Scarburg Meadhall

[Firefoot]

Well, how do you like that? Léof thought as Rowenna trounced off, leaving him utterly stunned. Ride Eodwine’s horse? Flíthaf was a venerable steed and Léof was unsurprised that he had captured Rowenna’s eye, but to have the nerve to actually request to ride him in a race that Eodwine would no doubt want to ride in himself? Léof’s features settled into a faint scowl. Some people could not simply take what was given to them, and it seemed that Rowenna was one of them, hard as she worked around the camp. But surely Eodwine wouldn’t oblige her anyway; that would teach Rowenna to mind her place.

With that thought in mind, Léof continued about his duties, knowing that there would be several horses to prepare for the race that day. It could not have been ten minutes before Rowenna returned, however, looking absolutely exultant. Léof raised his eyebrows in question. “You may saddle up Flíthaf for me for the race!” she announced, and Léof was again left standing agape. Eodwine must be in quite the expansive mood this morning. Or had Rowenna somehow blackmailed him? Was that even possible? What ever could she have on him? But it was not his place to ask questions, nor could he even think of a prudent way to suggest such a thing.

“Very well, then; he will be ready. Any other surprises I ought to know about before I go and enter myself in the race?” he asked, his tone wry but the question not altogether in jest.

[Folwren]

Saeryn’s heart was soaring and she felt happy with everyone now. The merry atmosphere that was soaked into the entire populace of the encampment could not compare with the happiness that she felt now. She felt almost carefree again - a state of being that she had not possessed for many weeks.

Nain had arrived that morning. She had been slightly aware of this before she and Degas had gone out, but now she saw him standing in the crowd, but looking rather alone, and she started towards him to greet him. But in the between time of her walking to him, she saw Rowenna just coming from the stables. She lifted her hand to hail her.

“Rowenna! What is going on? Tell me what is happening today and what games there are, and what you are in!”

Rowenna told her the list of games. “And I am riding in the horse race!” she said. Saeryn glanced at her, noticing the slight, uncontainable ring of victory that was in her voice.

“What horse are you riding?” Saeryn asked, for she knew well enough that Rowenna had none.

“Lord Eodwines,” Rowenna answered, and she smiled as she said it.

“Flíthaf!” Saeryn cried, with a laugh. In her mind she pictured Rowenna on top of the huge war beast, the idea was comical. The horse was built for endurance and carrying a heavy, armor clad man into battle, not a race. At the same time, a strange shadow of suspicion fell over her mind. “You must be joking!”

[littlemanpoet]

“Any other surprises I ought to know about before I go and enter myself in the race?” Léof asked wryly.

Rowenna stopped and turned and gave him an appraising look. His expression was not altogether friendly.

"Just that I may win!" She grinned, but could see that her boast was not altogether welcome. She did not want Léof for an enemy; his position in Scarburg was too critical to her future success. "But I wish you well in the race too! You will be racing, won't you?"

"Aye, I will. I have won before," he could not help saying.

"Then I pose little threat to your success," Rowenna replied. "But I will need some practice with Flíthaf so I do not embarrass myself. I will be back soon!"

"I will have Flíthaf ready."

"Thank you!"

With that, she turned and left the stables, eager for the games to begin. There was Saeryn, coming near, looking happier than Rowenna had ever seen her. What had changed?

They talked about the games she would be in, and Rowenna told her which horse she would be riding.

“Flíthaf!” Saeryn laughed in surprise. But the pure joy left her eyes even though she still smiled. “You must be joking!”

"No, I asked him, and he said I could."

"Asked who?" Saeryn said, her smile fading a little bit more.

"Eodwine, of course."

"But will he not be in the race himself?"

"There will be more than one heat. I will ride in the first, and he in the second."

"But what if you both win?"

"We shall see," Rowenna said. She had a plan, but suddenly she felt that she did not want to divulge it to Saeryn, whose questions verged on interrogation. "But enough about me!" Rowenna slipped her arm in Saeryn's and they walked side by side. "What games will you be in, Saeryn?"

Eodwine

One thing had not changed about Degas, he used many words, like a man of the court, to say what could be said more quickly. But that was his way, and Eodwine found it amusing anyway. He could see how Saeryn could have become the winsome young lady she was, having a twin brother like this.

"I will be going to Edoras myself, Degas. I was planning to leave on the morrow. Maybe you and I should leave together, and so we would have the trip to Edoras to speak of all that we are of a mind to. What say you to that, although I would not pull you away from your sister so soon if you would rather wait?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Saeryn and I have spoken of this. She wishes to stay here, if that is favorable to you, and not return to Queen Lotheriel, or to the Folde with me. She has promised to come see me there when all is calmer, and I have promised to visit here as often as I can be spared." Degas grinned, thinking of what must be running through Eodwine's mind just now, and added, "I would be grateful for your company."

He did not add that he felt at least as grateful that Eodwine's presence would take Degas's mind off the forthcoming discussion with Lin up until the very moment he stood before her.

[Folwren]

“What games will you be in, Saeryn?” Rowenna asked, capturing her arm.

Saeryn blinked, shaking herself out of her thoughts. “I have not decided!” she said. “You have just told me the options yourself. I have learned how to throw a knife, so I think I will join that, though I doubt I’ll win. And the three-legged race will be fun. But why,” she said, coming back to the racing, “why did you ask Eodwine if you could ride Flíthaf and not trouble me for my horse? He’s more fit for you, and can run faster that Flíthaf, I’ll lay my bet on it.”

--

Javan

The four of them seemed to arrive just in time to sign up for the events that they wished to partake in. At the edge of the encampment, they all slid off their horses and leaving them standing with their reins dangling on the ground, they went in to see what exactly was going on.

Javan found Thornden as quickly as he could.

“What’s going on, big brother?”

“Haven’t you heard?” Thornden asked, turning with a smile.

“I’ve heard that we get the day off and are having a proper festival with games and feasting and all! What are the events, though? Erbrand only had a vague sketch!”

“There are lots. I don’t know if I can remember all of them. Let’s see...horse racing, foot racing, wrestling, javelin throwing, knife throwing, a sack fight of some sort, a sword duel - no, you can’t participate - quarterstaves...others, I can’t recall.”

“No archery?” Javan asked disappointedly.

“Oh, yes, archery, to be sure.”

“Excellent.” The boy rubbed his hands together with anticipation. “Do we have to talk to someone to get into what we want?”

“Lithor, over yonder. What are you planning on doing?”

Javan told him the same as he had told Erbrand and then made off for the group of people surrounding Lithor.

[Eönwë]

Dan quickly returned the contents of his pouch. He had been careless. No-one should see that yet. The time would come for that, but it wasn't now.

He took a drink from his water pouch, savouring it in his mouth. It was one of those times in life when he realised just how nice water was. Drúedain only normally drank water, but on his travels he had tried many strange, foreign drinks. But nothing could compare with good old simple water.

Dan was still in deep thought when he saw Erbrand confronting that strange Northern man, Crabannan. He always seemed such a troublemaker. He was about to go up to them and say something, but a dwarf beat him to it. Something clicked in his head. A dwarf? He thought. In these parts? He'd have to talk to him some time. He liked Dwarves. He admired their courage and stamina. He was jealous of their incredible hardiness. He had not met many dwarves in his time but he had heard that many years ago, Drughu and Dwarves had had a good relationship and were often seen among one another. Maybe it was their similar height. Normal men's similar outlook. Or the fact they both enjoyed carving rocks and other materials. Here was someone who he could truly relate with.

He looked up and saw Erbrand approaching him happily. It took a moment for him to come back to reality. He had been thinking about the mysterious man again. If he did not come in two days, Dan would tell Eodwine. But he had said that two himself two weeks ago, but couldn't bring himself to do it. But now he was resolute. He would tell Eodwine.

Erbrand was walking in his direction.
"Good morning, Dan," Erbrand said as came up to him. "Are you alright, Dan," Erbrand questioned "Is there anything I could do to help?"
"Yes, I'm fine," replied Dan "Don't worry about me." He wasn't fine, but he couldn't tell Erbrand that. Erbrand trusted him, and he didn't want to ruin that bond between them. "And what about you?"
Erbrand answered that he was alright, but something in his eyes told him otherwise. His expression had darkened a bit.

They didn't really talk that much, as Erbrand had to go to skin the animals he had caught. Dan thought that all his traps were just cheating. Real hunters actually went after their prey, and didn't just wait for them to get trtapped in such a cruel devices. They didn't even stand a chance. And morever, the Drúedain had a policy to kill their prey as painlessly as possible, and didn't wait for them to starve or bleed to death.
But though he didn't agree with his methods, he liked Erbrand. He was a good friend, and loyal. Sometimes the would go out hunting, and they would teach each other some of the other's skill. But just as Dan would never master horseriding (but that might be partly due to his size), Erbrand would never be as good as Dan at tracking. But they each learnt much from each other.
Anyway, they were going hunting that day, so Dan was in a good mood. He would have to talk to him later, ask him what the matter was.

-

Later that day, Dan was in the kitchen tent, when he heard Lithor speaking.
Near the end of the speech, Erbrand brushed past him. He called, but he could not be heard over the cheering of the croud. And he was too short to be seen above some members of the camp.

At first, he had perked up at the idea of a competition like this one, but now he had been left alone. He wanted to discuss it with someone, Nevertheless, he immediately signed up for some of the events that most suited him, ones that he was good at because of his unusual (compared to the others') lifestyle.

He went to look for Erbrand.

[Groin Redbeard]

As Eodwine stepped back from the center of attention Lithor stepped back into it.

"Very well spoken, my lord. The first games of the day will be the horse race, when everyone is ready we'll begin over there," Lithor pointed towards an open space outside the camp with markers he had set up the day before.

Almost as soon as he finished he felt another poke in his side. He turned around expecting to find Rowenna's confident beaming face, but instead his gaze was lowered a couple feet to Cnebba and Garmund, who were quickly approached by Javan.

Erbrand

Horse racing! It was a skill that he liked to do for fun as well as for exercise, although he might have been better at it if he had a suitable horse. His skills would be put to the test today and his heart sank as he saw all the participants running to the stables for their horses. Traveller was munching on some grass just outside the kitchen tent as Erbrand walked up to him. The horse was bridled but not saddled yet, Erbrand led the horse away with the intention of getting him outfitted, but decided against it as he saw some of the nimbler lighter horses that the others were riding. Erbrand led Traveller over to the racing area and tied him to one of the stakes that Lithor had set as markers and waited for the race to begin.

Suddenly Erbrand remembered what he needed to do. On his way back with the boys he had made up his mind to ask Kara about it, but forgot to when Eodwine was speaking. He rushed back to the Kitchen, which was still swarming with people and drove his way into the crowd peering above all the heads to catch a glimpse of Kara's dark blonde hair. Finally, catching a glimpse of her on the other end, standing at the door of the kitchen, he pushed his way through past Dan and a grumpy Nain, who glared at him as he pushed passed.

"Kara!" his face broke into a smile as he made it out of the crowd and approached her, she seemed startled at her name being called. "I'm glad I've found you."

"Really, why?" she asked surprised.

"Well, as you know the races are the first games today," he began to rub his fingers together and he spoke with a quaky nervousness, "and that means that the rope-tie race will be coming up soon and I... uh, was wondering, that is if you're playing in the games today, if you would maybe consider," he paused for a second before continuing, "would you consider partnering with me in the race?" His words came out fast and he stood shocked and speechless, too embarrassed to say anything else.

[Gwathagor]

When Eodwine and Lithor had finished speaking, Crabannan took his time finishing his second plate of breakfast (which he had managed to acquire without Frodides' noticing), and then began to make his way through the crowd towards the tent door. Erbrand brushed by him at the entrance, diving headlong into the crowd with a single-minded and business-liek air about him. He failed even to notice Crabannan, which was all to the latter's liking. Pausing outside the tent, he looked back over the crowd, which was now thinning, just in time to see Erbrand accosting Kara in the far corner of the tent. He hastily looked away, swore under his breath, and strode off to find his horse.

Crabannan had asked Lithor to put him down for the horse-race, among other things. Horse (which is what Crabannan had always called his steed) was not a noble creature. In no way did he resemble his noble Rohan-bred cousins; neither in disposition, nor in appearance. Horse was lazy, moody, obstinate, disproportional of body, shaggy of mane, and possessed a curious coat of mottled grey and brown to boot. Nonetheless, he had saved Crabannan's life more than once, for he possessed a single useful quality: when in danger, Horse could run like a demon. At these times, his master lost all control of him, for the horse became like a thing possessed and wild: eyes wide, nostrils flared, ears back, hooves flying, mane and tail streaming in the wind. To see him being running from a pack of wolves or from a bandit, one might think that he had fallen in the path of the Wild Hunt, and that the diabolical Hounds of the Dark Lord's Huntsmen were after him. Otherwise, his performance depended largely on his mood. He never really obeyed; it would be more accurate to say that he either agreed, and then complied. Whether this would prove the case today in the race was a matter quite beyond Crabannan's control. There was only one way to find out.

Crabannan saddled Horse up - with some effort, for Horse had grown unaccustomed to the saddle over the past month - and rode him about at a gentle pace for a few minutes, though he knew that any amount of effort on his part to prepare Horse for the race would serve little purpose if any. If Horse chose to run, they stood as fair a chance any purebred Rohirric stallion of winning. If he chose not to, there was nothing Crabannan could do make him change his mind. Coming to a stop, Crabannan slid off the saddle, and patted the horse's neck and head.

"Look here; we both know that you can run." He was talking to Horse now, a habit developed during long journeys. "Whether you want to or not is your affair, but I want you to know that your choice will have consequences; either I'm --" Horse whinnied. "No, I'm not going to feed you to the hounds - a meal they'd, at any rate, likely turn down. I was only saying that I'm going to look very stupid if you get into one of your fits of melancholy and refuse to run. See? It's simple enough. If I look foolish, you won't look any better." Horse looked away, bored. "Ah! But you could care less what anyone thinks, I suppose? I wish I could say the same." Crabannan sighed.

His attention was quickly drawn to the sounding of several short horn blasts, warning the riders to make their steeds ready for the race.

"The race is about to begin, and I'm standing about like a witless stable-boy talking to a indolent clod of a horse," he said out loud in frustration, aiming a kick at Horse, which the beast neatly sidestepped, used to such fits of melancholy in his master. The creature excused such outbreaks, attributing them to bad humors and letting them passed unrebuked.

He seized the reins and walked swiftly towards the makeshift track which had been marked out by wooden stakes, brooding all the while.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna

“Why," asked Saeryn, "did you ask Eodwine if you could ride Flíthaf and not trouble me for my horse? He’s more fit for you, and can run faster than Flíthaf, I’ll lay my bet on it.”

"I think you don't give proud Flíthaf enough credit! Anyway, I'll not take your horse from you. Don't you want to be in the race?"

Saeryn looked off in the distance as if trying to decide. "Yes, I think I will race!"

"Good!" Rowenna laughed. "We'll show the men how well women can ride! But you asked why I chose Flíthaf. I just went to the stables and there was this grand horse looking straight at me, his ears perked up as if he wanted me to ride him! So I asked Léof who he was, and who he belonged to, and he said Eodwine's steed, Flíthaf, and that was that."

"What if there is only one race?"

Rowenna did not respond immediately, but tipped her head as if giving thought to a new idea, even though she had already thought through the whole matter to the last detail. Finally she looked at Saeryn seriously and said, "Then I will of course tell Lord Eodwine that I cannot possibly take his own steed from him." She turned her head. "Look! There go Aethelstan and Matrim, and Javan and Erbrand, off to the stakes! And there's Eodwine, heading for the stables! I had better go make sure! And you need to ready your mount! Let's go!"

The two young women ran arm in arm toward the stables and Eodwine; it just so happened that Lithor was with him.

"Lithor!" Rowenna called, "how many races will there be?"

"We will have one race," he answered.

"Oh!" Rowenna stopped and disengaged her arms from Saeryn's. She looked sadly at Eodwine. "Lord, I cannot keep your horse from you. You must ride him. I will step down from the race." She made a point of looking as crestfallen as she knew she would feel if she actually expected not to race.

"Nonsense!" Eodwine said, as gallantly as she expected, "You may ride Flíthaf today. I will ride another mount."

"Oh! Thank you!" She rushed up and gave Eodwine a hug and a peck on the cheek. Then she grabbed his hand and tugged. "Come! We must find a mount noble enough for an Eorl!"

Eodwine seemed reluctant to be pulled along to the stables.

"Saeryn! Help me! Grab his other hand before our lord decides not to race himself!"

[Firefoot]

Finally freed of people seeking his attention, Léof headed off for the baker where everyone had gathered in hopes of learning in more detail just what was going on that day and what events there might be and who was entered. He had not crossed but half the distance, however, when a large contingent of the Hall broke off and started heading towards him, and the stables. “What is going on around here?” he asked aloud to no one in particular.

“The horse race, Léof! It is the first event!” cried Javan, who was nearby.

“The first event! But I have had no time to prepare any of the horses save my own, and that only by chance!” Léof replied in exasperation, forgetting for the moment that he still had not entirely forgiven Javan and no longer talked much with him. “They are all no doubt thoroughly dusty, and there is only so much space in the stables such as they are for people to be saddling up horses…” But Javan had already hurried off to find his own mount. Shaking his head, Léof turned to follow. Most of the riders had better be willing to prepare and saddle up their own mounts, if this was how much warning they wanted to give him. Honestly. He didn’t even know who all was riding in the race and on which horses.

Well, he would focus on Æthel and if someone needed him for something, they would know where to find him. He reminded himself that he was far from the only able horseman in the Hall, and most of the others would have no troubles with saddling up their own horses. Even so… he could have done with some warning. He liked to be prepared. Focus, he told himself again. If he wanted to win this race, and he did, he needed to have his mind on it alone. “Well, Æthel baby,” he addressed the horse as he pulled her out, “ready to run?”

[Folwren]

"Saeryn! Help me! Grab his other hand before our lord decides not to race himself!"

Saeryn did not answer. She stood rooted to the spot where Rowenna had left her, with a slight flush upon her cheeks and her lips half open. Across the quickly widening gap between her and Eodwine, their eyes met, and all her eyes said to his were, 'How could you?' She meant it in more than one way.

Rowenna did not need her help. That much was obvious. She had gotten all that she wanted and Saeryn highly doubted she really cared if Eodwine rode or not. Any doubts Saeryn had about her decision to race were suddenly and completely wiped from her brain. With a hardening resolve, she gathered her skirts in her hand and strode onwards.

She passed the merry Rowenna, chattering much too cheerfully with Eodwine, and walked directly to her saddle. She picked it up, hefted it deftly on her shoulder and reached for her blanket and bridle. In less than a minute, she swept out again, once more passing the two of them without a glance and walked towards the paddock.

All the horses came to greet her at the gate, eager for any treat she might offer. Saeryn ignored them all as she placed her saddle on the fence. She climbed over it, urged the horses away from her and walked to her own. He took the bit and bridle admirably and followed Saeryn to the gate.

Rowenna and Eodwine were there, presumably to choose which horse Eodwine would ride. Eodwine opened the gate for her and allowed her to come out while he made sure no other horses took the chance to follow. She thanked him quietly as she passed and took her horse over to the saddle.

She groomed him quickly and began saddling. By then, Eodwine had chosen his horse and brought him over and tied him near Saeryn. They worked without speaking for a moment, their backs to each other. Finally, Saeryn broke the silence.

“It was very chivalrous of you to allow Rowenna to ride your horse.” Perhaps there was just enough emphasis on the words ‘chivalrous’ and ‘your’ to cause Eodwine not to answer. Saeryn pressed her lips together. It was not only the fact that Eodwine gave Rowenna Flíthaf to ride that rankled. Her blood boiled at the memory of Rowenna rushing to Eodwine and hugging him, and then kissing him (however lightly) on the cheek. She had never taken such a liberty.

Then the heat lowered and she cleared her head. It was not really Eowdine’s fault. She should not be angry with him. She resolved to make up, and turned her head slightly towards him. “Will you race with me in the three-legged tie race?”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine worked the brush over the flanks of his mount.

She had actually kissed him! Yes, it was only a quick peck on the cheek, but if there was one thing Eodwine understood about women, it was that they were at least as territorial as men. No, they didn't mark their land with fences; instead, they marked off men they claimed with their own kinds of marks. Rowenna had kissed him in front of others, and thereby was making a claim that he himself was in her territory and no one else's. Lithor and Saeryn were the two who had seen Rowenna's claim in action, and Eodwine was quite sure that it mattered not in the least to Lithor.

As it always was with Eodwine, when Saeryn was near, he was aware of her presence, and very aware that she had not helped Rowenna pull him along to the horses. He had glanced back at her once, and her eyes positively flashed with indignation: 'how dare you let her kiss you! how dare you let her talk to you that way! how dare you let her have your horse! how dare you let her drag you around like that! how dare you let her take the place I used to have with you!'' Were all those messages in that one flash of a glance?

And now Saeryn had interrupted his troublesome thoughts with an offer which spoke of a familiarity which had not seemed to be there at all until these last few moments. So maybe it was as Degas said: the old Saeryn was back, and that would be something that Rowenna would not like at all, to be sure! He was not entirely sure what he thought of it either. He did not like the thought of being a prize two women tore each other apart over. So he was not keen on answering her simple offer, since it was most definitely only going to make things worse. Well, better to cut open the wound before the infection spread. He continued to rub down the horse he would ride for the race.

"I would run the three-legged race with you, Saeryn, except that Rowenna already asked me."

[Folwren]

Saeryn’s indignation rose higher than before. She jerked back around to face her horse, turning her back to Eodwine, and a short, clipped statement answered him. “I see.” She tightened the girth viciously, causing her horse to twitch uncomfortably before she realized what she was doing. As she eased it again, her mind found another outlet of anger.

“I guess next she’ll be asking for your keys and rod of lordship!” she muttered. “And I suppose you’ll just hand them over to her, won’t you?”

“What did you say?” Eodwine asked.

“You heard me,” she replied curtly. “You’ll serve them to her on a silver platter, too, no doubt.” She’ll hear it from me, she added to herself. She sent a flaming glance in Rowenna’s general direction (she was with Flíthaf in one of the stalls). A woman ought to know better than to waltz in and claim an eorl for herself without asking first.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine stopped his grooming and faced Saeryn. He had heard every word, for he had been listening carefully in case she muttered.

"Lady Saeryn of the Folde, stop what you are doing and look at me."

She did not stop her activity immediately, but her fingers slowed. "Are you going to scold me, then?" Her voice was flat.

"Your words deserve it, for they are childish. Though I am your chosen lord and protector - for now - I will only ask and not require, that you curb such vicious words as beneath you."

Saeryn opened her mouth to retort.

"You will listen, Saeryn!" She closed her mouth, but her eyes flamed at him. "You have not explained why you have returned here. You have kept to yourself and not talked with me. I have not known what you expected, nor what to expect from you after you fled from me and my proposal of marriage. Rowenna has made her wishes plain to me; she wants me for her husband, and I have told her what she must become to deserve to be my wife. I made my wishes plain to you two months ago, and you fled. Since then I have not been sure of you. You have not since made your wishes plain. What do you wish? What do you want, Lady Saeryn?"

[Groin Redbeard]

"My lord, allow me to walk with you to the stables." said Lithor, jogging to catch up with Eodwine.

"My lord there is a question I must ask you. It was very noble of you to offer you steed to Rowenna, but you must know full well that there is only one heat in the race."

Eodwine stopped and looked at Lithor with surprise, it was obvious now that the eorl had not known. Lithor kept on talking despite this.

"My point is, my lord, that you need a steed worthy enough for your position. I will not be riding my horse and I was wondering if you would like to have him? He can match any of the steeds racing here today and with you riding him the two of you will be a formidable match."

"I thank you, Lithor," the eorl said after a moment of thought, "I'll accept your offer."

Lithor was smiling again taking pride in the honor it would mean for the eorl to ride his steed. They just began to walk to the stables when he felt a gentle prodding in his side. Lithor gave short cry and spun around to face Rowenna. Lithor gave her a tired look, half annoyed and half startled, he was getting tired of being poked today.

"Lithor!" Rowenna said, "how many races will there be?"

"We will have one race." Lithor said with a smile, acting courteous as he could.

Nothing prepared him for what was about to happen next. Rowenna offered to give Flithaf back to Eodwine, it was only when Eodwine declined did he get what she was playing. He had not expected Eodwine to accept Rowenna's offer, after all he was a gentleman, he didn't even pay any head to the kiss that Rowenna gave the eorl but he did notice the hurt look on Saeryn's face as she witnessed Rowenna's act unfold.

While Rowenna was busy dragging a reluctant Eodwine to the stables Lithor went ahead to get the eorl's horse ready. It amazed him at the complex game that Rowenna was playing, making a spectacle out of herself and Eodwine at the same time. It the situation didn't bother him, rather it amazed him.

"Lithor my boy," he said to himself as he readied Eodwine's new horse, "aren't you glad you never got married? Of course you are. Women, who can figure them out? I certainly can't."

Saeryn was grooming her horse already when the eorl came up and started grooming his own. Lithor hung around for a little while hoping to offer some assistance when needed, but it soon became clear that the best thing that he could do was leave.

[Kath]

Kara had lost herself in the excitement of the planning for the games. The ongoing confusion surrounding Saeryn, Degas and Eodwine was forgotten entirely as she eagerly listened to the list of activities and decided which she could and would take part in. The sack fight, she thought, I would have no chance of winning but it would be fun to take part. The rest of the games mentioned seemed a little too skill-based for her and she was just about to settle for just joining in with the one event when she heard a voice mention a rope-tie race.

"What's that?" She asked quickly, catching the speaker before he could disappear.

"The rope-tie?" He answered. "Well it's popular enough, you might know it as a three-legged race. With the two runners tied together?"

"Of course!" Kara laughed in delight. She could certainly do that, all that was necessary was finding someone willing to be tied to her. She cast her eyes around in search of a friend, but the kitchen was so busy that she found it necesary to move right out of the crowd before she could spot anyone.

The first person she saw was Nain, who had hung back when she had darted forward to find out what was happening. Her first impulse was to run to him and ask him to join her but as her brain caught up with her she realised that he would feel both embarrassed and obligated and she did not want to force him into doing anything he would not enjoy. The next person to catch her eye was Frodides, but she quickly discounted her as a possible running mate as the old cook was not one for excessive exercise, nor for 'putting herself out to look the fool' as she said on many an occasion.

"Ginna!" She called out, finally catching sight of someone who might actually be willing to join her. The girl turned round, surprised to hear her name above the tumult. "Ginna," Kara repeated once she had reached her side, "have you any interest in the games? Would you like to run a race with me?"

"I ... I don't know." Ginna replied, seeming a little taken aback. "Which race did you want to run?"

"The three-legged race." Kara replied eagerly. "It isn't one where you have to be particularly fast, it's a bit of fun rather than a serious competition."

She watched as Ginna thought it over, unaware of the somewhat complex nature of those thoughts. Ginna was not sure that she was quite ready to partake in a bit of fun with the people of this camp. Though she had spent a lot of time among them now she still did not feel entirely secure of her place among them, especially now with the possibility of her father's arrival in the not too distant future. The decision was further hampered by the simple fact that she was not a good runner, and despite Kara's assertions that the race required little in the way of real talent Ginna suspected that her stockier friend would still have more of an aptitude for it. Despite this, however, the happy and hopeful look on Kara's face ended up making the decision for her.

"Of course I will." She said, and couldn't help but smile at the pleased look she received in return. "You will have to remind me of any rules though, it has been a long time since I have been involved in such a race."

Kara was about to reply that of course she would do exactly that when she heard her own name being called above the noise and turned to find Erbrand behind her. She greeted him warmly despite her surprise but felt her heart sink as he asked his question.

"Well, as you know the races are the first games today, and that means that the rope-tie race will be coming up soon and I... uh, was wondering, that is if you're playing in the games today, if you would maybe consider, would you consider partnering with me in the race?"

"Oh!" She cried out, truly dismayed. "Erbrand I am so sorry, I would have loved to run the race with you but I have just asked Ginna whether she would run with me and she agreed. I am sorry."

"It, uh, it doesn't matter. I ... it was only a thought. Another time perhaps." Erbrand's flaming face was now directed at the floor as he attempted to leave, stumbling over his words as much as he was over his feet.

"Erbrand wait!" A voice called, and for a moment Kara thought it had been her own as she felt so guilty for the disappointment clear on the man's face. It had not been she who had called out, however, it had been Ginna. Erbrand looked up in surprise and as Kara turned to face her friend in confusion Ginna launched into an explanation.

"Kara, it's alright, you can race with Erbrand. No," she continued as Kara made to interrupt, "it really is alright. I wasn't sure that I wanted to race but I didn't want to let you down. But now that you have such a good replacement for me I won't feel guilty at all." She smiled as she spoke, feeling more at ease now. "I am quite happy to watch with Frodides and Modtryth, I promise I won't feel left out."

"Are you sure?" Kara asked.

"Completely." Ginna replied.

"Well then Erbrand," Kara spoke as she turned back to Erbrand with a beaming countenance, "if you still wish to race with me then I would be very glad to partner you."

[Folwren]

This was like adding insult to injury, and at first, Saeryn could scarcely stand and take it. Eodwine made it clear that she had no choice except to listen. So she did. He wanted to know what she wanted. As though it were so easy to tell him! He might have at least asked her at a more opportune moment. As it was, her mood was such that her reply was civil, yet her voice was very strained.

“I believe it is the custom for the man to speak first, lord Eodwine,” Saeryn said, aware of the proximity of others. “I could think of no way to approach you with modesty and honor."

She let the two words hang in the air between them; obvious was Rowenna's unspoken name. "I left because I was frightened and uncertain about how to answer you - afraid I’d give you the wrong answer. I could not stay and allow such rumors as there were to affect your reputation... or mine. I thought it best to think things over from a distance, so that I could think clearly, and so that my hesitation would not cause yet more gossip to spread.

"I came back because I was hurt and afraid and wherever you were seemed to be home for me. I returned wounded, and there was no chance to speak, and then when I recovered I thought that, as before, there would be time for me to figure out my own feelings, as well as yours, and they became clear to me. Yet there seemed to be a division between us. You have not spoken to me as you once did, and you never asked me anything. Not about my health, not what I learned when I left, not why I returned. I finally figured it out today, and realized, once Degas was here, what I wanted. Yet today I also found, as I had not known before, that another woman occupies your thoughts and your time, so I apologize for being in your way. I shall step aside.”

She began to turn away again, her eyes filling with tears, her happy smile from just moments ago a mere memory, but Eodwine detained her by his voice. "I am not occupied with her anymore than what I just stated."

"Oh, no?" Saeryn flared, whipping back around. Her tears were forgotten and her fury suddenly won in the struggle of maturity. "I don't know what else to call it when I see an unmarried woman make such open signs of affection in the middle of everybody. Or when a man gives up his own horse to let her ride in the race! You might not have been offered this fine animal, Eodwine - you might have stood out, watching that selfish girl ride Flíthaf. If you had offered him to me, I would not have accepted him! She doesn't want you, Eodwine. She wants your lands, your title, she wants the glory of being an eorl's wife. And if you stoop to receive her, because she flatters you and you are drawn to her smirks and her harlotries, then I will be glad that I was not bound to a man so shallow."

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine began to smile. His smile widened. Saeryn looked at him both in anger and puzzlement, and the faintest twinge of mirth pulled up at her lips as she stared at him angrily.

"What do you find humorous in this?" she asked.

"Welcome back, Saeryn, the Saeryn I came to love in the first place."

A riot of emotions passed over her countenance, of pleasure, confusion, but still mostly anger. "Do not try to flatter me, my lord."

"I do not. You must understand that any bone you have to pick, is with me, and not Rowenna. She is not of your station and is not trained to nobility. She is a farm girl. Her life these last two years has been hard-"

"So you just make excuses for her!"

"No. I know what she is trying to do, and I have made it clear how hard it will be to become what I must have in a wife, yet she persists. That is a good thing in her, persisting. It has helped her survive. But it does you nor her nor me no good to judge her with such harsh names. Speak no such words again, of her or anyone, without clear proof.

"One thing I will ask for now, though. Will you dance with me tonight?"

Rowenna

She could hear most of what was being said. Why had he not told her that he already had someone he wished to marry? How humiliating!

Harlotry!

Rowenna's hands shook with rage. She kept silence and listened carefully to every last word Eodwine spoke. From it, she could tell where his heart lay; she had never had a chance with him once this Saeryn had come back, and maybe not before. Then there was the last straw: he asked her to dance with him. She came out from her stall and stood before them both before Saeryn had a chance to answer his question.

Her voice was low, controlled, yet shook with rage. "How dare you call me a harlot! You have been cared for and pampered all your life and not been ravaged by thieves and murderers!"

She turned to Eodwine. "Why did you not tell me about her?"

"Because I did not know if she would ever come again."

So there it was. This other woman, Saeryn, may have left his land, but she had never left his heart; it was so clear now. "Then I am nothing more than a farm girl to you."

"Rowenna," Eodwine said, "listen to me. You have been embittered by your two years of slavery. You need to put it to rest, in whatever way you may. Until you do, you will not be free."

What was he talking about? What had her slavery to brigands to do with anything that was happening today? She shook her head. "You're just trying to turn all the blame on me. I refuse it. Ride your own horse. Run the three legged race with her."

She walked stiffly between them and away from the preparing horse race. She headed back to the baker. There was Nydfara. Suddenly her wrath kindled hotter than it had been. She walked up to him and slapped him in the face as hard as she could, then turned from him to leave Scarburg. I am done here, she said to herself.

[Folwren]

“Oh dear,” Saeryn gasped. She didn’t know what else to say, and she hardly had the breath to say it with. She turned to watch Rowenna walk away. “Eodwine, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she could hear me.” Not that that was much of an excuse.

Everything was so mixed up. She could not think what to say to Eodwine, and she could not begin to concentrate while Rowenna’s form was still in view. She watched her with fascinated attention as she stormed angrily away.

“She might do herself harm because of what I said! Or someone else,” she added, as Rowenna met someone outside the baker. She flinched as Rowenna struck Nydfara in pure rage before turning and striding out of view beyond the tents.

“I have to go after her,” she decided suddenly.

“Saeryn-” Eodwine began, but Saeryn had already rushed to her horse’s head and loosed his reins from the fence.

“She’s going away, just like I did!” she explained hurriedly as she made a swift, clean mount. “I saw that look, Eodwine! Unless someone goes after her, you’ll never see her again.”

[Firefoot]

Scyld had watched Rowenna approach with an indolent smirk on his face. Thought she’d had Eodwine wrapped around her little finger, did she? Well, apparently she wasn’t the only one with her eyes set on the Eorl, though he didn’t know where Saeryn’s interest had come from. And though from his distance he couldn’t hear the exact words, the raised female voices spoke for themselves, and clearly Rowenna had come out on bottom.

He did not understand at first why she was coming to him – to complain? Frankly, her plight amused him. But she wiped the smirk clear off his face when she stepped right up to him and slapped him across the face. Hard.

Of all the illogical - !

Utterly bewildered, he stared after her for a moment as she strode away. Anger sparked briefly before giving way to condescension. So she was leaving then? Not competing to go off and sulk because she could not have her way? And he’d thought she had tenacity.

“So that’s it, then?” he called after her. “You’re just giving up?” He laughed shortly, harshly. “And I thought you were made of tougher mettle than that.”

[littlemanpoet]

She stopped and turned. Did Nydfara not see what he had done to her? She hadn't realized it herself until now, but it was suddenly so clear. He had reminded her of the brigands, and so she had found him fascinating. And then they had talked, and had flirted, and the attention, such as it was, floated her out of her carefulness and she had become a young maiden once again instead of the plotting, careful, tenacious survivor she had learned to be. And look what it had gotten her!

"You're a man so you wouldn't understand. Worse yet, you have no feelings because you don't dare. I pity you. I hope someday you can come out of hiding behind that smirking mien. As for me, there's no place for me here anymore."

Eodwine was a strong man, and she would have done her best to be a good wife to him, and yes, she would have reveled in the high estate of such a role. But she realized now that she did not belong here. After all, she had come among them with a single goal, and that was to make this leader of men her new mate. That goal was not to be achieved, and therefore there was no reason to remain.

She turned and walked away, toward the front gate, toward the road, to lead her back to Edoras, then to the Folde where she had been raised, and she hoped, to a life that might be worth the living.

Eodwine

"And do you think, Saeryn, that she will listen to you? Do you really think that you understand her?"

She half turned and said over her shoulder, "I do not know, but I have to try!"

Eodwine threw up his hands, deciding to let these two women work things out between themselves, if it was possible. He led the replacement horse back into its stall, and went over to Flíthaf, and patted him on his strong haunch and back, and neck.

"Ah, my faithful steed, it will be good to ride again, will it not? At least you I can count on to know who and what you are, and do what you do best, and that is to run!"

Rowenna had done a good job with him, he saw, having been thoroughly groomed. Well, she was a maid of the Eorlings, and some skills were never forgotten even after years of no use. He climbed on Flíthaf's back. The horse pranced and muttered, eager to get out and run. It was grand high on Flíthaf's back, one could see so much farther and the world looked so much larger. And the might and girth moving beneath him passed into his own body. He was ready to race.

"Let's show them what 'fleet of hoof' means, my friend!"

[Groin Redbeard]

Every feature of his body slumped as Kara gracefully declined his offer. Erbrand’s heart was flying high, like a dove, on the wings of his hopes, but those hopes were broken and as a consequence his heart fell into the deep chasm of despair. Her refusal was not unexpected that terrible possibility of being shunned had haunted his thoughts ever since the idea came into his head to ask her, but he was not shunned, it was true that he had been refused his his desires but it was because Kara had already promised to race with Ginna, if only he had arrived sooner! It was useless to dwell on such thoughts, Kara made her choice and was gallant in her decline, the least he could do was to respect her choice.

"It, uh, it doesn't matter. I ... it was only a thought. Another time perhaps."

His words were not as graceful as Kara’s had been, Erbrand found himself almost forcing the words out of his mouth, his face grew red. No matter how he tried to accept the blow that fate had dealt him, he still found himself wanting to be with her. Erbrand forced a feeble smile to match Kara’s genuinely beautiful smile, he couldn’t hate her. His feet stumbled as he began to leave, finding himself still wanting to stay, but knowing that he must go.

“Erbrand, wait!” came a cry and he turned to see Ginna, he had barely noticed her standing next to Kara.

Ginna launched into an explanation, telling Kara and him that she would gladly give her place up to Erbrand. Kara tried to protest, but Ginna silenced her with assurances that she was happy to do it. Erbrand’s instinct was to decline Ginna’s noble gesture, but something held him back, he did not want to be pitied, his pride would not normally allow it, but this time he gladly cast it aside, he wanted desperately to have this chance with Kara and his luck had finally caught up with him. A smile slowly stretched across his face, his excitement and delight could barely be contained.

"Well then Erbrand," Kara spoke as she turned back to Erbrand with a beaming countenance, "if you still wish to race with me then I would be very glad to partner you."

“Wonderful,” he replied clapping his hands together in joy, every nerve in his body seemed to fidget with excitement, “I’m so happy.” He did his best to contain the rest of his words, fearing that he would make a fool of himself if spoke anything else. He rushed to Ginna and shook her hand gratefully and enthusiastically with a face that looked like it might explode with laughter.

“Thank you, thank you,” were the only words he found suitable for expressing himself, he rushed over to Kara hoping in someway to express the way that he felt, “I’m so glad!” were the only words that he could think of to say.

He was grinning from ear to ear, as he waved and joyfully ran back to the racing grounds, he felt as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Dan was walking to the racing grounds when Erbrand spotted him.

“Dan,” he hailed.

“There you are,” Dan replied smiling at Erbrand’s unusually mirthful attitude, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Well you’ve found me now, come we can talk but first I need to warm up Traveller for the races.” He slapped Dan on the shoulder, “come on, I’ll race you to the horses!” He was off and running before Dan had a chance to reply, laughing all the way.

[Folwren]

As soon as she had answered Eodwine, Saeryn spurred her horse into a trot. Her heart beat high in her chest, hoping that she would be able to find Rowenna and that Rowenna would stop and listen to her. What would she say that Rowenna needed to listen to? Saeryn did not precisely know.

As she came up the short rise and came level with the baker, she saw Rowenna, walking swiftly away from the entire encampment. Saeryn did not draw rein at all and continued to go forward quickly.

"Rowenna!" she called, when she was close enough. "Please wait!"

The woman didn't even turn her head. She kept on doggedly, but Saeryn saw her fists clench.

Saeryn urged her horse on faster, passed Rowenna and then drew rein just in front of her. "Please don't go. You didn't understand. I didn't understand, either."

Rowenna did not slow her pace. If Saeryn meant to bodily block her way, she would have to try harder than that. She pivoted around Saeryn and her horse and kept walking, but said, "What is there to understand? Eodwine wants you, and not me. There is nothing else to understand. I will not stand in your way, so I'm leaving."

Saeryn lifted one rein and the horse turned about on his hind feet and then fell into pace beside Rowenna.

"You think that being here, you would be in my way?" Saeryn asked. "Don't be a fool! What I meant was, you didn't understand the relationship between he and I, so it's little wonder you acted as you did. Because you did not win him, now you throw a tantrum and run off? This is your home, Rowenna, and running will do you no good. Take my word for it."

"You do not understand me. My tantrum, as you so kindly call it, is done. But my foolishness, as you name it, is not foolishness. I had but one goal, to win the lord of this eorldom as my husband. Now it is clear to me that my goal cannot be achieved, for he loves you. There is no reason for me to stay. I have a new goal."

"Perhaps you set your goal too high," Saeryn suggested quietly. "It's no reason to just turn your back forever on the friends you've made here. Where do you intend to go - where you can find a home and friends?"

Rowenna slowed but did not stop; it was not because of any persuasiveness in Saeryn's words. In fact, Rowenna had not even heard Saeryn's last words because she had become consumed with an ugly fact. It sapped her of the strength to walk toward her goal so quickly. A lump came to her throat; try as she might she could not swallow it down, and it came out in a plaintive hollowness in her voice. She stopped; Saeryn stopped also and turned her horse to face Rowenna.

"I have no friends in Scarburg. I thought you might be that for me, but now we are rivals. No, not even that." She grew angry again, but unshed tears stung her eyes. "Can't you see? I have no friends in Scarburg!" She stumbled around Saeryn and her horse, wiping at her stinging eyes. "Go back to your lover! Leave me alone!"

Saeryn's heart ached to see someone feeling and acting so rejected and alone. Saeryn had everything she wanted - even the man she loved - and Rowenna now believed she had nothing, or even less than nothing. Saeryn understood suddenly what Rowenna must be feeling. Rowenna had believed that Eodwine felt inclined to love her, and that soon, her goal of marriage might be fulfilled. She had thought that Saeryn was her friend, someone who almost could be relied on to hear things that lay close to her heart. These illusions had been wiped away, suddenly and without mercy. Eodwine had professed with his own lips his love for Saeryn, just after Saeryn had defiled Rowenna's name and reputation.

Saeryn slipped down from her horse and ran after Rowenna. She grasped her arm gently. "Please forgive me," she said quietly. "I did not mean what I said. I was angry, like you are now. Please don't go like this. I like you Rowenna, truly I do, and I don't know what possessed me to say such evil things."

Rowenna looked at Saeryn's hand on her arm as she listened. She had not trusted anyone, except for a growing faith in Eodwine, since her father had died. She had not been close to any woman since her mother had died years before that; she had been the apple of her father's eye, and somehow she had dreamed that she might have something like that with Eodwine. Now Saeryn spoke words of entreaty to her. To her! She could feel herself losing control. She did not like losing control, but she hated her isolation even more. For a moment she imagined melting into Saeryn's arms and bawling as she had not done since time out of mind, and she reckoned that it would be a humiliation beyond bearing. Yet she could not bring herself to reject Saeryn either, for her heart starved for what she was offering. To make it worse, she could feel herself slipping out of control, and something in her could not abide that either. She could not find a way through; yet something had to give.

She wrenched her arm from Saeryn's gentle grasp and stumbled to the side of the road where she fell against a tree trunk. She felt unbearable pain welling up from inside and it came out of her throat as an animal moan; she could not believe it was her own voice. Her eyes stung, for tears still would not come, but she fell to her knees for the pain inside was unendurable. She had to stop it! She hiccuped and fought to stifle the pain but it would not go away.

Saeryn didn't know what to do. She stood in the middle of the road, staring at Rowenna. It was true, she didn't understand her, but she did see clearly that the young woman - indeed, she was little older than Saeryn herself - was suffering a pain far deeper than Saeryn had ever known herself, or could possibly even guess.

A lump grew in her own throat. She swallowed back and then went forward cautiously. Rowenna did not turn her head or make any sign that she heard her approach. Then suddenly, Saeryn knelt beside her, put her arm about her shoulder and drew her to her own body, trying to comfort her as best she could. She soothed her like a child, murmuring softly into her ear - "Hush, Rowenna, it's alright - it's alright. You can talk to me."

Rowenna felt Saeryn take her close and whisper calm assuring words, such words she had not heard since she was a little girl. And for some reason Rowenna did not understand, it was endurable for Saeryn to come to her and offer comfort, so that she had not had to take that humiliating step. She could not cry, the tears would not flow, but as she rested in Saeryn's arms, the pain slowly ebbed until it was an endurable ball inside. She tested her voice and found that she could control it again.

"Saeryn, you are - you are good - good to me." Suddenly the tears came and she could not stop them. It was a long time before they subsided.

Saeryn waited until Rowenna had ceased to cry, and then she drew back and looked Rowenna in the face. It was only then that Rowenna saw that she, too, had been weeping. "Now," Saeryn said as she drew a trembling breath, "Let's go back and find a place where we can sit in peace. We've both missed the horse race by now, and no one will bother us so long as the games progress. If you like, we can talk, or I can help you prepare for whatever journey you feel you have to take."

Rowenna did not understand it, but for some reason, Saeryn's tears made it possible for Rowenna to make a decision that would have been impossible moments ago.

"Yes," she nodded, "I do believe that maybe I should leave Scarburg, but maybe not." A fleeting smile came to her face, the first one in many moons that had been unplanned. They stood and walked slowly back to Scarburg, Saeryn leading her horse by one rein, and both of them said much to each other about their lives, and it was in this way that they realized that they both had grown up in the Folde. This new sisterhood, as it were, added a new thread into the fabric of an unexpected friendship, and this time true, that had begun to weave itself between them.

[Groin Redbeard]

After leaving the stables he made his way across the Scar to the racing track. Crabannan was already waiting with his sorry excuse of a horse, Lithor didn't think the poor broken beast had a chance of winning against any real horse. Traveller stood unsaddled and alone, where was Erbrand? The two soldiers, Aethelstan and Matrim, stood patiently on the side.

Lithor lifted his hunting horn to his lips and gave two short blasts, signifying that the beginning was soon at hand. People poured across the Scar from the camp, Eodwine, Javan, Leof, Erbrand and Degas were among them, with Eodwine riding Flithaf.

“What’s this?” Lithor said chuckling to himself, “Has Rowenna given you back what is yours, or has my horse proved too spirited for you?”

“No, Lithor, Rowenna gave Flithaf back to me of her own free will.”

“Than I assume that she won’t be racing today.”

“No she won’t,” responded Eodwine, looking back towards camp with a troubled expression, “and I’m afraid that Saeryn won’t be joining us either.”

“Saeryn, not racing?” Lithor replied shocked, “thank you my lord, I will not press you any for further information.” Eodwine gave him a thankful smile and joined the racers.

The contestants were now all lined up and the watchers were scattered gathered on the Scar, which provided an excellent view. Lithor walked up and down the line of horses trying to even them up, which proved to be a difficult job. Many of the horses fidgeted and stepped out of place, unlike the dormant horse of Crabannan, who looked like it was sleeping. For the most part the riders kept the horses at an even line and didn’t try to inch their horses ahead to get a head-start.

Another blast from Lithor’s horn brought a silence over the land. There was no need for a speech this time, just a statement of the rules.

“Riders,” said Lithor in a raised voice for the audience to hear, “the rules of the game are simple. Ride out to that red flag you see there,” he pointed to the flag a good ways off, “circle around that and ride back to this spot; the first rider across this line wins. Make this a fair and clean race and may the best man win.”

He stepped aside and raised his horn, “the race will begin on the third sounding of the horn!”

[Folwren]

The horses stood in their allotted places. They fidgeted nervously, knowing from the tense eagerness in their riders’ legs that something was afoot - some pawed the ground eagerly or stamped with their back hoof, others tossed their heads, protesting at the restraining rein. Only Crabannan’s horse stood completely still. His ear swivelled briefly towards the other horses one moment and then went back to its lazy, backwards position.

Lithor raised the horn to his lips. At the first blast, all the horses became still. Their heads came up and their eyes were fixed on him. The second sounding, and the riders seemed to settle deeper into their saddles, heels came slightly closer to the horses’ sides, and hands about the reins clenched tighter.

The third blast blew and as one body, all the horses sprang forward into action. All of them, that is, except Crabbanan’s. Horse stood still, completely unconcerned as the others flew on ahead. Crabbanan cursed under his breath. He lifted his legs (and his elbows) and shoved them hard against Horse’s ribs, but the animal only rocked forward a little bit. Again and again, the unfortunate rider tried to get Horse to move, but his encouraging kicks did not seem to convince the horse of anything. Finally, after what seemed like minutes to Crabannan but what was probably only a few seconds, Horse lifted his head. His ears perked forward and his eyes swept the racing field. Then, with no form of warning, besides a sudden snort, he took off - and nearly left Crabannan behind.

The hooves of the contesting horses pounded the earth. The horses picked up on their riders’ will to win, and each animal put all its effort and strength into it, for such it is that a beast of that kind was made to serve. They all ran well, others better than the rest. Æthel with Léof atop her seemed to fly. Flíthaf came close behind them, Eodwine bent low over his neck. The others came after, Erbrand, Degas, Javan, and Aethelstan - the last two being so close together that it was difficult to tell who was coming first. Behind them, Horse was thundering up quickly, the ground passing under his feet as though he were wind itself.

They swept around the red flag, turning at dangerous speeds, and headed back up the last stretch. The viewers began cheering wildly, for Flíthaf and Æthel were neck and neck. Their nostril’s flared and their hooves sent up sparks. Then Léof bent forwards more ever so slightly, his hands relaxed on the reins to Æthel’s bit, and the little mare responded with a last spurt of speed.

She finished the race barely a head’s length ahead of the warhorse.

Léof and Eodwine exchanged brief glances as they reined their horses in and other racers began to pour in between them, finishing the race mere half seconds after them.

Horse came in third to last.

[Gwathagor]

"Stupid beast," said Crabannan, as he walked Horse back to the stable. The two plodded along together. Crabannan's brows were furrowed, but Horse seemed fairly pleased with himself. "Completely useless, except when your own hide is in danger." He grimaced. "I should sell you back to that farmer in East Emnet - though I doubt he'd take you."

Horse licked the back of Crabannan's head. Crabannan hollered, leapt aside, and raised his hand to clout Horse hard - but found he couldn't do it. Against his will, almost, he smiled bitterly, and patted the horse's strong jaw.

"Aye. At any rate, you're no more than I deserve. We suit well together, you and I."

Leaving Horse cleaned and watered in the stable, Crabannan returned to his tent, and sat down on his cot. He was skipping the other games for the time being - they seemed silly. There would be fighting and spear-throwing and archery later on, however, and these he looked forward to.

His month in Scarburg had been peaceful, but this irked him nearly as much as it refreshed him, for he found that he was clumsy and inefficient as a worker, despite being strong. The tools of peace did not lend themselves readily to Crabannan's hands and mind, and there was always someone who could do a job better than he, or faster. The result was a frequent and profound feeling of uselessness; he knew that he did not have a place in this peaceful village. He had wished more than once that the village would be attacked by marauders or by rival eorls. Then he would have had the chance to prove his worth - for his skills lay elsewhere, in the handling of weapons of all kinds, in fighting with his hands, in the finding of forest paths.

During this time, the harp had been a source of pleasure for him. Often, after dark, he would walk away from camp up onto the Scar and, when he believed himself alone, he would sit and play for an hour or so - sometimes longer - before returning. He played battle songs, love songs, funeral songs - songs of sadness or of joy, but all spirited, tunes he had learned as a young man in Dale. This did him good, for the music eased his spirit, even if it often encouraged his tendency toward melancholy.

Crabannan sighed and reached under his cot. He pulled out a long bundle, which he set upon the bed and then unwrapped, revealing a longbow and a longsword, both of fine quality and well-cared for. He set the sword upon his lap and, closing his fingers about the handle, half drew it. It felt right and comfortable; he hoped the swords they would use that afternoon would be of reasonable quality. For now, he would reacquaint himself with this one. It had been far too long.

And then he smiled, and, for once, it was without either irony or bitterness. He was content.

[Groin Redbeard]

Everything had happened so fast, the reality of what had happened took a brief moment to register in Erbrand's head. Traveller's neck was bent and his nostrils flared as he struggled to catch his wind. For a moment Erbrand forgot all about the winning and leapt from Traveller's back. He cursed himself as he felt his horses chest heave in and out.

"You're selfish, selfish, Erbrand!" he muttered to himself over and over again. Speed was not the poor beasts purpose in life, it was in strength that Traveller would succeed, and in spite of this Erbrand made his horse do what was not intended of him, the selfish want of winning was on the top of his list and as a consequence had nearly broken his horse. Traveller lifted his head slightly and turned as he felt Erbrand run his fingers through his mane and rub his neck; he knew that touch. It was the touch that his master gave him at the end of a day of pulling wagons and hauling goods to and fro, it was the touch he got just before offered a carrot or a precious lump of sugar. Erbrand lifted his horses sunken head and looked him squarely in the eye as if he were examining him.

"We sure showed them, didn't we boy?" but Traveller payed no attention and instead started biting at Erbrand's sleeves to see if he had some hidden treat. A crooked smile crept across Erbrand's face as Traveller shook his mane and stood up to his full height. It would take more than one race to keep him down.

"Leof," Erbrand cried out as the boy dismounted, "well done, I have never seen a horse run so fast or ridden so admirably. Very well done!" Erbrand smiled and gave a playful wink as he shook Leof's hand.

Back across the Scar he led Traveller, back to the stables where he would be safe from wondering. He noticed that Horse was already put in his stall, though it looked quite refreshed for being in a race. With a farewell pat on the back Erbrand left Traveller to munch on his carrot. Crabannan was just crawling into his tent as Erbrand walked by, he had an urge to taunt his rival after he had lost in the race, but decided against it, Crabannan had a temper to match his own. Instead he raced by with the satisfaction of beating him when it came to handling horses, but the real contest that he anticipated to have with Crabannan was still to come: the quarterstaff fight. Though he was hesitant to enter the contest, he wanted desperately to beat Crabannan at his own game, or at least show his worth in a fight.

[Firefoot]

She had done it! Æthel had done it! Léof had known she could, of course, but that did not detract from his pleasure now. As he eased her down from the gallop he observed her carefully and was pleased to note that her gait was steady if perhaps less spirited than normal, and she still held her head high. Any race would take its toll, but she was scarcely tired. He circled her back around, dismounting when he neared the finish line again.

Made slightly effusive by his victory, Léof cried to Eodwine, “Good race, my lord!”

“And to you, Léof,” returned the Eorl, but Léof thought he seemed a bit distracted, and was immediately put in mind of Rowenna and Saeryn, who had not returned for the race. A shame, that – Saeryn’s mare would have put in a good bid for the win. But it was not his affair – if they had more pressing matters to attend to (and they certainly did, by the tone and volume of their earlier conversation with Eodwine in the stables), it was their business.

He hung around a little while longer, accepting the congratulations of the various hall folk. Soon, however, preparations began for the next event, and he had a hot and sweaty horse to attend to. He took Æthel and another horse as well (he could walk out two horses just as well as one; not all the riders need take their own horses back) and headed back to the stables, whistling a cheerful tune as he went.

[littlemanpoet]

He was genuenely happy for Léof. The lad had run a good race. He said so, too. Then he turned to Flíthaf, who looked him in the eye restlessly, hardly any sign of tiredness in him. If anything, it appeared that the stallion was ready for more.

"Maybe later today, my lad," Eodwine said, caressing Flíhaf's cheek. "I reckon that I owe you more time than I've given you of late, and for that I'm truly sorry. You and I shall make up for it on the morrow."

He turned to Léof and asked if his ostler could take care of Flíthaf, for he had a rather irksome matter on his mind. Léof did so willingly, and Eodwine thanked him, then walked off at a good pace toward the entrance to Scarburg. He got as far as the road just beyond the entrance where he saw something that made his eyes open wide and his jaw drop.

Saeryn and Rowenna were walking slowly back toward him, Saeryn leading her mount by the reins, and they were talking and smiling, and even laughing! His heart lifted and his eyes moistened. He had desired Saeryn in marriage for months now, and had been kindly disposed toward Rowenna ever since her rescue - though he had not liked some things about her attitude; but now he suddenly came to love them both. Saeryn he wanted for his wife; Rowenna his heart held like a father. It was strange that they were both the same age, but there the similarities largely ended.

They had not seen him. This was not a time to intrude. He turned back to Scarburg, no longer feeling burdened. "Flíthaf, I'm sorry I was so heavy on your back; perhaps we would have won. No matter! The foot races are next!" Eodwine trotted back to the Scar where they were soon to begin.

There he found Lithor readying the other runners: Erbrand, Osmund, Degas, and Matrim, as well as Garmund, Cnebba, and Javan. They would all run together, but the boys were to be given a first place for themselves no matter which man won the race.

"Friends," Eodwine said loudly, "I am willing to wager one copper that Osmund will win the short race. Who will take my wager?"

[Nogrod]

Garstan and Stigend were following the competants getting ready from close up. There they were the two proud fathers looking at the same time both hilarious and a bit uneasy. The cause for their confusion was with the relations between the boys, to be exact the relations of all the three boys. They just both hoped the games might do the trick... but it might turn into a disaster as well for even if the archery-practise had kind of turned the relations for better it had also opened new shifting alliances and that was clearly a sign of things not yet being quite settled.

Stigend glanced at Garstan who tried a smile but failed miserably and ended up frowning lightly looking Stigend back into the eye. Stigend was just about to open his mouth when lord Eodwine called for his bet on Osmund.

The two were silent for a moment eyeing each other as if asking whether they should call for a bet in the kid-run. Slowly they both nodded in refusal and turned back to follow the preparation for the run. Stigend realised his heart was pumping hard. He felt the pulse in his forehead.

~*~

Cnebba was drawing breath slowly and filled his lungs feeling how he grew in size and stature with all the air inside him. Then he made a small pause full of air and then let it flow out like a long awaited relief. He eyed every now and then Javan beside him and Garmund behind Javan. They both seemed focused even though it was at least once or twice he caught Garmund glancing towards Javan and him. He would have to show those two... and he realised the two others were thinking exactly the same. At least Garmund was. And Cnebba was sure Javan was too even if he didn't show it.

Cnebba saw his dad and Garstan in the crowd watching him and Garmund getting ready for the race. Stigend smiled to him encouragingly when their eyes met. Cnebba smiled back hastily but felt confused.

Then he saw Leothern standing beside Garstan holding his hand and her gaze going intensively through the line of the runners. Suddenly she was looking at him. Cnebba turned away from her eyes and stared straight forwards to the track in front of him like if he hadn't noticed her looking at him. He pulled in some air and tried to look as confident as he could not daring to glance sideways...

[Groin Redbeard]

"My lord you are confident today," Lithor said merrily as he overheard the eorl's bet, "but you forget that you are racing as well, or is that why you made the bet?" Lithor grinned at his little joke.

