Scarburg Meadhall

[Groin Redbeard]

After the Saeryn, Thornden, and nobles went inside Matrim and Raedwald closed the doors to the Hall. The horsemen looked at one another, muttering. Erbrand still held Kara’s hand. She did not look frightened, but Erbrand did not look frightened either even though he was sick to his stomach with fear. It suddenly occurred to Erbrand that all this standing around was making the members of Scarburg look very foolish and inhospitable.

“Kara, go find Leof. Our guests and their horses have ridden long today and both will need water.”

She offered a faint smile, perhaps hesitant to leave his side, though more likely hesitant to walk through the line of soldiers to get to the stables. Nevertheless, Kara went, rather swiftly, through the soldiers. Several of them dismounted and stared after her, Erbrand could hear their scattered, unflattering, laughter; he felt like he needed to divert their attention.

Erbrand walked briskly down the steps and approached the riders. “Hey there.” He cried to no one in particular. Most of the riders ignored him, but few turned.

“You’ve ridden far today I see.” No response.

“You are welcome to step down from your horses and rest.” Erbrand’s sentences were becoming increasingly awkward. However, a few riders took his advice and approached him. One soldier in particular, a tall muscular fellow with a long bushy beard, approached him; the soldier ungloved his hand and held it out.

“Grimhelm.” The soldier’s voice was low and dry, absolutely absent of emotion.

“Pardon?”

“My name is Grimhelm.”

“Oh! I’m Erbrand and on behalf of my Lord and Lady I welcome you to Scarburg.”

Despite Erbrand’s enthusiasm Grimhelm simply looked at the hall, taking in his surroundings.

“Where is your lord? I did not see him.”

“He has taken sick and gone to Edoras for treatment.” Grimhelm nodded his head and silently went to find a seat on the steps.

[Nogrod]

The three landlords stepped in to the half-built Mead Hall itself and sat down to the main table. Saeryn and Thornden sat on the opposite side of them. Matrim and Raedwald stood behind the two.

Ginna served them pints of ale and Modtryth brought forward some fresh bread, cheese and cured ham. Faramund noticed the features of Modtryth and made a slight grin only to smile heartily to Ginna who served him the ale.

After taking a long draught of the ale and wiping his beard clean Tancred looked like he was in a mood for business.

"So, Lady Saeryn," he began, glancing briefly at Thornden as if to hammer it home he would rather speak with a lady than a relatively young soldier. "I think you owe us an explanation of all this. We were invited by lord Eodwine to discuss about some issues concerning the governing of the Middle Emnet."

He paused and looked at both Saeryn and Thornden thoughtfully before continuing. "So what proceedings do you have in mind? I don't see that there are any proceedings at all between us and others than with the king, or with lord Eodwine."

Faramund had looked impatient after he had taken the whole pint with two long draughts. Suddenly he threw the empty jug right into the tray of bread Modtryth had served there. "Right! Off we are from this dunlending grotto!" He made a move as to rise up but Tancred turned towards him astonishingly quick and forced him down with his hand. "Hold your horses Faramund..." Tancred said slowly but with authority.

"No," Thornden said, suddenly. "No. If he is going to act like an untrained young man, he may leave the hall immediately." He stared at Faramund. "Sit down, and give respect to the lady of the hall."

Thus caught between Tancred, whom he respected, and Thornden, who, despite how much they may argue the fact, trully had authority at the eorl's hall, Faramund was forced to resume his seat, looking sullen and angry.

A short pause filled the room, then Saeryn began to answer Tancred and give an explaination of the situation to the lords while Thornden backed her up every now and then.

Alboin had studied the expressions of Saeryn and Thornden closely while sipping his beer. The little incident seemed not to have bothered him in the least and while the two spoke it seemed he looked them more than he listened. Finally, when Saeryn was done with her explanation of the situation Alboin laid his jug on the table in a relaxed fashion but letting it hit the table hard enough to catch everyone's attention.

"A landlord is the sole lord of his land given to him by a king... A king's fiefdom is a holy gift. A king may decide to found a Mead Hall to be a far-post of government wherever he wishes and to make any rulings concerning the running of that place or the governance of the surrounding lands. But without an eorl to run the Hall... or without any actual Hall, it is hard to persuade us - or any nobleman - to make any agreements. Were we to do that, we would betray the trust our king has laid upon us."

"How do we know you are not just a bunch of brigands and run-away soldiers who have killed lord Eodwine and try to make deals for your own purse?" Faramund yelled and stood up so violently even Tancred couldn't stop him.

Thornden stood as well, his blood heating with contempt for this fireheaded man who pretended to set himself up as noble. "You have insulted us enough, sir! This behavior is not acceptable, and you know it well. You will leave this place immediately."

"By heaven, I'd like to see you make me!" Faramund taunted in return, whipping his cape back and laying hand to the hilt of his sword. Thornden made no aggressive movement, but Raedwald and Matrim grasped their swords, too, standing tense and ready.

"Hold! Calm yourselves!" Tancred bellowed. He pushed the bench backwards but did not rise. His voice was authoritative indeed, and everyone froze as they were. It was clear why he had been a glorious captain of the Rohirrim in the war. His presence was commanding.

Three soldiers appeared on the main door with their swords revealed.

"Frappwaith! Get back outside! We'll call you if we need you," Alboin called the soldiers. They reluctantly backed out of the doorway.

Looking at Saeryn, Tancred said in a softer tone: "Please excuse the behaviour of my friend Faramund. He's still young, and there's no relying on young people in issues that require wisdom." He glanced at Thornden now so markedly that no one could have avoided to notice it. But Thornden stayed calm, despite the challenge - he knew he was right.

But Saeryn was herself insulted, and she admired Thornden. It hurt her to see him so degraded. She looked at Tancred. "His youth is no excuse, as my man here," nodded towards Thornden, "has not so behaved himself. Please ask Faramund to remove himself from my hall."

Faramund hissed a curse from between his clenched teeth. He glared at Saeryn before he drew himself up and stalked furiously from the hall. Only then did Thornden sit down. He and Saeryn turned again to Tancred.

Tancred had followed Faramund’s leave with open frustration and stared emptily to the doorway that had been left open by the young lord’s exit. Feeling the eyes fixed on him he finally turned to look at the hosts in front of him.

"Excuse us on his behalf… He’s young and feisty… Good characteristics for a soldier but not for a leader. He has to still learn a thing or two…” He sighed out aloud and took the last sip of his ale before continuing. It was actually humiliating to him to know he was in a clear disadvantage now as Faramund had finally spoiled their lordly countenance which would have been the way they could have showed these less lordly people their place. The two had just outnobled his companion… well a companion he had not chosen or whom he didn’t appreciate too much… He had respected Faramund’s father, Friduhelm, but the son was just a pain in… He sighed again, but pulled himself together then.

“Now, as my friend Alboin already said," he said, "without lord Eodwine and without a Mead Hall we have nothing to do here. We thank you for the ale and I invite you to visit my Hall with lord Eodwine as soon as he returns. I don't know if he has told you that, but I used to be his captain back in the war. He was a good lad... even if a bit soft." Tancred shook his head lightly like deep in his memories. "But for now I think we must go."

“But, sir," Thornden said, leaning forward quickly before either Alboin or Tancred rose. "Eodwine has left me in charge of his land and his eorldom during his absence. And that means that I have been given the authority of carrying out his lordly responsibility of levying the king’s taxes, and our own.”

“That’s what you say.” Alboin snapped back immediately. “And I think all this talk of levying taxes should wait for the eorl or the king to settle it. Surely you don’t think we would bargain it with you… How do we even know you’re a legitimate party here but for your word?”

“Please Alboin… sure this man looks like a man of his word.” Tancred studied Thornden’s steadfast gaze for Alboin before continuing. “But still we’re in no position to make deals with you. We owe our allegiance to the king and not you. You must see that. Would you surrender your duties to your king to a stranger with an odd following just claiming things? Wouldn’t you be afraid that your king would think you reckless indeed?”

“You know this is the right place, or you would not have come,” Thornden answered evenly.

“It’s not the place… it’s the authority of the eorl that calls for allegiance or any bargains.” Alboin countered. “And if Eodwine is indeed as ill as you make him out to be, then how do we know he is going to live… or this Mead Hall to ever function?” Alboin asked. His bright grey eyes looked from Thornden to Saeryn, measuring them up. A silence met him. Saeryn looked down and unconsciously laid her hand on her belly.

Tancred was quick to notice Saeryn’s reactions. Not showing his sudden relief he laid his hand on Alboin’s shoulder and addressed Saeryn and Thornden with an unexpectedly hearty smile. “Now, let us part in friendship… What comes to your requests of food, let’s say we send you a welcome-gift for you to make it the next month or so, and we hopefully return to these conversations with lord Eodwine when he returns?”

With that he nodded and took his leave with Alboin following him.

[Groin Redbeard]

The day was long and strenuous for the band. No waylayers to be seen, but the weather had been dismally wet all day. However, the roads had been solid enough to ride on and no complaint could be made about the rate of their progress. Their lord was wrapped in a multiple blankets to protect him from the cold and hides were stretched across the wagon to shield him from the rain. The great capital of Edoras was in sight now, the outline of the great Golden Hall just visible in the gently falling rain. The group was thrilled to see the city; it would mean the end of their journey and a quick healing for their lord.

Eodwine had been conscience for a few hours, but too weak to speak. Balvir noticed tears in his eyes after Lithor wondered outloud to Wilcred about the nobles and Saeryn. To say the least, it put all the group in a sorrowful mood. Lithor kept insisting that his lord’s tears were from lack of sleep rather than for Saeryn, but the group new it was false.

“Still,” Lithor continued in a hushed voice. “Sleep would be best for him. Come, let us sing a song to lower his eyelids and raise our spirits. What shall it be?” Æđel was the one who suggested the song. Wilcred suggested that they change several of the characters.

Now Eodwine has to Edoras gone,
With a link a down and a down,
And there he met the proud hangman,
Was walking along the town

“O hail, O hail, O hangman,” he said,
“O save and you may see!
And what will you give to a silly old man
Today will your assistant be?”

“Some suits, some suits,” the hangman he said,
“Some suits I’ll give to thee;
Some suits, some suits, and copper thirteen
Today’s a hangman’s fee.”

