Hard Winters RPG

[Firefoot]

As Scyld was carrying his second load into the hall (a large sack of oats), the Lady Saeryn stepped into the doorway. She looked tired, weighed down with care – a look that was becoming rapidly familiar to him but seemed intensified somehow in Saeryn. Of course – hers was the care of the Hall, and Eodwine had seemed particularly frail as he had greeted the caravan. And, he suddenly remembered, hadn’t she been pregnant when he left?

Her gaze landed on him. "Nydfara! What brings you here? What is all this?"

He nodded at her in greeting, unable to do more with his hands full. “Eomer King sends food and supplies from Edoras – much needed, I gather. As for myself, I always meant to come back, though it has taken longer than I planned,” he said dryly.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine trudged slowly back to his rooms. He carried the letter in hand, having concluded his conversation with Wilheard. Had he given him instructions or directions? He did not remember.

Each step seemed like lifting logs and moving them to a new resting place. Many folk were doing many things all around him. All he wanted was to rest.

He came into the mead hall, struggling with the door to close out the cold. Everything was always cold. Others spoke of being glad that the winter had passed. He still felt it, and wondered that they did not.

He moved toward his rooms, and stopped. There was Nydfara speaking with Saeryn. He did not move, but watched them, and listened.

[Folwren]

Saeryn nodded and let him pass without further comment. She stood a moment thinking about his words. Great tears welled up in her eyes as she realized that this was their salvation. Much longer on the fare they had, and most of them would be dead before spring truly came.

She turned to go to the kitchen and begin at once to prepare food for everyone, though inwardly she knew it was primarily for Eoghan. She saw Eodwine and stopped. "You have heard the news, Eodwine?" she asked. "You have been out? I am going to prepare a meal at once. Everyone will want to eat after unloading and after..." she trailed off. She was going to say, 'After being so hungry for so long,' but she couldn't bring herself to it. Didn't they all know how hungry they all were without her saying it? Had she not watched as her husband and children grew thinner and weaker before her eyes, and she had been unable to do anything for them? It was going to change now. No more were going to die.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Pain throbbed in Hilderinc's right arm as he got himself up. Next to him, Ledwyn broke out in utter distress. His mood dropped too as he saw the potatoes, the precious food, suddenly roll in the mud. But he wanted to reach out and calm the woman down, and then the wound betrayed him again.

"Calm down, it is noth-" he started, but again came a sudden throb of pain, so strong that it actually made his sight go black for a while. More instinctively than wittingly, he suppressed a scream that came out only as a soft groan. The arm kept doing this to him from time to time since it had healed, but usually not so badly, and not in front of so many people. Not that Hilderinc was in a state to analyse. His only thoughts were just that it hurt a lot, and that he wished it would not, not now of all times, and he could not think of anything else. While he saw some of the other bystanders dive for the spilled potatoes, all he could do for the moment was to clench his fist, close his eyes and grit his teeth.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna passed between the paddocks. As she turned toward the Meadhall she saw a wagon and many folk, more than lived here. Who had come? Bringing wares for sale?

A woman ran into a man; she fell and her potatoes scattered over the ground. Quickly a small group gathered to help. Starting toward them. It was her wont to see the exceptions and differences, and so her eye was drawn to a man stooping down away from the group to pick up a potato here, a potato there, staying back from the knot of folk around the woman. If she did not know better, she would have thought it was Nydfara.

She came closer. It was Nydfara! Her heartbeat quickened. An image played in her head of herself running to him and jumping into his arms, welcoming him home. She would do no such thing, of course. Her legs felt weak. He was alive. He seemed well enough.

Four years gone, and suddenly here. No word, but why would there be? Who was she to him that he would send word? Yet there was anger in her that he should have been gone and never a word for four years. And this anger ran alongside that old familiar excitement, that quickening in her of senses and feeling and heartbeat that none but he could work in her.

She started to walk again, her legs feeling oddly unsure still, until she came near the group. She looked to make sure that they were doing all that must be done for the fallen woman before she turned to him, and stopped.

"I greet you, Nydfara. It has been years. Who brings this food?"

[Thinlómien]

This visit, it seemed, was starting even more confusing than she had thought. Fréa and Caranthir were nowhere to help her, and the poor waif that had welcomed her and blabbered to her in the riders' tongue was gone too, only she had crashed into a man carrying a sack of potatoes, and they had both fallen on the ground and the potatoes had spread all over the yard. People were diving in after them, picking them from the mud, polishing them with their hems and gathering them.

