Eorling Mead Hall

[Taralphiel]

"We better take these back to the kitchen - I suppose you know everyone here....and all the ones who have gone away. I hope they will be back soon."

Lys looked up and smiled. "To be truthful I know very few people. I have only been able to move out of my room for the last few weeks. I am also shy...I have found most people are too busy to talk with me."

He took his share of the plates and with Elfthain following him walked back to the kitchen and gave thanks for their meal. Then he lead Elfthain on a simple tour giving him small snippets of the big news from the last few weeks from what Thornden had told him. Elfthain had already seen the stables so Lys took him for a look through the Great Hall and the garden, now temptingly warm from the attention of the sun. Then taking Elfthain out to the street, he smiled shyly.

"I am afraid I still know little about what is around. Perhaps we can explore? I would like to see more! But...must you be off home? Will someone worry about you?"

[Ealasaide]

Elián couldn’t help but raise a surprised eyebrow as a stout and indignant hobbit burst out of the bracken almost directly underneath the point of his dagger. He took a step back and, not without considerable effort, managed to choke the snort of laughter that threatened to escape him down to an amused smirk as the hobbit blustered through a rather angry introduction of himself. Smiling, Elián sheathed his dagger as requested, though he still kept his sword drawn, held slightly behind himself and down.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said politely as the hobbit completed his bow. “Allow me to apologize for the bunny-rabbit remark. I had no idea that such an illustrious person as yourself would be skulking about in the bushes like that. I am El… eh, Elbörn of Belfalas. At your service.” He offered a hobbit a shallow bow of his own, hoping that the fellow hadn’t noticed the slight hesitation over the name. He had only decided to lie at the last second as it occurred to him that it might not be such a clever thing to give a Shirrif his proper name, be he Shirrif of The Shire or of wherever. Elián had decided to own up to Belfalas, however, as it was fairly obvious that he came from the coast. As there were literally thousands of sea-farers in the vicinity of Belfalas it was hardly incriminating in and of itself. Besides, the name of his home port was tattooed on to his upper arm, in the crossbar of an anchor. It wouldn’t do very well to deny it as he would be branded a liar the second his arm was bared.

Hoping to distract the hobbit from any further inquiries, Elián continued in friendly tone of voice. “I can’t say as I would recommend hiding in the bushes like that as a common practice. It’s a good way to get oneself killed.” He dropped the Shirrif a quick wink. “If I’d had a bow and a handful of arrows about me, I might have shot first and asked questions later.”

As the blustery look began to fall again across the hobbit’s face, Elián pressed on, not letting him get a word out. He had noticed the hobbit had cast more than one furtive glance back into the undergrowth as they were talking and began to suspect that maybe someone else was concealed there yet. He leaned toward the Shirrif.

“And speaking of hiding in the bushes,” he said softly, as though begging a confidence. “I get the impression that you conceal someone behind you yet. Would it be the good Mrs. Shirrif, by any chance? Or perhaps another young lady that the good Mrs. Shirrif would perhaps rather not know about. If so, I can certainly understand your desire for secrecy. You can bid her come out now. I will do her no harm.”

[Folwren]

Javan could not believe his eyes when the hobbit burst forth from their hiding place, right up to the stranger. He couldn’t get himself to move and he winced as he heard Falco’s angry sounding salutation, expecting any moment to hear him cut down by the man’s sword. But no blow fell. Instead the man returned the introduction with his own name and home country. Javan began to breath a little more and he peeped about through the leaves.

He was just getting the courage to step forward and go out when he heard Elián (or Elbörn as Javan would call him) speak concerning him. “And speaking of hiding in the bushes, I get the impression that you conceal someone behind you yet. Would it be the good Mrs. Shirrif, by any chance? Or perhaps another young lady that the good Mrs. Shirrif would perhaps rather not know about. If so, I can certainly understand your desire for secrecy. You can bid her come out now. I will do her no harm.”

Javan flushed red up to the ears, indignant towards the suggestion. He thrust his way through, his boyish face screwing up into the most grown up scowl he could muster. “I’m not a girl!” he said angrily, facing up to Elbörn with puffed chest and clenched fists. “So just you take that back! And I’m not afraid of you, anyway!”

[Ealasaide]

Elián couldn’t help grinning as the boy charged out of the thicket, rising like a hungry mullet to the bait that he had cast upon the water. He threw a lightning quick glance behind the youngster just to make sure that there was no one else in the thicket that needed to be drawn out, hoping that there were only the two of them. He was running out of calculated insults and would be hard-pressed to come up with anything else off the top of his head that would be inflammatory enough to pull strangers out of the hedgerows, yet mild enough that he could apologize it away once the remark had served its purpose. Thankfully, he saw no one else.

