Eorling Mead Hall

[Folwren]

Thornden was pleased that he had found something for Javan to do so quickly. He reminded himself almost at once, though, that this was only a trial. If Javan didn’t work well in the stables, Thornden would have to think of another position the boy might take. He smiled a little at the thought. Javan would most certainly be very disappointed if it came to that.

“Don’t think of it,” he told himself softly. “Not yet, anyway. There are seven days yet before that decision is to be made and there are other problems at hand to be considered. Lys, for instance,” he realized suddenly as his eye fell on the boy. Thornden had just re-entered the hall and he saw Lys sitting by himself at the table.

Thornden knit his brows in thought and paused in the doorway. He looked closely at Lys and considered both his abilities and his inabilities. His body was frail, and the frail body was mending after being badly broken. Perhaps it was frail only because of how badly it had been battered. Perhaps if half his bones hadn’t been broken he would have been no different than Léof. But all that was simply speculation, Thornden told himself reprovingly. He walked forward and approached Lys.

“Good morning, Lys,” Thornden said, sliding into a seat beside the lad. “Have you eaten breakfast?”

Lys glanced up and gave him a smile. “Yes, I have just finished,” he replied.

“Good,” Thornden said, nodding. He looked down and there was a short pause. “Lys, I haven’t thought of anything for you to do. I know that you are worried that nothing will be found for you to do, and I know that I’ve told you not to worry about it, and you shouldn’t worry about it, either, but it will take some consideration to think of something for you to do. Have you any idea of what you can do?” He was tempted to ask what Lys had done before he was hurt, but Thornden figured that would be more of a hindrance than a help. “Is there anything you think you would like to do?”

--
Taralphiel's Post

Lys chewed on his lip, eyes downcast as he thought on the question. He knew so little about himself, and the thoughts of his possible physical uses were inhibited in part, if not all, but the limp he still carried. He needed strength, but if was to ever come, it would do so with more time. Hrethel was a patient man for good reason. He could not remember any skills he once had…and so it would be left to him…to start over. Just as his sudden start in a dark alley had left the rest of him.

“Thornden…I should like…to learn. I do not know what I am good at. I do not know what…I enjoy. I know I enjoy spending time with you, and Javan and Léof. But I do not think those things would make up skill…” Lys laughed a little and looked up at Thornden.

“I heard…in passing from some of the children…that there are classes. Do you think I’d be able to try to learn? I am much older…but I do not know what I may have once known…”

[Folwren]

“Sometime this week I’d like to take you out riding – just to see how you handle a horse. If that goes well, we can take it from there.”

Javan skipped over the ‘just see how you handle a horse’ and his mind lit immediately upon the riding part. “That would be jolly fun!” he cried, nearly skipping with excitement. “I like to ride. I’ve ridden quite a bit. I know how to handle horses, really I do. What do you mean, take it from there? You do more than riding?” His eyes widened at a sudden thought. “Do you jump them? Mamma would never let me jump on a horse. She always told me I’d fall off and crack my head. But I really think I could do it!”

“I somehow think it wouldn’t be a good idea for you to go jumping if your mother didn’t approve,” Léof began slowly.

“She wouldn’t have to know,” Javan said, interrupting Léof before he could say that the horses here didn’t generally jump anyway. “She’s half a day’s ride from here. It could be another half year before I saw her, and it wouldn’t be necessary for her to be told.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine returned to the Mead Hall and sat at the table with Randvér and Marinel, the latter of whom was relating some story from the south of Gondor; Randvér's interest did not flag, and so Eodwine listened in.

He did notice, however, that Falco seemed somewhat put out over his choice of neighbors with whom to enjoy the morning repast. The Hobbit marched out of the Hall and into the kitchen with Ritun and Lefun in tow. Eodwine raised his brow; what was Falco up to?

Suddenly Eodwine heard a blood curdling scream from the kitchen. He almost fell backward off his chair; Marenil was halted in the middle of his tale, and Randvér's brow furrowed. Eodwine got up and dashed to the kitchen.

[Firefoot]

If Léof had not been responsible for the safety of both Javan and the horses, if this plan had been proposed to him by a friend back before he had come to the Hall (although friends had been scarce), he might have thought the plot would be fun and harmless. Might have. As it was, Léof was much quicker to see the pitfalls than the benefits of such a plan. Javan was so excited about it, though, that he hated to tell him no.

“These horses don’t really do much jumping,” Léof explained instead.