Brith watched it all unfold like in a dream. She could have cried for the poor people and their precious potatoes, but there was something hilarious about it all too. Quickly, she looked down to hide her smile. She didn't want to seem malicious.

On the ground by the wheel lay a perfect yellow potato, covered in mud. No one seemed to have noticed it. Brith slid down from the wagon and made a face when the mud made a soft splash under her boots and the hem of her gown became spotted with brown and grey. Clothes can be washed, she reminded herself, and picked up the potato. Gently, she scarped the mud off with her sleeve. She looked up. The man who had fallen was now talking to another man, younger and more handsome. They looked over at her. She wondered if they thought she was trying to steal their potatoes. The handsome man slapped the muddy one on the shoulder, and the muddy one approached her.

Brith held out her hand with the potato on it. "Greetings," she said with her best Rohirric. "You want this?"

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc looked down at the potato in the foreign woman's manicured hand. She indeed did not look like just anybody, and judging from the manner of her speech, she came probably from Gondor, if not Mundburg itself.

"Thank you, my lady," he replied in the language of the Mark. It seemed to him she might want to speak it, perhaps to show her skill the way some nobles liked to, since she first talked to him in that language. He almost reached out for the potato with his left hand, out of fear his right arm might betray him again, but then it occured to him the foreign lady might see it as bad manners, and he instead took the potato in his right hand.

And it slipped from his fingers.

Any other man in Hilderinc's place would have flushed bright red, but the only thing that might have betrayed the soldier's emotions were his eyes. Both him and the woman just stood there frozen; then, after what seemed like long awkward silence, she bent down and picked up the potato again. Wiping it into her already dirty sleeve, she handed it back to Hilderinc.

"Here, your..." She paused, apparently in search for words.

"Potato," Hilderinc finished for her.

"Potato," she repeated.

"Thank you." This time he reached for it with his left hand and put the potato into his belt pouch. He looked back at her. "Would you prefer if we speak the Common tongue, my lady?"

The look on her face made him reevaluate his impression that she might be one of the nobles interested in showing their knowledge of foreign languages.

"Yes, please."

He bowed his head slightly. "Then let me welcome you here in Scarburg, my lady. My name is Hilderinc. I can show you around. It is a humble place, especially now after the hard winter, but I am sure we will find you a place where you'll feel comfortable. I can take you to meet lady Saeryn, I am sure she will be happy to welcome you. If she is not too busy," he added after a short pause. He hoped the new guest would not see it as insult that the lady of the house might not have time to see her immediately, but she did not really give that kind of impression, and it was more than clear that Scarburg was now in commotion.

[Folwren]

"I have kept my-" he swallowed and breathed "-my children alive."

Saeryn's eyes flashed as she took in his words and their meaning. Her hands, resting one on his shoulder and the other on his laboring chest, felt the bones beneath his rough, white shirt. "By starving yourself?" she demanded . She swallowed back the lump of fear in her throat, torn between grief and disbelieving anger. "What good would it do if you died and your children were left fatherless?" Eoghan's crying grew louder, but Saeryn still did not turn. "Why didn't you tell me? You should not have done this!"

His brow lowered in annoyance. "Your children are alive. The deed is done. Berate me if you must. Now help me not die."

Saeryn could not stop tears from escaping her eyes, but she forced her sob into a bitter laugh. "I ought to let you die, you silly old man," she said, choking again on a sob, but smiling. Thankfully he still had the will to live! She had feared he was resigned to dying. It would be the sort of heroic attitude he would take. "You've practically killed yourself already. But I'll see what can be done."

"There's a good girl. I married right. See to the boy first. I swear to you I will stay alive a few more moments. Will you bring me food here?"

Saeryn bent and kissed his head. "Of course." She helped him lean back against the bed, taking away the support of her body, and after sniffing and wiping her eyes, she stood up and turned to the bed.

"What is it, son?" she said softly. Eoghan did not answer. Her presence calmed him almost at once, and he lay back, staring forlornly up at her. She sniffed again, picking up the cup of water from the table at the bedside. "Drink. I will bring you food, too."

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

First they came one by one, but now as the word about the porridge spread, groups of starved Scarburgians were streaming into the kitchens. There was no way, Stefnu mused, for anybody to try to make any orderly meal out of this. No: now was the time to eat, only to eat, to feel the simple part of life that had for so long been denied to them. Now people just came to get their bowl of porridge, the first proper meal in weeks, and Stefnu made the special note to sprinkle a few nuts on top of every portion. It was a mere gesture, but she felt it was right.

