Eorling Mead Hall

[Firefoot]

Léof turned to face the unfamiliar boy entering the stable. Hama’s return would be news indeed, if it was true. “I have not heard that rumor,” he said. “A short while ago a man came to the Hall, and here is his horse, but we had not heard his name.”

Elfthain’s asking for news had not seemed so out of place, but the offer to help seemed to have come out of nowhere. What was more, Léof doubted that this boy was much older than Javan, and while that did not necessarily mean anything, Léof felt wary of letting yet another person handle the horse, especially one whom he was unfamiliar with. Elfthain did seem rather lonely; perhaps he merely wanted some companionship. “I am not sure that we need any more help, but you are welcome to stay and talk. I am Léof, and these are Javan and Lys.”

[Mithalwen]

"Can I?", Elfthain answered the youth eagerly, " at home there is always things to do with the horses and the other animals but here - I mean at my uncles's house - there is nothing for me to do... and I just seem to get in the way if I try to help ... but I will try not to get in your way" he added quickly lest his admission cause Leof to banish him immediately.

Having deemed that this wasn't going to happen immediately, at least, he smiled at the younger boys and wondered what he should say. He wasn't used to meeting new people. Everyone in Upbourn knew who he was - or seemed to - had known him all his life for his father's family had farmed that land for several generations. But here Elfthain would have to win friends and respect for himself.

[Folwren]

Javan looked from the newcomer to Lèof as they exchanged a few words. There was a pause after Elfthain said his last bit and Javan turned his attention back to the horse.

He didn’t know who the General Hama was. He couldn’t remember if he had ever heard of him. Lèof and Elfthain both knew who he was, though, and Javan didn’t wish to show his ignorance before anyone. So instead of asking about Hama, he kept his mouth shut. After a pause, though, and after noticing that no one was saying anything, he looked back towards Elfthain.

“You won’t get in the way,” he said. “But d’you want to sit down there?” He nodded his head to the wooden bench against the wall. “I think we’re about done with the horse here. Where’re you from? Are you staying here long?” As he put the questions to the Elfthain, his sharp, intelligent eyes looked over the boy’s appearance and clothing. His clothes were fine and probably expensive and had they not been worn in a crooked and careless manner, Javan would probably have felt some dislike towards him. But the natural, boyish appearance made up for the unnatural, non-boyishness of the clean and nice clothes, and Javan liked his manner and his kindly and open face.

Javan’s eyes returned to Elfthain’s face, and he waited expectantly for answers.

[Taralphiel]

Lys watched the boy enter, and smiled as Lèof gave him his name. Javan began questioning him, and Lys found he had nothing to ask that Javan had not already thought of.

Lys slowly sat at the other end of the stall, taking care to keep safe a distance from the horse. He was now more sensitive to its size and strength. He thought about what the newcomer had said, about a General Hama...a General that had come back from the dead. This was all that his curiosity had been craving. Heroic deeds were being called to his mind. He wondered about the General's strength, and whether he could one day be so brave. He would ride out on a great grey horse and find all the memories that had deserted him. He would ride to war and banish enemies! To be brave and strong and able to swing a sword and run, that would be marvellous!

Just as Javan had been, Lys was then found daydreaming, and had not listened to a word that was said after Javan had finished his questions. And he had completely forgotten Javan's earlier question to him.

[Kath]

Kara awoke late that morning, her eyes not opening until long after the light of the sun fell on them. She lay still for a few moments, enjoying the unexpected sensation of a lie-in, but as she woke up properly the realisation that she should have been in the kitchen more than an hour ago struck her and she leapt out of the bed and into her clothes in a panic. Rushing downstairs she found most of the Hall up and breakfasted, including a man she had not seen before. Had she not been late she would have stopped to enquire about him but seeing that he had been taken care of already she continued on her way.

"I'm so sorry!" She cried out as she entered the kitchen, seeing Frodides was hard at work clearing up the used breakfast dishes. "I didn't realise the time. I didn't mean to leave you to cope with all this alone again."

Grabbing her apron and a clean towel she stationed herself by the sink and started washing up, slightly surprised to find that quite a large amount of it seemed to have already been done.

"Don't fret, girl. If I'd needed you so badly I'd have sent someone along to get you up, but luckily for you I had help from another. Remember me telling you there were some new faces here last night? Well ..."

But before Frodides could finish her sentence the sound of happy chattering came from the doorway leading to the yard and seconds later two people entered the kitchen. The first was Modtryth who nodded to Kara as she came in but the second was a girl she had never seen before.

"Kara," she turned slightly hearing Frodides' voice behind her, "this is Ginna. She's going to be with us for a while as she's to learn wenching. Ginna, this is Kara."

Turning back to the now introduced Ginna Kara quickly dried her wet hands and held one out.

"Then I suppose it's you I have to thank for doing what I should have been this morning." She said smiling at the newest addition to the workers of the Hall.

[Lhunardawen]

Ginna took Kara's outstretched hand and smiled back.

"It's nothing; I realise you must be tired from yesterday. I have to learn doing this, anyway, and besides, Modtryth here was a big help."

And she really was. Once upon a time Ginna would have stayed late in bed after such a tiring day as the one she had previously. But last night she had a wonderful time chatting with Modtryth that she looked forward to more of the female company she provided, which she had not experienced since her mother died. Modtryth and Frodides had been extremely patient with her, and considerate of her wounded state.

That morning, however, Ginna woke up with her hand feeling better, and so she was able to help with the dishes. She and Modtryth had just been resting a while - with Frodides's permission - when Kara arrived.

"I'm sorry we didn't get the chance to meet last night," Ginna continued. "Perhaps you would like to break your fast with us after we're done?"

[littlemanpoet]

A single pony came charging into the courtyard from the road, and came to a wild stop just before the stables. Master Falco Boffin dismounted as quickly as he could but fell to his knees in the dirt. A bandage was wrapped around his forehead. A bloodstain stood out just behind his right ear. He scrabbled up and rushed headlong into the stables while his pony stood in one place, breathing heavily.

"Léof! Léof! Ready every horse! The Eorl has need of riders! Léof!"

"Falco!" answered Léofric. "What is the matter? Where is Lord Eodwine?"

"He is back at the ruins, surrounded by outlaws! They tried to pressgang us! Rilef's wounded! Hurry! I'll go round up some riders!"

Off Falco went, heading for the mead hall, his short legs taking him faster than onlookers had thought him capable.