“I’m not a girl,” sputtered the boy, nearly purple with rage. “So just you take that back! And I’m not afraid of you, anyway!”

“Ah, sorry, mate,” Elián responded cheerfully, adopting a much less formal tone with the boy than he had taken with shirrif. “It was an honest mistake.”

He dropped his sword into a relaxed position at his side as the boy continued to eye him suspiciously. “I take it back,” he added after a moment and was pleased to see the high color begin to ebb from the boy’s face, returning his features to a reasonably normal hue. Elián had learned years ago that children should never be discounted as potential allies. He didn’t have any children of his own, but had discovered through hard experience that they could turn out to be valuable friends or dangerous tattle-tales, depending on how you treated them… particularly the independent little guys like this one seemed to be. Seeing the boy at least temporarily mollified, Elián turned his attention back to the shirrif.

“There was a dead man on the path not too far back,” he said. “And the sound of fighting nearby. If there is trouble, I would be happy to assist you in any way I can, or, at the very least, travel with you as far as the nearest town. I’m a skilled hand with a sword. Perhaps I can be of use.”

[littlemanpoet]

Falco had not so long ago been the kind of hobbit who based his impressions of others solely on appearance; one particularity actually: size. If someone was not a hobbit, it meant that someone was Big. And if someone was Big, that someone was Trouble. Not to be trusted. All that had been dashed by Falco's adventures with the Elven maiden, Uien, along with other Elves and Humans, in the attempt to rescue Eodwine, held captive in Hills of Evendim already a year ago. And here he was in a land of Big People, some of whom thought him trouble (he thought of Thornden with an inner grin).

This fellow was, however, downright outlandish, even for the Eorlingas. From the seaside, he claimed to be, and if he didn't smell of it, he certainly looked oddly dressed enough for it. But the question that faced Falco was, did he trust this fellow enough to tell him what was going on?

Maybe a little of it, and time would tell how much further he could trust him.

"Well, Elbörn, if that's your name, you can be of help if you choose, for we may have need of aid, me and Javan. Or the town's a mile off thataway, if you prefer to leave us now. And if you heard fighting, then fighting's what it was, and to the death, if you saw rightly. As to the dead man, he could be an outlaw, or it could be an Eorling. I haven't seen him, so I couldn't say. But any road, we were going to that ruin of a tower that you can just barely see through the trees there."

"Then let's go see," Elbörn replied gamely.

"I'll go first then since I'm quietest on my feet, and Javan in the middle, and you can take up the rear."

Elbörn did not resist the hobbit's insistence, and thusly they made their way until they came upon Eodwine, Thornden, and the others - - with Ritun and Lefun lying in the midst of them, lifeless.

"Rilef?" Falco called. "Rilef! What's happened to him?" The hobbit pushed his way through and around legs to the side of the twins.

"He's - they're dead, Falco. Killed by the outlaws," said Eodwine. "I'm sorry. Who is your friend?"

Despite his catching throat and pointless rage at the now dead killers, Falco quieted himself and introduced the fellow calling himself Elbörn.

[Folwren]

The silence in the clearing was very deep when Falco, Javan, and the stranger arrived. As quiet as the three came, their footsteps could clearly be heard. Thornden looked up and around towards them, not knowing who to expect, and when he saw who it was, at least who Falco and Javan were, he could hardly have looked more surprised.

The third one was a complete stranger and he was soon introduced by Falco, who gave his name and origin. The man had come a long way and stumbled upon them upon an unfortunate time. But that would soon be all set to rights. Shortly, they’d head off to the Mead Hall again. Things would be set back in order. And, Thornden thought, he would find out how Falco and Javan came to be there after both being ordered to stay behind. He looked at his younger brother and then back at the hobbit and doubted not a little that Falco had quite a bit of hand in it.

But sifting to the bottom of that would wait. There were heavier and sadder things to see to. They had prisoners now, and a dead friend to take care of.

[Ealasaide]

As Elián followed his newly found companions, Falco and Javan, into the clearing where another party had already assembled, he could tell at once that something horrible had taken place just prior to their arrival. Someone who had apparently been greatly loved by all had been killed and still lay where he – they? – had fallen. Sensing the gravity of the moment, Elián sheathed his sword and tried his best to remain out of the way as the others went through the sad and deeply personal rituals of recognition and grief. Curious, he stole a glance past them at the individual who had been slain and was startled to see two torsos adjoining a single set of legs. He looked away quickly in a conscious effort to avoid gaping at the poor soul. Souls. He had never seen anyone like that before and was disappointed to run into him, them, after their deaths. They might have been interesting to get to know.