The two boys were getting ready for the race. Cnebba, Javan, and Garmund were at the starting line all fidgety and looking nervous. Lithor walked over and said a few private words of encouragement, trying to ease their nerves, and then in a loud clear voice addressed the crowd.

"People, people, settle down, the foot races are about to begin!"

~~~~

Erbrand

He was near when the eorl mad the proposal. At first Erbrand payed no attention to the friendly bet, he never gambled, money was hard to come by for him and he had not made any here in Scarburg. Yet something seemed to wrench at his insides as he walked by, in an indirect manner Eodwine had challenged him, and every other man who was running; his honor was on the line. With a smirk on his face he spun around and headed back to the eorl.

"Lord Eodwine, I'll accept your bet. Which shall it be, the sprint and the distance run?"

[littlemanpoet]

"The sprint this time!" Eodwine grinned. "I don't think I'll bet on Osmund for the longer run."

"We'll see about that!" cried Osmund.

There was a good round of laughter and then they quieted as the runners got into position. Lithor again explained how it would go. The red flag had been moved, and Wilcred had volunteered to stand at the flag to declare the two winners.

"Go!" yelled Lithor. Degas got the best start, and Eodwine did well too. Matrim and Erbrand started a half step behind them, with Osmund in between. Cnebba and Javan got off like two peas in a pod, but Garmund stumbled before he could get going.

They covered the first fifty feet in seconds. Eodwine and Degas were neck and neck, Osmund one foot behind, and Erbrand and Matrim a foot behind them. Six feet back from them ran Javan; a full running stride behind him was Cnebba, and Garmund brought up the rear, but he had been gaining on Cnebba.

Matrim quickened his pace and caught up to Eodwine after another fifty feet. Degas had fallen a foot back, tied with Erbrand. Osmund was now a half stride behind them. Back ten feet ran Javan. A full running stride back was Cnebba, but Garmund was now tied with him.

They neared the flag. Matrim was moving ahead. Degas was pulling even with Eodwine again, and Erbrand stayed just a head behind. Osmund was falling back almost a full stride. Javan was still ahead of the other boys but Garmund had passed Cnebba, who had fallen farther behind.

Matrim crossed the finish line first, almost a full stride ahead of Eodwine and Degas, who finished tied. Erbrand was just a lean behind, and Osmund brought up the rear of the men. Javan crossed the line six feet behind Osmund, Garmund three feet behind him, and Cnebba three feet later yet.

All of the runners were bent over their knees, breathing heavily. "I owe you a copper, Erbrand!" Eodwine said. "Osmund! Were you trying," he puffed, "to lose me my coin?!?"

[Folwren]

It was a strange feeling, to win a race but in reality come in behind all the men. Javan had held some scrap of hope that he might be able to come in somewhere among the older people. No such luck. He was pleased, though, despite that, and he grinned as he panted for breath, his hands on his knees. He glanced sidelong at Garmund and Cnebba and then stood up to go over and speak with them. A pain in his side halted him momentarily and with his hand clasped about it to cinch the pain, he went over to them.

“Man, Garmund, you nearly had me, I swear!” he said cheerfully. He did not speak as though he were boasting or gloating over the fact that Garmund hadn’t beaten him. “You both ran very well. I’ll wager that in the longer race, you may have a chance of winning even against me!” Although he said it, he hoped that neither of them did win. He did not know how he would feel to lose against Garmund who was three years younger than he.

“Do you know if we’re running the next race immediately?” he asked after a slight pause. He glanced around towards the men. They were still panting and laughing at some apparent joke amongst them and no one had heard his question, except the two other boys.

[Groin Redbeard]

His legs, which had been turning like windmills just seconds ago, felt as if they weighed nothing at all. Everyone was heaving, trying to catch their breath, while he stumbled around trying to find his footing and feeling quite dizzy.

"I owe you a copper, Erbrand! Osmund! Were you trying," he puffed, "to lose me my coin?!?" Eodwine said as Erbrand approached him to offer his congratulations.

Erbrand laughed at the joke, as did everyone else. "I'm just thankful that we did not make the bet against one another my lord," Erbrand replied, trying to stand up but still bending slightly and breathing heavily. The winner was looking quite pleased with himself after beating his Rohirric brothers and beamed with pride as he accepted the congratulations that were offered to him.

Slowly walking to the boys he marked their eagerness to begin the next race and to prove that Javan wasn't the only one who could run. "Well done, Javan!" Erbrand said looking down at him, "I've never seen a race run so fast, or boys so hasty to begin another after the finish. I'd keep an eye on those two next time Javan. Good luck!"

[Nogrod]

Cnebba's lungs were screaming for mercy. He was so broke he couldn't have imagined before. It felt like all his bones and muscles were aching. He was just panting, struggling to give his lungs even the minimum amount of air they needed to work to begin with.

He was not looking about him but mainly concentrated on not falling down as his exhausted feet suggested. He didn't see anything but everything was black.

"Well done, Javan! ... I've never seen a race run so fast, or boys so hasty to begin another after the finish. I'd keep an eye on those two next time Javan. Good luck!" He heard Erbrand call hilariously - seemingly trying to keep them at a good mood and congratulating Javan. Cnebba couldn't be farther from a good feeling.

He had lost the one race he thought he could have fared well in. That was it, he thought trying to gasp air. A tear appeared into his eye and went slowly down his cheek as he finally dropped down to his knees not able to stand up anymore.

I tried... I'm no good...


Stigend saw his son dropping down and immediately rushed forwards to meet him. He layed down to his knees beside him and took him from the shoulders.

"Now my dear son... what is it?" he whispered into his ear trying to steal a look from Cnebba's eyes.

Cnebba shivered slightly holding out the tears and bit his lip. That was something Stigend did feel and see.

"C'mon lad... you're my champion still and you ran well. No one runs better than the one who has given all he has..." Stigend whispered. He was about to continue with the words his father used to repeat to him time after time... Losing builds character. But suddenly he remembered the humiliation and the shame that went with those words, those times from his childhood that had stuck deep into his mind as moments of disgrace and failure it had taken a long time to grow over. That's not something I'm going to pass to my son..., Stigend thought and embraced Cnebba gently not to embarrass him.

Finally Cnebba looked up to his father.

"I...I lost daddy..." his voice was trembling a little.

"So what about it? They're older than you are my son. And still you will climb any tree faster they could imagine, now couldn't you?" Stigend looked at his son with a comforting smile. "And winning competitions isn't everything you know." Stigend paused for a while and looked at his son.

"Would you like to come and to just follow the longer race with me? I could then teach you some manouvers for the later games?"

Cnebba looked at his father and suddenly his eyes ignited with a fire Stigend had rarely seen. "No dad, I'm going to run."

Stigend stood up and stared intensively at his son. "However it goes Cnebba... I'm proud of you", he finally said and took him by the shoulder and pressed it slightly - feeling that Cnebba was still bit shaking. They looked at each other into the eye for a moment before Stigend nodded to him and let his shoulder go.

Stigend went back to the crowd his heart about to break with pride.

But Cnebba stood alone at the finishing line still trying to catch his breath glancing at the others speaking of the run and how they fared in it.

[Groin Redbeard]

Fresh buckets of water were brought from the camp to the racing grounds. He chuckled to himself as he saw a row of red faced men line up for their turn with the gourd. The day had turned out beautifully, not only was the weather exceptionally good but also the morale of the camp was soaring. Even the older ladies who didn't participate seemed to be having a grand time with commenting on the players performances, and telling tales about when they were young.

Eodwine was taking his turn with the gourd when Lithor approached him. "All is well my lord?" Eodwine didn't say anything, but he nodded and breathed a comforting sigh as he poured water on his face.

"Very good, my lord," Lithor replied with his ever constant grinning, "just say the word and we'll begin with the distance running."

[littlemanpoet]

While the runners walked around, stretching their legs and talking and joking among themselves, Wilcred and Lithor brought out three more red flags, which were actually pieces of cloth generously donated for the cause by Frodides and Modtryth, with pointed warnings that they were to be returned whole. These red flags were placed in four spots, two near the Scar, two a good ways away from it, so that a rectangle was formed.

"These flags are your four corners, runners," said Lithor. Go five times around the flags for a sum of two furlongs of a race. This is more than twenty times as far as the short race, so run wisely. On your marks!"

The runners lined up, no betting this time, this felt more serious.

"Set!"

The runners looked down the length of the course rather than at each other.

"Go!"

They were off - at an easy pace. They rounded the first corner, by which time they had formed a line: Matrim, Osmund, Erbrand, Degas, and Eodwine, followed a little way back by Javan, Garmund, and Cnebba all in a ragged flanking line. They turned the close corner and ran the little way along the Scar to the cheers of the small crowd who had picked their favorites.

On the second lap Osmund decided that the pace was too slow and moved to the front. Erbrand moved past Matrim too. Degas and Eodwine fell back about ten feet from the leaders. Meanwhile, Garmund pulled ahead of the other two boys in an easy lope appropriate to his size; Javan and Cnebba ran neck and neck. When they came around the near corner and raced along the Scar to the cheers of the crowd, Erbrand and Matrim made a good show of it by pulling even with Osmund: all three turned the corner in line. Degas was ten feet behind them, Eodwine four feet back of him. Garmund was only eight feet behind Eodwine, and Javan and Cnebba raced together just four feet back of him.

By the time they reached the far corner of the third lap, Erbrand had pulled ahead followed by Osmund, and Matrim, the three of them trotting like three peas in a pod. Degas and Eodwine were lagging farther behind. Garmund was pulling away from the other two boys, a mere ten feet behind Eodwine; Cnebba was allowing Javan to be in front of him, by a mere stride. They rounded the corner near the Scar without change.

Lap four. Degas looked winded, and Eodwine even more so, their mouths hanging open their strides looking like they were working very hard just to keep moving. Erbrand kept a strong pace, followed one stride behind by Osmund, with Matrim one more stride back. Erbrand looked over his shoulder as they turned the first far corner. Garmund kept his lord in sight, a mere fifteen feet back, but looked not near as tired. He had put a couple more strides between himself and Javan, who was now moving away from Cnebba. They turned the near corner with no change between the top three, Degas now pulling away from Eodwine.

Final lap. Erbrand stepped up the pace some more. Osmund was unable to match him. Matrim stayed close behind Osmund. Degas struggled on heroically; Eodwine just kept his legs moving. Garmund picked up the pace too. Was he catching up to Eodwine, the watchers wondered? Cnebba seemed to be giving up, his legs moving half heartedly. Javan seemed to be giving it all he had, but he looked about as winded as Degas.

They turned the the second far corner. Erbrand increased the pace. Osmund redoubled his efforts. Matrim did the same. Degas' head had started lolling this way in that in rhythm with his flailing arms and struggling legs. Eodwine tried to run faster and began to catch up to Degas. Garmund had seen what Erbrand had done, and at the very same point as his model, he increased his pace too. Javan struggled on. When Cnebba came last to the second far corner, he could see that Erbrand had almost reached the first near corner. Javan was five strides ahead, Garmund five strides ahead of Javan. The fire seemed to flare in the boy's eyes. He started to sprint.

Matrim passed Osmund down the long stretch, and came to within three strides of Erbrand. The moment Erbrand rounded the final turn he looked back and saw that Matrim was gaining, and bolted into a sprint. The crowd gawked in amazement: how did he find the strength to full out sprint? Matrim pushed himself even harder but his legs began to burn. Osmund passed him just as Erbrand crossed the finish line. Osmund crossed three strides later, Matrim two strides after that. The three fell to the ground, heaving. Meanwhile, Degas almost tripped as he came around the final corner, but was far enough ahead that he was a sure fourth place.

Eodwine heard someone running just behind him. He looked back and saw Garmund, whose face was puckered into a determined frown aiming to beat his lord. Eodwine could not let this happen; it was his weakness that he was too competitive when he should not be; he found new drive and willed his legs to move faster despite the burning pain in them. He crossed the finish line just three strides ahead of Garmund. Cnebba overtook Javan as they rounded the final corner. Javan's pride kicked in and he put on a burst of effort. The two crossed the finish line right next to each other.

"I'm - I'm not sure who came in second of the boys. We'll call it a tie," Lithor concluded. Stigend was sure and said so to Garstan that Cnebba had won between the two by a nose. Thornden meanwhile was sure that Javan had eaked out the victory between the two, or had let Cnebba keep up. It became the source of friendly dispute for many weeks over ale cups late at night.

"Erbrand!" puffed Eodwine, "you are a noble runner! Your skill amazes me!"

[Groin Redbeard]

"Erbrand!" puffed Eodwine, "you are a noble runner! Your skill amazes me!"

Erbrand couldn’t respond. His heart pumped frantically against his ribs and for a while he stood in a daze unable to focus on what was being said, he felt world was spinning all around him as he fell to his knees. Breathing came hard and he could sense people swarming around him asking if he was alright. Suddenly everything came back into focus, his regularized, and with a slight groan Erbrand rose back to his feet.

“I’m just glad the race wasn’t farther.” Erbrand finally responded with a friendly wink.

For a while Ebrand stood in the midst of the crowd, accepting all the handshakes, compliments and friendly pats on the back. It was rather strange for him to be in the limelight, it made him feel uncomfortable and he was almost relieved when he began to fade from everyone’s attention. It was his turn to do the congratulating now.

“Well done Garmund,” he said walking over to Javan, Cnebba and Garmund, seating himself on the grass next to them, “You certainly prove a better runner than I had thought you to be. I swear Cnebba, you passed that finish line a within a hairs width of Javan.”

This of course brought up the subject of the second place tie between the two boys. Garmund couldn’t believe that Cnebba had pulled ahead so fast in the last lap, and Erbrand wound up recanting what had happened. They all laughed as Thornden and Stigend swarmed around him and took up the debate. However during the conversation the subject of the next race came up at which Erbrand suddenly remembered.

“If you’ll excuse me, sirs, I have something to attend to.”

He strode away from the group trying to discern Kara’s face amongst the crowd. As he looked for her, Lithor was starting to arrange the flags for the race, which would soon begin. Erbrand spotted Kara speaking to Ginna, both seemed to be quite happy and excited.

“Hello Kara, Ginna,” Erbrand said, this time not so nervous and shy. A smile lit up his face and confidence seemed to blend with his words, which was altogether very unusual.

“Are you ready for a race, Kara?”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas stood a little ways apart from the residents of Eodwine's hall, drinking water slowly and taking slow breaths to calm his racing heart. He'd known he would not win, yet he didn't mind. His competitive spirit was not for swiftness or for strength, but for words, knowledge, and experience. He reflected upon the day briefly, before hearing a sniffle coming from the shadows behind him.

He turned and saw the tear-filled eyes of Léoðern. He pulled from his pocket a soft handkerchief and wiped her eyes with it. "There now, darling, what is wrong?"

She sniffed a runny nose and wiped her eyes with balled up fists. "I want to race with the boys, but they will win. And everybody says that races are not for girls anyway."

Degas tucked a loose strand of her hair back behind her ear. "Girls can run in the rope-tie race," he reminded her.

"Yes, but I have no one to run with, and I am too small." Renewed tears streaked her cheeks and Degas knew immediately what he must do, though he was hungry and his calf muscles ached. He could ride for days with nothing but a little stiffness to show for it, but he rarely ran.

"Léoðern, will you run with me in the rope-tie race? We shall be partners, you and I, and I bet we can win."

Her eyes lit up as he whispered his plan to her.

"...and you hold on very tight, do you understand?"

"Yes, Degas!" she said happily, tears a thing of the past. Yes, the boys may get to run alone, but Léoðern had been specially invited to be on Degas's team. Her smile was bright.

"Now go get ready for the race, okay, sweetheart?"

"Yessir," she said, skipping off to tell her father what had transpired.

[littlemanpoet]

"Lithor," Eodwine said, having caught his breath, almost sure that his wobbly legs would hold him up now, "give me a moment. I want to see if I can round up a partner for the three legged race."

"Well, lord, we don't want to keep the others waiting too long now, do we?" Lithor winked.

Eodwine smiled wide, enjoying Lithor's tease, and teased back. "Consider it a command then," he winked. "On your honor as a lord's man!"

Lithor looked like he didn't quite know how to take the jest, his mouth grinning but his head tilting with confusion; it was unusual for anyone to get the better of him, but Eodwine felt a little guilty, wielding his authority for a tease. "I'll just be a moment, my friend!"

He trotted back across the Scar, past the paddock and stacks of stones and lumber, and found what he was looking for. Saeryn and Rowenna were sitting on a bench, chatting. He approached.

"Ahem!" They looked up. He bowed deeply, holding their eyes with his own (which was a bit of a trick, actually, since he could only look at one of them at a time). "My lady," he said to Saeryn, "I request that you allow me a three legged dalliance with the lass Rowenna here. Would you be so kind?" He was trying to use his most ridiculously flowery court Gondorian on her. She grinned, aware that he was honoring her as the one who had all rights to him.

"I could not possibly refuse," she said, and turned to Rowenna. "You really must! I want to watch!"

Rowenna smiled. "If you allow it, then it would be a pleasure."

"Excellent!" Eodwine cried. "Let us hurry, for the race is soon to start!"

[Groin Redbeard]

Lithor watched for a moment as Eodwine nimbly crossed the Scar and back to camp before he dropped the case of stakes that he had used for the foot races. One by one he drove them into the ground until a perfect circle was formed for the rope-tie race. As he knelt and tied a red piece of cloth to one of the poles, marking the starting point, he was aware of a shadow that had passed over him. Lithor turned around, wincing at the light of the sun, to see Wilcred standing over him with his arms crossed.

"Ah, you startled me, Wilcred," Lithor said while rising to his feet, "the day seems to be going well, eh?"

"Yes, it has," said Wilcred, very dismissively, "Lithor, I've come to ask you a favor. The boys and I (referring to Osmund and Aethelstan) need to start setting up the archery range and taking out the swords and javelins from the armory, do you think it would be too much trouble if we could postpone the next race for a while?"

Lithor shielded his eyes with his hand and looked up into the sky, the sun was just above their heads.

"Sure thing," said Lithor looking back at Wilcred, "It's around lunchtime anyway, I'm sure that nobody will object for a chance to eat." Wilcred gave him a thankful nod and departed with Osmund and Aethelstan.

Glancing back at the Scar Lithor saw Eodwine coming back helping Rowenna across. It seemed that everyone had found their partner, even Degas had taken little Léoðern as a teammate. Eodwine came running back up to Lithor.

"My lord," Lithor said in an over dramatic tone, "I have done as you commanded and stalled the race, but I'm afraid that all this waiting has made me very hungry, why don't you say we brake for some grub?"

There was a twinkle in Lithors eye that Eodwine caught. The eorl guessed that there was some other activity of importance going on to prompt Lithor to stop the festivities.

"Very well then," Eodwine responded, "Lunch it is!" The call was automatically taken up and before too long everyone was swarming across the Scar and back into the camp.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Much of the day's meals had been prepared the night before, and Frodides and Kara had put together a venison stew near dawn which had simmered all morning and would continue to cook slowly until the feast near nightfall, after which the riddle game was to begin.

For lunch the women had prepared a light meal of cold spiced chicken served with clover honey, and carrots, beans, cheese, bread and, Frodides's secret contribution: apple pastries for all. Many were forced to wonder how and when she had made them with none the wiser and it was decided, amidst shouted compliments, that she was a goddess among women, all-powerful, beautiful, wise, and, above all, generous.

Frodides harrumphed and grumbled, her hands firmly on her hips, and suggested with an all together satisfied smile to herself that perhaps the cider had fermented a bit more than previously suspected.

Before long, not a crumb bespecked any plate and when the women moved to collect the dirtied tableware, the men shushed them and made them sit while, laughing and joking all the while, they cleared up the mess from lunch, leaving each plate, cup, fork or knife washed, dried, and neatly stacked where it could be easily put away.

It was then that little Léoðern stepped forward and asked excitedly, "Can we race now?"

And all made their way back across the scar to the fields where the races were held. Each team prepared in hushed voices, planning strategies.

---

Degas smiled at Léoðern as she clung to his left leg, her little feet planted firmly on his boot. He wrapped a rope around her whole body and his leg, taking care not to tie too tightly, but tightly enough that she could not fall.

She giggled and smiled and Degas wished Linduial could be here to see. Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow I will see my lady love and all will be decided.

"Are you ready?" he asked Léoðern.

"Yessir." she giggled. "Will we really win?"

"I hope so," he grinned, contorted as he knotted the rope securely. She was heavy on his left leg, weighing him down awkwardly, but he could walk without much difficulty.

He looked around to see if any were watching them, and caught his sister's eye. Saeryn laughed aloud when she saw Léoðern's entire tiny body tied to Degas's long leg. Léoðern smiled happily and hugged Degas's knee.

Degas dreamed of the children he would one day, perhaps soon, have.

[littlemanpoet]

Lithor looked carefully at each pair to make sure they were properly tied and no one having an undue advantage. When he came to Degas he stopped and rubbed his chin.

“Well now, my lord, I fear that you do not qualify as three legs. The little one is going to have to have at least a leg free, even if it never touches the ground.”

“I'm afraid, my friend,” said Eodwine, standing next to Degas, “that Lithor has a point.”

“What say the rest of you runners?” asked Lithor.

[Folwren]

Javan and Wilcred were bound together at the ankles. Javan was just standing up from finishing the knot, clinging to Wilcred to keep his balance, when his attention was caught by the question rising from the far end of the line.

“What’s wrong - what is it?” he asked. Wilcred shook his head. Thornden, passing them as he walked along down the line to get to the other side of the racing field, explained.

“Degas and Léoðern are not tied to Lithor’s satisfaction.”

Javan leaned forward to peer down the line. His eyes stretched when he caught sight of the odd pair. “Oh for goodness’ sake!” he cried out, loud enough for Eodwine and Lithor both to hear even at their distance. “Let ‘em run like that, if they like!” And in aside to Wilcred, “Not like Degas could beat the lot of us single handedly with someone hanging on his leg...ridiculous, really...and Lithor should quit sticking his nose into all this business that doesn't really belong to him. Who put him in charge anyway?"

"Eodwine agreed with Lithor's protest," Wilcred said, matching Javan's tone of voice. "And I believe it was Eodwine who put him in charge."

[Kath]

His heart began to race and his fingers seemed to twitch with a giddeness that overtakes a man who is greately anticipating something, and in this case it was Kara’s answer. Erbrand’s face still held the look of a man quite at ease though it was anything but that in his heart. Kara and Ginna both turned towards him, slightely startled at this rude interuption of their conversation.

The unusual gaiety in Erbrand's voice made Kara jump when she heard it, but as she turned to face him she couldn't help the smile that spread over her face as she caught sight of him. He looked completely dishevelled from his earlier race, one that she had cheered him on throughout, and yet his win had filled him with such clear confidence that he was carrying off the look very well indeed.

"Are you ready for a race Kara?" He asked her, now looking her in the eyes rather than speaking to the ground as he had done the first time he had asked her this.

"Of course!" Kara replied. "If you still want to that is. Ginna and I were saying that we can't believe you all still have the breath left to run another race after the last one. Especially you with that amazing sprint at the end to win!"

Erbrand was taken aback by Kara’s response. His heart suddenly began to beat faster, numerous thoughts racing through his head about what she might have meant. Was this her gentle way of saying that she didn’t really want to race with him? Did she suspect foul play from him in the last race? Erbrand’s cheerful face quickly faded into a troubled look. The notion of her words being a completely innocent remark hadn’t accured to him.

Her natural inclination to openness and never to intend harm meant that Kara didn't think that her words could be taken as an insult until she heard Ginna's intake of breath behind her. Confused she turned to her friend.

"I'm sure Erbrand has more than enough breath to run another race." Ginna said, a meaningful look on her face. "After all, his performance in the last one shows that he is clearly very fit."

And suddenly Kara understood.

"Oh!" She cried, immediately remorseful. "I didn't mean that you couldn't do it, of course I didn't, I only meant that perhaps you might not want to! Oh please don't take offence." She faced him again with a worried expression.

The look on Kara’s face soothed his nerves. Erbrand breathed a sigh of relief and stepped back a bit, as if a great load had been lifted from his back making him unbalanced, soon he was laughing, not even bothering to try and contain himself.

“I’m sorry, Kara,” he said at length after catching his breath, “It’s not you I’m laughing at, I thought that you were turning my offer down. The thought shouldn’t even have entered my head, I’ll accept your apology if you’ll accept mine.”

Erbrand was very pleased with the way that he was handling himself, trying to ward off the anxiety as best he could. Without skipping a beat he sprang up the scar to where Kara and Ginna were sitting with as much nimbleness as a deer. He came face to face with her, she looked even more beautiful than she did earlier today. Finding the words stuck in his throat he hesitatingly extending his arm out to her.

“May I help you down, if you please... Kara?” the words were almost a whisper as they came out, and finding his arm shaking he tried to stiffen, but that only enhanced it.

“You’ll be fine,” his mind kept telling him, “just don’t do anything stupid and it will be find. Easy there, don’t rush her.”

Kara's sudden guilt fled as quickly as it had arrived as she received confirmation that Erbrand had not taken her comment to heart. Indeed he seemed too happy and excited to have even considered doing so as he bounced up to her and held out his arm. His new found confidence didn't seem to last long, however, as his voice became hoarse and his movements became uncomfortable again. The way he said her name made her hesitate, there was more to it than the simple friendship there had been before. She looked to Ginna for guidance, but her friend merely raised her eyebrows and said nothing. Giving a slight shrug Kara smiled and placed her hand in Erbrand's.

"Of course." She replied. "I will need to help Frodides with getting some lunch ready for everyone. After that I'm all yours."

“Excellent!” He replied as he gently helped her down from the Scar. They both helped Ginna as he came down after them, being duty bound to helping in the kitchen. Kara and Erbrand lingered behind the main group for a while, choosing to take their time, making small talk and laughing about the games. Erbrand found himself enjoying the conversation, and completely forgot about the time. He even found it hard to cross the Scar, knowing that it meant the end of having such wonderful company.

At every utterance that Kara made Erbrand couldn’t help but smile, the very sound of her voice sent his stomach in a tizzy. He couldn’t shake the feeling of attraction to her, once it even entered his mind to tell her, or at least try to describe how he felt around her. It was how he felt, why not say it? She looked at him with an amused smile, and they both laughed. No, it would be best if he left his babbling words for another time, this was a moment too perfect to be wasted.

By the time that they had gotten to the kitchen everyone else had already arrived. Erbrand walked Kara to the kitchen entrance where Kara promised to meet him later. He smiled and let go of her hand, he had not let go of her hand since she had placed it in his but she didn’t seem to mind. Frodides approached them with a pan in one hand scolding Erbrand for delaying Kara for so long. She quickly shooed him away from the kitchen with one arm raised as if to strike, Erbrand made a quick dart away leaving Kara laughing at the door.

It seemed almost no time from then to now to Kara, as she stood close to Erbrand, her leg tied to his. It had been Kara who had tied them together, as she couldn't bear to watch Erbrand try and figure out a way of wrapping the rope around her leg without actually touching it. The expression on his face as he realised his difficulty had nearly made her burst out laughing and she knew that would only hurt his feelings. Erbrand had laughed while she was busy though, and she looked up to find everyone staring across at Degas who was facing Lithor with unabashed glee.

"What do you think Kara?" Erbrand asked through his laughter. "Should we demand a re-tie?"

"Oh let them run like that." Kara replied, smiling up at him but pitching her voice loud enough so that Lithor could hear the answer to his question. "If they win we can call it a victory for creative thinking!"

[Groin Redbeard]

"Aye, let them race," shouted Erbrand in agreament with Kara, though he knew that it would be a far more difficult thing to do. The weight of little Leodern on Degas' foot would cause him to be greatly imbalanced, but where Degas' lacked in racing he might gain in balance.

It looked as if the crowd was now almost shouting for Lithor to let Leodern race as is so Erbrand payed no more attention, seeing that Lithor would probably let it be. Kara rose from tying the knot and tested it by tugging at it with her foot, to Erbrand's amazement the knot was taut and strong.

"Well done," he said, his voice giving a slight chuckle. They positioned their feet to the starting line and she reached up and put her arm around his shoulders. Slightly stunned Erbrand did the same, and started practicing the beat to which they would run

Lithor

Lithor's face was a frown as the racers urged him to let Degas and Leodern race, this was hardly the response he expected. He cast a hopeful glance at Eodwine half expecting some support from his lord but he didn't get any, Eodwine just stared at him, his hands folded across his chest, with a half amused smile on his face. The child clinging to Degas' leg began to look around alarmingly, and Degas wore a gleeful smile on his face as the crowd began to sway in his favor.

Taking a piece of twine from the rope pile Lithor knelt down to Leodern's level, who was still clinging desperately to Degas' foot. Lithor took the twine and gently tide it around the childs small ankle and then brought in around Degas' foot and tied a half knot, allowing Leodern to stay where she was. Leodern looked puzzled, wondering if this meant that she had to stand, but Lithor just rose and gave Degas a playful wink.

"There you go. Now it is a rope-tie race."

[Thinlómien]

"It should be tighter," Cnebba said flatly.
"I'm trying," Garmund replied, "and it would be easier if you weren't moving your foot."
"It would be easier if you concentrated," Cnebba snapped.
Garmund snorted, but didn't make a reply. Instead, he bowed down to try the knot once again. He was smiling and Cnebba thought he was looking unbearably smug.

Well, Garmund had a reason to smile. He had done well in the short distance and won in the long distance, running almost as well as Lord Eodwine. It was so unfair. Cnebba kicked a pebble, which bounced a few times until it hit a big rock and fell to the ground, rather miserably.

"Hey Cnebba, didn't I tell you not to move?" Garmund asked. He didn't even sound angry this time.
"Yes you did but I don't have to follow your orders. You are not any wiser just because you're older, or better at everything, and besides even if you were, you would have no right to boss me around!" Cnebba said and knelt to untie the rope. He didn't want to do anything with Garmund now.
Gramund gripped his arm: "Don't be stupid, Cnebba!"
Cnebba tried to wrestle his arm free from his friend's grip. "Let go of me!" he shouted.
"It isn't my fault that I'm a better runner! It's unfair that you should be angry with me because of it! It's so unfair!" Garmund replied, giving Cnebba a hard push on the side. The smaller boy fell to the ground. But Garmund had forgotten they were still tied together and Cnebba pulled him with him when he fell.

They heard laughing from all around them. "I think we just got an example what not to do in this race," Lithor said, grinning widely at the boys. Other adults laughed at his joke. Garmund and Cnebba couldn't help laughing too. They knew they were being stupid.

"Now come on boys, I'll help you up," Lithor said, taking a step towards them.
Cnebba and Garmund shot each other a determined glance. They gripped each other's arms, nodded sligthly, and pushed themselves up with one concentrated effort.

Lithor whistled and clapped. "Now that was much better, wasn't it?" He laughed and so did the other adults.

Garmund turned his eyes to Cnebba. He was grinning widely. "We are going to win this game, aren't we?"
"Of course we are," Cnebba answered and grinned back, but his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

[littlemanpoet]

The seven pairs practiced walking, tied leg to leg. Léoðern practiced hanging on to Degas' leg for dear life, giggling all the while as Degas practiced walking with an extra 30 pounds on one leg. It was when they started to practice running that the weaknesses of the various couples began to show themselves. Degas made very good progress while it was nothing but walking; once he tried to run a bit, Léoðern squealing, he looked like a drunken sailor who had lost his sea legs. Kara did not have very good balance and her right leg seemed to always get left behind, and down she went. Garstan and Stigend kept on saying “after you” “no, after you”, and got nowhere. Garmund and Cnebba struggled at first and started to get frustrated. Then they watched Saeryn and Ginna, and Eodwine and Rowenna, who seemed to be getting the hang of it. Garmund told Cnebba to watch what they were doing, and with a little bit of practice, they began to make some progress. But Wilcred, wise old man, had a plan, and giving Javan a wink, explained what he had in mind.

“Under your breath for now, boy, but later on, we'll show 'em.” Javan nodded, grinning enthusiastically.

“On your marks!” cried Lithor, and waited patiently as all seven couples struggled back to the starting line.

Eodwine whispered something in Rowenna's ear. She got a sly grin on her face and nodded gleefully.

“Get set!” cried Lithor.

All seven pairs got themselves ready.

“Go!”

Kara and Erbrand, and Garmund and Stigend promptly fell. Eodwine and Rowenna tried to grab Degas so he couldn't move forward, and instead fell themselves. Garmund and Cnebba didn't fall but barely kept their balance, but got nowhere. Saeryn and Ginna took three whole steps forward, and Degas took four steps, but Javan and Wilcred, the elder of the pair shouting “One! Two! One! Two!” went five whole steps, moving in perfect harmony, before the others got off their bottoms.

Eodwine and Rowenna, and Kara and Erbrand promptly fell down again. Garmund and Cnebba managed three whole steps. Garstan & Stigend made four. Saeryn and Ginna adopted Wilcred's counting device and they made four more steps while Wilcred and Javan made three (Javan's short legs were slowing them down). But Degas picked up the pace and was in the lead by a step.

Kara couldn't even get up she was laughing so hard despite Erbrand's kindest ministrations. Eodwine and Rowenna got up, tried a step, and fell down a third time. Garmund and Cnebba were making good progress and were catching up to Saeryn and Ginna. Wilcred slowed down a bit for Javan. Garstan and Stigend caught up to Saeryn and Ginna and were closing in on Javan and Wilcred, but Degas and Léoðern were now pulling away much to the laughing glee of the little girl.

Erbrand finally got Kara on her feet, and they managed one step before Kara fell yet again, weak from laughing. Eodwine and Rowenna actually made three steps without falling. But Ginna tripped over a bump in the ground and down went both she and Saeryn. Garmund and Cnebba caught up with them. Javan and Wilcred found a more comfortable Javan-sized pace and made two more steps. Garstan and Stigend seemed to finally get the hang of it and started really running, and almost caught up to Degas while Léoðern cried, “Degas, you must beat Daddy!”

Kara laughed helplessly and couldn't get up, so Erbrand could do nothing but laugh in bemusement himself. Eodwine and Rowenna fell again, which was inexplicable because they both had good senses of balance and were fit, and not shy with each other; it was as if someone were rolling dice for their progress and constantly coming up with snake-eyes; at least they had made it twice as far as Kara and Erbrand, which wasn't saying much. Saeryn and Ginna managed two more steps, gaining back their confidence. Garmund and Cnebba passed them. Garstan and Stigend were tied for second with Javan and Wilcred, with Degas just a step ahead; but he was tiring.

It hit Erbrand that he was being too bashful with Kara and not holding her tightly enough; his competitive instincts won out and he hauled her to her feet and grabbed her firmly around the waist (she just kept laughing), and they took a whole step forward without falling; this put them four steps from the starting line. Eodwine and Rowenna finally found their rhythm and the luck of the dice rolling gods seemed to be with them, and they took three running steps without incident; they'd taken ten so far. Saeryn and Ginna managed another two steps; thirteen. Garmund and Cnebba kept up their pace; fifteen. Garstan and Stigend stumbled but kept their feet, slowing them; twenty steps. Javan and Wilcred caught up to the tiring Degas; twenty two steps.

Eodwine and Rowenna stumbled but kept their feet, taking two steps more. Erbrand gained confidence and took Kara three steps. Saeryn and Ginna kept their pace and stayed the same distance ahead of Eodwine and Rowenna. Garmund and Cnebba fell into a mighty rhythm and started running faster than anybody else, closing in on Garstan and Stigend who were falling farther behind Javan and Wilcred, who were in the lead; Degas was tiring badly.

Suddenly, the strings holding Léoðern to his leg came loose and she swung wildly on his leg with a “whoa!”; his left leg dragging, his right went out too far and he almost did a (painful) split, his arms flailing wildly, and he went down. Wilcred was tiring now, and Javan had to slow down with him, but they were still ahead. Garmund and Cnebba passed the fallen Degas and the steadily plodding Garstan and Stigend. Eodwine and Rowenna picked up their pace again. But Erbrand and Kara (shrieking) came charging forward now, catching up to Eodwine and Rowenna.

They were closing in on the finish line now, but Wilcred was tiring more; he and Javan took two more steps. Garmund and Cnebba, tired out from the exertion, slowed to half their pace, only two steps behind the leaders. Garstan and Stigend both tripped on the same hillock and they both went down. Degas got himself up and grabbed hold of Léoðern, telling her to hang on tight. They took a step. Saeryn and Ginna found the best pace yet for them, and made up a little bit of ground. Eodwine and Rowenna did the same, still four paces behind them. Erbrand and Kara were now charging forward and had almost caught Eodwine and Rowenna.

Eodwine and Rowenna took two more steps. The hard charging Erbrand virtually carried Kara (still shrieking with laughter) past them, and past Saeryn and Ginna, who lay on the ground again, apparently having gone faster than was workable for them. Degas was only two steps ahead of Erbrand and Kara now, trying to figure out how to take a step while holding onto Léoðern holding onto his leg. Garstan and Stigend had gotten up and took two more steps. One step away from the finish line, Wilcred lost his footing and fell, Javan landing on top of him. Garmund and Cnebba took the lead, and crossed the finish line first.

Wilcred and Javan got up and crossed the finish line next. Garstan and Stigend, overeager, tripped and fell again, three steps shy of the finish line. Erbrand and Kara were only two steps behind them. Degas was still trying to figure things out. Saeryn and Ginna got up and closed in on Degas, Eodwine and Rowenna bringing up the rear.

Erbrand put on a final burst of speed and carried Kara past Garstan and Stigend (who had gotten up and promptly fallen again), and crossed the finish line third. Saeryn and Ginna caught up to Degas, still standing there, trying to figure out a step while Léoðern looked like she was ready to cry. Eodwine and Rowenna still brought up the rear.

Garstan and Stigend got up and took three more steps to cross the line fourth. Degas figured out how to manage and took a difficult step with Léoðern. Saeryn and Ginna were watching as they passed Degas, and through loss of concentration, tangled up their steps and fell. Eodwine and Rowenna both laughed at that, and fell themselves. These last two pairs coudln't stop laughing and didn't bother to get up. Meanwhile, Degas, encouraging his partner, took one difficult step at a time and finished fifth.

[Nogrod]

Garmund embraced Cnebba and they both tumbled down not remembering they were tied to each other from one leg.

"We won!" Garmund yelled on top of Cnebba.

"We won! We won!" Cnebba shouted trying to get up from under his friend but the tied legs were a problem.

With the help of Stigend and Garstan they were finally untied.

"Dad! We beat you!" Cnebba shouted as his leg was freed and he was able to jump up.

"You had no chance!", Garmund added getting up as well.

Stigend and Garstan glanced at each other and smiled from the bottom of their hearts.

"You see, together you can beat anyone" Stigend said smiling. "We just messed around".

"Yeah, you two are invincible as long as you stick together!" Garstan added. "Take care to see after another!"

"And if that Javan is the one you compete with then work together in these games - even if I think he knows a thing or two you guys do not. That's the challenge for you! And he might teach you a thing or two if you let him...", Stigend added.

Garmund and Cnebba watched their fathers for a while in disbelief but finally decided they had been congratulated and their fathers had approved their own defeat. That was enough for them - adding the fact that they had beaten Javan.

They were in good moods indeed, embracing each other.

Garstan laid his arm on Stigend's shoulder and looked at him to the eye, pointing to the kids. Stigend nodded and took Garstan from the elbow nodding as well. They both smiled.

[Kath]

Kara had clung to Erbrand as he carried her over the finishing line, unable to help him at all because every time they stumbled or another pair fell around them her giggles started all over again. She felt some guilt over how completely useless she was being, but she was having too much fun to really care. She was very impressed with Erbrand too, she knew she wasn't the lightest of people and yet he was carrying her along seemingly with ease! Well, up until the point where they crossed the line and Erbrand fell to the floor, leaving Kara to tumble down after him, inciting another bout of laughter from her.

"Third!" She gasped eventually when she got her breath back. "Third! Well done Erbrand. I thought we were going to lose for certain."

"Ha!" Erbrand replied, wheezing somewhat. "Not with me ... on the case." His words were punctuated with small pauses so he could pull in another breath, but Kara could hear the pride in his voice.

"Thank you." Kara replied, grinning at him.

"Anytime." Erbrand waved a hand in answer.

Pushing herself up onto her elbows Kara watched Degas hobble across the finishing line. She waited to see whether the final two pairs would make it but they had stopped moving entirely so she redirected her attention to the rope keeping her attached to Erbrand. It didn't look like her partner was going to be moving any time soon so she sat up to undo it herself. The knot was tough though, it had been pulled tight in the race and her fingers weren't strong enough. In the end she gave up and flopped back down next to Erbrand, who appeared to have got his breath back at last.

"Little help?" She asked.

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand's ears were ringing from the excited screaming of Kara as he crossed the finish line. He enjoyed every minute of the challenge, especially since he had a partner who cared very little if they won or lost. However, the strength that had almost carried him across the finish line left him at that very moment and he fell flat on his face with Kara following after him.

For a brief moment he could hear nothing besides his heavy breathing, only the heaving of his chest prevented him from losing all conscience and blacking out. But while he tried to regain his breath and fought to keep conscience the familiar sound of Kara's laughter broke through to him and it was the sweetest sound he'd ever known. She lay there on her side, looking at him, with her lips curled in an undimmed smile.

"Third!" she said between bouts of laughter, "Third! Well done Erbrand. I thought that we would lose for certain."

He could not think of a clever reply or to even try to give Kara some partial credit for not fighting with him the entire way to the finish line. Instead he said the first thoughts that entered his mind: "Ha! Not with me... on the case." His words were indeed prideful as he struggled to say them between his gasps for air.

She thanked him politely, but he responded with a blunt answer and made a gesture as if dismissing her. He lifted his head to see how the other runners did and he was glad that the boys had beeten them, he had a feeling that they would pull through in one of the contests.

"Little help?" Erbrand looked over and saw that Kara was trying to undo the knot that joined them. He quickly lent his hand and tried to pry the knot apart with his fingers, but it was tight and would not yield easily.

"You tie a hard not," he said, glancing up at Kara, "I could do with a knot like this in my work."

Kara laughed again, and told him to get the rope off first. After they had congratulated the other runners, Erbrand walked Kara back to her seat in the Scar. He apologized for his biting language when they had won, but Kara didn't mind and just laughed when he asked if he had hurt her during the race. Lithor was calling everyone back for the next competition but there was one more thing that Erbrand needed to ask Kara before he went back.

"I've been meaning to ask you this since the race," he began, "and I want to have your answer now before you are taken by another man." She glance him a puzzled look, and at that moment Erbrand caught a glimpse of Crabannan coming over the Scar. "I was wondering if... well, if you would promise me one dance tonight at the bonfire? I know that we still have time, but I wanted to ask you before Craba... before someone else asked you first."

She smiled back at him and Erbrand's hopes soared with what she would say next.

"Yes, I'll promise you a dance. The night will be long and I'm sure everyone will have a chance to dance."

"Wonderful!" he exclaimed, jumping once in excitement, "I will look forward to that with more anticipation than our race, and that's saying a lot." Lithor called again for the contestants to come forward and Kara bade him go before he missed the contest. They both waved goodbye, but Erbrand came running back to her after taking only a few steps and leaned over to give her a grateful kiss on the cheek. His face was blushing when he stepped back, but he was still smiling and he rushed back down the Scar with much speed and great excitment, leaving a stunned Kara.

[Formendacil]

The rope-tie race was ending when Náin began to make his way back to the Eodwiningas' camp. The Dwarf had disappeared much earlier in the morning, not long after Lithor had begun to round people up for the games, for he had no interest at all in the peculiar competitions of Men. On the contrary, he was somewhat disgruntled (a situation not helped by his lack of sleep) at discovering that the day was to be wasted. It was not that Náin begrudged the Men their pastimes--odd though they were--but rather that he had been intending to get started that day with surveying the situation for the construction of the Mead Hall.

Eodwine, Garstan, Stigend, and anyone else that might otherwise have been deputized to join Náin were naturally preoccupied with the games, so the Dwarf made a tour of the construction site on his own, followed by an inspection of the materials that Eodwine's men had gathered thus far, and then a long jaunt over the surrounding land to see where and how a quarry might be situated, for Eodwine was going to need more stone than he thought if he wanted a proper, stone Mead Hall.

As industrious a Dwarf as Náin was, however, his chief purpose in the exercise was to avoid having to be present at the games. From his time in Edoras, he was already well acquainted with the Mannish friendship and enthusiasm that would likely have resulted in many invitations to partake in the games. That was all very well for a Hobbit, Náin huffed to himself, but no Dwarf was interested in competing in a Mannish sport. For one thing, there was no field where Náin thought there could be a fair competition, and for another, he was inclined to feel that events were a bit ridiculous. No Dwarf cares to look ridiculous, and certainly not one as reserved as he was.

Eventually hunger returned as the afternoon progressed, so Náin made his way back to the Men, hoping they were far enough into their games that he could avoid any attempts to talk him into participating. He decided not to ask Frodides or anyone else from the kitchen about food before supper, but he did hope that supper would be ample, and between the emptying stomach and the long day, he was aware he was becoming more irritable.

This irritability was manifesting itself in the Dwarf's outlook on the gathering. Men were such a raucous bunch! And so preoccupied with their physicality! Perhaps, he thought, it was that they were bound to their bodies for so short a time that caused it, but it seemed to him that Men were vastly more likely to engage in things like rope-tie races that were of little competitive value. The examples of Lithor and Eodwine, and Garstan and Stigend, did seem to countermand this slightly, but as far as Náin could see, the rope-tie race was little more than an excuse for Erbrand to hug Kara for a few minutes. The obvious pleasure that the trapper was deriving from the experience baffled Náin somewhat, since it looked manifestly awkward, but he had become used to the strangeness of Men.

Perhaps it was just their shorter lifespans that made them so different, he mused, since the much longer ones of the Elves certainly did. Náin knew that, barring war or another unnatural cause of death, everyone present that afternoon, even young Léoðern, would be long dead before he reached his old age and senility.

This thought depressed him greatly, and suited well his irritable mood. While everyone danced their wild Rohirric dances that evening, the Dwarf decided he would probably nurse his melancholy over a few tankards of ale.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld had been berating himself for the entirety of the three legged race when he saw Ginna with Saeryn. He had not even thought of asking her, and watching Erbrand with Kara, he knew it would have been a moment of moments for some indirect courting. He had not been able to help himself wishing that she and Saeryn would win, but when they tripped the last time and burst out laughing, he decided that he didn't mind them losing after all.

That Erbrand was quite a powerful fellow! And not unlike himself. Thankfully, he wasn't a rival for the affections of Ginna, which meant that instead of enemy, he could be a friend.

These thoughts wandered through his mind as he walked over to Ginna and Saeryn.

"Here, let me get this for you," he offered, and did not wait for permission. The knots had tightened from their exertion, and it took some doing with his big fingers. Their skirts were getting in the way so he perforce pushed them up to their knees.

"Hold your hems, please," he winked.

They watched him work, sharing some inside joke, giggling to each other. Soon he had the knots loose and the rope freed.

"Now up you come!" He offered a hand to both ladies and he lifted them both at once. "That was great fun to watch, but now, Ginna, I wish it had been I who was your partner, no offense to you, of course, Lady Saeryn."

[Groin Redbeard]

The field in front of the contestants was strewn with irregular objects. The course was marked by a line of red flags, creating a half circle. The course consisted of four main proponents: agility, speed, accuracy, and stamina. First there was the log jumping, a stretch of land with logs of various sizes for the contestants to jump over, some of the logs were propped off of the ground. Once they made it across they would each take up a wheel barrow, each filled with one stake attached to a rope, and make a dash for a wall around two hundred yards ahead. The wall is around twelve feet high and is made out of wood (it’s really an unfinished part of a building that Lithor and his crew “borrowed” for the occasion). The players will toss the stakes over the wall to the other side were Lithor, Wilcred, and crew, will be waiting to stake them firmly in the ground. The players scramble down the other side of the wall move on to a some beams which have been elevated off the ground for the contestants to balance their way across. The next, and final task, is the sack race. This is pretty self explanatory: the contestant grabs a sack and hop their way to the finish line, one hundred feet away.

Everyone was ready now. Lithor gave a blast on his horn and all the contestants sprang forward. Eodwine made the first jump across the logs with Erbrand, both of whom were followed closely behind by Rowenna and Javan. At first all seemed to be going well for Erbrand as he pulled ahead of Eodwine, but the logs were at an uneven distance and he slipped falling sideways. Javan skipped across the logs as if he was taking a stroll, while Rowenna and Saeryn slowly jumped over each log. Eodwine made it over the last log first and grabbed his wheelbarrow, meanwhile, Harreld and Javan had passed Erbrand, who was side by side with Dan. The girls brought up the rear, with Rowenna ahead of the two.

Everything was evening out in the wheelbarrow run: Eodwine still held the lead followed closely by Harreld, who was running diligently behind his lord. Erbrand was closing distance fast, but the girls, whether by sheer determination or skill, passed Dan and Javan and where within several yards of Erbrand, who was increasing his pace.

Eodwine and Harreld reached the wall within a mere second of Erbrand, who had pulled ahead of the girls. Harreld and Erbrand stopped for a minute to catch their breath, both of them toppled to the ground with dizziness, while Eodwine tossed his stake over for Wilcred to place firmly in the ground. Eodwine had begun to climb and Harreld, along with Erbrand were just tossing their stakes over when Javan came dashing in with Saeryn, Rowenna came along with Dan a few seconds later. While everyone was tossing their stakes over Rowenna dashed for the wall, dropping her wheelbarrow she dashed for the wall and started to climb it her feet finding the right grooves to be placed in (this wasn’t really cheating since the only rule was that you had to make it across the wall).

Everyone was on the wall, Eodwine had begun to make his decent down the other side, by that time. Erbrand slipped several times and stood dangling in mid-air, while the short statures of Dan and Javan allowed them to shoot straight to the top, though not without some difficulty on Javan’s part. Dan, Rowenna and Javan were the next to make it over the wall, Dan jumped down but the other members played it safe and carefully felt their way down. Eodwine was slowly moving across the balance beams when Dan caught up to him, he virtually ran across the board without slowing his pace a bit, making it across to the sacks just before Eodwine. Rowenna made it to the balance beams next with Javan and Saeryn racing after her, both just a little bit behind the other. Exhaustion had taken its hold on Erbrand as he wearily climbed to the top of the wall, as Harreld began his decent.

The crowd was roaring now for Dan had finally pulled ahead of Eodwin in the sack race, but not by much the eorl was still not giving much ground and they were still neck and neck. Rowenna made it to the sacks without too much difficulty, but Saeryn slipped a couple times and had to make a hasty restart, while Javan went slowly, concentrating as he went with wide eyes.

Harreld finally made it half way down the wall when he lost his grip and fell, the crowd was stunned, but Harreld jumped to his feet unhindered by the blow and jogged to the balance beams. Eodwine and Dan were still battling it out by the time that Rowenna started the sack race, and at a fast pace too. Saeryn and Javan made it across the beams and quickly got into their sacks, but Rowenna was gaining too much distance too fast. Harreld wobbled and swung his body wildly when he was on the balance beam when Erbrand slowly and wearily marched across.

Dan and Eodwine where tied, neither of them could pull ahead of the other, and Rowenna was coming up faster than they were hopping. Suddenly, Dan and Eodwine collided, they both tumbled over themselves and fell flat on their faces, only four yards from the finish line. Rowenna screamed with delight as she pulled ahead and quickly crossed the finish line: she had won! Javan was quickly catching on to the whole hopping business and quickly got the gist of it and left poor Saeryn slowly hopping along.

When Dan and Eodwine had stumbled Erbrand made it across the balance beam and slipped into the sack when Harreld leapt of the beam and hastily pulled his sack on. Dan made it to his feet first, but he was so bewildered from the fall that he started jumping in the wrong direction, but he was soon corrected by the screaming crowd. This fortunate turn of events gave Eodwine the chance he needed and with long bounds he made it second across the finish line followed in turn by Javan, who was skipping across at a merry rate, and the corrected Dan. Saeryn was hopping determinedly and she crossed the finish line to the cheers of everyone, never had they seen a more dedicated effort than hers.

Harreld had made up for his past mistakes with this final leg of the course, with long leaps he caught up to Erbrand. The craftsman and the blacksmith refused to let either get the advantage, and with Erbrand’s quick hops to match Harreld’s long bounds they pulled ever closer to the finish line. Harreld laughed as they drew within ten yards but Erbrand was yelling, trying to gain the last bit of strength he had. In the end the mighty Harreld with jovial laughter propelling him on, made it across the finish line a full six bounds ahead of Erbrand.

[littlemanpoet]

"I won! I won!" cried Rowenna in girlish glee.

Eodwine smiled to see her happy and free (at least for now) of all the heavy weight she had been carrying for so long.

"Saeryn! I won!" Rowenna went over to her to give her a hug. Saeryn smiled and returned Rowenna's hug with a wince. "Saeryn? Are you all right?"

"Oh, it's nothing. My wound is just a little sore, that's all."

"Oh dear!" Rowenna held onto her and tried to half carry her. "We need to get you to a good seat. "Lord Eodwine!" she called.

He had seen Saeryn toward the end of the race, frowning but determined, and had seen her wince. He was over to her in a moment, and took his place on her other side. Between the two of them helping Saeryn, she hardly had to touch the ground. They sat her down on a chair near the baker. Eodwine knelt beside her and took her hand in his while Rowenna patted her shoulder.

"How are you really?" he asked.

[Nogrod]

Stigend and Garstan had been following the unfolding of the events in the task-path and had lived the last moments of the race with heart-rates over the healthy ones goading Harreld to do his best. They had yelled their throats sore for Harreld and when he finally beat Erbrand at the last moment for the second last place they hugged each other spontaneously howling in joy. Not that they had anything against Erbrand, but Harreld was their work-mate and a fellow they knew well, and that was reason enough to champion him.

After the cheering died down Stigend noticed Náin walking around alone and heading for the temporary kitchens looking quite gloomy. He punched Garstan slightly to the shoulder and winked towards the kitchens. Garstan nodded and they started forwards to catch the dwarf.

"Hi there master dwarf!" Garstan called Náin when they were something like ten paces away from Náin.

"Aren't you participating in the games Náin? You would be great in the sack fight, or wrestling perhaps?" Stigend added smiling broadly.

The dwarf looked at the two craftsmen with an odd look.

"Why should I?" he counter-asked and looked at his two fellows in trade questioningly. "These games are ridiculous".

"Oh, don't be a bore my friend!" Garstan grinned.

Stigend looked at the dwarf and thought he saw the inner smile behind the expressions of the grim dwarf. They had worked together long enough for him to see he was not as annoyed as he tried to convince them he was. At least he thought he saw it.

"Let's have a pint. Maybe Frodides has some refreshments for the competitors... and to some onlookers as well?" Stigend winked an eye to Náin but then suddenly bowed to him respectfully and said: "If you wish master Náin".

Even if Stigend was in a good mood after Cnebba's and Garmund's victory and all the things that promised for the future he never forgot his high esteem of the dwarf for Náin was a true master of his trade and Garstan and Stigend - how handy and able they were - were just apprentices compared to him. And they all knew it even if they hadn't mentioned it one single time during their time of working together.

"You'd share a pint with us master?" Garstan added realising the need to change the tone as well.

[Groin Redbeard]

It took awhile for the thought of him losing to register in his mind. It vexed him to think that he had even come behind, far behind, the women. If only he could have made it over the wall faster. Erbrand didn't dwell on the thought for long, it was over, and it wouldn't do any good to brood over his loss, he was especially thankful for the contestants being so gracious and not gloating over him.

“Well done Harreld,” he said approaching the smith, “You were the toughest opponent that I have had yet.” Harreld thanked him for his praise and clasped his hand in a friendly sportsmanship manner.

Rowenna had proven tougher than Erbrand perceived her to be. She was standing with Eodwine and Saeryn, she looked anxiously at Saeryn who seemed to be hurt. Nevertheless, Erbrand approached them addressed Rowenna in a respectful tone.

“Congratulations, Rowenna, never had I seen such a race. Indeed you are made of stouter stuff than any other women that I have ever met. And you too Saeryn, although I didn’t see you finish, I heard that it was quite a site.” She smiled back but seemed to pained to speak.

“Are you alright,” Erbrand asked after a few seconds of watching her holding her side, “Did you fall and cut yourself?” He couldn’t have known how silly this might have sounded to Rowenna and Eodwine. Erbrand had not been informed of Saeryn’s injuries.

“No, I’ll be fine, I just need to rest.” she responded.

Erbrand nodded his head in agreement. Then he congratulated Eodwine on a close victory and backed away to wait for the next contest.

[Folwren]

Saeryn tried to smile and grimaced instead. How strange, that the old wound should be aching so. It was like a stitch in the side, as one gets when they run after eating, only it was worse. She relinquished her hand to Eodwine and looked back at his concerned face as he asked, “How are you really?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said honestly. “I’m sure it will pass, really. I shouldn’t have done it - it was that climbing that killed me, you know?” Her smile strengthened itself as the sharp pain began to ebb. She lightened the pressure of her arm around her waist and pressed at the scar gingerly with her fingers.

“Don’t let me keep you from the games!” she exclaimed suddenly, looking up and still seeing Eodwine’s and Rowenna’s worried faces hovering above her. “I promise I will be well. And if you keep standing about gawking, you’ll have the whole place about my ears, and then what?” She smiled, a genuine smile this time, and almost winked at Rowenna.

In all truthfulness, she was a little worried. By now, she thought, she should be quite recovered. As soon as she had come to Scarburg, they had begun tending her with the best care anyone could offer, and the wound had healed rapidly. Now it was all but a scar, with a few, superficial scabs. But on chilly nights it ached, and now, with this extra effort, it hurt, sharp and then dull and deep, and then sharp again. Although the pain was now going away and she almost felt entirely well, she could not help but wonder if trouble would continually rise from this old cut.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

As Eodwine and Rowenna moved away from Saeryn, Degas disentangled himself from Léoðern and walked toward his sister, paying little mind to the celebrations and strategizing of those around him.

He knelt beside her inconspicuously. "Are you well, Saery?"

"There is nothing a few moments of rest cannot cure," she responded, patting his arm.

"You are sure?" he asked gently, hesitantly. "The wound healed cleanly? There is no infection?"

[Lhunardawen]

As always, Ginna and Kara took seats beside each other to watch the task-path event. The two ladies cheered wholeheartedly, still bolstered by the excitement of the three-legged race, laughing and screaming themselves hoarse all the while. Every now and then they exchanged meaningful looks, loaded with silent appraisals of the men - two men, in particular.

When Harreld fell down the wall, both of them winced, and Kara automatically reached out a comforting arm to the apparently troubled Ginna. The worry passed in a moment, however, as Harreld quickly rose to his feet, not the least bothered by his fall. Kara and Ginna looked at each other, laughed, and then cheered Harreld on.

In the end, the race was left between Harreld and Erbrand. Ginna and Kara could no longer shake off their anxious amusement and stood, jumping up and down and clapping like little children as they yelled.

"I'll wager Harreld finishes first," remarked Ginna absently in between shrieks.

"No way," countered Kara. "Erbrand's lighter."

"Loser washes all the dishes after supper," Ginna challenged, extending her hand towards Kara. She took it. "You have a deal."

The two then doubled their efforts at cheering, screaming at ear-splitting levels. It seemed as if Harreld and Erbrand would reach the finish line at the same time, but Harreld suddenly pulled ahead of Erbrand to the finish. Ginna turned to Kara, took her hand and squeezed it, and gave her a mischievous wink, before running off towards Harreld.

“You were the toughest opponent that I have had yet,” she heard Erbrand say as she approached. Harreld thanked him, and saw her approach as the other man left. Upon reaching him, Ginna shook his hand.

"You may not have won, but I congratulate you still."

Harreld grinned bashfully. "My thanks, Ginna."

The girl noticed the commotion around Saeryn, who was obviously in pain. "What's the matter with Saeryn? She seemed fine when I had raced with her..."

"Perhaps she had been in pain even then, only you were both laughing too hard for her to notice."

Ginna looked up towards Harreld's face; was it just her imagination, or had she discerned a touch of envy in the blacksmith's voice? His eyes betrayed nothing. It was probably her own emotions playing a trick on her. From the corner of her eye she saw Degas walk towards Saeryn, and decided to stop worrying and let her brother tend to her. With a small, absentminded movement of her arm, Ginna realised that Harreld had not released her hand - neither had she his.

"I apologise for never having thought of asking you if you wanted to join the three-legged race with me. But even with that over, you can still be my partner in one event this day."

Ginna smiled shyly yet expectantly, hoping he took her meaning.

[Thinlómien]

Modtryth

Modtryth had been watching the task path race with the boys. They had been enthusiastic and cheering for their favourites: Javan and Dan. Modtryth wasn't still quite comfortable with their fascination with the weird woodman, but she decided rather to keep an eye on the situation than act or judge too rashly.

"Garmund! Garmund! Cnebba! I found a bug!"

Léoðern dashed towards the boys, grinning and carefully shielding something in her hands. The boys exchanged glances and rolled their eyes, but went to see her bug. In a few moments they were at least as excited about it as Léoðern was. Modtryth couldn't help smiling.

She let her eyes travel from the children to other people. Everybody seemed happy or enthusiastic, except that there was a slightly pained expression on Saeryn's face. Her brother was talking to her and she was smiling to him in response, but Modtryth thought not everything was quite right. She wanted to go to see Saeryn's wound and ask her about it. She thought Saeryn would not lie to her about it just to comfort her, like she could do to her brother, not to mention Lord Eodwine and Rowenna whom she had just been talking with. She could not decide whether to go to see her, or not. The next event would be starting at any minute, probably.

Léoðern made the decision for her by coming to her. "See, Modtryth, I found a beautiful bug!" If Léoðern is with me, there is no chance of having a serious word with Saeryn, Modtryth thought. That will have to wait, then. She stooped to have a luck at Léoðern's bug. The girl was sheltering it so carefully that she could not see but a hint of radiant emerald green. "It is very beautiful," she said. "But now, the next game is about to start, so stay here with me. We can watch it together." Léoðern nodded and was about to sit down on the ground. "But first, let's go wish good luck to the boys - it's stone throwing that's next!"

Léoðern's eyes widened and she turned to the boys' direction with a beaming smile. Still sheltering the bug, she ran to them, Modtryth in her wake. The boys were standing together where Léoðern and her bug had left them, talking about something in low voices. They fell silent when Léoðern and Modtryth arrived. "Good luck!" the girl said and gave both of the boys a kiss on the cheek. The boys exchanged glances and Modtryth could see they were nervous. She patted their shoulders and ruffled Cnebba's hair.

"Mum!" Cnebba exclaimed, fingering his messy hair.
"Good luck, darling," Modtryth said and smiled. "Good luck to you too, Garmund. I'm sure it will go fine with both of you. Now, off you go, the other contestants are waiting for you!"


~*~


Stone throwing

Harreld, Erbrand, Balvir, Wilcred, Garmund and Cnebba were standing in the clearing. Harreld and Erbrand were stretching the muscles in their arms and shoulders after the heavy task-path race. Balvir and Wilcred were talking in low voices. Garmund was looking around, trying to catch a glimpse of his father. Cnebba was plucking grass.

Lithor arrived with a wooden bucket filled with small but heavy stones.
"Are we ready to start?" he asked.
"Matrim is missing," Balvir pointed out.
"I'm coming!" the liutenant called from distance, wiping ale from his moustache with a self-ironic smile on his face. There was general laughter as he took his place among the other contestants.

"Now that everybody is finally here," Lithor (who had arrived just a moment ago himself) said, grinning at Matrim, "we may start. The rules are simple. Here are the stones," Lithor said, pouring them all on the grass, "and here's the bucket."

He waited that all the contestants had nodded in approval before he continued. "I will take this bucket here. Each of you has two tries to get a stone in the bucket - youngest first, oldest last. If you can't get one in, you're out of the game. After each round, I will move the bucket farther. The one who drops out of the game last, wins. Questions?"

There were none, so the game began. Cnebba was clearly nervous, but the first distance was short and he had a good aim, so he got the stone in at his first try. Grinning rather smugly, he made way for Garmund. He did not succeed at his first try, and was seemingly displeased with that. "Who's next?" grey-bearded Wilcred asked. "Not me by any means," he added with a wry smile. Matrim and Erbrand exchanged glances. "You may go first, good master," the Gondorian said. Erbrand hesitated a little, then nodded and picked a stone. Balvir cast an unreadable glance at his liutenant, who returned it with a smile.

Erbrand's stone hit the target beautifully, and so did Matrim's after him. Harreld was weighing the small stone in his hand and cast it, accurately but with too much strength. The pebble hit the inside of the bucket and knocked it down, spilling all the stones around. Everybody was laughing, even Harreld. "Is that acceptable?" Balvir asked Lithor. The Eorling shrugged and smiled. "The aim is to get the stone inside the bucket. It wasn't forbidden to knock the bucket down." There was more laughter, and Lithor went to pick the bucket up for Balvir and Wilcred. The two soldiers succeeded easily, and so did Garmund at his second try.

"That was seemingly all too easy for the brave men of the hall!" Lithor announced when he took the bucket and moved it some five feet further away. "Now you may try this."

Cnebba and Garmund both failed at their first try. Erbrand, Matrim, Harreld and Balvir all got their stones in easily, but the veteran warrior Wilcred missed. Bad luck was the common conclusion, but Wilcred didn't seem to mind. The boys were far more nervous. However, when Cnebba's turn came, he was calm, if not a little pale, and with a beautiful throw, he got the pebble to the bucket. The crowd applauded and Cnebba flashed a grin to his friend. Garmund's face was stern, he had failed both his first tries now and he didn't want to be the first one to drop out of the game. He bit his lip, picked a pebble and threw it. The was a loud clop when the pebble hit the bottom of the bucket. The cheers he got were wilder than those that ensued after Wilcred too had hit the target.

On the third round, Cnebba succeeded at his first try. His relief was clearly seen in his grin. Garmund was not so lucky, and missed again. His frustration showed as clearly as Cnebba's delight. But he wasn't the only one who missed on the first round: Erbrand and Harreld both missed as well. There was tension in the air as the three competitors eyed each other. They all had a nagging feeling that they wouldn't all make it to the next round. And so it was. Garmund missed the bucket by inches. Erbrand got his pebble in. Harreld's pebble flew over the bucket and landed some two feet further away than it should have. Accepting their shared last place calmly, Garmund and Harreld joined the audience.

On the next round, Erbrand, Balvir and Wilcred all succeeded at their first try, while Cnebba and Matrim had to try again. "I'm sure you'll beat me," Matrim whispered to Cnebba when the boy was picking his next pebble. Cnebba offered the soldier a faint smile, but did not trust his words. He weighed the stone and hesitantly threw it, only to miss the bucket. He let out a disappointed sigh and made way to Matrim, who hit the target easily. "You'll beat me next time," Matrim promised easily and winked.

Next round, everyone succeeded: Matrim and Balvir at their first try, Erbrand and Wilcred at their second. Lithor moved the bucket once again. Wilcred shook his head at the distance. "I tell you, I'm not going to hit that," he said, smiling wryly. "I'm a swordsman, not a pebble-thrower!" "Nonsense, it's still very close," Erbrand said, returning the older man's smile. The veteran had been right, however - he missed the bucket both times, while Matrim missed only once and Erbrand and the seemingly undefeatable Balvir succeeded at their first try.

But even Balvir wasn't so undefeatable. On the following round, he missed at his first try, unlike the younger men. The competition was getting pretty tense, few were those who dared to bet what would happen.

Lithor moved the bucket. Erbrand picked a pebble and threw it. It missed. He gave way to Matrim. He too picked a pebble and threw it. It missed as well. Everybody was looking at Balvir. He chose his pebble carefully, weighed it and threw it. It looked as if it would go too far, but it hit the inside of the bucket and dropped in. The usually so calm soldier flashed a wolvish grin when the cheers and the applause burst out. "See you next round, boys... if you make it that far," he said. "I'll throw my pebble in the bucket and follow you to next round, for sure," said Matrim. "It's just Erbrand's turn first." Erbrand said nothing, just picked the stone that seemed best to him and threw it. It landed in the bucket and a smile lit Erbrand's face. "Outrageous," Matrim commented with a smile, but stooped and picked a stone. He stood there for a long time with the pebble in his hand, but finally, he raised his hand, aimed and let go of the pebble. There was the soft thud of a stone hitting grass.

When Matrim had left, only Erbrand, Balvir and the bucket at the distance remained. "Younger one first," Balvir said. "I know," replied Erbrand and picked a stone. He threw it, but it didn't go inside the bucket. Balvir nodded grimly and picked a stone too. It missed as well. Erbrand picked a new stone. "Your last chance," Balvir said solemnly. Erbrand nodded, giving the older man a gruff smile. "So is yours." He closed his eyes just for a while, raised his hand, aimed and threw. The pebble landed a mere inch away from the bucket. Balvir's face was expressionless. "I only win if I get the stone inside the bucket, otherwise it's a shared victory," he said as he stooped to pick a pebble. He didn't hesitate; he picked the stone and threw it in one concentrated movement. It made a beautiful arch in the air and landed, with a loud clop, in the bucket.

"We have a winner!" Lithor boomed as applause and cheers filled the air. Balvir grinned. "Truly, it was a great honour to compete with such a skilled man as you, Erbrand," he said, patting the younger man's shoulder. "It was a great honour to compete with you too, and no one else would have deserved the victory like you did," Erbrand replied, now smiling too.

"That was indeed a worthy victory," Matrim said as he joined in the congratulations. There was an amused glint in his dark eyes. "And now, people of Scarburg, you know you may always turn to valiant and skillful Captain Balvir of Gondor, if you're ever in need of a pebble-thrower."

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld

"...you can still be my partner in one event this day."

Ginna looked both expectant and shy at once, but her hand remained in his. He lifted it and bowed and placed a Gondorian kiss thereon, his eyes not leaving hers. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed an O, and she looked more shy yet, but pleased, biting her lip in a most winsome way. Harreld's face did not feel even the slightest hint of heat. He was enjoying this.

"I would be delighted," he said simply, and let her hand slip from his. She smiled and turned back to Kara, but gave him another bright eyed glance, as if the dance she had offered him had turned to a promise.

He straightened and made his way with a little bit of a swagger to the stone throwing competition. He cared not if he came in last or first, for he was in the lead in a race of far greater import.

Eodwine

He had moved from Saeryn to make room for Degas. He was getting restless for the day when others would have to make way for him coming by her side to take her arm in his. He was watching her now. She was smiling, talking to Degas; but she glanced at him; did she notice the fire in his eyes that went with the smile on his face? Almost, he was ready to throw caution to the wind and make good on his plan this minute, but no, he would wait until later.

He went to the baker and found a few more chairs and placed them near the one on which Saeyrn sat. He set one on Saeryn's right and directed Rowenna to sit there. He placed the other two seats to Saeryn's left.

"Degas, please choose your seat," he said. His eyes caught and held those of Saeryn again. He put all his feeling for her in his eyes, for any other display was not yet appropriate. He willed her to understand, yes feel what he meant to convey.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas smiled a half smile and stood from his crouch.

He leaned to bestow a kiss upon Saeryn's forehead and stood away from both seats. "The choice is my sister's, not mine. I will gladly be seated where the lady suggests."

[Folwren]

“The wound healed cleanly?” Degas asked. “There is no infection?”

“Degas,” Saeryn said, smiling broadly and leaning towards him so that she could speak quietly - she wanted to be sure that Rowenna did not hear Degas’ doubt of her nursing skills. “There is no infection. I’m still mending, that’s all.” She finished with a chuckle and leaned back again. Her eyes swept about and they were caught by Eodwine’s briefly. He was looking at her with a new look in his eyes. She glanced away and though of something to say to Degas.

“It will be quite well. You know when I first came to the White Horse Inn before it turned into Eodwine’s Hall, I was hurt and they had to tend me.” She laughed at the thought of how she seemed to always come back to Eodwine hurt. ‘Perhaps,’ she thought, ‘I’ll be safer if I never leave the place!’

Eodwine returned bearing chairs and after setting them up, he offered Degas his choice. Once again, Saeryn looked at him, and this time she kept the gaze. She felt, rather than understood, what his look meant. Something rose in her chest that filled her with a huge, wonderful pressure of intense joy in response to him. Yesterday, before Eodwine had expressed his love for her, such a feeling would have been painful, for it would have been doubtful, but now she knew and she did not fear.

Suddenly she was aware of Degas shifting the choice to her. She stirred and looked away from Eodwine to Rowenna, taking a seat beside her, and then to Degas. Immediately she knew what she should do. Eodwine had not yet spoken to her of marriage and until then, they must continue as though they were not attached. “Sit beside me, brother. We will all be able to see the games from here.”

[Formendacil]

"You'd share a pint with us master?"

Normally, Náin would have picked up on the sudden formality of the two Men, and realised they had decided they might have been a bit too forward with him, distantly royal master stonecrafter that he was--and normally he would have attempted to alleviate their concerns, in an indirect, Dwarven way. Men were, in general, so less accomplished, being younger, and so less talented, not being Dwarves, that unless it was a matter of craft, he did not care to enforce his superior station, being well-accustomed himself to the sharp-barbed comments of his own Dwarven teachers.

As it happened, however, Náin was too tired to notice the change in tone, and merely replied with customary dignity.

"A pint of ale would be most welcome indeed, Stigend. I journeyed most of the night, and I have been going over the estate while your people have fested today, and I am tiring."

"It must have been a good day's work, indeed, then," said Garstan, "for we always tired long before you when we worked together in Edoras. Why don't you and Stigend sit here, and I'll fetch us the ales."

"I am not so tired as all that," protested Náin, mostly out of Dwarven stubbornness, "but I shall accept your offer. Nonetheless, I do not wish to bore you with my company, which I fear is full only of my trade and my new dwellings in the Glittering Caves."

[Groin Redbeard]

The concept of the stone throwing contest was not what Erbrand had in mind. When Lithor explained the rules it relieved Erbrand to know that it was not a test of strength accuracy. This would save him for the other games, despite his eagerness to remain active the task path had about worn him out, it would be good for him to play a leisurly game.