[Folwren]

Thornden drew rein a little way from the ruin and leaped down from the saddle. The place where Falco had indicated that Eodwine was would be just around that small hill.

“We’ll leave the horses here,” he said to the men, “and go in on foot. We don’t know what is in there and the horses will merely announce our coming. Spread out however you can – the underbrush is thick – but don’t stray too far from each other. Depending on how many there are, our main chance may be in collective strength. But if there are not many, than each of us fighting alone or in pair may be all we need.

“Forward, now. Quietly. Keep your eyes open and yourselves quiet.”

He drew his sword, a thing he rarely bore, and went forward cautiously. The men moved behind him, holding what weapons they had in their hands. There was not a faint heart among them as they advanced into an unknown place and against unknown enemies.

Rounding the shoulder of the hill, Thornden could see before him the twisted vines and underbrush that grew over the old stonework. Trees grew far apart where he was now, and the underbrush was not very thick, but in there it was like a jungle, twisted and tangled, full of hollow pockets where men could hide and lie in wait.

He forged forward, taking the path that he, Falco, and Garmund had taken a few days ago, leading straight into the heart of the ruins. He moved slowly, his body tense with expectation, his ears straining until they hurt with the effort to hear something out of place. His eyes peered forward and to the sides, looking for any sign of anyone.

A stick snapped to his right. He jerked about, just as there was a rush of crackling bracken and leaves. A man flung himself forward upon him and Thornden’s left hand lifted just in time to grasp at the descending dagger. The blade cut his hand severely, but it turned the blow away from his chest. The outlaw stumbled, thrown off balance with the force of his attack. Thornden fell backwards, too, momentarily dizzy with the shock of the impact and the pain in his hand, but by the time the man regained his balance, Thornden had regained his wits, and they turned towards each other at the same moment.

[Nerindel]

Æðelhild had been up with the dawn and had ridden out to the lower slopes in search of fresh supplies of wild wort and fennel root. The dusty coloured Dun she had purchased a week now passed with the coin Lord Eodwine had been sending , suddenly lifted its head and pricked up its ears as they returned. approaching the golden halls stables there was a foray of noise and a hustle and bustle of both men and horses, a clatter of spears as many armed riders mounted ready to ride out.

“What is going on?” Æðelhild asked as a young stable lad came to take her reigns. “It’s Lord Eodwine of Middle Emnet,” the lad answered hastily as he lead the dun away from the mounting riders to the stable proper. Æðelhild’s eyes widen as the lad went on, “they say he is hold up by bandits in the ruins east of the mid Emnet, they can not say how many harry the Lord, but they seem greatly eager to take their leave and be on the road as soon as we can have horses ready.”

“How come they by such grievous news?” she asked as she dismounted the dun. “ Em a Hobbit what was his name…Fal…to or Falc…ar”

“Falco, Master Falco!” she exclaimed, to this point she had thought the boy mistaken surely Lord Eodwine had not found such trouble , but that the news had come from Falco meant it had to be true she had to find him and find out if Eodwine or any others where hurt. “Keep her saddled I may have need of her shortly.”

By the time she reached the lower steps of the hall the kings riders were all ready beginning to leave, she stopped trying to find the halfling among the riders but she could not see him. Turning hurriedly on her heels she raced up the steps and through the corridors stopping whoever crossed her path asking if they had see the hobbit to had brought news of Lord Eodwine’s misfortune. After finally discovering that Falco head and arm crudely bandage had left behind the riders she made her way to the healers hall.

Hrethel was there with a few others and they turned at her abrupt entrance, watching as she quickly gathered up what supplies she thought she would need. She did not exactly know when she had decided that she was going, but she knew she had to. Falco was wounded and very possibly Eodwine was too, though she hoped not. The riders meant only one thing there would be a fighting and Æðelhild knew that meant her gifts would be needed and whether or not any man thought it would be inappropriate for her to be there she very much intended to be.

“Æðel,” Hrethel asked placing a concerned hand on her shoulder. She turned her face flush and her eyes glistening close to tears, “ I have to go Hrethel, Lord Eodwine is….”

“ I know all about Lord Eodwine’s trouble, word has already reached us of Falco and his request for aid.” The older healer answered gently. “but I am sure the riders will find him, you should stay and let them bring him home.”

“ And what if he is wounded when they find him Hrethel, and how many will be wounded or even die in the finding him ? Eodwine Pays for a healer and I am yet to prove my worth.” Æðelhild’s eyes pleaded with Hrethel to let her go but still he tempted to dissuade her.

“ Lord Edowine sent you here to learn what I can teach and you have learned much Æðel, but there is still much you have yet to learn. I do not believe that Lord Edowine would wish you to ride out even on the edge of battle on the off chance that he may be wounded, no Æðel it is our place to wait and be ready to tend those who return to us. what use are we to those wounded if we end up wounded or worse dead ourselves!”

Æðelhild sighed heavily. What Hrethel was saying was true, but she could not shake the obligation she felt towards Edowine, after all he had given her a roof over her head, food in her mouth and the coin in her purse and perhaps most of all and without even knowing it he had given her back her life… no it was not the grand halls of Gondor or the boar and pheasant banquets of the Gondorian Lords nor even the peacefully tranquil halls of the healers of Minas Tirith , but she felt at home here. And although the trauma’s of her past remained they were but clouded memories, blanketed by thoughts of new beginnings and future friendships. No she could not lose that hope nor the one who had given her that hope.

Realising that she would not persuade Hrethel to let her go she nodded resignedly, “ you are right Hrethel, I apologise for such outbursts, I….”

“Hush, no need for apologies. Such loyalty is to be commended but you will be needed here.” Hrethel replied gently.

“No not here,” Æðelhild answered shaking her head. “It will be to Lord Eodwine’s Hall that they will return.”

Hrethel paused for a moment to consider then smiled, “off course, then you should go. I must remain here, but you should go and be ready for any who should return wounded.”

“Yes” Æðelhild answered with a nod. “And Hrethel I am sorry.”

Gathering up her things she left with the old man considering that second apology. She hated to lie to him, but she knew she could not wait, she would go to the hall but not yet, not until she had found Falco and only then if he could reassure her that Edowine was uninjured. Within Minutes she was again mounting her dun and Galloping through the gates of Edoras in search of Falco Boffin.