Oh, well, he thought to himself. So it goes. Elián turned away, letting his attention shift from the dead fellow – fellows? – to the other faces assembled around the clearing. He found them to be an odd mixture of folks to be out chasing outlaws around the woods: two of what he would consider professional fighting men; two villagers, probably tradesmen, with their children; and a woman holding a pair of goodly-sized dogs. The woman seemed to be watching a handful of prisoners, while the others hovered over the dead fellow. Fellows.

Elián that hoped he didn’t know any of the prisoners, as that could not possibly lead to anything good. He was just beginning to sneak a careful glance in their direction when his attention was yanked back toward the group surrounding the dead fellows.

“Who is your friend?” asked the older of the two fighting men, obviously the leader of the group, addressing the hobbit Shirrif.

As Falco made a quiet introduction of Elián as Elbörn, Elián offered a deep bow. He could see the man was a high-ranking nobleman of some kind and, as such, he was entitled to a good deal of courtesy.

“At your service,” said Elián politely as the introduction was finished. “I seem to have arrived at a bad time. My condolences for your loss.”

[Mithalwen]

"I am afraid I still know little about what is around. Perhaps we can explore? I would like to see more! But...must you be off home? Will someone worry about you?"

Elfthain paused and thought, he had no desire to part from his new friend but having been allowed to go to the inn to gather news on the general's return he wondered whether strictly speaking he should return. It was not that he feared punishment but that he had lately come to realise that reliability was the key to greater freedom. At home he had generous bounds and as long as he told someone where he was going, had completed his chores and returned in time for meals he could please himself much of the time. He also had the wit to realise that at home, he was usually kept under the friendly eye of the farmhands and villagers and his mother would soon hear of any mishap or misbehaviour and the price of not having her fuss over him was not giving her grounds to fuss.

Edoras was not home and he would dearly love to explore properly and in all honesty he was sure he would just be in the way.

"I think it will be alright. They know that I was coming to the Inn and so if anyone looks for me they will know that I am with you. But I don't think anyone will miss me for a while - they were all too busy. As long as we don't go outside the walls it should be fine". Elfthain hoped that that was true and the pair set out, Elfthain letting Lys set the pace.

[Ealasaide]

For the second time that day, Elián raised an eyebrow in surprise. He had assumed that the woman with the dogs was part of the Eorl’s group, either a guard or a tracker, but when she acknowledged his warning about ol’ Ghem’s lock picks with nothing more than a smile and a toss of her untossable, matted hair, he began to suspect otherwise. This suspicion was confirmed by her subsequent conversation with the Eorl, in which she inventoried the dead for the Eorl and his men and identified the missing outlaw for them: some fellow named Cedric. Idly, Elián wondered if he knew Cedric, too. He was terrible with names, which could come in handy when being questioned by the authorities – after all, you couldn’t divulge what you couldn’t remember – but he never forgot a face. As for the girl, he had not seen her before, but by his guess she had lingering sympathies for the outlaws since she had chosen to do nothing with the information he had given her about the lock picks. Apparently, she was already aware of their existence, even without his input.

Elián shrugged amiably to himself. He had done his part for law and order and, having done it, had decided to wash his hands of the whole business. The outlaws weren’t his problem. In fact, if he could manage it, he would like to stay on their good side as well as the Eorl’s. After all, as he knew very well, escapes did happen and a person could sometimes find friends in unexpected places.

What was his problem was the matter of getting to Edoras, where he hoped he could either vanish for a while – at least long enough for things to settle down again in the South – or purchase enough supplies to continue his flight north toward Bree. An old shipmate and friend had hailed from Bree originally and since returned home again, having had enough of the sea, to settle down and join his family’s blacksmithing business there. Elián had hopes of finding work with him until it was safe to return to Belfalas. Now… if he just knew where Bree was. He knew that it lay to the north somewhere, but that was about it. He hoped to find a reliable map, as well as supplies, once he got into Edoras.

With that thought occupying his mind, Elián fell in at the rear of the line as the entire group, led by the Eorl, assembled on the path and began to move in the direction of town. Finding himself behind the young woman with the dogs, Elián decided to try speaking to her again.

“So, how is it,” he asked, moving close up behind her. “That you seem to belong to the outlaws, yet you have the complete trust of the Eorl? It’s a rare spot to be in, to hold both ends of the anchor line like that.”

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna cocked her head at Elborn's query, glancing at him with one raised brow. Could he not see the rags she wore instead of a good dress? Or was he mimicking daftness? Or asking something obvious to see how she would react? She shrugged.

"I was their captive for two years. They had me bound, waiting upon their kind ministrations." She said her last words with a sardonic smirk. "The Eorl found and rescued me. And my dogs."

