Eorling Mead Hall

[Kath]

Blushing at the unexpected praise as well as in relief that she wasn't being sent packing for so boldly arguing with the Eorl Kara shook her head. The mention of the King and Queen had her curious but she could see the tiredness in Eodwine's eyes and was sure that her own reflected the same.

"No, lord. I'm glad that you will take the time to think this over but you are right, it is time to sleep, and I will do so just as soon as I've got this kitchen in order. Good night, and sleep well."

Eodwine smiled at her, his gaze sweeping over a room that no doubt to his eyes seemed sorted for the night already, but he made no comment. Nodding to her he left.

Truthfully there was little to do. The preparations for the morning had been done before Frodides left for the night, and Kara had finished her tidying up before sitting down for the intense conversation that had just gone by. She knew though that she needed to relax before she tried to go to bed or she would be up all night, and washing the table tops would do that nicely.

Gently she smoothed the cloth in circles, nodding and wishing a good night to those who wandered past or through the kitchen on their way home or to bed, until at last she felt calm enough to sleep. She blew out the few remaining lights and made her way upstairs.

[JennyHallu]

Twilight had long ago faded when Linduial returned to the tower room. A sleepy-eyed maid helped her unlace the silk dress and brushed out her dark hair, releasing it from its braid. A preoccupied wave from her mistress dismissed the girl, who left in relief to finally go to her rest.

Lin slipped into a soft linen shift, and wrapped a deep blue satin robe around her. It was an exotic thing, brought by her brothers from the far southeast beyond Harad, covered in elaborate embroidered panels that told a fantastic story of stylized dragons and a beautiful princess, but today she wrapped the silver sash tightly around her waist and stepped out onto the balcony without a second thought of the fierceness of the dragons or the ethereal beauty of the raven haired princess.

The cold sea breeze buffeted her face, clearing the last of her uncle’s delicate wine from her system and pulling her hair out behind her like a pennant. This high up she couldn’t feel the spray of the waves dashing against the cliffs beside the harbor mouth, but she could hear them, taste the salty brine like nectar in the back of her throat. Lin had always empathized with those last desperate kings of Atalantë; had understood the undeniable call the sea had for her ancestors, and sorrowed with them, felt their rebellion and their guilt, when the storytellers revealed the consequence of their hubris. It wasn’t fair! How could something so lovely and so loving as the ocean’s waters hold such danger for her people?

And today her uncle had offered her a dream almost as powerful.

Lin’s mind had not stopped racing the same circles since she’d left the dinner table, giving her family a distracted courtesy and practically fleeing back to the safe harbor of her room. One day. One day only to make a decision that would set the course of her life, for better or worse. She closed her eyes in the wind, letting it rush over her features until the laminar flow had soothed her battered nerves, stripped away her doubts and insecurities, and left her mind and soul bare before the raw power of the sea.

It was time, now that she was calm, to think over what Imrahil had suggested.

The evening had begun simply enough. She’d found her seat at table, the melancholy that was becoming habitual preventing her from wondering why she was seated at Imrahil’s right hand. It was not her usual place; she was but the youngest daughter of the Prince’s younger brother, and Imrahil had grown children of his own to share his table. Thinking back, she realized that the worried gaze her father had turned on her until she’d mechanically began eating had been followed by a significant glance at his brother, who’d nodded and turned to his niece. “Ah, little Linduial,” he’d said fondly, “we were so relieved to hear you had been rescued and were coming home to safety.”

“Thank you, my lord Uncle.” Lin’s response was adequate, but barely so, and Imrahil was not willing to let her wallow in what must have seemed to him a childish sulk.

“We were also glad to hear that justice was done, and we may now rest in peace about your safety,” he pushed, his formal tone indicating that an answer was required.

Lin remembered his surprised look at her vehement response, and realized that she herself had been startled by how much she cared. Nothing had seemed that important since her return home, but then, no one had asked her that question.

“Justice was not done,” she’d said, her voice low and firm. Her dark eyes flashed with the terror and misery of her capture, and her uncle had sat back, a thoughtful expression filling his eyes as he heard her out. “Men were killed, two before my eyes. An innocent servant of your daughter, my lord, and a man whose mind was little more than a child’s. How is his death justice, when he had no understanding of his crime? And—“ She realized how loud her voice had ridden, and flushed at the piteous looks wafting her way. Poor Lin, that’s what they were thinking. Poor little lady Lin, who was kidnapped. Pretty little thing, but…helpless without her brothers along. “—the man who rescued me,” she continued, barely above a whisper, “who risked his life in saving mine…he is a fugitive. How was justice served?”