[Folwren]

When they first started out from the place, Thornden did not walk beside Falco and Eodwine. He fell into line behind Eodwine, and when his younger brother moved to stay with Falco, he called him back. Javan obeyed reluctantly, leaving the Hobbits side and going to Thornden with a sullen look.

The entire group set off. Some of the guards of Meduseld took up Rilef’s body and walked behind Thornden. The others from the Mead Hall walked behind those – Garmund going directly behind Rilef, looking crushed and depressed. Javan’s curiosity kept his head craned over his shoulder, staring with wide eyes at Rilef and Garmund, until Thornden laid his hand on his shoulder and jerked him forward again.

“What happened?” Javan asked.

“Don’t know,” Thornden replied in clipped tones.

“Weren’t you here?”

“Not when he got hurt.”

“Did you-”

Thornden didn’t want to be questioned. He had questions of his own to ask and he deserved answers more than Javan’s silly curiosity did. “Javan,” he interrupted, “why are you here? I told you to stay back at the Hall, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Javan said slowly. “It was Falco’s fault. He wanted to go get help and we couldn’t use his pony, and I didn’t want him to ride mine all by himself because…he’s so little I didn’t think he could control him.” Actually, the thought had not really entered his mind, but it was an excuse. “And,” he went on quickly, “I was only expecting to go to Meduseld to get help, it was all Falco’s idea to come here.” He quickened his pace and plucked Falco’s sleeve. “Tell Thornden that it was your idea to come here after getting the men from Meduseld, Mr. Falco.”

[littlemanpoet]

"Of course it was my idea," Falco announced. "What of it?"

"I ordered you to stay at the Mead Hall," Thornden retorted.

"You've no rights to ordering me around, plain and simple," Falco shot back, "and if you'd listened more close to Lord Eodwine here, you'd know that."

Thornden's shoulders stiffened and his brow positively thundered with the wrath that was obviously building inside of him. He was trying very hard to control his tone, however, and what came out was disappointingly shy of the pique Falco was hoping for.

"Lord, what have you said regarding Falco that I heard not aright?"

Of all the nuisances, thought Eodwine, this is poorly timed with grief so thick in the air. But deal with it he must. He did not answer straight away because he wanted to make sure he gave the right of it. Simply put, Thornden was second in command at the Mead Hall. However, Falco was Eodwine's personal guest and not a Man - or Hobbit - of the Hall. In fact, his status was more on a par with an ambassador. For he was, after a fashion, an ambassador from the Shire to Rohan. But only informally; and hobbits were, if nothing else, very clear about formalities. No, ambassador was a stretch. Still, Falco was his guest and therefore had a certain status not given to his hired help or bonded men.

"Lord?" Thornden prompted. "Did you hear my question?"

"Aye, I heard it. I was trying to think it through clearly, for I do not think I ever did lay out for you the - ah - precise - ah - status - of Master Falco Boffin." (He realized that he was resorting to formal Gondorian verbage in order to be as careful as possible. He was glad that he had had such exposure over his many years as King's Messenger to Eomer.)

"Precise status, lord?"

"Aye, you ninny!" Falco threw in. "I'm guest and friend of the Eorl! Not to be ordered about by the likes of you!"

What really irritated Thornden the most about Falco was not that his words were so outrageous, but that he was smirking and grinning his way through his jibes. Thornden was being made fun of! Few things bothered him more. A retort was ready to jump off his own tongue, and one that he knew he would regret, but the Eorl spoke first.

"Enough, Falco. Though you may not be Thornden's underling, he still deserves respect. He is, after all, my right hand man at the Mead Hall. Thornden, Falco is my guest but not a formal ambassador. He is not one to whom commands may be lightly given-"

"There! I told you!" Falco blurted.

"I'm not done, Master Falco," Eodwine scolded mildly. "-however, Thornden, in the case of emergencies, it is your bounden duty to hold both bond and guest in safety. To do so you have no recourse but to order things as you see fit. So you were right to command Falco for his own safety. And Falco, perhaps you had cause to refuse to submit to Thornden's command, but you did wrong to involve Javan, and you should apologize to both Thornden and Javan."

"But I did not force Javan-!" Falco started.

"There are no buts," Eodwine cut in. "Javan is Thornden's to scold as he will. To you I speak as a guest in my house but also as friend."

"I see," Falco said. He took two more steps, stopped, turned, doffed his hat and bowed. Thornden and Javan were forced to stop suddenly, causing a small jam-up behind them. "Masters Thornden and Javan, I have wronged you both. I offer you my deepest apologies."

[Lhunardawen]

Léoðern had absently got up from Ginna's lap when Frodides had given her permission, and Ginna was glad that the child consented to come with her. They went out the kitchen and walked across the yard in silence. Ginna gently led Léoðern to the same bench where she had talked to Harreld the previous night, and lifted her up to let her sit.

"Are you feeling better, Léoðern?" Ginna asked, brushing away the strands of hair that had stuck to the girl's tear-stained cheeks.

"Ye-yes," she replied, her voice trembling a bit, but nevertheless she had stopped crying. "I'm sorry. I'm a big girl now, and big girls shouldn't be crying."

Ginna smiled in spite of herself. "Big girls can cry every now and then, if they have good reasons."

Léoðern looked at Ginna with a brave sort of twinkle in her eyes, as though eager to prove that she really was a big girl, and explained how Falco's sudden bursting into the Hall, shouting about how the Lord Eodwine was in trouble, had scared her, and more so when her father Garstan had to go and rescue him. "I don't want them to get hurt," she finished tremulously, and tears threatened to fall again from her eyes.

"That's a good reason, but they will be fine. The men of the Mead Hall will be with him, and together they will all bring the lord back safely." Ginna thought fleetingly of Garreth, Harreld, and that man who did not know her name, and immediately chided herself for doing so. It was not as though Léoðern could discern her thoughts, but all the same...she should not even be thinking about them. "Your father's a hero. You should be proud of him."

A broad smile came across Léoðern's lips, and she nodded fiercely.

"Now, while we wait for them, what about that tour I asked of you yesterday? Do you remember?"

"Of course," Léoðern exclaimed. "Come on!" And she slid from the bench -- "Be careful!" -- onto the ground and took Ginna by the hand, the latter standing up elegantly. Léoðern giggled.

"Why do you giggle?" asked Ginna.

"You move just like my friend Linduial. She's a princess. That's why I thought you're a princess, too."