~~~~

The game was very enjoyable, it was very refreshing to once again interact with his Gondorian friends, Balvir and Matrim. They hadn't much time to talk during the busy month that had passed since they had first gone on their great hunting trip. Matrim had not changed a bit, he still remained the playful young man that Erbrand had met a month ago. Balvir still remained his quiet stern self, he seemed quite pleased with himself at winning despite Matrim's tease.

"And now, people of Scarburg," said Matrim shouting to the crowd, "you know you can always turn to the valiant and skillful Captain Balvir of Gondor, if you're ever in need of a pebble-thrower." The crowd roared with laughter at this, Matrim was quite pleased.

"You missed your way, becoming a soldier, Matrim," Balvir said, sounding slightly annoyed, "you should have become a king's jester instead of my lieutenant." Matrim bowed with an undimming smile, they were always poking fun at each other.

Erbrand had finished congratulating the players, who were in turn congratulating him, when he saw the long missed figure of Crabannan coming across the Scar. Crabannan stopped by some of the kitchen ladie, and leaned over to them, probably asking what had just transpired. Erbrand's mood quickly changed as the man walk past him and examined the pile of spears, picking one up and examining it's shaft and head.

Erbrand avoided him, walking past quickly and picking up his own spear. It was a strange weapon to him, he had used it only once in boar hunt with his father, still the concept of the weapon's use was not strange to him. He balanced the spear on his hand and grasped it where he could get the most distance out of it. Erbrand glanced back at Crabannan, who was was also staring at him.

"Good luck, Erbrand," he said, nodding slightly and gave a faint smile.

"I'm sure I'll need it against a man such as yourself," said Erbrand, he was sure that this was not the first time the brawler had used this weapon.

[littlemanpoet]

"Degas", said Eodwine.

Degas, his legs crossed, his right ar resting on the back of Saeryn's chair, looked at Eodwine wtih a pleasant, absent smile on his face. "Yes, my friend?"

"You are in the spear throwing competition, are you not?"

Degas' smiled disappeared, replaced by surprise and mild consternation. "By Eorl's beard, I am!" Standing, he turned to his sister and Rowenna and gave a slight bow. "Excuse me, ladies, I go to win fame and glory."

"Are you not in this, Eodwine?" asked Saeryn.

He shook his head with a smile as he took the chair Degas had vacated. "I am sitting this one out. I shall enjoy watching this one."

Wilcred came up and sat in the chair Eodwine had vacated. "Would my lord be interested in a wager?"

"Name it, my friend!" Eodwine said.

"I will wager you two Eorls that Crabannan wins with the longest throw."

"I shall wager against Crabannan. And let it be known that I will put two of my own Eorls behind Harreld to win it!"

"Feeling generous with your gold coins today, my lord?" said Garstan, walking up from behind them, holding a pint of ale in his fist.

"We shall see whether it is generosity or greed," Eodwine laughed. "Will you take my wager, Garstan?"

"I will! And I will wager one Eorl on Dan to win the target round."

"I will take up that wager!" said Eodwine and Wilcred at once.

"I shall put one Eorl on Degas for the targets," Rowenna announced.

The men looked at her, startled. Then Eodwine grinned. "So be it!"

More wagers were set as the competitors readied themselves. They were to throw the spear three times, from the west end of Scarburg as far as they could throw toward the east wall, just inside the Scar. They drew straws. The best throw in three tries would win, plain and simple.

Erbrand was first, commenting that his luck seemed to have run out, being inexperienced with the spear and first to throw into the bargain. Throw he did. It was measured off at 74 strides. The others commented that it was not bad for the first time in yards. Crabannan, next, drew up to the line and showing fine form, threw 104 strides. Stigend threw 97 strides. Dan came next; the Eorling spear seemed heavy and unwieldy in his hand. He gave it his best first try; the spear wobbled as it flew, for 48 strides. Harreld was next. The others expected much from him for his smithiying strength of arm. He blushed and shrugged, but also allowed the praise to go to his head and threw overhard so that the spear flew too low and landed early for 77 strides. Thornden was next and with little comment, threw for 79 strides. Osmund displayed fine form and threw for 100 strides. Æthelstan did well at 103 strides. Experienced Balvir, his face a closed book of concentration, threw his spear for 110 strides. Degas came last. His arm looked a little slim and the others did not expect much from his heft. His throw flew 86 strides, better than they expected but well short of the longest strides.

Lithor marked the spots of the competitors' first throws, and they retrieved their spears for the next round. Erbrand had learned a thing or two from his first throw as well as watching the others and threw for 100 strides. Crabannan raised a brow at that, then threw for 113 strides. Stigend reached back and with a grunt threw 109. Dan, like Erbrand, had been watching the others and had noted how strength alone was only half the equation, the other half being form in throw and followthrough. He had been practicing behind the others, mirroring their throws, and now tossed for 109 strides himself, to the shock and praise of the others. Harreld, humbled by his last throw, shut out the comments of all the others, and with a face of concentration seen mostly in his smithy, gave heft: 91 strides. He shouted in frustration and paced about, paying little heed to the others' throws as he practiced his motion for the duration. Thornden threw 94 strides. Osmund was proving to be almost Crabannan's equal: 110 strides. Æthelstan threw 74, well short of his first throw. Balvir was next and bettered his previous throw by 8 strides: 108. Degas threw 94 strides.

After two rounds Crabannan had the best distance at 113 strides, followed by Osmund at 110, with Stigend and Dan close behind at 109, Balvir at 108. They all agreed that the third round promised to be quite interesting. Wiclred teased Eodwine, who was shifting uncomfortably in his chair at Harreld's difficulties.

The marks were marked and the spears were retrieved, and the third round began. Erbrand threw 80 strides. Crabannan threw 106; his previous throw of 113 would have to hold. Stigend threw 98. Dan's vast improvement from first to second throw had the leaders worried, but his third slipped from his grasp a little and he made only 68. Harreld came next, and taking a running start, tossed with all his might high and long, for 124 strides. A roar went up from the watchers; Eodwine jumped out of his chair and threw his fist in the air.

"Well done, Harreld," Crabannan said."

"My thanks, Crabannan."

Thornden threw next: 74 strides. Osmund tried Harreld's ploy of running to the line, but did not have the skill of it, and threw 98 strides. Æthelstan's throw slipped from his hand and he made 69 strides. Balvir was the picture of consistency and threw 100 strides. Degas had the last throw and tried Harreld's running ploy also, but it did not match his limited strength so well, and he made 63 yards.

"Harreld has the longest throw!" cried Lithor

Next came the accuracy competition. Lithor set up a target with painted circles: a black dot surrounded by red then green then blue then white. It was 20 strides from the line of the throw. Lithor announced that the same order would throw this time, and the man who had the best throw in three tries would again be the winner.

Erbrand threw: he hit the green circle. Crabannan threw and yelled in frustration for his form was off; spear landed in the blue circle, just outside Erbrand's. Stigend threw and hit the white circle, the point of his spear wobbling just at the fringe of the target. Dan threw and hit the black center; a roar of appreciation went up from the watchers. Harreld hit the red just outside the black. Groans at his relative ill-fortune went up from the watchers. Thornden hit the green. Osmund missed the target, hitting the ground well short. Æthelstan hit the red, but not as close as Harreld. Balvir threw and his the black. Detgas threw and his spirit landed in the ground just at the foot of the target.

Lithor said, "Balvir and Dan are tied, so there will be a fourth round between them unless others hit the bull's eye and join for the extra round."

In the second round Erbrand missed wide. Crabannan improved, hitting the red just outside the bull's eye. Stigend also improved, hitting the green. Can hit the bull's eye again. Harreld also hit the bull's eye. Thornden his the white just a little closer than Stigend's wobbly hit from the previous round. Osmund hit the red, just outside the black. A roar went up at his vast improvement. Æthelstan hit the green, so his previous throw was slightly the better yet not good enough. Balvir threw into the green as well, but he had the solace of knowing he would be in it for the fourth round anyway. Degas threw and missed the target again. He frowned.

"Degas!" cried Rowenna. "I have coin riding on you! Hit the black!" Degas's brows rose and a smirk came to his face. But Saeryn was the one to notice the fire lit in his eyes. She smirked too, but held her peace; except that Eodwine, paying almost as much attention to her as to the spear throwing, had caught her look, and sobered.

The third round came. Erbrand threw and his over-concentration sent his spear into the ground at the base of the target. Crabannan knew that this was his last chance to join the fourth round. He threw and hit the black. He pumped his fist. Stigend threw and missed the target. Dan threw and hit the black a third time. Harreld, having already hit the black, was feeling very good, just the right blend of relaxation and concentration: he hit the black a second time. Thornden, Osmund, Æthelstan, and Balvir missed the target. Degas now had his last chance. Rowenna held her breath and clenched her fists, her knuckles white. He threw and hit the black.

"We have five throwers for the fourth round!" cried Lithor, "Crabannan, Dan, Harreld, Balvir, and Degas. The target will be moved back ten strides."

They lined up and took their turns, those who had not hit the black joining the appreciative crowd. Crabannan threw: at the longer distance he made the outer white circle. Dan was next to throw, and commented that this distance was outside anything he had tried before. He threw and hit the outside of the red; best throw so far. Harreld came next to the line. Ginna cried her encouragement. Harrreld smiled, took a breath, and threw. His spear landed on the very edge of the black. A roar of appreciation went up from the crowd. Next came Balvir. He matched Dan's throw, their spears piercieng the target mere inches apart. Last came Degas. Rowenna cried her encouragement while Saeryn merely smiled. He threw. His spaer landed in the black, just closer than Harrreld's.

Lithor shook his head. "We shall have to go a fifth round between Harreld and Degas." He moved the target back another ten strides.

Harreld came up to the line first and aimed. He threw. He missed the target wide. Degas came to the line. He aimed. He threw. Everybody held their breath as the spear flew. It seemed to be flying toward the target. It hit, on the outside of the red; not the black, but closer than further. Degas had won.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas shook out his arm, walking back to Rowenna, Saeryn, and Eodwine.

He bowed theatrically to Rowenna. Another time he might have hesitated, afraid of the little known woman taking his dramatics for mockery, but the laughter that lit her face made her more lovely than he had ever seen her, and he matched her with a smile.

"What think you, Rowenna?" he asked, "Will that be sufficient for now?"

[Gwathagor]

As mighty Harreld had hauled back and flung the quivering ash spear a staggering 124 strides, Crabannan had made a hasty mental note to never, never get on Harreld's bad side. Crabannan knew that with his superior quickness and endurance, he could probably beat Harreld in a fight, but he had no desire to find out how many bones he would almost certainly break in the process.

After the competition, Wilcred came alongside Crabannan, while the tall man was holding something very like a conversation with Harreld. (There were a great deal of nods, cheerful grunts, and monosyllabics being exchanged.)

Wilcred clapped Crabannan on the shoulder. "Where did you learn to throw a spear, my friend?" he cried in mock disgust. "You just lost me two gold coins!"

Crabannan did not know Wilcred very well, andwas startled for a moment out of his good humor; but when he realized that Wilcred was speaking in jest, he unfurrowed his brows quickly enough. He even smiled a little and cast about for a suitable mock apology.

Wilcred continued. "In truth, though, where did you learn the spear? You nearly matched our Harreld, and there are few Rohirrim who can say the same."

"Wherever it was, it seems it wasn't enough, eh?" Crabannan said, leaving the question unanswered. "Harreld earned that one. But Degas now - I think he surprised all of us. Maybe even his sister."

Wilcred nodded, chuckled, and said, "Aye" several times, but Harreld simply said, "They made a man out of him in Gondor."

"Well, Crabannan. If you handle any other weapons as well as the spear, I'll be wagering on you again in the later games. Don't let me down this time!" said Wilcred, as he turned to go. Walking away, he continued to shake his head in disbelief. Under his breath, he said, "I haven't seen a spear thrown like that in fifteen years."

[littlemanpoet]

"What think you, Rowenna?" he asked, "Will that be sufficient for now?"

"Most sufficient, Lord Degas," she replied, smiling, and turned to Eodwine. "Lord Eodwine, you owe me an Eorl. Pay up, if you please!"

"First I require two Eorls from Garstan for Harreld's win in the distance, and one for Dan's loss in the target."

"Ach, I am going to be a poor man indeed if I bet anymore this night!" Garstan commented, dropping three gold coins in Eodwine's palm. He passed one to Saeryn, indicating that she should give it to Rowenna, who took it and put it between her teeth and bit down.

"What," said Garstan, "do you think my coin false, Rowenna?"

"Not at all," she replied with a grin, "but it always pays to be sure." She turned to Degas. "My lord, you may not know it, but as you are now lord in The Folde, that makes you my liege. Will you be going there soon?"

[Groin Redbeard]

It was a very dissapointing round for Erbrand. He watched with a sense frusteration and dissapointment as his throw sent the spear wide of the mark, his luck had surely run out. Crabannan had thrown quite well in both rounds, showing his consistancy and skill. Erbrand envied a man with that type of skill, especially since, where he was from, a man was measured by the his accuracy of his bow, swiftness of his sword, and the power of his throw. However, he was glad that Crabannan hadn't won, he liked Harreld and Degas better than the hot-headed brawler.

"I see that you have some tricks up your sleeve, Crabannan," said Erbrand as he approached him, "tell me where does a man, such as yourself, learn to handle a spear like that?"

"I've been many places," Crabannan responded coldly, "and I've learned many things from many people."

Erbrand's face grew sterner at Crabannan's shifty response, an outright insult in his opinion. It was no more than a way of refusing to answer a simple question.

"Then good luck with the other games, I hope that we might meet each other later in one of them." Crabannan smiled at Erbrand's disguised challenge. He hoped that he would respond approvingly.

[Eönwë]

It would finally be a day of games, when they could rest from all their hard work, and sit back and relax (when they weren't competing). A quick thought about that Oeric fellow flashed through his mind, but he didmissed it. Today he would forget all about the situation. Today he was determined to enjoy himself.

It was later in the morning, and Dan was going towards the grounds where the horse race was going to take place. This would be fun to watch. He saw an unusually happy Erbrand ran straight towards him.

“Dan,” he called, joyfully.

“There you are,” Dan smiled. He hadn't seen Erbrand this happy for ages “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Well you’ve found me now, come we can talk but first I need to warm up Traveller for the races.” He slapped Dan on the shoulder, “come on, I’ll race you to the horses!” And off he ran, leaving Daghan-turi-Dan behind, staring at him. Dan soon followed running up behind him, but as the Scar came into view something stopped him. His carefree mood left him and his faced shaped itself into a scowl. He shouted to Erbrand, telling him that he had some urgent business to attend to.

He ran towards the marshland, to where a month earlier he had found a man, hiding among the bushes, surreptitiously watching the encampment to see if they could offer him everything. The man that had been hiding before Dan had come to Scarburg, and was still hiding now. Oeric.

But something stopped him. This would not do. It was not time to bring back Oeric. Not time to drag back the man who had evaded capture for so long. If he left to find the man, people would wonder where he was, and might even send a search for him. Probably not. Only a few people liked him, and they would be occupied. No-one would miss a half-sized stranger. Still, he said to himself, there was always the risk that they would. If they did, then it would just make the situation worse and they would find Oeric. And that would make Dan look bad. He would be accused of treachery, of being a traitor and jeopardising the welfare of the camp. He could always pretend that he hadn't known Oeric was there, but he was sure he wouldn't be believed. Some knew his skills as a tracker all too well.

He had made up his mind that he would tell Eodwine, so he started off towards the stables again, but then he saw Rowenna bursting out of them, followed by Saeryn on horseback, with Eodwine just standing there with a strange expression on his face. Ah. This was definitely not a good time for him. What was happening he didn't know- and it wasn't his place to wonder. He'd find out soon enough, no doubt. Dan's problems would have to wait.

His internal struggle over, he paced over to the grounds where the horse race would take place and waited for the race to start. He smiled again.

--

After the horse race, there had been the foot race. Dan had never been that good at running, compared to the fellows back home. Even the fasted would have found it hard to compete, as they would have to make to steps for each one a Rohir took. When Erbrand had won the long distance race he went over to try to congratulate him, but was blocked by an impassable croud. He had resolved to talk to him later.

The three-legged race had gone on as planned. He had laughed, along with much of the crowd, at Degas and Little Léoðern. It looked like a fun race. It was a shame he had had no-one to run with. Even Erbrand had someone. But he was just a "wild man", and no-one liked him. He would probably have even less of a chance in the dance later on.

The task-path had been fun. He had almost won! The thought of the race brought a smile to his lips. He was glad it hadn't been too serious, like some events he had seen elsewhere. It was just a chance to have a bit of fun. It was probably, Dan thought, the only time he and Eodwine could run into each other and laugh about it afterwards.

The stone-throwing was notable to watch. He had thought it a mere child's game, and many others seemingly took it less seriously as well, but even if it was, it was true that childre's games were often the most fun. Anyway, Javan wasn't even there and a few men had gotten excited and joined.

Spear throwing had been interesting. He hadn't known how the competition would be run or what would happen. Nevertheless he had given it his best shot, and surprised himself with his score. He had hoped he could win this event, but it was not to be. He would have to wait until later to prove himself.

--

After the spear throwing contest, he resolved to go over and talk to Erbrand about the day so far, and congratulate him on his victories that day. And at the same time, he might find out how the whole Erbrand-Kara thing was going. But even though they were friends, he didn't really expect Erbrand to talk about that. However good he was about running, Erbrand had always seemed shy around women to Dan, and even shyer when talking about them. He knew now that something had changed din his attitude, as he had seen Erbrand and Kara talking happily together. But he would wait until Erbrand brought it up, which would probably be in a few days or even weeks. Dan wasn't impatient, and didn't mind people waiting a while to tell him things. What he didn't like was people purposefully hiding things from him.
Now that was hypocritical! he thought to himself, and his spirits lowered as he remembered about Oeric.

He pushed those thoughts aside, and went towards Erbrand who had just finished talking to Crabannan, disdainfully he thought.

"Hello there Erbrand!" he called.

[Groin Redbeard]

To Erbrand's satisfaction Crabannan accepted his offer under a facade of curtious talking. The sword fight was the most likely place for them to meet and have a chance to really get at each other, Erbrand wanted more than anything to beat the brawler at a fight, to beat him at his own game. Though he wasn't quite sure why he wanted to do this. The the seeds of resentment towards Crabanna had been sown almost since they had met a month ago but never before had the urge to clobber the brute been as strong as it was today. Erbrand pondered on this a moment, thinking it stupid and unprincipled of himself to want to fight a man without a proper reason. Then he remembered where the feelings of hatred at been the strongest: that morning outside his tent when Crabannan asked him about Kara.

Kara, he looked to where she was sitting gleefully with Ginna at her side. At that moment he felt ashamed of himself, ashamed that he had sunken as low as to want to strike a man who wanted the same thing that he did. It was her choice who she would spend her time with not his, so why should clobbering Crabannan change her mind, or is it even Kara that he was trying to prove himself to?

His conscience had unleashed its attacks of logic against his thinking and in a split second Erbrand was confused. Confused at what he was feeling, what the purpose of those feelings are, and what to do about it. He stood for a second thinking about what to do. He still disliked Crabanna and a fight would do him good, but was it all for the right reasons? Erbrand ran his rigid fingers through his hair and gritted his teeth. In the end all of his feelings came down to asking himself one question: what are my feeling towards Kara?

"Hello there Erbrand." came a familiar voice that rocked him out of his thoughtful trancelike state.

"Dan! I'm sorry my thoughts were else-where." his mood changed at his friends approach and soon he was smiling. "I missed you at the beginning of the games, where were you?"

"Oh, I had some business to attend to." came Dan's response, sounding as if he was caught off guard.

"Well wherever you were you must have learned a thing or two about racing. I've never seen a man move as fast as you did on the task-path." Dan laughed pure and carefree laugh.

"A hardened warrior and hunter must overcome many obstacles, though it was not as great as all that." Erbrand chuckled at Dan's attempt at humility.

"What were you preoccupied with?" asked Dan as they began walking to the wrestling location, Erbrand had told Dan that a copper of his will be riding on the outcome of Dan's performance.

Erbrand was slightly startled at Dan's inquisitiveness, it was not in his nature to ask even the most innocent of questions for fear that it might be taken as prying into another man's business. Erbrand looked away and sighed, he stopped walking and then turned as faced Dan, his arms folded across his chest.

"I'm troubled Dan," said Erbrand, trying to be as open as possible, "I've kept this thing to myself for far too long and I feel as if I will explode is I don't let it out." Dan listened patiently, his face not changing in expression. "I'm afraid of what I've become Dan, I eat less, I stay up late and when I do sleep I'm dreaming of the object of my thoughts, the very thing that I wish to avoid for fear of confusing myself with my feelings. I've gone over and over in my head on what to do, but it has come to no avail. She still haunts me wherever I go, I can't escape it."

Dan was surprised at Erbrand's openness, and to tell the truth Erbrand was surprised too.

"Ahh, I'm sorry Dan," said Erbrand, "you did not ask to hear my troubles, I have no right troubling you with them. We'll talk about this alter if you wish, but for now I think it's best if I let it be." Dan nodded in response.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Rowenna turned to Degas. "My lord, you may not know it, but as you are now lord in The Folde, that makes you my liege. Will you be going there soon?"

Degas's merriment seemed to flicker a touch and he glanced at Saeryn before replying, "I will go there tomorrow by way of Edoras."

[littlemanpoet]

Lithor and Wilcred had set up the circular ring not far from where the spear throwing contest had been held. Lithor described the simple rules. The two wrestlers would stand inside the ring (seven strides across), facing each other; the wrestler either forced his opponent on his back for three seconds, or forced him outside the ring first, would be the winner.

First up were Garstan and Stigend. After trading three feints, Garstan dove and got hold of Stigend's legs while Stigend grabbed him around the chest from atop. Stigend spread his legs out and so did Garstan, and neither could move the other. Garstan dropped to his knees and pushed forward, which compromised Stigend's stability, who found himself sitting on the ground with Garstan on top of him. He was able to turn over onto his stomach. But Garstan, with the advantage of hold and position, was able to move him in two huge shoves, closer to the edge of the ring. Little by little, Garstan nudged Stigend closer to the edge. Finally, despite Stigend's best efforts, he was made to cross the line first, and Garstan was declared the winner.

Next up were Matrim and Crabannan. They feinted grabs for each other five times. Then Crabannan, taking what seemed a huge risk, dove at the feet of Matrim and rolled, grabbing both his ankles in a trip; suddenly Matrim was on his stomach, Crabannan was again on his feet, and just as quickly, on his back holding him down. Matrim forced himself to his hands and knees, spread wide. Crabannan grabbed his left elbow in one hand and wrapped his arm around Matrim's back with his other. Matrim dropped his right shoulder and rolled, Crabannan rolling on his back beneath him, but Matrim was unable to stop the motion because Crabannan rolled through and had Matrim on his side and himself on top again. At this severe disadvantage, it was a matter of Matrim's strength working against leverage and Crabannan's working with, and within seconds Matrim was pinned to the ground on his back. Crabannan had won his first round.

Next up were Dan and Harreld. Dan was compact, his center of gravity naturally low; Harreld was almost all upper body strength and tall. The onlookers watched the oddest pairing possible. Harrreld charged, trying to grab Dan, who ducked and rolled and braced himself against the now righted Harreld, who was dangerously close to the edge of the ring. Neither of them moved though there was much grunting. Harreld tried to get down lower but his foot slipped and came within inches of the edge. He gained purchase and pushed Dan a foot toward the center. Harreld kept himself low and pushed against Dan, using his superior strength to nullify Dan's greater dexterity. He kept pushing. Slowly, the pair moved from one end of the ring to the other. When Harreld had pushed Dan past the center, Dan pivoted away and rolled, and Harreld fell on his stomach. Dan jumped on his back. Harreld pushed with his legs and tipped Dan over his head; Dan landed on his back; Harreld pounced on him and would not let him get purchase with any of his limbs. He shoved him inch by inch closer to the edge, and finally had him out. Harreld had won.

Next up were Aethelstan and Osmund. Aethelstan ran at Osmund, forcing his shoulder into his stomach; this knocked the wind out of Osmund and he crumbled to the ground. Aethelstan made quick work of his weakened opponent and had him on his back in a moment. Aethelstan had won.

[littlemanpoet]

Garstan and Crabannan stepped into the ring. Crabannan crouched and shifted from side to side, eyeing Garstan like a prey to be worsted. Garstan opened his eyes wide and exhaled a puff of air, shaking his head in doubt. Crabannan allowed a grim smile. He pounced like a tiger, grabbing Garstan by the right shoulder, placing his left foot behind Garstan's. Garstan tried to duck out of his sudden disadvantage, but found himself on his back and Crabannan on top of him; the match was over almost before it had begun.

Aethelstan and Harreld faced each other. Harreld had been watching Crabannan, and stole a glance his way, apparently impressed. But he gave his full attention to Aethelstan, who was almost as tall as he, but lanky. A canny look came into the fellow's eye; Harreld remembered what he had seen Aethelstan do to Osmund. Sure enough, Aethelstan lowered himself and aimed toward Harreld's midriff with his shoulder for a battering ram. Harreld was prepared; he sidestepped and used his hammerlike right fist to give Aethelstan a good pound on the back just below the offending shoulder, and Aethelstan found himself on all fours. Harreld dropped atop him and took hold of his left arm and midriff the way he'd seen Crabannan do to Matrim; but he remembered what Matrim had done, and didn't trust a back-roll. He used all the force of his planted knees and shoved Aethelstan onto his stomach. Aethelstan splayed himself to increase his center of gravity, but Harreld reached beneath Aethelstan's left shoulder and hip and, using the leverage of his knees against the ground again, and using the great strength of his smithying upper body, hoisted Aethelstan over onto his back, and planted himself on the man's chest. Harreld had won decisively.

The two finalists were allowed a rest and a drink before resuming the contest.

Harreld faced Crabannan in the ring. Harreld was broader of upper body and new how to use leverage as well as did Crabannan, but Crabannan had quickness in his favor. Both had relatively the same stamina, so it would be strength against quickness. Harreld knew that his best chance was to push Crabannan out of the ring. Crabannan knew that his best chance was to use Harreld's mass against him and by craft of technique, get him on his back or out of the ring, whichever opportunity availed itself.

They crouched and circled each other, and circled each other, making feints that the other did not buy. Both began to reveal a mirthless grin as both knew that the each waited for the other to make the first move. Both were patient men. But Crabannan was less patient than Harreld, and made the first move. It was a canny one, calculated to bring a reaction which needed to be the greater move, one big enough to be taken advantage of.

Crabannan dove for Harreld's left shin as if attempting to push it out from under the smith; Harreld pivoted to his left, ready to pounce on Crabannan's exposed back, but it was not there, for Crabannan had rolled past him, come back to his legs, and kicked backward with his left leg against the back of Harreld's left knee. Harreld lost his balance and went down to his knee. Crabannan's left leg found the ground and his back came down on Harreld's right side, so that Harreld fell to his left; Crabannan splayed his legs and flipped as quick as he could while Harreld righted himself: the result was Harreld on all fours, Crabannan atop him as with Matrim before. Both men knew that this was a position from which either wrestler could take advantage depending on who was quickest, and surprise of surprises, Harreld took initiative.

He immediately grabbed Crabannan's hand which was on his midriff, and rolled to his right, and stopped, with Crabannan partially on his back and Harreld's back on top of him. Crabannan knew that working against momentum was a sure way to lose, so he tried to roll through the spin, but Harreld splayed out and weighed him down so much that he found himself on his back. Lithor came in to count to three, but before he could get past "one", Crabannan got off one shoulder and slid as slippery as a fish onto his stomach beneath Harreld; which could not have happened unless Harreld had been on his back. All of these motions had moved them within two strides of the edge. Harreld saw this and began to shove Crabannan toward the edge. Crabannan was bigger and more lithe than either of Harreld's last two opponents, and would not be moved by sheer force.

Nothing happened for minutes as both men strove to hold their own position and not give any advantage to his foe. As time wore on, the greater strength of Harreld began to tell, and Crabannan found himself moved inch by slow inch toward the edge. He gritted his teeth and decided that he must take a risk.

to be continued.....

[littlemanpoet]

Crabannan took a risk. He had had plenty of time to think about what to do, and had settled on the only thing that he thought might work. There were two feet between his nose and the edge of the ring. It wasn't much space, but it would have to do. He forced himself up to his hands and knees, pushing all of Harreld's weight upward, still on top of him. The risk with this move was that all Harreld needed to do was push Crabannan forward and that much closer to the edge. On the other hand, Crabannan, if he could take the initiative, could from this position, grab Harreld's arm and roll him out of bounds. He grabbed for Harreld's arm. He missed. Harreld pushed. Crabannan was shoved forward, and across the line. Harreld had won.

A shout and a hollar went up and applause for both wrestlers, for the match had been a grueling one and a good one, between the obviously two best wrestlers in Scarburg, and perhaps in the whole Middle Emnet, or at least so said Eodwine proudly.

Harreld pushed himself to his feet, as did Crabannan. Harreld spoke first, smiling. "Well fought, friend. You are the best I have faced, and I deem it was just as much a matter of luck that you had the worst of it in the end." He held out his hand to Crabannan in an offer of sportsmanship.

[Groin Redbeard]

Lithor, stood watching the wrestelers with crossed arms. He had never seen a match this intense and was glad when Harreld secured his victory less something go wrong: a dislocated shoulder or a broken arm were not all too uncome when the players get carried away.

"A well fought match wouldn't you say Wilcred?" he asked the old soldier.

"Indeed, I have never seen a man who could stand more than eight seconds in the ring with our Harreld, that Crabanna has a few tricks up his sleeve."

"Aye, if I were younger I might take him up on a few pointers to teach me, but I'm afraid that all I'd get out of it is sore limbs and an aching back." The two chuckled and looked at the contestants, who were by now gathered around the two victors (although Harreld had won, Crabanna was held first place for the best effort).

"I'll be back in a minute Wilcred."

"And just where do you think you are going? We need to start setting up for the next contest."

"Oh I'll be back in time to help, no fear about that, but I have a little business to take care of before then." and with that Lithor headed off to find Erbrand.

Erbrand

"What's wrong with you Matrim?" Erbrand asked in an amused voice, "you let Crabannan take you on a whim!"

"Beginners luck, I let him take me down. Besides," Matrim was now addressing Balvir, "it is not as easy as it looks."

"You really should have taken me up on my offer," said Balvir, "that mock of a match between you and Crabannan who have amused the highest court in the land." Balvir laughed loud at his joke, but Matrim followed him insisting that Balvir give it a try as well.

Dan was sitting down not far from the wresteling ring by himself when Erbrand approached him.

"My friend,well done! I must say you had me excited for a couple moments when you nearly tipped Harreld out of the ring. It was nothing more than bad luck that put you against the toughest man in Scarburg, if it were any lesser man I'm sure you would have won."

[littlemanpoet]

Saeryn had had enough rest by the time the wrestling matches were to begin. She, Rowenna, Eodwine, and Degas walked over with Garstan to take in the action.

"Who will win, Degas?" asked Eodwine.

"I know not, though I think Crabannan seems a likely one."

"I will wager my smith to win. Two Eorls against Crabannan."

"Done!" said Degas. Others offered their two Eorls for their own favorite wrestler, and soon there was a tidy little pot which Eodwine, who was reasonably good at numbers, cheerfully rendered into 1st and 2nd place prizes. Most of the wagers centered around Harreld and Crabannan.

"Poor Dan," said Erbrand sadly to Kara after Dan's bout with Harreld, "he never had a chance against that giant Harreld."

Crabannan overheard the comment. "He really didn't. Harreld is simply too big and strong."

"Too big for you?" Erbrand challenged.

"We shall see," Crabannan smirked.

While Harreld and Crabannan rested before their final match, the losers of the previous rounds added their wagers to the pot.

"I wager Crabannan will win!" Garstan declared with a shake of his head. "He is canny!"

"Crabannan may be quick of hand and foot," replied Dan, "but the smith has such strength as to best the quickest! I'll place my wager for the smith!"

"My coin is on Crabannan," said Erbrand. "That man is too shifty and determined to lose."

The match was underway.

"Go Harreld, Go!" cried Thornden. "I hope the smith wins," he said with a grin.

When the final match was done, the all gave the two wrestlers a well deserved round of applause. But then Eodwine frowned. Though he had wagered on Harreld, enough of the others had also, that the winning was a mere two for one, and he got only four Eorls for the two he had placed in the pot.

"At least you won!" Degas cried. "I will have my coin back before this day is done. You are winning too much of my gold so far, Eodwine!"

"You will have your chance, my friend," Eodwine grinned.

Saeryn shook her head to Rowenna. "Men and their wagers," she said. Rowenna laughed.

[Folwren]

Saeryn chuckled, her eyes bright with merriment, and she addressed Degas. “You should stop wagering against Eodwine, Degas,” she said. “He’s won every wager so far this day! And if you keep it up against him, you’ll have no coin with which to manage your affairs back home!”

Degas smiled, but didn’t answer. He probably fully intended to make at least one or two more wagers that day. Saeryn stepped towards him with a question she had wanted to ask before the wrestling had begun.

“Are you really leaving as soon as tomorrow? You only arrived today.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Yes, darling," he said, watching the others, and speaking quietly, "I must. I came here to ask Eodwine if he had heard news of you only: I would not have come elsewise. But you are here, and safe, and I am satisfied that you shall remain so, so I mustn't linger. Our people need me rather more than I am needed here."

Saeryn's joke about the depth of Degas's purse stung, though she had not meant it to. But this he kept from her, so as not to quench her merriment. He did not know the state of things at home, and he had little money of his own. There had perhaps been looting. The hold would be tantalizing to thieves and brigands, in a state of disarray and without a lord to lead the people. The very people who overthrew Fenrir may have helped themselves to his coin. Or, as Degas believed, Fenrir had been none too careful with the coins himself in his last days.

Regardless, Degas's faith in the assets of the Folde was weak. The morning would come all too soon, and he would need to speak with Linduial, to inform her of what had transpired, to learn her mind. And then he would need to enter his lands once more, to claim his lordship, and to rebuild both homes and trust.

"Yes," he repeated, "I must leave tomorrow. To wait shall only make my task more difficult. Is there anything you would have me do before I depart?"

[Groin Redbeard]

There was a sudden tapping on his shoulder, and Erbrand turned around to see the beaming Lithor with his empty hand outstretched as to recieve something. Erbrand made a face of dissaproval and dug his hand into his pocket, retrieving his copper which he had won that morning from lord Eodwine. Lithor laughed and closed his hand around his copper as it was placed in his palm.

"I don't usually gamble, Erbrand," he said, "but I am no fool and can see when there is easy money to be made. Your man didn't make it through the first round." he laughed again and shook Erbrand on the shoulder as if the motion would cause him to laugh as well.

'Aye, but he held his own for a little while. Just wait 'till the sword duels, Dan will more than hold his own."

"Sword duels are tricky, even when in sport, and the loss of an ear or finger is not too uncommon. Still, you are right when you say that the Drudian will hold his own, and I daresay that that character Crabannan will show us some more of his tricks when that time comes." They both looked over to where Crabannan was, shaking hands and accepting the congratulations of the entire camp.

"Magnificent outhere, wasn't he?" asked Lithor, his face pointed towards Crabannan but his eyes shifting to glance at Erbrand.

"Yes, I must admit that for awhile I was rooting for him. I can expect a worthy challenge from him later on in the duels."

Lithor shot a worried look over at his friend. He recognized that determined look in his eyes from when he was young. It was a look that had cost him pain and heartache to that day and he eyed Erbrand with an unusually stern expression.

"Be careful what you do, my friend," said Lithor, "pride has hurt and killed more men than hunger and war ever will." Erbrand looked back up at the guard who was by no means amused.

"I can handle myself with him, although he may beat me, he will not harm me. I am stronger and just as quick witted as he is, this should even out the odds against me. Besides, I have something else planned for later tonight, so I shall be extra careful about him. You need not worry about me, Lithor."

"You know your own talents best." Lithor remarked simply and after thanking him went to set up the targets for the archery contest, tossing his coin as he walked.

Erbrand looked around him. Everyone seemed to be busy with something, Degas was talking quietly to his his sister Saeryn and Eodwine was chatting with some other people, probably trying to pursuade them to accept his gamble in another game, but Erbrand could not tell what they were saying, and he walked briskly back to camp for his bow.

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan sat in the dirt and squinted up ruefully at Harreld.

"Luck. Yes, it would be luck. She never did look fondly on me."

He stood up covered in dust and cracked his back. Then he took Harreld's hand.

"Harreld Smith," he said, chuckling slightly, "I think you are more gentle with your smithwork. If my arm falls off during the next game, I am blaming you, and I'll expect you to make me an iron hook, or something, to replace it."

He gave Harreld's hand a final squeeze, and then began to brush himself off. Great clouds of dust surrounded him for a moment, and when they cleared, he found that he and Harreld were surrounded by a clamoring, congratulatory crowd, all eager to shake the two wrestlers' hands.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld laughed at Crabannan's joke. He liked the dour man with a sardonic sense of humor. He was not quick enough of tongue to come up with a return, but thought of about four later over his smithy, but by then it was too late.

As the congratulatory crowd gathered around and patted him on the back, he looked for Ginna, and found her. beaming. He bowed slightly, a big grin on his face.

"I think you are my good luck charm, Ginna!" he said. "I shall have to keep you always close by!"

Others in the crowd hooted and winked at his words; it was no hidden matter how Harreld thought of her.

[Groin Redbeard]

One by one the players began to file back on to the green where the game would begin. Each of the players held his own bow and a quiver of arrows awaited them, marking where they should stand. The standing targets were all set and the soldiers who were playing in the game hurried to get their own bows.

All the players were soon present, Lithor took center stage and began to announce how the game would go. There were to be three levels of difficulty, the first being the ordinary shot with a bow at fifty paces, second being the moving targets, and the next being the distance shoot of 150 paces. The targets each had three rings: white on the outermost, black for the middle, and white again for the center.

Everyone lined up in their place as Lithor was about to give the signal to start. Arrows were nocked on the strings, a hush fell over the crowd as Lithor raised his hand, signaling for the archers to draw their bows. With a sudden yell which made the audience jump, Lithor dropped his hand and the bows sang in unison, the deep thump of the Balvir and Wilcred's bows mingling with the sharp twang of of the shorter ones. Again, the bows twanged as the archers set off another volley, Crabannan pulling the bow back nearly to his ear while the Garmund, Cnebba, and Javan pulled their bows back with the greatest difficulty to their chins. Eodwine was laughing at the excitement, while Erbrand mechanicaly reached down for his arrows and pulled his string back as if it was second nature to him. The experienced soldiers took their times with the shots they made, knowing that it would be fatal to their position in the game if they threw away a shot. Dan finished first, firing his shots off in rapidly, with Thornden firing last.

When the firing ceased Lithor went to inspect the scores. Garmund and Javan brough up the rear with both boys having two arrows missing the targets and three finding their marks, one in each of the rings. Next came Balvir Wilcred and Crabanna, all of their arrows penetrating deep in the target but never entering the center ring. Cnebba tied with Matrim with four arrows in the second ring and on in the center, it was a great achievement and he was soon hailed by all as a master bowman. Erband came in third with two arrows in the center ring and two in just outside the center, but with one arrow missing the target completely. Thornden had made first place with Eodwine making a close second. Both had made Three arrows in the center ring, but one of Eodwine's arrows hit the outer ring.

All the players were smiling with what they had achieved, it was no small feat to shoot fifty paces and hit the target, but Lithor and his helpers immediately moved on to the next game. Hitting the moving target was a one shot one chance opportunity. A barrel head three feet in diameter was rolled out and each player would take his turn shooting it.

First up was Erbrand, the barrel head was rolled parrallel to where he was standing at about twenty-five feet away. The head was flung out and whithin seconds of it leaving Lithor's hand, Erbrand had nocked his arrow, drawn his bow, and fired with pin point accuracy, hitting the barrel square in the middle. Erbrand beemed with delight.

Dan came up in turn and readied himself, he shot and his arrow found the mark on the outer rim. Javan, Cnebba, and Garmund tried next with each fairing as well as Dan. Next was Crabannan, but when the barrel head was thrown Crabannan drew his bow with such ferocity that the string snapped.

"That's a good bow I'll have you know, Crabanna," said Lithor, "but I'm afraid that your charm was too much for it, this isn't wresteling you know." Lithor laughed and Crabannan grinned back, he was permitted to try again and this time struck the barrel several inches from the center.

Wilcred shot scored a little worse than Crabannan, Balvir tied with Eodwine who had struck two feet away from the circumfrance. Matrim scored a mighty shot, causing the arrow to pass right through the wood, but Balvir insists that Matrim in fact missed. Thornden waited until the last possible moment, until the barrel head slowed down so much that it nearly toppled, then Thornden let fly his arrow are pierced it a mere hairs width away from the center.

Erbrand was the winner, with Thornden next and Crabannan after him!

Now the archers prepared for the distance shot of 150 paces. The targets were that of the first round and were put far out in the plains. The boys despared at this, knowing that their short bows could never match the adult's longbows. Still they were determined to try.

Their fears were confirmed when their arrows fell short of the targets. Wilcred and Balvir were also eliminated from the first round, when their arrows caught a breeze and drifted to the righ of the targets. This was blamed on bad luck, they were both excellent archers, but they bore it well and simply shook their heads at the misfortune.

Eodwine on the other hand had made an admirable shot, nearly hitting the mark in the center. Everyone else hit the targets, but Crabannan and Erbrand hit on the outer ring, and they knew if some of the other players wouldn't mess up that they would be out in the next round.

Again the archers fired and again each of the arrows found their mark, but Crabannan struck on the outside with Dan and they both were eliminated. The crowd cheered as it was announced that Eodwine had made another almost perfect shot, landing right inside the center ring. Thornden struck the middle ring with the rest, but unless the rest would mess up Erbrand was doomed.

The crowd held their breath as the arrows went soaring in the air to their targets, but Matrim's never made it, he over shot. However, Erbrand pulled through with what he called a "lucky" shot landing dead in the center. Eodwine fell short, ending his magnificent by winning streak, but he had made excellent scores that allowed him to continue. However, he missed again and was eliminated.

Thrice the soldier and trapper fired, thrice the crowd cheered the results, no one was attaining the higher hand in the matter. At last after the fourth try, Thornden spoke up.

"Lithor, this is no contest for archers such as us. Will you not move the targets for us to have a better shot?"

"We shall double the distance!" Lithor cried.

Thornden bit his lip, he did not mean for the targets to be moved that far. Erbrand stood tall as it was announced and twiddled and arrow in his hands, the distance would surely match their skills as archers and the limits of the primitive bow he carried.

Both missed on the first try and it was then declared that the closest arrow to the mark would win the game. The crowd was on edge, the soldiers cried for Thornden urging him on like a warrior on the battle field, while the faint cry of, "Erbrand" began to grow. A loud cry of, "Thornden!" was heard as the soldier let loose his arrow, it was neatly draw back to his ear and the arrow flew high before it fell with a thud on the target. Again the cry of "Thornden!" was taken up as he fell back to his seat to calmly watch his contestant.

During the shouting, Erbrand thought he caught the voice of Kara urging him on, it gave him heart and he fearlessly pulled the bow back as far as he could, corrected his arch and let fly his arrow. The release of the pressure on the bow was so sudden that his bow snapped in two, Erbrand looked on in horror as he wondered how this would affect his arrow's flight. It hit right within the center ring, a full foot away from Thornden's arrow.

Erbrand gave a cry of truimph, and the crowd answered back with cheers of "Thornden, Erbrand!" Eodwine looked proud as the two contestants grasped hands.

"There you go Harreld," the Eorl said to the blacksmith, "not only do I have the best wrestlers in all of Rohan but the best archers as well."

[littlemanpoet]

After the archery contests were done, Eodwine went to Degas and called him aside.

"Will you take a stroll with me, my friend?"

Degas agreed and excused himself from his sister with a bow and a smile; Eodwine did likewise. They were seen to begin a circuit of the current borders of Scarburg. Once they were beyond earshot and the eyes of the others, Eodwine opened up his mind to Degas.

"As you no doubt recall, Degas, about three months ago I made Saeryn the lady and host of my house, an arrangement that was both very unusual and done without your permission."

"Yes," Degas replied, "although my permission though useful to you then, was not legally binding as my brother was yet the head of our house."

"And that is now changed. You asked me what it was that I was doing, and I had the cheek to call it a betrothal." Degas allowed a half smile. "Which," continued Eodwine, "went against all custom of our folk, and it is no wonder that Saeryn fled in the end. In truth, the fault was mine, for I allowed myself to be blinded and deafened by the workings of my own heart."

Eodwine lapsed into silence, considering how his words shifted blame to himself of all those things he had been holding against Saeryn since she had fled.

"Go on," Degas said.

"You have blessed me with knowing your desire that Saeryn become my wife, for which I thank you. But we have not spoken, you and I, of bride price and dowry. Now that you are head of your house, and Saeryn is your sister, what would you have from me in plight for the good of your sister, both while we live, but more to the point, for her security in widowhoood?"

They had reached the southeast corner, overlooking the swamps, and turned the corner, aiming for the scar as Degas screwed up his face in thought.

Eventually he spoke, uncertainly.