“Just once or twice,” Javan wheedled.

“Javan, these horses aren’t for our pleasure – they’re for us to exercise and care for, and I’m responsible for their safety – and yours,” said Léof, less firmly than he might have liked, and nor did he look at Javan, bending over one of the horse’s feet instead.

“It wouldn’t be dangerous!” said Javan. Léof’s concern was starting to rapidly escalate by now. Javan’s willingness to bend the rules disturbed him, and Léof wasn’t sure that Javan was really taking the work seriously. It wouldn’t all be fun and games.

He was saved from answering, however, as a scream rent the air. Two instincts warred inside Léof’s head: to go help or to stay with the horses still tied in the aisle. “Javan, help me get these horses into stalls,” he said, deftly unclipping one and taking it to the nearest empty stall – he was unconcerned that at the moment it had no bedding in it. “Come on!”

[Lhunardawen]

At Frodides's bidding Ginna took over washing the dishes, as the cook saw about the food. "I cannot be trusted yet with cooking," she had sheepishly informed Frodides, and so she was asked to finish the task left discontinued at her and Eodwine's interruption.

Ginna was carrying the dishes to the table when she noticed a hobbit enter the kitchen. "Good mor--" she began her greeting, and ended it with an earsplitting shriek; so loud it was that the crash of earthenware on the floor went unheard. Ginna gaped at the...creature - or two - or two in one - whatever it was that followed the hobbit - what was it?

"Oh no, girl, what have you done?" she heard Frodides say.

"I-I-I'm sorry..." she stammered at Frodides's general direction. Flushing wildly in embarrassment, she knelt down on the floor to pick up the pieces of broken earthenware, fearfully glancing at the strange creature now and again. It seemed to have noticed the trouble it had caused, and awkwardly hurried forward to help her. Ginna was so startled at its approach that she failed to notice a particularly sharp fragment near her hand until her palm brushed against it. A cry of pain escaped her lips before she could stop herself.

There came the sound of many hurried footsteps, and then the Lord Eodwine, Marenil, and a very displeased-looking Randvér burst into the kitchen. Ginna abruptly stood and hung her head, biting her lips to keep her tears from falling - and not because of the bleeding hand she held in her unharmed other.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco glanced at the two boys, Léof and a new one he hadn't met yet who was staring unabashedly at Lefun and Ritun. Falco rolled his eyes.

"Oh for the love o' Lobelia!" he cried. "Can't we go nowhere without sommat up and deciding to gawk?"

Falco was beginning to wonder if bringing Lefun and Ritun to the Eorling Mead Hall had been such a grand notion after all. He looked back at Lefun, and Ritun, in turn, and could see on their faces that they were pained but in a half smiling way which probably meant that they were more or less used to this.

"Sorry about this," he said to them. "Good morning to you Léof! Who's your gawking friend?"

[Firefoot]

As uncomfortable as Falco’s bluntness was, Léof was grateful for it; it gave him something else to focus his attention on than that… that two-headed… whatever it was. He had little doubt that it had been the cause for the scream, and since it didn’t seem vicious, Léof figured the scream had been from fright rather than from pain.

“This is Javan, Thornden’s younger brother,” answered Léof, keeping his gaze firmly on Falco lest he begin to gape again. “He has been given a week’s trial as my assistant in the stables.” Léof glanced over at Javan, who had at first dropped his gaze at Falco’s reproof but was now beginning to stare again. Léof nudged him slightly with his elbow, and Javan didn’t seem to know where to look.

“And, um, what about you, Falco?” asked Léof, too casually. “Who is your new friend… friends…?”

[littlemanpoet]

"These are Lefun and Ritun," answered Falco.

This Léof was a smart one. Falco appreciated that. He'd seen the nudge from the older boy to the younger, and that it had made little difference. This Javan was obviously a sheltered lad who needed to see the world a bit more than he had till now. These thoughts passed through his mind in a moment as he introduced the twins.

"They've been making do as best they could out by the ruins that Garmund and I - and your older brother Thornden -" he glanced Javan's way to include him "- went to just yesterday. We found 'em there and we asked 'em if they'd like to come on by here and live better. Right?" Falco looked to the twins for their nods.

Ritun, who was situated behind Lefun, nodded his head while his brother spoke.

"Asked to come we wert, and said aye."

"There you have it," Falco said. "So what duties are you leaving unattended to come gawk?"