Ginna laughed at the memory of their first meeting, and the irony of it. Indeed now she was a serving wench, as she had guessed! She couldn't help asking, "And where is your friend now?"

A spasm of sadness came upon Léoðern's face. "She went back to her home. I miss her so much."

Ginna felt pity well up inside her - not so much for Léoðern as for herself. She knelt before the child and looked her squarely in the eye. "I'm not a princess, as I told you, and I never will be. But I can take her place while she is gone, if you don't mind. Can we be friends?"

Léoðern laughed and screamed, "Only if you let me call you 'my lady'!" And she ran at top speed away from Ginna, who stood up and immediately caught her. Hand in hand they strolled towards the Hall, and it was as though Léoðern had not been previously crying. Ginna could only marvel at and envy the resilience of youth.

[littlemanpoet]

This Elborn was a handsome enough fellow in his ship-legged way. Rowenna smiled just enough to suggest that she was not ill-disposed to him, and nodded to indicate that she understood his meaning about the lockpicks. She tried to toss her untossable, matted her winsomely and failed, and wished very hard that she could get to the Eorl's mead hall very soon so she could bathe, brush out her hair, and maybe even find a new dress to replace the rags she wore.

She wondered how this Elborn knew about Ghem's lockpicks. She wasn't convinced that he was telling the truth about himself, in general. It was not that he seemed less likely to be truthful than any of these others, including the Eorl; living among outlaws for two years had taught her to place her trust in others carefully and seldom. She wondered what had sent him away from the sea, for it was clearly where he belonged. The outlaw scouts and guards had not seen him nor heard of him before this day, and that was saying something. Ghem's talk had been as if he'd snitched his lockpicks off their previous owner unbeknownst, which might or might not be true. At any rate, she had no intention of mentioning Ghem's lockpicks to anyone else. Better to let things happen that she could not easily stop, no matter how unforgiveable, and see what might be made of them later. It was how she had survived among outlaws.

Things were in a bad way for Ulric and Withold, perhaps less so for Ghem; which suited her fine, considering all they'd put her through. Not least of all was today's outrage, killing her poor dogs, Bull and Claw. She wanted to tear both their eyes out. Instead, she schooled herself away from her rage and forced herself to think on the memory of Bull, her big strong and courageous mastiff, and Claw her clever wolfhound, brother to Fang. At least Bear, her hound, had not been killed, his sad eyes looking back at her as if he too grieved his packmates. Gray, her wolf-dog, was too high spirited and in the moment to think any more upon Bull and Claw. Her pointed ears were up and forward as she looked from speaker to speaker, her curly tail flipping back and forth like a darting fish.

But not all the outlaws had been accounted for. This would not do.

"Lord," she said into the first pause in conversation among the others, "I know each of these rogues by face and name. I would help you be sure that all are accounted for if you will show me the dead."

"Witch! Traitorous witch!" cried Ulric.

She gave him not even a glance, holding the eyes of the Eorl, who agreed to her offer. He sent Haleth and his men back to Meduseld with his thanks, then he and his men showed Rowenna each of their kills. It was in this way that Thornden's story came out again, and became less mysterious, of a headless rogue whom he could not remember having killed.

"What do you make of it, lord?" asked Thornden.

"I know not."

"I do," Rowenna said. "Cedric is not among the dead, and he is not captive. He must have escaped. He was one of the more clever ones, and spoke less than he seemed to know."

"Where might he have gone?" the Eorl asked.

"I know not."

"What might he have a mind to do?"

"I know little of that either, except that this one's head is missing, whatever may be made of that. And be sure that whatever may be, will be to Cedric's advantage."

"And clearly to the disadvantage of this headless one," Eodwine remarked.

"Maybe he is spying on us this very moment," Falco offered, looking around.

The eyes of all who remained wandered here and there among the bracken and briars and trees and stone outcroppings, but very little if anything could be seen, and there was no sudden noise as if this Cedric was trying to make a hasty exit.

"Who was this Cedric?" Eodwine asked. "What can you tell me about him so that it can be decided what to do about him?"

"He was last to join us," Rowenna answered. "He proved himself useful with his sword and dagger, and he took orders well enough. He kept to himself mostly."

"When and where did he join you?"

"Some moons ago, not far from Dunland."

"Did he ever speak of any plans of his own devising?"

"Nay, never. He offered to add his sword to ours for a fair share of the gains."

Eodwine shrugged. "Well, since there is little enough to know about this fellow, let us leave this place and return to the Mead Hall."

As she fell into line towards the rear of the party, Rowenna wondered what to expect from Ghem, and this Elborn; and from Cedric. She kept her thoughts to herself.

[Lhunardawen]

By the time Kara had returned to the kitchen the new girl she had just had time to be introduced to, Ginna, had disappeared and Frodides and Modtryth were clearing up the dishes that had been left scattered in the great hall as everyone had rushed out. Guiltily realising that she had been of absolutely no help so far Kara hurried to help, filling the sink with soapy water and starting to wash up.

She was down to the last couple of plates when Ginna reappeared, looking a little flushed and smiling down at Lèoðern who was chattering away quite happily as they entered the kitchen. Frodides also turned as the two entered, a satisfied look crossing her face as she saw them.

"Feeling better now little madam?" She asked Lèoðern, who gazed up at her and nodded vigorously. "Well that's wonderful. Do you think we could have your new friend back for a little while? We need her help now."

Lèoðern nodded again and let go of Ginna's hand.

"Bye m'lady!" She called as Modtryth, who had offered to take her on her rounds of the Hall so she wouldn't be underfoot in the already quite crowded kitchen, led her off down the hallway.

"M'lady?" Frodides inquired of Ginna with an amused arch of an eyebrow, but continued before she had a chance to answer. "Well m'lady, if you don't mind coming down to our level for a while I have a little task for you."

Ginna flushed, whether in annoyance or embarrassment Kara didn't know, but moved to the table Frodides was standing at all the same. Kara followed suit, assuming she could be of some help and having little else to do.

"Ah!" Frodides said, catching sight of Kara coming closer. "I'll leave you to teach the basics to our new girl here, I need a look at that garden." And she disappeared out of the back door, leaving Kara and Ginna alone in the kitchen.

Seeing that she had been left with the easy task of teaching Ginna how to sharpen the knives used in preparing meat and how to prepare a salad. Neither were tasks Ginna would usually be required to do, but Kara had found that working in a kitchen often meant you ended up doing something that was not supposed to be your responsibility, so it was good for Ginna to learn this now. In addition, the simplicity of the tasks would allow them to finally finish the conversation they had tried to start that morning.