"I am not rich," he began. "My family's... my... holdings have always been of modest scale and I still do not know the extent of the damage that has been done in my absence. I do not know what power I hold. I do not know what my lands and my people need with or without my sister, their favorite. Also, rather to the point at the moment: I cannot believe, knowing what I now know of my late brother, that Saeryn's dowry is intact. I do not know what I can give you to help your marriage any more than I know what I should ask of you to help with my lands."

They were approaching the scar, and the area where Dan had apparently gotten stuck, only to be saved by Scyld; or so the story went. Eodwine had doubts about that story, but that must be saved for another time.

"I have a thought," he said. "As you can see, I have little enough to offer in bride price, which drops us both on the same cheap saddle, as it were. What would you say if we three, you, Saeryn and I, swear an oath like that which Gondor and the Eorlingas have sworn to each other, to be friends for life, and come to each other's aid when called? Let that be both bride price and dowry for as long as at least two of the three of us live. What think you?"

"I think well of the idea. It will help neither of us much in the short term, I fear, yet a life long brotherhood is a kingly gift. I fear only that I should die before fathering an heir, and there will be none to hold to my promise in my absence. I will swear to this: as long as I live, you shall have my aid and friendship, and once my own family is settled and growing, you shall have their aid and friendship as well. I only wish I could offer more than the future affections of children not yet born to the wife I have yet to marry."

"My friend, you offer much more than I asked for. I dare not speak for my heirs, and I would not have you speak for yours, if such come to either of us. For now, let it be between the three of us, if Saeryn agrees. If there are heirs on either or both sides, we can consider such things later. What say you?"

Degas laughed, relieved, and clasped Eodwine's hand. "I am much relieved," he grinned. "I say we have a deal."

[Firefoot]

Once the archery targets were cleared away, preparation for the dagger throwing contest began. There were to be two contests of three trials each with the first target to be set at six paces and the second target at twice that. The targets each had four zones: a center yellow circle, surrounded by black, red, then green.

The contestants lined up, and Eodwine opened the competition with a respectable throw to the inside of the red circle. The others followed with Matrim’s dagger going to the green, Wilcred and Harreld to the red, and Saeryn and Rowenna each placing their daggers into the black. No one found the yellow circle. Amongst the spectators there was some good-natured ribbing of the men for letting both ladies outscore them all.

Before the second trial could begin, however, a voice spoke up from the back of the crowd: “I should like to challenge that.” Everyone’s heads turned to see Scyld approaching the front. They regarded him with some surprise, for he had gone largely unnoticed during the day, quietly observing and not putting himself forward to compete.

“Well, this is unusual,” said Lithor, the first to recover his voice, “but I don’t see why not; it is only the first round.” There were some murmurs and nods of general agreement, but more than one eye studied Scyld appraisingly as he stepped up to the line. He took aim, and with a dull thunk his knife found the yellow circle, perhaps a knuckle’s length from the center.

The second trial proceeded with no more interruptions. Eodwine’s dagger struck near his first except now just inside the black circle. Matrim also improved, throwing his dagger to the red circle. Wilcred’s second dagger again found the red circle, but Harreld’s found the black circle, nearly hitting the yellow circle. Saeryn did not fare so well this round, hitting only the outside green ring. Rowenna, however, became the second contestant to hit the yellow, coming even slightly closer than Scyld’s first dagger. Thrown off by this, Scyld’s dagger flew wide and hit the red circle.

In the third trial, Eodwine’s dagger returned to the red circle. Matrim’s dagger hit the target at a poor angle and did not stick at all. Wilcred for the third time hit the red circle, and Harreld’s came within the border of the yellow center. Saeryn, recovering from the second round, hit the black again. Rowenna, concentrating fiercely, again hit the yellow center, winning her the competition before Scyld even threw. Irritated with himself, Scyld again missed the center target but hit the black this time, tying Harreld for second. Saeryn came in fourth, followed by Eodwine, then Wilcred, and last Matrim.

For the next round, the target was moved to twelve paces away. The distance clearly showed its toll as Eodwine, Matrim, Wilcred, and Saeryn all hit the green and Rowenna hit the red, though Harreld and Scyld both still did well, Harreld placing solidly in the black and Scyld just within the yellow. The second trial was hardly better; Matrim and Saeryn both missed the target altogether, and Eodwine’s knife did not stick. Wilcred hit the green again, though Rowenna improved to the black, and Harreld and Scyld each hit the yellow target.

In the third trial, Eodwine hit the black, while Matrim and Rowenna nailed the red. Wilcred and Saeryn both hit the green. Harreld just missed hitting the yellow target, and Scyld won the competition with his third straight dagger to the yellow. Harreld placed second, with Rowenna behind him. Eodwine took fourth now, followed by Matrim and Wilcred and finally Saeryn.

~*~*~

Scyld did not know what had gotten into him. He had made a fool of himself in the first round, challenging like that and then losing – and no less, to a woman! In fact, he had been rather mortified. He now took no joy in his second round victory; it seemed more as something that was his due, for none of the others could have relied so heavily on such a skill in their lives. Clearly in his mind’s eye he could see the scene just ere Linduial was saved, the scene where knife to knife, he and Sorn had fought. Absently he fingered the scar across his brow.

Just then Harreld approached him with his hand extended. “It was a good competition,” he said. “Well done.”

Scyld nearly replied with some surly, condescending remark, but he recalled the role that he must play here and caught himself, smiling back at Harreld and taking his hand. “I thank you. It was close.”

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand watched the game with keen interest, it was a different type of skill than he was use to, although he was handy with a knife he could never throw one and hit a target. The skill of the players amazed him, but the performance of Scyld disturbed him. One after another of Scyld's dagger found its mark in the target, and from the look on Scyld's face it was a skill he knew well.

Erbrand had always considered a knife to be cruel when used as a weapon. Although he himself carried one, it was used for practical means, he had not twisted the use of a kitchen utensil into a killing tool. A knife was a thing that muggers concealed in under their garments in order to strike at an unsuspecting passer, a coward's weapon that could be easily be taken up and hidden in moment. Erbrand had always thought that Scyld was a shifty mysterious fellow, however, his distrust began to deepen as he saw how easily Scyld had won.

Like others, Erbrand congratulated the players of the hall. Scyld was smiling proudfully at his victory when Erbrand walked up. The handshake that Erbrand recieved from the victor was loose and shifty, ready to be rid of the hand that clasped it (the type of shake that Erbrand had recieved from peddlers who tried to con him of his goods).

"Well done on the victory," Erbrand said, addressing Scyld, "your skills with a knife are remarkable. Forgive me if I am being too bold, but tell me: where would a man obtain such a skill?"

[Firefoot]

Scyld ought to have known that someone would ask questions; he had indeed been foolish to enter the competition in such a way. Yet, what did he have to hide? His association with Sorn was surely lamentable, but if Linduial was to be believed, he had redeemed himself. Redeemed himself from what? Meaningless words! A man did what he must to survive. For some, this meant an ‘honorable’ path; for others, ‘dishonorable’ – but it was only the honorable men who used such terms.

“A man learns what skills he must,” Scyld told Erbrand. Seeing that a doubtful expression lingered in Erbrand’s face, Scyld smirked and something of his old mood entered his voice. “Perhaps you think knife throwing is not the skill of an honest and straightforward man? Perhaps it is not. But there are places, even in this Fourth Age, even in Rohan, where a straightforward man may well be a dead man. Judge me as you will.”

[Groin Redbeard]

The voice of Scyld had changed, instead of speaking in his usual general terms the man was for once being open. Erbrand guessed that he had struck a nerve. Perhaps there was more to this man than met the eye, not all of him seemed that unpleasant.

"Indeed, the knife is not a tool that I would like to wield in a fight, and there is a certain amount of shrewdness, which a man as myself lacks, if he is to wield one." Erbrand spoke frankly, but with a mood not as heavy as before Scyld's answer. The man had been honest with him, and even though Scyld ignored answering his question directly, he confirmed Erbrand's presumptions about the man.

"Your skills with a knife are far reaching, and no doubt you've learned what you must. I know little of your past, and it is not fair for me to judge you, I did not mean to imply as such, but forgive me if I have."

After another congratulations, Erbrand backed away and went to talke with the players in the next game. He noticed that the sun was descending in the sky it must have been around four hours past midday. This was good thing, the dances would be that night which he had been anxiously awaiting for days.

[Lhunardawen]

Ginna made her way into the crowd surrounding the winners of the dagger throwing contest, her eyes fixed on Harreld. The smith was otherwise occupied with returning congratulatory handshakes, but his gaze on the approaching woman never wavered. Soon those who were near him took the unspoken hint and stepped away, giving Ginna an unhindered path towards him.

The smile on Ginna's face was pleased, yet a little mischievous.

"I seem to be your good luck charm, indeed! Perhaps I should start placing more profitable wagers on you, other than those of mere kitchen chores."

Harreld laughed heartily; Ginna had told him of the gamble she and Kara had had earlier.

[Thinlómien]

Cnebba

After the archery competition, Cnebba was literally jumping up and down in excitement. He had not managed to hit the target on the third round, but I did not matter. He had shot extremely well on the first round and beaten both Garmund and Javan easily. The other boys did not look particularily disappointed, Javan even congratulated Cnebba. "But that doesn't still mean you can shoot on horseback," he reminded in a teasing tone. Cnebba didn't mind - he was on a good mood, and the words were not meant to sting.

"Well done, Cnebba!" a voice called from the distance. Cnebba turned and saw Matrim approaching him and his friends. The young Gondorian seemed cheerful despite his rather poor faring in the competition. "If my friend Balvir there is to be believed," he said, waving a hand at his captain's direction, "we are even now." He gave the boy a grin and patted his shoulder. Cnebba returned the smile. Surely it was much better to beat a soldier in archery than to beat him in mere stone-throwing!

Matrim eyed all the three boys. "I think I have to admit that although Gondorians beat Rohanians in anything easily, you Rohanian archers would beat your Gondorian counterparts any day." All the three boys stared at Matrim unsure how to react, whether to be glad of the offered compliment, or be insulted of the words claiming their people to be inferior to their southern neighbours. Matrim looked at them with equal seriousness until he could not keep the faked expression any longer and started howling with laughter. A little baffled, the boys joined in the laughter too.

"Now, now, that is enough laughing, boys," Matrim concluded after a while, still a bit out of breath after his own burst of laughter. "Next is dagger-throwing. Come and cheer for me. Truth be told, I'm lousy at it, but I will try to put up a proper fight."

~*~

Modtryth

"Cnebba was quite good, wasn't he?" Léoðern asked from her bug.

Modtryth was beaming with a proud smile, but did not say anything. She left it up to the bug to answer. She saw the younger one of the Gondorians approach the boys and seemingly congratulate them and the boys follow him to watch the dagger-throwing. Modtryth suspected there was still stuff to do in the kitchen, and she had seen both Kara and Ginna running around the festive area. She suspected that Frodides would have a sharp remark or two if she was doing something alone in the kitchen. Better check that now that neither Cnebba nor Stigend is competing, she concluded.

"Come, Léoðern, let's go to see what's happening in the kitchen. You may take your bug there, but then you have to wait outside. Frodides doesn't enjoy having bugs in her realm."

Modtryth reached the kitchen, the little girl walking slowly at her wake and carefully holding the bug on her palm. As Modtryth had suspected, Frodides was there and working.

"What's going on there?" she asked as Modtryth arrived.

"Dagger-throwing at the moment, and it's sack-fighting next. Do you need help?"

[Nogrod]

With the help of a few men at arms Stigend and Garstan had produced a decent sack-fight arena while the others were having the dagger-throwing contest. The ridgepole of the earlier hall had been hoisted up about five feet high laying there supported by a stack of some heavy barrels laid on top and beside each other on both ends. And just to be on the safe side they had also put two barrels right in the middle to support the ridgepole. Also fair amounts of hay had been spread under the pole so that the one falling from up there would not hurt himself if he happened to fall in a bad stance.

“So my friends! It’s time for the sackfight! Both contestants have a sack of hay as their weapon and they meet each other up on the pole. The first one to fall is the loser – and there are no rules but that… except no biting!” Lithor called and the crowd gathering around laughed approvingly to the joke.

“Our first match will be between Garmund and Cnebba!” There were loud cheers as the boys seemed to arouse quite a lot of goodwill around the Mead Hall. “And in the next pair we’ll be having Javan and… Kara! And the winners of these two matches will proceed to fight each other on the next round!”

The crowd cheered once again but now with more of a surprise that Kara had joined the game. But it took them a second or two to understand the full effect of what Lithor had just said actually meant – and some claimed afterwards that they had surely seen Lithor to wink an eye at lord Eodwine after that announcement. But no one knows if that was just Lithor’s idea or something planned by lord Eodwine. And anyway, the crowds had more interesting things to see.

Garmund and Cnebba were facing each other on the pole about three yards apart in the starting position when Lithor finally whistled them to start. The two boys eyed each other, both waiting for the other one to make the first move. At one point Cnebba started rolling the sack over his head but soon laid it down again. On another Garmund took a few steps forwards raising the sack up in readiness only to retreat one back. There were some calls from the crowd for action but neither dared to move first.

“C’mon guys! This is no standing contest!” Aethelstan shouted from the crowd and people were laughing. “Should I come and bounce you both off the pole?” Matrim added winking an eye to those around him, producing even more laughter. Stigend and Garstan eyed each other in anguish. They knew how much those both wished to win this one and why they were so careful. It only seemed that some adults didn’t get it that small boys could have a “champion of the titans” -match as well and for them it was that serious as neither dared to lose this one.

“Don’t be such a bore!” shouted Javan in the end igniting the action. Garmund just couldn’t take any more of the laughing – even if it was not ill-natured as such. It still felt bad to be laughed at.

So Garmund charged waving the sack around and yelling as he went. Cnebba had no idea how to defend and took a few steps backwards just to get his own sack some momentum waving it to and fro as he backed away. But Cnebba had no chance of gaining the same energy Garmund was gathering and even if he managed to partly hit Garmund’s sack that was coming right towards his head, deflecting it from a direct hit, he fell back and landed on the log with his legs straddled wide apart. There was a symapthetic “Oohhhh…” from the crowd.

But Cnebba’s sack was in front of him so he ended in a forward-leaning position and managed to grasp Garmund’s leg with his left hand pulling as hard as he could. And Garmund fell down as well, landing on the log as painfully as Cnebba had done. And the crowd went with an “Uuhhh…” even louder as before.

And being the more nimble of the two and already having had time to come to his senses Cnebba was indeed the first back on his feet and waved a blow to Garmund who was just trying to get real with the situation. Garmund fell down. And Cnebba – taken with the force of the blow and the weight of the sack - fell just after him.

“Cnebba is the winner!” Lithor announced and the crowd cheered for the unexpectedly dramatic match after so much indetermination. And the boys seemed not to have been hurt but were indeed shaking hands as they stood up. There were more cheers.


As Javan climbed up to the pole he realised he should be a man worth his words. So after calling for Garmund and cnebba to do something he should be the active one as well. It was a bit awkward to fight a woman but he just couldn’t afford to lose this one. So right after Lithor gave them the go he charged on Kara rolling the sack above his head to give it force but Kara just stood there her eyes piercing Javan’s.

When close enough Javan let his now fast-rolling sack fall on Kara – and had it made a direct hit the resistance of her body would have dampened the effect of the force the sack was going to the left. But Kara hopped backwards just in time to avoid the hit and Javan went falling down with the momentum of his sack and the ensuing imbalance with nothing to stop it.

The crowd burst into laughter and cheers. “Kara is the winner!” Lithor announced. But before Javan had managed to rise up from the hays, Garmund and Cnebba were there to help him up. A few eyes followed that incident keenly… and approvingly.

[Nogrod]

As the crowds had settled a bit Lithor’s loud voice was heard once again. “The next pair to find out who’s the one to go forwards is Stigend and Dan! Give them a big hand!” The crowd cheered again but Lithor interrupted the cheers soon enough: “And to end the first round we’ll have a thriller between Erbrand and Harreld!”

The crowds exploded with this one.

“And the winners will meet in the semifinal…” Lithor continued. The truth was hammered into the people at this point. There was some murmur but also some delighted laughs and overall chatter.

After all sack-fight was fun and not like a serious test of manhood like a sword-fight would be – and through ages women and children had partaken in it in the markets and other festivities. So a general feeling of acceptance ran through the crowd as they started anticipating the match between Stigend and Dan.

It was an interesting pair: the other was short but looked powerful, the other was much taller and leaner but in his skinny way muscular as well… and they both were masters in balance. It was the longest match there was that day as it took almost ten minutes. And the people were really living along the fight hit by hit and manouver by manouver.

There was no anticipation period or things like that but both men went on after each other from the moment Lithor whistled them free to start. A mighty blow followed each other and the way they both managed to balance themselves to hit back just raised a series of accepting and admiring “Oohh’s”, “Eehhsss” and “Wooow’s” from the crowd. Both men managed to balance themselves from downright impossible situations to swing the sack at the other making the other to struggle with balance and gaining time to reach his own. It was pure acrobatics!

But finally it came to an end. Stigend was turning around imbalanced by a blow by Dan with only one foot on the log and managed to give a blow to Dan, but this time it didn’t hit as well as he would have wished. Dan wavered and had to correct his standing but he was quick enough to give a blow back when Stigend was just reaching balance and trying to deal Dan a second blow. The sacks met in the mid-air and with both contestants both tired and already somewhat imbalanced they both fell down.

Stigend hit the ground first followed immediately by Dan.

“Rematch! Rematch!” Garstan and Harreld howled and the crowds cheered to the suggestion and the performance they had just witnessed.

“Sorry, the first to hit the ground loses. Plain rules talk. And I don’t think these two wish to have a rematch for some time… Let them rest now. Dan is the winner!” Lithor announced. The crowds were partly murmuring but Lithor’s next call changed the attitude in a wink of an eye. “The last round one match is between Harreld and Erbrand! Please welcome the heroes!” A huge cheer followed as the last pair climbed up to their starting positions on the ridgepole.


That match was much anticipated. So much indeed that after Lithor gave them a go the crowd fell silent just waiting for what was to come. Looking at the earlier performances this was in a way the moral final after all, or so many people felt it was.

Garstan and Stigend remembered the last meters of the task-race and were filled with pride of their fellow-craftsman. “You won him once already! Make it two!”, Garstan shouted when the two were just eyeing each other and the crowd was silent. “Soldiers fight the war, craftsmen stay on board!” Stigend added half aloud, gaining a few short-lived laughs. It was tense not only on the ridgepole where the two were feverishly thinking how to proceed but everyone was waiting for the first move.

Finally Erbrand moved. He raised his sack up and rolled it over his head a few times leaning forwards as if to gather force making a charge. And then he dashed towards Harreld.

That bold move got Harreld by surprise as he hadn’t anticipated that someone would charge on him that determinately. Sure they knew he was bigger and stronger? But he had to react immediately, and he did so with waving his sack from left to right and rushing forwards with full speed to meet Erbrand in the middle of the pole.

But Erbrand had bluffed it all the way. As soon as Harreld got into motion and charged forwards Erbrand he let the sack loose and dived forwards as fast as he could.

Harreld had no chance to stop his movement and his sack only met with thin air while he stumbled on Erbrand laying low and keeping a tight grasp of the pole. Harreld tumbled over Erbrand and fell down while Erbrand tried to keep his grip of the log after the impact with both his arms and legs. He managed it just as long as it took for Harreld to fall down but then also his grip loosened and he fell as well.

“Erbrand is the winner!” Lithor called and the crowds cheered once again even if they were a bit disappointed that the match had ended so soon. Stigend and Garstan were not too happy about the outcome as they were close friends of Harreld, but they acknowledged the sheer cunning of Erbrand’s plan and gave it it’s due cheer as well. This was entertaining after all.

"So the semifinals will be Kara against Cnebba and Dan against Erbrand!" Lithor called and the crowd seemed to be happy about that... even if a bit confused still.

[Kath]

Frodides was keeping herself well out of the way of all the noise and fuss outside ... but was keeping herself well informed all the same. Kara was under orders to report back to the kitchen with every new piece of information and it seemed that she had just found herself a new helper.

"What's going on there?" she asked as Modtryth arrived.

"Dagger-throwing at the moment, and it's sack-fighting next. Do you need help?" Modtryth replied.

"You can chop these." Frodides answered, thrusting a board of rolls toward Modtryth. "How is the throwing going along? Not a very interesting game I suppose."

"Oh but it is!" Modtryth replied, and Frodides was pleased to find a captivating storyteller in her friend as the woman proceeded to tell the tale of the event so far. Even as she listened Frodides made a note of that, Kara was good at getting the information across but she had no real understanding of how to make it into a good story. Modtryth on the other hand, now there was a woman with the gift.

~ ~ ~

Having made her way back into the crowd after winning her own heat Kara cheered and hollered almost alone as Erbrand threw caution to the wind and displayed some brilliant tactics that threw Harreld off completely. Even as he picked himself up off the ground she was heading towards him, trailing Ginna who wished to comiserate with Harreld in her wake.

"Well done!" She called out as she approached the slightly dishevelled Erbrand, who had just shaken hands with Harreld who was shaking his head in baffled resignation. "Where did you think of a move like that?"

"Oh I just ... well, I'm not sure." Erbrand replied, seeming a little flustered, though it could well have been that he was simply disorientated from his tumble off the log. "It just seemed like a good idea at the time!"

"It was a good idea." Kara cried, still buoyed by the excitement in the air. "You should have seen Harreld's face when he realised what was going to happen," she continued, trying to lower her voice so as not to embarrass the poor smith, "I hope your next opponent doesn't underestimate you!"

"I'm not sure how much of a chance I'm going to have against Dan." Erbrand said. "That fight between him and Stigend was tough, and I can hardly try the same trick again."

"You'll be alright." Kara said smiling. "You're tough too remember? Now wish me luck!" She gestured to Cnebba and laughed. "I was lucky with Javan, young Cnebba there is a fighter."

"Well good luck." Erbrand said. "I'll be cheering for you."

[littlemanpoet]

In the dagger throwing contest Harreld placed second twice. He was pleased. He had more experience fixing daggers than throwing them, but it seemed that his talents and trade lent themselves to being a fair shot at dagger throwing. Harreld was enjoying himself. He went over to Scyld and congratulated him on his victory. Scyld hesitated before replying in a gentelmanly fashion. Harreld regarded him briefly with a slightly raised eyebrow and a small smile on his face: this Scyld's mind seemed to work maybe somewhat as his own did, hearing possible words to be said in his mind first before choosing to release them for hearing.

"Only by my luck was it close at all, my friend," Harreld replied. "I hope you join us in one or more of the games yet remaining."

Scyld was considering a reply but then Ginna sauntered up to him with that mischievous glint in her eye, and the crowd parted as if she were royalty making her way to her claim. He melted inside all over again. He fought down a strong hunger to take her in his arms right then and there and plant a victory kiss on her smiling lips.

Then came the kitchen wager quip, and he laughed hard. It was a relief to laugh, a place to safely put his passion.

The only response that flitted through his mind should not be said, so he kept it to himself. Would you wager your hand in marriage? Make that bet and I would stop at nothing to win you. Instead of saying this, he offered his arm to her with a "my lady" on his lips, and her hand in the crook of his elbow, he ushered her along with the rest of the exuberant crowd to the next venue, the sack fight.

After he was bested by Erbrand in a moment, he humbly went over to stand by Ginna and said, "It appears that I need more than your good luck at these games. I must keep my head about me, my lady."

[Lhunardawen]

Harreld seemed so dejected at his loss that Ginna wanted to wrap her arms around him amidst all the onlookers, but something told her this was probably not a good thing to do. Instead she took one of his large hands and gave him a small smile of sympathy.

"There will always be some battles you can't win." Keeping her tone light, she added, "Perhaps aside from being your good luck charm, I'm also a cause for your distraction? Just give me the word, Harreld, and I'll keep out of your sight."

Still with a bit of a smile, she looked into his eyes and raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly, wondering which one he would choose her to be.

[Nogrod]

Cnebba and Kara climbed to the pole and readied themselves to start. It was clear that Kara was both bigger and more powerful of the two but would Cnebba’s energy and balance beat that; that was the question people mulled about when Lithor finally announced the match. “Now my friends we’ll have the second round! Let the best man… erm… the best person win!” With that he whistled the start-signal.

The crowd cheered as the two started the match immediately without any hesitation or tactical manouvers. Cnebba pressed on with gusto but Kara defended calmly. Slowly there developed something like a rhythm to the sacks banging on each other. From left, from right, from left, from right…

Suddenly, just before the sacks were going to hit each other Kara staggered and her sack hit the pole instead of Cnebba’s sack which now flew to the left unhindered causing Cnebba to lose his balance. Kara only tried to pull back to regain her balance leaning backwards when her sack hit Cnebba’s from under giving it the final push that sent Cnebba down to the hays.

The crowd was as astonished as the contestants were about the sudden ending of the match but then burst into hurrays and laughter. “Kara has reached the final!” Lithor announced.

“Go Kara go! Go Kara go!” people yelled as she came down from the pole, but when she took Cnebba into her arms and they walked out from under the pole hand in hand the crowd exploded into applause shouting the names of both contestants.

Kara looked down on Cnebba as they walked, “That was an accident, you know? I was as surprised as you were…” she said smiling. Cnebba nodded and returned the smile: “I’ll be cheering for you in the final, Kara!”

“And then, we’ll see who is going to meet the invincible Kara in the final! I’ll give you Erbrand and Dan!” Lithor had to shout as loud as he could to be able to beat the cheers from the crowd.

The match between Dan and Erbrand was a tough one. Both dealt blows to each other but everytime Dan hit his mark Erbrand had to perform his best to regain his balance while Dan seemed to have no trouble at all with that. But Dan had to be constantly anticipating Erbrand’s different swings and ploys. Dan remembered how Erbrand had made his first victory and was on the look out for any similar trick.

It was clear Erbrand would not outbalance Dan, and if he didn’t come up with something and pretty soon it would only be a question of time when Dan would bring him down.

And the time came. Dan made a direct hit to Erbrand’s side sending him falling. But Erbrand managed to give a blow back to Dan’s lower legs while going down as Dan wasn’t defending anymore but mainly getting ready to celebrate a victory. And Dan fell as well. But unlike Dan who fell down directly Erbrand got a hold of the pole with one arm and leg thus giving him the important seconds. When his grip loosened and he finally fell down Dan had already hit the ground.

“Erbrand to the final!” Lithor shouted and the crowds were entertained indeed.

[littlemanpoet]

"...Just give me the word, Harreld, and I'll keep out of your sight." Smiling, Ginna looked up into his eyes with a very slightly raised brow. Harreld knew a test when he saw one. He grinned and raised his own brow, looking her in the eye.

"I will take you as a distraction to my eye instead of a good luck charm every time." He brought the hand she had placed in his up to his lips and kissed it. She was beaming, smiling from ear to ear, looking all the more winsome for it. He laughed heartily from happiness and added his cheers to the crowd as the sack fights progressed.

"Ha ha!" shouted Harreld when Erbrand had won his fight with Dan, "we saw Kara and Erbrand as a team in the three legged race, now we shall see how they fare as foes!"

[Nogrod]

It seemed that everyone around the Mead Hall had gathered around to see the final of the sack-fight. Not only because it had been a most entertaining game but also because of the unforeseen final between Erbrand and Kara. Everyone wished to see how it would go.

"Let me introduce to you, on the left, our beloved Kara without whom we'd starve to death on daily basis!" Lithor shouted as Kara climbed up to the pole. The crowd went wild with cheers. "And on the right, our sneaky leatherman Erbrand of Aldburg!" There was a lot of yelling, clapping of hands and hurrays.

"Contestants, are you ready?", Lithor asked and both nodded.

There was the whistle. And then there was silence.

Kara looked at Erbrand and smiled - and Erbrand smiled back even if he knew the situation was quite awkward.

"So you're going to hit a lady then, Aldburgian?" Kara asked aloud looking at Erbrand to the eye.

Erbrand frowned and turned a bit sideways to look at the crowd gathered around, his expression begging for any reaction to how he should go on with the fight or what was exactly expected from him in this situation.

Suddenly he felt a heavy blow of a sack in the back of his head and he went falling down. The crowd just bursted with cheers and laughter and Kara was waving the sack above her head gleefully, smiling down to her beaten opponent.

"Kara is the victor!" Lithor yelled and a celebration began.

And there were a lots of hands helping Erbrand up.

[Folwren]

Thornden cheered and laughed along with the rest of the audience. He thoroughly enjoyed the sack fight and the conclusion was the best part of all. He was not among the first to reach Erbrand, and by the time he was near him, he was already being helped up. Thornden, then, with a smile turned and offered a hand to Kara. She took it and leaped lightly down from the pole, smiling and gasping with laughter. She turned at once to Erbrand.

The spirits of the company were very high. Thornden felt it and was glad. His eyes swept over the people. There was the immediate press of people around Erbrand and Kara, congratulating them both. Standing a few paces away stood Harreld and Ginna, enjoying the sight immensely, but looking as though they enjoyed each other’s company even more. Up beyond them sat Rowenna and Saeryn, who had returned there after her defeat in the dagger throwing.

There were two empty chairs beside Saeryn, which surprised Thornden. He expected to see Eodwine there, but neither he nor Degas were to be seen. They must have left directly after the dagger throwing contest. Thornden silently wished that he were here now to see the happiness of his people. Such expression in all of their faces and voices were clear reflections of his good and noble lordship. No doubt he would be back soon, though. He must, for the quarterstaff fighting was to come next. Then he would see the merriment and joy.

With a smile, Thornden turned again to those close at hand. He was looking forward to the next game very much. At that moment, he heard Javan’s voice through the gabble of the crowd -

“Lithor! Lithor, what game is next?”

“The quarterstaves.”

“Ha! Did you hear that?” Javan asked, turning with a bright grin toward Cnebba and Garmund. “My brother’s in that! I’ll bet you anything you name that he’ll win!”

Thornden grinned widely and turned and walked away. He would not stay and hear what bet was placed upon his winning or losing.

[Groin Redbeard]

It was a very uncomfortable position for Erbrand to be in. He had hoped that either he or Kara would be eliminated from the games before the final match, however, fate took a different turn. Kara didn't seem to mind when Erbrand faced her and seemed rather glad that it was him whom she was fighting.

The round began but Erbrand held back what would be his normal instinct of attack. She smiled at him, he wondered if she knew he wouldn't hurt her, after much delay and pleading looks at the crowd he felt a thud on the back of his head and another thud when he hit the ground. Erbrand looked stunned and shocked at the sudden turn of events, but Kara was laughing gleefully and was waving the sack above her head, of course she knew he wouldn't hurt her.

Erbrand accepted one of the many hands that were offered him and was pulled up. A swarm of people pressed between him and Kara and for a long moment he was bewildered by all the handshaking and congratulations being exchanged between them. Presently Erbrand broke away from the crowd with Kara.

"A well won game, my friend," said Erbrand, embracing Kara in a hug, "but I'm afraid that Lithor's description of me being sneaky should apply to you."

"I hope I haven't hurt you in the fall." Kara responded apologetically.

"Just my pride, but out of all the players I'm glad that it was you who bested me. This defeat shall be much easier for me to bear."

[Nogrod]

“Ha! Did you hear that?” Javan asked, turning with a bright grin toward Cnebba and Garmund. “My brother’s in that! I’ll bet you anything you name that he’ll win!”

The two younger boys looked at each other excited. Cnebba was just opening his mouth when suddenly Garmund put his hand to Cnebba's shoulder silencing him and turned towards Javan.

"We'll think about it, just wait a minute." With that he dragged Cnebba along with him a few yards away from Javan.

They spoke in lowered voices.

"He said he would bet anything we'd name? The dagger Garmund, the dagger!" Cnebba protested Garmund treating him like some half-witted child.

"Now listen, he will ask something as a bet from us as well, didn't you think of that?" Garmund hissed glancing back at Javan to see if he was able to hear what they said or not.

Cnebba gave a deep sigh as he hadn't actually come to think of that. Finally he raised his eyes to meet with Garmund's with a worried questioning look. "What do you think he would bet for the dagger? Our Rohirrim? Those my dad made?"

"I'm afraid he wouldn't bet it for anything less", Garmund nodded. "And Thornden is a mighty warrior."

"But isn't lord Eodwine himself competing? And Harreld, and dad... and... well your dad... and that freaky newcomer, that Crabath...thannan... or what was it, or that Erbrand or... "

"Thornden is the chief of all the soldiers here. Do you think he got into that place for nothing?", Garmund snapped back. "The dagger is neat but I wouldn't trade it to my rohir-soldier."

There was a difference there. Even if the rohirrim Stigend had carved for the boys were probably the finest pieces of wooden art he had ever produced, Cnebba was used to having such wooden toys all his life.

"So what do you say then? We can't step back from it now?" Cnebba came down on Garmund for an answer.

Garmund started thinking about it but it was Cnebba who came up with the idea first.

"Hey, how about he will be our slave for a week if he loses? Like making our beds, serving us food and doing our work? We can do the same but it's not so bad as we are two."

Garmund looked delighted first but then fell a bit backwards. "Do you think he would take that?"

"He can't step back from it either?" Cnebba suggested, smiling.

Garmund burst into laughter. "You're right! He can't!" And with that Garmund turned around to meet Javan. Cnebba followed suite.


"Okay Javan, here's the deal!" Garmund said to Javan as he reached him and waited for Cnebba to come beside him. "If Thornden doesn't win you'll be our servant for two weeks. You'll serve us in all we want you to. If Thornden wins, we'll do the same for you." Garmund stared at Javan as if challenging him to keep his word.

[Groin Redbeard]

"Best of luck in the staff-fight, Erbrand," and with that Kara gave him a playful wink and bounded off to find her seat.

As Kara passed through the players Thornden bowed slightly as she passed and she returned the formal gesture with a slight curtsy. Thornden's eyes did not leaver her until she had taken her seat on the scar.

Erbrand saw this, he felt his blood boil at the site of another man talking to Kara, however formal it was. Just like that morning with Crabannan, Erbrand approached the soldier; Thornden looked up and smiled but it quickly changed to a confused look as Erbrand glared at him.

"Many thanks for your help, but I'll thank you to stay away from her." said Erbrand, glancing up at Kara who was busy in discussion with someone else.

[Folwren]

Thornden was taken aback. There was a flicker of confusion on his face, and then he cried in surprise, “Do you mean Kara?” One fragment of astonished laughter escaped him before Erbrand glared him into silence. The fellow was absolutely serious! He was actually offended!

“I have no idea what you’re referring to, Erbrand. Kara’s been here as long as I have and there’s nothing...” he paused. He didn’t know what to say; this was so unexpected. He laughed again, briefly, and then his face was serious. “What are you talking about?” he finally asked.

-------------
Javan

They were taking a long time deciding. Javan stood back, his arms folded. People were beginning to leave, preparing for the next event, and the boys were still talking. Javan didn’t know whether to be worried about what they were concocting some horrible idea or to criticize them for not being able to agree on anything quickly.

In another moment, he had his answer. They turned towards him, and they both looked sly. They hadn’t been disagreeing, they’d been concocting.

“Okay, Javan, here’s the deal!” Garmund put his hands on his hips as he stated it. “If Thornden doesn’t win you’ll be our servants for two weeks. You’ll serve us in all we want you to. If Thornden wins, we’ll do the same for you.”

Javan’s mouth pulled up on one side. This was an unexpected move. He had figured they would ask for his knife, or something else he had, but this idea had never occurred to him. It was bad enough having to be with them in the mornings for their archery lesson - but to be at their beck and call?

But then Garmund lifted an eyebrow and he and Cnebba snuck an obvious glance to each other. They thought he would back down!

"I'll take your wager," he said. "But see here, two weeks is a long time for one bet. Make it one week."

[Groin Redbeard]

Thornden was genuinly confused on the subject. However, Erbrand did not share in the amusement that Thornden was benifitting from.

It was unnatural for him to explode at every man who even mentions or glanced at, bowed to, or talks to Kara. This was no longer an out of the ordinary occurance as it used to be, he coveted the moments that others spent around Kara. Thornden still wore the blank expression and glanced back and forth between Kara and Erbrand.

"I mean Kara," Erbrand responded hotly, "don't get any ideas about her, especially now! I've waited too long for this and I won't have it spoiled by anyone. Not you not Crabannan, not the eorl himself!"

[Folwren]

This was bordering on absurdity. The man was getting jealous for no reason. Thornden had no thought of fulfilling Erbrand’s wants - he wasn’t going to cease speaking and being a friend to Kara because Erbrand was selfish, and the sooner Erbrand realized it, the better.

“Ideas?” Thornden said. “Ideas about Kara? Man, if I were going to fall in love with her, it would have been long before you came around. Listen,” he said, when Erbrand made an impatient and slightly threatening movement, “I have no intentions whatsoever in the form of matrimony towards Kara, and I respect her far too much to make any advances otherwise, as you well know. I resent the fact that you would even think as much. But putting that aside, let me give you a piece of advice. Kara doesn’t want you fighting over her like a spoiled little boy, and the more you quarrel with people - anyone, including Crabannan, but especially lord Eodwine and myself - the less likely she’ll be to accept you when your chance comes to ask her. If you’ve really waited as long as you think you have, don’t ruin it by making a fool of yourself.”

[Folwren]

Since seeing Degas and Eodwine walk off together, Saeryn had not had a chance to speak to either of them, although she had seen them, and competed against Eodwine, since they had returned. They had stood together and cheered and laughed as the sack fight was battled out, and now it was over, Eodwine turned and asked her to walk back to their seats with him.

Saeryn looked up at him and flashed a broad smile at him. They turned and started slowly to walk towards the chairs. In her mind’s eye she saw Erbrand and Kara embracing, and Harreld and Ginna watching at a little distance, holding hands. She glanced at Eodwine and thought about how much she wanted to touch him, if only to hold hands.

At the same moment, he looked in her direction, and must have seen the odd glancing look. “What?” he asked, smiling.

“Nothing!” she said. “I was just thinking how wonderful, if not slightly odd it is, that since coming to Scarburg your people have seemed to find their mates!”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Not just his people," Degas interrupted, approaching from behind. "Remember that it was in Eodwine's halls that I met my Linduial as well. Perhaps it is something in the water."

He departed with a smile to find Nain, though Degas's smile waned as he searched for the Dwarf. His conversation, though he liked the Dwarf enough for casual geniality, was intended for business.

He found him, as he often did, seeking invisibility a little apart from the crowd. Nain's eyes were fixed on Erbrand, and were unreadable.

"Friend," Degas asked, "might I borrow you for a time?"

[Formendacil]

Náin's long day grew longer as the games dragged on, and although the soothing taste of ale mellowed his disposition slightly, it was also making him less alert, which irritated him insofar as he noticed it. He was glad of a distraction, therefore, and becoming more so as he heard what he thought was Erbrand telling Thornden off for assisting Kara.

This would have irked the Dwarf at the best of times, and he muttered to himself that it was lucky Erbrand was speaking so to Thornden rather than himself, because the trapper might find himself cleft in two. Náin had avoided the games not only because of basic Dwarven disinterest, but also because of the artificial nature of the contests. As a Dwarf, there could be no reasonable competition with a Man, and long centuries of experience had taught Dwarves not to engage in it. If the Dwarves won, Men tended to dislike them and alliances were not strengthened, and if Men won, they tended to respect Dwarves less and try to take advantage of them. Even with this being the case, however, Náin was reasonably confident that Erbrand would not have lasted long under the threat of his axe, and took another mouthful of ale, muttering the more about fool humans.

It was hardly his place anyway, he thought, to bother defending the honour of Kara or disabusing Erbrand of whatever notions he may have--a Dwarf would not make a seemly champion for a human maiden--but he admitted to himself that, on the basis of one day's acquaintance, he wouldn't mind at all if Thornden taught Erbrand a lesson and the trapper left Kara alone. Náin was fond of Kara's company, and did not look favourably on Erbrand's presence.

Such were the thoughts rumbling through his tired mind when Degas came up and addressed him.

"Friend," Degas asked, "might I borrow you for a time?"

"Aye," replied Náin. "Provided you do not intend to push me into the remaining competitions, I am at your service."

[Groin Redbeard]

Several of Thornden’s words struck a chord of remorse in Erbrand. He now realized that he shouldn’t have exploded at the soldier, which surely would not have prompted his scolding. Though for the most part Thornden was just in his tie-raid, Erbrand still resented the fact that the man laughed at him and thus prompted his heated response and then in turn prompted Thornden’s scolding of Erbrand for doing so. Doing the best he could, Erbrand restrained his intentions of striking the man across the face, and tried to respond as civilly as possible.

“Your words cut deep Thornden,” Erbrand said, forcing the words out with an effort. “Though I am sorry for raising voice against you, I am not regretful of my approaching you. As much as you have told me, you have no feelings toward Kara. Then why this magnificent speech, as if prepared or rehearsed on another, for such an occasion? Therefore, I repeat my threat: stay away from Kara!”

Erbrand was not yelling, but his words held enough weight and venom in it to cause Thornden to spring to his feet, ready to fight if it was the trapper’s choice. Erbrand had been straining himself to hold back a dam of anger he was feeling at the moment, and this caused the dam to break.

“I also thank you for your kind opinion of me,” Erbrand said in mock appreciation. “While it might be proper for soldiers of the eorl to insult a man to his face, it is not so where I am from. You, sir, are no less a fool as I am, not fit to put judgement on others.

“I will also thank you to keep your nose out of my private business,” Erbrand continued with outward disdain and pointing his finger at the younger man as if it were a weapon that he could stab Thornden with. “The affairs of Crabannan and I are no concern of yours, the events of this morning were unknown, as far as I knew. Have the lord Eodwine’s soldiers sunken to eavesdropping over their subject’s doings, or send their brats to obtain information for them? Your words of correction are haughty and befit a royal cub, are you also to subjugate my actions as well as my allegiance? Handle your situations in a way that you think best, but do not think of lording your advice over me again. Thornden might be chief of soldiers here at Scarburg but he is not a wise ruler of men, as is your superior. You may command my allegiance, but you cannot command my conscience and I tell you that I will not yield that right to any man, not to you, not to the eorl, not to the king himself!”

“Insolent wretch!” Thornden hissed under his breath, now as ready as Erbrand to start the fight, which had miraculously delayed itself so far.

“There is nothing I would like better than a fight with you, Thornden, and if not for the presence of so many people I would feign have already started one. I am sure that a “noble” such as yourself would not think of doing such a thing,” Erbrand wanted to wound Thornden’s pride, as Thornden had done to him, with these last words, seeing how ready the soldier was to fight. “But see, even now Lithor stands ready to begin the staff-fight. So I shall wait to face you in the games and deal a good manny damaging blows to you before I am sure to be bested by your superior skill.”

[Nogrod]

"Now hear, hear!" Lithor called the people who had spreaded around the one-time-to-be front-yard after the sackfight. "The quarterstaves have been brought forwards and the battlefield has been marked... Hear, hear! The next game is about to begin!"

Lithor gazed around and saw people gathering around while some others seemed still to be busy with their discussions.

"Let me call forwards the caretaker and the judge of the competition... Wilcred!"

There were applauses as the veteran soldier came forwards and turned to face the gathering crowd.

"Now my friends, Lithor here has other duties so I have been chosen to represent the authority around here. And my word will be the final word indeed."

Wilcred wasn't basically the entertainer or the smooth-talker but when faced with a duty he took pride in performing it well.

"So let me remind you of the rules", he started as people were pouring in around the flagged square the fight would take place. "Security first. Any deliberate hits on the head of an opponent will lead to an immediate elimination of that contestant. And if someone hits another to the head because of negligence or thoughtlessness, that contestant will be eliminated as well. The decision as to when that is the case is solely mine."

Wilcred looked around to see that everyone understood even if he thought a few of the contestants hadn't yet arrived. But he continued nevertheless. "Also anyone straying outside the fighting area is eliminated from the game. We have keen eyes reporting on that!" With it he pointed to the youngsters who were situated at the cornerpoles. The crowd gave a cheer to them.

"It should go without saying that if someone gives up or is knocked down so that he can't rise up in decent time he is eliminated from the game. But as we are having a friendly game and not any brutal death-match, three clean hits to the body will suffice for elimination of a contestant as well - if someone is able to take three hits in the first place without surrendering." Some people thought Wilcred was smiling at that point but it was hard to say.

"And anyone hitting an opponent who is down will be not only eliminated from the game but will face a further punishment from me - and I believe from all the other contestants, collectivily! Just remember the chivalric conduct in the middle of the fight. There will be bruises but let's not injure anyone. If you are in a position to deal a decisive blow to your opponent who is down just call it." Wilcred felt stupid to voice the last one but there were so many new people around both in the ranks of the men at arms and others he just felt a need to make the point.

"Could I have the contestants here then?"

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine

Eodwine and Degas had returned just in time for the sack fight. After they had cheered together with much laughter throughout, they walked side by side to the chairs they had occupied before, to wait for the quarterstaff competition. She had looked at him with a curious glint in her eye - one of the many things that had always kept him interested in her - and he had asked with a single word what was on her mind. Saeryn said, “I was just thinking how wonderful, if not slightly odd it is, that since coming to Scarburg your people have seemed to find their mates!”

"Not just his people," Degas interrupted, approaching from behind. "Remember that it was in Eodwine's halls that I met my Linduial as well. Perhaps it is something in the water." He departed with a smile before either of them could offer a retort.

"Nothing odd about it," Eodwine commented as they took their seats. "Here we have many unattached young men and women. What could be more natural than likely couples emerging? But yes, not only wonderful, but very promising. What I'm wondering is, what of Thornden? He seems a likely up and comer, and yet know lass seems to be quite the fit for him, nor he for her, whoever that might be.

"But just between you and me, I think that if our smith had not gotten such a fire lit in his heart for Ginna, I would have expected that she'd make a good match for our Thornden. What think you?" Before Saeryn could answer, the quarterstaff fight was announced and Eodwine was called upon to take his spot . "My apologies," he bowed, "I must be off. Cheer me on!"

Rowenna

Rowenna had watched Degas return with Eodwine from their private walk. She had wanted to speak to Degas again, but the sack fight grabbed everyone's interest and she let the matter be. When it was done, Degas moved quickly in the wake of Eodwine and Saeryn, then passed them by in pursuit of some unknown quarry. She sighed. Her words with him would have to wait. She kept an eye out for him as the games continued.

Harreld

Harreld laughed long and loud at the outcome of the sack fight, certainly not at Erbrand, but at the sheer spunk of Kara for pulling out the unexpected victory the way she did it. But upon second thought, he guessed that he would have fared no better had it been he and Ginna. "I dare say," he said to her, "that you would have caught me in the same way."

Ginna offered a smiling response, but her words were lost to Harreld's hearing by a sudden outburst before them. Erbrand and Thornden were exchaning hard words. Harreld frowned. He heard Kara's name bandied about by both of them.

"This is not good," Harreld said. "What ails the two of them?"

Then they both heard the now oft repeated threat from Erbrand: 'stay away from her!'

"It seems I must change my words. What ails Erbrand? But I have my answer already." He kept his answer in his head, however. He counted Thornden a good friend, though they did not get much chance to talk. The almbudsman was stout and true, and his courtesy was boundless. This Erbrand was behaving like a drunken lout. That Harreld also kept to himself. Then again, Harreld had seen his brother Garreth behave often enough like a drunken lout, but always comical. This was not comical at all. Harreld's brows lowered and he disengaged his hand from Ginna's.

"Excuse me, my lass, I must stand by the side of my friend." If Ginna offered words of support or fear, he gave no regard. He strode forward, glowering, and stood as tall and dour as he knew how not a yard behind, silently glaring at Erbrand.

[Folwren]

Thornden heard a step behind him, but he didn’t turn. His attention was locked on Erbrand. This had passed the act of folly stage. Erbrand’s words were intentionally insulting and meant to light any temper however mild. Thornden’s eyes flashed angrily, but he kept his mouth shut and made no movement whatsoever.

Behind him, a voice spoke out dangerously. “If you deal him treacherously in the games, once he’s bested you, I’ll do it again.”

Erbrand looked beyond Thornden at the speaker, his eyes sending sparks. “He may need your help anyway,” he said. Harreld moved forward swiftly, closing in on Erbrand with an unmistakable look on his face.

Thornden turned and interceded. “No, Harreld! Not here and not now.” He dragged him back by his arm and Harreld gave way. Thornden turned again to Erbrand. “You are mistaken, Erbrand, in what I said. I can not see what your intent or your fear is here. I will not fight you. Not now, and unless chance puts us together in the contest without possible avoidance, I will not fight you there, either. Now let’s go, and let’s not hear any more of this.”

[Nogrod]

"Now I would like to ask for our dear Kara to pick up two pebbles from this hat I have here to find out which are the the two first games today!" Wilcred said and people started cheering and calling her name enthusiastically.

When she finally came forwards Wilcred withheld the hat for a second eyeing the people around. "Now this will be a fight between pairs for otherwise we would still be fighting when the night falls and we have other games to come. And because we have six pairs, two of them will get a free ride to the second round." There were some scattered mumbles and grumbles but most people seemed to think it a good, or at least a tolerable idea.

"Now I have decided that Lord Eodwine and Thornden as the two highest ranking officials of this Mead Hall will get straight to the second round, as well as our veteran soldiers Balvir and Lithor. You know we older men don't have the feet of you younger ones any more and we grow tired after a lot of action... so it's only fair as these men have fought more than you younger ones combined anyway." People smiled and some cheered, seemingly accepting the decision.

Suddenly Wilcred met the eyes of Crabannan and felt a need to add: "Except Crabannan here, but he's no youngster either. Sorry mate, but you'll have to show your stamina here." With that he winked him an eye and turned back to face Kara.

"Okay my dear, pick two pebbles and give them to me one at the time." Kara did what was asked of her.

"So our first match is one between... Aethelstan and Osmund! ... And that is against..." He took the second pebble from Kara. "Against Dan and Crabannan!" The crowd cheered with anticipation. The two young soldiers against the two newcomers. This would indeed be a match worth seeing.

"And the second match will be that between..." Wilcred nodded to Kara to give him the remaining pebbles just for formality. And he indeed looked at the pebbles Kara placed into his palm before announcing the second match. "Garstan and Stigend against Harreld and Erbrand! The craftsmen fight!!!" The crowd cheered even more than the last time. It would be very interesting indeed to see how those respected craftsmen would do in a fight which wasn't exactly their homeground.

Little did Wilcred or most of the others know about what had just happened between Erbrand and Harreld. But the two looked at each other studying the other's expression closely. This would not be the easiest of companies.

[Nogrod]

After receiving their staffs Dan and Crabannan shook hands and wished each other good luck. “You wish to go for either especially, Drúedan?” Crabannan asked. Dan shook his head slowly looking at the soldier of fortune in the eye. “Let’s see what they do and act accordingly… Northener” he answered. They exchanged smiles.

“They will press on from the beginning so let’s just wait for their mistakes, I’ve been in a fight or two. Just don’t wear yourself down, let them do the work in the beginning.” Crabannan hissed to his companion as they walked into the flagged area. Dan nodded.

---

“Okay Aeth… I know what you’re thinking. And I do disagree.” Osmund took Aethelstan by the arm and drew him a few steps back as they were approaching the flagged area. “You feel bitter because of losing your third in command status to an oldie and you wish to challenge that Crabannan-fellow just because of his age. But you will make it too personal even if it wasn’t him you lost your place… You’ll lose your wits with him – and then you lose. I know you well enough to see that. Leave him to me and take care of the Drúadan. You can then help me finish the odd-warrior off if he proves tricky. I’ll hold against him that time – and it shouldn’t take you too long to be clear with that little guy.”

Aethelstan was about to protest but all Osmund said was painfully true. He nodded. “So be it then. Just see that you don’t take three hits before I take that weirdo out of the game.”

“I’ll wear him down, trust me.” Osmund answered. They took each other from the shoulder and nodded in agreement.

---

“Teams ready?” Wilcred asked after all four had entered the marked area. After receiving nods from everyone he blew his horn to mark the fight started.

As Crabannan had suspected the younger soldiers charged aggressively from the moment the horn blew. The staves hit each other in quick succession as Aethelstan and Osmund pressed on and the crowd had hard time to follow the advancement of the match for all the action.

After all the pressing Aethelstan finally managed to make a clean hit on Dan’s side when he was still a bit confused after making a great defensive move from the earlier attack. “One hit against Dan!” Wiclred announced. “And one against Crabannan!”, he had to fill in immediately as Osmund managed to glide the point of his staff forcefully into Crabannan’s abdomen after a lengthy struggle of wielding a staff against another. Crabannan grinned in pain but seemed decided not to care of it.


Aethelstan was clearly having the upper hand in his fight with Dan. The former third in command of the Mead Hall had really decided to show his qualities and he pressed incessantly over Dan who had hard times to just stay afoot not to say parrying the hits that rained down on him one after another. It was mostly due to his great balance and stamina he still kept on with the fight.

What was anticipated actually happened pretty soon. With his superior strengtht Aethelstan finally managed to pull Dan’s staff down with a quick jerk so that Dan was forced to lose his balance and he fell down on his knees. Aethelstan landed a mighty blow on Dan’s back sending him down on all fours.

“Second hit against Dan!”, Wilcred shouted and the crowd cheered for the performance. But Dan was not beaten yet. Using the short moment Aethelstan seemed to be a bit too confident about his victory looking at the crowd around, Dan rolled around and hit Aethelstan to the back as hard as he could sending him off balance as well. “First hit against Aethelstan!” Wilcred cried for the enjoyment of the crowd. It was clearly not over yet.


Meanwhile Osmund had kept on pressing Crabannan as well. And Crabannan had to admit this young soldier really had stamina to go for it attack after attack. He had been waiting for the lad to make a mistake and had just defended himself but it seemed there were no mistakes coming from his side – and in the end the lad managed to get through his defences the second time. “Second hit against Crabannan!”, Wilcred shouted as Osmund’s staff landed down on Crabannan’s shoulder with force.

Okay, this is it. This will not do… Crabannan cursed himself while regaining balance and trying to shut off the pain. I need to start fighting.

The sudden change of pace by Crabannan was met with awe by the crowd… and by Osmund particularly as he found himself in trouble he had not been anticipating. The old man had just somehow burst full of energy and dedication. Was this the same man, Osmund wondered as he backed away trying to parry the hits raining on him. “First hit against Osmund!” Wilcred called as Crabannan hit him hard on the side just plain outmanouvering him. “Second hit against Osmund!” Wilcred cried as Crabannan’s blow to Osmund’s chest sent him crawling backwards just concentrating on keeping the balance. The tables had been turned.

As Osmund struggled with his balance Crabannan went for the killer and waved his staff backhanded from behind sweeping Osmund’s legs from the ground and sending him backwards to the grass. And before Osmund had time to come to grips with the situation he felt the point of Crabannan’s staff on his throat pressing it gently but firmly.

“Call!”, Crabannan shouted and looked at Wilcred. “Osmund is called off!” Wilcred confirmed. “Please Osmund get away from the flagged area!”


Just before these dramatic moments Aethelstan had regained his balance and his focus was once again in a fight that had not ended yet even if he had thought so. But at the same time he saw that Dan had only managed to stand upright. So before Dan had any more time to adjust himself to the situation standing up once again he felt a heavy blow in his abdomen that made him howl from pain and just bending down from pain he felt a second blow in his back sending him down again. “Third and fourth hit for Dan, Dan’s out!” Wilcred cried and the crowd cheered wildly looking forwards to the remaining match of the titans.

That was a wish that proved to be short-lived. It was only that Aethelstan had risen his gaze from Dan when he saw Crabannan coming towards him – and the staff was already swinging. Aethelstan had no time to defend as Crabannan took him totally unawares. The blow landed to his waist and sent him tumbling backwards. The second blow to his chest just sent him backwards with more speed. “Two hits against Aethelstan!”, Wilcred shouted as excited as the crowd.

Just as Aethelstan realised he had fell to the ground he already felt strong hands taking a grip from his shoulders and heaving him up. Crabannan dragged him to the edge of the flagged area and pushed him over turning towards Wilcred, his eyes asking whether it was enough.

For a moment Wilcred seemed confused. It was clear Crabannan had counted it better than he had even if Crabannan had been the one fighting while he had just been observing things. Wilcred felt the red emerging his cheeks.

“Aethelstan is out! Our newcomers Crabannan and Dan will go forwards to the next round!” Wilcred announced and the crowds went wild with cheers. This had been some fighting indeed!

“I’m calling for the next pair to preapare!” Wilcred tried to shout over the crowd.

[Kath]

Erbrand

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“That is what I wished in the first place, but if you will not seek me out in the games I will seek you out and force you to fight against me!”

Erbrand’s temper had cooled since his outburst against Thornden’s first scolding, and with the coming of Harreld his temper lessened. Nevertheless, he was agitated by the smith’s prying about his private quarrel with Harreld.

“As for you master blacksmith,” Erbrand said, “I did not know that this matter concerned you.”

“This matter concerns my friend, you best be getting ready now.”

The smith was stern in his speech, and it wounded Erbrand again being told what to do.
For two long years Erbrand had been pitied or rejected for his solitude. This was not what he wanted and his temper had become hotter and his attitude colder towards his prying neighbors of Aldburg, Harreld sounded just like them and it brought those unpleasant memories. His fists were clenched as if ready to strike and resist the familiar words of rebuke. Erbrand was tired of being shoved around, but he still had the wits to see that he could only make matters worse by staying, so with a slight nod he left both of them.

[littlemanpoet]

He had meant to say "we had best be getting ready now", but somehow the words had come out other than what he intended, and before Harreld's eyes Erbrand became visibly angrier. This would not do. He was angry with Erbrand, but he did not dislike the fellow. Nor did he like Erbrand's threats and bullying against Thornden. Nevertheless, the two of them were to be partners in the quarterstaff fights.

"I meant we had best be getting ready," Harreld corrected. "What is your skill? Mine is not great, being a smith and not a warrior by trade."

Erbrand still seemed ill-disposed to him. Harreld sighed.

"Friend, though we have a quarrel, we must stand side by side in this game. Let us set aside our differences while we are made allies. What say you?"

[Groin Redbeard]

There was a silence after Harreld had tried to be friendly towards him. Erbrand was still quite riled over the smith's intrusion on Thornden's behalf and was content to let the smith's words pass unanswered. However, what Harreld said next did make sense, it would be wise for them to act as a team, if only for the purpose of reaching Thornden in the games. Yes, this would be the best plan, all of his strength and determination would be set on reaching Thornden in the fight. Although, now that his temper was subsiding the reason for fighting Thornden was less about avenging his wounded honor and more about making sure that Thornden knew that he would not give up Kara without a fight. Besides, it was not with Harreld that Erbrand's quarrel was with.

"I am proud to call you my friend, Harreld, but I would be a poor friend indeed if I let this quarrel come between us. It is not with you that I am mad, and I am sorry for anything I might have said to insult you." Harreld offered a faint smile and was about to say something, but Erbrand cut him off wishing to offer all his thoughts on the fight. It would not be easy to reach Thornden, especially after what he saw Crabannan do.

"As to your question, I am afraid that I have not had much use for the quarter staff in a fight. Though the concept of it shouldn't be that hard to grasp," he picked up his own staff and swung it around, trying to determine its balance. "But I'm sure that our superior strength will even the odds a bit. However, the agile fighters here might be something of a problem for us. I think it best if I took on the more nimbler of our opponents while you take on the stouter fighter. You outmatch any of us here in strength and I am not half bad at evading blows and am also a very strong. What do you say to this, Harreld?"

[Folwren]

“Too bad!” Saeryn said with a sigh as she sat down by Rowenna. “We were about to have such a nice talk about matching people up!” She laughed merrily. “Rowenna, what do you think? Lord Eodwine has just expressed his thought that Thornden and Ginna would have made a good match. But Harreld got her first.” She laughed again, and then subdued it, and gnawed on the inside of her lip. “Poor Thornden!” she murmured quietly.