"This meal is nothing special," she had told Modtryth, "but at the same it is special, because-" There was no need to explain further. Of course it was special, from now on, they realised how every meal was special. "It may be humble," she had continued, "but I don't feel we should hold back on making it better!"

Most people in Stefnu's place would not think of treats at this time, but she did, and she felt that was what the people of Scarburg needed. In some way, it occupied her mind even more than her own hunger. In some way, she had been thinking about this the whole winter.

She also made a mental note to talk to lady Saeryn, later. They will have to make a proper, large, celebratory feast. Later, maybe even tomorrow. To mark the end of the terrible winter once and for all, to share their joy of coming back to life and to remember those who did not. And last but not least, they would do so to thank those who brought the caravan that saved them. She was certain the Eorl or lady Saeryn would see to it, but now there was surely no hurry. Now, there were people to feed.

She smiled at the next person who came to fill their bowl, when she noticed Saeryn storming away, leaving clearly agitated Ruari behind. She did not see what happened, but she could make good enough picture of the situation.

"Excuse me," she said, handing the spoon to the next person. "I'll be right back, help yourself. Just a few spoonfuls, you can come back later for more!"

Quickly, she turned to pick up an empty bowl and walked to Ruari's side.

"Hello again!" she smiled encouragingly. "Is everything all right?"

"Papa fell," the girl said in a trembling voice. "Mama went after him, and-"

Stefnu forced herself not to betray any signs of distress herself. She stroked Ruari's head.

"I am sure she will take care of him," she said. "You can wait for them here with me. I am sure they will come soon and everything will be all right, you'll see. Perhaps you would like to have some porridge while you wait? See, I got you a bowl. What if you come sit over there with me, and you can also get some of the honey the nice boy - what was his name? - brought us."

[Inziladun]

As the man turned to him and uttered what seemed to be a genuine apology, Ladavan watched the other turn and walk away.

"Name's Áforglaed by the way", the remaining one said, extending his arm in apparent greeting. Then, withdrawing it, he added "Hey, you look quite Dunnish".

You aren't the first to notice, Ladavan thought sourly. Trying not to let his feeling show, he assumed a neutral expression and replied, "Yes, I am of that people. I have made this long journey to see what I can find here." He paused. This one looked young and rather reckless, but not necessarily hostile.

"I am a stranger here, of course. No doubt it will be some time before I learn the customs and laws. But the more I can talk to people, the more I will discover." The young man had something of a soldierly feel about him, as had his departed companion. Ladavan had the (probably) foolish beginning of an idea.

"Tell me, sir: what is your living?" he asked.

[littlemanpoet]

"... and after-"

Saeryn did not finish her thought aloud. they come inside? Or maybe something else. Eodwine had not the strength to make anything of it.

"I met with Wilheard at the gate with the food and clothing." They are much needed. He looked at his hand absently, holding the letter. "Wilheard brought a letter from Athanar." He sat at one of the tables and unfolded it to read.

[Firefoot]

Scyld stepped past Saeryn into the Hall to add his sack of oats to the growing pile of goods. A couple of the women of the Hall were already sorting through it, undoubtedly planning a meal for the evening. He nodded a greeting to them but did not stay to chat.

He retraced the muddy tracks back out of the Hall. A vivid memory struck him as he eyed the bootprints, of Rowenna kneeling and scrubbing the floor, as she was so often wont to do. He realized that he had never asked whether it was a task that was given to her, or one she took on herself. An endless, thankless task, surely. So clear was the image in his mind that he half-expected to see her appear before him, telling the men off for tracking so much muck into the Hall.

It crossed his mind to turn and ask the women standing there at the pile whether she was still here, but he resisted. If she was around, he would see her soon enough, and without any gossip swirling around.

He returned to the courtyard just in time to see a woman collide with Hilderinc, sending a sack of potatoes flying. One came nearly to his feet, so he stooped to pick it up and return it to its sack. He supposed it was no dirtier now than it had been the day it had been pulled from the earth. He rescued a few more potatoes along the path but tried not to crowd too close, as a small knot of people was already forming around the fallen.

[Folwren]

Saeryn left Eodwine reading the letter from Athanar. She entered the kitchen and found Stigend and Modtryth seated together there.

"Stigend, we need a fire started," she said. "I hope they brought more wood. Use what you must. We will get water going." Kara entered behind Saeryn, carrying a large bowl full of oats. Saeryn smiled without quite meaning to when she saw them. "Modtryth, fill two pots with water."