“We’re not leaving any duties,” Javan blurted out. “I mean, we were just grooming some horses. We came because we heard someone screaming.” He finally looked away from Lefun and Ritun and his eyes settled on Falco. They were still as round as saucers and nearly as large. Falco’s face wore a look of unveiled annoyance and Javan swallowed, abruptly realizing that he was still staring, even if it wasn’t at the twins. He dropped his gaze and looked at the ground, sending small glances up at the hobbit and then at Lefun and Ritun. “What did she scream for?” he asked.

Falco pointed at Lefun and Ritun with his thumb. "Because she saw these two unexpected like. But she's fine now and so are we, and there's your answer. Now off you run back to your duties so's the twins an' I can sit in peace back here."

The two boys did not leave.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

Léof was frowning. "For better courtesy, sir!"

Falco's eyes had their turn at going wide. "Well, I guess you're right. Well then, please do accept my apology for my annoyed words. And if you would please excuse us, we will retire to the bower. Good day!" Falco turned and began walking to the Alder Tree Court.

His words were hardly better, as their meaning was no different than the first time; but the form was right enough. The two boys finally turned away and went back to the stables, not without frowning glances.

[littlemanpoet]

The sun was moving toward setting. Eodwine had seen Randvér off, who, though Eodwine had tried to convince him to stay, had wished to be back home not long after nightfall. "Take care of my daughter," he had said, "and do not fear to whip some sense into her."

"Whip? I should think not!"

"Do not relent from needful discipline, then."

"I will do what must be done, friend Randvér. Trust me."

"I do! 'Tis her I do not trust. Fare well!"

Shaking his head, Eodwine had watched him ride off away. As he watched, he saw the blacksmith twins making their way from their shop to the Mead Hall.

"Greetings, Garreth! Greetings Harreld!"

"Good even to you!" they replied.

The three traded the day's news as they walked into the Mead Hall, and found a table near the kitchen.

"Is that two headed man still around?" asked Garreth warily.

"No. There is no two headed man. There are twins who are joined at the waist, whose names are Lefun and Ritun. Now stop being such orcs about it and let be! They are twins as much as you, except that they have had the misfortune of having to share the same pair of legs."

"Hmmm," Harreld murmured, "maybe it would be good to have a talk with them. It might be good to get to know another pair of twins, no matter how many or few legs they have between them."

"That's the spirit!" Eodwine clapped.

"Fine, fine, fine," Garreth said. "I'm hungry and thirsty. Where's that Kara?"

"Off for the day," Eodwine replied, "but we have a stand in. I should think she'll be out and about shortly."

[Lhunardawen]

What moments ago was a stinging pain on Ginna's palm had diminished to a dull throb. Frodides was right - the wound wasn't deep. Ginna had watched as blood spilled generously from the cut, swirling, staining the water pink, and then, overwhelmed by it, vanishing. Now the spectacle of liquid converging with liquid was over, leaving the water to dance contentedly by itself as Ginna's fingers wriggled in its midst, delighting in its soothing coolness.

Ginna turned to watch Frodides sweep away the debris on the floor. Stupid girl, of course there's a broom, she silently berated herself. She looked again at her wound. It still smarted a bit, but once bandaged she knew it would no longer be a bother. She had been hurt worse.

The last traces of the broken dishes had disappeared beneath the broom, and along with it came a little of Ginna's guilt and shame. Perhaps, she thought, Frodides was not at all as stern as she first appeared. What the Lord Eodwine - and her father - had to say on what happened she was yet to hear, but for the moment she was spared from the judgment. It was as though Frodides knew exactly how she felt.

"Thank you," Ginna sighed, supposedly meant for her ears alone, but too deep in her own thoughts she did not hear how silent the kitchen had become.

[Kath]

The new turn in the conversation had Kara fascinated. She had never met a Dwarf until Náin arrived at the Hall and so knew very little about them. The idea that someone could be considered young at 53 was amazing to her. Why, Frodides wasn't a great many years from that age and Kara thought of her as an old woman!

"Dwarves must live to a great age then. For you to be considered the same age as I am you would have to live at least twice as long." She commented.

"That is true," he replied with a nod, "and when war or other troubles do not cause us to die earlier than we should we do live longer than humans."

Kara paused for a moment to ponder on what those other troubles could be. She had never heard of a Dwarf getting sick, though perhaps they were like the men of her own home town who would force themselves into the fields despite raging fevers rather than admit they were ill. A more burning question than that was in her mind though, and she chose to ask that instead.