“I wonder,” she began, and then stopped. Her thoughts darted quickly about. She did not play match-maker very often - indeed she did not think of such things usually. But today seemed quite different than other days. With a pronounced toss of her head, she looked at Rowenna. Rowenna returned the look, but neither the girls said anything.

Would she do for Thornden, Saeryn wondered? No, surely. But why not? Why couldn’t she? No, no absolutely not. Their characters would not be compatible. They were both too solemn for one another!

“What is it?” Rowenna asked, for Saeryn was still looking at her.

“Nothing. . .I was just wondering. . .Are you leaving with my brother tomorrow?”

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna
"....are you leaving with my brother tomorrow?”

"I have not asked him yet if he is willing to take me with him, but that is my hope. I have been thinking that it would be good to return to the land and people I know. I have only been gone for a little more than two years. And yet-"

She sighed and looked away at the ground for a moment, to blink away sudden tears. Then she turned to Saeryn.

"And yet, Scarburg feels so like a place that could become home, were I to stay..." Her thought drifted to imagining what it could be like, being here for the rest of her life, here, accepted and having a place, a maiden to the end of her days. "But no, I must go back home, at least to give it trial. Maybe the Lady Degas is marrying will be willing to make of me a handmaiden while my father's land fetches me a reasonable dowry, kept safe by Degas' lordship. At least, that is what I hope for."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Friend," Degas asked, "might I borrow you for a time?"

"Aye," replied Náin. "Provided you do not intend to push me into the remaining competitions, I am at your service."

"Not at all," Degas assured him. "In fact, the competition around here seems to be at an all time high."

Degas, young and in love, found the tension around him amusing, and spent more time watching the ladies' reactions than the men's posturing.

Finding a seat out of earshot of the others, Degas explained to Nain his problem. At some point long before his birth, Degas's family - or the former lords of his estate - had been friendly with some Dwarves. The nature of the friendship was of a type that while it was common legend that the foundations of several buildings in the Folde were of Dwarven make, no man or woman of the Folde could still remember the names of the Dwarves, or where they had come from, or who was Lord of the Folde when this transaction had taken place.

"So I was wondering," Degas finished, "if you could tell me the likelihood of a group of riotous humans being able to destroy the masonry of Dwarves, if indeed the foundations of my hall were built by the hands of your people. I am trying to gauge, pointless though it may be, the quality of destruction I will find upon my arrival. If the foundations have been destroyed, I must build again, and could use the advice, if not the aid, of a friend with your skills. If the foundations still stand, are they likely to be strong enough to support a new building atop them? Of course, if the foundations of my hall were not Dwarven to begin with, the questions take on a new hue. So I must ask- do your people keep records of such interactions with humans? I am, as you can see, at a loss."

[Nogrod]

“So then mate, what should we do?” Stigend said to Garstan, smiling as he poked him with the tip of his staff.

“I suggest you take that Erbrand fellow as I know Harreld better than you.” Garstan answered.

Neither of them could hold their poker and they burst into laughter.

“How nice of you my friend!” Stigend remarked while still laughing. “So you want to send me into the den of lions while you have a nice afternoon with our friend Harreld, right?” Stigend lifted his eyebrow and flashed an even wider smile.

“I had something like that in mind…” Garstan replied and poked Stigend back with his staff. But then he got a bit more serious. “Anyway, do you think I have a chance of standing up with that Erbrand for more than a minute? I’m no soldier but at least you have been trained to be one in your youth. I have better chances standing up with Harreld as he’s slower than I am and I’m not totally ungraced with robustness either. But gods forbid he manages to give me a full blow…”

“I see what you’re after…” Stigend nodded in approval and landed his hand on Garstan’s shoulder. “Okay, that’s the way we go for it. You wait for Harreld’s mistake and beat him, I’ll try to stand up against Erbrand and then you come and rescue me from him. A deal?”

Garstan gave Stigend his hand. “A deal.” They both smiled again. They knew they stood for no chance but except a miracle.

---

"Friend, though we have a quarrel, we must stand side by side in this game. Let us set aside our differences while we are made allies. What say you?" Erbrand said and looked at Harreld with a confidence-seeking look.

After a second of thought Harreld offered his hand to Erbrand. "Right you are. They are my friends but we'll fight against them this time as that is how it goes. You take Stigend, he's the fast one and the one who knows something about fighting. I will see to Garstan." Erbrand nodded.

They shook hands.

---

“Let me give you Garstan and Stigend against Harreld and Erbrand!”, Wilcred shouted as the four men had gathered inside the flagged area. There were deafening cheers from the crowd. The first match had risen the expectations and these were household names all of them – except Erbrand, but even with his short stay on the Mead Hall thus far he had impressed many people, not the least in these games.


Lure the opponent into a rhythm and then surprise him by breaking it! In his head Stigend heard the words of the old warrior who had taught him in melee-fights when he was a young men-at-arms trainee. He felt he had nothing to lose and charged on Erbrand immediately wishing thus to make the fight between them over and done with as soon as possible. To the opposite of what he had told Garstan - to take care of Harreld and then to come to his aid - he thought their only chance hanged on the possibility he could somehow beat Erbrand and then come to his friend’s aid. It seemed an impossible task but he had to try it.

Stigend charged rhythmically and Erbrand was forced to retreat parrying the blows from Stigend’s attack. Garmund was looking intently at the cornerflag to see whether Erbrand would retreat off bounds. Suddenly Stigend broke the rhythm and halted for a second after a blow, reversing the grip he had on the staff as fast as he could and went on hitting Erbrand from the same direction simultaneously making a full circle himself. But somehow he was not quick enough, or Erbrand was. But the result was that Erbrand managed to parry the hit and unbalance Stigend for long enough to gain the momentum. And to score the first hit while Stigend was reorientating himself.

“First hit against Stigend!” Wilcred shouted while Stigend cursed with pain. Garstan and Harreld were still circling each other walking slowly sideways with a staff’s distance careful not to make any hasty moves and looking each other into the eyes. They knew each other too well to try any foolish tricks.

But at the same time Erbrand turned to attack and Stigend was the one retreating. After a few foreseeable clashes of the staves Erbrand made a forceful swing from right to left which Stigend managed to duck under. But Erbrand didn’t hold the motion of the staff to hit back from the other direction but let his right hand grip loose thus letting the staff go with it’s own momentum alkl the way around his body grasping it from the right side from behind his back. And before Stigend could realise it Erbrand had gotten hold of the staff with both hands – backhanded – and using the initial momentum of the staff going around he aimed at the hollows of his knees from behind.

Stigend fell backwards and the crowd held their breath for the trick they had just seen. Erbrand didn’t waste time but made a quick change of the hold once more turning to deal the final blow on the chest of Stigend who would lie down on his back.

The crowd went “Ooohh!” simultaneously with Erbrand’s astonishment when the tip of the staff hit the empty ground. For Stigend had managed to pull himself up from the ground at the very moment he landed on it making a half somersault backwards. Stunned by the unexpected, Erbrand didn’t manage to use the situation to his advance. But Stigend picked his staff from the ground and hit with full strength Erbrand’s staff into which he was still leaning with his weight. Erbrand lost his balance and Stigend hit him to the back as he went down while rising up himself.

“First hit against Erbrand!”, Wilcred yelled and the crowd went wild even if half of them hadn’t yet come to grips with what exactly had happened. Erbrand hit the ground face down and Stigend raised his staff up in the air ready to make a full blow. But he turned to look at Wilcred first and yelled “Call! I don’t want to hurt him!”

“Call taken! Erbrand is out!” The crowd cheered like there was no limit.


Meanwhile Garstan and Harreld had also gotten into action even if slowly and carefully. Garstan was the first to take initiative and Harreld seemed somewhat reluctant to fight mainly parrying the blows. And Garstan indeed scored a hit quite easily in the beginning.

The crowd was wondering about that at the same time as they tried to follow the much more lively and eventful match between Erbrand and Stigend going on simultaneously.

Those who had noticed there being a sort of bad air between Harreld and Erbrand were sure it was because of that: Harreld would not wish to fight for the glory of Erbrand against his friends; so it was an issue of loyalities. Those who knew there was something between Harreld and Ginna were sure that was because he tried to impress Ginna showing he was not just a brutal force but a gentleman. Then again some thought it was just the fact that he was such a gentle person who didn’t wish to harm his long time friend Garstan even if he was more powerful than him – and there were also those who just thought he was no good in fighting; he was a big man good in his art and heart but not a fighter.

Be what it may, Garstan managed a second hit as well. But that clearly changed things.

The blow Garstan gave hit Harreld to this fingers and from there the staff glided to hit his upper arm – and from there his nose. It did hurt. His nose indeed started bleeding.

“Second hit against Harreld! The hit to the head not intentional!”, Wilcred declared.

Suddenly Harreld changed and started the attack. The blows rained on Garstan who had to back away with every hit. The first hit landing on Garstan’s midriff sent him gasping for air but he managed to pull himself together, taking two more steps backwards and trying to breathe again. Harreld pressed on not giving Garstan a chance to recollect himself fully.

“Out!”, Javan – who was responsible of the nearest corner - called as Garstan backed away from Harreld’s blows over the flagged line.

“Garstan is out!” Wilcred called and the crowd applauded to both contestants.


Stigend had just heard Wilcred announcing Erbrand’s defeat and was trying to compose himself when he heard Wilcred calling Garstan off as well. He turned slowly to face Harreld but Harreld took no time before charging him.

Stigend tried to duck the charge but had no time for it and was plain overrun by Harreld. Stigend fell down to his back and immediately rolled around trying to get away from Harreld but suddenly he felt a heavy weight on his back, and before he had time to do anything a staff was pressing his neck and therefore his face to the ground. Harreld had stumbled over him but had managed to regain his balance and his staff fast enough and was now sitting on his back pressing the staff on his neck.

“Call!” Harreld managed to pant as it had not been an easy thing for him to do – and partly not intentional either. He was breathing heavily.

Wilcred looked at the situation. Stigend could have fought back if it was a question of life and death but here it seemed clear. And Stigend didn’t show any wish to fight any more.

“Stigend is out! … Harreld and Erbrand go through to the next roud!”

The crowd burst with cheers. This had been exciting indeed.

[Nogrod]

“Any ideas my friend?” Balvir asked Lithor as they received their staves.

“Should we try that “change the target” -thing? Or try to keep the line… even if with just two of us it’s a bit hard to make a line.”, Lithor answered smiling at Balvir.

“Let’s try the change. They will not anticipate it, at least in the beginning… If we go through from this there’s no use trying it to lord Eodwine and Thornden anyway. And we should show some military prowess…” Balvir answered dryly but his eyes did smile.

“Let’s go for it mate, like the old times.” Lithor said and patted Balvir on the shoulder.

“Well, they’re no orcs…”, Balvir flashed a wide grin, “But let’s go… and I will take that Crabannan in the end, I’m about his age and you’re old enough to beat that youngster Druadán…”

“And too old to take Crabannan? … I guess you’re right about that. He’s good.” Lithor nodded and looked back on Balvir: “So I’ll fly on Crabannan first, right?”

Balvir shook his head. “I’ll charge Dan and then we change… I mean it’s just a suggestion.”

“And a good one” Lithor nodded. “Let’s go in like soldiers!”

-----

“Darn, soldiers again! But oldies this time…” Dan half protested and half jested to Crabannan.

“It seems they want to test us now doesn’t it? But let’s be careful out there. The young soldiers were skilful but hot-headed. These are of a different class for they have fought in real battles. Trust my word, they are very much harder to win.” Crabannan said in a low voice leaning towards the Druadán. “Keep it simple, keep it straightforward.”

Dan nodded. “Should I take the older one?”

“He might be the more cunning of them… If you could hold the younger one for a moment I might be able to wear Lithor down. A deal?”

“A deal” Dan answered and they shook hands before walking into the flagged area.

-----

“Are you ready for the next round?” Wilcred shouted and the crowd cheered in response. The air was full of anticipation as the veteran soldiers meeting the victorious newcomers promised a good fight.

“I’ll give you captain Balvir and venerable Lithor against the furious Dan and mighty Crabannan! Let the fight be fair but tough!” The crowd burst into applauds and whistling. The mood was high.

Wilcred blew the horn.


When the blow rang it looked like both Balvir and Lithor had been called "Attention!" in a boot camp. They both took a still stance laying their staves upright to the leg.

“Hop!” Balvir shouted and they simultaneously raised their staves up and lowered them then into a 45 degree angle pointing forwards. “Foorwaarrd… march!” Balvir called and they both started marching towards Dan and Crabannan.

“Now what the…?” Dan commented to his side but Crabannan stood still. There were still some five yards between them.

“Ooo-pen!” Balvir called and they both turned the points of the staves outwards forming like a letter V if looked from above. The crowd were cheering.

“Steady Dan, steady…” Crabannan whispered through his lips. “Keep it simple, keep it straight whatever they do…”

It was just two yards between the sides when Balvir finally yelled “Chaaarrge!”.

What happened after that happened just too quickly for most of the audience to grasp – and sadly for Dan and Crabannan as well.

Both soldiers brought their staves forwards and ran diagonally changing places. So Balvir was suddenly in front of Dan even if he had been originally facing Crabannan. Before Dan managed to move he was hit by the staff to the side and he howled in pain. Crabannan saw the move and readied himself to counter the blow by Lithor coming for him. But that blow never came.

Lithor ducked down to the left anticipating the defending blow by Crabannan and rushed towards Dan still inbalanced by the blow by Balvir. Balvir meanwhile took a sharp turn right and instead of continuing after Dan he hit Crabannan - who was still a bit unbalanced after hitting only thin air - from the side straight to his back. But it had been a bit too endearing move and Balvir lost his balance with the hit at the same time Crabannan fell on all fours.

“First hit against Dan… against Craban…!” Wilcred tried to follow the action.

But Lithor made a perfect hit on Dan’s breast as he was trying to adjust himself sending him flying backwards. And Lithor pressed on mercilessly landing a blow to Dan’s chest right as he hit the ground. Dan’s body cramped and shivered and suddenly went still. Lithor was shocked and rushed kneeling beside him in anguish. “Help!” he cried, only to receive a fist on his face from the angered Druadán, sending him backwards to the ground as well.

“Second and third hit against Dan! Dan is out! … And a little out of bounds hit – even if deserved one - against master Lithor as well!” Wilcred cried and people burst in applauds and releasing laughter after all had thought for a fleeting moment that something bad had actually happened.


Wilcred saw his moment of educational enlightenment right there. “So you see youngsters, this is why you were not accepted in this game. This is for the adults.”

Indeed there was no need for him to make the point. The youngsters who had been responsible for checking it out if anyone was going out of bounds were looking at the fights from a very close range – and they were really impressed. If that’s how they fight for fun, what is it for real? Cnebba found himself wondering and he was more than pleased he was not an adult yet… It was just so much more aggressive and powerful anything he and Garstan or Javan ever did. And still the adults seemed to part in friendship after even the fiercest fight. Now there was something he had to chew on.


But a real fight was going on just a few yards away from that scene. Crabannan fell on all fours but was up on his knees before the crowd could realise it. And he didn’t waste time on turning around but going with his instincts he made a powerful backhanded blow aiming behind his back just to where he thought Balvir was. And it was a direct hit to Balvir’s lower abdomen. Balvir yelled in pain and fell backwards while Crabannan rushed himself up.

“A hit against Balvir… a bad hit indeed!” Wilcred shouted and people were drawn to see what would follow as the newcomer bent over the household soldier.

Crabannan went on with the deciding blow but somehow Balvir managed to get back to the here and now and roll away from the down-coming staff. Crabannan only hit the ground just a few inches from Balvir’s side. And before he realised it, Balvir had turned enough to deal him another blow from the ground hitting him hard to his thigh from behind. Crabannan fell on his knees from the impact and they faced each other on their knees just a bit over yard apart.

“Second hit against Crabannan!” Wilcred called and was clearly late with his announcement but that could be forgiven. It was intense indeed as it happened right when Wilcred was being educative towards the youngsters.

The two looked at each other both on their knees. And suddenly they fought… in their knees! The staves hit each other in fury and neither had a chance to rise up. The crowd was just waiting for Lithor to rise up from where he was lying a few yards away from the fighting pair and to end it all but it seemed that the blow Dan had given him to his nose was bad enough not to make him useful for a moment. He was lying down but tried to arise. Somehow his head just felt too dizzy for it.

Meanwhile it soon became clear that even if Crabannan was a great fighter Balvir’s technical skills with the quarterstaff were just superb. Hit by hit Balvir wore Crabannan down, hit by hit he gained the momentum, but every time Crabannan fought back with instinct, luck, sense… what have you. It should have ended a dozen of times but Crabannan held back.

Finally Balvir hit Crabannan’s staff so hard to the left that he lost his balance and Balvir had time to rise up to finish the fight. But to his astonishment Crabannan was up about the same time and his deciding blow into which he had invested all his remaining power met with Crabannan’s staff in mid-air. For a second Balvir thought he had lost it when he stumbled down losing his balance and seeing Crabannan standing upright as he fell. But no hit came on him.

Instead there was a loud cheer of the crowd as Lithor had finally forced himself up and dealt a mighty blow on Crabannan’s back sending him face on to the ground. And Crabannan was totally stunned with the force of the blow. Lithor placed his left foot on Crabannan’s back and lowered the tip of his staff on his neck. “Call!” Lithor yelled.

“Call accepted!” Wilcred cried. “Lithor and Balvir will go to the finals! Cheers for the veterans!”

The crowd didn’t need to be told that. The cheers were ear-deafening. They had seen a spectacular fight indeed.

[Folwren]

"Maybe the Lady Degas is marrying will be willing to make of me a handmaiden while my father's land fetches me a reasonable dowry, kept safe by Degas' lordship. At least, that is what I hope for."

Saeryn nodded and turned away. She felt sad, although she knew that Rowenna spoke after careful thought.

“I wish,” she began, venturing to express her feelings and unsure if it would be quite proper. Rowenna was already struggling with the decision, and if it was right for her to leave, should Saeryn press her otherwise? “I wish you would stay,” she finished. “I’ve always liked you, until our quarrel today, and now that that is behind us and there is nothing more to fight about, it seems that there is nothing in the way between the two of us becoming close friends - best of friends, very soon, no doubt.”

Rowenna did not respond immediately. Saeryn looked at her, and pitied her. She was clearly torn with doubt, unsure of what to do, wishing to go and went wanting so much to stay.

“Rowenna!” Saeryn said, brightening suddenly and sitting up straight in her chair. Rowenna looked up. “Why should you not stay here? Degas will still be lord over your land, won’t he? You said that you could remain in his household as a handmaiden - well, why not stay here with lord Eodwine and I? I can not doubt that our houses are soon to be joined together. I know not how exactly, upon what terms- I’m sure that is why Degas and Eodwine went away and talked this afternoon - but we will be very close and the lords of Scarburg and the Folde will be friends. Why shouldn’t it be that you should stay here as my companion?”

[littlemanpoet]

"Do you mean your lady in waiting?" Rowenna smirked. "For were I to stay, I would be your servant to order about, as much as we might like each other. Or would you raise me above my station and cause me to be the target of envy for all the other women?"

"No, Rowenna! You mistake me!"

Rowenna shook her head, smiling. "Saeryn, you spoke from your heart just now, and I like you the more for it. But I must weigh the choices set before me, seeing down the road how things might go. Still-" she paused and thought "-maybe there is a place for me here."

Her eye caught Scyld, who had unhidden himself as an expert in daggers. So much about that man was hidden, and therefore the more interesting. He held everyone at a distance, as had she until this day. And she would still do so in days to come, for one cannot undo two years in a day. But Scyld was too much like her, and he had a look in his eye sometimes as if there were someone he was thinking of that could not be replaced; someone lost, perhaps, unfindable, and irreplacable. She wondered if it were so. It meant that there was one more way in which this was not where she could be.

"And maybe not," she murmured.

[Folwren]

“Do you mean your lady in waiting? For were I to stay, I would be your servant to order about, as much as we might like each other. Or would you raise me above my station and cause me to be the target of envy for all the other women?”

“No, Rowenna, you mistake me!” Saeryn cried.

"Saeryn, you spoke from your heart just now, and I like you the more for it. But I must weigh the choices set before me, seeing down the road how things might go. Still. . .maybe there is a place for me here."

Saeryn smiled slightly and then, seeing Rowenna lost in reverie, sat back and turned her head away. Her eyes scanned the area. The quarterstaff matches were progressing. She saw Eodwine and Thornden standing near the struggle, leaning on their staves.

“I do believe they’re fighting soon,” she said, half aloud.

“And maybe not,” Rowenna seemed to respond, but when Saeryn looked around at her, she knew instantly that Rowenna had not spoken to her.

“Come, Rowenna!” she said, touching her arm. “Let us go down and watch the matches. Thornden and Eodwine are to fight!”

Rowenna smiled and stood up immediately. "Certainly! I would enjoy to watch this contest."

[littlemanpoet]

The westering sun was a hand's breadth above the flat horizon. The quarterstaff fights were nearing their conclusion as the folk of Scarburg cheered the contestants on.

Those in the baker could hear the cheering and clash of wood against wood over the sound of hissing fat and boiling kettles.

They could not hear the quiet steps, nor see the walker coming out of the woods south of Scarburg, onto the road, and toward the encampment slowly making of itself a settlement.

The walker was hooded and wore a long cloak. Their color could not be told, for both had seen much wear, and seemed a smattering of gray and brown and green all mixed together. His feet were booted in old brown leather. A long gray beard wagged back and forth with each step, and the walker's staff stumped to the ground every other step. His face was hidden, so it could not be seen whether he smiled or frowned.

Then he stopped and looked up. His eyes were bright and sharp beneath bristling brows. He sniffed deer acooking on the breeze and his mouth turned in a small smile.

He started walking again, now bent a little more in the manner of an old man. He entered the encampment and made his way to the baker where he found a woman past her middle years sweating over her cooking.

"Good day, my good woman. Could you spare a scrap of meat for a hungry traveler?"

[Groin Redbeard]

However much he hated the sting of battle it felt good to use the old skills he had learned long ago. It was quite a feeling of exhilaration that he felt as he sat down with Balvir after their match was over. It was like he had scraped the rust off of his favorite sword so that it shone and sparkled in the sunlight, he felt young again and was itching to get back into the fight, but for now he was more than content to watch the tradesmen and soldiers fight it out.

His nose still felt as if it was broken after that blow Dan had dealt him, and although he was sure that it wasn't, the slightest touch would send a sharp feeling of pain shooting through his head and down through his neck. Dan was always a quiet figure, never presuming to speak when not spoken to, very reserved in his opinion; and this made the feisty nature of the Drug in battle all the more startling. Still, Lithor felt no ill feelings toward Dan, it was all in the middle of a fight and the adrenaline was sure to get the best of any man.

Balvir was rubbing his aching abdomen. "I tell you," Lithor said, "my head is buzzing like a swarm of bees. That Crabannan isn't a half bad fighter either, wouldn't you say?" Balvir just stared at him and nodded his head and then went back to massaging his stomach. Lithor laughed and gave the soldier a good slap on the back.


Erbrand

"Right," Erbrand said with enthusiasm, "here our turn is next! Your help was very much appreciated in the last round Harreld, but I'm sure that you will be more than a match for lord Eodwine." Harreld gave him a worried glance, realizing that this meant that Erbrand would go ahead with his threat.

"Same plan as last time then, or do you have you come up with anything better?" Erbrand whispered as Wilcred called their names.

[Eönwë]

The last few contests had not been good for Dan. He had not done as well as he had hoped.

First of all, there was wrestling. He might have stood a chance against some of the competitors but for his first round, he had to face a giant man, one who also happened to be the strongest in the camp. During his stay in the camp, he had had a few conversations with Harreld the smith and he struck Dan as a kind, gentle man. But from the first time he saw him, Dan had said to himself, I wouldn't like to get into a fight with this man. And now he was doing just that. To most he was tall, but to Daghan-turi-Dan, a mere Druadan, he was huge. As they entered the ring, it was obvious who would win. Being quicker and more agile, and dodged and swerved and managed to avoid being pushed out of the ring for a surprisingly long time. But then the inevitable came, and Harreld, with his far superior strength and weight pushed him past the centre. Dan managed to escape, but not for long, and he was dragged out of the ring. He had been no match for Harreld. No-one in this camp was a match for Harreld, he thought to himself. He was like a one-man-battering-ram. And it turned out that Dan was right, as Harreld beat Aethelstan, his next opponent, and went on to win the final.

Then, Dan had lost one of the two contests that he had hoped he would do well at. He was not as good at archery as he was spear-throwing, nevertheless he had high hopes. In the first round, he thought he had shot well, but for some strange reason, Lithor didn't check his arrows. Dan was too polite to say anything, and didn't want to complain on such a fine day as this, so he just continued as if nothing happened, though his mood wasn't as bright as before.
In the second event, he hit the target, but reprimanded himself for only hitting the outer ring. The only ones to get such a low score were the boys. No matter- there was still one event left to go.
On the third and final event, he managed to hit the target on the first round, but on the second he was eliminated along with a sulking Crabannan. He hoped he hadn't made too big of a fool of himself. He was probably just having an unlucky day.
He had suspected this would happen, but he was still surprised when Erbrand won all three. He was a fine marksman.

Then there was the sack-fight. The first round was probably the best event of the whole day. It was fun, and the crowd loved it. After a full ten minutes, Dan managed to secure a win by a whisker. They had fallen together and Stigend had hit the ground barely a moment before Dan. Harreld and garstan called for a rematch, and the crowd was cheering. To be, Dan wouldn't have minded to do it again, even if it meant losing his place as winner. However violent it probably looked to the crowd, all the hitting didn't hurt at all. But Lithor was adamant, and to be honest, he was happy with his win, and probably wouldn't be so lucky if he did it again.
For the next round, he had had to face Erbrand. He had seen his bold move in the last match and was ready for it. And Erbrand could see the determination in Dan's eyes. Whatever the result, they would part as friends, just as always. He wasn't using this to seek approval, unlike some here. He shot a quick sideways glance at some of the shadier members of the camp. In the end he gave Erbrand a blow that sent him falling. He looked towards Lithor for a second, expecting him to.... when suddenly Erbrand lashed out with his legs, sending Dan toppling off the pole. Erbrand then fell beside him. A smile broke Dan's lips- he should have expected something better. It then turned to a quiet chuckle, as he realised that Erbrand would battling against Kara next, and the thought amused him.

And then it was the next contest, the quartestaff-fight. As soon as he saw the size of the weapons, and felt their weight his heart sank. He have been strong for his size, but these were just too large and unwieldy. He preferred the speed of an axe or the elegance of a sword. And to make matters worse, he was teamed up with Crabannan. He hadn't liked the Northener since the first day, and had never really warmed up to the suspicious character. But then he realised that he had an advantage, Crabannan was tall and strong, and experienced in weapons of all shapes and sizes. After Crabannan finished off Osmund, Dan was soon out, though not without hitting Aethelstan once. Crabannan managed to finish off Aethelstan. He felt like hugging him, but that sort of sentiment among men was not generally accepted in this part of the world, except among close friends.
The next game wouldn't be so easy. They would have to face the veterans. He knew that they had something up their sleeves and it came as no surprise to him when they switched targets unexpectantly. But he was too slow to react, and he was hit. He tried to hit Balvir but he couldn't get enough leverage, and ended up swinging wildly, unbalancing himself. Then he was hit in the chest by Lithor, who had manoevered himself around and was now attacking him. They had switched targets. Dan flew back from the force of the hit. As he touched the ground he was hit again by Lithor. That just wasn't right, he thought as he lay there. It just wasn't right to hit people while they were down. Dan instinctively lashed out, hitting something soft, and only after a few seconds realised that he had hit the worried Lithor in the face. He tried to murmur an apology to Lithor but he was nowhere to be seen. When he had returned to full awareness he realised that Lithor was lying next to him, seemingly unable to stand. He wanted to help him up but didn't want to let Crabannan down. And as he thought of Crabannan he saw the man fighting a fierce fight with Balvir. And just as Balvir was about to be hit for the final time by Crabannan, Crabannan himself was hit from behind. He fell. Balvir and Lithor had won. The crowd cheered.

He helped Crabannan up and then, after the excessive cheering had finished, went to apologise to Lithor. "I am sorry, Lithor," he started "I didn't mean to hit you, but..." he trailed off, hoping that Lithor would understand.

[littlemanpoet]

The old man having gotten more than a scrap of meat from the unusually quiet cook, he wandered off toward the source of all the commotion he had heard from the road.

It was a quarterstaff fight. The crowd was cheering and seemed to be mostly relaxed, which meant that it was apparently all in fun. Well enough.

He could not tell which of them was the lord of the settlement by his clothing, and so made his way to just he outside of the crowd, where there were four chairs placed, two young women sitting there, speaking quietly to each other. Just as he was about to clear his throat and speak, they jumped up and hurried toward the games.

The old man shrugged with a grin and a twinkle in his eye, and made his way to the outside of the crowd, to see what he could see. So far, none had taken notice of him. He watched and waited.

[Nogrod]

“Please people, please!" Wilcred tried to cool the roaring crowd for he had some announcing to do. But all the people seemed to know already what he was going to announce and it seemed futile to fight against it. But he still tried. "Let me give you the second runners up! Let me give you Harreld and Erbrand against Thornden and lord Eodwine!”

The crowd burst into cheers - if they hadn't already - as the competants walked into the flagged area. Thornden and Eodwine exchanged still a few final words when Harreld and Erbrand were clearly already focusing on the fight.

“Go! … Ah, sorry…”, with that Wilcred blew the horn. It was the go. He was clearly not up to the task.

It looked like Erbrand was really yearning to go for Thornden but the two soldiers had clearly decided the other way. Erbrand ran for Thornden but Eodwine stepped between the two keeping himself between them even if Erbrand tried to counter his moves. Meanwhile Thornden made it from behind Eodwine to attack Harreld.

Harreld had looked at the peculiar dance and decided to make his move. Looking at the determination with which lord Eodwine covered Thornden from an attack by Erbrand he decided to make one himself. With a tremendous roar he went on after Thornden dealing a blow that would have stunned a wild boar but Thornden ducked the hit and turning around faster Harreld could imagine he managed to deal a blow to Harreld’s back sending him stumbling forwards.

“One hit against Harreld!”, Wilcred called and the people applauded.

Meanwhile Erbrand had settled with the facts and started seriously engaging Eodwine in a fight no longer searching for routes to get after Thornden. Erbrand proved to be a valiant staff-wielder as Eodwine only hardly managed to duck the shots aimed at him – and he dealt nicely with Eodwine’s counter moves. It looked like an even match between the two; lord Eodwine being clearly the technical master and tactician but the younger leatherman was quick and agile, able to parry and energetic enough to make lord Eodwine stay on alert all the time.

Suddenly the crowd went “Uuuuhhh!” And there was a reason for it. For while Harreld was going down he managed somehow to turn himself around while speeding his way down and to use the momentum of his body turning around to give a wild blow against Thornden. But Thornden was no newcomer in these fights and saw it early enough to just drop on his knees. The sweep of Harreld’s staff missed Thornden’s head and just blew his hair as he ducked down. That was close indeed. Harreld had clearly aimed at Thornden’s torso but his sudden evasive action had made it dangerous. But there was no harm done.

“No harm intended! Fair game!”, Wilcred called to underline the point. “But be careful out there!”

On his knees Thornden landed a blow to Harreld’s back leaving him face to the ground stunned for a moment. Panting Thornden stood up and pointed the tip of his staff on Harreld’s neck. “Call!”

“Harreld called out!” Wilcred confirmed. There were loud cheers of relievement.

Thornden turned to look at lord Eodwine fighting Erbrand. It looked like an even match. Slowly he crept towards the fighting duo. It somehow felt wrong to just hit Erbrand from behind. Thornden hesitated.

Suddenly Eodwine halted. Erbrand halted as well.

“You wish to continue Thornden? I’m quite old for going on too long this good a fight…” Eodwine addressed Thornden over Erbrand’s shoulder and smiled to his second in command. “With your leave, my lord…”, Erbrand needed no more encouragement but had manners enough to bow quickly to lord Eodwine before he went to Thornden. And the two were on each other.

If lord Eodwine’s and Thornden’s fight had been a good one, the one between Thornden and Erbrand really was one. The audience felt there were real energy and a battle of wills going on as well. Everyone was looking on and living with every blow given and parried. And they both really gave the audience the best they could.

Erbrand found new energy and performed some great improvised combo’s of attacks on Thornden but the experienced soldier parried the attacks if not with ease then with some confidence anyway. But Erbrand really pushed the limits and soon Thornden realised this was not something he could manage half-hearted. Erbrand was challenging him and he did it most fervently. Thornden had to fight this for real too.

The crowd went “Uuhhs!” and “oohhss!” all the time as the two dealt blows and parried one’s dealt by the other one. Lord Eodwine stood still, watching the fight with the crowd but just a few feet away.

Finally, after the most aggressive attacking maneuvers by Erbrand Thornden got the upper hand from a most unlikely situation. Being sent to his knees and only parrying from behind – just sweeping the staff blindly towards Erbrand – Thornden managed to unbalance Erbrand. And before anyone could realise he had turned himself around and made a full blow to Erbrand’s knees sending him falling. Before Erbrand had time to adjust himself to the new situation he felt a tip of a staff on his neck.

“Call!”

It was lord Eodwine who called the match, the tip of his staff on Erbrand’s throat now as Erbrand had turned around while lying on the grass.

“Lord Eodwine and master Thornden will go to the finals!” Wilcred announced. The crowd cheered even louder than before. As if they hadn't already shouted their throats sore for the games...

[Nogrod]

Stigend saw the old man emerging from the kitchen-tent from the corner of his eye while waiting for the second semifinal of the quarterstaff-fight to begin. He poked Garstan to the shoulder.

"Now who's that?" he whispered pointing the old man to Garstan as he turned to look at him.

"I dunno... Never seem him before... or... hmm... No. No I don't know him." Garstan replied after giving it some thought.

"Should we go and ask?" Stigend suggested.

"Yeah, we should, but the match is starting and I want to see how Harreld fares. Maybe we ask after the fight, or maybe lord Eodwine will do it himself... or Thornden? It's not our business anyway." Garstan replied and turned towards the arena. "Go Harreld, go!" he yelled and many joined the call for Harreld.

But Stigend thought about it differently. Lord Eodwine had asked him to be in charge of the Mead Hall with Thornden as he was away soon and he felt he needed to try the boots of someone who was in charge - and both lord Eodwine and Thornden were ready to begin their fight right now. So he had to go and find that old man out.

"See you..." Stigend said and slipped away.

The old man was closing on Rowenna and Saeryn and Stigend's heart-rate was going up. He had no idea where it came from but suddenly he was very concerned about their safety. Suddenly Rowenna and Saryn stood up and hurried to see the match and the old man was left alone.

Stigend approached the man.

"Hello there sir! I'm Stigend, the carpenter... uhh... the the leading constructor of this place... Now who might you be, dear sir?"

[Folwren]

The fight with Erbrand was not easy. Thornden had sparred with fellow soldiers of greater skill than Erbrand, but he had not fought someone who had been insulted and was angry. Erbrand’s strokes were full of ill intention and he rained them as thick and fast as he could.

In truth, Thornden had only taken the fight from Eodwine half heartedly. He had not truly wished to fight Erbrand thus, but for the sake of the games, he had accepted Eodwine’s offer.

The last blows came. Thornden, with some luck involved, brought Erbrand down. He had a moment to try to scramble to his feet to try to gain the advantage, but suddenly Eodwine called the final stroke.

Thornden rose from his knees, panting. He looked down at Erbrand a moment and went forward to offer his hand.

“It was a good fight, Erbrand,” he said, and waited for Erbrand to take his hand, hoping the ill will had passed.

[littlemanpoet]

A man approached him.

"Hello there sir! I'm Stigend, the carpenter... uhh... the the leading constructor of this place... Now who might you be, dear sir?"

"I am a simple wayfarer, passing through, seeking food and a roof over my head - or at least a tent if you have no more - and offering my wares in trade."

The old man held his staff in one hand and nothing in the other, showing no signs of whatever trade he meant, but this was done on purpose. He would see how this man and these folk would react.

[Nogrod]

Stigend was raised well and he knew to honour elders whoever they might be but now he was just baffled with the gamling in front of him. Was he trying to make a fool of him or was he serious? What wares in trade he meant as he clearly had none?

"Excuse me sir, but I see little you have to offer as to banter like that. We have plenty to offer for wayfarers - and just quess how many we've got in here on these few weeks we've been here - but you do act like you were in for more than meets the eye. But why should I believe you? Aren't you just a stranger trying to gain from people trusting others?". Stigend eyed the elderly man with keen eyes but he seemed to stay as stern as he was and Stigend was already regretting his words; thus keen was the stare of the stranger in front of him.

"I mean what is your trade sir?"

There was a tremendous roar by the people when Thornden and lord Eodwine won the match.

"I do not wish to be rude but please sir, you can't count on me taking in whatever you wish without being a bit more explicit. And it seems our lord Eodwine is free for a moment so maybe we should just go to him?"

Stigend looked at the newcomer with a questioning look. "That suits you, right?"

[Thinlómien]

Modtryth finished her story the same time she finished chopping the rolls. She looked around in the kitchen and saw that one of the water barrells was almost empty. "I'll fetch some water from the well," she said. Frodides nodded and continued working on the foods.

When Modtryth stepped out of the kitchen tent, she could see Lèoðern playing with her bug outside.
"Hello there, Lèoðern. Are you sure you wouldn't like to go and see the quarterstaff fights?"

The girl gave her a quick glance, then shook her head quickly. Modtryth suspected the girl was a little afraid of all the noise and the aggression.

"You don't have to, of course. How is Master Bug?"

Lèoðern looked at her, slight criticism in her eyes. "It's a she. It is Princess Bug."

Modtryth could not help smiling. "Beg your pardon. I hope Her Highness will then excuse me for I am to fetch water now."
Lèoðern exchanged glkances with the bug. "You may go. She excuses you."

As Modtryth approached the well, she could hear shouting from the fighting grounds. She did not have to listen for long before she found out it was Lithor and Belvir and Dan and Crabannan that were fighting. She shrugged. Truth be told, she liked little any of the men - Balvir, she guessed, was a good man though, but rather too serious - and secretly hoped they would bruise some more sense into each other.

The water in the well was sufficiently cold, Modtryth discovered, when she splashed it on herself - such silly carelessness. It amused her mostly, though, and she hurried back to the kitchen. When she reached the kitchen tent, she saw an odd hooded man leaving with a plate full of food.

"Who was that?" she asked as she stepped in. She looked out again. "And where's Lèoðern? Surely not watching the fights?"
"The girl must have run off somewhere, she was there just a while ago. You know, children are like that..."
"Yes, and she would not run away anywhere too far, but I'd still be happier if I knew where she was. But who was that stranger?"
"The stranger?"
"The man you just gave food to."
"Oh I thought it was... wait, I don't know who it was." Frodides furrowed her brow.
Modtryth inclined her head. She wondered why was Frodides being so uncharacteristically inattentive. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

[Groin Redbeard]

The eorl shouldn't have called it! This was my fight! The match had been going the way he wanted it, eventually one of them would slip and make a mistake, like he just did, and though Thornden's superior skill showed in the way he fought it would have been better for him to rain a dozen blows down on him than to have the match end to pitifully.

Thornden seemed pleased that he had at least won the fight and offered his congratulations on a good fight; Thornden's hand was offered to him who still lay on the ground. Erbrand instinctively reached to accept the help, but hesitated when he saw Thornden looking down at him. It reminded him of what would be thought of him now that the fight was lost, perfection might be sought for in craftsmanship but fighting was something different, yet Erbrand still couldn't come to the fact that he had lost. Ignoring the help, Erbrand lifted himself to his feet.

"You bested me today Thornden," Erbrand whispered, "but that doesn't mean that this is over."

He searched the scar with his eyes trying to find Kara but there was no trace of her. The thought of joining Kara was driven from his mind by a sense of loss, he needed to be alone for the moment, away from Thornden, away from women, just somewhere that he could be by himself and brood over his wounded pride. He had recognized the look in Thornden's eyes when he made contact with Kara's that first time: it was want of something that was not his, and Erbrand hadn't stopped him. He walked aimlessly across the scar and back into camp. There would be a next fight someday, it might be awhile but it would come. Next time he would not lose.

[littlemanpoet]

This man, Stigend, as he called himself, was being quite attentive compared to the cook. There would have to be some other means to come by what he wished for, the old man decided.

So he lifted his empty hand, only it was no longer empty; rather, in it was held a carpenter's mallet, new and sharply made.

"Here is an example of my wares," the old man said. "Will you take this in return for the hospitality of your folk?"

The old man grinned and let a twinkle come into his eye as he watched Stigend the carpenter's jaw drop and a frown of confusion come to his eyes; for of course the carpenter had seen nothing in his hand a moment before, so how had a carpenter's mallet suddenly appeared there as if from thin air?

"And did you say your lord is now free to speak with me?"

[Folwren]

He did not like this unreasonable behavior from Erbrand in the slightest. Thornden looked sharply after Erbrand when he heard the threat. His disapproval was rising again. Thornden almost followed him, wishing to end the quarrel then and there, but he was fighting the next round with Eodwine.

He stooped and picked up his staff. Unconsciously, his hand gripped it tightly. He leaned against it before looking over his shoulder to see where Erbrand was going off to sulk.

Sulk? No, that was an unkind word and Thornden reproved himself for it. He spotted Erbrand now, climbing up the scar and heading towards camp. Thornden promised himself that he would try to reason with him later. It would do no good to prolong the disagreement and allow the anger to brew.

He moved his mind to the next match. They were to fight Lithor and Balvir. He had watched their match with keen interest and he knew that they would not be easily bested.

[Nogrod]

"I am sorry, Lithor, I didn't mean to hit you, but..." Dan started but the older soldier just smiled to him patting him to the shoulder in a friendly way. “Hah, no evil suffered mate… it was a good fight and I think that in the end I got just what I deserved.”

“Lithor! Where are you old weasel? We’ve fighting to do!” Balvir called him out loud over the crowd. Lithor chuckled and threw a grin at Dan: “You see, that’s how my best friends treat me…”

“I’m coming!” he yelled back and turned away from the druadan.

-----

Lord Eodwine and Thornden had stayed inside the flagged area. Wilcred had asked them if they would care for a pause to draw breath but they were ready to continue as soon as Balvir and Lithor could be produced to fight them.

“So, any ideas my lord?” Thornden asked Eodwine as they waited for their opponents.

“They are tough guys… I wouldn’t have hired them otherwise…” Eodwine shook his head but smiled as he did so. “So we just win them”.


“Balvir and Lithor reporting for duty!” Balvir called as they entered the flagged area.

“How if you’re just ordered to lose guys?” Garstan called from the crowd making people laugh.

“I should consider that Garstan!”, lord Eodwine answered. “But let’s have more fun with this. Now Balvir and Lithor what would you say if I ordered you to win this match?”

Balvir and Lithor exchanged looks not quite sure how to take the proposition or what to say. For their relief Wilcred came in ending their ordeal. “Allright people, the two best teams are left! Let the very best win! I give you lord Eodwine and Thornden against Balvir and Lithor!” And he blew the horn.

-----

"Will you take this in return for the hospitality of your folk?" the old man had said producing a mallet out from thin air. "And did you say your lord is now free to speak with me?" The old man was seemingly entertained by Stigend's bafflement.

Stigend looked back at the crowd and heard the noise.

"I'm afraid he's going to be busy for a short while still... And I'm in no position to take something as a reward for what this Hall may offer you but I'd sure like to have a look at that mallet." Stigend answered for something had drawn his attention to it. It didn't look like anything he had seen and he did know how mallets were made in Rohan. He sure knew it for a mallet but it was different, like there was no maker's markings or traces of all carving and handling anywhere.

"May I?"

The old man gave the mallet to Stigend and it was indeed a peculiar piece of work. Like it was real and was not. It was so smooth like no hand had ever touched it. You must be imagining things... too many hits on the head on a same day it must be...

"Where has this been made for the craftmanship is unknown to me?" Stigend studied the old man carefully. "I mean, I should know how mallets are made and what kind of general models there are... and how they look inspected from closer ... but this is, well different..."

[Nogrod]

“I quess that was an order…” Balvir sighed turning to face their opponents. “Let’s charge then!”

The two soldiers seemed not be trying any preplanned manouvers this time but charged straight forwards. Lithor headed straight towards lord Eodwine swinging his staff from left to right. There was no clear rhythm in the way he swang the staff so it made it hard for lord Eodwine to anticipate the clash when it finally came. And it did indeed take him unawares as at the crucial moment Lithor kind of halted a movement he had begun and came on him head on. Eodwine lost the grip of his staff with the impact – and so did Lithor. The crowd went “Ooohhh!” with the sudden turn of events as lord Eodwine and the older soldier stumbled into each other their staves flying in the air.

But Thornden was immediately on the top of the situation. Making a fast leap sideways to avoid oncoming Balvir he yelled “Catch!” and ducked down to pick Eodwine’s staff coming down while simultaneously throwing his own to his lord.

Eodwine heard the call and reached towards it while still rolling in the ground – having Lithor rolling along with him. And he managed to catch the staff from mid air! “Uuuuhh!”, went the crowd. And then it went “Aaahh!” followed by spontaneous applauds as Eodwine had quite miraculously brought himself up while giving Lithor a further push with his staff. And as he went up he dealt another blow to the rolling soldier.

“First hit ag… no… second…, wait… yes, two hits against Lithor!” Wilcred yelled.

Meanwhile Thornden’s sudden move had confused Balvir enough so that he only realised Thornden had been able to pick lord Eodwine’s staff when a hard blow hit his kneecap and another to his side sent him flying towards the ground. Balvir managed to try and retaliate while he fell but Thornden evaded the sweep nicely. “First and second hit against Balvir as well!” Wilcred announced.

“Your men aren’t actually following your orders too closely today my lord!” Wilcred shouted winking his eye to the audience. There were some scattered laughs as only some people had initially hear lord Eodwine’s joke with ordering his men to win. Thornden turned to face Eodwine to make a comment on the issue when he heard the steady voice of Balvir from behind him.

“We’re not quite finished with this yet, if you may”. With that Balvir who had raised up to his knees quickly levered Lithor’s staff from the ground with his own and with one movement charged Thornden now with two staves. That sudden move forced Thornden to retreat. “First hit against Thornden!”, Wilcred cried as Thornden who had been defending from a blow to one side suffered a hit from the other side.

No one quite realised how Lithor had managed to join the fight. But suddenly he was there jumping from beside lord Eodwine and landing just behind Thornden. And the timing was perfect. Just as Thornden backed off the next two hasty steps from the raining blows against him Lithor rose on all fours behind him. And Thornden tumbled straight into his back rolling over him and hitting the ground. “Second hit against Thornden!” Wilcred announced as Balvir’s staff sped Thornden’s fall.

The crowd had seen some spectacular moves this day but now it was just gaping mouths open for the fight they were witnessing… only to discover it had halted. All the four stood in the center looking at each other and breathing heavily.

“Just obeying orders my lord…” Balvir panted leaning to his staff.

“What’s the call Wilcred?”, lord Eodwine asked aloud.

“Two hits against all, but you my lord have none yet.”

“You have to bring me one hit before we call this off!” lord Eodwine said and lowered his staff.

“Let me see you do it!” It was Thornden who had crept beside Eodwine and lowered his staff to lay on Eodwine’s. Glancing at Thornden Eodwine saw him nodding towards the two soldiers and slightly moving the tips of the staffs away from each other. Lord Eodwine smiled.

Balvir and Lithor came charging as told but now their opponents had some cunning in mind. Instead of both trying to defend themselves individually they suddenly rushed forwards side by side first keeping their staves closely together and then as they reached the soldiers suddenly making powerful thrusts outwards sending the oncoming hits away and doubling their speed went past the two – from between them!

But even if the two soldiers were surprised by the move in the first place it was a familiar one to them – and they knew what was to follow. So now it was only a question of speed. And some luck.

Lord Eodwine managed to turn a bit faster than Balvir who was on the same side as he, and Balvir had no chance: “Third hit against Balvir! Out!”

Thornden wasn’t so lucky. Lithor turned simultaneously and their staffs clashed. But Thornden wasn’t prepared for the counterhit and lost his concentration for a wink of an eye. And that was enough for the soldier. “Third hit against Thornden! Thornden’s out!”

Lord Eodwine and Lithor stood facing each other staves ready. Eodwine looked at Lithor and suddenly started to smile widely.

“What do you say if we call it a draw?”

Lithor nodded in relief. “A draw that is Wilcred.”, lord Eodwine secured the call to their master of ceremonies.

“It is a draw! And the house of Scarburg wins!” Wilcred yelled and all the crowd cheered from the bottom of their hearts.

[littlemanpoet]

Flush with his draw - for he had offered it instead of holding out for victory - Eodwine grinned and thoght to himself that now was the time for his plan to unfold. He handed his quarterstaff to Thornden and moving toward Saeryn took thought for his purpose.

But Stigend came up, his face full of consternation.

"Lord! There is an old man here," he indicated behind him with a glance, "who asks for welcome, but he acts strange."

Eodwine looked at the man who smiled and nodded in silent greeting. "How so?"

"I questioned him for I did not trust him right off, and he offered me this mallet here-" Stigend produced it for Eodwine's inspection.

"It seems well made."

"Aye, that it is, if you can call it that, but I tell you I saw him empty handed and then next thing he's holding up this mallet, offering it in exchange for my welcome. Natural it is not! See, there's no maker's mark on it."

Eodwine's brow rose. "Does he have a name?"

"He hasn't given me any."

Eodwine had Stigend bring the man to him, who bowed smiling.

"Good greeting. I am Eodwine, Eorl of the Middle Emnet and lord of Scarburg. How are you called?"

"I am called many things in many lands, lord," smiled the man.

[Folwren]

Thornden, Lithor, and Balvir were left amongst all the people who were still cheering and laughing about the matches. They were all being congratulated and slapped on the back and the three of them could not help but join the infectious laughter. Thornen finally shouldered his way through everyone and went to put the two staffs down. He turned about again, wiping his hands on his pants. There was Stigend coming towards him with a stranger.

“Thornden!” Stigend called from several yards away. Thornden nodded.

“Stigend!” He smiled and came forward to meet them. “Who is this?”

“A guest. His name is Eodwemer.” Stigend paused slightly over the name. “Eodwine asked me to bring him to you that he might be welcome.”

Thornden paused one fraction of a moment, wondering why Eodwine had not done what he normally did and make the newcomer welcome himself, but then he looked at Eodwemer and bowed his head. “Welcome to Scarburg, sir.” Eodwemer bowed in reply. “Have you traveled far?”

“Some would call it far,” the old man answered.

“We will find you something to drink, and a place to sit. We are nearing the end of our games, and we can find you a place to watch the last sport.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwemer

"The last sport? And what might that be?" Eodwemer asked Thornden.

"The sword fights. With wooden swords."

"What is the reason for sword fights? Are there foes nearby that you ready yourselves to war against?"

"No such thing! We celebrate how much has been done to build a new mead hall!"

"I see," said Eodwemer, nodding to both Thornden and Stigend. "I also see that there is much yet to do." They agreed somewhat reluctantly. "Maybe I can add a little of my craft to its building over the next few days, if you like." He eyed the two men, especially Stigend the carpenter, who was still fingering the mallet, to see what kind of response might be forthcoming. "But it seems something is up between your Eorl and that young lady over there. Mayhap we should the three of us go see what's up."

Thornden and Stigend looked to where Eodwemer gestured, and the three of them quickly covered the short distance to see what was going on.

Eodwine

Eodwine found Saeryn chattering happily with Rowenna, Ginna, and Harreld. He walked into their midst and looked upon Saeryn's face expectantly. She and the others stopped their happy laughter, and smiling, Saeryn looked up at him.

"Yes, my lord?"

He smiled, his eyes keen with his purpose.

"Lady Saeryn," he said loud enough for all nearby to hear, "I have something to ask you."

Her breath seemed to catch. "Yes, lord?"

Eodwine could feel the expectation rise among those listening. He did not kneel, for it was not the custom among the Eorlingas to do so. Instead, he drew a gold ring from his pocket, and held it by the tips of his fingers before Saeryn.

"Lady Saeryn, I ask you now if you will be the Lady of my house, in all ways. Will you be my wife, and will you wed me -" he paused "-this night?"

There was an intake of breath around the circle that had formed. Saeryn's eyes were wide, and Eodwine realized, of course, that though she had expected a proposal from Eodwine some time soon, and even perhaps this day, the final twist to his question was unexpected.

The air practically rang with the silent of bated breath as everyone waited for Saeryn to respond.

[Folwren]

Saeryn tried to catch her breath. For some reason she was having difficulty doing so. Her hand crept forward, towards the ring, her fingers slowly reaching out. Before her mind’s eye, so many things were coming and going. Perhaps this was something like dying, but it was all her hopes and dreams that she saw, not her past life, and the hopes and dreams were coming into reality, not being tumbled into oblivion.

She smiled, and gasped, a huge rush of air finally gaining entrance past her restricting throat. She burst into tears and instead of taking the ring, flung her arms about Eodwine’s neck and sobbed into his shoulder.

“Yes, yes, yes!” she cried, hardly knowing it. “Eodwine, I love you!” It was whispered for his ears alone, even though she was oblivious to everyone else.

For sheer joy Eodwine held her tight and spun her around in the air, careless of the formalities of court. And just as careless of said social ordinances, he set her on her feet, drew her face toward his, and kissed her on the lips.

"You know I love you!" he cried.

The crowd whooped and applauded. A moment longer she stood there, staring up at him in adoration, and then she stepped back and wiped her eyes and laughed like a nervous girl. “Of course, I won’t have a proper wedding dress,” she said. “Or anything at all, for that matter.”

[littlemanpoet]

Saeryn laughed nervously. “Of course, I won’t have a proper wedding dress, or anything at all, for that matter.”

Eodwine had expected her to say yes to wedding him, but he was overjoyed that she had agreed to wed him this very day.

"You need no new wedding dress to give you beauty," he said. "And Degas and I have already spoken of dowry and bride price." He explained to her the agreement the two had made. "Of course it needs your yes before it becomes bond, but be at ease, my love."

She nodded happily, the epithet tacked on to the end of his words seeming to have a profound effect on her tear ducts.

He took her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger, then held her other hand and turned to the cheerful crowd as she gazed at the ring as one in her own private world of bliss.

"My friends, my house, my folk!" They cheered. "Saeryn and I shall mold our paths into one and walk life's road together." More cheers. "First we will have the sword fight, and then we will have a handfasting to be remembered!" More cheers. "I need a lord's best man! Thornden! Come over here! I have need of you!"

Thornden strode up, looking pleased to be his lord's chosen witness.

"And Lady Saeryn has need of a bride's first lady. Saeryn," he said, "whom do you choose?"

[Folwren]

It was all happening so swiftly, and so suddenly. Saeryn had not time to think, otherwise she may have answered differently. Now, after she had made her quick answer, she did not want to change it. She did not care if she were married with no huge ceremony! Eodwine did not care if she had no special dress, and that was enough for her!

“Searyn.” His voice sounded like a warm spring day when he spoke her name. “Whom do you choose?” She had to rouse herself out of deep thought and feeling. She looked up and glanced about the ring of people. Ginna, standing by Harreld, was smiling broadly. Modtryth was holding Leoðern so that she could see. Rowenna was half hiding behind people.

“Rowenna!” Saeryn said. She extended her left hand, and the gold flashed in the westering sunlight. “I choose Rowenna as my first lady!” She smiled at her and invited her to come closer.

[littlemanpoet]

She watched as Eodwine proposed marriage to Saeryn. She had suspected that this was coming today. To see his delight in the asking, and hers in the answering, then to see their happiness, served as evidence that she had been right earlier in this day that she had never really had a chance to make him her own. Even as this twinged at her pride, she found that she was smiling and clapping along with the rest of them crowd.

Then Eodwine picked Thornden as his witness, and asked Saeryn who she would pick. Rowenna could feel her heart thud, suddenly fearing that Saeryn would pick her. She hid back in the crowd, hoping that she would not be seen.

"I choose Rowenna as my first lady!"

Her heart sank. The crowd turned to her and cheered. She kept a smile on her face and stepped forward with the help of those near her, prodding her with a hand on the shoulder or back. She looked to Saeryn, who was beaming, and she forced a smile.

She stood next to Saeryn and glanced at Thornden on the other side of Eodwine, and the crowd shouted their approval. She sighed and she smiled, and gave Saeryn a hug. So it must be. She would endure this, not quite sure now why she found it baleful, nor why her heart had been so against it just moments ago.

[Lhunardawen]

At Saeryn's declaration Ginna turned to Rowenna, who stood some way behind her, and cheered along with the crowd. She was a bit surprised that Saeryn did not choose Kara, whom she had known since the days back in the old mead hall, to be her first lady, but from the chat she had enjoyed with the two women (and Harreld) before Eodwine's eventful intrusion, Ginna was able to observe how comfortable Saeryn and Rowenna were with each other. There was no doubt that Saeryn had chosen her first lady well. As Rowenna passed on her way to Saeryn, Ginna gave her an encouraging pat on the back.

Ginna could not help being drawn to Saeryn's face. Her glittering eyes and wide smile exuded such a radiance of joy that Rowenna beside her seemed almost sombre in comparison. Or was she, really? Did Rowenna not want to be chosen? Or did she envy the bride's happiness, longing to be one herself?

Because we're not getting any younger. Ginna knew that both she and Rowenna were a few years older than Saeryn, yet she had beaten them to wifehood. Perhaps Rowenna could not be blamed if her happiness for her friend was tainted with her own sadness. At least Ginna had Harreld, and at this thought she reached beside her for the smith's hand and squeezed it gently. Soon it will be my turn, she assured herself, and released Harreld's hand to clap her hands with increased vigour.

[Folwren]

Saeryn, as happy and excited as any other bride, was not completely insensible of the feelings of Rowenna. As Rowenna came to her, she half regretted choosing her and forcing her forward so, for Rowenna’s expression looked as though she did not wish it. She had hoped to strengthen their relationship and prove that all things were behind them, but she now feared that perhaps it would work oppositely. Hopefully Rowenna was not jealous.

Saeryn embraced Rowenna in an excited but sincere movement. She squeezed her tight and then stepped back and looked at her. Amidst the clapping and approving crowd of people, she knew they had bit of privacy, for no one could hear their words. She kept her hands on Rowenna’s shoulders and looked at her gently.

“Are you alright with this, Rowenna? You do not mind?”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

He felt warmth flood him at the look of sheer joy on his sister's face, yet at the same time he felt... cold. Distant. He felt the lonely tragedy of a poet in love, with the love of his life within riding distance, yet at the same time she seemed so distant as to be on the far side of the water, far away in the West.

He loved his sister, and he wanted her to be happy. He was joyful that she was happy, and to wed a man like Eodwine was as much, if not more, than he had ever asked for her. He would love her, and care for her, and they would be friends and partners as well as husband and wife. Saeryn would be safe, and she would have a home which was her home, which she presided over, in which she was so much more than a mere woman.

Yet that she should be wed this very night, when his fast approaching dawn meant telling his intended that their wedding would be, yet again, delayed, meant that Degas felt nothing less than envy.

Eodwine, friend and brother that he had become, would tonight become a husband. Again.

Saeryn would be joyous, would tomorrow and henceforth carry herself with the pride and knowledge of the depths of womanhood.

And tonight, and for many nights, Degas would sleep alone.

[Thinlómien]

Frodides gave Modtryth a long look. "Wrong? Of course not! Stop fretting, girl."