"Hello again." She began. "I'm sorry we got interrupted this morning. I'd say it isn't usually so crazy in here but I'd be lying! There's always something going on in this place."

"Always? Oh dear, what have I got myself into?" Ginna went in a mock panicked voice - Lèoðern's mood seemed to have rubbed off on her - and Kara chuckled gently. "So, what are you going to teach me?"

"Not too much." Kara replied. "I suppose you've already learnt serving food and drink out in the main hall, so we're really doing things you might be asked to do if we're very busy. First off we have sharpening knives, an easy job if you don't mind the noise it makes!"

Kara picked up one of the duller knives and a sharpening stone and began her demonstration, Ginna watching her movements closely.

"Want to give it a try?" Kara asked, and Ginna nodded, holding her hands out for the tools.

"Oh!" Kara cried, catching sight of the girl's bandaged hand as she stretched it out to receive the knife. "What happened? Does it hurt? Maybe we should do the salad instead."

"This? It's nothing," Ginna said in an awkward chuckle. Kara gave her a dubious look, still holding on to the tools. Sighing, Ginna pulled her hand back and raised it for Kara to see.

"It was just a silly accident yesterday. I was carrying some dishes when Master Falco, Lefun, and Ritun came in--"

Kara nodded and smiled understandingly. She knew what came next.

"It was unfair to them," Ginna continued, feeling her cheeks heat up a bit. "I apologised to them last night, and I'm sure I'll never be frightened by them again. But as I said, it's nothing. I've been wounded worse - accidents are bound to happen when a female is being taught the use of a sword. Now then..."

She held out her hand towards Kara again, and Kara placed the tools in it with a still doubtful glance at the bandage.

"Well, just tell me if it starts to hurt." She said, trusting that Ginna would know when to stop if she needed to. "So what were you doing with a sword?" She continued, deciding it was time to find out more about Ginna. Upon receiving the knife and the stone, Ginna had straightaway started on her task, and it was a few moments before she replied.

"My father wanted me to learn how to use it, for my protection. I'm his only child, you see, and my mother's gone," she added, with a glance at Kara. "He knows Lord Eodwine from the War, and requested of him to...let me stay here for a while."

"Oh I'm so sorry about your mother." Kara said, almost reaching out to comfort Ginna, but stopping herself as she realised she was still holding sharp objects in her hands. "Is that why your father wants you to stay here? So you can have some female company?"

Ginna could not help smiling. That was a good enough alternative reason, she thought. And it could have had an element of truth to it; Randvér could have known that there will be enough women in the Hall to keep her company...and keep her well-behaved.

"You could say that," she said at last. If she had any plans of saying more she was denied it, as a shrill voice rent through the silence of the Hall:

"They're here!"

Quickly looking at each other, Ginna and Kara dropped the knives, wiped their hands on their aprons, and ran out the kitchen, Frodides coming up behind them. Outside was Modtryth and Lèoðern, with downcast faces. Ginna turned and saw what they were looking at.

"Oh, no," she whispered. "What happened to him - them?"

[littlemanpoet]

"All questions will be answered in due time," Eodwine announced. He ordered the three outlaws to be taken to the securest rooms in the basement of the Mead Hall, which happened to be a closet behind the wine cellar. They were secured there.

Then Eodwine led those who carried Lefun and Ritun into the Mead Hall. The best they had to lay them in state was a large table, so Eodwine had it brought to the front part of the Mead Hall, halfway between the central firepit and the front door. It was not long before everyone associated with the Mead Hall had gathered around the body in repose.

Eodwine told all gathered the story of the day, and had Thornden tell parts of the tale that he did not know well, and then he required the same of Falco.

"Is there anyone else who would speak up at this time?"

Silence settled over the sombre gathering for several moments.

[Ealasaide]

Having nowhere better to go and nothing better to do, Elián followed the rest of the procession back to the Meduseld. His first impression of the place was that it was just a big, rather elderly inn, but as he entered the Great Hall, he soon discovered that, while it did have certain elements of an inn, it was indeed the Eorl’s seat. Elián watched with carefully concealed interest to see how the prisoners were disposed of and smiled to himself as they were stowed in the wine cellar below decks. It wasn’t much of a jail in his opinion and probably wasn’t in much of the opinion of the outlaws either. With the right tools, he figured that he could let himself out of there in no time. Ghem probably could, too. The question was less how effective was the jail cell itself as it was how effective were the guards? He would be interested to see how events unfolded. The knowledge could come in handy if he ever found himself on the wrong side of the Eorl’s cellar door.

In the meantime, though, the fate of the outlaws wasn’t really his problem. Nonetheless, he did find himself looking around for the woman with the dogs and, not seeing her, assumed that she must have gone off somewhere either to clean up or to find suitable space for her pets. He had forgotten to ask her name, but thought that he had heard someone call her Rowenna… Rowena… Helena… something like that. It was a pretty name, but he still had not quite made up his mind about the woman herself. Oh, she had a pretty face all right to go with the name, but there was something of Mrs. Snorrisson about her that put his teeth on edge. Maybe it was that toughness under the surface that conjured the image of his former captain’s wife. Of course, the woman would have had to have been tough even to have survived two years with the bunch of fellows she had been running with. On the other hand, there was still the matter of the lock picks. The fact that she had done nothing to alert the Eorl’s people as to the existence of the picks in the hands of her former captors still bothered him.

And where did that leave him? She knew that he knew and Ghem knew him, and, in fact, Ghem had gotten the cursed lock picks directly from Elián himself. In fact, Elián had made them with his own hands. Before running away to sea, he had spent several years apprenticed to an unscrupulous cutler who had taught him, among other things, how to craft a very efficient set of lock picks. The tiny dagger that went along with them had been Elián’s own invention. He had made at least fifty sets of both over the years and sold all of them for a tidy profit. That is, all but one. He still carried a set himself. Elián sighed. It left him in a very precarious position, particularly if word came up from Belfalas that he was a wanted man.

They couldn’t possibly be looking for him this far north. Could they? He was just a member of the crew…

Rowenna-Helena-whatever-her-name-was had something on him. While it was not much, especially if she had not picked up on the slip he had made in calling Ghem by name, it was enough to make Elián feel vulnerable. He very much wanted to find her, to get to know her a little better, and, in doing that, find out if he could trust her. If she could be trusted, then everything was lovely. If not? Then he had some decisions to make. Either he needed to disappear or she did.