"Is that why you don't make friends with them? Humans I mean. Because you would be sad to lose their company when they die and you don't?"

The question seemed to startle Náin as he didn't reply immediately. Suddenly worried that perhaps this was something he would rather not have thought of Kara made to change the subject again, but was interrupted by the Dwarf's thoughtful answer.

[Formendacil]

"Is that why you don't make friends with them? Humans I mean. Because you would be sad to lose their company when they die and you don't?"

Náin was, as Kara seemed to perceive, startled by her question, but unlike some of the previous topics discussed, he did not find this to be an uncomfortable topic, though it did merit thought.

"No..." said Náin uncertainly, pausing in his stride to consider. They were standing amid the old Gondorian ruins by now, and Náin found the ancient, crumbing masonry an aid to clarifying his thought.

"It is a truth that certainly does not encourage our interaction," admitted Náin, on second thought, "but I do not think it is the full tale. Much has been said of the secrecy of the Dwarves by your peoples, and there is some truth to them. The keeping of secrets, once entrusted, and the preservation of who we are as a people is deeply important to a Dwarf. Men, by contrast, betray lightly secrets a Dwarf would hold to his death. And Man is always looking forward to new horizons, new seasons, and new ways of doing things. This is hard for a Dwarf to perceive. If something is not broken, we do not seek to replace it."

"But Dwarves are supposed to be clever artificers," said Kara. "I'd have thought you liked tinkering with things."

"With things, yes," said Náin, leaning on a low stone wall, and looking not at Kara, but at the White Mountains behind them. "With tools and toys and trinkets. But with home and culture?" He shook his head. "We would not rest after we were expelled from Erebor, for it was our home and it was how life was meant to be. Even a thousand years and more since Khazad-dûm was barred to our return, we have felt exiled. Our tongue changes not over the centuries, nor do we forget our histories or our families. We are like rocks, changing only slightly over time."

Náin turned back to Kara, who was not looking at the mountains, but watching him.

"Great friendships have been struck between Men and Dwarves before," he continued. "The entire nations of Dale and Erebor testify to this. You are correct that it is not easy for a Dwarf to lose a friend in what seems a cruelly premature fashion. We do not befriend easily, nor do we take to the loss of friendship easily."

[littlemanpoet]

Having received Marenil's answer, Eodwine thanked him and left the Mead Hall with Randvér, who wanted to see his friend and Eorl's new estate, such as it was. Eodwine was somewhat embarrassed to show his friend the parts of the Mead Hall holding that still strongly resembled an Inn rather than an Eorl's keep. However, Randvér had made Eodwine's acquaintance during the War, when he had just come from the Gap of Rohan as a mere farmer and freeholder. So Randvér was quick with praise at Eodwine's good fortune in having risen so high.

"You have served your King well, and he has rewarded you."

"More than I deserve," Eodwine replied.

"Question not the wisdom of the king when his gifts come into your hands. He knows what he does and why."

"I give in!" Eodwine laughed.

"But now, friend Eorl, you have a new problem. 'Tis the same as mine. You need another wife."

Eodwine's shoulders slumped. Not this again. "Rand, I have been through two attempts, as it were, to find a marriageable woman, and both times came to nothing."

"So you will try no more?"

"I did not say that!" Eodwine looked about him for some excuse to change the subject. "There! You see the new paddock. Do you think it large enough?"

They leaned on the rails, taking in the late spring sun, talking of many other things as well as the day drew toward noon.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco lost his reserve. He dropped his dagger to his side. It was clear that this one was no outlaw; at least, not one of those that had attacked first and mocked later, never mind about 'asking questions later'.

"I'll Master Bunny-Rabbit you, you oversized clown!" Falco forced his way through the brush and into the presence of this odd young man - and his well-proportioned stomach up to the point of the young man's ready sword. "I'm Master Falco Boffin, Shirriff of the Shire, if you'd like to know, and nothin' like a bunny rabbit, as you can plainly see. Now take that sword point away from my vest before you put a scratch on it, so I can do proper Hobbitish courtesy!"

The young man regarded him with a raised eye-brow, then a smirk upon his countenance, before he pulled his sword away from Falco, who promptly bowed. "At your service!" he said.

He looked back to introduce Javan, but the lad had not come forward.

[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.”

[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.

[piosenniel]

Moving to: Elvenhome