Modtryth winced. She, a married woman and a mother, was still sometimes called a girl by the old cook. She knew she should not mind for Frodides was her friend and meant nothing bad at it and she had been called so many so ugly names before... "I was just wondering," she replied. Frodides gave her another long look. Modtryth did not venture to guess what the old woman was thinking about. A strange, slightly uncomfortable silence fell.

Just at that moment there was a tremendous applause and cheering. Modtryth glanced at Frodides and smiled. "Come, let's go and see who has won the quarterstaff fights - surely you can leave your foods for a while?" Frodides gave her cookings a thoughtful look. "Come on!" Modtryth pressured, now grinning. "Oh, alright then, you win, but just a short while. It would be a disaster to ruin the meal for such a great day as this!" They rushed away, Frodides still sighing and shaking her head.

When they arrived where the others were, everybody had suddenly fallen silent. They could hear Lord Eodwine's voice: "Lady Saeryn, I have something to ask you." The two women exchanged glances. "Good timing, my friend - now it comes," Frodides whispered, and when Eodwine proposed, they cheered with everybody else. And they cheered more when Saeryn agreed, and even more when Eodwine shouted his love to the world.

"No need to get emotional," Frodides told Modtryth, who was, despite herself, actually wiping her eyes to her sleeve. Modtryth smiled at the older woman and she could swear her eyes weren't dry either. She started laughing. Frodides started laughing too.

"What are you laughing at! Did they do something funny? I want to see!" Leoðern sounded uncharacteristically impatient. Modtryth picked the little girl and lifted her to let her see better. She met Saeryn's beaming eyes when she looked around the ring of people.

"I choose Rowenna as my first lady!"

Modtryth cheered again with everyone else. It was a fair choice, forcing Rowenna to aknowledge her place in the household and forcing others to acknowledge her. When hugging Saeryn, she did not seem so happy after all. Well, not my business, Modtryth thought, and simultaneously, Where is Cnebba?

[Folwren]

Cnebba was, in point of fact, with Garmund and Javan, concealed, as it happened, by some rocks, jutting out from the scar. The boys had sought some privacy to work out the result of their bet, away from the noise and celebration of everyone else.

“Well,” Javan said, with some triumph, digging his hands deep in his pockets and puffing his chest out. He cut directly to business. “I guess that means you’re my slaves for the next week!”

Garmund and Cnebba looked at each other, and Garmund spoke, his eyebrows drawing together. “What are you talking about? The bet was if Thornden lost you’d be our slave for a week.”

“Yes,” Javan nodded. “But Thornden didn’t lose. He won the games.”

“Thornden was hit three times in that last round and was removed from the ring!” Garmund said. By his voice, it sounded as though he couldn’t believe there was any argument on the matter. “Nothing is clearer but that he lost!”

Javan’s hands came out of his pockets and his chest deflated a little as he made an exasperated sigh. “Must I explain everything to you simpletons? Thornden and Eodwine were a team - and if their team won, then it is clear that Thornden is the winner.”

“Their team didn’t win,” Cnebba put in. “It was a draw. Eodwine didn’t fight it all the way out, so even if you think that Thornden being kicked out of the ring isn’t losing, he didn’t win the last fight, so you’re still our slave.”

Javan’s eyes were flashing now. “Eodwine called it a draw because he knew that he would win,” he said fiercely. “Thornden did not loose and I will not be your slave for a week!”

[Groin Redbeard]

When Erbrand returned from camp, he was in better spirits. The anger had been burned out of him and he felt at peace again. Even though Erbrand was feeling at ease he did not forget his threat to Thornden. It was a major blow to his pride and that wound would not easily heal.

He had expected to be late for the sword fights and hurried to across the scar, but upon reaching the other side Erbrand found the group cheering and laughing. Confused, he sought to see what who or what was at the center of all this and found that it was Eodwine and Saeryn. He smiled as he guessed why the group was cheering, but he had to make sure. Quickly glancing around him he saw Kara clapping her hands and cheering enthusiastically.

"Kara, what does all this mean?" he said coming up to her. "Are the eorl and Saeryn to be married?"

[Kath]

Kara had hardly sat down since the end of the sack fight. Throughout all of the quarterstaff battles she was on her feet cheering on all the competitors - though one in particular. She hadn't had a chance to see Erbrand before the fight, there had been too many people clustered around her congratulating her still on the sack fight victory, and when she had seen him he had been talking to Thornden. Assuming that since the two spoke rarely the conversation must be important she had left them to it. Neither had she been able to see him after the fight, and this had concerned her a little. Whether he had won or lost Erbrand had always returned to her side so far and yet now he seemed to have entirely disappeared.

"He cannot feel ashamed of being beaten," she thought as she stretched up on her toes to try and catch sight of him above the crowd, "after all he was against Thornden, a trained soldier. To have got as far as he did is an achievement!"

She had almost made up her mind to go and search for him when Eodwine's proposal and Saeryn's acceptance drove all other thoughts entirely from her mind. The happiness on the faces of those she considered friends warmed Kara's heart, and she dared to hope that one day her happiness might be as certain as theirs seemed to be.

"Kara, what does all this mean? Are the eorl and Saeryn to be married?"

The voice from behind her made Kara jump, but she laughed in recognition even before she turned to see her questioner's face.

"Erbrand!" She cried. "Now where have you been? It must have been an important errand to miss all this excitement." Without waiting for an answer she rushed on. "Yes the Eorl and Saeryn are indeed to be married by the end of the day! A fitting end to the celebrations don't you think?"

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand smiled at the explanation. It was only right that Eodwine should be married, it would bring him much more respect and order besides brightening up his day to day life. Both were gentle and kind and for what one may lack the other would more than make up for.

"Yes it is good news! Tomorrow will be a new day for the Scarburg, and a happier one at that. Yet only one thing could make me happier..."

Erbrand was cut off by elevated voice of Lithor. The soldier had been whispering into the eorl’s ear and had just gotten the approval for the conclusion of the games.

“Ladies, gentlemen quiet down,” he began, seeing as his first attempt had gone unheard. “We are all very glad at out lord, and his soon to be, wife’s decision, but there is unfinished business to attend to: the sword fights must be fought!” There were more cheers that drowned Lithor out again; he stood there shouting until he calmed most of the people down. “I apologize if I am seeming hasty, but I am sure that we all are looking forward to the wedding and the sooner we get this done the better...” again the crowd drowned Lithor out and he started motioning with his arms and shouting for everyone to remain silent, but it was no use. The crowd began to shift back towards the fighting grounds, and Lithor threw up his arms and took off after them.

The day was becoming so dark that Erbrand was almost certain that this last game would be forfeited. He began to shift around with the crowd until he realized that Kara was still waiting for him to continue his unfinished thought. Erbrand realized his mistake and jumped back through the crowd back to Kara.

“Kara!” He said half laughing at himself. “With the wedding tonight there will be dancing, and I was wondering if... well, if you have promised the first dance to anyone?”

[Nogrod]

“Thornden did not loose and I will not be your slave for a week!” Javan's eyes were flashing.

Cnebba was in no mood for compromises and neither was Garmund.

"Three hits and one is out, loses. Thornden got three hits, so he loses!" Cnebba almost screamed at the older boy.

"So you're not only a rule-breaker but also an oath-breaker?" Garmund added taking a step to come right in front of Javan's face. He stared at Javan defiantly.

"Now get off me!" Javan shouted and pushed Garmund to the chest to make him back away.

Garmund was indeed wishing to avoid yet one fight with Javan but he had no time to do anything about it when Cnebba rushed on to tackle Javan.

"And a bully!" Cnebba shouted and ran on to Javan grasping him from the waist with both hands and trying to make him fall with the little momentum he had gathered from that short distance.

"Cnebba! No!" Garmund yelled but it was too late.

Javan fell to the ground with Cnebba but managed to turn over him. Garmund jumped to Javan's back and started tearing him from Cnebba while Javan was trying to land a blow on Cnebba's face. Garmund got hold of Javan's right fist at the moment Cnebba got hold of his left hand which was trying to hold him still. Cnebba buried his teeth on Javan's hand. Javan howled with pain freeing his hand from Cnebba's teeth.

The three boys rolled on the ground in a tight fighting bundle dealing blows and throwing curses around.

***

Stigend had been following lord Eodwine's sudden and unexpected proposal from close by when Javan's howl of pain resounded over the field. Everyone heard that.

"Javan!" Thornden yelled worriedly and sprang towards the direction of the howl. Stigend followed suite with Garstan.

[Gwathagor]

A few moments later, practically the whole of Scarburg was gathered the large circle that had been used for the quarterstaff matches, eagerly anticipating the exciting conclusion to the day's games: the sword fights. Nearly all the men were involved: the Gondorians, that dark wanderer fellow, and even their own eorl. It was also rumored that young Ginna had been admitted to the contest - which was the subject of much gossip and tittering. There were not a few matrons who found the whole thing grossly inappropriate, but, curiously, it was the eldest members of the community, those who had lived through the most war, who were least surprised.

"Will the contestants present themselves in the ring!" cried Lithor, standing in the center of the circle. One by one, Garstan, Stigend, Degas, Eodwine, Crabannan, Erbrand, Balvir, Matrim, Dan, Aethelstan, and Ginna all stepped forth from the crowd. "Take for yourselves of these blunted weapons," he said, "And a shield also."

The swords were those traditionally used by Rohirric knights: about three feet long, broad-bladed and straight, with large pommels and short, sturdy hilts. These were swords for cutting, designed with the mounted soldier in mind - but they would serve well-enough for a contest on foot. The shields were all identical: round and wooden, but bossed in steel. This done, Lithor outlined the rules and order of the matches.

"The rules," said Lithor, "Are similar to the quarterstaff matches. To eliminate your opponent, you must score three hits against them. Do not strike your opponent upon the head! If you do, you will be eliminated. You will also be eliminated if you step outside this ring. Is this clear?"

The contestants nodded their assent.

"Then, dear observers, please step back from the edge of our ring! Let the contest of steel commence!"

The first round went by quickly, as the ranks were thinned and Dan, Crabannan, Degas, Eodwine, and Matrim proceeded to the second round. Lithor had decided, due to the odd number of contestants, to start Ginna in the second round rather than the first, and so the second round began with Ginna fighting Degas.

Degas seemed somewhat bewildered at having to fight a woman. It clearly went against his chivalrous grain, and rightly so, but he abandoned his reticence when Ginna swung beneath his high guard and struck him hard on the hip, scoring the first point. Degas' pride was bruised and thereafter he showed no remorse in delivering his very best feints and cuts upon Ginna, unless it was in some slight softening of his blows - a favor which Ginna did not return. Though Ginna matched him blow for blow, Degas scored two hits against her in rapid succession and was moving in for the third when Ginna rattled him from head to toe with a cut that glanced off the rim of his shield and struck him on the head. The crowd gasped and Ginna threw down her arms and rushed to over to the stunned Degas to make sure he was unhurt. Apart from a headache, he was, but Ginna was eliminated all the same. If she cared, she did not show it - and neither did Harreld, grinning from ear to ear as he caught her up into his arms as she exited the ring. Side by side, they watched the rest of the contest, though to tell the truth they paid more attention to one another.

Crabannan fought Dan next. Both were natural warriors, crafty and hardened, but Dan was at a distinct disadvantage here. He had beaten Erbrand in the first round, for Dan was not easily tired and Erbrand was both exhausted and a stranger to the use of swords. Crabannan was another story, for the two were equals in terms of constitution and craft; there was no trick that one could pull that the other would not anticipate. They even matched each other in quickness, but unfortunately for Dan, Crabannan had the advantages of size and reach and this ultimately gave him the victory.

The following match was a source of much excitement (and not a little country pride) among the Scarburgers, for their eorl was fighting the Gondorian, Matrim. To their delight, Eodwine managed to beat his opponent. Both were veteran soldiers and the match was long and hard, but Eodwine's steady, careful style served him well as he played it safe and waited for Matrim to make mistakes. Nonetheless, the count eventually came to 2 and 2, and Eodwine won with a sudden burst of strength and speed at the end. For a moment, the contestants were a whirl of dust and flashing steel until Eodwine's dulled blade struck home on Matrim's left calf. Matrim knew he was beat and held up his hands in defeat. The audience erupted into spirited applause, with shouts of "Scarburg! Scarburg! Our eorl!"

Because there were now three contestants remaining, it was determined that the third and final round would consist of all three fighting each other at once.

"But first a brief respite!" proclaimed Lithor, and bid Degas, Crabannan, and Edowine catch their breath for a few moments.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna

“Are you well with this, Rowenna? You do not mind?”

Saeryn was asking in that way she had, right to the heart of the matter, seeking the truth of things. This is what Rowenna liked so much in her. She smiled. "There is no one for whom I would rather be bride's maiden than you."

And it was the truth. For there was no one else she knew for whom she would do this thing, at all. Still, her words had been heartfelt and she need do naught but what she was asked, for all eyes would be on Saeryn anyway, and that was as it should be, and she was glad of it.

As Eodwine made ready to be part of the sword fights, Rowenna and Saeryn walked hand in hand to the fighting circle, surrounded by the Scarburg folk. Rowenna was content to bask in the glow of Saeryn's joy.

Harreld

To see Lord Eodwine's joy was for Harreld a clearing of his heart and thought more greatly than ever before. His smile was so wide it almost hurt; for many years he had not been apt to it, until he had chosen to be free with his heart toward Ginna - and that had been rewarded many times over. And so he gave thought that mayhap his own wedding would at last not be so far off. That in itself was a great new thought, for only a few moons ago he had resigned himself that it might never happen.

She was applauding, delighted, then looked up at him with shining eyes and squeezed his hand once, meaningfully it seemed to him, and applauded some more. His eyes went wide and his smile felt as if it might crack his face. She was thinking the same thing! His heart was full and he let out a whoop of delight, which he was glad could be taken as his joy for their lord and lady.

Then the sword fights began, and his Ginna was to be a contestant. This was almost beyond belief, for she seemed so small and delicate to him. Yet when she went up against Degas, it became clear to Harreld that she was well trained, though her size told against her. His heart swelled with pride. She had a good eye and a good hand for the sword, which spoke very well of her bloodline. What a brood of strapping warriors we could make! he thought.

Her glancing blow on Degas' head took her out of the match, but that had half been Degas' fault, and Harreld was more than pleased. When she came back to his side she was breathing hard but looked exhilarated. He took her hand in his.

"You are every bit as much a shield maiden as our king's sister!" he cried.

[Gwathagor]

After a short break, the crowd and the final three contestants were summoned once more to the fighting circle by Lithor.

"The final contestants are Crabannan from the North, Degas of the Folde, and our own Eorl Eodwine!"

The last name was met by many cheers and hurrahs - the crowd clearly favored their eorl, who met their applause with a smile and lifted sword. Crabannan was grim and dour as usual as he sized up his opponents and hefted his shield. If he felt jittery or nervous, he showed no sign of it - unlike Degas, who seemed possessed by an anticipatory energy. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and looked tensely from Crabannan to Eodwine to the crowd and back again.

"These three will fight each other at the same time, each for himself and against the other two. Any man hit thrice will be eliminated and the last man in the ring wins!" announced Lithor. "Now, warriors - ready!"

The three combatants moved to pre-marked points in the dirt, forming a kind of triangle, all at equal distances from each other. Crabannan cracked his neck, Degas set his jaw, and Eodwine took a deep breath. The crowd was tense.

"And begin!"

Nothing happened immediately. The fighters made no move and the crowd barely breathed. A cloud shifted overhead, hiding the sun for a brief moment. A eagle shrieked high above and in another part of Scarburg, a horse whinnied. A soft breeze blew the scent of August grass up off the plains. For a moment, all was still. Then Degas made a sudden rush at Crabannan, the reverie passed, and they were away! Crabannan was too crafty to be taken by surprise, and stepped back with his left foot as the younger man came at him. Then with his shield upon Degas' back, Crabannan threw the other past, cutting the backs of his calves as he did so.

"One against Degas!" cried Lithor. The crowd cheered.

Degas stumbled, but was up again and whirled around just in time as Eodwine, seeing the opportunity came on strong from the left, aiming a blow for the shoulder. This Degas easily blocked by raising the rim of his shield - but instead of attempting to cut back at Eodwine, he instead lunged away, at Crabannan again. Crabannan, however was not there. He was attacking Eodwine now, and the two were hammering back and forth like two dwarves at an anvil (or like two Rohirrim at arms, as the case may be) - once, twice, and again.

As Degas leapt at Crabannan again, he noticed that Crabannan used footwork and shield-wards that were almost identical to Eodwine's, which surprised him very much, for Crabannan was known to be from the very far north. He had no time to be bemused, however, for he was immediately forced to negotiate the point of Crabannan's sword which suddenly presented itself before him. He struck down furiously with his shield and swung across his body with his own sword. Crabannan ducked his head to the side, avoiding a blow which would have cost Degas the game, and took a step back, a little surprised at the fellow's tenacity and fire.

Crabannan watched as Degas whirled at Eodwine, who was lunging at Degas' exposed sword-arm, which was pulled back and high and the last moment. Degas aimed a kick at the forward edge of Eodwine's shield, but Eodwine was too much a veteran to be taken in by such an old trick and merely stepped back, putting Degas off-balance. He struck out with his blade and caught Degas on the right shoulder.

"Two against Degas!" cried Lithor enthusiastically. Some in the crowd cheered, some groaned.

But Degas was not done. His shield flew up and dashed against Eodwine's out-stretched sword just as his sword smacked soundly against Eodwine's side.

"One against the eorl," remarked Lithor. The crowd had nothing to say.

But Degas still not done. He shoved Eodwine with his shield, ducked, spun on his right foot and lunged catching Crabannan hard on the right leg. The latter staggered back and winced visibly.

"One against Crabannan!" The crowd roared with delight at Degas' trick.

Crabannan was himself again in a moment. He renewed his guard. Degas, of course, now found himself in between his two opponents and hurriedly stepped out of the way. There was a momentary pause in the action, for Degas was now forced to be more cautious and Eodwine was still recovering from being nearly thrown in the dirt by Degas. Eodwine had noticed Crabannan's momentary stagger, however, and remembered the limp with which the raven-haired man had walked into Scarburg a month ago. He was an honest man and not given to taking advantage, but he was wise enough to play against his opponents' weaknesses. Crabannan, it seemed, had one.

He renewed his attack against Degas, who was nearest him, determining to finish the young fellow first and then to move upon Crabannan's apparently weak right. Shield forward, Eodwine pressed hard against Degas, aiming blows wherever he could. With a quickness that the older Eodwine could not match, Degas brought his shield across his body and suddenly back again, catching the back rim of Eodwine's shield with the boss of his own shield. Thus locked in a shield bind, Eodwine could do little but attempt to disengage towards Crabannan. It was too late however, and Degas had already cut him on the back and thrown him aside.

"Two against Eodwine," said Lithor. The crowd groaned.

Eodwine recovered quickly though and let the force of the throw carry him towards Crabannan, who was now moving with a definite reticence and even - he fancied - a limp in his right leg. Keeping his shield between himself and Degas, he dashed hard at Crabannan. His first cut at Crabannan's arm was deflected by the other's shield and his second cut, which was aimed at Crabannan's shield-shoulder, missed by an inch. Crabannan retreated half-heartedly beneath the onslaught, doing his best to ward off the blows with his shield and keeping his right leg well out of harm's way. Eodwine cut low this time at Crabannan's now exposed left leg, just beneath the lower edge of Crabannan's shield.

"Two against Crabannan!"

Eodwine flicked his eyes back toward Degas - and not a moment too soon, for Degas was swinging at him with sword and shield combined, apparently in an attempt to over-power him. Eodwine countered with a slash of his sword that came close to Degas' midsection and caused him to halt abruptly. The eorl swung back with his sword, meaning to catch and fling back Crabannan's inner shield-edge, thus presenting the Northerner's midsection as an open target. To his surprise, the shield was not there. He looked up at Crabannan, and, even as he brought his sword around and prepared for a powerful blow that would surely cause the dark fellow to collapse up on his bad leg, he found himself staring into a pair of knowing eyes and a grim smile. His puzzlement increased - and then his mighty blow came up short against the hilt of Crabannan's upraised sword. There was not a stagger, not a flicker of pain or weakness in Crabannan's eyes and then Eodwine realized he'd been fooled.

Eodwine was only permitted a brief instant for surprise, because Crabannan had suddenly whirled to Eodwine's left, out of reach, and headed for Degas. As Crabannan turned, he thrust his own shield hard against Eodwine's. He then lunged at Degas, who dashed the blow aside with his sword as Eodwine slashed at where Crabannan's back had been exposed a second before. Degas' sword flicked around and returned the lunge. Foiled by Crabannan's instinctive side-step, he allowed his momentum to follow though into kick, as he tried again to dislodge his attacker's shield. This time he succeeded and Crabannan's shield-arm was flung up, out, and back, but Crabannan was too quick to let this slow him down. He let the shield go, and it spun away into the dust, at the same time tossing his sword into the air. As Degas slashed violently at Eodwine and then prepared to execute a quick blow back at Crabannan's chest, Crabannan seized Degas' sword-arm with his now free right-hand. Pulling him close, Crabannan caught his own sword in his left hand and struck Degas with great force upon the thigh of his right leg - almost exactly where Degas had hit Crabannan earlier. Then, receiving insult upon injury, Degas found himself sprawling in the dust. Crabannan had tripped him.

"Three! Three against Degas!" hollered Lithor, and the crowd echoed the cry, indeed, they nearly screamed themselves hoarse, for they had never seen anything like this in their lives.

"Degas is out!" cried Lithor.

Degas rolled away and exited the ring, but Eodwine and Crabannan paused not a moment, for the heat of battle (such as it was) was upon them and they were both seasoned warriors. As far as they were concerned, the battle never stopped, and if you asked either of the afterwards, they couldn't remember a thing Lithor had said. Without blinking an eye or taking a breath, Crabannan leapt over Degas, twisting around to face Eodwine as he did so. As he came down, Eodwine flung his own shield at Crabannan's feet and sprang into the attack with a quickness that surprised even him. Crabannan was tripped and fell quite flat - but turned a somersault and came up with his sword at Eodwine's throat.

A stunned silence fell abruptly. The horse neighed, the eagle screamed. The crowd dared not breath. Then, as the crowd went suddenly wild, and as Crabannan and Eodwine's eyes met for the second time during the fight, they both smiled. Broad, boyish, irrepressable grins, followed by bursting, side-shaking laughter, as Crabannan leapt nimbly to his feet and Eodwine furiously shook his hand. Lithor's voice was drowned out entirely as the crowd swarmed about the two contestants, caring not a straw that their favorite had been beaten by the melancholy Northerner.

"Three against Eodwine! Crabannan has won!" shouted Lithor, leaping on a log and waving his arms. "He's won! He's won!"

And so he had.

[Groin Redbeard]

As the crowd pressed closer around the duelers, Lithor nudged his way out of the mass. He breathed a sigh of relief as he forced himself between the last couple of people that separated him from the elbowroom that he so desperately wanted. When Lithor was free of the crowd he looked back to see Crabannan lifted upon the shoulders of the people. Lithor chuckled and gave one last cheer for the participants, the duel was by far the most exciting game yet. As he walked to back to the soldier’s encampment Lithor was soon overtaken by Balvir and Matrim.

“What did you think of the fight?” asked Matrim, the young man was bobbing back and forth between Lithor and Balvir as if he meant to box with them. “I though it was very exciting to say the least, but Balvir here begrudges Crabannan his victory.”

“I only said that I didn’t care for the fellow and...”

“And that you suspected foul play.” Said Matrim, finishing Balvir’s sentence. The older guard grunted with disgust.

“It isn’t right, letting an outlander get the best of our lord, it just is not right, Anyway, I suspected that Eodwine let him win, it isn’t like Eodwine to show off in front of a crowd.”

Matrim laughed and skipped ahead of the two until he entered the living quarters fro the soldiers. As Balvir and Lithor entered Matrim was sitting with his feet propped up on the table with a smile on his face, the kind that a cat gets after it has just stolen a gallon of cream.

“Say what you like my friend,” continued Matrim. “I say you’re just upset because you didn’t have the sense to place your three gold pieces on Crabannan, like I did.” Lithor burst into laughter when he heard this and gave Balvir a sympathetic pat on the back before he moved over to the water barrel. The embarrassed, and now slightly red faced, Balvir remained silent while Matrim and Lithor had their laugh.

“Laugh it all up Matrim I voted for Eodwine because I am loyal. I wish I could say as much for you.”

“A fool and his money are soon parted,” said Matrim with an unfading smile. “I guess that makes you the loyal old fool.” Matrim started to laugh.

Balvir threw up his hands and sat down adjacent to Matrim. “Oh, put a lid on it!”

Lithor had been listening to the conversation while bringing out the three’s best clothes, swords, and armor. He then placed them on the table and went to fill a basin with water.

“Oh no!” Matrim said jumping up from his chair. “It isn’t wash day already!”

“No, not yet,” laughed Lithor as he poured the water. “But you could certainly use a bath.” Balvir nodded in agreement and looked at Matrim. “I’d appreciate that.”

“But not today,” interrupted Lithor. “We haven’t the time. Our lord is getting married and he’ll need an honor guard. We can’t go to a wedding looking as we are right now.”

“I would never have guessed that Saeryn would be Eodwine’s choice.” Balvir said thoughtfully. “Strange how things work out.”

“Say!” exclaimed Matrim with a note of glee. Balvir scowled as he saw his companion was about to change the subject.

“Weddings call for feasting and games! Do you think that we’ll get another day off of work on the marrow? Perhaps we will have more games to fight in!”

Lithor laughed gently at the young soldier’s enthusiasm. “I certainly hope not.” And with that said, Lithor began to gently splash his nose with water

[Folwren]

It is impossible to say whether the boys really meant to swear, or if they were actually aware that they were doing so, but when the two fathers and the older brother came tearing about the cropping of rock and heard them, all three of them were rather shocked. While Thornden ran to Javan, Stigend grabbed Cnebba by the ear and jerked him back a few feet so that Cnebba's feet barely touched the ground. Cnebba whined from pain. They were able to stop the fight, but unable to stop the war of words.

“You pig! You liar!” Cnebba shouted furiously as he strained against Stigend’s hands. “You’re no eorling, no matter how hard you try! They don’t break oaths, and you have!”

"Language!" Stigend shouted to Cnebba while Thornden was chiding Javan. "Watch your language, young man! You're not one in a position to say such things to Javan!" It was clear Stigend was furious. Stigend was just about to slap Cnebba when Garstan intervened and took hold of Stigend's free hand.

Thornden and Garstan immediately recognized where the pain came from - Stigend, used to hearing his son and his wife talked down all the time, was shocked to hear such words from his own son. They both paused, unsure of what to say. Javan had no such delicacy.

“What would you know?” Javan answered Cnebba, spitting blood and a tooth out of his mouth. “You’re nothing but a half-bred Easterling!”

Thornden boxed his ear and shook him sharply. “Stop that!” he hissed in Javan’s ear, furiously. “Don’t you dare say such a thing!”

"Calm down, everyone!" Garstan shouted and looked at Thornden and Stigend. They both loosened their grips on the boys and straightened their backs. The tension eased slightly.

"They said something about an oath-breaking. Now that is a serious thing. Maybe you, Garmund, could tell us more about that?" Garstan said, turning towards Garmund. Suddenly the focus changed and all the eyes were fixed on Garmund.

Garmund instinctively took a few steps backwards, away from the gazes, and mumbled something no one could hear.

"Let us hear it, Garmund," Thornden said, now quite calmly.

Garmund backed a step more and then paused. "It was just a bet, nothing important... really," he managed to say and immediately frowned looking clearly as one who had revealed something too much. Cnebba and Javan looked at him, their eyes flashing.

"No it was not... or..." Garmund tried but then fell silent.

The adults exchanged looks.

"Most people who mess around making bets lose all they have with it. Now, you three should not get used to that. You should earn what you have. Chance may be a nice lover but she's a terrible mistress when she turns her back to you." Stigend sounded dead-serious and all the boys looked downwards.

Garstan took Garmund by the shoulder firmly letting him understand there was no way off from it this time.

"What was the bet you had? Answer me!" Garstan's voice, which was rarely raised, was loud and clear right now. "What was the bet? Answer!"

Garmund tried to pull a brave face but he soon lost his calm and started to tremble and cry.

Cnebba broke free of Stigend's grip as his father was paying more attention the reactions of others than to him, and took the few steps to be in the center.

Cnebba bit his lip before opening his mouth.

"Javan boasted that Thornden would win the fight and that no other would stand a chance against him. And we made a bet if Thornden was winning or not. And as..." there Cnebba took a pause gathering his courage. "... As master Thornden was called out in the middle of the final..." Cnebba finally breathed in, "...he lost... And Javan here refuses to admit it." Cnebba swallowed hard trying to keep his calm and everyone saw he was having hard time trying it. "Thornden was called out from the final and so he did not win the game. But Javan refused to admit that and so we won him with the bet!"

The adults glanced at each other once again. Winking at Thornden and receiving an accepting nod from him, Garstan addressed Javan this time.

"Now what was that bet about, Javan? And is Cnebba right in saying you denied your bet?"

“No. He is not right. I would call him a liar, if that were allowed.”

“It’s not,” Thornden warned quietly.

“I have not refused my bet, but I do disagree that Thornden lost.”

Thornden settled all doubts. “I lost - at least in the sense you were speaking of. Crabannan defeated me in the ring, and you had boasted that I was the best. You were proved wrong. So, now that that’s settled - what was the bet?”

The boys all paused. Garstan glanced about, looking impatient. “Speak quickly - Stigend and I are in the next games.”

Javan adopted his old, sullen and stubborn look. Now that it came to it, he didn’t want anyone to know. “It wasn’t for money or for anything else like that. Since you all think Thornden lost, we can settle it from here.”

“I think perhaps the boys should come back with us,” Thornden said, addressing Stigend and Garstan. “We don’t want any more trouble today, what with the wedding and all this evening.”

The two fathers agreed, and mostly against their will, the three boys were escorted back to everyone else. The sword contest was about to begin and Stigend and Garstan made off through the people to join the contestants.

[Groin Redbeard]

With the termination of his participation in the sword fight, Erbrand was finished with the long day of games. It was actually fun to be beaten by Dan, a man whose skill with the sword was as evident as Erbrand’s skill with the bow. The two parted as friends from the field. No hard feelings, although Erbrand felt a little disappointed at losing his chance to face Crabannan or Thornden, who unexpectedly didn’t fight, but there would be time for all that later.

As Erbrand exited the field, with the victory of Crabannan, his heart was intent on finding Kara. The question he had posed to her was cut short by the beginning of the sword duels and she urged him to go lest he be disqualified. He would not, however, let his question die so easily. There she was!

“Kara!” he exclaimed to her, and his walk turned to a jog. It seemed to Erbrand as if he was always running to her side. “My participation in the games was cut short, it seems, by my inexperience with the sword.” he said in response to Kara’s sympathetic expression. “But I don’t care, I don’t care about anything in the world anymore!” Erbrand’s countenance broke into a smile, and he laughed for the sake of happiness itself.

“Kara, I left you with an unanswered question. I pray for you to please dance with me tonight, I can think of no better ending for today.” Erbrand’s mood suddenly became tame after this. The thought suddenly occurred to him that she might not even want to dance with him. Fool, don’t force yourself on her, give her a choice!

He backed a step or two backwards with the sudden feeling that he was crowding Kara. A smile still lit his face, but it was nowhere as bright as it was.

“That is, of course, if you have not promised your hand to... uh, I mean your first dance to someone else.” Erbrand’s face grew redder by the second. This surely wasn’t the best way to win over Kara for a dance. Why must she delay with this waiting? It’s becoming more unbearable by the second.

[Lhunardawen]

Finally, Scarburg.

It was late, much later than Randvér had planned. He had originally intended to come to his friend Eodwine's new estate when he and his household had first relocated to it. He had planned to help them get settled, but more importantly, he was to find out for himself how her daughter had been. Ginna had been under Eodwine's care for months, and he wanted to know if the arrangement had yielded the effect he desired.

Randvér had not been without news of his daughter's doings. Eodwine had informed him of the near-escape of the outlaws he held captive back in the old mead hall. Ginna had been taken hostage by one of these outlaws while she worked in the kitchen. She had been found by Eodwine and his men held at knife-point, but later managed to returned the captor's favour and held the knife to his throat. Eodwine had to invoke his authority over the girl to stop her from killing the outlaw. Randvér had shaken his head at his daughter's wayward deed when he heard of it, but in truth he felt a bit proud of her courage.

He also knew of the fire that decimated the old mead hall's stables. The accident had no casualties apart from a single horse, but Eodwine had been kind enough all the same to let him know that his daughter was safe.

He felt, however, that the more important things he should be aware of were hidden to him until he saw her face to face. He did not want to think that Eodwine would neglect to tell him anything he ought to know, but he could never be sure of his daughter. May it not be that she had managed to convince Eodwine to leave out significant details about her in his correspondences. Or worse, that she had somehow outwitted the eorl and kept her misbehaviour secret. Now he would find out.

Randvér was aware of the festivities taking place in Scarburg, but he thought his daughter would most likely be confined to her work. And so he made his way to the kitchen, wondering to himself along the way if perhaps she could have been forced to work during such a time as punishment for some misdeed. He tried to shut away the memory of her first day in the eorl's service, but in his mind's eye he could still see her bending over broken dishes, and shuddered to think that it still continued to happen until the present.

It was not, however, the sound of crashing earthenware that greeted him in the kitchen, but of two women chatting together as they worked. Neither of them was Ginna. He inquired of them of his daughter's whereabouts.

"Outside, probably screaming her lungs out while watching the games," said the older woman without looking up at him. He recogised her as the cook, Frodides. "You only need to follow the noise." Frodides then lifted her head towards Randvér. A look of recognition almost immediately appeared in her face.

"Much thanks," Randvér said and quickly stepped out, hearing Frodides exclaim, "That man, that man is Ginna's father!" behind him. He caught the noise of a crowd and followed it to its source. He found his way around people towards the centre of the gathering and searched keenly for Ginna, careful not to be seen by her.

There before him, to his amazement, was a sight that he could only be imagining. The girl had her back to him, but he could recognise the blonde hair, the deceivingly willowy figure, the proud stance anywhere. He ought to, particularly the last, for she had learned it from him.

The crowd of onlookers were too focused on the odd, unbalanced fight to notice him. Randvér finally chose an unfamiliar face whose eyes seemed to exude frankness. This, he surmised, could be a man who would tell him whatever he needed to know.

"This is an unfair match, wouldn't you think? But the lass seems determined to make it last. Pray tell me, who is she?"


Ginna

"You are every bit as much a shield maiden as our king's sister!"

Ginna said nothing, instead taking a few more deep breaths. "You flatter me, Harreld," she finally gasped, "The way I fought, no one could ever have mistaken me for anything but a woman."

"You speak the truth," replied Harreld, "because you're too beautiful to be mistaken for a man."

Feeling the sweat drip down her flushed cheeks and her long hair in wild disarray, Ginna wondered if Harreld was lightly mocking her. But looking up at him, she saw that his eyes echoed the words he had just uttered. She smiled shyly and suffered to be led by the hand back to the match.

She glanced at Degas, who stood a bit to the side watching Dan and Crabannan fight, with a look of intense interest in his face. Ginna felt very pleased with herself, having been able to stand her ground against such a strong man despite her lack of practice. Yet amidst the satisfaction she felt, she could not help hearing distant echoes of disappointment. Even in his absence, Ginna knew that Randvér would find anything less than victory unacceptable.

[Gwathagor]

"That? That is Ginna. She works in the kitchens and is loved by the smith; that is all I know," replied Crabannan, with his eyes still on the fight. "She fights well, but Degas will beat her. He is too fast and wild."

"You seem very certain," said Randver, with a little indignation in his voice.

Crabannan glanced over at this man who had struck up a conversation with him. He did not want to talk, but he disliked being gainsayed even more. "You doubt me? Wait and watch, fellow. I know what I am talking about."

Randver felt a little annoyed, and somehow vaguely insulted. "Indeed? And you are...?"

Crabannan turned to face Randver and said nothing, but for a moment simply looked him up and down, taking him in, assessing his character and strengths and weaknesses. At first glance, the stranger looked like every other Rohir Crabannan had ever met: tall, yellow hair, blue eyes. It was always possible he had fought alongside the man during the War, but if he had, he could not immediately remember it. Crabannan sometimes wondered if the men he met here were in fact old war-companions of his from when he had fought in Rohan. He hoped not, and he hoped they would not remember him if they were. He frowned and furrowed his brow.

"I am a man who knows the sword, who has spent his whole life on the sword. I've fought for five kingdoms and survived countless battles. I've killed more men than I can count. I know the sword better than a man can know his own child and can tell the end of a fight before it's begun. Watch and wait, fellow. Any moment now, the kitchen-girl will make a mistake."

Crabannan turned away and said no more.

[Lhunardawen]

The man turned and paid no more attention to him, and it took some of Randvér's willpower to keep from arguing. But there was the risk of the argument turning into a noisy fight, and the last thing he wanted was to gain unwanted attention, so he stepped away from the man and focused on the match - at least his eyes did. He could see the fight going on before him, and even agreed eventually to the stranger's assessment of its outcome, but something else was foremost on his mind.

The stranger had mentioned a smith, that Ginna was loved by the smith. The words kept eating at him, and the deep-seated mistrust he had for his daughter was awakened. What did his daughter do this time? How come Eodwine had never mentioned this to him? He was relieved that no other name had come up when he expected more, but . . . there seemed to be an exclusivity in the relationship as the stranger had said it. A smith?

Then came a loud clang of sword on helmet, and the match was over. Ginna ran over to her opponent, who assured her he was fine, then she left the ring and made her way towards a big, burly man. Randvér's instinct told him this was the smith in question. His fear was confirmed when the man had taken her hand in his.

Randvér could not bear to see more, not at this time. He made his way to the back of the crowd where Ginna and the smith would be out of his sight. He would wait rather impatiently for the sword fight matches to be over; he needed a word with the eorl. And, perhaps, with this smith.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine shook Crabannan's hand.

"I am glad that you are one of us, Crabannan! I would not want to face you in war. But now I wish that we had added to the games using our spears while on horse, but the day wanes and I have a handfasting to accomplish!"

With that, Eodwine looked for Saeryn and Degas with the intention of speaking to them of what should be part of their rite. Before he found them he spotted a familiar face in the back of the crowd.

"Randvér! Is that you? Welcome, my friend! You could not have chosen to come on a better day!"

Rand did not appear to be in the best mood, but that did not trouble Eodwine, for his friend was often dour and prone to seeing the dark side of a matter. He was a fast friend and that overbore any flaws. He grabbed Rand by the hand.

"How do you fare?"

[Lhunardawen]

"I am well," replied Randvér as he shook Eodwine's hand firmly. "I apologise for not having come sooner; I had to attend to my own matters for a while."

He thought this was hardly the place or the time to delve into his dealings for the past months, and was thankful that Eodwine did not pursue the topic. Nevertheless he swiftly shifted Eodwine's focus away from him.

"But my friend, you look better than I have seen you in years! I can think of only one way you can explain this, and what you said earlier that I could not have come on a better day."

He looked knowingly at the eorl, who could then no longer stifle a grin.

[littlemanpoet]

"Indeed, this is a day of days for me," Eodwine replied happily. "Come, meet my bride to be. I am to be married today."

Eodwine led Rand to Saeryn and introduced his old friend to his wife to be. Speaking of her thus to his friend suddenly brought the strangeness of it home to Eodwine: this lass who was young enough to be his own daughter, was about to become his wife! He looked past her young face into her smiling eyes and saw in them the spirit that had sparked his interest in the very first week of their aquaintance though he had not allowed himself to see that as love at the time. He turned to Rand.

"Yes, I know I may be accused of robbing the cradle, but she is-" he tried to find the words that expressed the unity he felt between them and found phrase after another to be trite or lacking. "-she is as right as right for me."

He grabbed her hand and lifted it to his smiling lips, and held her eyes with his own.

[Folwren]

Saeryn laughed happily. She laughed at Eodwine’s comment of robbing the cradle, and she laughed at knowing that she was his chosen one. Her eyes danced with joy, inclined to dance even more the longer he gazed into them.

They were forgetting something in their joy. Without really wanting to, she broke the gaze and glanced around. She saw Randvér standing by. “Eodwine!” she said. “You are forgetting your guest!” She pulled her hand out of Eodwine’s and took his arm instead so that they could both face Randvér together, side by side.

"Will you stay and celebrate with us, sir?" she asked.

[Groin Redbeard]

He was afraid to speak, but the silence kept getting increasingly unbearable. Kara seemed to be lost in her thoughts. Whatever it was, Erbrand worried that she might not have heard him.

"Kara," He asked, sitting beside her and taking hold of one of her hands. "Are you alright? You don't seem to be yourself. If this is a bad time, or I have spoken out of place in my boldness, say the word and I will leave. I can always return later."

[littlemanpoet]

Upon Saeryn's query whether Rand would stay to celebrate, Eodwine insisted that he stay the night and maybe more. Rand replied that he intended to at least stay the night.

"But I wish to find my daughter," Randvér said.

"Stay with us and you will find her," Eodwine replied blithely, "for we seek Harreld about a sword, and where one finds Harreld, Ginna is sure to be near." Eodwine looked at Saeryn and so did not see Randvér's deepening frown . "You and I have a rite to plan, and with all haste! Let us find Harreld, and Degas and Rowenna and anyone else you think we need, and sit down together and plan it out, before the sun goes down!

"Come to think of it, I rather like the idea of hanging lanterns all around and having a twilight wedding, what think you, Saeryn?"

They began to walk arm in arm, Rand walking with the eorl opposite Saeryn.

[Folwren]

“I do not think we could have any other sort of wedding, Eodwine! Daylight will fail more quickly than you imagine - we have so many things to prepare! Can we not have torches, instead of lanterns? Or perhaps both. Let’s hang the lanterns, as you said, and have people bearing torches as we...as we do the hand fasting.” She pressed against Eodwine with a shiver of excitement while she said the words. She did not know how to contain her joy and excitement.

“We should ask Modtryth to help!” she said with a sudden idea. “She will know how to go about preparing everything and will make things so much simpler!”

They were drawing close to Harreld now. He was talking with Ginna, their heads bent low together as they sat beside each other, and neither of them saw the three approaching newcomers.

“Once we finish here, I will go and find her,” Saeryn said quietly to Eodwine and then became silent as they came within speaking distance to Harreld.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld was the first to notice Eodwine and Saeryn and the unknown man, for Ginna was eagerly telling him a story of her childhood. He gestured to her with a glance at the approaching three, and rose. Ginna rose with him. Suddenly he felt her hand in his, trembling. Was she that excited about the wedding?

"Good greeting, lord and lady, and you also sir. I am Harreld the Smith, and this is Ginna." He felt Ginna's hand squeezing harder.

"This is Randvér, Ginna's father, Harreld."

Harreld lost his breath, and stared. Her father? He felt his knees shake, for the man was glowering at him with undisguised displeasure. Involuntarily, he let go of Ginna's hand as if caught in the act of theft. He dared not look at her face this moment.

"What can I do for you, sir?" he asked.

"Saeryn and I need a sword for the wedding," said Eodwine, still unaware of Randvér's unspoken wrath. "I am to give her mine from my father, but she needs one to give to me. Have you any good swords in your trove, or do we need you to make one?"

"Um - ah - I - I must go see. Straight way!" He took one step in a bee line toward his smithy to get out of this most uncomfortable situation.

"Do not leave yet, Harreld the Smith," said Randvér.

Harreld stopped in his tracks and backed up, feeling embarrassed, and stood next to Ginna again. He glanced at her now: she was terror stricken. A bit of anger stoked in his belly that he had been so cowed by this man, and that he instilled such fear in his own daughter. He grabbed Ginna's hand and held tight.

"What can I do for you, sir?"

[Kath]

Kara had to laugh. Erbrand had been changing pace around her at the drop of a hat all day, and now she knew why. His enthusiasm for the games had been so infectious and consuming that she had never even realised that he was building up to a question, and now here it was twice!

“Kara," he had said after bounding toward her after being knocked out of the games, "I left you with an unanswered question. I pray for you to please dance with me tonight, I can think of no better ending for today. That is, of course, if you have not promised your hand to... uh, I mean your first dance to someone else.”

And now again he had gone from joyful to apprehensive. Kara hoped that it hadn't been her laughter that had caused the change. Ginna had commented on the effect of her mirthful nature on Erbrand already but that atmosphere around her was so up beat that she had entirely forgotten until she saw his face fall. She realised that he probably thought she was trying to figure out a way to let him down gently, despite the fact that this was the furthest thing from her mind. In an effort to make amends she smiled instead and took his hand.

"I have promised neither my hand nor my first dance to anyone, Erbrand, so if you would like to dance then I would be glad to dance with you. Does that answer you question?"

[Groin Redbeard]

Dancing! Erbrand felt like lifting Kara off her feet and dancing with her back to camp. Of course it would be highly irregular, but why not?

"Wonderful!" He joyfully exclaimed. Suddenly his arms lifted from his side and swiftly, yet gently, seized Kara and lifted her off the ground. Together, they twirled three times with Kara looking down on him. Erbrand laughed and wished that he could keep her staring down on him forever in this fashion forever; Kara floated majestically in the sky as if she were some transfixed goddess. However, Erbrand soon relinquished his hold on Kara and slowly let her down. For a moment, which seemed much longer than it was, Erbrand thought he could guess what Kara was thinking by looking into her deep blue eyes.