Imrahil looked across at her with the same pity in his own eyes, and she tried to turn away from it, but his voice held her. “Oh, my dear,” he said, looking at this young creature who reminded him so deeply of his beloved sister, now long gone away to Minas Tirith and thence beyond, the first casualty of Denethor’s madness. “You are not little Lin anymore, are you?”

The love in the question demanded honesty of her, and she would not disappoint her uncle. “My lord, I have not been little Lin for many years. Not since the storm that crushed the city when I was fifteen. But this…” she waved her hand in a vague gesture, meant to indicate the events of the past few dark months. The prince seemed to understand, so she went on painfully. “This has shaken me more than I can bear, and I would give anything to be little Lin again, free to delight in presents and parties, in poetry and praise. But I’m not the same person that I was, and the days will not turn back. I am no child anymore, but I am without rudder or sail, and I know neither how nor where to set my course.”

“But you did before,” he stated gently, urging her carefully through the tricky shoals of her depression.

“Ah, uncle,” she sighed, with a little wistful smile. “Remember how when I was small, you and father both used to call me Little Bird?”

He laughed. “Of course I do. It was just after Lothiriel’s wedding. Farlen and I took you through the mews and the menagerie to see which sort you were. You tried to sing with them. Thank goodness your voice improved with age.”

“And lessons,” she laughed softly with him, “but I remember which birds were my favorite. The canary and the kestrel.”

He nodded. “An interesting pair, those two. Certainly couldn’t survive long together.”

“Well, up to now, Uncle, I’ve been the canary, content to enjoy my fine feathers and sing my glad song, safe within my gilded cage. I liked being spoiled and cosseted and petted, and rebelled against anything that might rattle my serenity. That’s why I went to Rohan in the first place, to escape some imagined plan that might force me to change my ways.”

She paused, and Imrahil murmured for her to continue. A server took her soup bowl and set down the fish course. She couldn’t remember having finished the soup but the bowl was most certainly dry. She took a dainty bite (ah, the seeming years since she’d enjoyed properly prepared swordfish) and washed it down with a sip of the crisp white wine before going on.

“Now I think I am more like the kestrel. I am impatient with the cage, anxious for the hunt. The song I wish to sing is wilder, harsher, freer. And father…”

Imrahil nodded in perfect understanding, earning him a grateful look from his niece. “Farlen and your brothers are the jesses.”

“They do not mean to be,” Lin rushed to explain. “They only love me and mean well, and I do not wish to seem ungrateful for their care…”

“Hush now,” he laughed at her. “I love them too, I understand.”

She smiled sheepishly at him. “They just want me to be happy, but they want me to be helpless little Lin again. They bring me presents, and try to protect and coddle me, and expect me to be like any other wellborn child, doing my embroidery and planning my wedding, and before you ask, yes I have a suitor, one of the Rohirrim, who I plan to entertain seriously, but neither he nor I are ready for marriage, and if you expect me to wed anytime soon yet give me choice in the matter, you will be disappointed.” He laughed and Lin laughed with him, pleased and surprised to find herself feeling somewhat alive again, finally able to ignore her father’s pointed glances. Finally, someone was asking her what she wished in her life, and didn’t care how farfetched the answer was. “But I am the kestrel, and they force me to play the canary, and as you said: the two cannot survive together. I am being pulled two ways and I fear being wrenched totally apart. And—“ she paused again, using a bite of fish as an excuse to order her words before she spoke. “—I cannot be helpless again. I have known total helplessness and total dependence, and they terrify me. I must confess I wish I were a boy. Were I but my father’s son rather than a daughter, I could go adventuring, travel the world and learn myself and what I am sufficient for. I would beg of you some impossible quest and swear you my fealty and—“

“All right,” Imrahil said, grinning as the courses were changed again.

“What?” Try as she might Lin couldn’t remember just what that third course had been. Imrahil’s offer had so floored her that she couldn’t even remember what the subtleties were, something she usually delighted in.

“I’ll take your measure, give you a quest of my choosing, and accept your fealty. That would free you from your father’s house, and give you the purpose you’re so desperate for, the quarry for your hunt, little hawk. But only if you’re sure that’s what you wish.”

“I-I don’t know. Truly, I meant it only as a passing fancy.”

“So you’re not interested?”

“No! I mean—yes, I’m interested. But I fear I may not have thoroughly considered the idea.”