In the meantime, he would have a flagon of mead and get a feel for the atmosphere in the Eorl’s great hall. Already, the Eorl had launched into a tale of the day’s doings and of all the events leading into the death of the two-headed chap and the capture of the outlaws. Elián listened with great interest as he knew almost as little of the events of the day as the local serving girls did. He was silently relieved when the Eorl made no mention of him at all or of how he had happened to join the party in the woods. With any luck at all, the Eorl had completely forgotten his existence. That way, maybe, he would not have to answer any uncomfortable questions.

[Lhunardawen]

Having heard everything she needed to hear concerning Lefun and Ritun's death, Ginna slipped away from the congregation in the Mead Hall and stealthily made her way back to the kitchen. She did not even let Kara see her, even though she could have needed her company, at least in finishing the work they had left behind. She wanted to be alone, to think, to express what she was thinking even just through her face, without anyone noticing and asking her what was wrong.

She knew Rilef's death should not affect her much, for she had only met them the day before, but her encounter with them was not as simple to her as it probably had been to them. Her apology had been sincere; she was concerned about how much she might have offended them, and was determined not to do it again. Perhaps she felt she could relate with them - surely they always had people judging them based on their appearance, and caring not to see what lay beneath it. Just like my father, judging me for what I had done, and refusing to consider that it might have been his fault . . .

As she walked slowly, with the kitchen in sight, she felt a tear fall unexpectedly down her cheek. Remembering her father, he could not control memories of her mother also flooding in . . . she had died shortly before the War, when Ginna would have most needed her in her father's absence . . . and now Rilef died after she arrived in the Mead Hall. Am I a curse to the people around me? she asked herself bitterly, and let more tears fall.

Ginna stopped at the kitchen's threshold and quickly wiped her face, though she was quite certain no one was there. She stepped forward, and with relief found she was right. She took up the knife she had been sharpening and continued her work, just as though there had been no interruption, her emotions churning inside her but careful not to let them show.

[littlemanpoet]

Having fed her dogs, Rowenna chose to go back to the mead hall to see how things were with the two headed dead man. She wondered whether it would be quicker to go by way of the alder court and through the kitchen, or through the door that must be at the back of the guest rooms, or all the way around the stables. She rejected the long walk that Léof had taken her along, which left a tour through the as yet unknown guest rooms, or back to the kitchen. The guest rooms would be an interesting diversion, and Rowenna was curious. She had never heard of a mead hall that seemed as much like an inn, and so it intrigued her. But the likely try at freedom in the offing down by the kitchen tickled at her mind, and so she decided to pass by the alder tree.

She came in the door and stopped, listening for sounds from the cellar, and heard none. She did here the chopping sound of a knife against a board, and saw a young woman who could not be any older than she herself was, her face long and drawn and still wet with recently shed tears. This was curious.

Rowenna had shed many tears in the first few weeks of her captivity. She could remember having felt horrible, grieving for her father, and feeling very sorry for herself. But tears became no more than a luxury and a waste of the strength she had needed to survive. She had not cried in nigh to two years. Even now she could not recall what the horrible grief and self-pity had felt like, so completely had she closed them off from herself, to survive the harsh life of the outlaws. So she felt no sympathy for the girl now.

More urgently, if Ulric, Ghem, and Withold came up from the cellar right now and found the two of them in the kitchen, it might not go well for either of them. She had to get this girl our of here, fast! - - without making a scene while she was at it.

"Hello, I am Rowenna." The young woman looked up in surprise and wiped at her eyes with her free hand. "What is your name? Could you help me a moment with my dogs?" Rowenna pointed back outside in their direction, holding the gaze of the girl.

[Firefoot]

“Of course. Just let me put him away first,” Léof replied, patting the horse’s shoulder. Thornden nodded. Léof unclipped the horse from the aisle and led him to a nearby stall. After making sure the water pail was filled, he left the horse and returned to where Thornden stood. “Can I help you with something?” Léof asked.

“Well, yes,” said Thornden. “It’s about Javan.”

This piqued Léof’s curiosity. After all, Javan had only spent a short while in the stable, not yet the full week of trial they had initially agreed to. “I’m listening.”

“I am considering removing Javan from stable work as punishment for his disobedience today,” Thornden explained, “but first I want to know how much help he is to you. If he is a great help to you, he will remain where he is and I will come up with another suitable punishment.”

Léof did not respond quickly. Javan’s arrival at the scene of the fight had surprised him, of course, but he himself had spoken no word of reproach; that was not his place. But now Thornden was effectively placing the nature of Javan’s punishment in his hands. “He is not necessary to me – I managed alright before he came,” Léof replied truthfully, “and he has much to learn. He does seem to learn quickly, however, and in time I could come to depend on him. I will support your decision whether he goes or stays.” There. That was fair – and removed the actual decision-making from Léof’s shoulders.

[Taralphiel]

Lys had been able to freely walk the Halls since his recovery, but this had been the first time he had a companion free of duties to explore with.

Lys' first thought was to walk to the markets. Hrethel would be busy, and would not want him playing as his shadow. Lys had wished to see the markets for some time. Walking with Elfthain was just what Lys needed to lift his spirits and lessen his worry over Thornden.

Entering the marketplace, Lys was near stunned by the colours, smells and activity. The food stalls lured him with their deep scents and Lys suddenly felt the wish that he had coin to purchase a savoury pie or an apple or carrot.

The food stalls stretched for most of the space allocated to the markets, but small wares stalls dotted the area, selling stock left from the horse fair. Lys followed Elfthain as he bounded from stalls carrying swords, to trinkets and jewellery and then to finely polished and designed saddles.

Lys stopped at a stall selling woven goods. The goods were of varied artisans, and for varied uses. Soft woven fabric for dresses and tunics were gathered in ordered piles while blankets of different colours were displayed about the edges of the stall with pegs and tied lengths of thick twine. Lys stopped at one blanket.

It was the same as the one he had been found in, his only possession. His had been torn and stained in the mud beyond the hope of any cleaning. This one had reds that burned and blues that where icy cool next to them. The gold twine sparkled to Lys eyes. He stopped staring when Efthain’s hand was on his shoulder, and he finally heard the query of the stallkeeper.

"Nice work, is it not boy? Sold to me by a stanger, 'least to these parts. Doubt it was the maker. Did not know the skill put into this. Not of Edoras, no. An outlying people, I say. Worth a bag of coin, at least."

Lys heart seemed to sink to the pit of his stomach. He smiled and nodded, turning to Elfthain who was looking at him with concern.

"You look pale? Are you ill? Should we be going back?"

Lys shook his head. There was still time left in the day, and he did not want to miss more, even if more than his ankle was aching.

[Ealasaide]

Leaving their makeshift cell behind them, the three outlaws crept silently up the stairs toward the door to the kitchen. Ulric led the way, followed closely by Withold, with Ghem bringing up the rear. Ulric still held the tiny dagger that had cut the ropes that had bound them, wrist and ankle, only a few moments earlier. While it was barely three inches in length, the miniature dagger was razor sharp and could do considerable damage to a face or a wrist. It being their only weapon until others could be found, Ulric held it between his thumb and index finger, concealed behind his palm. Should he need to use it, the element of surprise was almost as valuable to him as the blade’s sharp edge.

Reaching the top stair, he paused, listening to the steady chop, chop of the cook at work, preparing the evening’s supper for the Eorl’s guests. Slowly, he cracked the door and peered out. The kitchen was empty, save for the presence of one young woman. Unaware of their presence, she seemed completely absorbed in her work. The chopping continued as Ulric smiled to himself. She would be easy to overpower, knife or no knife.

He was just beginning to push the door open when the door from the kitchen to the outside suddenly opened directly opposite him. He pulled the cellar door swiftly to without taking the time to see who was coming in. To his utter surprise, he heard a familiar voice.

“Hello, I am Rowenna,” said the newcomer. “What is your name? Could you help me a moment with my dogs?”

“Rowenna!” hissed Ghem from the bottom of the short staircase.

As though in response to Ghem’s exclamation, Ulric cracked the door once more. It would not do to go charging out there only to find that Rowenna had been accompanied by others. He had to make sure that she was alone with the other young woman. A single glance told him that she was. Feeling very confident, Ulric pushed the door open and stepped into the kitchen, followed closely by Ghem and Withold.

“Hello, my dear,” he said to Rowenna, catching her firmly about the wrist with his free hand. The hand holding the knife landed on her shoulder as he stepped behind her. With a subtle movement of his wrist, he flashed the small blade before her eyes so that she should know that he was not unarmed. “Nice of you to come help us out! Right timely, too.”

The other girl had been caught so much by surprise that the response she had just started to give to Rowenna died on her lips. The tear that had already been trembling at the corner of her eye, burst free and rolled unchecked down her cheek, dropping from her small, rounded chin to the floor as she turned to face the trio of rough-looking men who seemed to have appeared in the kitchen out of thin air. Her kitchen knife paused in mid-air as Withold and Ghem closed on her. Ghem reached out and took a meat cleaver from its hook on the wall, as Withold picked up a second kitchen knife from the counter where the girl had been working. It had been newly sharpened and shone with a dangerous glitter.

“Shh-shh-shh,” said Withold with a slimy grin. “There’s a good lass… not a peep. Give us the knife afore ya hurts yerself.”

“Yeh,” said Ghem with a creepy, false kindness. “Give us the knife, poppet.”

[Celuien]

Garmund looked at the toy in Cnebba's hand. Not long ago, the little carved rider had seemed a thing of great importance; and it had tweaked the beginnings of his jealousy. Now, after all that had happened over the day, with Ritun and Lefun lying still and quiet on the table, Garmund felt how little the quarrel mattered.

He reached out and closed his fingers around the toy.

"I'm sorry, Cnebba," he muttered. "Friends?"

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna

Rowenna's throat clenched in panic. Every nerve in her body urged her to scream, or because of the threat of death at knife point, to swallow the scream and weep silently.

No.

This was not the first time. It had been this way all the time those first few months, and then there were more incidents later; the last one had been Eric, one of the most rascally ones, who was now thankfully dead.

Make the best of the situation.

Using her silkiest voice she said, "You are just in the nick of time, my love." She leaned back into Ulric, using her body to remind him of his lust. "I was beginning to wonder if Ghem was going to remind you of his lockpicks."

"Lying witch! You betrayed us."

"Silly boy, I played the Eorl. You did not die. Why do you think not?"

Rowenna could see out of the corner of her eye that the young cook's eyes were widening with fear, not having expected such words from her.

"See, you even have a new wench for your pleasure."

"Don't trust her Ulric!" growled Withold.

"Girl," said Rowenna, her voice suddenly harsh, "hand over the knife if you wish to live. If you do not, my friends here will think nothing of slitting your throat once they've taken it from you. They've done it before. And don't be a little fool and scream, or you'll get yourself killed even quicker."

Rowenna wondered what the girl would do. Confound Ulric for not trusting her more and loosening his grip on her!

"Ulric, my dear, I would be so much more useful if you take your little knife from my throat."

Eodwine

None of the others wished to speak, Eodwine concluded after a short wait. He ordered Garwiné to stand honor guard over Rilef's body, and ordered Stigend to build a casket so that Lefun and Ritun could be buried in the back pasture that night. Then he indicated that the others were free to go about their duties. Eodwine remained standing where he was, reflecting on the strange events of the day. He was startled to realize that almost everyone had left without him aware; except for Falco, Garmund, Cnebba, and Modtryth. They were still standing where they had been, each of them eyeing their Eorl.

"Well? One of you wishes to say something now that the others are gone. Please speak your mind."

[Nogrod]

Garmund’s fingers were closed around the toy. Cnebba laid his own hands over Garmund’s and pressed them firmly as a mark of a deal. Cnebba looked at his friend to the eye.

“Friends…”, he said and pushed the toy towards Garmund. “You keep this. I’ll ask my dad to make me another one and then we can play with them together?” Garmund nodded approvingly and they gave each other a short smile.

---

“Stigend, I wish you to make a casket for the dead. They should be buried today.” Lord Eodwine ordered and Stigend rose up nodding to the eorl. “That will be done immediately” he said and turned away to get his tools.

The hatchet… I left it in the alder court in the morning… Stigend turned back and went out of the door leading to the yard between the hall and the new kitchen. He picked his axe from the pile of logs he had been carving in the morning when he heard voices from the kitchen. There were some rough male voices but also a female voice which was not that of Kara. Everyone’s at the hall so there shouldn’t be anyone in the kitchen…

Stigend crept carefully to the door and peeked round it.