"Then, most gracious lady Kara," Erbrand was wearing a broad grin and bowing low. "I most humbly offer my arm, and if you so wish, please accept it and stroll with me back to the camp?"

~~~~~~~~~~
Lithor

Lithor, along with Balvir and Matrim, emerged from the tent in their finest armor. The Gondorian pair wore almost the exact same things; both had on shirts of black leather bearing the majestic image of the White Tree. Under the leather tunic, both had on hauberk’s of steel rings out to the mid point of their upper arms and down to their knees. Ceremonial swords were at their sides, contained in sheaths of shining steel. The only difference between them was that Balivir wore a blue cape that embraced his shoulders, signifying his superior rank over Matrim.

Lithor’s garb was simple, but no less impressive. He too wore a hauberk, extending to the same lengths as Balvir’s and Matrim’s, but his was of iron and did not shine in the fading light as did the Gondorian steel; instead, it matched the brown, leather, shoulder pads and platebody. His leather platebody bore the image of a muscular horse of the Riddermark. A sword hung at his side and the hilt was laced with gold; an impressive reward for service to king and country. Lithor held his helmet. It was like that of most Rohirrim, except that a plume of horse hair was allowed to be placed on top.

The boisterous behavior of Matrim and the jolly nature of Lithor matched the usual mild manners of Balvir: austere and expressionless. The day of play was over; it was time to show reverence and respect to the Lord Eodwine and the soon to be Lady Saeryn.

“What do you know of weddings?” Balvir asked Lithor, continuing a conversation in that they were having inside the tent.

“Not much I’m afraid. I have only attended a wedding once back in Edoras, but that was between peasants and very simple. We will need lots to be done that’s clear, but what things; this wedding is to be much grander than the one I saw.”

“When in doubt ask!” Matrim stated. “I’m sure that Lord Eodwine would keep things as simple as possible, seeing as how he did not make his engagement known until half an hour ago.”

“Besides,” said Balvir, “We are not Eodwine’s personal servants, we are soldiers; this wedding business should be left up to the womenfolk. Saeryn should know what needs to be done, let’s ask her.”

The three headed back to where all the commotion was, expecting to find Eodwine and Searyn there. Matrim was sent off to find Wilcred and the other soldiers for help, when they found that Eodwine was not back at camp. Lithor and Balvir split up and agreed to meet back at the camp in five minutes.

~Five minutes later~

Balvir was waiting with Matrim, who had found the other soldiers, by the time that Lithor had gotten back.

“DId you find anything?” Matrim asked, though his tone was depressed seeing that Lithor came back alone.

“I found Saeryn with Eodwine, but they seem to be preoccupied at the moment. It seems that Randvér has returned. Do you remember him?”

“Ginna’s father?” Said Balvir in a startled tone. “That old man will be like a wet blanket on the camp’s cheer. Especially now that Harreld and Ginna are beginning to get cuddly again.”

“Randvér is already talking to Harreld; Eodwine and Saeryn were with him.” Matrim gave Balvir an amused look while Balvir scowled. “Anyway,” Lithor continued, “I didn’t think that it was an opportune time to ask Saeryn about the wedding.”

“That’s great,” Balvir said it in a sarcastic tone, “now what are we suppose to do?”

“Why not ask Modtryth?” Lithor pointed towards the kitchen where Modtryth was talking with Frodides. Matrim ran to them and respectfully interrupted the conversation. He then brought Modtryth to Lithor.

“Good evening ma’am. We have a problem that I hope you can help us with.” Lithor said this with his usual smile and gentle words. “tell me, Modtryth, what do womanfolk want in a wedding?”

[Thinlómien]

Modtryth suppressed a wince. Here was this slick Lithor once again, but his question wasn't a stupid one.

"Most of the things, I assume, will be taken care by the groom and the bride an their families." She paused there. Saeryn's and Eodwine's families? There was nothing of them except for Degas here. She pushed that thought away. If they needed help with the familial things, they would ask.

"Then there are some matters like the dressing the bride and baking a cake..." Here Modtryth glanced at Frodides, wondering if she and Kara would manage to make one on such a short notice, "...with which you can hardly be of any assistance."

Modtryth paused and a silence fell.
"So there's not anything we can do?" Matrim prodded.

"In fact, there is something. We need some decorations. You should go and cut some fresh branches of trees, and find flowers too, blue ones if possible, and then hang them around the place. I will show you how, and Ginna may be of assistance as well."

Suddenly the thought of the three soldiers picking flowers started amusing Modtryth. She grinned. "You can take little Lèodern - she's here - and the three boys with you. They can pick the flowers while you cut the branches."

"Oh and one more thing. I assume you know better than to chop down Eodwine's favourite trees," she laughed.

[Kath]

The delight in Erbrand's face when she agreed to dance with him filled Kara with joy. She had never deliberately hurt him but he was a man quick to misunderstand a conversation on occasion, and she was glad that at this particular time he had understood her entirely. Despite that she had not been expecting to be picked up and twirled around!

"Aah!" She had squealed when his arms suddenly wove themselves around her and squeezed tightly, even then not realising that he was going to lift her. When he did with such ease she simply threw her head back and laughed. It had been a long time since anyone had acted so freely with her, indeed the only person she could recall spinning her like this was her father, and she didn't mind the comparison.

When he had spun his joy out Erbrand finally put Kara gently back on her feet and gave her the biggest beam she had ever seen from him and she had to laugh again when he executed a flourishing bow in front of her.

"Then, most gracious lady Kara," he said, and his voice was for once fully confident, "I most humbly offer my arm, and if you so wish, please accept it and stroll with me back to the camp?"

"Well of course I will." Kara replied, linking her arm through his. "Lead on!"

[littlemanpoet]

"What can I do for you sir?" asked Harreld.

Randvér paused. Eodwine coughed uncomfortably into the breach.

"Well, it appears that you have something about which to talk," he said, glancing at Rand, Harreld, and Ginna in turn. "Saeryn and I will leave you to it, for we have much to prepare very quickly. Harreld, see me when you are done here and we will talk of the sword."

He and Saeryn left arm and arm.

"You and I need to go find Modtryth and have her take charge of the things we cannot. And then we should talk to Frodides to tell her we need no cake on such short notice, but she may do whatever she wishes and no more. Does that please you?"

"Well enough. I hope your friend Rand deals not too harshly with Harreld and Ginna." She looked over her shoulder with a worry in her eyes.

"I have watched Harreld change lately. I think he can handle himself. He is no mere lad, but a man full ready to fend for himself and another should he choose."

They came upon Modtryth who had apparently just dismissed Balvir, Matrim, and Lithor to some duty or other, Léoðern in tow.

"And where have you sent them off to, Modtryth?" asked Eodwine.

"To pick slender branches and flowers for your wedding bower."

"Ah, yes. Speaking of which-" Eodwine said, but stopped, deferring to Saeryn with a gesture.

[Folwren]

Saeryn took her cue and left Eodwine’s arm to capture Modtryth’s. She drew her aside and Eodwine followed them into a corner where they clustered together to discuss plans.

“It will be dark before we have started,” Saeryn began, “so Eodwine and I have agreed to have lanterns and torches. We were wondering if you would help set things up and direct everything as they should go?”

Modtryth agreed with enthusiasm and Saeryn smiled gratefully. She and Modtryth sat down at the table. Eodwine stood beside Saeryn.

“Let us have the wedding on this side of the scar, but beyond the building, so that the area is clear and away from the camp. Do you think we should hang the lanterns in a circle, or put them in long rows?”

This began a swift discussion where Eodwine and Saeryn’s ideas flowed freely, intertwining with each other. Modtryth took the ideas and modified them as necessary to fit what they could actually do, offering some ideas as they came to her. They talked for only about ten minutes, being aware of the very little time they had, and then they parted ways to deal with the tasks that they were all appointed.

[littlemanpoet]

Modtryth hurried off to take care of the things Eodwine and Saeryn had placed in her capable hands.

"Shall we go talk to Frodides?"

Saeryn nodded and he took her arm in his.

As they walked toward the baker, Eodwine glanced at Harreld who was talking with Randvér; Ginna looked very nervous. Harreld's expression was unusually dour. Could it be that Rand did not approve of Harreld for his daughter? Maybe he was reflecting the likely mien of Rand. Eodwine looked away and glanced at the face of his bride.

She wore a contageous smile. It was very, very good that he could walk arm and arm with her now without embarrassment over what folk might say. It was still amazing to him that he, now over forty, had on his arm a young lady half his age who was his bride to be. What chance had brought this wonderous oddity about? How had he become so lucky?

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

He was about to reply, but then became curious about how she saw him.

"Why, what look do you see on my face that you ask?"

[Groin Redbeard]

His arm was accepted as Kara grasped his arm and gave a warm smile. They stepped slowly, reluctant to go anywhere fast-Erbrand was quite content with having Kara to himself. Eodwine was off with his soon to be wife, strange how things worked out. Erbrand never would have guessed that his lord was after a wife; he wondered how things would change-he hated change-nevertheless, everything would change.

As Erbrand pondered in content silence what the wedding would mean to his future, Kara leaned closer and whispered, “Who is that man over there?” The man was getting on him his years: white haired, with a peaceful expression, the kind of complexion that mirrored the wisdom of many years.

“I can’t say that I know,” responded Erbrand, “some lone wanderer I reckon.” Kara squeezed Erbrand’s arm and gave him a pleading smile. She did not need to say anything Erbrand was curious as well; this time he let it overcome his formal character. He smiled back at Kara and steered in the direction of the stranger.

“Hello there,” Erbrand raised his left hand in friendship (his other arm was still being held by Kara). “You’re a stranger here,” he stated the obvious, letting the man know he was noticeable. “My name is Erbrand and this is Kara. Do you plan to stay here long, or do you have any news of any important events happening in the world?”

[littlemanpoet]

"Greetings to you, Erbrand and Kara, and well met," Eodwemer nodded. He gave them the name he used among the Eorlings. "I will stay for a little while as long as I am deemed useful. As for events, the King in Gondor gains strength and peace year by year as one may expect, and there is news from Edoras that an heir to the King of Rohan is on the way."

Kara expressed her delight and Erbrand smiled, watching her. It was clear that the man was completely smitten with the maiden, and she seemed willing enough to be wooed.

"It pleases me to have come just in time for the handfasting of your eorl. I wonder," he allowed a small smile, "if there are soon to be others?" He nodded toward the two of them meaningfully.

[Folwren]

"Why, what look do you see on my face that you ask?" Eodwine asked.

“Well,” Saeryn said, tilting her head a little as she thought. “It might be hard for me to pin-point and actually put into words.”

“Try,” he said, smiling. She looked up at him and caught the humor glittering in his eye.

“That’s it!” she said to herself, and out loud she formed her thoughts into words. “You get a certain look on your face, at least when you’re thinking about something good: a half smile, or something, and your eyes start to sparkle, kind of.” It was harder to form into words than she thought it would be. “It sometimes looks as though you wanted to say something, but at the same time, didn’t want to, so you...kind of half purse your lips, but not really...”

She saw Eodwine about to laugh. “It’s so harder to explain than you might think!” she said, laughing. “Now, I’ve done my best – you tell me what you were thinking!”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine couldn't help laughing. She had actually been very clever in describing what she was seeing, and he told her so - at which she beamed, which brought to mind what he had been thinking before and she had asked him - twice now - to say.

"It is like this. Here I am, in this place called Scarburg, which is, hard to believe, mine, a gift of Eomer the king, and he has named me eorl of a whole region of his kingdom. Not only that. I am walking with a young woman on my arm who brings me joy and delight just to be near, and who is my match in every way I can think of, and she is half my age.

"In recent years I had thought I would die a widower, and had been content, or so I told myself. But you here, with me -" He stopped, causing her also to stop, and looked into her eyes. She returned his look, still beaming. "I-" he said, kissing her, "am-" a second time, "amazed-" one last kiss, "-at my good fortune."

He gathered her in his arms and swung her around once, placing her back on her feet.

Applause and laughter met them; Eodwine looked and saw much to his chagrin that they were just outside the baker and what he had just done had been witnessed by many.

"Let's bow," he said to her out of the corner of his mouth, and he led her in doing so, which was met with laughter.

"Frodides!" Eodwine called. "We must speak with Frodides! Where is she!"

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand blushed at the stranger’s question. His instinct was to question the man what business it was of his, but he fought it and instead held Kara hand tighter as a boy would hold an item which was in danger of being stolen. Eodwemer’s eyes were knowing and intrusive, there was no doubt that the question was aimed at Kara and himself; however, unlike Thornden, Erbrand could see no ill intent on the stranger’s part.

“I don’t know,” Erbrand responded and looked into Kara’s deep blue eyes. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

Again there was a silence. Erbrand felt his cheeks grow hot under the calm stare of Kara and Eodwemer-Erbrand hoped that he had not spoken out of terms for Kara. He liked her, he liked her a lot. Kara was usually the first thing that he thought of in the morning as he rose before the sun came up and evening when he rested. Their meetings in the morning were formal but genuinely enjoyable, and Erbrand relished those precious moments. Enjoyable was a word that fit his feelings towards Kara quite well, was it love? Was this merely a passing fancy? If it was, it would be incredibly wrong for Erbrand to pretend to like her. Erbrand couldn’t tell; he was bad at discerning his own feelings.

The silence was becoming uncomfortable. “What brings you to Scarburg, Eodwemer?” Erbrand still held Kara’s hand tucked around his arm. “Have you come to help with the building of the Hall?”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwemer found long silences useful. They were a means of gauging people. This Erbrand, for example, was most ill at ease with them, whereas Kara seemed hardly to notice them. The man, he judged, was not in control of his feelings nor his thoughts. Perhaps he was a little dangerous. Did the lass like that, or did she not realize it?

“What brings you to Scarburg, Eodwemer?" asked Erbrand. "Have you come to help with the building of the Hall?”

Ah, the man needed to break the silence. Quite impatient.

"I was wandering through," he replied, "and happened to smell some good cooking on the air. As to the Hall, maybe I could help a little for a few days, with what craft I can offer..."

He trailed off and lapsed to silence, regarding them again, interested to see if either one or the other might pick up on his hint.

[Kath]

"Our cook will be very pleased to hear you appreciate her cooking!" Kara said with a smile, forgetting for the moment that she was as much the cook as Frodides these days.

She liked this strange man. He had a knack of asking those questions that she would least like to answer, but the reaction that the queries had drawn from Erbrand were worth it. She had been very interested to hear what Erbrand had to say and although his lack of committal was entirely expected the way that he had squeezed her hand tighter had not been and it had warmed her heart to feel it. Kara had to admit though that she was pleased Erbrand had taken on the responsibility of answering, she had no desire to ruin this evening with any misunderstandings.

Then of course there was the very obvious hinting that their guest was currently attempting. Kara was rather sure that he wasn't even trying to be subtle, there was a certain twinkle in his eye that spoke to the contrary. Therefore she chose to call him on it.

"And what craft might you have to offer?" She asked, a smile on her lips. "Or would that craft depend on what it was that we required?

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwemer laughed heartily. This young Kara had a knack for cutting to the heart of a matter. She would make a fair partner for any man, or even a worthy helper for a wizard - if he ever wanted one - but that was another thing altogether.

"As you have guessed," he said with a growing twinkle in his eye, "mine is dweomercraft as you Eorlings call it. Thus my name among you. 'Old wizard man'. I am not one of those who came over sea to vie with the power that is no more in Mordor. I am but an old man who has learned his craft at the feet of wise men. Mithrandir had his fire, Saruman his iron and wheels, Radagast his beasts. I have but the earth at our feet and the water in the ground, and the air that we breathe. Humble and simple things, of course, but ready to hand and useful in a pinch. For instance-"

He bent down to the ground and touched it with one finger. He glanced up at the ring finger on Kara's hand, then drew from the earth a small circlet of gold. He handed it to Erbrand.

"For the future, should it turn out well, my good man." Then he looked at Kara again, whose face was beaming even as she held her peace.

"But something should be done for the present!" Eodwemer touched the earth in a different spot where he discerned that an unopened seed which had slept through spring and lay waiting to pass through yet another winter. Let its spring be now. thought the old man. A daisy sprang up from the ground and blossomed before their eyes.

Eodwemer rose again and smiled. "Yes, Erbrand, I suppose I might be of use for a little while."

[Thinlómien]

Modtryth was pleased. Like she had guessed, there had been lots of slender but strong branches long enough to serve as poles among the spare wood from the massive cuttings. With a little help from his friend Garstan, her husband was able to make them just as she had wished them to be. The two men also helped her to stick the poles to the ground in a nice circle and make a rope to connect the tops of the poles. Modtryth then went to find the pretty lanterns bought from the Mead Hall and yet unused at Scarburg and hung them to the rope.

"Aren't you going to light those?" Stigend asked after a while when Modtryth was admiring the work of her hands. She cast a critical look at her husband. A smile played on her lips. "They will be lit when it's time."

Stigend knew better than to ask her to elaborate, and even if he hadn't, he wouldn't have had the chance to ask any extra questions, as right at that moment a cheerful voice boomed: "Modtryth! Here come the branches you requested and the kids have the flowers... the boys didn't enjoy playing flower maids, though, I reckon!"

Lithor laughed as he approached arms full of beautiful branches. Matrim and Balvir at his wake were also carrying many, and every kid had a huge bucket of flowers in his or her hand. Despite what Lithor had claimed, the boys actually looked quite pleased with themselves, especially as Modtryth broke into a long praise upon seeing they had found some decidedly blue forget-me-nots.

Modtryth urged the five men to arrange the branches all around the settlement. She herself walked around with the kids, hanging the flowers at good places and also tied some of them around the poles supporting the lantern ring.

Everything was done in a surprisingly short time and the rather austere-looking camp had turned into a flowering shrine to celebrate love, fertility and an important union between two families. The men, the kids and the woman who had worked to achieve this stood side by side, pleased with what they saw.

"You may stay here and admire the work of your hands for a while, I will go and check if the Lord and the Lady need something else yet to be done, or if Frodides still needs assistance," Modtryth said.

[Groin Redbeard]

Lithor

“It would be a shame not to admire our work after having just completed it; therefore, we will stay here and wait.” He smiled and gave a handsome bow as Modtryth left. He was feeling very ceremonious and formal in his best armor.

Balvir was sitting trying to rub off some green and brow stains on his sword. “Too bad you stained your sword, Balvir.” Matrim said, “Still, it got the job done, didn’t it?”

“A hatchet would have done just as well!”

"All the hatchets are back across the Scar, we wouldn’t have been half done if I had to run and fetch them.”

“It still beats me looking like a jester in mock play!”

“Best stick the sword in its scabbard,” Lithor sat down opposite of Balivir, “You may carry the the banner of the hall, Matrim and I will handle the pomp. It won’t be too long now.”

Matrim and Balvir looked saddened at the remark. Although they were not of Eodwine’s household, they still felt as if they were. The lord had often shown kindness to them, and they all enjoyed his occasional vulgar sense of humor and manner when nobody, but themselves, were around. Eodwine knew how to be a lord, a soldier, and a gentlemen all at once.

“This wedding will be more like losing a brother than anything else.” Said Matrim as he dug the ground with his foot. “He’ll change, they all change once they are married.”

“Don’t speak of such things!” Lithor frowned as he spoke. “This wedding is to be a merry occasion and I won’t have it ruined before it begins. Besides,” he chuckled and rubbed his chin, “We still have Thornden!” Balvir gave a snort and then broke into a mild laugh.

“I’ll drink to that. We’ve lost lord Eodwine, but we’ll keep Thornden single if it kills us!”


Erbrand

Such a wonder had never been unfolded before his eyes! The ring was a simple trick, one that any skilled trickster could have pulled off; however, the blossoming flower was true magic. Erbrand stared in wonder at the white peddled flower and then looked down at his opened hand to reveal the ring which Eodwemer gave him-the gold was as yellow and pure as the heart of the daisy that had blossomed in front of him. Erbrand twirled the ring in his fingers and then quickly closed his fingers around it. This was a very unproper thing for any man to do. His eyes flashed with jealous anger at the old wizard for having acted upon a hasty assumption; even if it was true, it was none of the old man’s business. Erbrand wanted to give the ring back-it was frightening to hold something that did not come about naturally-but he feared the wizards response if he did so.

“I expect that you shall be conducting the ceremony tonight with lord Eodwine?”

Eodwemer nodded contently. He didn’t seem to mind the silence; however, Erbrand noticed that Eodwemer’s and Kara’s eyes met several times in the pause. It made Erbrand feeling angry, jealous, and frightened at the same time, all adding up to one huge sick feeling. He wished that he would have minded his own business in the first place and left this queer stranger alone.

He felt his hand unconsciously slip from Kara’s and fall to his side. Erbrand immediately came back to his senses and started to reach for Kara’s arm again, but his good sense stopped him from confirming the wizard’s assumption by doing so. His hand didn’t continue the journey to Kara and fell back to his side.

The ring slid from his fingers and into his pocket. Perhaps I will have need of this later, but not for the present. Besides, these wizards are peculiar folk. I bet he wouldn’t think twice about torching me or turning me into a rabbit if it amused him, better accept his gifts and stay out of his way. Erbrand bowed slightly to Eodwemer and then turned to Kara.

“I think we will be of more help elsewhere. Frodides will need your help and Lithor will need mine.” Erbrand spoke in a whisper, afraid that the wizard might overhear him. His fear of the wizard was naive, showing how little he knew of wizards, but he did not like his prying manner. He showed authority and unnatural power that frightened Erbrand.

“It was a pleasure speaking to you, Eodwemer (even though it was not), and we will see you at the ceremony.” They both bowed (Erbrand bowed as low as he dared to show respect, and to quell any ill feelings that the wizard might have with him) and left.

Erbrand spoke after a while. “I haven’t forgotten about tonight, but I must go now. Lithor is expecting me to help with the festivities.” He lied, but he did feel a need to separate himself from Kara for the moment, just for the moment. “I will be back for that dance.” He smiled and gave her a wink before going.

Erbrand left her feeling the same sick combination of emotions. He kept telling himself that she would understand his need to get away, but to no avail-she was too sharp to guess wrong. The more Erbrand told himself that he didn’t need Kara, the greater the emptiness he felt in his soul. He slipped his hand into his pocket and picked up the ring.

[littlemanpoet]

Rand saw that this Harreld held his daughter's hand possessively and that she allowed it. So the man was serious; whether she was or not had yet to be determined. Was she playing a game and he her witless pawn?

"Harreld Smith," Rand said. "what has my daughter done or said to you that you have such hopes?"

This was not the kind of question Harreld had been expecting. He thought rather to be asked if his purpose was honorable, and was it what it seemed. To which he had been ready to answer yes, he sought Ginna's hand in marriage. How to answer this? What did Ginna's father think of him, and of her, to ask a question like that? He was nonplussed. The momentary silence of his thought stretched painfully to more than a few seconds.

"Speak man, if you can find your tongue," Rand commanded.

"I - I do not know why you ask this question, sir. I would have your daugther to wife if you allow and she is willing, for I love her, and I believe that she has a right good character and would make a fine helpmeet and mother to my offspring.

"But what has she said and done?" he continued. "She has been kind to me, and spoken kindly. What else might be said?"

Rand did not seem pleased by his answer, and was now looking at his daughter full of suspicion.

"Ginna, have you led this man on?"

Drawing her courage from Harreld's, Ginna drew closer to the smith and held his hand more tightly, saying, "Led him on? I have done no such thing, Father. If this is what you wanted in bringing me to the Eorl, then you have succeeded. I am no longer the daughter you once knew."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Rand countered. "Do you really think that a mere two months away from home could change you?"

"Sir," Harreld interrupted, his voice hard, "I have only known your daughter since she has been in the Eorl's service, but it has been enough for me to know that she does not deserve the scorn of anyone, least of all her father."

Rand's head snapped back and his scowl grew stronger as he regarded Harreld.

"You have no right to speak of such things," he said curtly.

A sudden insight came to Harreld, for he remembered that Rand had no wife. Ginna had not spoken of her mother, which suggested to him that she had died long ago.

"Sir," he said more gently, "Ginna is not to blame for the loss of your own love, if I may make so bold."

Rand's eyes widened with surprise that this man dared to speak to him so. But a small chink of light entered through his wrath and the sorrow that lay behind it, and it occurred to him that this Harreld Smith was an unusual man to have found that small straw of truth in a haystack of possible ones. And this led him to see that Ginna was quite serious, and this was a change for the better.

"I will allow," he said slowly, "that Ginna has found herself a man of some courage who is at least no dolt. We will talk of this more, soon. But I will have words with the Eorl before anything else is said about it."

With that, Rand turned on his heel and went looking for Eodwine.

Ginna looked up at Harreld gratefully, tears brimming in her eyes. "You were everything I needed you to be just now, Harreld."

He smiled and drew her to him and wrapped his arms around her, pressing her to him. He kissed her brow. "I think he may yet give his approval," he said.

[littlemanpoet]

"Frodides! There you are!" Eodwine and Saeryn came up to her near one of her boiling kettles in the baker. She turned to look them up and down.

"And where else would you expect to find me?"

"Well, just so!" Nothing could dampen Eodwine's spirits this day, least of all the wiplash tongue of his head cook. "There is a wedding, and-"

"-and me last to know and a cake to bake and a feast to prepare at the drop of a hat, no doubt!"

Sure enough, Frodides was almost on the boil herself; word had gotten round.

"Never you fear, Frodides," said Saeryn. "We would not expect such from you on short notice. Do whatever is in your mind to do, no more and no less. We will be content."

Frodides' brow rose. "Is this the way of it, then, lord?"

"My bride speaks for me in this matter, my dear head cook."

Frodides flushed and beamed. "You just wait and see what I can come up with when I put my mind to it!" She waved her ladel at them.

Saeryn grinned, and Eodwine allowed a smile. "Remember though, no more is expected than what you care to do."

"I heard you the first time. Now out of my kitchen so I can get something done!"

"Yes ma'am," they both said, laughing, and made their way arm in arm, practically skipping out of the baker, only to come to a sudden halt as a human stormcloud approached them in the person of Randvér.

"Oh no. Now what have I done," Eodwine murmured. Saeryn nudged him, snickering.

"At least you could have given me word!" Rand said, his face black with rage.

"Word of what, my friend?"

Rand looked the more indignant for having to explain himself. "My daughter is practically betrothed and you told me nothing of it!" He seemed to want to find an appropriate expression to carry his spleen, and settled on one word. "Friend!" He spit.

"I did not think it a terrible thing for Ginna go a courting with my redoubtable smith. And surely you overspeak the case."

"Do I? He has asked me for her hand in marriage! How is that for over speaking?"

"Wonderful!" Eodwine grinned. "What a match! Don't you think so, Saeryn?"

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld

Harreld could have stood there with his arms around Ginna for a long time, and was tempted to; but he remembered Eodwine's request.

"Lord Eodwine asked me to see what swords I have in my trove that could be used by Saeryn as gift to him. Shall we go see what we can find, my love?"

Beaming, she smiled up at him. "Yes. My love."

This was good, Harreld thought, as something inside him warmed and grew and felt like courage and hope and joy all rolled into one. He let go of her and held out his arm to her. She took it and they made their way to the smithy.

Rowenna

Rowenna had been craning her neck while in the midst of the crowd, to spot Degas and had had no luck. She went looking, and found him near the piles of wood and stone, speaking with Nain the Dwarf.

"Excuse me," she said. The Dwarf bowed and Degas greeted her.

"I would beg a boon of you, lord Degas. I am of the Folde. Two years ago my father's homestead was raided by villains, he slain, and I taken against my will. I would ride to the Folde with you and see what is left of my father's lands, and if you are willing, make you guardian of them and me until I wed, so that they may serve as bride price."

His mild expression turned serious as she spoke, and the Dwarf's brow rose in some surprise or intrigue.

"You have given much thought to this, I see."

"Yes, lord. You need not give answer this minute if you wish, but I would like to ride with you tomorrow, if it please you."

[Folwren]

Rand was furious, and all Eodwine could find to say in response to hearing Harreld’s question was, “Wonderful! What a match! Don’t you think so, Saeryn?”

Saeryn turned wide eyes upward to his face. Should she take his cue and continue to torment poor Randvér? Or perhaps Eodwine did not even realize what he was doing. Yes, that was more likely the point.

Saeryn looked at Randvér and her face was serious. She jabbed her elbow into Eodwine’s side as covertly as she could, but enough to hopefully get his attention.

“I do not think that Randvér meant to be congratulated on his future son-in-law, Eodwine,” she said.

“That is exactly my point,” Rand seethed. “Whatever I expected to find upon my return, Eodwine, it was not this. You should have known I would not approve!”

“What is wrong with it?” Saeryn asked impulsively. The next minute she regretted it.

“What is wrong with it? What is wrong with my daughter wanting to marry a smith? You two, at least, should know what’s wrong with it! He is beneath her! You know all this! You two may not see anything wrong with it, but did either of you step out of your bounds to marry each other? No! You are on equal standing. Now, because you are happy, you imagine that it doesn’t matter what anyone else does – let the two marry if they love each other, eh? Is that it? It doesn’t matter that her status is so far above his, does it!”

Eodwine, as was his wont, thought before speaking. Saeryn didn’t. Her eyes flashed and she bristled with wrath as she defended Harreld. “Beneath her! Harreld Smith – beneath Ginna? You are a bad judge of men if you think that Harreld is not worthy of your daughter, sir. Or do you forget the reason you brought her to lord Eodwine? Your precious status and haughtiness, which supposedly makes Ginna too good for Harreld, just about ruined her! So you brought her here, and Harreld’s humbleness and nobleness saved her!”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas met Rowenna's eyes and saw seriousness and maturity in them. This was not mere escape from Eodwine's new future, then. If Degas had believed Rowenna wished to leave as a means to run away from a life spent witnessing Eodwine and Saeryn's marriage, he would not have come to his decision as quickly, or as much in her favor.

"Rowenna, as you are a woman of the Folde, you are already under my protection as your Lord. As you are a woman without a father, I agree to become your protector until such a time as a husband asks for your hand - and you desire it - or until such a time when you would be otherwise released into safety and happiness elsewhere.

"I ask," he continued, "only that you wait to ride to the Folde until after I have assessed the damage and danger there, however if you would ride with me, knowing the risks, I would have you as a companion and a sister to me on my ride. Think on it, and know that I leave at dawn, and that my welcome in my lands may be less than celebratory."

[Nogrod]

Garstan and Stigend hung around with the soldiers for a short while sharing the jokes but then decided to go and see how Harreld was faring on this important moment. They got a sight of Harreld and Ginna just as Randvér stormed to them. Garstan pulled Stigend from the sleeve. "Halt. We're not going there unless swords are drawn", he hissed and flashed a smile. "Harreld chose his wife and so in a way he chose his father-in-law as well."

Stigend smiled back and nodded. "Where then? If we go to the kitchens Modryth will come up with more tasks sooner we can steal a pint each..."

It looked like everyone was either doing something in preparation for the party or trying to hang out of sight from anyone wishing to get this or that added thing to be done. Garstan and Stigend looked at the hustle and bustle around them in silence.

"Gah, we might as well do something... How long would it take to build a small temporary platform in the middle of the festive-circle we just finished? If we'd have the pairs up there everyone could see them?" Garstan finally suggested.

"That shouldn't take long... if we had some more pairs of hands with us. We could use some of the timber we have brought here".

The men looked at each other and realised they both had gotten the same idea. They turned around and went back to the circle.

"Lithor, Matrim, Balvir! Come with us if you have nothing better to do!" Stigend called them and pointed towards the far end of the camp where the logs were laid to dry out.

[littlemanpoet]

"Think on it," Degas said, "and know that I leave at dawn, and that my welcome in my lands may be less than celebratory."

Rowenna smiled at his use of the Gondorian flourish. "For two years my welcome has been less than celebratory wherever I have gone. That is of no concern to me. I am resolute. I will happily play sister on our way to the Folde, lord."

She curtsied and left Degas and the Dwarf, and went looking for Saeryn. Surely this wedding was soon to get underway, and she had a job to do, simple as it was. She found Saeryn with Eodwine, and she was yelling at Eodwine's friend, Rand. Rowenna grinned but hid it behind her hand, then came up to them.

"Saeryn! Saeryn! We must ready ourselves for the wedding! Come!" She came between the couple and Rand, gave a conspiratorial wink to Eodwine, and grabbed Saeryn's hand, tugging her along to somewhere other than Rand.

Eodwine

Eodwine coughed, momentarily relieved of the embarrassing moment.

"Rand, my friend, I apologize for the youthful spirit of my wife to be. Though she has a point, let it rest for now. The wedding tonight is not your daughter's. There's time to talk of that on the morrow. For now, I beg you, enjoy the celebration with me! I beg you!"

Rand's face was still a frown. "We will come back to this, Eodwine, rest assured. I am willing to hold my peace for tonight, but come back to it we shall!"

"Of course! But let us ready ourselves fittingly and find a cup of mead."

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine led Rand to the baker and poured him a full cup of mead. He poured himself a half; he wished to stay clear headed through the wedding.

***

"Ah! This is what I sought!" Harreld said with satisfaction. He held the blade up in his right hand and caressed its fine edge with the other.

"Have you had it long?" Ginna asked.

"Aye, a while. 'Tis a good sword. An old warrior traded it for a pair of stout sledge runners. I really did get the better side of that bargain but I made sure he was happy with his side of it."

"It looks almost new," Ginna said.

"I worked it for a while out of love of the craft in between other jobs but have not touched it in maybe a year." He held the hilts out to her. "You are a swordswoman. Test it for me. Will it pass muster?"

Ginna took it from his hand and fitted her palm around the hilts. It was a man's sword and not light so she grabbed the hilts with her other hand as well. They went outside and she tested the blade a while, then handed it back to Harreld.

"This will be a fine gift for Saeryn to give Eodwine. Let us show them!"

***

Rowenna pulled Saeryn to the tent. By now both were giggling as Saeryn related the full exchange between herself and Rand to Rowenna.

"But now to business, you vixen!" Rowenna said. "Maybe there is no finery for you to wear, but I will not have it said the Rowenna let the lady she honored as witness look like the daughter of a road tramp! Let down your hair!"

Rowenna produced a comb and did her ministrations as the two young ladies talked faster than a man's ear could follow.

***

Thornden found Eodwine sharing a cup of mead with Rand.

"As your best man I take it upon myself to make sure you are ready for your enslavement."

Eodwine laughed. "Nonsense! I shall be lord and master of my own home, be sure!"

Rand and Thornden exchanged knowing glances and rolled their eyes.

"Strong talk!" said Rand. "We will see what passes after the oaths have been sworn!"

"Ah but my enslavement, as you so kindly put it," said Eodwine, "will be sweet as honey and heady as mead!"

"He's love-drunk," Rand commented to Thornden.

"All the more reason to get you in your best clothes and get you wedded!" Thornden said. "Come along, lord Eodwine!"

"Aye, aye!" laughed Eodwine. "Let us get the mustering done and get on with the battle itself!"

[Thinlómien]

Cnebba and Garmund were walking around the camp idly. Everybody else was busy with the preparations. They had nothing to do.

"Let's go somewhere where Mum can't find us," Cnebba said.
"Yeah, she will probably come up with more work to do," Garmund agreed.

Not quite deciding where to go, the two boys found themselves from behind Harreld's smithy. In the front, Ginna was swinging a sword in beautiful arches while Harreld was watching her with unhidden admiration. Cnebba and Garmund were watching too.

"She's a woman, not a soldier. Why can she use a sword?" Cnebba protested.
"Eorling women can," Garmund replied.
"My mum can't."
"But she's not... a fine woman like that."
"My mum would beat any fine woman in a fight." Cnebba said proudly, but with a grimace. "She has big muscles."
"I know," Garmund said darkly. "I remember when she dragged us through all of the yard when she decided we needed a lecture on gentlemanly behaviour."
"And we couldn't even put up a fight," Cnebba added, shaking his head.

Harreld said something and he and Ginna left. Cnebba opened his mouth to speak.
"Anyway... I was just thinking. We are men..."
Garmund shot him a critical glance.
"Almost men," Cnebba corrected. "And a proper man can wield a sword just as well as any... fine woman or whatever you call them. And we can't. It's unfair."
Garmund nodded. "What if we..."
"Yes," Cnebba replied.
They exchanged malicious grins, crawled and crept closer to the smithy door, and when no one was looking, they dashed in.

There were several swords to choose from, all well made, some looking unfinished or a bit damaged, though. Cnebba picked a long sword with a beautifully crafted hilt. "I like this one the best."

Garmund eyed him jealously, then picked another sword. "This one is cooler. It's even bigger."
"But mine has a nicer hilt."
"I bet it's not as efficient as this one."

With effort, Cnebba swung the long sword at Garmund's direction. "Hey!" the bigger boy exclaimed, and clumsily lifted his sword just in time to parry the blow. Cnebba's sword hit a row of axes and other half-made woodcutting equipment. They collapsed to the floor with a very loud crash.

"Someone must have heard that!" Garmund shouted.
"You ninny, you let the blow fall there..."
"You're the clumsy one who was using the sword!"
"It was a stupid idea to some here."
"It was you idea as well!"
"Don't shout, someone will hear!"
"As if they didn't hear your crash already..."
"It was not..."

They heard quickly approaching footsteps from the outside.

"Run!" Garmund whispered in terror.
"Hide!" Cnebba hissed.

[Groin Redbeard]

“Erbrand, come help me with these planks,” laughed Lithor.

Erbrand helped Lithor with the overly large stack of wood in his hands and brought it to Stigend, who as arranging them with Balvir to form a platform. The wood fell with dull clanking as Erbrand tripped and fell over a small stone jutting out of the ground. The wood flew a short distance, some of which hit Lithor in the back of the knee causing him to fall with Erbrand.

“Careful, Erbrand!” Lithor yelled somewhat annoyed at the fright and rubbed his bruised knee. Erbrand made a faint mumble that sounded like an apology and started picking up the planks without a glance at his friend. Something was wrong with him, that much Lithor was sure of—Erbrand was usually cheerful when they were together.

“You alright, Erbrand?”

“Yes,” he said nodding his head. Lithor was obviously not convinced.

“I thought I saw you with Kara, everything alright with her?” Erbrand stood with the planks in his hand and shot an angry glare at Lithor, but the older man’s patient face soon prompted Erbrand to reply.

“Sorry Lithor. Yes, everything is fine with Kara.”

“Doesn’t seem so, what’s ailing you friend?”

Erbrand took deep breath and held it as he remembered Thornden and the old hermit’s interfering words. He handed a plank to Stigend, who then fastened it in place. Lithor waited for a response.

“You know that stranger who came into camp?” Erbrand said at last.

“You mean Scyld?”

“No, an old hermit… well wizard actually,” Lithor raised his brow in surprise when he realized that Erbrand was serious. “Kara and I were talking to him a few moments ago, he handed me something.”

“And this something is the cause of this problem of yours?” Erbrand nodded thoughtfully. “Well, what is it man?” Lithor prodded. Erbrand retrieved the gold ring from his pocket and handed to him. Lithor looked at the gold band thoughtfully for a couple seconds and laughed.

“Don’t let that old threadbare gypsy man get to you. You know that there is nothing to what he suggests,” but the look on Erbrand’s face quickly shut Lithor up.

“I don’t like it when people presume upon my own matters, Lithor. First it was Thornden and now this old wizard. Are my affairs an open book for everyone to scrutinize?”

“Your affairs, or are your affairs Kara?” Erbrand looked at him, mouth open and wide eyed with surprise at the question.

“It was Kara that caused you to fight Thornded as hard as you did in the staff fight. I knew that there was something deeper to cause such a desperate attempt at bashing in his skull and I imagine that you are thinking along the same lines with this wizard fellow. Sooner or later this resisting is going to get you in trouble with Lord Eodwine. It seems you are just looking for a fight, whether it is Crabbanan, Thornden, or whoever this fellow is all because of a girl. You better come to terms with what you are feeling and stop resisting or it will eat away at you until you curl up and die.”

They stood there for a moment looking at each other in uncomfortable silence. Lithor was sounding more like a father talking to a troubled son and it frustrated Erbrand to be lectured by everyone on his own feelings. Lithor seemed equally as frustrated that he gave his short speech; he looked over his shoulder at Stigend and Balvir.

“Stigend, Balvir how about giving a little friendly advice?”

“How about a little help?” Balvir replied sourly as he fastened another plank in place. Lithor assumed his merry self again and chuckled.

“Stigend, don’t tell me that you don’t have a few minutes to spare. Come here, Erbrand is having a dilemma on his hands. It seems that he has… well he has this girl and is unsure about how to go about…”

“How to go about courting her.” Erbrand finished what might have been a wrong presumption on Lithor’s part. He stepped forward and sat down and the platform with his feet dangling off the side.

“You’re married, Stigend, how did you court Modryth?”

[Lhunardawen]

Harreld placed an arm around Ginna and led her out of his smithy. Together they walked towards the baker, where they hoped to find if not Saeryn then at least Eodwine. Either of them could be anywhere, what with the preparations necessary for the wedding. Ginna had fallen silent as they went, oblivious to Harreld watching her. She let out a small sigh which did not escape Harreld's attention.

"What ails you, Ginna?"

She started to deny Harreld's observation but thought the better of it; it would have been unfair to him, and this was a problem they were supposed to face together. "I just cannot help worrying about Father," she finally replied. "He will not make this easy for us, I am certain of it. And--"

Harreld had pulled her gently towards himself and placed a finger over her lips. "Hush, my dear. I had not expected any less from him, and I understand. But do not fret, for I am not about to give you up easily. Indeed, I have no such intention."

Ginna looked up to his eyes. They held no trace of fear, but brimmed with happiness and contentment. It gave her peace - at least for the moment.

And then they heard a faint crashing noise coming from the direction of the smithy. Harreld was the first to run back, with Ginna swiftly tailing him. They entered to catch Garmund and Cnebba in the act of hiding. The smith first looked to his wares and started putting things back in order, leaving Ginna to blow the whistle on the mischief-makers.

"Well someone has got to do some explaining," she said loudly. The two boys froze.


Randvér

As Eodwine left with Thornden, Rand could not help shaking his head and laughing silently at his friend's state. Love does make fools out of even the wisest people. It was a good thing Eodwine had Thornden as his best man, or he would probably show up at his own wedding looking far from a proper groom.

Rand had always liked Thornden, even from the first time he met the soldier in the old mead hall. How come Ginna had not enough sense to fall for him? Rand wondered to himself as he drained his cup of mead.

[Thinlómien]

"Well someone has got to do some explaining."

Garmund, who had not managed to hide at all, shifted his weight from one foot to the other rather awkwardly. Cnebba evaluated the situation for a while, but decided Ginna was looking at him just as much as at Garmund, and crawled out from under an old saddle the stirrups of which Harreld had been fixing. The boys exchanged glances.

"We were just having a look around, that's all," Garmund said after a while and shrugged. He avoided meeting Ginna's eyes.
"Is that so?" she asked. "Then why those two swords were on the floor?"
"They..." Garmund started but couldn't finish the sentence.
"We just wanted to be cool," Cnebba cut in. He hung his head shamedly. "Cool like you."

[Lhunardawen]

That was certainly not an explanation Ginna expected. Her eyes strayed towards Harreld, who had stopped what he was doing to look at her with a highly amused expression. She struggled to keep herself from laughing in response, lest Cnebba and Garmund not take her seriously. There was still a lesson for them to learn here, and she must not spoil it for them. Still, she could not contain her curiosity.

"What exactly do you mean by that, Cnebba?" she finally said, straight-faced. "And how does that make it acceptable for you to play with the swords which, first, are not toys, and second, you used without asking?" She turned her gaze to Garmund, the older of the two.

[Thinlómien]

Ginna was eyeing them both rather seriously, but Cnebba thought he had seen a glint of merriment in her eyes earlier. So maybe she's not that angry after all... Cnebba gave the maid a rather smug smile.

"What I mean is that... that we saw you with the sword and thought it looked cool," he said simply, grinning a bit conspirationally to Ginna. "You know, we thought we'd love to be like that too."

Garmund looked rather horrified at Cnebba's relaxed attitude. He was far more nervous. Cnebba wondered if Garmund had missed Ginna's amusement, or if he had realised something Cnebba hadn't. Like, maybe Ginna wasn't going to be so nice after all... Cnebba gulped and waited for Garmund to speak up.

"We do know swords are no toys," Garmund said. In fact, he sounded a bit offended. "There are blunt wooden swords for playing."
"My dad can make them," Cnebba put in. Garmund scowled at him and he shut up, narrowing his eyes angrily though.

"And as for the permission..." Garmund suddenly run out of words. He was trying to catch a glimpse of Harreld's face to see if he was angry, but he did not succeed because he didn't actually dare to look at the smith.

"...we have nothing to say in our defense," Cnebba finished. This time Garmund didn't scowl at him, just looked rather surprised. Cnebba resisted the urge to grin at his friend, or to let a smug smile creep to his face once again. Still, he couldn't help feeling content with his reply: it sounded terribly adult to him.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld hid the smirk on his face by staying busy with setting things straight. The boys were clever talkers, that much was sure. But Ginna, he trusted, would not be fooled.

"...we have nothing to say in our defense," Cnebba said.

Well and good, Harreld thought. He set his face to grimness, turned and raised himself to his full height, and looked down his broad nose at the two boys who stared at him in a mix of fear and admiration. He was sure they wanted to be big like him some day. He remembered being a boy looking up at a man twice his height, and wishing.

"You are guilty of tresspassing," Harreld said. "Is that not so, Ginna?"

"Aye, 'tis so." She was playing along as he knew she would.

"The guilty must pay for their crime. What, Ginna, do you think would be a reasonable payment?"

[Lhunardawen]

Ginna had not quite actually thought of a fitting punishment, and the look she gave Harreld told him so. He responded with a slight shrug and a quick wink, expressing his confidence that she can come up with something. What is this, some form of foresighted play on how we shall be as parents? She could not help shuddering at the thought of raising two mischievous boys, yet all the same the idea amused her. When she finally spoke, her tone was conspiratorial.

"Do you think you'll have use for a couple of helpers here? Show them how hard you must work to keep these things in order?"

[littlemanpoet]

"Now that is a good thought!" Harreld said, looking down at the boys appraisingly. He reached out one big hand. "Give me your arm," he commanded Garmund. The boy raised his right arm with not a little worry on his face, and Harreld felt for the muscle.

"Hum! Needs work! Here, grab this hammer and strike that anvil."

Garmund picked up the man-sized hammer in both hands and swung it down; it bounced off the anvil, out of his control, and Garmund began to tip over from the motion; but Harreld caught him.

"Hmm! That was a mighty swing for a little boy."

"I'm not little!" Garmund protested.

"Not little, you say?"

"I'm bigger than he is!" Garmund pointed at Cnebba.

"That is true, but maybe he is quicker than you for his age. I remember seeing some of today's games and one did better at one thing and the other at another time. Even so, you could take turs working my bellows for me, see what it takes to be a good smith. I will talk to your parents, see if we might not arrange a game of sorts between the two of you, see which of you might make a better smith. What do you say to that?"

[Lhunardawen]

"A game?" Ginna whispered to Harreld as she drew closer to him so that they boys would not hear. "Are you certain creating competition between them is a good idea? Competing with each other is what brought them to this mess in the first place."

She took a small step back and looked up at the smith.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld smiled. "They are boys. They cannot live without competition. Besides, this will make their punishment less onerous and more fun. I fancy I may have an apprentice out of this."

Ginna looked somewhat doubtful but shrugged and stood by his side.

"So! There is a wedding to witness, and I would not have it that two boys, a smith and a landholder's daughter are late and unready! Let us go! I will talk to your parents in the morning. Hurry now!"

Garmund and Cnebba raced out the door, leaving Ginna and Harreld behind. He picked up the sword chosen to be wedding gift.

"Well, Ginna, what do you think?"

[Lhunardawen]

"I think we might have not a few arguments when it comes to raising children," answered Ginna with mock sobriety. She wanted to say "our children," but that was not the right time, she thought, to be presumptuous - not with the impending talk with her father looming before them. She did not want to count her chicks before they were hatched, and certainly not openly before Harreld.

Thankfully he did not notice her omission and naturally had a good sense of humour. His booming laugh was infectious and soon she laughed along with him. "In all seriousness," she continued, "it could be a good way for them to develop some sense of responsibility and respect for others' property. You might have to keep watch at all times, however. You would not want either of them harmed while working for you."

[littlemanpoet]

"If we could be convince Rowenna to stay and take your place in the kitchen, you could help me give direction to a pair of apprentices. What we need is a few more women about the place!"

Ginna laughed.

They talked and joked until they joined the general hubbub of preparations for the wedding. Ginna saw Saeryn first and pointed her out. They went to her and showed her the sword Harreld had chosen.

[Thinlómien]

The night was drawing closer. Saeryn and Eodwine hadn't had anything more for her to do. Frodides and Kara were busy in the kitchen, and she would have been just on the way there. Léothern, who had waken up early and had no nap, had fallen asleep in the kitchen corner and Cnebba and Garmund had disappeared once again. Modtryth would find the kids well in time before the ceremony, but now she had the ideal chance to give the final touch to the preparations.

She made it to the circle of poles they had constructed earlier. She had brought a stool for herself. Standing on it, she started lighting the lanterns. The work was slow, as even with the stool and a long stick dipped in oil she had difficulties in reaching the lanterns. However cleverly she placed the stool, she could only light two lanterns before climbing down and moving the stool again.

"That looks difficult. May I help?" an unfamiliar voice asked from the shadows.
Modtryth turned calmly and saw an old man draped in a cloak.
"You surprised me," she said in a neutral tone. She now remembered seeing the same old man around earlier, evidently he was a new guest.
"For that I am sorry," the man smiled. "But, may I help you?"

Modtryth laughed. "With all respect, sir, you are old, and climbing and reaching out here and there like this is better be left for those younger than you. So, thank you for your kind offer, but I will manage better than fine."
Now it was the stranger's turn to laugh. It was an old man's chuckle, a chuckle at a jest that the youngers are not wise enough to understand. "I was thinking more something like... this." He snapped his fingers and the lantern Modtryth had been about to light was lit with a bright flame.

Despite herself, Modtryth drew a sharp breath. The man smiled, then snapped his fingers once again and another lantern was lit.

"Who are you?" Modtryth asked.
"I'm called Eodwemer, and my craft is the dweomercraft," the old man said, and added, almost apologetically: "I'm no master of fire, that is merely a simple trick any trickster can do."

Any trickster... Modtryth wondered sourly at the man's phrasing, but was glad that the tricksters called Cnebba and Garmund were unlikely to ever learn such a trick.

The man was still looking at her, somewhat expectantly. Yes, indeed, she had forgotten to present herself. "I am Modtryth," she said, climbing down from the stool and extinguishing the lighting stick. "I'm a sort of housekeeper here, as well as a maid, in a way. And I also look after the children. And help at the kitchens." What a very clear introduction, she thought, amused. The man called Eodwemer seemed rather amused too.

"My husband is Stigend, the carpenter," she added. The old man nodded. "I met him. A pleasant young man." Not quite the way Modtryth would have described her husband, but it amused her, once again.

"Shall I light the rest of the lanterns, then?" Eodwemer asked, nodding his head politely.
"If you will, sir, that would be very kind," Modtryth replied formally, but gave the stranger a warm smile.

The old man snapped his fingers several times, and with each snap one lantern was lit. They glowed warmly in the gathering darkness.

"Thank you," Modtryth said. Everything that had been in her power to do was ready now, all she had to do anymore was to wait for the ceremony that would start soon.

[Nogrod]

Stigend looked insecure and reluctant to give any advice on courting. But Garstan decided there was no way out for him.

“Okay guys, just a few more planks to go and we have finished this, then we’ll have ample time for Stigend to tell his story. Would you Balvir go and get us some ale? It sure isn’t an errand for Erbrand…” He gave a pause and smiled widely. “We’ll get this done while you’re on your way.”

Garstan punched Stigend lightly on the shoulder. “C’mon mate, you’ve promised to tell me that part of the story like ten times. Isn’t this the perfect time for it, weddings and all?”

Stigend sighed heavily and shrugged. “Okay then… but I’m afraid it won’t help you Erbrand.”


The platform was soon finished and the men sat on it sharing the ales Balvir had brought them from the kitchens. It had taken him some arguing with Kara, but after she had heard what they had been doing – and that they would be sharing a love-story on this wedding-day – she had finally agreed that they both had earned and needed their ales. It was time for Stigend to tell his story.

Erbrand looked particularly worried, like he was thinking what had Balvir actually told Kara about the topics they would discuss. Garstan couldn’t help noticing it but remained tactfully silent.

Stigend took a deep draught of the ale and began.

“Some of you know part of the story already so I’ll keep those parts short. Modtryth is a daughter of an Eorling lord and a Dunleding servant-girl. She has the pride of an Eorling and the stubborness of a Dunleding…” Stigend shook his head smiling slightly. Garstan nodded knowingly.

“Anyway… I had my troubles in my youth like we all had. I ran away from my family and joined the militia when I was sixteen. I was trained to be a man-at-arms, a spearman to be more precise. But I never got used to the discipline and the hierarchical system and came back.”

Stigend took another draught and looked at the men around him. “I took to my father’s trade then, carpentry. But only then I actually realised Modtryth’s presence in the village. I had known there was a mysterious half-Dunleding in our village but I had been younger then and she had been like a child as well. But while I had been a way I had kind of become a man… and she had become a woman. But she was a Dunleding-woman for the villagers. A Dunleding meant war, filth and treachery back in my village. A Dunleding was spelled either ‘enemy’ or ‘slave’ back there. Well you can see it. Our village was in the Westfold, near the Fords of Isen… so the people had their reasons to hate those people. I only understand it now with calm reason. But those times… oh, those times I thought it was petty, malicious and unjustified witch-hunt whose target was a totally innocent… and beautiful girl. Indeed the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. And what made me fall in love with her in the end were her guts… Even as scolded, beaten and harassed she kept her pride, like there was no force to break her.” Stigend fell down to his thoughts for a moment but then raised his head up again and took a sip from his pint.

“So? How did it go?”, Balvir asked.

“Well, there were these two ruffians, Thanneth and Melden, both sons of wealthy farmers in our village. And they had decided to have their fun with her, violently. But I happened to catch them before they had done anything else but beaten her… I did beat the two black and blue with a hay pole…”

“Wooo, a hero defending a good lady in trouble!” Garstan smiled and raised his pint. “To our hero!”, he toasted and smiled even wider.

“Well, that wasn’t so heroic... They were just slackers who only had courage to tease those weaker than themselves, preferably two against one… and I had military training, remember.”

It looked like Stigend felt very much relieved after finally telling that part of his story with Modtryth. Garstan wondered to himself why it had been so hard for him to tell the story in the first place. It was a story of courage and love after all. He would ask Stigend about it later.

“And then?”, Balvir was clearly excited and even Erbrand and Lithor looked keen on hearing the rest.

“Hmm…” Stigend took another long draught and almost laughed. “Well, I did learn that Dunledings – half-Dunledings at least – are quite quick with their passion”. He winked an eye to Garstan and all bursted into a knowing laughter shared by men in so many occasions.

But Stigend soon got more serious again. “But I was probably the first Eorling who had treated her as a human being worthy of being saved from harassment… Others would have just looked on or turned their heads away had they dropped in while Thanneth and Melden were having their fun.”

Balvir was quick to lighten up the situation again. “Like you said Stigend, you Erbrand should not try to do what he did. I suggest you do not go bruising people to prove your love to Kara…”

“Like he hadn’t tried that already!” Garstan put in. And they all laughed so much that tears ran from their eyes. Only Garstan wondered whether Stigend’s tears were solely due to laughter.

[Folwren]

Saeryn and Rowenna had just come out of the tent when Ginna spotted them. Saeryn’s face was flushed with a healthy pink. Her eyes shone with a bright light as she and Rowenna laughed together. Ginna and Harreld came hurrying towards them. Saeryn reached out her hands in greeting.

“Ginna, I’m so excited. . .and nervous,” Saeryn said breathlessly.

Ginna took her hands and the two girls kissed lightly. “Of course you are, Saeryn dear,” Ginna said. “That’s only natural. You’ve accomplished the hard thing now, the rest is easy.”

“What hard thing?” Saeryn asked.

“Making him fall in love with you and actually asking,” Ginna replied, a twinkle in her eye.

Saeryn laughed, but it ended somewhat abruptly, and her eyes darted past Harreld and Ginna to where everyone was beginning to gather. She laid her hand on her fluttering stomach. Was she actually frightened? No, it was only the sheer magnitude of her excitement that caused her stomach to tighten so.

“Harreld and I wanted to show you the sword," Ginna said. "If you approve, you may have it to give to Eodwine.” Harreld put the sword forward, extending the hilts to Saeryn. She reached out her hand and drew it from the scabbard.

“It’s a beautiful sword, Harreld,” she said. “I wish I could repay you for it.”

[littlemanpoet]

"If you could convince Ginna's father to bless our handfasting I'd consider the debt paid, lady."

Eodwine came out of his tend with Thornden.

"What have we here?" he asked.

"Lord," said Harreld, "Lady Saeryn has decided that this sword is a fitting gift for your handfasting."

Eodwine examined the blade and his eyes widened. "I daresay it is better than the one I give away! Harreld, you are a wonder!" He included them al with a glance. "It appears that all arrangements have been made and our friends our gathering yonder. Let us go, shall we?"

Eodwine offered his arm to Saeryn who took it; Harreld did the same to Ginna who took his. Thornden and Rowenna were left standing, facing each other. She broke the short silence.

"Well, Thornden, are you going to offer me your arm, or should I offer you mine?" She allowed an amused half grin to play on her lips.

[Folwren]

Thornden smiled in return, and almost laughed. “That would hardly be proper,” he answered, as he offered his arm. Rowenna’s hand slid under it and together they turned to follow the others.

“You have made Lady Saeryn look like an elven maiden,” Thornden said, looking ahead at Saeryn and Eodwine.

“It was not difficult to bring out her beauty,” Rowenna replied. “It took little skill on my part.”

Thornden looked from Saeryn to Rowenna and back again. All he could see of the bride was the back of her head, but even that view was rewarding, for Rowenna had fashioned her hair in such a way that long braids twisted and intertwined about her head, but still allowed long locks of auburn hair to tumble curling down her back. It was beautiful piece of handiwork and Thornden knew it, and appreciated it.

He smiled, then, as he looked at Rowenna, knowing well that she could rightfully take more credit for her work. “You are very lovely tonight, too,” he said.

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand felt his face grow red with embarrassment and anger. Stigend’s joke seemed to strike a chord of familiarity with those who shared in it. Even if Stigend was in jest, his prying words cut deep; especially since Erbrand did not take the matter lightly. Thornden was now his enemy even more so than the vagabond Crabannan. Crabannan was Erbrand’s enemy for the fact of prying too much and Thornden was his enemy for interfering. The bruises on Erbrand’s body flared up in pain as he thought with black hatred of Thornden and the fight.

“Come now, Erbrand, do not look so glum.” Lithor said. His voice and face were happy, but he was no longer laughing. “What do say to Stigend’s story, does it help you any?”

Erbrand’s dry expression moved from Lithor to Stigend and then bowed his head for a second in thought. Stigend’s story had certainly been revealing about Modryth and certainly of Stigend’s character, but it helped Erbrand little in his case with Kara. In Stigend’s case, Modryth did not seem to like Stigend much; however, Erbrand knew that Kara liked him (at least she let on to like him). Then a light came into Erband’s eyes as he went over the story in his head. The point in the story where Stigend’s relationship changed was when he proved his worth to Modryth by saving her. A situation of such dire consequences might not arise in his-own case but there were certainly other ways to prove his worth to Kara. He smiled as the idea of how he would prove himself unfolded in his mind. A deep enduring fire was at that moment lit in Erbrand’s heart and he vowed that he would not let it die until Kara accepted or rejected him

“What are thinking?” Lithor asked, after seeing that Erbrand was lost in thought. Erbrand jumped slightly as if being suddenly roused from a pleasant sleep.

“Nothing,” Erbrand said unconvincingly, “The story has indeed been of great help, Stigend, and I thank you for telling it to me. I now understand what I must do.” Erbrand smiled and nodded his head to say a silent ‘thanks.’ Stigend returned the smile and gesture.

“Look yonder.” Lithor stepped down from the platform and was immediately joined by Balvir and Matrim. They could see Eodwine along with Saeryn, Thornden, and Rowenna slowly nearing the crowd. “Our Lord and Lady have finally come. To our posts men!”

Stigend and Erbrand melted into the crowd in search of wife and sweet-heart, while the soldiers slowly formed a walkway in crowd for the lord and lady to walk down. More soldiers came bearing torches and took their places along the walkway to form a majestical sight. The more important of the Eorl’s Household (meaning the chief guards and honored guest) stood on either end of the platform and waited with silent reverence for the ceremony to commence.

[Folwren]

Javan was at the wash bucket outside the tent for the men when Cnebba and Garmund came racing up. With hardly a glance at him, the two boys darted inside. Javan splashed some water over his hands and face. As soon as he was finished here, he would be ready to go down and see Eodwine married.

Garmund and Cnebba began a conversation inside the tent. Javan listened unintentionally for a while at first, but just as he was standing up to go, he heard some words of interest and his ears perked to listen. He turned and came back to the tent and stood with bent head to hear what was said within.

“I don’t think he was,” Cnebba said. “Didn’t you hear him say that it was fitting punishment for trespassing?”

“He was being easy on us, I tell you! A game, he called it. Well, I’m not so sure he’s going to prove quite as easy as you might think!”

“It won’t be difficult, anyway. Why are you so upset?"

“He called me little.”

“His hammer almost knocked you over.”

Javan finally gathered that they were speaking about Harreld. A smile spread slowly across his face. What had they been doing? What had Harreld done? Practically in the same breath, the two boys were speaking about having been dealt with easily, but also about the hammer almost knocking Garmund over. Trespassing? There were too many questions to just walk away from!

Javan stepped into the tent. The boys stopped talking and turned to look at him. Garmund had a new shirt pulled on his arms but not yet over his head, and Cnebba was buttoning his pants.

“What are you two talking about? I let you out of my sight for a few minutes after the games are up and you get into trouble?”

Garmund frowned at him. He did not like the way Javan spoke to them, trying to sound all grown-up and bossy and acting like they were so much younger. He pulled the shirt over his head. “It’s none of your business,” he said.

“Sure it is,” Javan answered, folding his arms. “I’m in charge of you, aren’t I?”

“Only when we’re doing archery.”

Javan looked at Cnebba. He usually put up less resistance than Garmund. “What were you talking about?”

[Thinlómien]

Cnebba looked from Javan to Garmund and from Garmund to Javan. He was not quite sure what to do. Javan was almost a grown-up, so he did have a sort of authority. But Garmund was his best friend.

"Not your business," he said.

There was a flare of anger in Javan's eyes.

"But it was not much trouble. Harreld and Ginna were quite kind in the end," he elaborated.

Now Garmund too flashed him an angry stare.

Cnebba looked from Garmund to Javan and from Javan to Garmund. Suddenly he missed his first days in the Mead Hall and how little Lèothern had been his best friend. It had been much simpler back then.

[Folwren]

“Harreld and Ginna?” This was getting more and more interesting! “What, did you come across them. . .kissing or something?” The idea amused Javan and he grinned. Garmund and Cnebba looked horrified.

“No!” they both exclaimed together.

“Well, then, what happened?” Javan queried for a third time.

Before either of the boys could answer, the tent flap was flung back and Garstan entered. “Ah, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you three. Come on, Eodwine and Saeryn are coming down and the ceremony is about to begin! Hurry up!”

He stood aside and allowed the three boys to dart past him. Their near quarrel forgotten, they all ran down towards the gathering place as quickly as they could and quietly joined the gathered people, prepared to watch their eorl be married.

[Nerindel]

Iomhair


The journey had been long but not at all dull. As was usual thousands of idea’s for adventures old and new flooded through her mind, so much so that she thought her brain might explode from the torrent before she could put ink to parchment. However fortune favoured her with very amenable fellow companions, a wealthy trade merchant and his family. The Lady and her two daughters delighted in tales of love and fortune while the gentlemen (Father and son) preferred historical recounts of the great cities of men. However the journey had now come to its inevitable end.


“Scarburg” the driver called.


“Ah alas, it seems sadly that we must now part company, it has been a most enjoyable journey and a great pleasure to meet you all.” Iomhair lamented as she dismounted.


“Oh but father, Mistress Iomhair must visit if ever she finds herself in Stonewain, mustn’t she?” the two daughters insisted.


“Indeed we would consider it an insult if you did not.” Their father replied to the obvious delight of both daughters and the young man that was their older brother.


“Then if my wandering ever takes me that way I shall indeed call on the house of Davhas.” she inclined graciously, Smiling warmly as the young man took and kissed her hand delicately. Looking into those bright blue eyes she thought it a shame they were not also stopping, oh what fun it would have been to discover what deep secrets that lay behind that warm smile, what sonnets and verses... Ah well she thought closing the wagon door and watching it trundle off to meet the rest of the caravan.


I am sure there will be others to inspire.... even here she thought as she turned, raising a quizzical brow at a well organised encampment and not the great hall she had expected. Looking at her trunk she chuckled at her own mistaken expectations. On reaching Edoras she had been excited about the news of the Kings new appointment an Eorl of mid-emet something new for the history books. A Knight made eorl what was not to be excited about. A new life, with new adventures ahead, many changes..... And all from bare timbers, she laughed again before grabbing her trunk and dragging it towards the little fabric village.


Drawing closer she could see a gathering of men, women and children all garbed in their finest. An air of excitement and joyous expectation filled the air. A flickering ring of lights hovered on carefully placed ropes above their heads and the sight and smell of fresh cut flowers filled her with a warm glow. Oh joy of joys...she thought excitedly. Abandoning her trunk and pulling both a quill and small leather bound book from her belt she lengthened her stride and was soon among the gathered throng, sketching the scene before her and adding small notes and snippets of conversation over heard. Her excitement growing as it soon became apparent that it was the new Eorl himself that was to be wedd this day. “What advantageous luck!” she chuckled to herself. “Fine food, good ale, much merriment and perhaps even some good company she mused as her eyes fell on the younger of the guardsmen.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna's eyes widened in momentary surprise, then smiled in spite of herself at Thornden's compliment. "Thank you. I think the mood of the event has gotten in your veins, Thornden."

He chose not to take that to mean what it could conceivably mean and he only laughed. "I am very happy for lord Eodwine and lady Saeryn," he replied, and then they became quiet as they drew near the gathered people.

Randvér frowned, standing in the circle. Ginna pulled Harreld into the circle and stood beside her father. So the young woman stood between her father and the man she seemed to have chosen, giving Randvér much opportunity to glance sidewise at his prospective son in law. He was a big man! And seemingly gentle. But the rite was about to begin.

Eodwine and Thornden came into the circle, dressed in their finest, and took their places at the center of the circle. The people quieted and craned their necks to see if they could catch a glimpse of the bride and bride's maid who waited outside the circle.

Then the old man visitor, the one called Eodwemer, stepped out of the crowd and stood before the bride and groom.

"Folk of Scarburg," he said, "your lord Eodwine has asked me to guide the rite. He thinks that my length of years have given me wisdom." The old man chuckled at the notion. "In any case, I am honored and will do my best to honor his choice. So let the bride's maid and bride enter the circle!"

Saeryn took a final breath and felt her face blush one last time. Degas stepped up to her side and she looked at him. He smiled and offered her his arm and she gave him a thankful smile in return as she took it. Then she turned to Rowenna and nodded her head. Rowenna stepped forward and led the way down through the people to where Eodwine stood waiting.

There were oohs and aahs from the gathered crowd, for the beaming Saeryn was a sight to behold. She stopped at Eodwine's side and looked up at him, smiling. His mouth and eyes could not contain his happiness. Those with the best ears overheard him say, "What a lucky man I am."

Rowenna and Thornden took their places beside the bride and groom, each holding a sword and ring.

Eodwemer spoke. "We have gathered to witness the joining together of Lady Saeryn of the Folde and Lord Eodwine, Eorl of Middle Emnet. We honor our forebears by following their ways, to be joined man and woman by oath, to bear and raise young, to thrive, love, and increase the strength of our folk.

"Who releases the bride to this man?"

"I Lord Degas of the Folde release her from her bond to my house."

"Do you have rings?" asked Eodwemer. Thornden handed a ring to Eodwine and Rowenna handed one to Saeryn. "Eodwine, place the ring on Saeryn's finger and speak your oath."

Eodwine slipped the ring half way onto the third finger of Saeryn's left hand. "Saeryn, this ring is a token of my love. Like this circle it has no end. As I place it around the vein that goes to your heart, let my love go straight to your heart."

Saeryn deftly pulled the ring the rest of the way onto her finger, then slipped a much bigger ring on the third finger of Eodwine's left hand. "Eodwine, this ring is a token of my love. LIke this circle it has no end. As I place it around the vein that goes to your heart, let me love go straight to your heart."

"Now speak handgeld and bridegift," Eodwemer intoned.

"For handgeld, Saeryn," said Eodwine, "my oath is to come to the aid of your brother Degas, Lord of the Folde, when called for any need, as long as the three of us live."

"For bride gift, Eodwine, "said Saeryn, "my oath is that my brother Degas will come to your aid when called upon for any need, as long as the three of us live."

"Have you swords to exchange?" asked Eodwemer.

Thornden handed Eodwine's sword to him. Eodwine offered the hilt to Saeryn. "Saeryn, I give you this my sword as protection against all evils. With it my son will protect you when I am dead."

Saeryn took the sword and traded it with Rowenna for the sword from Harreld. "Eodwine, I give you this sword in exchange for the heirloom of your house, to protect our house while you live."

"It is then time to bind the hands of bride and groom," said Eodwemer. "Who has the binding?"

A low whisper ran through the circle as people wondered who if anyone had remembered. However their fears were soon alleviated and an expectant hush once more filled the air as Æðel stepped forward.

While others had laboured she had spent the day delicately embroidering a simple linen binding with Lord Eodwine’s Sigils intertwined with what Degas had assured her was Saeryn’s favourite flowers, as he seemed to think that their own Sigils would bring no joy to his sister at present, down each side was also embroidered the words Unity and Love which she thought encapsulated the depth of the oaths her friends where entering into.

“I Æðel, Have that which is to bind hand and heart of Lord Eodwine and Lady Saeryn before those who Respect, love and serve them.” She announced, raising the binding in the air for all to see.

A Cheer rose up around them as Æðel smiled warmly at the happy couple, her dark eye’s gleaming with a merriment she had not felt in a long time. Resisting the urge to run up and hug Searyn tightly she placed the white binding into Eodwemer’s waiting hand and stepped back to her place in the circle.

"Please join hands with your betrothed and listen while you are bound by groom's man and brides lady."

Eodwemer held the binding up. Thornden and Rowenna came forward and both took an end, and slowly wrapped it around the clasped hands of the bride and groom.

"Above you are the stars, below you are the stones. Like a stone may your love be firm, like a star may your love be constant. May your thought guide you, let your wills bind you, let your love and desire make you happy, and the strength of your oaths make you inseparable.

"Eodwine, will you have this woman to wife?"

"I will."

"Saeryn, will you have this man as husband?"

"I will."

"Who bears the cup of gladness?" Eodwemer asked.

"I do." Kara spoke clearly.

Despite some small nervousness at suddenly being the centre of attention of so many people Kara walked toward Eodwemer with determined steps. She had not expected to participate in the ceremony and hadn't minded, but when Eodwemer had caught her for two moments and asked her to be a bearer she had smiled with delight and agreed on the spot. Kara had seen the two people in front of her now go through such pain during their long, subtle courtship that to be part of their happiness in some small way gave her incredible joy.

"I, Kara, have the cup filled with mead to wish Lord Eodwine and Lady Saeryn a gift from their union and everlasting bliss and gladness."

She handed the cup to Eodwemer and stepped back into the crowd. Seeking Erbrand's hand she took it in hers to watch the remainder of the ceremony. Erbrand looked at her, a little startled at the sudden contact, but Kara was too wrapped up in what was before her to notice.

Eodwemer passed the cup to Eodwine, who in turn held it to Saeryn's lips and spoke.

"Drink deeply, and may you never thirst."

Saeryn drank, took the cup and held it to Eodwine's lips.

"Drink deeply, and may you never thirst." She said in return, and returned the cup to Eodwemer.

From within the folds of his cloak Eodwemer produced a length of rope and laid it in a line in front of the bride and groom.

"This rope stands for an end and a beginning. Your lives as two people unrelated ends, and your life as one couple begins. On the count of three, jump. One! Two! Three!"

Eodwine and Saeryn, grinning, jumped over the rope. The crowd applauded.

"Folk of Scarburg," Eodwemer exclaimed, "I give you Lord Eodwine and Lady Saeryn of Scarburg, husband and wife! Seal it with a kiss!"

Eodwine took Saeryn in her arms and their lips met. The wedding kiss of Eodwine and Saeryn was long remembered in Scarburg, and the tale of it spread through out the lands of the Eorlingas. It was both long and lusty, and all who witnessed it first applauded then laughed then murmured in their amazement until Lithor uttered words to break the spell.

"Hey now! That's meant for your own tent! We have a chase!"

Eodwine wiped his lips with a twinkle in his eyes. "Then give chase, but only after we've found our horses! Let's ride, my wife!" They grabbed hands, grinning, and broke through the crowd at a run.

[Nerindel]

Iohmair

“Chase...Horses...” Iohmair grinned looking up from the flowing lettering etched on her page, the ceremony had been a joy to write and watch. To the young scribe it was more than apparent that this lord and his new wife were well loved by those gathered as witness, it was also refreshing to see commoner and nobility a like share in this Joyous event with no apparent segregation of class or rank.


But now with the chase, excitement again welled in her soul and as the ink dried she looked about wondering if she could get a horse somewhere or perhaps even persuade some young gentleman to let her ride with him. The thought made her grin widen, but as she sought out the burg’s guards it faded to a soft but nervous; innocent smile. It appeared that one of the guard’s had already taken note of her, but not in the way she would have hoped. No, this one, a middle aged man who’s faded brown... or was it dirty blonde hair sat strangely against his dark beard, was watching her intently, his deep blue eyes not filled with light and intrigue, but with cautious suspicion.


“Hmm” Iohmair sighed, as the two guards nearest her watcher suddenly took an interest. Snapping the book in her hands shut, she watched as the bearded man, still his eyes on her gave orders to the younger man on his right, who promptly ran off toward a young dark haired woman who flinched seemingly unconsciously at his touch.


“Interesting” she thought distractedly as the pair looked back, the young woman she remembered naming herself Æðel during the marriage rite shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, before both ran to catch up with the chase. But that would have to be a story for another time she mused turning back to note that the remaining two guards had now crossed more than half the distance between them.


Casually tucking her quill into her belt causing a fresh ink stain on her bluebell coat and wishing she too was joining the chase, she waited for the two guards to reach her. She hoped that their queries would not keep her from the festivities over long. After all they were Undoubtedly just doing their job and she herself had nothing at all to hide, in fact making her presence known to the guard might just stand her in better stead for gaining employment as the new Eorl's scribe/storyteller.... so long as they didn’t cart her off as a spy or an assassin or something even more ridiculous! she mused, her grin returning at the incredulous thought, mirth again lit her eyes as the two men finally approached her.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine and Saeryn reached the stables first. Flíthaf heard them coming; they were full of laughter. He nickered and kicked at the ground, eyeing them. They came quickly to his stall.

"Let us forego saddle and bridle tonight, my love!" cried Eodwine. "Come, Flíthaf! 'Tis a free ride this night!" He led the stallion out of his stall and helped Saeryn onto his back. He climbed the side of the stall and slipped onto the great bay's back, grabbed Saeryn around the waste, whose hands were holding gently to the horse's mane. They kicked gently and urged Flíthaf on, and out of the stables they rushed.

They negotiated a fence here, a tent there, and found their way through a gap in the scar and soon were at a full gallop on the open plain. They could hear yells and the clatter of hooves behind them. They knew they had the disadvantage of two riders on one horse, but had gained time by riding no saddle. Saeryn let out a whoop of joy and Eodwine laughed for delight.

The waxing moon was rising in the night sky and they could see none too badly for the lack of daylight. They were out a good five minutes before they began to hear hooves gaining.

[Groin Redbeard]

"Good evening ma'am." Lithor nodded respectfully at the young lady (it was obvious that she was in fact a lady and no peasant). Her garments struck Lithor as unusually lavish for a girl of her age and especially for a girl in this region of the Riddermark. Was she of noble birth? But if so, where was her train, her knights, her servants?

Balvir had pointed out the book and quill in the lady's hands before Lithor had concluded that she was a stranger. Lithor turned his eyes from the lady's face to the book that she clutched in her hands. The book was simply bound, but even a simply bound book cost much silver. Lithor's eyes darted back to the lady and to the book again. What on earth was she doing? Lithor had never known many lady's who had the ability to read and write. Of course noble lady's were taught both, but then he had never seen proof of this.

"What's in the book?" Lithor asked rather simply and pointed at it.

Balvir stood behind Lithor but now stepped forward. "Is it a map?" he asked harshly and probably would have seized the book from the girl.

"Peace friend," Lithor interjected calmly, "we want no quarrel here on this most magnificent day." He paused for a moment and glanced upward at the moon (what a ridiculous thing to say, you simpleton!); then he chuckled.

"Forgive me lady, I have forgot my manners. Perhaps we should try this again. My name is Lithor and this is Balvir; we are both guards of Eodwine: the Lord of whose property you now stand on.

"Who are you and whence did you come from? Your raiments and belongings speak of an education that I would guess you have not found around here."