“I’ll give you some time; a day, perhaps. If I think of the quest I’ll set you on before that time, I’ll even be so generous as to let you know. I haven’t anything in particular in mind anyway. My mind’s still focused on some appointments I have to make, and I must take your measure before knowing what task you are suited for. Meanwhile…” he smiled as he changed the subject. “Tell me about Rohan.”

The rest of the meal had been filled with conversation. Question after question about the country: its people, its politics, the economy, what opportunities for trade Lin saw. The questions became more and more complex and Imrahil’s features more and more self-satisfied as she answered, racking her mind and memories for details she might have missed, innuendoes in half-forgotten conversations that might give her a slight clue as to the true answers of his questions. At one point, she’d turned to him accusingly: “But, Uncle, you know all this. Your daughter’s the Queen of Rohan. Why are you asking me?”

“I don’t know all of it,” he pointed out reasonably. “And Lothiriel’s first loyalties are now to her husband, and not her father, which is right and proper. Besides,” and his eyes had twinkled wickedly. “I want to know if you know it.”

And then the brief meeting in Imrahil’s study after the meal, the unbelievable offer of a specific ‘quest’, a role, a career, a task beyond her wildest dreams. She hadn’t even noticed the amused look in his eyes as he’d looked at her dazed face. “Only one thing,” he’d warned. “If you decide this is what you want to do, I can’t wait until supper. I hold open court in midafternoon.”

“I know what time,” she’d answered breathlessly.

“You must decide by then, and present yourself to me in formal court. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

The question, Lin decided, wind making her eyes water as she stood on the balcony, was not whether she would like to take his offer, but whether she were capable of the job it would require of her. She sighed, going inside for a moment then reappearing on the balcony with a chair and a shawl. There would be no sleep this night.

[Celuien]

Garstan walked into his room. Garmund and Lèoðern were already there, staring at each other in stony silence, waiting to see who would look away first.

"Lèoðern. Garmund. Come. We're going to see Cnebba and his parents."

Lèoðern scrambled over to the door but Garmund hung back. "Do we have to?" he asked.

"Yes. I will not have the two of you fighting. You and he will settle this tonight. Come. Now."

Lèoðern skipped down the hall, holding Garstan's hand. Garmund loped behind them on unwilling feet.

[Taralphiel]

Lys started when he felt Thornden come near and gently take his hand.

"What are you doing out here? I thought that by now, you’d be in bed, what with everything you’ve done today. Aren’t you worn out?" Lys smiled widely and shook his head. "No, I am not yet tired. So much has happened, but my head just wants to sit and think about it all, and not sleep." The boy shifted and stood, still gently holding Thornden’s hand.

"I must say thank you, Thornden. I am very happy that you have decided to take care of me. I’m glad to suddenly have family. It is exciting, and wonderful, and comforting." Lys watched Thornden’s pleased expression, and returned it without hesitation.

Lys pressed his hands back to his knees, righting himself flat onto his feet. Taking a few exploring steps about the courtyard, he stared at his limp critically.

"Thornden, what use can I be of here?" Lys turned and looked at him suddenly, an appealing look in his eyes "I do not want to be useless. It is more than a small worry for me. I want...you to be proud of me..."

~*~

Thornden

"Thornden, what use can I be of here?" Lys turned and looked at him suddenly, an appealing look in his eyes "I do not want to be useless. It is more than a small worry for me. I want...you to be proud of me..."

“That shouldn’t be difficult,” Thornden said as lightly as he could, struggling with the impulse to be too serious. “I’m not a difficult fellow to please.” Lys didn’t smile. He was being serious. “We’ll find something that you can do successfully, Lys,” Thornden said as reassuringly as he could. “I promise you we will. And I will be proud of you. I already am. I picked you up half dead just a little while ago, a heap that barely resembled a human boy. And look at you now! Walking - and actually worrying about what work you can put your hands to! With such a want to work, you will go far, Lys, even if your body does remain weak in comparison with others, and even if your ankle never completely heals.

“Come,” he said after a small pause, “let’s go in.”

[Celuien]

With the quick pace set by Lèoðern's skipping, it took little time to reach Stigend's door. Garstan knocked while Garmund slowly came up behind, still not looking forward to meeting Cnebba again. He thought everyone - even his own father - was working against him, trying to make him seem less than Cnebba. Dragging him to see Cnebba did not make things seem better. Garmund was sure that the point of the trip was to make yet another offer to admit wrong against Cnebba. All this when Cnebba had started the trouble in the first place!

Stigend opened the door and clasped Garstan's hand. While the fathers exchanged greetings, Lèoðern looked around the room to spot Cnebba sitting on the floor. She ran over and joined him in a game with a wooden horse. Garmund scowled.