Then Eodwine he turns round about,
And jumps from stock to stone
“By the truth of my body,” the hangman he said
“That’s well jumpt, thou nimble old man.”

“I was ne’er a hangman in all my life.
Nor yet intends to trade;
But curst be the he,” said bold Eodwine
“That first was a hangman made!

“I’ve a bag for meal, and a bag for malt,
And a bag for barley and corn;
A bag for bread, and a bag for beef,
And a bag for my little small horn.

“I have a horn in my pocket,
I got it from a man with a hood,
And still when I set it to my mouth,
For thee it blows little good.”

“O blow thy horn, thou proud fellow,
Of thee I have no doubt;
I wish that thou give such a blast
till both thy eyes fall out

The first loud blast that he did blow,
He blew both loud and shrill;
A hundred and fifty of King Eomer’s men
Came riding over the hill

The next loud blast that he did give
He blew both loud and amain;
And quickly sixty of King Eomer’s men
Came shining over the plain”

The plan had worked: Eodwine was asleep, and a good thing too. The rain came down harder than before. The horses became frightened and the wagon became sluggish in the mud. Wilcred and Balvir both alighted from their horses, giving the reigns to Lithor, and helped push the wagon up the hill to the gates.

“Who goes there,” cried the watchman upon the parapets.

“Travelers from the Middle Emnet, bearing their lord to be healed, for he is sorely sick.”

Three guards opened the gate and helped the wagon inside. While guards examining Eodwine, Lithor told them of their journey and of whom the sick man was. The guards promptly escorted them to a house, where they said they would receive assistance from a healer. The occupants of the house were both husband and wife. The soldier’s gently raised Eodwine’s litter from the wagon and brought it within the house as fast as they could without getting their lord wet from the now torrential rain. It was a small house, certainly not large enough to hold all of them. However, upon Lithor’s request, the healer and his wife made accommodations for Æđel (it would not be proper to have her lodge with three bachelors).

"I am sorry for the inconvenience," the healer explained, "but it is just not possible to keep all of you here. My house is small and your lord must need rest, it is simply not possible if you stay here."

"Are there any inns open. Perhaps the White Horse."

"No, they will be closed on a night like this. However, there is someone who might be able to help you. Athanar is his name. He was once a soldier like yourself and I am sure that would offer assistance to the King's lord in whatever way possible. He has ties to the King, something that will be useful to you: the King will need to hear of your lord's illness."

The healer gave the two instructions to Athanar's house and after seeing to their lord’s comfort and seeing that he was in good hands, Lithor and Balvir left Æđel to rest and Wilcred to keep the first watch. Once again, the two plunge into the rain soaked streets.

[Folwren]

“Now, Thornden, they are gone sooner than even we had hoped. I must go now.” Saeryn’s voice sounded relieved, but also adamant. “Someone has to go to Edoras anyway, and tell the king what has passed. I am the best person for it.”

“Not to mention that you want to see Eodwine,” Thornden said.

“Well, of course. That goes without saying. You don’t mind now, do you?”

“You give the orders, lady,” Thornden said bowing.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Thornden,” Saeryn said, walking past him. “You give the orders now, until Eodwine and I return. I’ll leave within the hour, and then you’re in charge.”

“Are you riding alone?” he asked, turning to still face her. She paused in the doorway.

“Yes. We can’t spare anymore people from the hall. See that the work is continued on the building.”

She had her saddlebags packed and she was warmly cloaked and hooded in well under an hour. The people of the hall gathered to bid her farewell and she waved as she trotted out of the yard.

It was past dark as she neared the gates. She hoped they would let her in. The temperature was dropping swiftly and she and her horse were tired – they had been going hard all day. At the gates she was stopped, but with minimal explanation, they let her through almost immediately, and they told her where Eodwine could be found.

“Is he any better?” she asked Æđel as she came into the room where Eodwine slept. She pushed back the hood from her face and Æđel rose to greet her.

“No, he has not improved,” she replied, after kissing her.

Saeryn unfastened her cloak and Æđel took it from her. Then she went and sat by Eodwine’s side and took his hand in hers. “I will stay with him tonight, Æđel.”

[Groin Redbeard]

It was nighttime now. They had been traversing the streets for around thirty minutes. The rain had stopped five minutes after they had left the healer’s house so they were not wet, but they were tired and Balvir was getting irritable. Not really irritable—grumpy, I guess, but he was almost always like that, or so it seemed.

Rohan in the winter: the air is always a little darker. A darkness comes with winter that these southern people don’t know. Lithor looked at Balvir. Snow falls so much earlier and in the winter you can walk a snow field among bushes and visitors don’t know that the bushes are the tops of tall pines standing in ten feet of snow. Lithor wasn’t speaking about Edoras, or even Scarburg. His mind was back at his childhood home, farther north near the mountains.

Visitors, once long ago in the dead of winter, prophesying destruction for Rohan, scared the fool out of me. I resented it (even if it did almost come true) and pa said I was right. Pa… When Lithor thought of his old man he could see him suddenly in the middle of a field in the spring trying to move a grey boulder. Pa always knew instinctively the ones you could move, even though the greater part was buried in the earth and he expected you to move the rock and not discuss it. A hard and silent man—an honest man—a noble man. He had little humor, but sometimes the door would open and you could see the warmth within a long way off, a certain sadness. One of those slow, remote, unfathomable quality as if the man wanted to be closer to the world but did not know how. Once, Lithor had a speech memorized from a manuscript about a Eorlingas and gave it proudly, the old man listening but not looking. Lithor remembered it still: “What a piece of work is he! In action how like an angel.” Then his pa would grin and say stiffly: “Well boy, if he’s an angel he’s sure a murdering angel.” And there Lithor was, ironically: a member of Eorlingas. Those words of his pa stuck with Lithor; it was mainly why he tried to be so cheerful all the time. He’d never be one of those “killer angels” his pa described. Nevertheless, the old man was proud of his son serving Lord Eodwine.

Thornden picked me, me, out of all the household, including Thornden to bring Eodwine to the capital and present the case to the king. Why me? What did Thornden see? Is it even me at all? Is it my rank, is that why he picked me?

He turned his mind away from that. Think on it when the time comes. You think too much beforehand and you get too self-conscious and tight and you don’t function well. He knew that he was an instinctive man not a planner and he did best when he fell back on instinct. Think of music now and singing. Past the time with a bit of harmony and try and find that darned Athanar’s home.

Home. One place is just like another really. Maybe not. But the truth is it’s all just rock and dirt and people are roughly the same. I was born up there but I’m no stranger here. Have always felt at home everywhere, even in Gondor. Everywhere you go there is nothing but the same rock and dirt and houses and people and deer and birds. They give it all names, but I’m at home everywhere. Odd thing: unpatriotic I guess. I was at home in Scarburg. I would be at home in a desert. In Laketown or even that far off town that those little folks came from… Hobbiton! All mine, it is all my home.

“Finally!”
Balvir’s exasperated exclamation awakened Lithor from his daydreaming. There was the house that the healer had described to them: double floored and looking very lordly amongst the other houses. Lithor walked up to the door. He didn’t know whether to knock or shout to get Athanar’s attention, he sounded like he was an important man—Lithor rapped loudly. An irritated elderly man with a crooked nose poked his face out of the window.

“What you want? The house is asleep and the master is gone!”

After Lithor had explained their plight the old man’s features softened a little.

“Sure, I’ll let you stay for the night, my master would wish it,” the old man began to close the window, but then shot his head out again. “But! if there’s any funny business, I’ll slit both your throats in your sleep!”

“Pleasant man isn’t he,” Lithor mused after the old man shut the window.

“What’s to be done about Lord Eodwine?”

“Nothing can be done for him on our part as of tonight. We will see how he is fairing tomorrow and then ask for an audience with the King. Remember, our primary role was to bring Eodwine here. We cannot stay until he gets well.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

The news from Scarburg that reached Degas in the Folde was both vague and grim. Eodwine was ill, sent to Edoras. There, his condition worsened, and as a man both valued and trusted by the King, he was sent to Gondor, to the Houses of Healing, with hopes that the healers of King Elessar could work a magic that Rohirric healers could not. From Gondor no new information had come.

And while Degas knew that no news meant, in theory, that Eodwine yet lived, he also knew the realities of the situation of an absent lord. After the death of Fenrir, Degas's own home fief had gone to ruin with a vengeance, and even the knowledge that Degas was now the lord did not deter the inhabitants of town and country from living as though they lacked a leader. After all, without Degas there, a strong and visible beacon of the King's authority, the people of the Folde were sheep without a shepherd, and upon his return, they were less than enthusiastic about falling back into line.

Degas knew that with Eodwine gone from Scarburg, whether he lived or not, the authority of both Eodwine's house and of King Eomer himself would wane. Like children left unattended, or with an unpracticed guardian, the people of the Middle Emnet would rebel. They almost certainly would not rebel violently. Degas sincerely doubted an uprising like his own lands had seen. Such events only came from civil unrest, from cruel lords and negligence. Eodwine was no such lord, taxing unfairly, beating servants for mistakes, taking the hands of thieving hungry children as a warning to their friends.

The problem was that Eodwine was a new lord, one not born to the task, and now he was missing. While those under his command would have accepted his leadership, because Eodwine had an internal presence that commanded respect, his absence left his Emnet vulnerable.

No, the people would not break into war. It was no longer the days before the War. No longer did orcs maraud. No longer did Saruman's henchmen steal the horses of the Eorlingas. No longer did the Nine ride.

The Rohirrim would certainly not rebel against their king, particularly not Eomer, who was beloved, whose just rule was reminiscent to the very old as like his uncle's, when Theoden had been in his prime. Many remembered Theoden's power, his assertion, his bravery at the last stand against the Dark Lord. When they looked at their new king, they saw the blood of Theoden running strong in him, and while they sometimes questioned his judgment, it would take far more than a missing eorl to create an uprising.

But mischief? There would always be rumor-mongers and troublemakers in the world, and there would always be those looking for an opportunity to avoid responsibility.

Without Eodwine at Scarburg...

Yet Degas could not go immediately to the aid of his sister and her unborn child. Unlike the days before - so recent, he recalled - when he was unfettered, when he could have ridden to Gondor himself to see how Eodwine fared...