“Two years, all bound up?” asked Elián mildly. “Seems like a long time for them to be toting you around with them. And your dogs. Explains your choice of wardrobe, though, don’t it?” He grinned, but, seeing that she was not amused, changed his tack.

“If it was me, I’d’ve ransomed the lot of you as soon as possible and spared myself the trouble of a couple years’ worth of ministrations, as you put it.” He gave her a sideways glance, thinking that she must have been treated very badly during her time of captivity. She seemed so angry. But then, he reminded himself, if he had spent the last two years trussed up like a holiday goose and relying on the kindness of a bunch of cutthroats, he’d be cranky, too. If that was really her story. For all he knew, she could be one of the outlaws just passing herself off as a hostage for her own purposes. After all, the captives looked about as rough and ill-used as she did. Who could say for certain that she was not one of them? To take her at her word alone, the Eorl was either a trusting fellow or an idiot, decided Elián. Either that or the girl was already known to him from an earlier association of some kind. Either way, Elián had his doubts. There was still the matter of the lock picks.

“I mean, you must be worth something to someone, eh?” he finished.

So this Elborn wished to bandy with words, taking advantage of her first slip. Did he wish to be her opponent, or her friend? Or both? She could not tell. Not yet. "To none but my former captives have I worth," she answered coolly. She allowed some small portion of bitterness to slide along her next words. "I have no kin. These outlaws killed them all." She waited for a comment of some kind, but none was forthcoming. She did not normally need to fill silences, but his gibe still goaded her, and she wanted her faulty speech fixed. "I meant that my captors bound me today so that they would be sure I was where they had left me. Does that satisfy your quibble?" She almost gave way to a sudden urge to raise her chin, frowning, and walk ahead of him, effectively turning her back on him. But that would be rash, and she fought down the urge. Deeds wrought from how one felt so often went awry; those wrought from thought were the more trusty. She continued her easy pace beside Elborn.

“It does indeed,” answered Elián. “To be honest, I don’t think there’s anyone who’d pony up a cent for me either.” At least not for his health and well-being, he added to himself. He was fairly certain that there was a least a little coinage available for the individual who handed him over to the hangman. “I am sorry to hear about your family, though. Why didn’t you just run away? With those great big dogs on your side, I imagine you’d be more than a match for ol’ Ghem and his lot.”

Elián cringed as soon as the words left his lips, hoping that the young woman had not noticed his use of the outlaw’s name. It was a stupid slip, but lock picks or no lock picks, outlaw or no outlaw, he was beginning to like the girl. It was making him a little too chatty for his own good.

Rowenna had good peripheral vision and caught Elborn's cringe. Had he twisted his ankle? No, nothing like. Had he said something he regretted? Her eyes widened ever so briefly: he had used Ghem's name without having heard it from anyone else. So he knew Ghem from somewhere. And he knew about Ghem's lockpicks. Had Ghem stolen them from him? Were these two old rogue-brothers? Fellow lift-pads? Better not use this tiny morsel of advantage this very moment; there might be a better time to use it. She tucked it away for safekeeping.

"You did not see Ulric and Withold kill two of my dogs as if they were ants. This whole brood were killers. I would not have lasted the day I chose to run."

“Oh, I see,” answered Elián. “Shows how much I know of outlaws,” he added a moment later in an attempt to cover his earlier slip. With a polite incline of his head, he dropped back a few paces, as though conceding that she had scored a point on him and he was feeling duly chided. In reality, he was silently chiding himself: put a set of petticoats in front of him, even raggedy ones, and sooner or later his brain turned to oyster shells and he began babbling away as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Or a price on his head. He sighed. It was probably because he had spent so much time at sea with no females around except the captain’s wife, Mrs. Snorrisson, who was a formidable creature and a good bit more dangerous than her husband when she was in a temper. In Elián’s opinion, she scarcely counted as female. He was tempted to perform a theatrical shudder at the thought of her, but decided the better of it. He had already drawn enough attention to himself as it was. Elián smiled ruefully at the ground. If he valued his own hide – which he did -- he really had to get a grip on himself, most especially his mouth.

The moment Elborn could no longer see her face, Rowenna smirked. "Shows how much I know of outlaws." So lame as to be laughable. She did not let herself laugh. She had enjoyed the conversation, as far as it had gone. Elborn was a likeable enough fellow, but that was the possible trap: too likeable. She needed to know more about him first; just as she had studied each of the outlaws and come to know their quirks - and their needs - especially the ones they didn't even know they had. Elborn's questions had been too near the bull's eye: she had learned how to manipulate the outlaws so that she not merely survived, but in the end got what she wished for from them.

These thoughts slipped to the recesses of her mind as she heard raised voices ahead, between the Halfling, the Eorl, and the Eorl's right hand man.