Garstan noticed the look on Garmund's face and the reason for it. "Lèoðern. We're not here to play. Come over here." She pouted and stood in front of Garstan, twisting around with her arms crossed. Cnebba rose and stood with his parents.

"Cnebba," Garstan began. "I remember when you first came here. You and Garmund were friends, even as your father and I are friends. But that has not been so of late, and I would have you be friends once again. And so I want to know what has gone ill between you. Garmund, I am told that you grudge Cnebba's spending time with Lèoðern. Is that so?"

Garmund flushed and blinked. He had not thought that his father had known that. Said that way, it made him sound small and spiteful. And wasn't quite what bothered Garmund. Cnebba and Lèoðern could play as much as they wanted so long as Cnebba wasn't trying to replace him.

"No. It isn't so," Garmund said irritably.

"What is it then?"

Garmund looked at Lèoðern, then at Cnebba. They would laugh at him if he told why he was angry.

And so Garmund's answer was, "Nothing. Can we go now?"

"No. Not until this is answered. But if you will not speak, perhaps Cnebba will."

[Nogrod]

Suddenly they all seemed to be looking at Cnebba, waiting for him to say something. Cnebba was embarrassed. But even more than that he felt angered by Garmund's answer. Nothing! That's what you say!

Cnebba rose up and stared at Garmund with his deep brown eyes. "You say that nothing! First you get mad on just losing one game, then you sneak to an adventure without us and when you find wonders you try to hide them from us and scorn me for no reason! One friend you are! You're a bully like all those others I've known!"

"You liar!", Garmund called back.

Both Stigend and Garstan had to take hold of their sons.

"Are you being honest now, Cnebba?", Stigend asked his son, kneeling down to meet his eyes, still pressing his shoulder firmly. "What have we discussed about being truthful?"

Cnebba tried to avoid his father's eyes and felt the tears coming forwards again. He tried to get free from Stigend's grip but was held tight in his place. "Now answer me Cnebba!" Stigend said now with a notably stern tone in his voice. "Was the game you played today a fair one?"

Cnebba was shaking visibly as he almost whispered his answer, his head bowed down: "No." Stigend was just about to demand a louder answer when Modtryth broke in, laying her hand on Stigend's shoulder and looking at him in a way that held Stigend back.

"It may be that Cnebba has not been totally truthful in his answer, but I'm afraid he is not the only one hiding the truth here." Garstan said turning towards his son in turn. "Now I believe there were also things that were true in what Cnebba said, now was there?"

Garmund didn't answer. But Lèoðern did.

"He was rude to Cnebba when we were trying to ask those twins to play with us! And he tried to hide them from us all the time!"

Garmund looked like he could burst from anger at any moment.

"Maybe we women go out and have just a little walk outside, talking womens' stuff together." Modtryth said and looked questioningly at Garstan. After thinking about it for a second Garstan nodded his approval. "Come Lèoðern, we'll let the men have a talk without us for a while. We'll come back soon." The last sentence she directed to both of the fathers as well even though she was talking to Lèoðern.

There was a moment of thick silence in the room after Modtryth and Lèoðern left. The boys casted sulking glances at each other and the fathers looked more or less helpless.

[Thinlómien]

Modtryth and Lèoðern left the room, and Modtryth closed the door behind them. The little girl cast an expecting look at her. "Come, follow me", Modtryth told the girl and offered her hand. Lèoðern seemed to be in deep thought. However, she took Modtryth's hand and followed her. So unlike Cnebba, Modtryth thought.

They walked down the stairs, across the house to the yard. "Where are we going?" Lèoðern asked. Modtryth paused and looked at her. "We're going to see Snowstreak. I have no doubt Cnebba has presented her to you already, but I haven't seen her for a few days and I thought she wouldn't mind company, that dear old creature." That was actually a lie; she had last visited the old gentle mare on the morning. Lèoðern nodded and then she ran to the stables. Modtryth followed walking.

When she entered, she found Lèoðern already caressing Snowstreak, and teasing the horse with an apple. Where she had got it from, Modtryth had no idea. She stood there, near the door for a while, resting her mind in the homely sight.

Snowstreak noticed her and neighed at her. Modtryth came to the mare and patted her neck. Lèoðern gave the apple to the horse, and started stroking her head. "Is this women's talk?" Lèoðern asked after a while.

Modtryth stroked the horse's mane. "No", she replied after a while and cast a gentle look at the girl, "this is horses' talk."