Eorling Mead Hall

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna stopped and took the boy's rapid-fire questions as an opportunity to stretch her aching back and loosen the stiffness in her fingers from gripping the brush hard.

"I do as I am told. 'Necessary' is not for me to decide." She looked at him, studying him briefly. Javan, he was called, full of vigor and wrestlessness, like a young horse that does not like the bridle. "Go ask Frodides if it is necessary, if you like."

She picked up the brush in both hands, dipped it in the hot soapy water, and began scrubbing the floor again. She did not look up at the boy. If he chose to speak more, she would answer. If not, she would keep at her work.

At least she had a new dress, even if it was a handoff from Kara who, it just so happened, was the same size as Rowenna. And her hair was not a tangled mess anymore. It was almost an embarrassment to her how much these small things pleased her. But she told herself it was what they meant: she no longer fought for survival among outlaws.

She had been surprised at first how much of her thought and will had been taken up with the struggle to live and wheedle from Ulrich what she could. And now she could hardly help herself from discretely studying and weighing everyone around her, to see how the power was apportioned, who had it, who was angling for more, who was losing it. And she also found herself forming fantastic strategies as to who was the most useful, and how they could be used, to raise herself up into a position of power here.

She had discovered that Ginna, for example, was in a most strange position. Whereas her work was lowly, she was the Eorl's old friend's daughter, and so had more influence than it seemed, and more than the girl seemed to be aware she had if she only knew how to use it.

And then there was that Garreth. Twin of Harreld, Ginna's love interest, if that was what it could be called. And with Harreld so caught up with the girl, Garreth had cast about for anything with a skirt, and quickly settled on Rowenna. She rolled her eyes. His interest had been spoken in no uncertain terms. Her disinterest had at first been spoken as discretely as she knew how, but no avail, and by the time two weeks had gone by she had found it necessary to tell him straightly that he was not for her. Poor fool. She was a land holder's daughter and would not marry a blacksmith almost twice her age who would no doubt leave her widowed and at the mercy of whatever sons could keep her. No, she had bigger plans for her life, if she could bring them about.

And why could not Ginna see that leading Harreld on was no good? She was the same rank as herself, and her father would not grant such a union; it would be stooping too low. The girl was meant for a land holder like her father. Or better, if she could learn how to harness that wild horse of a temper of hers and use the strength of it to advance her own ends.

All these thoughts passed through her mind quickly, being rehearsed from earlier, and she glanced to see if the boy still stood there or had moved on.

[Folwren]

“Seems to me, if I was you, I’d say something,” Javan replied. “No, I’m not going to argue with the old, stuffy Fordides. She’s not my boss and I’m not that concerned about it. All the same, I think it’s awful mean of ‘em to give you the worst jobs of the lot. Why do they do it, d’ you suppose?”

Rowenna straightened and looked up at him again. Her lips were pressed together as she thought of a reply. But before it came forth, Javan went on.

“I’ll bet I know why.” He plopped to the ground beside her, folding his legs beneath him. His eyes were wide as he spoke. “It’s ‘cause you used to live with the outlaws, that’s what.” He nodded his head sagely. “They figure you don’t know how to do much else than slit throats and take care of yourself, so they have to keep you to simple work where’ve you no chance to murder no one. That’s why, I expect.” He took a bite of bread and before he could get it chewed and swallowed his quick, running mind came up with a question that he would dearly love answered.

“Was it exciting living with the outlaws? I saw you at the trial. You said you fought! And you’re only a woman! Did they bring in a lot of treasure and gold? They were cut-throats, weren’t they? Did they ever bring in heads?”

[littlemanpoet]

Listening to the boy rattle off his questions, Rowenna could not help raising an eye brow. She allowed a slight smirk to come to her lips; if she didn't she feared she would start to giggle. And that would not be very becoming at all for the kind of young woman she had worked hard to become. How to answer? Matter of factly.

"It was a hard life and one I do not wish to go back to. And yes, there were heads. Stuck on spears sometimes, sometimes left to lie about as food for wolves and worse."

A strange place to find a possible ally and friend, in the person of an uncontainable boy. Not that she would tell him any real secrets, for it was clear enough that he spoke whatever came into his head, closely guarded secret or not. And she would be a fool to ever tell him to do something for her that she didn't want found out. He wouldn't be able to keep it to himself. She told me to do it! Rowenna could well imagine. Still, it could be useful having such a one as a friend of sorts.

"But I do this work because I chose to. I asked Frodides for the hardest work." She paused. "You don't believe me, do you."

[Firefoot]

Léof had risen early as ever, stretching contentedly before dressing and pulling on his boots. A new day, but one that already promised to be not quite the same as the others. Today Javan would return to the stables to be his assistant after his month-long ban. As he considered this, he walked down the long stable aisle, checking on each of the horses in turn. As always, he stopped for a few extra moments at Æthel’s stall, rubbing her long face as he commented, “Up for a ride today, girl? Time to see what Javan is made of, hmm?” Perhaps it might have been better to wait a couple days so that Javan wasn’t quite so excited over his return to the stables, but the truth was that Léof felt like a good ride, and this was the perfect excuse to leave the Hall for a bit.

Rather than feeding the horses first as he normally did, he decided to head to the kitchens to get some breakfast for himself and find out if Javan was awake yet. He went by way of the courtyard and Great Hall, where he found Javan plunked down beside Rowenna, who was washing the floor. “Good morning,” he greeted them, walking over.

“Léof! Thornden said that I could go back to the stables!” Javan exclaimed.

Léof smiled. “Then you can help me feed the horses this morning,” he said, “just after I go get something to eat.” And with a polite nod towards Rowenna, he headed off to the kitchens.

[Folwren]

“But I do this work because I choose to. I asked Fordides for the hardest work.” Javan’s brows knit a little and Rowenna saw it. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“Well. . .” Javan scratched his head a little. It wasn’t fully polite to doubt someone at their word, but. . .she didn’t seem like someone who expected everyone to be perfectly polite all the time. Not when she talked about heads being brought in on spears. Most women didn’t talk about that sort of thing. They’d sooner tell him to keep quiet and not ask. So, he answered truthfully. “Not exactly, no. Why should you ask for the hardest work? It doesn’t make sense! You don’t like scrubbing the floor. . .do you?”

Before she could answer, Léof came in at the front door and approached them. “Good morning!” he said, coming near.

“Léof!” Javan scrambled up to his feet. “Thornden said I could go back to the stables today!”

“Then you can help me feed the horses this morning. Just after I go get something to eat.” He nodded to Rowenna and made off. Javan’s face was lit with excitement. He turned back to Rowenna, grinning widely.

“I’m going to be working in the stables after today,” he said with great importance. “That’s what I like to do. I’ve always liked horses a great deal, and I can ride ‘em, too. You like horses, don’t you? Can you ride?”

[littlemanpoet]

Léofric came by and greeted them. Rowenna returned his greeting, using his full name as she always did with everyone. Javan was an excitable boy, to be sure. Rowenna wondered if Léofric was quite as eager to have Javan as Javan was to be Léofric's helper.

“That’s what I like to do. I’ve always liked horses a great deal, and I can ride ‘em, too. You like horses, don’t you? Can you ride?”

Rowenna smiled. "Yes. I had my own filly before -" she furrowed her brow "-before I was taken by the outlaws." She had been about to say 'before ... you know'; she had promised herself that she would never shy away from the memory of the horrors of her captivity, but she had almost done so, so soon. She realized with a little anger that she would have to force herself to think the hard thoughts and speak the hard words. The warm memories from earlier times must not be allowed to buffer her from the memory of rough hands using her roughly, evil words spoken to her. And the warm memories must not be allowed to soften her into easy chatter. She felt her face compose. To Javan it looked like she had been about to really be happy, only to shy away from it and become cold and stoney again.

"I did choose this work, believe it or not. I do this to remind me that I am an escaped slave and an orphan."

She held his eyes to see that her words sunk in, then gripped the brush, watered it in the bucket, and began scrubbing again.

[Folwren]

For a moment it looked like Rowenna was going to actually continue being companionable. Javan’s smile got a little wider and his eyes a little more eager as she told him she did once have a filly. Perhaps she would tell him what the young horse was like, what color she was, and what Rowenna had named her.

But no. Suddenly the happiness seemed to fade and her smile left not only her lips but also her eyes. Once more a hard line came up around the muscle in her jaw. She was composed, humorless, cold, and her talk went back to the job at hand.

“I did choose this work, believe it or not. I do this to remind me that I am an escaped slave and an orphan.” She looked at Javan with the look he’d often gotten from his mother or older sisters to make sure he understood something he didn’t want to understand.

“Well,” Javan said, a little ruffled at her behavior - her closing up like a clam shell. “Well, I don’t think that makes much sense. You’re not a slave any more, that’s what I think, and you shouldn’t act like one.”

She ignored him, seemingly, and went on scrubbing the floor, using both hands on the brush. “You shouldn’t look at the ground so much,” Javan told her. “And at people’s feet. You’re better than that. You can look people in the face now.”