Two men were bullying Ginna and one had a knife at Rowenna’s throat. Rowenna had just turned her gaze at the outlaw who was threatening her.

“Ulric, my dear, I would be so much more useful if you take your little knife from my throat."

For a second Stigend was confused. now what is this? My dear… being more useful? But there was no time to think.

“Alarm! Everyone alarm! The outlaws are loose, in the kitchen!” Stigend shouted from the bottom of his lungs and took a step to close the doorway. He had picked his knife to his left hand and in his right hand he held the chip axe.

“Allright brutes, leave the women and drop your knives. You have no way to escape.” Stigend was suddenly trembling with anger. It was not only because he despised outlaws in principle or even that these outlaws had attacked his lord… these things would have not triggered such a powerful reaction from him. But it was what they had done to Rilef and even more to the point how their deed had affected Cnebba and Garmund. Remembering the anguish in the eyes of the little boys made Stigend boil over with the brutes who were now bullying women.

Stigend raised his left hand fingering his knife and thence signalling that he was both able and willing to use it as a ranged weapon as well. Stigend looked at Ulric who was nearest to him. "Drop your knife and let her free!"

[littlemanpoet]

"This is all my fault," Falco declared. "I should never have talked them into comin' here," he continued in a low voice. "He was better off on his own."

"You blame yourself for their death, Falco?" asked Eodwine. "It's a fool thing to do. Bringing him away from the ruins might have saved-"

"Them!" Garmund deftly inserted the correction.

"What? Oh, sorry. Bringing them here might have saved their lives. I was the one asked them to go back there today, so if anybody deserves blame, it falls on my shoulders."

"Ah but don't you see," said Falco, "If he'd never left he'd have kept hid."

"They!" Garmund interrupted.

"Aye, they!" Cnebba joined in, grinning. It was great fun correcting one's elders.

"Now boys," Modtryth reprimanded mildly.

"Maybe and maybe not. Anyway, he's dead - I mean, they are dead. May we be the better for having them among us for a little while."

Suddenly a cry went up from the alder court. “Alarm! Everyone alarm! The outlaws are loose, in the kitchen!”

"Curse it!" cried Eodwine. "Modtryth, take the boys upstairs to your rooms and close the door, and block it! Falco! Grab a weapon!" Eodwine dashed to the armoury, grabbed a sword and throwing axe, and ran toward the back hall which led directly to the kitchen.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine halted just before the door to the kitchen in order to take stock of the situation; he didn't want an arrow or other missile to put an end to him before he had a chance to do anything worthwhile. Sword in his right hand, throwing axe in his left, he crossed his weapons before him as a partial shield and took a step forward. One outlaw held Ginna by knife, another held Rowenna, and the third and smallest had his hands free and his knife dripping blood, facing down Stigend, who was wounded in the shoulder.

They could flee through the back door! Eodwine quickly crossed the space, facing the outlaws, and blocked their way. Elborn came just inside the kitchen and blocked the way to the Great Room.

"You are matched man for man," Eodwine growled. "Unhand the women and throw down your weapons!"

[Lhunardawen]

There were seconds of silence following the Eorl's challenge, as though the outlaws were weighing their options. Leaning forcedly now against the body of his captor, Ginna thought back on the last few moments with regret. She cursed herself for not moving with her instincts, for holding back, for giving in to surprise when the outlaws sprung suddenly on her. She felt the knife at her throat prick her skin, but not the pain it should have caused. Her blood was surging in anger, in disgrace, her father had not taught her all he knew only for her to end up in a situation such as this . . .

And Ginna was not used to being held under a man's power; she had been the one who overcame them. For a moment she had thought of following the girl Rowenna's lead, as an act of desperation. Rowenna . . . Ginna suddenly found her voice.

"She's with them," she snarled, pointing at Rowenna with her chin as she looked at Eodwine. "I don't know how she came to be at the knife's point now, but she's working with them, or she used to."

Ginna did not think her talking could endanger her, or else she did not care, but she went on and turned to Rowenna, "I'm sorry, Rowenna, but now it's too late for me to - how did you call it? - help you with your dogs."

[Ealasaide]

Ulric, Withold, & Ghem

“You are matched man for man,” growled the Eorl. “Unhand the women and throw down your weapons!”

Ulric exchanged a slit-eyed glance with Withold before responding. “Better to die by the blade than the rope….” He began, but was cut off by the angry voice of Withold’s hostage.

“She’s with them!” the girl cried out, pointing to Rowenna with her chin. “I don’t know how she came to be at the knife’s point now, but she’s working with them, or she used to…” She went on speaking to Rowenna but Ulric was no longer listening. He watched the Eorl’s face for his reaction. Who would he believe – Rowenna or the serving girl?

“Shut her up!” he ordered Withold from the corner of his mouth. In response, Withold pressed the flat side of his knife’s blade tightly against the girl’s throat. A mere turn of his wrist could slash her throat clean through.

“Shaddup!” he said harshly into the girl’s ear. She fell silent, but he could feel her muscles tense with rage. It was not exactly the response he had hoped for. He had hoped she was more the cowering, swooning type, but, apparently, he had no such luck.

Off to the side, near the door to the Alder Court, Ghem was feeling a little less confident than he had felt a few seconds earlier when he had landed the blow on the other man’s shoulder. While his opponent was bleeding heavily from the open wound, he had not only kept a firm grip on his axe, but had managed to relieve Ghem of his piece of firewood. Out of position now for grabbing another one, Ghem continued to brandish the cleaver threateningly. At the same time, his eyes flitted from side to side, assessing his position and searching for a way out of the rapidly filling kitchen. He almost laughed outright when his eyes fell on the man guarding the door to the Great Hall. It was none other than Elián, that same Belfalas pirate who had sold him the lock picks several months earlier. Ghem had been surprised to see Elián in the woods with the Eorl’s men that afternoon when he was captured, but had since forgotten all about him. Now seeing Elián guarding one of the exits, he couldn’t believe his luck. He began to edge surreptitiously in Elián’s direction.

As he reached the place where Withold was standing, he made a subtle gesture in the opposite direction with his head. “Out the backdoor to the kitchen yard,” he murmured. “I’ll cover yer back.”

Withold nodded and began to edge back in the direction of the door to the Alder court, dragging his unwilling hostage with him.