But times had changed rapidly. What was left of the harvest after the fields had burned needed to be gathered. Every day, Degas could be seen laboring in the fields with his people, speaking with them, working as hard as any of them. And as he poured his own sweat and blood into the land for the sake of his people, they remembered why they had been fond of him as a youth: he might have been a scapegrace adolescent, the men and women of the Folde thought, but he had always loved his home, and he had always been the sort of boy that cared about others. And now, they realized he had become a man in his absence.

Besides gathering early crops, the inhabitants of the Folde were hard put to plow fields again to plant enough fast growing vegetables to feed the people throughout autumn, and hopefully early winter, leaving the less perishable produce for later in the season, when food would be harder to come by. Degas, who had always loathed turnips, did not much look forward to the autumn.

Thankfully few animals had been lost in the uprising. The villagers, though riotous, had not lost their senses entirely, and had emptied Fenris's stables before burning them, and had herded the goats and the pigs and the sheep away before attacking. Though many chickens had died of smoke inhalation - the silly birds remained close, and few people noticed a chicken in the middle of a peasant uprising - most of the animals were still in excellent condition.

However new pens must be built to replace those which had been accidentally ruined, and to top it off, the end of breeding season was fast approaching, and Degas had been irritated to learn that Fenris had inexplicably halted the breeding of stock animals. Out of fear, his orders had been followed, but it meant that those animals which would have been consumed this winter could not all be slaughtered and eaten: many would need to be bred.

Thankfully neighboring villages had surplus stock in the form of both grains and animals, and so while it would be a lean winter, none of Degas's people would starve.

But to guarantee his people's safety and health, Degas was forced to work continuously. He rose before the sun to work in the fields. In the afternoons, he oversaw breeding of hoofstock. Several beloved mares would be in foal this winter. Spring would provide the Folde with fillies and colts to spoil and train.

And it was taking time to assemble a household of trusted individuals. Rowenna had adopted the position of woman of the household, tending to domestic matters, but she had told Degas point blank that it was a temporary arrangement that would last only until Lady Linduial arrived to take responsibility for herself.

Whenever Degas thought of Lin, he felt a clench in his gut, so he tried to keep busy. But all the while, he knew that she was in Edoras, and he was not. She was betrothed to him, yes, but would she still like him when he could finally make her his wife? Would so much time have passed that they no longer knew each other?

He buried himself in work and in diplomacy, winning over those hesitant to trust another man of the same family as Fenris. Degas had been gone for so many years they only remembered him as a fire-haired boy. All of his daylight hours were spent proving himself to them, and many of his night hours were spent in correspondence, securing for the Folde that which they could not provide for themselves, arranging wedding matters with Lin's family, and keeping up to date with the goings on of Scarburg.

Finally, after weeks of almost no sleep on the part of anyone in the Folde, a new hall was built, though it was rough, and new pens were constructed, and some homes that had been lost were replaced. The fields were tilled and sowed, the fall bounty was stored. While the husbands built and hunted for extra game, the wives preserved food and the daughters spun and wove. Just as nobody would starve, nobody would freeze.

Though they had risen against a bad ruler, so too did these people settle under the calm hand of a good one. Degas was a good lord, though he was young. They remembered his parents, and they saw how hard he worked.

And that he chose as his steward an older man that was very well-regarded by the people as wise, strong, and experienced said a great deal about Degas's pride: yes, he was proud as any young lord was, but he would not play fast and loose with the people. He surrounded himself with those who knew a great deal more than he did about any given thing, and when they spoke of what they knew, he listened. With that, his sensibility, and his proven willingness to work with the people for a common goal, he won them over.

And with that, though it was still a fragile bond, he was finally able to leave the Folde under the watchful eye of Sadon to travel to Scarburg.

Eodwine's home, he thought, must be feeling the loss of their lord.

His sister, in her womanly state, would need a strong man to advocate for her. He was no fool. He knew that those of Scarburg would tend to Saeryn. But he also remembered his oath to Eodwine as though it was branded into his heart. He swore to protect his sister in the event that Eodwine could not. He swore that he was from that day forth Eodwine's brother in all things.

And now his brother was ill, and was missing, and Thornden and Saeryn had had little luck with the visiting lords. Degas ignored for now the thought that soon he would need to see his own Eorl, to beg that the taxes he owed - Fenris had not paid them - be ignored for a little while.

But now... Now Degas had organized the Folde as much as he could. His people were healthy and were reasonably content. It was time to go to Scarburg.

Rowenna had approached him that morning, asking to join him, and he had accepted, confident she would not have left her own responsibilities without placing someone in charge. And, to his surprise, Degas had learned he trusted her judgment. While he did not particularly like her, he certainly respected the hard young woman. He would not mind her company on the ride, and he knew that those at Scarburg would enjoy her company as well.

Now, the two rode into Scarburg at a gentle trot. They had taken their time. No correspondence had shaken them to a rush; as far as they knew, it was as simple - or complex - as that Eodwine was still ill and gone, and the lords of the Middle Emnet had not taken his lordship well at all.

Today, Degas would see what had transpired since the last letter he received. Today he would learn the details that had not been trusted to post.

[Folwren]

Eodwine did not get better, and conference with the king did not end in satisfaction. Saeryn was torn between feelings of heartbreak and those of frustration and impatience.

“Your majesty,” she said in her last meeting with the king, “It is not necessary that a man and his whole household take the place of Eodwine. He will come back. And in his absence, I will be quite capable of keeping order in the hall!”

“Lady Saeryn,” King Eomer said, “I understand that you are willing to take his place until he returns, with the hope that he will return soon, but none of us know how long his recover will take.” He paused, and Saeryn knew that he almost added something about ‘if he will recover at all.’ She swallowed, but kept her gaze steady on the king’s face. “You. . .you are not in a position to rule in his stead, and Eodwine had no steward capable of taking his place.”

“Thornden is quite capable–”

“He is a young man, and the landlords will not respect him. Nor has Eodwine set him in the place of stewardship. These are the things which will matter when issues arise, as we have seen by what happened with the lords came to your holding earlier this month. No, Lady, I am convinced that I am right. I will choose a man and send him there as quickly as can be arranged.”

Saeryn swallowed her words and her disappointment. She bowed her head and curtseyed low before him. “I thank you, my lord,” she said, and withdrew.

When she came to the house of the healer, more news met her.

“Lady Saeryn, we can do no more for him here,” the Edoras healer said. Saeryn turned her eyes to Æđel.

Æđel gently tried to explain. “We are going to take him to Gondor. . .to Minas Tirith. We hope that. . .we hope that in the Houses of Healing they will be able to s. . .he will get well.”

Saeryn looked from one face to the other and then she stepped between them into the house. She went to Eodwine. She knelt beside him and took Eodwine’s hand. He was not awake. He rarely woke now, and when he did he was so weak he scarcely spoke and took only a little nourishment. Saeryn sat for a long time, holding his hand close to her face, and rocking back and forth in silence. Suddenly her tears sprang forth flowing down her face and over his hand.

“Eodwine! Eodwine! I don’t know what to do! Please come back. Please don’t leave me!” She clung tighter to his hand and hugged it close. “Please don’t go.”

“Saeryn. . .” his voice whispered. She looked up. Through her tears she saw him looking at her. She threw herself to her knees by his side and took his head in her hands.

“Eodwine! The king is going to give your eorlship to someone else! I don’t know–”

“Saeryn,” he said again, and she fell silent. His hand gently caressed her hair. “I love you.” She couldn’t speak. She saw he was slipping away again. She didn’t want to let go. He was looking at her still, but his hand was not moving anymore and his eyes were growing distant. She bent forward to kiss him. His lips responded to her touch and then he was still.

The healers came in. Saeryn stood up and withdrew. They prepared him for his journey and then he was gently lifted into a wain. As she had weeks before, Saeryn stood at the door and watched him be born away.

When he was out of sight, she turned back into the house to pack and prepare to ride back to Scarburg. She sent a message to Balvir and Lithor, telling them when she planned to depart. At the said time, they were there with their horses, fully prepared to go back with her, and together, the three of them rode silently out of Edoras and back towards their home.

[Groin Redbeard]

A hundred arms of the trees were gray and its million fingers silver. In a sky of dark green blue like slate, the stars were bleak and brilliant like splintered ice. All the area around the thickly wooded and sparsely tenanted marsh was stiff with a bitter and brilliant frost. It was a queer morning for anyone to go exploring along the Scar, but on the other hand, perhaps it was worth being explored in the bleak, frozen, early morning.

There was a part in the Scar that rose abruptly out of a broad circle of trees near the end of the marsh, covered in a hump or shoulder of green moss. In this freezing darkness of early winter, one would think that these rocks and trees would be left alone under nobody’s gaze but the ever watching stars. Nevertheless, in the stillness of the stiff air, if one listened carefully, a horse snorted and thumped along its way as one dim rider, dressed heavily for the weather, rode to the glade of trees. In that faint, fading, starlight, nothing could be detected of the man save the noise of the horse.

The rider slowly dismounted and tied the horse’s reigns to a branch. The hunter (for it was obvious that he was one) stealthily crawled upward on his belly across the freezing rocks out into the fading moonlight and the rising dawn, he was in the open and on a clear day he could see for miles. The hunter (not his usual profession, but his for the moment) would often come here in the morning or evening and sit for the better part of an hour, just sitting, waiting, and hoping for the site of some sort of quarry to hunt. The hunter tucked himself behind a boulder and began to scan the horizon and listen.

As you might have guessed, this hunter was none other than Erbrand the leather craftsman. It was the early hours of the morning (in fact it was still dark) and he was doing what he would usually do in the morning, but today there was a special purpose for him coming out here. A few days ago, patiently awaiting the arrival of some game, Erbrand spotted a peculiar footprint in the thawing earth just after sunrise. He knew it not to be his and it so puzzled him that he determined to come to the same spot every day, whether in the morning or evening until his curiosity had been satisfied. Many mornings had passed with nothing to report (not even a single animal to hunt) and today he sat thinking as he always did at this time of day.

The Lord Eodwine had departed early in the month. Sleep was uneasy for him as well as for most of Scarburg—work began early every day. Half of an hour crept past without sight or sound of anything; it gave him time to contemplate on the situation at the Hall. Lady Saeryn was certainly something, he chuckled to himself. She had always seemed gentle when Erbrand knew her as plain ol’ Saeryn, but now she was harder, or more experienced, but whatever it was she had changed. What a remarkable month with the nobles coming and all! Erbrand clenched his fist at the thought of the meeting. He certainly would have liked to have shown them a thing or two about respect, but he was just mere peasantry himself. Trying to show his superiors anything outside of his profession would also have been disrespect, what a fool he would look then! If Lithor were here he would have a thing or two to say, but Lithor had left, he was all alone; well, not entirely. Kara had been exceptionally moody this morning, not at him (Erbrand was careful to stay out of trouble when possible) but in general. Erbrand blamed it on the sudden departure of Lady Saeryn to Edoras. Speaking of departure, it must be near six o’clock and no quarry to speak of—time to head back to the hall and get some work done.

Erbrand slid back down the rocks with nimble care and walked back through the trees to Traveler. Walking beneath the half frozen leaves in the darkness Erbrand heard a rustling. It was similar to the sound of a surprised deer, the way they jump and shift their position a little; Erbrand instinctively dropped to one knee and put a hand inside his quiver, but checked himself: two audible footsteps and then silence. The craftsman’s heart started to race—someone, not something, was there and did not want to be seen. Again out of instinct, Erbrand slid behind a thick ash tree and listened. There was a loud thumping: Traveler digging the grass, impatient to return to a warm stable. Erbrand closed his eyes and strained his ears once again—footsteps to his right. As quietly as possible, he unfastened his quiver, leaned his bow against the tree, and stealthily took off in the direction of the noise. The trees were close together so that Erbrand could see nothing of the stalker, the darkness making each tree look like a frozen phantom. Whoever is here is not trying to run for it! Is he after me? Possibly my horse…

Suddenly, Erbrand felt his legs hit something hard; down he fell on the cold earth. Dirt was smudged on his face as he tried to get up, but a heavy blow on his back brought him face down again. Fight the pain. Don’t let him strike you again! Erbrand rolled face up and saw a man standing over him with a staff raised to strike another blow. Quicker than thought, the craftsman rolled out of the man’s aim and brought himself to his knees. Erbrand gasped for air (the wind had been knocked out of him from his fall and first blow) but he had enough wit to reach into his belt and draw what weapon he had. The moonlight flashed on the cold steel of a very broad hunting knife and the stranger checked his rush. Erbrand held the knife by the blade, ready to throw it, he had done it often enough. The stranger’s eyes lit up with fear for a moment, but soon regained their focus and the two slowly began to circle one another

From what Erbrand could tell in the dark, the stranger was much younger than he was; the man didn’t look much older than eighteen. He was remarkably tall, a full head taller than Erbrand (but it could have been the darkness that made him look large). He was dressed in hazelnut colored clothes and grew his blonde hair long over his shoulders. Erbrand sized the young man up, flipped the knife over in his hand, and rushed at him.

“Back off!” The young man barked as he swung and scored another blow in Erbrand’s side. He leaned over and coughed, it felt as if his ribs had cracked. Erbrand heard the man coming at him and blindly made two swift strokes, notching the man’s staff on the second swing. Finally, they were close enough to grapple each other. The young man howled with pain as the hunter’s fist went to work. With the knife in one hand, Erbrand had hand free to beat heavy blows on the boy, but the boy was busy trying to keep the knife from plunging downward, holding the staff with both his hands. Erbrand kicked hard and withdrew. The stranger drew back leaning on his staff, his face cut and bleeding slightly—he looked beaten. They stood staring at each other for a long time not saying anything, breathing hard.

“Are you alright?” Erbrand asked still breathless. The man did not answer.

“You’ve been watching Scarburg for a long time haven’t you? You are the one who I encountered nearly three months ago in the marsh, remember?” The stranger looked up, still leaning on his staff—an invisible face in the dark.

“Are you alone?” Erbrand walked closer seeing the man lean heavily on his staff. “Come, I can help you back at the Hall. My lady will have questions…”

Instead of a gentle compliance with his wishes, Erbrand felt the end of the staff strike his head. There was a loud crack! Blood filled Erbrand’s mouth as he hit the ground in a dizzying spin. The pain throbbed through his head. He rolled over, hands empty, his eyes closed in expectation of another blow…but the blow never came. Instead when Erbrand opened his eyes there was nobody standing over him or anywhere for that matter. His knife was lying untouched a few feet away along with the boy’s now broken staff. Thank my lucky stars! He looked at the broken staff and felt his head. Good, no bleeding, and nothing is broken. My head is going to be the size of a watermelon by noontime. Ow!b Erbrand didn't feel like getting up, but he did, slowly, his sides aching from the bruises. He leaned down to pick up his knife, swore, and keeled over in pain.

“Confound that boy!” Erbrand raised himself up again and felt his head swim. The sun became fuller and it occurred to Erbrand that he better get back to the Hall. The air was stinging his face with the cold and he was shivering. Erbrand stumbled from tree to tree until he reached Traveler. Mounting his steed, a new surge of pain rocked his frame and he sunk yet again.

“Come on old boy,” he said wincing, “take me home.”

Each step bounced Erbrand, he was in constant pain. His head did not hurt as much anymore, he felt it again. The staff must have cracked in the spot where he had notched it. However, it still felt like one of his ribs was broken. The camp was now visible. Erbrand squinted through the pain and saw someone was coming towards him. One of the children? No. Dan! He hailed him and dismounted slowly.

"I'm glad to see you of all people," Erbrand said slowly, leaning in pain.

[Nogrod]

A messenger from Edoras had broke the news a week ago. A new eorl, lord Athanar son of Hereweald, from a distinguished Rohir family, had been appointed by king Eomer. He and his entourage would come and take over the Mead Hall in a week. All the people on the Mead Hall would be held on as old employees and all the guests would be invited to stay as with lord Eodwine. And the king would send them some gifts to pave their way through the hard times they might meet in the future. The messenger didn't mention the landlords but everyone realised the meaning of the gifts: if there were troubles they wouldn't starve to death the first thing...

"Praised be king Eomer..." was the sentence on everyone's lips even if they were quite worried about what kind of a lord they were to have. Too many of them knew of the corrupted lords of Edoras; the lazy old aristocrats who were more interested in their personal luxury than the well-being of their subjects.

Today they would find it out. Or at least get a grip of what would come...


~~***~~


Captain Coenred rode in front of the convoy with Wulfric and Wilheard. They all wore shining armour and full weaponry. But it was clear they came in peace riding slowly, their backs straight and their posture upright and formal. Behind them came two soldiers flying banners: one flag had the familiar white horse on green but the other one had a white eagle on yellow with crossed staves in the background and two spears right beside them. That was Athanar’s flag, the flag of his family. Everyone in Rohan recognised the white eagle on yellow as the emblem of Aldor’s house. The staves and the two spears were the identification of Athanar’s lineage in relation to the main line.

Following the banners there was Athanar on his beautiful white mare and right behind him his wife Wynflaed and young Aedre on their own horses.

Then there were two more soldiers in their bright coats of mail followed by a wagon of Athanar’s family-items driven by an old and grumpy looking man. By his side there was Lilige, Wynflaed’s maid.

After the first wagon, there were two… three… four… five wagons with drivers and almost two dozen riders to escort the retinue.

~*~

Stigend was looking at the oncoming party with amazement. Like the landlords coming about a month ago these people wore shining armours, bright colours and they looked like coming from a totally different world: a world of wealth, a world of clean clothes, a world of civilisation… Spending their days in the wilderness just working round hours had made the people of Scarburg Hall look dirty and rugged even if they had washed themselves thoroughly to meet their new lord and had put their best clothes on. Stigend glanced backward to find the beaten figure of Erbrand from somewhere among the people waiting. He smiled to himself with the thought of Erbrand trying to look prominent with those bruises and why he reasonably stayed behind.

To his own amazement he kind of understood the scorn of the landlords. The Scarburgians sure looked like workers, like of the class less than the ones with shiny armours… what had that young lord said, "rag-tag"? Even if it was not true in any moral sense of the word, he could see how someone could think like that...

But he did also notice the shine and excitement in the eyes of Cnebba and Garmund standing by his side. He glanced at Garstan over the lads only to confirm he had also noticed the enthusiasm in their young faces. Garstan shrugged and Stigend shook his head as an affirmative answer.

~*~

The party halted to the frontyard and Athanar came forwards from behind Coenred and the flag-carriers.

“Good day to you!” he called from his saddle eyeing the general public around him but soon found Saeryn and Thornden standing in the middle of the crowd a bit forwards from the irregular half-circle the people of the Mead Hall had formed around the two. There was a young red-haired man behind them as differently positioned like the two - and clad in noble robes - but he had no idea on who he was. It can wait… let’s get this over and done with first.

“You must be lady Saeryn?” Looking at Saeryn straight to the eyes he bowed his head deep and kept it down for a good while before raising it again. “My condolences to you milady. I don’t know if you have the latest news but it seems lord Eodwine has not gotten any better in Minast Tirith as far as we know of things a week back from now.”

The people didn’t look surprised for the latest news but Athanar could sense the grievance his words had produced. He let the silence take the yard and waited for a while before continuing.

“I’m Athanar, son of Hereweald, appointed by king Eomer to be the new eorl of Scarburg Mead Hall.” He looked around to see that his words had the desired effect… or if there was any dissatisfaction or other grievances.

“I didn’t know lord Eodwine personally but I have heard about him and know that he was… that he is… a good man”, he corrected. “But king Eomer has seen that the future of this Mead Hall requires full and acting eorlship right now. I have been briefed about your troubles – our troubles – with the local landlords by the king himself and we’ll settle those matters as a first thing. Let me assure you people; the king’s will shall prevail on these quarters of the land as well.”

There was a silence which was broken by lady Saeryn asking for lord Athanar and those he felt should follow him to come inside the Hall.

“Aye lady.” Athanar answered with a nod but then straightenend his back to glance around him – to the people in front of him and to the people of his entourage behind him. “We’ll have time for introductions later today with a modest arrival-banquet… we’ve brought quite a stock of things with us as gifts from king Eomer.”

There were scattered cheers from the people of the Mead Hall and from the convoy. “And we’ll have a lots of beer and wine to go with it this evening…” He continued receiving quite an outstanding support of “ayes“ and “yeses” from both sides.

He silenced the men behind him with a sudden movement of his hand, the Scarburgians saw the effect his hand had on his disciples and went quiet as well.

“Good.” lord Athanar said looking around him quite pleased. “Let me give you my first orders as we have things to do before any banqueting-time.” He looked now straight to Thornden. “You must be Thornden then? Your qualities have been praised to me in Edoras. I’m looking forwards to working with you…” Thornden nodded cordially as to accept the formal words of good-will.

“Appoint your stable-master to see after out horses. Hilderinc here will be on charge of that on our side” he waved to the bearer of his own eagle-banner behind him. “Fourteen of them will head back tomorrow as they are from Edoras’ town guard only to escort us and our convoy here, so you might wish to arrange things accordingly.” He made a short pause but did raise his eyebrows seeing Thornden waving at Leof… but he didn’t say anything.

“Then the other carriages… The first one has the belongings of my family and they should be unloaded into our personal quarters. Lilige here, the maid of my fair wife Wynflaed, will advise your men with them.” He nodded towards Lilige sitting on the first cart.

“On the next two wagons there are food supplies that should be delivered to the kitchens and your craftsmen should be interested in the two last wagons. They should all be unloaded immediately so that we can get the men and the beasts to rest.” He turned back to Thornden. “Who’s the main cook?”

“She’s Frodides, here.” Thornden waved towards Frodides who nodded proudly but minimally.

“Let’s see a welcome feast for tonight then Frodides. But for us all… work first.” He hesitated a moment but then added: “A pint of beer to everyone as soon as the horses are taken care of and the carts are unloaded.” With that he unmounted while nodding to Wynflaed to follow him as he got down. “Coenred, Wulfric, Wilheard… follow us…” Glancing upwards to his daughter he said in a more soft tone: “Aedre darling… go with uncle Fulcher.” He gave a hearty smile to his youngest child and to the old man on the cart. “Hilderinc! After you get it with the horses see things done out here! And some decent lodgings for the men…”

“Aye lord! Done!” The man with the family-banner yelled back.

Athanar glanced at Coenred as to ask with his eyes whether Coen would need to stay behind and check Hilderinc was up to the organising task. He was new to his household anyway. But Coenred shook his head and then nodded smiling. Athanar replied with a nod and walked towards the main doors of the Mead Hall.

Coming closer to the two he addressed them shortly.. “lady Saeryn... Thornden. We have a lot to talk… This way, I presume?”

Saeryn nodded to lord Athanar and glanced at Thornden and Degas.


~*~

They went inside the Mead Hall that had gotten quite a facelift since the landlords visited. It was almost completed and looked quite impressive – even if still a bit under construction. The smell of fresh wood and newly hacked stone betrayed the novelty of the place. But lord Athanar nodded approvingly after studying the place for a moment on the doorway before walking straight to the eorl’s chair at the end of the Hall and setting himself into it.

There was a long table in front of the eorl’s chair and the others sat themselves around it. Coenred, Wynflaed, Wulfric and Wilheard on the other side; Saeryn and Degas on the other.

Ginna and Modtryth served them a round of ale and went back to aid in the kitchen.

They had tasted the ale in silence when Thornden finally rushed in after dealing out orders and organising the work outside. He sat at the side of Saeryn and Degas.

Lord Athanar looked at all the people around the table and took a sip from his pint before opening his mouth to start things in earnest.

“So my friends, we need turn this into a real Mead Hall. I need to know all you can tell me about these landlords and on the advancement of the building efforts; of the staff you have here and of any problems or shortages we might have. But first you should meet my wife Wynflaed, my sons Wulfric and Wilheard and my precious right hand man Coenred.” The people nodded to each other over the table while lord Athanar mentioned the names.

Lord Athanar turned to look at the Mead Hall people after taking another sip of the ale. “I think I know you are lady Saeryn and you are Thornden, lord Eodwine’s second in command. I’m pleased to meet you… But who might you be then?” lord Athanar addressed Degas looking at him with curiosity. “I was not told in Edoras there was a third caretaker of the Mead Hall while lord Eodwine was away.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Lord Athanar, I am Degas," he responded, leaning forward. "I am brother of the Lady and a lord of the Folde, a close ally, friend, and neighbor to Elfhelm of Aldburg, who took lordship of it once designated Marshall of the East-mark in the place of King Eomer.

"The reason you were unaware of my position at Scarburg is because I am no lord of the Middle Emnet, and I am not a caretaker of its lands. I am sworn to Elfhelm, who is my own Eorl, and to the King, but the expanse of lands trusted to Eodwine to govern hold little interest for me except as part of our kingdom.

"I am, however, the sworn brother of Lord Eodwine who vowed to come to the aid of his family and his people in the event of his sickness or demise, and to fight for those same people as though they were of my own flesh, bound to me as I was to them." Degas said this neutrally, almost as though it was a mere trifle of a matter. He briefly considered inspecting his fingernails to reaffirm his adopted nonchalance, however chose to meet Athanar's eyes instead. "While the King may have deigned you to be Eorl in my brother's absence, and the seat of the eorldom lies here at Scarburg, Eodwine remains the Lord of these lands upon which you sit, and regardless of Eodwine's current health, the heir to these lands sits here and now at this table.

"Or," he smiled, inviting the others, who had tensed, to see his calmness, "perhaps I should say that the heir sleeps here and now, spending his time growing and becoming strong. As I said, I am not a caretaker of this Emnet you now lead. I am, however, a staunch caretaker of those who rightfully rule this particular land, and while you may sit rightfully in the chair of the Eorl, the seat of the Lord of Scarburg does not belong to you."

Degas sat back, and he waited. While at times it was prudent to say little and listen much, at other times it was best to speak with forthrightness. He sensed that Athanar was the type of man that approved of blunt honesty. Well, Degas could not really have been more blunt unless he had said that if Saeryn and her unborn child were not treated with proper respect as the lady and heir of these lands, the people of Athanar would quickly meet the people of Degas, and it would not be for a shared meal.

Degas watched as Athanar formulated an answer, and wondered whether he had drawn the man's wrath or respect with his choice of discussion.

[Nogrod]

Athanar was taken aback by the bluntness of the young man... but if it was just that, he would have easily handled the arrogant youngster. But what Degas said made him think one... no two times... He had to gather things about loyalties and old deals between caretakers, eorls, lords and kings to be sure he was not putting himself into jeopardy. He was too experienced to fall into any traps he was sure the youngster was trying to lay on him - even if he was not too certain what the exact trap was... or if there was one in the first place. At the moment he saw no flaw in his position but the firmness of the youngster forced him to think twice. What was he aiming at? Or was it just that he was too much immersed with the plotting of Edoras aristocracy and thus thought everyone everywhere was like that?

But he would have to think about it with more time and take care of the moment.

He made a stern look at Degas and then spoke with an intentionally slow pace staring at Degas.

"Do you think, Degas, neighbour and vassal of eorl Elfhelm of Aldburg, that your position is one to contest the will of the king concerning who should be the eorl of Mid-Emnet?" He took his time to study the face of Degas as to see what he was for a man. And just as he saw Degas was about to protest he continued.

"But anyway... I shall forgive you your thoughtlessness for the time being." with the way he spelled the words for the time being he made it clear he was meaning it would be short-lived indeed.

"I can understand these are hard times to you and your sister - and I can sympathise with your anguish. But concerning the kingdom of Rohan, it needs more a running Mead Hall in Mid-Emnet than appeasing some personal grievances over any sworn friendships and vain pride."

Athanar let the words hammer down on Degas before he made his final remark - this time turning more to lady Saeryn and Thornden. "I have no doubt this Degas is a brave and good young man, but unless he grows a bit more mature from what he is right now - not meddling his personal insecurities, bad conscience or self-blames into the discussions on ruling this Mead Hall - I'd suggest you'd ask for him to leave from this discussion. We have the landlords to bargain with and the king's Hall to settle into these quarters lord Eodwine never managed to do. And the king awaits results. We'll have to get this Hall running... and we're not getting any results by making these petty arguments that have more to do with individual suffering... as bad it might feel to an individual who feels bad."

He smiled dryly while turning to Degas: "It means adulthood young master Degas; to be able to see over one's personal grievances, and it means that first step of lordship; to be able to differentiate between your own feelings and what is good for the larger community."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"And if you think this is about feelings, whatever they may be," Degas returned calmly, "then I do indeed question our King's judgment."

As Athanar's sons made to rise angrily, Degas stood, adding, "Nevertheless, I shall depart, as the running of an emnet is neither my responsibility nor my interest, nor is running this household. My lady sister shall doubtless inform me if she requires my aid. I simply bid you to remember that the good people of the Riddermark will not respond fondly to a man that would confiscate the rightful inheritance of an unborn child for his own political gain. Bear in mind at all times what my lady sister signifies and deserves, and treat her with the respect of her position, and we need not quarrel. After all, I have no quarrel with you. Not for the time being, at any rate."

And with that, Degas left the mead hall, thinking perhaps to go for a quiet ride to cool his temper. While he had by no means lost control over himself, he knew that he was not as his most serene.

Yes, he would head to the stables and find his beloved Gleowyn and take her for a run. Perhaps one of the boys might want to race, if their parents had no chores in mind for them...

As he entered the stables, he paused, hearing an unfamiliar voice. It was not Leof, whose voice he knew, but it was the voice of a child. Which, he could not be sure, since the only child he knew here was Leodhern, and she would not be in the stables at his hour.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc remained in the saddle. Patting his chestnut horse - a good, strong stallion he got back in Edoras for the journey here - he carefully looked around for any sign of somebody who might look like a local stablemaster. He was not willing to dismount for two, no, three reasons: First, from the horseback, he could easily oversee the mess in the courtyard. Quite many people, he thought, many people for such a small place. Though remembering his journey, especially the last part of it, Hilderinc was thinking that any number of people could be considered surprising for such a place. He had seen other settlements as remote as this, or even more so, but he could not think of a place so pitiful, yet hosting such a noble lord as Athanar was. Well, save one. Briefly, he wondered what the previous eorl must have been like. But only briefly. It was not a matter to wonder about anyway.

The soldier's second reason to stay in the saddle was simply to keep the profile. His lord's flag folded, but still held in his hand, he considered it appropriate, as far as he could read Athanar's attitude, to stay "on top of things", to make the proper impression on the inhabitants of Scarburg. Personally, Hilderinc did not care, but during years serving different masters he has learned to correspond to their behavior. Even though every single one of them wanted you to fulfil your duties and obey his orders, each master also expected something different from you - something else that you had to discover yourself. It was a matter of, some would say, empathy. Hilderinc would say: it is a matter of making an observation and of applying it.

The third reason for remaining on horseback was indeed simply practical. He was the one appointed by Athanar, and whoever was responsible to take care of the horses from the natives' part would see whom to talk to. The soldier's eyes flashed a bit to the side – it seemed obvious that the stables were over there. Hilderinc did not concern his mind with the rest of the hall yet. One by one. There was a way to familiarize yourself with a new place, and everything had its time.

And now, he noticed a young man – no, a boy, actually – moving close to him. One look was enough. All right, so "stablemaster" was maybe too much of a strong word, Hilderinc corrected himself. But there was hardly anything to wonder about. He decided that it is possibly the right moment to dismount. The boy stood against him, small and fair next to the dark soldier. Hilderinc handed the reins of his horse to him.

"Lead the way," he said. Turning to the rest of the company, most of them already dismounted by now, he beckoned to them and followed the boy into the stables, to see the place and to put the horses wherever was necessary. Especially he wanted to find the place for his lord's own mount and the others belonging to his wife, sons and captain before leading them in. However, Hilderinc only managed to go as far as to the door when a strange noise came from behind. It was a terrified neigh of lord Athanar's white mare, which Hilderinc had left in the courtyard! What was going on?

[Loslote]

Lilige stepped down from the wagon as soon as Athanar entered the Hall. She stretched briefly, stiff from the journey here. Present discomfort relieved, she hurried up to where the family's personal belongings were being unloaded.

"Be gentle with Lady Wynflaed's belongings!" she snapped as one especially large trunk hit the ground heavily. The box in question held only clothes, but several others contained items easily broken.

Looking about her, Lilige examined her new home. It was far more rustic than Edoras, and the people were not nearly as elegant as her old companions. However, the scenery was beautiful, and the Mead Hall looked promising. Lilige hoped she could grow to like it here.

"Lady Aedre's trunk is upside down!" she pointed out sharply. This could be a long process, she thought to herself.

[Folwren]

Thornden looked at Saeryn. She was looking at her hands, her jaw clenched and her lips a tight, thin line. He saw that she was not prepared to speak civilly to the new eorl, so he took it upon himself to break the heavy, practically tangible silence that hung over them after Degas’ exit.

“Perhaps it would be best to begin with what we need almost immediately,” Thornden said.

“No,” Saeryn said, finally finding her tongue, “No, I think we need to begin with a thorough understanding of where everyone stands in with this new authority.” Her glance and her tone were poisonous as she looked at Lord Athanar. Thornden felt his stomach clench inside him.

“Lady Saeryn, please,” he said, fixing her with as stern a look as he could muster at that moment. He had no wish to check her or put her down, but this was dangerous ground. He knew it at once. Athanar made it very clear he would not be trifled with, and going at it head on was clearly not the way to convince him of anything. But then Thornden’s look softened. “It will be well,” he said in a lower voice. He nodded reassuringly. “It will be.” How he could make such a reassurance, he did not really know. He had no idea what Athanar would do if people stood against him. Thornden knew he must be strong, and more than anything now the people needed his calm, steady thinking.

“The original reason that Lord Eodwine asked the landlords to come to us was because of our low store of food and winter clothing. We cannot hide it from you – winter is upon us, and we are ill prepared for it.”

[Mnemosyne]

"Indeed," said Wynflaed, speaking for the first time. "And the reason we were summoned here so quickly was to deal with the landlords." She looked sharply at Saeryn and for the briefest of moments felt pity for her. "There will be time enough to discuss matters of legitimacy and the new order when our people"--here she gestured to include Saeryn and Thornden--"are fed and the landlords respect the authority of the Meadhall.

"Eomer King has acquainted us somewhat with the particulars of this situation, but a report, even from a King, does not compare to the information from those in the thick of the matter. We cannot help you as effectively if we cannot discuss these matters as a united front. You know these landlords better than we do. Please help us, so that we may all learn how best to confront--or cajole--them."

Calmly she folded her hands and looked again at the Lady Saeryn. Unlike her husband, Wynflaed had a rival in this Hall who could act for herself, and would likely not take any perceived threats to her authority likely. Yet it was Athanar who ruled this Meadhall now, not Eodwine and thus not Saeryn.

Well. She had extended the hand of friendship between the old order and the new. She doubted that it would be taken--they were too much at cross-purposes for that--but perhaps they would at least manage a temporary alliance.

[Folwren]

Saeryn met Wynflaed’s eyes, and she felt grateful for her words. Perhaps this woman, at least, had no wish to take her place, and maybe she would be able to persuade her husband not to try to take Eodwine’s. She relaxed in her seat and drew a breath. So long as they treated Saeryn’s people as their own, without preferences among any of them or the newcomers, and everyone was treated fairly, then she would be able to abide a great deal. Wynfllaed spoke to include everyone, and that was good.

“The only complaint that they brought up when they were here is that we did not have the proper authority to demand payment or any sort of tribute from them,” Saeryn began. She then told them what had happened, touching on how the shabby appearance of the half-built meadhall had affected how the landlords treated them. She mentioned the appearance of her people, the soldiers with armor and weaponry beginning to look poor, and the women and children in work-worn clothing. She was not ashamed, and she did not speak as though she were. “They have worked hard,” she said, looking Athanar and Wynflaed in the face in turn. “And hard work has it’s effect, even if later it can be mistaken for slovenliness and laziness by those who are beyond the hard work and can just sit idly by and watch the work be done by others.” She paused slightly, as though making some sort of point, and then she continued, “That is what the other landlords thought, when they came, that we were a bunch of rag-tags, holding the hall against the king’s orders, and doing whatever we pleased.”

“All that they wanted was someone who really held authority and permission from the king to prove himself and demand the taxes,” Thornden said. He extended his hand toward Athanar. “Your presence here will suffice. The next time they come, they will come honorably, I am sure, and will do whatever you ask. In the mean time, and after they have come, your extra hands will be a great help in finishing the meadhall and other outlying buildings.”

[Nogrod]

What a temper! Athanar had thought to himself shaking his head when Degas stormed out from the Hall. With a small movement of his hand he had waved his sons to sit down - which they reluctantly did. He could be useful if that rage could be directed to the right targets...

~*~

He took up Thornden's extended hand and shook it firmly looking at the young soldier to the eye. "I hope I could share your optimism Thornden. But I happen to know this lord Tancred too well... Many a sigh of relief were heard in Edoras when he moved away from there. He's not one of those you wish to have quarrels with for he is resourceful, cunning and strong lord used to get his will. And from what you have told me, he seems to be the ringleader here as well... That's no surprise to me." Letting Thornden's hand lord Athanar leaned back on the eorl's chair and brought his fingers together in front of his lips, like he was considering carefully what to say.

"Allright then..." he started after thinking for a moment. "Our kitchen staff will have their hands full today, but I need an inventory on our food supplies done the first thing tomorrow after the breakfast. Do we have enough people who know that kind of stuff?"

"Modtryth can help... and I can myself if needed." Saeryn said with a remnant of defiance in her tone. In this Mead Hall also the leaders worked. That was a message coming loud and clear from her words.

"And there are Frodides, Kara and Ginna to do that as well. We'll have it done before lunch time." Thornden added.

"Good... Then I would have to meet with the smiths and carpenters and others who have been involved in the planning and executing the construction work. They should also carry the information of what building supplies there are available here. I would like to see them already today if we have time after they have unloaded the carts we brought from the king. And I need to see the plans, the sooner the better..."

Thornden nodded but his face betrayed his confusion over the order of importance the new eorl seemed to have. And Athanar noticed it.

"Oh master Thornden... we all have our vices... or weaknesses... I have never lived in a building where I haven't have a role in designing it. And I'm not intending to make this the first exception to that. You might call it a hobby but I call it a passion..." The first time today lord Athanar smiled warmly and heartily. "My little passion it is..."

Saeryn and Thornden glanced at each other but didn't say a word.

"How about the soldiers?" Coenred asked filling the silence.

"Today it is party-time... but we need to gather all the soldiers tomorrow and make things clear. Some light excercise perhaps to make them get to know each other? We'll see about that..." lord Athanar looked at Thornden and Saeryn - and then at Coenred and his sons.

"But lady Saeryn here is actually correct in demanding that any issues on authority should be solved rather sooner than later. We might skip a step or two if they seem too problematic on our first meeting but with soldiers we need clear command-structures and authorities. No disciplined military force functions without it.

Now every soldier here is serving king Eomer through the eorlship vested on me by the king. That should be clear - even if young Degas seems to think differently. I'll forgive him his quick temper as I do hope he can come back to his senses.

And captain Coenred will be my second in command: as a captain of the rohirrim he is both the highest ranking and the most experienced officer around."

He turned towards Thornden once again. "But I would like to appoint you Thornden to be my personal lieutenant - if you accept the honour. You know this place and people who serve here better than Coenred or myself and I would appreciate your advice and counsel in all matters concerning this Mead Hall."

Before neither Thornden or Saeryn had time to comment he waved them to wait for just one thing more. "And you lady Saeryn... Obviously my wife Wynflaed will be the lady of the Mead Hall. There should be no question about that. But I am both ready and willing to grant you a special status here - like with Thornden. And I would be very pleased indeed if you aided my dear wife with her duties and running of this Hall with your experience and person... and with your own status."

Athanar smiled and laughed dryly. "You might think I'm a spoiled lord from Edoras hungry for titles and estranged from practicalities. That is an appalling stereotype but sadly quite true for many lords in the city. But I hope I can prove you wrong there... what say you lady Saeryn, Thornden?"

[Groin Redbeard]

“What a day!” Matrim exclaimed as Athanar went inside that hall with Thornden and Lady Saeryn.

“I know what you mean,” Lithor walked up behind him. “Don’t worry, he won’t take over completely, lady Saeryn will still command us.”

Matrim looked at him doubtfully, then at the entourage of wagons. “I don’t know, Lithor. He certainly looks wealthy and I’m not sure he would have brought all these gifts if it was for the simple reason of pleasing us.”

“Not true, my friend. Athanar simply did not want there to be any tension in his coming here. Besides, we need him.”

Matrim smiled and nodded. “Exactly, we need him. Tell me, do you think he’s the type of man who would use that as leverage to gain what he wants?” The question caught Lithor off guard. He looked at Matrim surprised; this was not the simple young man he knew when Eodwine ruled.

“I can’t say either way. Athanar was not in Edoras when we brought lord Eodwine. Besides, change will come whether we want it or not. Let’s give this new fellow, Athanar, a chance. Eodwine would have wished it. Let’s greet our guests.”

They walked forward. Athanar’s soldiers had dismounted, but did not depart from their horses. Their gazes seemed cold and aloof—these soldiers were not the type that Lithor was used to. The officers stood as if at attention gazing at the people of Scarburg. One of the officers was staring at him from under a glistening helmet. Lithor waved, you never knew which old friend you might bump in to. The officer removed his helmet and bowed formally without saying a word, maintaining an air that reeked of discipline and arrogance. Lithor grimaced. A courtier, a dashing a cavalier. Lithor and Matrim went to look at the presents stored in the wagons.

Suddenly amidst the wonder and excitement of examining the stored treasures, Lithor heard shouting, an argument. Lithor quickened his pace and Matrim followed, a mysterious energy seemed to glow in his eyes. He could see them now, Wilcred was shouting at a soldier. As they neared the argument he began to distinguish words.

“How dare you! I should rip out your tongue for that insult.”

“I meant no offence, friend. I stand by what I say because it is true.”

“Peace friends,” Lithor commanded. “What’s the trouble here?”

“I’ll tell you,” Wilcred said silencing the other soldier, “this fellow has ordered me, to take his horse and find him drink and food. I responded by saying that I am not his stable boy and he responded by insulting lady Saeryn.”

“What say you to the charges soldier?” Lithor asked inquisitively, not sure if Wilcred was exaggerating. By now more soldiers had gathered round them.

“I admit to being a bit brutish in my bossing this fellow around,” the soldier responded calmly. “As to my insult, I mumbled it, not wishing for this man to hear; yet he heard it and I apologize.”

“What did you say?”

“I said that this soldier’s discipline,” he pointed at Wilcred, “has diminished due to his long dependence on a woman’s weak stewardship.” The soldier looked very humiliated for having to say it again in public. He lowered his gaze.

“Runt!” Lithor turned to see Matrim’s eyes lit with fury. “I’ll teach you proper respect!”

Before Lithor could grab him, Matrim had flung himself upon the soldier and thrown him to the ground. Again Matrim jumped on the man and together they rolled and dealt each other heavy blows. A horse neighed and reared itself in panic as the two neared it. Lithor jumped forward to intercede, but before he could, the brawny figure of the blacksmith stepped in. Harreld reached down and pulled the two apart. Crabannan rushed forward and held Matrim back while the soldier’s friends gathered around. Lithor was furious. If Athanar hears of this brawl who knows what might happen.

“Go and cool off, Matrim!”

The soldier was being looked after by his friends and Matrim took his leave quickly. Lithor breathed a long sigh. This is not acceptable. Harreld, Stigend, Crabannan, and a few others gathered around.

“Thanks Harreld, Crabanna. I doubt I could have stepped in before the brawl turned into a real mess.” Harreld looked away and noticed a man with a stern look coming their way.

“It doesn’t look like our troubles are over yet.”

[Durelin]

When they first arrived at Scarburg, Coenred was all at once filled with worry and a sense of being home. It was a relief to ride into this modest emnet after so long in Edoras - it brought back memories of home and working with his hands. But he also realized that this 'modest' appearance was partly because of the troubles of a growing land.

Coenred was pleased that he was able to be included in this meeting with the current officials of Scarburg, and knew it was more important to start seeing to the running of this Mead Hall than seeing to the horses and supplies. Coenred reddened slightly when Athanar introduced him as his "precious right hand man," pleased by the 'title.' He doubted he would have anything to contribute to discussion, but he was glad to have the chance to listen to the proceedings to better understanding the situation they had entered into. Some things he was sure would be answered quickly, such as how receptive the current leaders of Scarburg would be to a new Eorl and to aid in any form, and he found he was quite correct.

The young man, Degas, spoke with arrogance to the lord Athanar- and even though Coenred respected his desire to defend his family, he was more than happy to see the boy leave. He had a great deal of misplaced surety about him, especially considering is fresh young face. He needed some good old-fashioned discipline. Coenred was not really familiar with the laws of inheritance, but he saw it as just picking a fight to question Athanar's intentions when not only was he sent by the king himself, but also the child in question was not even born! Would it even be a son? Would it even survive to its birth?

Coenred almost sighed when he saw that the Lady Saeryn all but echoed Degas' complaints. She was quite young as well, of course not surprising if this was her first child, and she apparently was as hotheaded as her brother. Did she expect for the emnet to be handed over to her governance? Or did she expect to re-marry as soon as possible and that a man of her choosing would be eorl? It was one thing to be concerned about her child, another to be concerned about her own power. She should be thankful for aid, as they surely needed it.

Coenred was pleased that the man Thornden stepped in to turn the topic over to real issues of governance - the landlords and the coming of winter. He nodded sadly, recalling the winters he had survived as a child. He had lost one of his sisters to a bad winter, and another sibling before he or she was even born.

The Lady Wynflaed spoke wisely and diplomatically, attempting to soften the rough ground that already lay between her and her husband and the Lady Saeryn. When the wife of the former Eorl spoke again, Coenred felt more admiration for her this time, and a fondness for these people of Scarburg. But he shook his head slightly when she suggested that Athanar and those with him were "those who are beyond the hard work and can just sit idly by and watch the work be done by others." She needed to learn a bit, just like her brother. But they were young.

When there was a pause, and things felt a little on edge, Coenred decided to speak up, not only desiring to touch on the subject but also to direct attention away from the building plans which may have caused another sore spot. "How about the soldiers?" he asked, concerned ultimately with his own duties and not with governing or power structure. Tomorrow was the answer, and Coen would not argue, even though he desired to see what Scarburg had to offer.

"...captain Coenred will be my second in command: as a captain of the rohirrim he is both the highest ranking and the most experienced officer around," Athanar said. This was no surprise to Coen - they had discussed this before ever arriving. He still was not sure about his position, and certainly doubted his ability to fulfill it, but he would not refuse to serve Athanar in whatever way the man wished him to serve. He felt most at home working with the soldiers, and he hoped his position would involve little beyond that. Though he knew one of his duties would be to support the Lord Athanar in every way, and help to uphold his position as the new Eorl. Though such a duty was immensely important to him, he was not looking forward to dealing with the Lady Saeryn, her brother, or any others who tended toward spite.

Waiting nervously for a response from the Lady Saeryn and her servant Thornden, Coen hoped this meeting would draw to an end, or would allow him an exit, soon. Though he trusted Hilderinc fully, he did not like sitting here without knowing how the preparations were going or being the one to give his men orders.

[Nogrod]

Stigend, Garstan and Harreld were the first to rush to the last two carts. The wagoners were scrumpy old men and didn't pay too much attention to them while they examined the loads.

"Look at the quality of the timber!" Stigend shouted in awe.

"Look at the slate stones! We'll get a stone floor after all!" Garstan yelled.

"Iron! Real iron! Wait 'till you see what I will make of this!" Harreld went on enthusiastically.

It was like a birthday to them.

Stigend was looking around and finally spotted a soldier who was still standing beside the carts and holding his horse.

"Hey you there! What is your name?"

"I'm Baldwic, son of Baldwin..." the man said hesitatingly, and added: "What is it up to you?", trying to reach a more comfortable tone.

Stigend smiled and walked towards him. "How old are you Baldwic?"

It was a question that took Baldwic by surprise. And before he realised it he gave an answer. "I'm eighteen years old, sir."

Baldwic looked genuinely confused on his own behavior and tried to change it only to see Stigend taking the last few steps to face him straight on. "Now what...?" he managed to utter before Stigend was in front of him.

"If I were you I would ask this officer of yours to order some helping hands around here. Remember, no ale before everything is unloaded..." Stigend looked at the young soldier trying to keep his face stern. It was hard as he felt such a pity and care for the young insecure soldier in front of him... he remembered himself back in times when he had to show off a brave face even if he was just too young to pose as a soldier. He struggled between real pity for the lad and a burst of well-meaning laughter to life and everything.

"What's going around here?" a rider appeared from somewhere still on horseback. "Any trouble Baldwic?"

"No Feargall, no... I was just..." Baldric began.

"My friend just told him you guys could give us a hand here unless you're strongly against having a pint of ale soon..." Garstan put in smiling to the man on the horse.

"It's up to Hilderinc to give orders around here... not me... or you." the man named Feargall said calmly.

Suddenly they all heard the noises from around a few wagons ahead of them. It was like there was an argument of sorts. The discussion was closed and they all rushed to see what had happened.

~*~

"Where should we then?" Cnebba hissed in enthusiasm as the three kids were looking at things unfolding at the yard leaning at the warm kitchen wall.

"Sneaking to the meeting inside?" Leodthern thought out aloud.

"Blah, that's boring... that's just talk and talk... How about the horses? Look at those..." Garmund noted while seeing two great white stallions passing them with shining riders on them.

"Hey... a fight!" Cnebba ran. Garmund and Leodthern followed him. There was a fight to be sure beside the first carts. And what would be more exciting than a fight!

They were on place just too late. They had seen from further away there was a fight but they reached the place only when Harreld took the two apart and others ran in. The disappointment could be read from the young faces...

[Folwren]

Saeryn was incensed, and Thornden sitting near her could feel it. This was all very difficult for her, he knew, and neither of them knew where it would end. He addressed Athanar.

“For myself, I willingly accept the position you offer, insofar as it does not contradict any wishes of my lady. I will do my best to aid you in whatever way possible. Coenred must, of course, take charge of the men-at-arms.” He looked the captain in the eye and nodded his head slightly. He hoped Coenred was as good a man as he looked.

Thornden looked again at Athanar. “But as for lady Saeryn, I fear that I speak for both of us, when I say that she can not be replaced, even by your wife. Do not mistake me, I mean no disrespect to you or your wife, sir, but it can not be forgotten that lord Eodwine is not dead, and you are not here to replace him but to temporarily fill his place. Lady Saeryn is here, and she is still in her rightful place as lady of hall. She must have a say in what is done here, and if your wife takes her place, then she will no longer have the authority she needs.”

[Nogrod]

Athanar had nodded approvingly while Thornden spoke about his own position in the Mead Hall, but the veins clearly visible on his forehead were getting larger as he listened to what Thornden said about Saeryn and his wife, but he cooled himself astonishingly fast - even to Wynflaed's experience. He forced a smile as he knew not what he should say. But as an experienced lord he was quick into a solution.

"As I said, I'm ready to grant her..." he turned his eyes towards Saeryn. "to grant you, a special status in here. You will have a say in what is done here... You will. But you'd need to negotiate things with us... and we'd help you as you'd help us." He made a pause recollecting his thoughts.

"The main thing is, that we should get through these following hard months as united as possible. We face the landlords, the building-work, the possible problems with the different staff trying to learn to live with one another... As leaders we should show some leadership in that, don't you think? If we argue publicly - or if anyone learns we argue on things even privately - then building unity in the Mead Hall is a lost case. That's why I ask you lady Saeryn to talk with your brother and I am ready to forgive him his harsh and incosiderate language if he comes to his senses. We can come back to the issues of procedures and statuses when the winter comes and we have overcome the first hurdles in front of us. What do you think?"

From the corner of his eye Athanar saw that Coenred was clearly troubled and turned towards him. "Coen..." he addressed him. "If you think you'd like to take a look outside on how Hilderinc is faring, please do it. We can settle the rest without you as well as your position is now clear."

He had known Coenred for almost fifteen years and always knew when he was unhappy. Now his face had just screamed to be sent off from the meeting and Athanar was more than willing to grant him that. After all he was a bit worried how the men would come along with one another outside and how Hilderinc could handle any possible problems out there.

[Loslote]

As Lilige coaxed the unloaders into at least attempting to be gentle with the load, she heard shouts, and saw flurries of movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning, she saw one of the soldiers who had traveled here with her party and one of the locals wrestling on the ground. Lilige's eyes widened. They had only just arrived, and already they were being attacked by locals. She moved so that her back was against the cart, as far away from the brawlers as possible.

"Is this behavior common here?" Lilige asked one of the men unloading the cart. Her voice trembled and squeaked. She cleared her throat and began again. "Is brawling a common pastime here?" she asked. She feared for the safety of her Lady and her Lady's daughter in such rough conditions. She was, of course, also afraid for herself, but the Ladies were noble born. They ought not to be expected to bear with such brutal surroundings. Another thought occurred to her.

"How did the fight start?" she asked. There may be a perfectly reasonable explanation. She couldn't think of one at the moment, but then, this place and its manners were new to her. It was possible that she was overreacting. The fight was over now, anyways. Shaking her head at her own childish fear of a event that probably had little importance, Lilige returned to reminding the unloaders to be careful with the trunks.

[Eönwë]

"I'm glad to see you of all people."

Dan had seen Erbrand coming out of the Scar, seemingly in pain. He was trying to hide it and put on a brave face, but Dan could see that Erbrand had been in some sort of fight or struggle. He did not look injured, but was hurt nonetheless. What could have done this? thought Dan. He was a strong man, one not easily beaten in a fight, and so Dan was at a loss. His immediate thought was that it must have been someone from one of the surrounding lands, someone under the lordships of the land landlords that had opposed Eodwine's rule.

He thought back to that fateful day. The had all seen Eodwine, sent away in a wagon in the night. Sent to Edoras, where they hoped he could have been healed. They had seen the grief in Lady Saeryn's eyes as her newlywed husband was borne away into the the darkness before dusk. She had hardened her heart, determined to stay in the Meadhall until the landlords had left, to stay strong and defend her household even when she was in despair. He held an admiration for the woman. And they had heard that Eodwine had been sent to Minas Tirith to the Houses of Healing, where the skill of the Gondorian healers would tend to the eorl. The people of the Meadhall had moved on from the initial shock into despair, which gave way to a distant sadness as those of Scarburg realised that their Eorl might never return.

Dan had thought of leaving this place and moving on to Edoras, but he had searched inside himself and realised that his allegiances lay with the people of Scarburg, and even though their lord was lost, he would stay to help rebuild the Meadhall. And besides, though he was still considered somewhat of an outsider, he had been accepted into the Meadhall and had made some friends, like Erbrand...

This thoughts had returned to the present, shaken out of his daydream. Erbrand was standing there, looking at Dan expectantly, waiting for a response.

"What happened?" Dan had asked, not having time to think of a more tactful way to address the situation at hand.

Erbrand paused for a moment, and it had seemed to the Drûg that he had not yet organised the events in his head, and was still trying to piece the events together.

"I... I was sitting out in the Scar, as you know I do, hoping to find tracks of an animal to hunt. But alas, there was no normal quarry. Several days ago I had seen tracks - prints - not of an animal, but of a man, and I knew they were not my own."

Dan winced, dreading the story to come, and filling with guilt. He was trying to work out what he would say, and how he could justify his passed actions. The dazed Erbrand continued.

"I heard a rustling in the trees, but as I came closer I realised that it was not me ambushing it, but it (and it was a person), was ambushing me. And I was attacked." At this, Dan's face filled with regret, knowing he could have prevented this, and that he could have made the Scar a safer place if he had not kept his promise. But Dan was a man of his word, and would not betray someone he had made a promise to, even a mysterious and seemingly (at the time) harmless stranger.

"Then he hit me over the head with the notched end of his staff. And when I woke up, I was alone, with only my knife and Traveller beside me," he finished.

Dan looked at Erbrand expectantly, but he seemed to have fallen silent, waiting for Dan to respond instead.

"So I suppose you want me to go back into the Scar with you to track down this attacker and bring him to the Meadhall."

"Yes, to put it plainly," replied the bruised Erbrand. "But it seems to me that you know more than you say, as you do not seem surprised at this news."

"Alas, it is true. I know who the rapscallion is. And I know his name, or at least the one he gave me. Oeric, he calls himself."

He looked as Erbrand as the other man seemed to piece things together, and looked at Dan in realisation. "So when you..."

"Yes, I did indeed meet him. I have never so far not successfully tracked my quarry. But also another man did I meet there, Scyld."

"So you..." began Erbrand.

"Yes, I lied. I lied to Eodwine and I lied to all of you. Oeric said that he needed time to prepare before he arrived, and I believed him, I believed the lying scoundrel!" Dan broke down for a second. After recomposing himself, he continued. "So I brought Scyld to the camp instead of Oeric, because he was willing to come, he wanted to enter in Oeric's place, and I let him!" Dan stopped for breath. His stomach clenched with guilt. "I was going to... was going to... tell Eodwine, but I kept on putting it off, hoping that the problem would sort itself out, that Oeric would be true to his side of the promise, but I was mistaken. And now he has attacked one of us."

Dan stopped. The guilt came flooding in, his heart was pounding, and he could feel his ears ringing. He waited for Erbrand to say something, anything, just to shift the focus away for himself, even for a second so that he could compose his thoughts.

[Durelin]

Coen nodded at Thornden with a light smile in polite gratitude when he was acknowledged, but he nearly sighed aloud again as the man continued. Regardless of how temporary any of this would be - and Coen did not know the precise orders of the king - Athanar and the Lady Wynflaed would replace the former Eorl and his wife. If Athanar took up his duties, he was the Eorl. He was even more so the Eorl if appointed by the king. For all these people respected work and duty, they seemed to be more concerned with titles and power at the moment.

Coen admired Athanar's calm and diplomatic response. He did not repeat anything about replacement, or titles, but rather turned it into the hard truth of the matter - strong leadership was needed for the center of this new Mid-Emnet to live and grow.

The captain was relieved when Athanar gave him leave, though a bit embarrassed that his discomfort had been that apparent to his lord. Thinking about how he would apologize to Athanar later, as well as thank him for the opportunity to take part in the meeting, Coen rose and bowed to his lord before bowing in general to the rest of the company and left the hall.

[Folwren]

“No, you are right,” Thornden said. “We do need to come up with a unified front, if we are to have the people follow us as we wish them to. If we do not work together, the entire populace of this hall will be set one against the other, and that is not lady Saeryn’s wish.”

Searyn finally spoke up. Her voice was held in careful check as she responded. “Of course you are right.” She looked from Athanar to Wynflaed and back. “And of course your wife must take my place, as long as you are eorl here.” The simple fact was that she had no will power to continue arguing her side. Fair or not, she had come up against a hard wall of authority and she could do nothing about it. Athanar, so far as she knew, was in his rights. But it did not lessen the fact that she felt passionately angry and very wronged. She kept her storming emotions in check only with great difficulty and immense use of control.

“I will not interfere when I need not,” she said. “But at least grant me the right to mention to you and expect your attention when I see a problem that needs to be addressed. I will not be brushed aside in my own home.”

Thornden turned his eyes from Saeryn to Athanar, admiring her strength and wondering, at the same time, what Athanar’s answer would be.

--
Javan, in the courtyard

Javan was one of those organized to help with the unloading of the wagons. He attended to the maid’s orders to be careful, but he found them soon becoming tiresome, as it did not seem to matter how carefully they placed the trunks on the ground and she still complained. His attention was hardly drawn to the fight, until he saw Lilige shrink against the wagon.

“Is brawling a common pastime here?” she asked. Her voice was tense and frightened. Javan straightened and looked over the wagon to what appeared to be Harreld breaking up a fight.

He shook his head. “No.” He looked again. It had been Matrim in the fight. “No, the men never fight. Sometimes the boys fight.” He didn’t include the fact that he was one of the said boys. “But the men don’t.” And he bent again to his work.

“How did the fight start?” she asked.

Javan once more straightened to look. The two soldiers who had been fighting were standing before the officer in charge. He shrugged. “I don’t know. