in the wall leading into the corridor coming from the kitchen. Having made a complete round of the room, he went towards the place of construction.

Stigend and Garstan were beginning their day’s work and for a while, Thornden watched them in silence. Their work fascinated him in almost every stage. He knew next to nothing of the art of building or anything like and found it very interesting.

He had stood there nearly five minutes without moving so much as an inch when he heard a soft step near him. He drew in his breath and his eyes left Stigend’s work with the wood to shift to the person near him. It was Garstan’s son, Garmund.

“Good morning, Garmund!” Thornden said, smiling and taking a step towards him. The boy glanced up briefly.

“Good morning, sir,” he answered without stopping or slowing his walk.

Thornden bent his head a little to look more squarely into Garmund’s face. An expression of carefully contained anger or vexation dwelt on his face. Thornden laid his hand on Garmund’s shoulder. “Wait, lad,” he said softly, kneeling with one knee on the ground to bring himself more to the boy’s level. “Is anything the matter?”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

If any of the small village in the Folde had cared to look toward the morning sun, they could have seen the wilted outline of Degas lit by it. They could, perhaps, have made out the broken harp in his hands; the glow of the strings flashing like infinitely small whips of fire might have given it away. He'd dropped it by accident in a fit of annoyance and watched in horror as a crack split the fine frame and snapped several strings, fraying many others. He walked, a ghost, out the front doors of his family home, his hands curled around it, staring blankly.

Everything is broken in my life.

He pushed the thought away. He did not want it. To admit to problems made it so much harder to qualify doing nothing about them.

"She's to return."

Degas glared at his brother. Fenrir was two inches taller than him, was heavily built; most chose not to pick fights with him... they'd lose if only to his temper.

"What's it to do with me?"

"You know where she is."

"So do you. If you want her back so much, go get her." He felt like he was betraying Saeryn. He should have known... Fenrir did not live far from Edoras. Perhaps a day's ride. If he had not heard before then, he'd learned for certain through the city gossip that his youngest sister was the lady of a man she had not wed.

"You will bring her back."

"I'll do no such thing." Fenrir took a step forward.

"Go ahead, brother, do it. You know you want to. I know you want to. What stops you, brother? That the village can see us? Be a man and pick fights where the world can see. Punish me all you like. I will not be your slave or your messenger. If you want Saeryn back, go and grovel."

"I do not grovel."

"Then you do not deserve her." None of us do. She is the only worthy one of us.

"You will cleave to my will or you will be removed from that of our parents."

"You'd never dare." His words were acid. Careless. What had he to lose? Father would never approve of a rivalry of his children's wills. Father was gone. Mother; she would take them aside in private and share her displeasure with a look of disappointment. Fenrir would wilt. Degas would have already apologized. Mother was gone. Their displeasure meant little. Only the here and now. Here and now, Degas stood alone with his brother in the morning sun, and he had no Linduial to take for evening walks, to write music for, to treat like his very own queen. He had no parents to disapprove. He had no Saeryn to take his hand and calm him, to make him think sense. When had she become the calming force in his life? She'd had the temper as a child. He'd been pushed into watering troughs often enough to know it. When had she changed? Why hadn't he been there for her?

"I can do it without question. You left home with little warning and no regard for the state of your lands or your people. You left their well-being to another while you frolicked in foreign lands living upon the purse of another. Is that the responsibility to hold lands? You allow your youngest sister to live in the house of a man not her husband, to be his lady out of wedlock. You allow rumors to garner about her, cutting her hard earned reputation to ribbons, and what do you do of it? You care nothing for your land or your family. Your inheritance is undeserved."

"You dare!" Degas stepped forward, his harp still in his hands.

"You will bring Saeryn home or the matter will be taken before the king and he will learn more even than the little I've said."

"You have nothing."

"I have everything."

[Thinlómien]

"We can outfit him as a soldier with no eyebrows raised, not even his own, but I would like to see Trystan dressed as an upstanding young man even off duty. Would you help me to clothe him in such a way that we are not merely approaching him with words that we disapprove of his poverty?" lady Saeryn asked.
"I'm at your service, my lady", Modtryth answered politely, giving the younger woman a warm smile. "That ragamuffin - as you put it, my lady - certainly needs new clothing." It seemed that young men were like boys, always lacking proper, fitting or not worn out clothes.

For a while, they just walked in silence. Modtryth let her gaze follow a sparrow hopping in the ground. I am to put him in Garwine's charge, for the time at least, the Lady's words echoed in Modtryth's head.
"He is to become a soldier then, my lady?" she asked.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn smiled softly. She liked very much to speak with Modtryth, who spoke so shrewdly, yet without the words needed by so many to carry the same message. Is he to become a soldier?

"Eodwine wishes it to be so, for now. The direction, I think, will be good for Trystan in the short term." And the long term? No... what comes will come. Eodwine will see sense, I'm sure.

"Do you not think, then, that he will take to it?"

She laughed. "Do you see him following the orders of another for very long? He does what I ask of him because, I think, he sees that I do not ask unnecessary things, or things that I would not do myself, and because I am the Lady here, and he listens to what Eodwine asks, but you can see, I'm sure, that he does it with considerably less than a soldier's stoic assent. The theatrics make me smile, but how many soldiers have we seen that flirt so shamelessly with everyone from young Kara to even Frodides? No, do not answer me that... I've heard too many stories to even think of my example as serious. But do you see my meaning? Trystan will act the soldier, because it is what is asked of him, but he is no soldier at heart. Not from what of him I've seen."