"There is barley as well," Kara said, setting the oats on the table.

Saeryn took them and poured them into an empty pot and handed the bowl back to Kara. "Go and get some, then. We will make both." Kara took the bowl and headed for the door. Saeryn looked about at the empty bins and boxes lining the walls. She called after Kara, "And if you see them bringing more grain in, send them in here."

"The bags may be wet," she commented to Modtryth as she began to open the bins in preparation for the grain. "We want no ruined grain."

--

Thornden

Thornden saw rather than heard the commotion. He cast a swift glance towards everyone diving for the potatoes, and he smiled a little. But then his eye landed on Hilderinc, standing back from the others and hunched rigidly slightly to the right. His eyes were closed and his jaw clenched tightly.

Thornden was by his side in two steps and he held his hand out towards him to offer support.

"Are you unwell, Hilderinc?" he asked, in a low voice.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna stood in the wind and cold, standing on the peek of the final rise of the Scar. She looked out over the vastness of the plain, wrapped in a warm cloak. The snows were thawing, but it would take much more warmth of the sun for all to be turned to spring floods. She came out here often, in part to be away for a little while from the distress of the starving folk; but also to be alone with her thoughts.

She had told Nydfara how it had been for her among the brigands in the White Mountains, how she had risen from slave to leader in all but name. It had been four long years since that moment, and he might be dead for all she knew.

There was noise in the burg, a bustle of activity from the sound of it. What could have happened to cause anything like it in the starving place? She turned from the emptiness and retraced her steps.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"Are you unwell, Hilderinc?"

He shook his head, an instinctive response. He opened his eyes and met Thornden's gaze.

"It's just my arm. I might have overestimated after this long winter and took too much load for myself."

The pain still throbbed, but it did not feel as terrible as in the first moment. He looked down at his arm.

"I will be all right, but if you permit, I would perhaps be of better use elsewhere at the moment." He pressed his lips together in a wry smile. "Maybe I could keep an eye on that the guests do not create disorder in the Hall, or if some need to be showed around." He nodded vaguely toward the group of wagons.

[Firefoot]

"Not too soon," said Leof. "I'd guess a couple more weeks." This would be his third year of delivering foals, and though he was getting better at recognizing the signs of upcoming labor, he still found it difficult to predict, especially since all mares seemed to be just a bit different, and the length of their pregnancies could be highly variable - about 11 months, but give or take as much as three weeks. Cinderfoot had been bred last June - theoretically the foal could come a week from now or six. It was her first pregnancy, too, so he had nothing to compare to. He hoped it would be several more weeks, though - although the horses had had able quantity of feed during the long winter, Leof had eventually run out of everything but regular hay. He knew that horses couldn't live off hay alone anymore than a person could eat nothing but potatoes and still be properly nourished. Since the caravan had come, he'd been reintroducing other grasses and grains to the horses' diet, and he figured the longer the mare could eat well while still pregnant, the better.

"Come see," Leof said to Eoghan, beckoning him closer. Cinderfoot was a steady horse and, though mares often became moody and restless before delivering, she seemed calm this morning. Eoghan stepped closer and Leof showed him what he was looking at.

"See how her udder is getting bigger?" Leof asked. "It's getting ready to make milk for the foal. When the milk comes, it means she's almost ready. And see how wide her sides are? When the foal is ready to come out, Cinderfoot will actually get narrower, but her belly will hang down much lower." He could see Eoghan taking in the information and filing it all away. "Would you like to feel the foal kicking?" he asked. He was relieved every time he came in and felt the foal still moving - that was how he'd first known something was wrong with the mare who'd lost her foal that winter.

"Yes," said Eoghan again simply. So Leof lifted up the boy's thin body and placed his hand against the mare's side where he'd seen and felt the movement before.

[Mithalwen]

"Westu Thornden hál!" responded Elfthain looking up across Safran's broad back at the greeting. Had the tall man been merely Javan's brother he might have been less formal, but he did not forget that as well as being a lot older he was also the Eorl's steward and erred on the side of caution, despite the genial greeting he had received.

"Aye sir, Elfthain Théodmund's son am I, at your service. Javan has spoken of you". The boy (and very boyish and awkward he felt in comparison to the Steward) paused in his grooming, bowed and then allowed himself to relax a little adding "only good things, of course!", then nodding towards his horse "T'is a small mercy at least, she is not a grey". He grinned ruefully. "And it must be done for she needs to be exercised even if we are not leaving today - maybe then she will have less energy for rolling in mud".