~~~~~~~~~

Erbrand

Kara had urged him to go without her. With a promise to quickly return, Erbrand darted to the stables. He was a fast runner (the fastest in Scarburg, as was proved today) and was one of the first to arrive at the stables, mere moments after the bride and groom had taken off. A saddle was quickly slung across Traveler's back and soon both rider and steed were the first in full pursuit.

The night was dark but blue dress of Saeryn marked his target well enough. The wind whistled in his ears as he bent his body closer to Traveler's mane. His great horse was galloping along splendidly, each footfall fell firm and swift: the gallop of a great charger. Yet for all of Traveler's drive he was no match for the light horses and great riders challenging him.

Thornden shot past Erbrand like a fleeting shadow and was soon to overtake Eodwine and Saeryn. Erbrand felt a quick burn of envy and contempt for the young soldier.

"Outmatched again," he muttered to himself, "his time will come. He'll not take her from me. I'll put him in his place soon enough." However, the threats vanished from his mind as quick as they had entered and the chase continued.

[Folwren]

Although Thornden was not the first to reach the stables and catch his horse, he was one of those leading. The air was filled with the hubbub of cheerful, excited voices as everyone who owned a horse worked their fastest to saddle up and mount. Thornden gathered his bridle and saddle and then went to his horse and pulled him away from all the others. Then, in the open with room to spare, he quickly prepared his mount and swung up on him. Already someone was galloping away from the group, and before Thornden put his horse into motion, he saw two more people mount up. Shouts came out through the darkness,

“They’ve gone through the scar! They’re heading across the plain!”

Thornden laughed. Eodwine had chosen the best place for a gallop, and the best place for them to be overtaken. He urged his horse forward and immediate the animal sprang into a swift canter. Through the gap in the scar they went, picking their way across difficult rocks at a hurried trot, and then with a new surge of energy, they shot down the incline and onto the plain.

He came abreast of Erbrand and for a second he considered saying that they should split up and circle around the bride and groom and so force them back towards the others. He decided against it. Erbrand probably wouldn’t listen, for one reason, and there was not enough room for the horses to loop ahead of Eodwine and Saeryn for another. The decision made, he loosed the reins and galloped ahead, his horse taking the ground six yards with each stride.

“They are gaining on us, Eodwine,” Saeryn said. The wind was cool and fresh on her face, and Eodwine at her back provided a strong warmth. With his arms about her, she felt safer and happier than she ever had, and now that the chase seemed to be coming to a close, she wished it could continue going on. “Could you turn him up into the hills and perhaps lose them among the rocks and the trees?”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine smiled. He wanted to be alone with her, too. But this day would not be truly theirs until all the festivities came to a close. This time was more for the folk than for themselves, and they must bear it patiently, and might as well enjoy the time.

"You want to prolong the chase, my love? I fear that the hills and rocks would slow us down as much as the others. We must bear the company of others for a few more hours."

Suddenly a wild hunger rose in him and a mad plan formed at once in his thought. After all their celebration and after all was quiet with sleeping folk at Scarburg, she and he could leave quietly on their two horses and roam the world, free of all care and responsibility, to see the wide open spaces together. It would be as it had been when he was a messenger for the king, traveling far and wide, only this time he would have Saeryn with him, and he knew she had the wanderlust too. He could taste it the heady flavor of it like a fine hoppy ale. He hugged Saeryn more tightly in reaction to the power of the enchantment.

But no, he was Eorl of Scarburg. He had duties that he did love, and people he loved. Thornden. Harreld. Ginna. Kara. He named them and brought them to mind one after the other, and so he came back to his senses.

"Let them catch us," he said at last. "We will have many hours together soon enough, both tonight and in days to come."

[Nerindel]

Iomhair


Ma’am! Iomhair thought indignantly do I really look old enough to be called ma’am! she frowned as his gaze drifted to the book in her hand. And although she had not meant to, having nothing at all to hide, she did pull it closer to herself when he enquired as to its content. Gripping it tighter still as the larger of the two men stepped forward demanding in a surprisingly thick southern accent if it was a map. Iomhair was stunned it seemed they really did take her for a spy; well at least the big one seemed too.


But her astonishment soon melted away as the first guard calmed his friend and introduced them both in a more proper manner. That he addressed her as a lady brought the smile again to her lips.


"Who are you and whence did you come from? Your raiment’s and belongings speak of an education that I would guess you have not found around here." The one called Lithor enquired.


“Why master Lithor surely you do not mean to imply that the good people of Rohan are uneducated or is it simply you believe that only the wealthy can afford such privilege?” she quipped; a twinkle lighting her brown eyes as Lithor seemed suitably taken aback.


“Then I fear Master’s I may yet disappoint!” she laughed lightly, “My Name is Iomhair Fearghal of Dale, Esgaroth to be more precise. My Father is a cloth merchant and my mother a seamstress and a very good one at that!” she grinned fixing a lapel and brushing at her skirts lightly.


“I assure you I am no spy! But I am a scribe or a documenter of life if you will and I have come here to offer my services to Lord Edowine of Scarburg.” She continued very matter of fact.

She held out her book to Balvir in the hopes that he may take her word for truth and be done with this interrogation so that they could join the others before the chase was done and that she would not have to settle for a second-hand account. Her gaze drifted momentarily to the stables where the last riders were making their way out into the fading evening light.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Balvir


Balvir took the offered book and carefully flicked through the pages. That the young woman was from Dale and not somewhere further south had set his mind somewhat at rest, but that her father was a merchant again raised those heckles of doubt, to Balvir merchants were all just as bad as each other but none so much as Cild of Gondor so Balvir decided not to let her father’s occupation and that he may or may not have had dealing in Minas Tirth cloud his judgement; at least for the present.


The young woman seemed genuine in her assent, if a little eager to join in the festivities and that she had managed to leave Lithor lost for words, a feat he was beginning to think impossible brought at least some amusement.


He looked again from the delicately scribed words to the young woman before them. He had initially agreed with his companions assessment but having listened to her speak he now thought there was something a little unpolished in her manner, she had that quick change in temperament that he suspected often got her into trouble and that perhaps she even used to get out of such trouble.


Yes he thought she would bear some watching. But Time was pressing and he suspected Lithor would be just as eager as their new arrival to press on with the festivities. If she was a spy it would discovered in time but at present he saw no threat to Lord Edowine from this young woman, so he nodded his satisfaction and returned the book to Miss Iomhair Fearghal of Dale.


“My Apologises Miss Fearghal, Our Lord Edowine is new to these lands and unfortunately not all are as happy as we with King Eomer's new appointment, so I hope you can understand and forgive our caution this night.”


The young woman nodded her understanding as she took the book from his hands. “If it helps I do have papers of recommendation.” Balvir grinned as Iomhair pointed back towards an old brown trunk on the worn path leading away from the burg. Something told him that she had deliberately left the knowledge of such papers as a last resort.

“No, I think such matters can wait for morning I daresay you are as eager as my companion here to join in the festivities I will see that your trunk is taken off the road and a tent is made ready for your use.”


“Then you shall not be joining us?” the young woman asked in surprise.


“Oh no...!” Lithor laughed, “Master Balvir much prefers his own company and has volunteered to remain on watch here till we return and I suspect long after eh Balvir!” he jibbed lightly.


“Then we shall feast heartily and dance merrily without fear, for Master Balvir guards the Scarburg and all those within!” Iomhair recited with a smile that most would find disarming. But Balvir merely laughed reaffirming his belief that she would have to be watched... especially around the young men of the burg.


“You are too kind in your praise Miss Fearghal, But Lithor is correct it is my charge this night to guard the camp, so I will bid you good hunting and shall take my leave leaving you to the care of my good companion here. Good night.” And with that Balvir turned and walked towards the road where Iomhair’s trunk still sat.


After finding a free tent for the young woman’s heavy trunk, he did a once round the camp before finding Frodide’s who would no doubt welcome a pair of strong hands to help set out tables for the feast to come.

[Groin Redbeard]

Lithor stood with Iomhair for a few moments watching Balvir leave. She looked to be at least half his age; yet, despite this she was not uncomfortable around strangers.

"Do you ride?" He asked abruptly when the silence became disagreeable.

Iomhair looked as if she was about to bust with excitement. Lithor wasted no time and led her at a brisk pace to the stables. His horse was awake, anxious to know what the cause of the excitement was. When Lithor was saddling his horse, the thought occurred to him that it would be highly improper for him to ride with an unmarried girl young enough to be his daughter; however, he hated the thought of leaving her behind or letting an outsider ride off with his horse.

"Tell me, lady: can you ride alone?" He was surprised to hear her confirmation of the question. He did not expect a northern lady to know how to ride. Nevertheless, Lithor trusted her word and hesitantly handed the reigns over. Besides, she won't go running off with my horse when we have all of her belongings here.

"Just follow the other riders. If you get close enough catch the rider with the lady in blue."

With a genuine smile of thanks Iomhair slowly started to a full gallop after the riders.

Lithor watched his horse slowly fade into the night air. "A lady who can read and write, also ride. Wherever she was raised it can't be all that bad. She will fit in well here."

[Eönwë]

Dan was left behind during the chase. He had no horse, and even if someone had offered him theirs, it would be to no avail, as he had never learnt to ride a horse. And anyway, considering his height, a pony would probably be more appropriate. He stood now, looking out towards the plains, and could see Eodwine and Saeryn in the front, followed by others he could not make out in the darkness, even with the moon rising, leaving the galloping riders as silhouettes outlined with a silver light, cold and magical.

The evening had been a strange one indeed. Though could see that something was going on between Eodwine and Saeryn he had been completely surprised that they were going to get married. Then again, he was a newcomer, and it seemed that those who had been part of the community for much longer than he had weren't as surprised and were just happy that Lord Eodwine had finally decided to marry again. And even stranger was the fact that they announced that their wedding would be the very same night, as if they could not bear to hide it any longer, or as if there was some need to rush the proceedings. Interesting, he thought to himself- he would have to think more on this later on. Besides, he was happy for the Eorl- he was a wise and kindly man with a good sense of humour as well, which was hard to come by in those in such high positions, but then again, Eodwine had not been born an Eorl. He was good man, and deserved such a kind, beautiful and intelligent wife. Dan had been cheering along with the rest of Scarburg when Eodwine proposed.

Dan's spirits lowered a little. It seemed like everyone was getting together with someone. There was Eodwine and Saeryn, and there was also Harreld and Ginna, whose relationship seemed more complicated than it looked, but again he had not been in the Hall at the time. Even Erbrand, who was new like Dan himself, had found someone. Actually, thought Dan, What was wrong with Erbrand today? He made up his mind to find out later, which would probably be tomorrow after the festivities had ended. Erbrand had seemed unsure of himself and determined to prove himself all day, and he also seemed to have a grudge with Thornden that he wanted to settle, but as to why, Dan had no idea what would turn a normally kind and relaxed man into such a wild fighter. And I'm supposed to be the Wild Man here... A grim smile made its way across his rugged features. The man needed to come to his senses. Since Erbrand had started being with Kara, he had become much more sensitive and slightly paranoid, and it could get worse unless he came to terms with his feelings. So Dan resolved to talk to his friend later.

The sword fight hadn't been too bad either. He had beat, Erbrand, who surprisingly hadn't taken it too badly. But next he had been up against Crabannan, who was much larger, and so it wasn't a surprise that we won, even though Dan did manage to make it quite a show. And Crabannan proved to be the winner in the end anyway, so he didn't mind losing to him that much.

After the final event, it seemed that everyone was busy doing whatever they were doing for the wedding, and had forgotten all about him, so Dan had nothing to do, and was reduced to wandering the camp aimlessly.

The wedding had been impressive, especially what had been prepared at such short notice. And the had been that old man. Who is he and how did he know exactly when to come? thought Dan. He was one of the many peculiar conundrums that Dan had started to take for granted in this place, as it became a sort of home to him, but he still wanted to find out more of this Eodwemer.

He looked away from the chase and went towards the kitchens to see if anyone wanted any help there. On the way, he met someone who was also walking in the same direction. It was one of the guards who he had come to know not well, but at least as an acquaintance. "Balvir," said Dan, "How goes the night watch?"

[Thinlómien]

"Garmund! Let's go!" Cnebba shouted and pulled his friend's arm. "Let's catch them!"
Garmund appeared a little hesitant and eyed around.
"Come! Let's ride Snowstreak, she's a good horse!"
Finally, the older boy agreed, and the boys dashed off to the stables.

Modtryth, momentarily forgotten by the kids, watched them run away without saying anything. She could have refused the horse (it could be dangerous for two wild and unexperienced riders to ride in the dark, or Stigend might have wanted to have the family horse), or at least rebuked Cnebba for not asking before taking the horse, but she was so happy she didn't mind such small things.

Eodwine and Saeryn's tale had reached a happy end, and now they were galloping towards their dream. Surrounded by happy and enthusiastic folk, Modtryth could hardly have been sad even if she hadn't cared about the fates of the two so much. Stigend and Garstan were standing only a dozen feet away and answering Léothern's inquiries about their weddings and weddings in general. Her enthusiasm amused Modtryth, especially as the girl was still sitting on her dad's shoulders like she had been for all the ceremony in order to see better.

There was a familiar neigh. Modtryth turned and saw Cnebba and Garmund leading Snowstreak out of the stables. Her heart was filled with pride when she saw how carefully and calmly her son handled the old mare, and how gentle he was depsite his own great excitement. She watched the boys mount and gallop away. Even when they could no longer be seen because of the dark, she could hear their shouts of joy. Modtryth found herself smiling at the enthusiasm of the two little boys. She closed her eyes for just a minute and enjoyed the enthusiasm actually shared by all the folk of the hall surrounding her.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld offered to take Ginna on his mount but she wanted her own and begged her father until he relented. They made a race of it. Truth be told, they were more interested in their own race than the chase for Saeryn. That is, until they started hearing some loud whooping ahead of them. It seemed that Thornden and Erbrand had caught up to the bride and groom and were trying to figure out how to remove her from her spot in front of her new husband. They hurried after the others on the chase so as not to miss out on the fun.

"Touch my wife and I promise great bodily harm," Eodwine joked. "But you realize, I hope, that you are going to have to stop my horse if you ever hope to remove Saeryn, for you have to get through me to get her. First man to touch her I'll throw in the dungeon."
Eodwine said this with a grin so they laughed and didn't take him seriously - except for the always more grave than anyone else Thornden who, though he laughed with the rest, had a moment's misgiving that fluttered in his stomach.

"What!" cried Eodwine, "no bold words back from you ruffians?"

[Folwren]

The horses were loping side by side. Erbrand was on Eodwine’s right and Thornden on his left.

“Nay, my lord,” Thornden said, “we are too frightened to speak! Save now, of course.” He was actually trying to think of a way to stop Eodwine’s horse without hurting any people or animals.

Erbrand apparently came up with a usable plan, for he suddenly sped forward and cut his horse in, swerving towards Flíthaf’s off shoulder. The maneuver forced Flíthaf to shorten his stride and swerve towards Thornden and his horse.

In an instant, the opportunity was taken hold of. Thornden seized the back of Eodwine’s saddle and with one swift movement, leaped from his horse onto Flíthaf’s back. He reached about Eodwine and grappled with his arms, trying to wrest them away from Saeryn’s waist. Flíthaf, burdened with the weight of three people, and two of them full grown men and warriors, slowed his pace considerably. Erbrand finally got hold of his bridle and the two horses stopped.

“Help me get him down,” Thornden gasped. “Or at least get him to let go of her, so you can get her.”

[littlemanpoet]

"No tickling allowed," Eodwine said. Sandwiched between Thornden behind and Saeryn in front, he had little room for maneuvering and it was not long before both his arms were pulled back in a tight grasp at the elbows by Thornden.

"Roll to one side," Erbrand said, "and you'll have Eodwine off his mount. Then we can take horse and rider back with us and leave our lord to walk back!"

"Now that would be cow - ard - ly!" Eodwine called as Thornden pulled him off the left side of Flíthaf. They hit the ground. "Ouch."

"Who are you to say ouch, my Lord!" cried Thornden. "You landed on me!"

"You have hard bones, my steward."

Even as Eodwine struggled up Erbrand was pulling Flíthaf away by the reins, still bearing Saeryn at a walk. To that man's surprise, however, Saeryn slid off the stallion's back and landing on her feet, called, "You may have the lord's horse, Erbrand, but you haven't his bride!" Erbrand looked back and cursed mildly.

By this time a half dozen of the others had ridden up. It was not long before Thornden, Eodwine, and Saeryn were surrounded. Thornden held Eodwine. "Take the lady while I hold Lord Eodwine!" he said.

Harreld dismounted and with a bow said, "I am sorry, lady, but we must take you from our lord. Will you ride with me?"

"Since you ask so gallantly," Saeryn smiled, "I will, but my lord will make you pay for the honor!"

"I do not doubt it!" Harreld grinned and favored Eodwine with a wink; Eodwine returned his gesture with a single raised brow and a humorless smile.

Soon the whole troop had left them but for Thornden. He let Eodwine from his grasp at last. "Give me a chance to join the others before you begin your heroics, my lord."

"Go then," Eodwine smiled. Thornden mounted his steed and rode away.

Eodwine watched him gallop off. After he had passed through the gap in the Scar, Eodwine sighed and looked up at the night sky. It was strange to be alone. Well, not quite alone. Erbrand had left him Flíthaf, who was calmly foraging not twenty paces off. Eodwine thought back to his wild desire of just a few moments ago to flee from the Scar with Saeryn and be free from all bond and responsibility. Now he was alone. He looked to the distance now, alone, his bride "kidnapped", waiting for him to claim her. He could ride away and be free alone. He breathed a single reflective laugh, half a grin on his lips. A fleeting dream, nothing more. Foolishness and less than half a man he who did such a deed.

He called to his steed and mounted. They loped back to Scarburg. Once inside his lands he saw that the folk were gathered near the baker under the lights. Surely Saeryn was with them. He saw that they had left the pair of swords behind from the rite. He dismounted and picked them up and walked to the baker, followed by Flíthaf, a sword in each hand. "I must look a spectacle," he thought as he approached.

[Folwren]

It was amidst a rush of laughter and cheerfulness that Saeryn was abducted back to Scarburg. A half dozen horses cantered around her and Harreld, the people calling jovial comments back and forth. Saeryn sat side ways on Harreld’s saddle-bow, his arm securely about her waist to keep her from jumping down. She laughed along with the rest, but her mind kept going back to Eodwine, alone now as he surely must be.

They came back to the encampment and the waiting people breathless with laughter, excitement, and the speed of the horses. A cheer arose from those who had stayed behind, and Saeryn was lowered to the ground to be embraced and kissed by Modtryth, Kara, Rowenna, and all the other women folk, before she was hurried away to prepare for Eodwine’s arrival. They did not have much time, but it was enough to let her hair down and arrange it into a contained mass of falling curls, crowned with a wreath of flowers.

“He returns! He is coming!” Shouts and hails from outside brought Saeryn running. She could not see him yet, but she rushed to meet him in the Baker where all the others were assembled. She glanced around the lighted tent. Eodwine was not there, but all the eyes and faces were directed outside. She went in the indicated direction – the people made way for her – and then she saw him, leading his horse up into the ring of light and bearing two swords.

If Eodwine looked a spectacle, Saeryn did not notice. She thought he looked like a hero returning from a distant war. She ran forward and threw her arms around his neck, seeking another kiss.

Thornden followed discreetly, and when Eodwine’s hand loosed Flíthaf’s reins in order to take his wife, Thornden took hold of the horse instead. Then, gently, so as not to disturb, he took the swords from the eorl’s hand and then led Flíthaf away.

[littlemanpoet]

He had imagined them holding her hostage (in a frienldy way) in the middle of the Baker. He had expected to walk up to the Baker and issue threats that if she was not immediatley returned to him then vengeance would be his. He had not had a chance to say a single word for she came running out of the Baker, looking as beautiful and joyful as he had ever seen her. And that was saying something. She jumped into his arms and sought his lips with her own.

Even though it had been playing at kidnapping and not really so, being reunited with her now still hit him as strongly as if it had been real, and he felt tears leak out of his eyes. He barely noticed when the reins and swords were taken from his hands. He murmured words of endearment, not quite sure what he was saying, only sure that he meant them with all his heart, and that they were good and not anything that could be taken amiss.

The moment could have lasted for eternity and he would not have minded.

Then someone shouted, "Dance!" Others joined in the cry until the whole troop seemed to be calling for it.

[littlemanpoet]

They danced and feasted and then settled down by a big bonfire and traded riddles. The sun had set long ago and the stars had wheeled far in the night sky before the riddlers and listeners finally gave into weariness and settle down for the night. And so a long, event-filled, and delightful summer day at long last came to an end.

Eodwine's last moments before slumber took him were quiet and content. His wife slept in his arms in the cool of the deep night.

And now the new adventure begins, he thought to himself, and closed his eyes.

[Groin Redbeard]

The wedding is complete. Lord and lady had left for the comfort and solitude of their room, leaving a lingering, shrinking, group of people talking about the day—an exciting day! Not long after the lord and lady had gone to bed, Erbrand retired from the conversations. He stayed awake for hours thinking about the dance—Kara was beautiful in the moonlight.

If music be the food of love, play on; give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken, and so die. That last note—it had a dying fall! It came to my ear like the sweet sound that breathes upon a bank of violets, stealing and giving keen fragrance! Spirit of love, how quick and fresh you are!

Erbrand sat against the pole outside of his tent for a long while just thinking about the day: the race with Kara; his confrontation with Thornden; the wedding; the dance. The wind rustled the grass and swayed his long brown hair with a vibrant energy. The stars were particularly beautiful tonight; one of the last clear nights before winter would arrive. Soon the deer would become scarce to find. Hunting parties will have to be made and travel far in search of quarry. Erbrand lazily reached back for one of his arrows; he held the shaft and twiddled the barb between his fingers. For a long while his thought was bent on the excitement of the hunt, however, the arrow soon reminded him of the archery contest that day: the breaking of his bow and of Thornden.

Thornden! the name he hated to hear, to be reminded of. Erbrand had eyed him all night, dancing, laughing, and talking with Kara when Erbrand had left. The arrow in his hand suddenly became more interesting than before, Erbrand held the point closer to him and imitated its flight with cruel intent.

“I wonder what it would feel like to be shot with one this?” he whispered under his breath, faintly laughing at the thought.

Erbrand was not a ruthless person you must understand, but he hated Thornden with all his heart. As long as he felt Thornden was between him and Kara’s affection, Erbrand would not stop until he say Thornden put in his place, and that proper place was anywhere away from Kara. Stigend had made things perfectly clear to him. Erbrand planned to win Kara’s love and put Thornden in his proper place in a single act; he would impress Kara and all of Scarburg! But there is time, time is all he needs. Everything will be done in its due time.

[Nogrod]

After the games and all the jubilation it was time for work. The Mead Hall was nothing near being a real Mead Hall and even if there still was a long way ahead of them until winter would come, lord Eodwine knew they had to hurry.

They worked full hours through the hot days of the late summer sweating and trying to repel the gadflies and other hornets there seemed to be more they had bargained for. And they toiled through the reddening of the leaves of autumn, in rain and in cold rays of the autumn sun, falling asleep tired and cold but satisfied for the work they had done.

And piece by piece, stone after stone and baulk after baulk, the Mead Hall started to emerge into the place where only ruins had been when they first came to Scarburg almost half a year ago. It was far from being ready, but it started to look like something, day by day.

There were no stables, there were no quarters for the people, there was no fixed granary or any other storehouse for food. But there was a makeshift smithy, a temporary shed for the animals, and a rude windmill to give them power, built when the autumn winds really started to blow through the marshlands. It was a colder place they had anticipated.

The people had lived in the tents as long as the weather had allowed and after that they had all moved into the Mead Hall itself gathering around the newly built fireplace to get themselves warm – even if most of the Mead Hall was still under construction. Every morning the females and the children cleared the space for the men, residents and guests, to continue their work and only then went for their duties of collecting wood, gathering berries and mushrooms, carrying water – and the boys occasionally helped the craftsmen and soldiers carrying out the actual building-work.

A real kitchen with a stone-oven and a decent fireside-cooking area had been built for Kara and Frodides as one of the first things. From there the hearty meals went forwards to the hungry people day after day accompanied by the ever-smiling faces of the two cooks – helped by Ginna and Modtryth.

But lord Eodwine followed the draining of their supplies with weary eyes. King Eomer had sent them building supplies on late summer; several ox-carts of wood and stone. Stigend and Garstan had finally talked him over to see there were not enough of the resources around if they wished to build a real Mead Hall, a Mead Hall of a kind Eodwine wished for. But because he had to ask for the king for building supplies he didn’t dare to ask for any more food – and the stacks of grain and vegetables were growing thin indeed.

He would have to solve it by himself. And he knew what he had to do.

~’~

The Middle Emnet was the southeast quarter of West Emnet, bordered by the Snowbourn to the south and the Entwash to the east. King Eomer had made an administrative move to improve the governance of Rohan by instituting a Mead Hall on the lands immediately surrounding Edoras, and made Eodwine the Eorl of Mid Emnet. Now that meant he had to bring the landlords that ruled the area under the king’s governance. He had postponed the inevitable meeting with the local landlords the whole summer wishing to meet them in a shiny new Mead Hall worthy of the king’s eorl but it seemed he had no more time to waste.

And it would not be an easy negotiation…

The local landlords had used to rule over the Mid Emnet themselves; they collected taxes in change for protection from the peasants and they dictated the law to them. They would not be too happy to hear that the king would take those privileges from them even if they were war-heroes, or their offspring, and were loyal to the crown of Edoras.

Lord Eodwine would have to call them to the Mead Hall before it was as he wanted it to be. He had to call them for they would have to send him food supplies for the winter no matter how ready or unready the Mead Hall was. And he would have to tell them they would not only need to start sending him food-supplies on regular basis, but that they would also need to start paying taxes to the king via the Mead Hall, and would lose their right to judge on any affairs of dispute. He and the Mead Hall would be the new centers of gravity in Mid Emnet. It would be hard for them to chew but they sure had had time to think of any counter moves as it was no secret lord Eodwine and his following had moved in to Scarburg almost half a year ago.

It was indeed the most worrying sign to lord Eodwine that none of them had approached him willingly after they had moved in. The silence felt awkward.

On September the 27th he wrote a letter to be sent to the three most remarkable landlords around.

He knew Tancred son of Ewald well. He had been a captain in the same force lord Eodwine had served himself in the Pelennor Fields and even before it. He was a great soldier, a shrewd tactician and a trustee of the late king Theoden. But that trust was earned during the days of Theoden’s misery. Lord Eodwine didn’t like him. He actually feared him but stood calm. He would have to meet that man and wrestle the king’s authority over him however he would react to this kind of approach. And he was about ten years older than lord Eodwine. Forcing Tancred to subdue to him would be a challenge.

He knew Alboin son of Oswine as well. He was not of a stature Tancred was, but he was an intelligent and a stern lord. Lord Eodwine didn’t actually love Alboin either as he thought he was a coward but he knew some praised his courage. Maybe it was more a matter of personal relations?

He didn’t know Faramund son of Friduhelm that well but he had known his father well enough. They had fought side by side in the Pelennor fields and he both admired and loved the old man. And he still lived. But he had given the rule over his estates to his son Faramund Eodwine knew almost nothing about; but that he was very young, twenty something… If Friduhelm would come he would have an ally in the meeting, Eodwine thought writing the letters. And if not, he could always appeal to Faramund to prove worth of his father…

On October the 10th it would be seen…

~’~

On the first days of October lord Eodwine had started to cough and sneeze a lot. Saeryn was worried and demanded that her husband would rest just for a day or two to get himself well. But lord Eodwine would have none of it. They had to finish as much as they could before the landlords would arrive and he would have to show example to all others. It was just a flu and if the orc-spears were not able to fell him, neither would a little flu do it. And ignoring Saeryn’s protests he went to the work as the first one in the morning and left as the last one in the evening braving zero temperatures at mornings and late evenings.

And they had advanced a lot. Garstan and Náin had finished the inner stonewalls and the fireplace with great precision while Stigend had built a beautiful plank floor and elegant tables and benches, and a great seat for the eorl – most of them adorned with Erbrand’s skillful leather-work. It was looking good even if here or there one could see it was not finished at all.

On October 9th lord Eodwine got a fever. He wished to join the workforce but now lady Saeryn was accompanied by Thornden and they finally talked him to stay in bed. Aedhel was called in and she did what she could making potions from herbs she had available trying to ease the fever.

But it was of no avail. The fever rose the whole day and in the evening lord Eodwine was sweating and had a terrible fit of convulsions. A cramp attack followed another and shortly he lost consciousness.

Aedhel shook her head beside his bed. “There’s nothing I can do to him here…” she said slowly. “We need to get him to Edoras”.

The people bent over his bed looked at each other in pain.

Lord Eodwine opened his eyes suddenly, panting heavily… “You need to… you… tomorrow… I’ll be fine… … … Saeryn! … My love! … take care of the child…”

His eyes rolled over and everyone screamed.

“Do something! For Valar’s sake do something!” Saeryn cried almost hysterically shaking all over.

Modtryth tried to console her but her eyes were filled with tears and her hands were shaking as she tried to hold Saeryn in her arms. Thornden wished to have the situation in his control but found himself lacking the words or action for it and just stood there looking at his lord fading away.

Crabannan had the stamina to bend over Eodwine and try the pulse.

“It’s still beating! He’s not dead! … He’s not dead!!!” He yelled.




It was past midnight and the landlords would come in the early afternoon.

[Folwren]

Thornden was roused from his stupor. His authority returned to him, along with his senses. “Come,” he said, touching those nearest him. “Leave him to Æđel and Saeryn.” He cleared the room of all but the women folk who would stay and help. Saeryn remained by Eodwine’s bedside, clinging to his hand.

Once out, he roused Léof and Javan from their beds. “Hitch up the smoothest wain to your fastest horses, Léof. Javan will help you.”

Léof wanted to ask questions, but he was too obedient to even open his mouth. Javan, on the other hand, felt no scruples about questioning his brother. “In the middle of the night, Thornden? What’s the matter?” The boys both looked at him. In the light of the lantern, their dark eyes glimmered as they waited expectantly for an answer. Thornden placed a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Lord Eodwine is very ill, and he must be taken to Edoras. Æđel can do no more for him, and he must be taken as quickly as possible. So, go. The rest of us will prepare what will be needed for the journey. You go and get the wagon.”

Javan was struck rooted to his place. “Lord Eodwine...” he murmured. Léof grabbed his hand and pulled him away.

The next half hour was filled with nervous activity for the entire household. The cooks prepared as much food as they could for the journey. They did not know how long it would take to get to Edoras, nor did they know if Eodwine would wake to eat at all. They also heated bricks and potatoes in the fire to wrap in blankets and so pack around Eodwine to keep him warm on the journey, at least for a while.

The rest of the household busied themselves with either preparing the wain for their eorl, or helping those to go get ready. Æđel had agreed to go, but she could not prepare for herself, she was with Eodwine, so Modtryth packed what she needed for her. Garstan asked if he could accompany them, but Thornden denied permission, as Garstan would be needed for the continuation of the work on the Hall as soon as the landholders had left, and they did not know how long those who went to Edoras would be gone. Balvir and Wilcred would go with him.

Thornden came to the door as he heard the wagon rumble up before it. He found Saeryn standing just outside, a shawl wrapped tightly about her shoulders, vainly attempting to keep out the biting cold. Her neck and head rose uncaring above the wool folds of her wrap, and wisps of her hair touched her pale skin gently as they moved in the wind.

“Lady Saeryn,” Thornden said. “You should not be out here.”

“I want to go with him,” she stated quietly. “I am his wife, and I want to stay with him.”

Thornden looked at her, saying nothing for a moment. Then he unclasped his heavy cloak and wrapped it about her shoulders. Her cold fingertips grasped the edges and clutched it into place about her throat.

“I will not stop you, lady,” he said. “But I will ask you, please stay. Tomorrow the men from surrounding lands are coming, and we must carry out Eodwine’s plans. They cannot be changed or postponed now. I do not. . .I can not do it myself.” Saeryn looked up at him. He met her eyes, swallowed his pride, and said again, “Please stay.”

Was Thornden actually afraid? Saeryn eye’s searched his face. He had every right to be. The responsibilities of Eorl were falling swiftly and unexpectedly on his shoulders, and at a crucial time when things had to be done. She knew he could carry out his duties well, but Thornden was not as certain. He was young, after all. She, and others, tended to forget that during their everyday contact with his firm and steady handling of matters.

“Of course you must go,” Thornden said, breaking the long pause and looking away. “You are his wife, after all, and you should be with him.”

“No, Thornden,” she said. “He would have me stay. It is as much my duty as yours to stay behind and look after the people. I am, after all, the Lady of Scarburg now. I will see that everything is run as he would have it run. You will meet the landlords and conduct the meeting that Eodwine had planned, and I will back you in whatever decisions you come to. Here, take back your cloak. I will go to him now.”

[Groin Redbeard]

His hurried footfalls echoed through the hall. Kara was tending the fire in the center of the great hall as Lithor approached.

“Have you seen Balvir?” he asked.

No smiles or cheerful greetings from Lithor today. Lord Eodwine’s turn for the worse did not surprise Lithor as it did others, instead it confirmed his fears. He had silently watched his lord grow sick and silently chastised him. “Ill can only come of taking ill,” he used to joke. “It’s no good ignoring something that’s there. Something has to be done about it.” However, nothing was done about it until Thornden intervened. All those jokes Lithor had made about Eodwine’s illness were no longer playful jests. Eodwine needed help and Lithor had the audacity to make fun of his lord’s predicament. Jokes turned to insults: invisible badges of shame to where around his neck.

“Where is Balvir?” Lithor asked again impatiently. Kara looked up at him and pointed to Eodwine’s chamber.

Lithor silently approached the open doorway. Modryth was attending Eodwine while Balvir and Wilcred stood by with a stretcher.

“How is he?” Lithor whispered.

“Ghostly pale, the trip will be a trial for him.” Responded Wilcred

There was silence again. All three looked on as Modryth attended her lord with extra tender attention. The silence was unbearable for Lithor.

“I will see if the wagon is ready.”

[Thinlómien]

Lord Eodwine was unconscious, and there were drops of sweat on his brow. Modtryth wiped them off gently. Balvir and Wilcred by the stretcher looked stressed and sorrowful, and Modtryth could see why for she felt the very same herself. Here lay, perhaps fatally ill, the noble and good-hearted lord who had taken her family as his folk without any prejudices and had respected them as how they were, not as how they seemed with their random history and Dunlending connections. The thought of losing such a good man would be a horrible loss to so many. Modtryth, however, knew that the lord's fate was not in her hands, and what would happen would happen, so she remained calm and did her duties.

There were soft footsteps and somebody entered the room.

"How is he?" Aedhel whispered as she came to Modtryth's side.
The older woman shrugged. "The same."
Aedhel nodded. "Good. I hope he will be alright. He will soon get the best care available in this land." She paused, then continued. "I finished the packings. Thanks for making everything ready for me. You can go now."
Modtryth nodded curtly and gave the healer a small smile. "Hope your journey goes safely."
"Thank you, and goodbye then," Aedhel said, returning the smile.
"Goodbye," Modtryth said and turned to hurry away.

She was almost at the door when she turned back and walked to the bedside. She bowed slightly. "Safe journey, my lord," she whispered although she knew he could not hear her. "And get better." Then she nodded politely to the two soldiers and Aedhel and left the room for good.

When she hurried out, she went to find Saeryn. Modtryth was at the lady's side more or less all the time since Saeryn had discovered she was pregnant, for as odd as it seemed to her, she was the only woman in the hall who had actually carried and delivered a child. Saeryn had been grateful to hear of herbs that would ease her feeling ill (and more delighted to find out that Aedhel had them) and had asked Modtryth practical questions from time to time.

Modtryth didn't have to do much to find her lady, for they met accidentally a few steps from Eodwine's door. Saeryn didn't say anything, but there was a question and a dim flicker of hope in her eyes. Modtryth forced a small smile. "It's not worse," she said. Saeryn nodded, and hurried past her to see her husband. Modtryth decided to go and find the kids instead.

Cnebba, Garmund and Leothern were all with Léof and Javan by the wagon, patting the horses harnessed to pull it.
"Mum, were you seeing Lord Eodwine?" Cnebba asked when she came there.
"Yes, I was looking after him for a short while so that Aedhel could pack her personal stuff and check what I had packed for her," she replied.
"How is he?" asked Léof quietly.
Modtryth turned to the young stablemaster and replied with equal seriousness: "He has high fever and he's unconscious. But he seems to be fighting, he is not going to wither away."
Léof nodded, then lowered his head either in grief or deep thought.

"Does he have any huge boils? Ghastly red spots all over his face?" Cnebba asked in an enthusiastic voice that merited a very dark scowl from his mother.
"Cnebba, you do not talk of Lord Eodwine like that! Show some respect, not only because he is your superior in age and rank - and wisdom or strength or anything, for that matter - but also because he has been so good to you and your family."
"I... I didn't mean to be disrespectful, truly! I'm sorry... Lord Eodwine... he... he's a good man," Cnebba stammered and Modtryth, to her astonishment, could see tears forming in the boy's eyes.

Of course, she thought, I have been so blind. She had been so concentrated on the worries of the hall and Saeryn's grief, that she had not noticed the worry and distress of the kids who truly liked and admired the lord.

She laid her hand gently on Cnebba's shoulder.
"Calm down, dear, of course you didn't mean to. But being enthusiastic about things like that made it sound like you did. Now, kids, Kara and Frodides have undoubtedly been busy with packing the food for the travellers, but they should have some blackcurrant juice in their stores. What if we go and have a mug of warm juice?"
"But I want to see Lord Eodwine leave," piped little Leothern and the boys murmured in agreement.
"Don't worry, we can come back to see him off, we still have some time. Come on."
Leothern, Cnebba and Garmund followed her immediately, and after hesitating a little, Javan came too.

[Groin Redbeard]

Balvir and Wilcred gingerly lowered Eodwine’s stretcher onto the wagon.

“Carefully, carefully.” Muttered Wilcred.

It was an uncomfortable scene. It was still too dark to discard the use of torches and Eodwine’s face looked pale in the light. Such was the way of burying a commoner: in the early dawn so as not to disturb the populace, Lithor had seen it before. Eodwine’s features were all downcast, barely a breath escaping past his lips; yet he was alive. It took a strong will to govern a band as diverse as lord Eodwine’s. Thornden would undoubtedly assume lordship but Lithor doubted the young man’s will to rule. The young captain was too young, gracious, yet firmly uncompromising—age had not yet taught Thornden the virtue diplomacy. Thornden could no doubt handle tomorrow’s meeting with the nobles. However, if one of them were to make a stand against Eodwine’s rule, what then? Lithor could picture the scene, but as important as the meeting was, his duty lay elsewhere.

Balvir and Wilcred drew close around Lithor after lord Eodwine had been strapped down. They spoke in hushed voices. Lithor spoke first.

“Are the horses ready Wilcred?”

“Saddled and awaiting our departure.”

“By all that is proper, I hope that we leave soon! I feel very uncomfortable leaving our lord lying in the frigid air, not to mention us as well. Besides, the darkness should give us an advantage in slipping away unseen.”

“Quite right, Balvir, the sooner the better, but we will not take leave before we see the lady Saeryn once more. Also, we should have our bows and quivers before we set out. Did you send Matrim to get them?”

“Aye that I did Lithor.”

“Why have we need of any bows? Surely nobody would dare to attack an escort as clearly marked as ours carrying our lord’s banner. Our swords will do well enough if push comes to shove.”

“Despite all the odds, I would rather have a bow in my hand and an enemy a hundred yards off.”

“But why do you speak so Lithor? Do you suspect trouble on the road?”

“Have you forgotten? Tomorrow, Thornden will be holding a counsel for the nobles under lord Eodwine’s lordship, several of whom I know to be hostile to Eodwine. If news of our lord’s sickness and of his travel to Edoras seeps out we may very well expect an assassination. Lord Eodwine is a strong leader and if he is dead the king might very well have appoint a weaker ruler to govern Scarburg. There are few men capable of handling a job such as granted to Eodwine, even before the great war.”
The three turned and looked at Eodwine lying in the wagon a few feet away and instinctively gathered to him. The whistle of the cold wind and the noise inside the hall made an eerie combination. A dark shape was coming towards them out of the darkness with two riders. Lithor, Balvir, and Wilcred looked at each other, half afraid and amazed to see this after Lithor’s prediction.

“Who’s there?” Lithor asked half timidly.

“Me of course,” came the answer, “I got your bows like Balvir asked; I also took the liberty of bringing up Wilcred's and Balvir's horses.”

Lithor breathed hard as Matrim came into the torchlight, leading their horses. Wilcred and Balvir were angry for being fooled so easily. Balvir whispered a couple of words at Matrim that that the other two couldn’t hear; Matrim simply looked at the three confused.

“Did you want your bows or not? Lord Eodwine’s sickness is of great distress to all of us, but there is no need to take it out on me! Save such treatment for the wayfarers on the road.”

“What grief has set the jaundice on our cheeks?” Lithor laughed. “A merry band of fools we are: scared of the dark as if we were little Cnebba or Garmund. Hope for the best and prepare for the worst is my advice and if all goes well we will have no use of our weapons. And let us not hear anymore talk of our lord as if he were already dead. Indeed, I am ashamed to say that the woman folk have born this better than we men have. Whereas woman may be pardoned to weep, men may not. Therefore, lift your countenance and take hope in Eodwine’s strength.”

Balvir gave him a prod. When Lithor turned he saw lady Saeryn standing in the doorway. I wonder how much she heard? He made a formal bow and stepped forward.

“My lady, lord Eodwine is placed as securely as possible inside the wagon; he will not be uncomfortable or hurt in any way.” Saeryn did not seem to mind him; her eyes were transfixed on her husband. There was a longing in her eyes that Lithor recognized. He knew that Saeryn wanted to go with her husband but refrained on account of her duties as lady of Scarburg.

“My lady, I do not mean to presume on matters that I do not know, but, if you wish, I could guarantee safe conduct for you and lord Eodwine to Edoras, if you so wished?” Saeryn looked at him curiously. Lithor felt the need to explain further.

“I was never a formal speaker with your husband. Forgive me for being equally honest with you, my lady. There are many duties which your ladyship could accomplish for Scarburg while in Edoras, if that is what holds you here. The King will wish to hear of lord Eodwine’s progress here at Scarburg and with winter approaching you will have the safety of Edoras to rely on. Lord Eodwine will get well soon, but it will take nurturing that only a wife can give. Who knows what the winter holds for Scarburg, my lady. It might be wise to come with me and to stay with your husband in Edoras. Pardon me if I have spoken out of turn, my lady. It is but my humble opinion.”

[Folwren]

“You do not make too bold, Lithor,” Saeryn said. “I understand you, but I can not go tonight. I will follow to Edoras, once the business of tomorrow is finished. More good will be done if I wait to go until after the meeting here, because then I will be able to speak in more detail with the king. I thank you for your concern, and I am glad that you speak so freely with me. I hope it will not change. I hope nothing will change.”

Lithor bowed and Saeryn went past him to the wain bearing Eodwine. She climbed in beside him, over the blankets and furs packed about him and knelt once more by him. As she surveyed his face this last time, she held in check the tears that came to her eyes. Lithor and the others standing by looked away. Saeryn reached down and grasped his hand beneath the blankets.

“Wake up,” she whispered. “Please wake up, just to say goodbye.” Her eyes searched his still, pale face, but no answering flicker of consciousness changed his features. She bent her head and kissed his cold lips. Her tears fell on his cheeks.

She raised herself again and then slowly drew a lightly woven veil over his face to help keep out the cold. All was now ready. She moved back down the wagon and Lithor helped her step down.

“Go now,” she said, her voice hard in the attempt to keep from breaking down. “Go with what speed you may.”

Lithor bowed again and went to his horse. Æđel was already seated on the wagon seat, wrapped in a cloak and with the reins in her hands. Wilcred and Balvir mounted their horses. The wagon rumbled over the frozen ground and wound its way up and out of Scarburg. Saeryn stood alone in the courtyard, watching it leave. The inhabitants of the Hall stood in or near the doorway. Huddled by the corner of the hall, hidden in deep shadow, Javan crouched, his hands over his face, weeping tears for which he was not ashamed.

[Nogrod]

It was the most quiet breakfast Scarburg had witnessed since the advent of the new settlers there. Some of the people had not slept at all and most others had only dozed off in anguish. Lord Eodwine was loved and admired – and almost newly wed! There had been optimism beyond any dream in the Mead Hall. Everything had looked so rosy! And now he was just gone and none knew whether he was coming back.

It had been more bearable in solitude or in company of just your nearest ones, but now the people had to face it together. It was so much harder to share it as no one knew what to say or do. They just emptied their plates slowly, everyone waiting for someone else to relieve them from the situation; to say something encouraging or soothing.

Finally it was noted that Saeryn and Thornden were having a quiet counsel together and soon Thornden arose and called for attention.

"Friends, this is a dark day for all of us, and I know all our hearts are going with lord Eodwine right now." His voice trembled and he paused and bent his head for a moment to regain control of his emotions. He looked up again, and his eyes were clear and his face hardened. "But we have an important day ahead of us, and he would have insisted that we do our best to accomplish all that must be done."

Thornden let his gaze wander around the hall looking at every person.

“I do not know what you know or what kind of stories you have been told, but lady Saeryn and I have discussed this with lord Eodwine. We know what to except and what to do. The lords coming will not be pleased with what we have to tell them and we must be ready to face adversity. Let us try to make this hall look as great and grand as we can. Let us give them a brave face. Lord Eodwine counts on us today to succeed in carrying out his and the king's wishes. Let's show we are worthy of his trust, so that he can look on us with pride when he returns!"

It was not just one or two minds that changed the “when” into “if” while hearing the end of the encouragement-speech, but they all cheered and nodded to the general effort Thornden had made. Not that the cheers were too convincing. But they all knew none could have done more in that situation.

The slowed-down breakfast turned quickly into a busy morning. Everyone tried their best to get the places looking as fitting to a king’s hall as they could. Stigend even decided to bring down the two shortish flagpoles they had hoisted to the wall around the front door of the Mead Hall itself and started carving them hoping to make them look like decorated ones – and thus more worthy - before the landlords would come.


~*~


”Look!”

”What?”

”Over there! Coming from behind the corner!”

“Wow!”

“Ooops!”

“That’s an…”

“…army!” Garmund finished the sentence left by Cnebba.

“We’ll have to warn them!” He cried and ran back towards the Mead Hall.

“Wait, wait for us!” Cnebba yelled from behind him not sure whether the flashing of the weapons and banners in the bright October sun was more awesome than him joining the warning-party.

“C’mon Cnebba! Run!” Javan shouted at him and brought him back to reality. “We must go!” He grabbed Cnebba by the hand and yanked him up. “Run!”

Cnebba had time to glance backwards before he ran. The banners were flying from the speed and they made sharp snapping sounds that were so loud he couldn’t realise how they did that. The tips of the spears were bathing in sunlight glimmering in competition with the helmets and armour the oncomers wore. And all this with the background of red and yellow leaves in the trees and the cold autumn breeze. It looked fascinating.

And there were many… far more Cnebba could have imagined when they had decided to go to the edge of the woods to see them coming from the road. And they came with fair speed towards them. The thunder of the hooves startled Cnebba. He knew how a horse or two sounded when they galloped but this was something different, it was like a thunder coming towards them. He ran through the ground filled with piles of dropped colourful leaves…


~*~

The tumult had been heard around the Mead Hall as well when first Garmund and then Javan and Cnebba came rushing in.

“They’re coming!” Garmund yelled.

“It’s an army!” Javan added panting.

“Fly!” Cnebba screamed coming a little after the two others.

Stigend and Garstan stepped forwards to grab their sons and even Thornden made a move towards Javan but then draw back from it.

“No one is attacking us. Do not be afraid, Javan. They just want to show their might,” Thornden said, speaking loud enough for the others to hear it too – and hoping he could fully believe his own words. “This is the king’s hall and they wouldn’t dare attack us,” he added.

But he instinctively looked around the entourage he had around him to make a quick calculation. After Lithor, Wilcred and Balvir had gone to see lord Eodwine to Edoras they were even less a force to fight against the landlords and their men if it came to that. Raedwald was the most experienced soldier around, Osmund and Aethelstan were good lads… and there was Matrim. But after that? Just a few young soldiers Thornden had never thought of too highly – keeping with their own company and playing their own games.

He knew Crabannan was a warrior and Erbrand, Dan, Harreld, Stigend and Garstan would prove hard fighters if it came to it… but still. They were real soldiers, riders of Rohan, they were facing here.

~*~

Suddenly the first riders rushed into the yard from the road and the others - so many of them - followed. The sound was almost deafening and terrifying to those who had not heard of an approaching cavalry from that short of a distance - and it did send a shiver of recollection to those few who had.

They organised themselves in lines in front of the people of the Mead Hall standing in front and around the main doors of the hall itself. Counting quickly Stigend got 32 men on horseback in front of them, all armed and seemingly battle-ready. Some show of might indeed, he murmured to himself but couldn’t deny being impressed about the entry. These guys are not just fooling around…

Three men emerged from the middle of the frontline. They were clad in precious garments and their helmets shone with gold and silver, their armour and shields were real pieces of art. And they had the commanding stature of lords with them no one could deny.

“So what is this?” The oldest one of them in the middle bellowed without caring to dismount himself. “Where is Eodwine? And who are you? What is this rag-tag gathering here?” He scorned and then glanced at the other two smiling.

“Where have you hid master Eodwine? I can’t see him while I should know him…” Tancred continued and made a show looking like he was searching for Eodwine from the crowd. “I used to teach him to lead troops back in times… now where are you Eodwine?”. Faramund on his right couldn’t quite keep his amusement from plain sight and chuckled in half-tone.

Alboin on the left had stayed silent and grim but opened his mouth now. “We were summoned here by the authority of the king himself, through lord Eodwine and the Mead Hall. As I can’t see no more of lord Eodwine or any Mead Hall here I say we waste our time here.” Turning his horse sideways he addressed Tancred. “We’ve nothing to do here. It must have been a hoax…”

But Tancred waved his hand to Alboin. “Let’s hear what this scum has to say…”

“Maybe they have rebelled and killed lord Eodwine? And are trying to fool us into paying taxes to them? Good we have the men with us… we could reveal this plot… we would have acted in good faith bringing this little rebellion down?” Faramund added taking a grab of his sword.

Tancred moved quickly around. “Cut it Faramund! Let’s hear what they have to say.”

With that he turned towards Thornden and Saeryn who stood in the middle, in front of the door. “So what is all this? How do you explain lord Eodwine is not here and who are you? And what is this tom-foolery? We have no time for this kind of parties.”

The three lords faced them less than ten yards away all mounted high on their horses and looking sternly down at them. The around thirty horsemen behind the three clutched to their spears.

[Groin Redbeard]

The soldiers holding shimmering spears glared at the settlers standing around. Erbrand met the stare of one and got the most unsettling smile he had ever seen. They seemed destined to kill. If they were any reflection on the lords that commanded them, lady Saeryn and Thornden were in for a rough counsel. Erbrand stepped to one side of the doorway closer to Kara. She looked up at him and Erbrand smiled, reached down and grasped one of her hands. He tried not to show it, but he was nervous about the arrival of so many soldiers for a simple counsel. Would they try to proclaim one of themselves as the lord of Scarburg?

The nobles dismounted. Erbrand could only hear mumbling, but from the countenance that they bore, it was not flattering talk they were using to describe lady Saeryn. Indeed, one of the nobles approached her and spoke to her as if she were the daughter of a hobnail. Couldn’t the varlet see the nobility in her? If Erbrand were of higher class in the world, even a soldier, he would have spoken. He growled with frustration at not being able to reprimand the noble for his insult.

“Speak up Thornden,” Erbrand mumbled under his breath. “Show your authority! Don’t let the lady stand alone!”

[Folwren]

Saeryn looked up at the three men who called themselves nobles. She surveyed them slowly, not caring if they noticed her eye travel down and up their entire lengths, one by one. She barely kept the disgust from rising to a visible expression on her face. Finally, she stood forward.

“I am Lady Saeryn, Lady of the Hall of Scarburg, wife to Lord Eodwine, Lord of the Middle Emnet. Lord Eodwine has been taken very ill and we sent him to Edoras yesterday to get help, but I know what must be accomplished in today’s proceedings, so his absence will not cause your time to be wasted.” She allowed the final word to linger momentarily in the air. Her hard, grey eyes met with the foremost, belligerent man. “Will you come in?”

Thornden couldn’t keep himself from nodding slightly. Six months ago, before marriage with Eodwine, Saeryn would have become passionately angry with such treatment. He was convinced that she was no less furious now, but her words were those becoming a noblewoman – steady, polite, stern, and rightfully proud.

The men looked at her, and their expressions were as though they had eaten sour grapes. They did not like being reprimanded, however round about, by a woman. Saeryn’s chin tilted just a hair upward.

They dismounted and one approached her, walking close and looking down. Saeryn did not give an inch.

“We will not banter with a woman concerning our lands and our money,” he said.

“That is well. I will not banter with you. Lord Eodwine’s steward will speak with you.” She turned and nodded her head towards Thornden. “He will stand in Lord Eodwine’s place, and you will be introduced to the King’s will and come to understand how things are. Come in.” She turned and swept by him, her head still held erect. Thornden stepped to the side and let her pass. He stood and waited for all three of the landlords to go in, looking each in the eye as they passed him.

[Thinlómien]

Saeryn and Thornden, accompanied by Raedwald and Matrim, took the three visitng lords and their few closest men in. Modtryth grabbed Cnebba and Garmund by shoulders. "You two, stay out of sight. This is the last time we want any trouble. Understood?" The boys glanced at each other, and nodded. Then they ran to one of the trees in the edge of the hall grounds and Modtryth could hear Cnebba shouting: "Follow me up if you can, orc, but you can't catch a pookeyman!" She smiled and turned to Frodides who was going to the kitchens.

"Do you need help?" she asked.
"Kara will serve the ale to the guests and she could use another pair of strong young arms to do that."
Modtryth pursed her mouth and Frodides looked at her face for a while with her keen stare. Then she shook her head just a little.
"Go find Ginna then," she said briskly. Modtryth nodded and slipped into the hall where she had seen Ginna disappear.

She found Ginna quickly, standing in a corner where she could wait for any orders from Saeryn or Thornden.
"Frodides asks you to go and help Kara with serving the ale," she whispered.
"Why couldn't..." she started, but Modtryth silenced her with a sharp glance.
"Not now. Just go." The girl nodded and hurried away, still looking a bit quizzical.

Modtryth sighed as she took her place in the corner, ready if the lady or the steward would need anything else. It was vital their household would present itself as efficiently working and faultless. Modtryth winced. Half-Dunlending servants didn't quite fit that picture. She also knew Saeryn would've been furious to hear her think so, but she was young and naive - just like Ginna there - Modtryth thought fondly.

She took a few steps so that she was standing in the shadows of the corner of the hall, only hazily visible from the lights surrounding the table. When Ginna would resume her place beside her, she would hardly be seen but the light would just reach the side of Ginna's pretty Eorling face.

Modtryth waited for the guests and the hosts to settle to their places. She frowned. She had a bad feeling about this.

~*~

"Garmund you were a lousy orc," Cnebba complained, tearing a twig off the tree and throwing to the ground.
"I didn't want to be an orc!" Garmund protested angrily.
Cnebba didn't have anything to argue against that fact. He sat up in the tree for a while, but then clibed down a few branches and jumped to the ground. "Let's do something more interesting," he said.
Garmund looked at him suspiciously. "Like what?"
"Have a look at the guests?"
"We were supposed to stay out of sight."
"They have probably already seen us," Cnebba objected, pointing at the majority of the accompanying soldiers standing on the yard with their horses.
"They have cool swords and armours," Garmund observed.
"Let's go and have a look at them!"
"But..."
"If we sneak, we'll be out of sight!"