As he spoke he mentally assessed the man before him; tall as his uncle Elwin and as broad, though much younger, and darker in colouring, but not as dark as Javan. There was a confidence in his manner and a spark of something in his eyes, but what? Humour? Fiery spirit? Ambition? he wondered. Whichever it was, Elfthain concluded that looking up to this man might be more than a physical necessity.

"I don't suppose you know sir, when we are leaving that is?".

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Stefnu looked down at Ruari. The little girl was beaming, her large eyes pleading.

"Good morning," Stefnu smiled back. She stroked Ruari's head. Stefnu felt a deep affection for the girl, not only because she was so cute, but there was perhaps something else. She had spent large part of her life raising two boys; the sight of a little girl especially as lively as Ruari moved her in a way she wasn't accustomed to.

Stefnu hadn't seen the exchange between Ledwyn and Ruari earlier, being occupied with morning preparations. She also had not been there at the moment Saeryn brought the girl in. She had been just fetching some more water from the outside, when she had bumped into Áforglaed. The young soldier had greeted her happily, explaining that he was up early. He had seemed to be unusually full of energy.

"I think it stopped raining just before the dawn, and that woke me up," he explained cheerfully. He sounded so silly that Stefnu had to smile to herself. Áforglaed then briefly explained that he had taken a little exercise of running around the fields, "as long as it hasn't started raining again". His unbelievably muddy boots (and trousers) bore witness to that.

"But look what I also found," he said finally, and pulled a tangle of some plants out of his belt pouch. Not plants, Stefnu corrected her observation, flowers: pale yellow blossoms, some almost white, now half-closed and laying somewhat limp and damp in Áforglaed's palm.

"Primroses," Stefnu recognized them. "Where did you find them?" She touched one of the flowers and leaned to look at it closer.

Áforglaed gestured to the fields. "Somewhere out there." He straightened himself. "Would you like to, er, have them? They are pretty, you could, er, wear them in your hair or something," he finished.

Stefnu laughed. "I think they are a little too damp and limp for that. But never mind that," she added, seeing Áforglaed's apparent disappointment. "They are still pretty. I can take them." That seemed to make the soldier happier. "Thank you," she said, picking them up from his hand. "But now I had to get back inside."

She had put the flowers aside and gone back to her work until Ruari's interruption. Now the little girl was there, looking up at her. Stefnu would happily give Ruari whatever she wanted, however, she also felt it was not necessarily for the best to give her honey every morning just because she asked for it. The first time, it had been a different case; also she was not entirely certain how lady Saeryn would feel about it. Nonetheless, she did not want to leave Ruari disappointed.

"You know what," she said, smiling at the girl. "Honey is good, but it is not always good to eat too much of it in the morning. But I have a better idea! What if we made your porridge a little more special instead? I know how we can make it more pretty!"

Ruari seemed to be first surprised by that proposition, so Stefnu quickly used the moment and picked up the bundle of flowers from the shelf. "Look," she said. "These are primroses. Aren't they pretty? We can lay them around on top of your bowl - like this - and your porridge can be much more special then."

[Folwren]

Thornden considered Elfthain with a slightly keener glance after the young man’s greeting, and his eyebrows went up a little in surprise. Until then he had merely looked on the lad as a new friend for Javan, but now he thought perhaps this Elfthain son of Théomund may be more than just another soldier in training. He clearly had a more gentile upbringing than Thornden and Javan had ever had; indeed more than any of the men-at-arms that currently worked in the hall.

As Elfthain bowed and proceeded to speak, Thornden reflected that perhaps this young man would be a good asset to the hall.

“I don’t suppose you know, sir, when we are leaving, that is,” Elfthain said.

“No,” Thornden said. He smiled briefly, his eyes twinkling a little. He liked Elfthain, he decided. He liked him a lot. “Have you been long from home, Elfthain son of Théomund? Or is this your first experience as a soldier?”

[Inziladun]

Ladavan tuned as another man's voice addressed Léof, then saw the man himself appear from around the corner.

Then, apparently noticing Ladavan, he said
You come with the rest of them?" he asked. "You don't look like..."

Like what? thought Ladavan. One of you? He sighed inwardly, thinking how welcoming a bed would be.

Léof looked suddenly weary himself.

“Ladavan, I would head back out to the courtyard and help unload, as you say. Once all is inside, I reckon someone will see to putting a meal on the table and getting the newcomers housed.".

"All right, I thank you," Ladavan replied.

Nodding curtly to the man who'd spoken, and ignoring two others who'd followed him, Ladavan left for the courtyard.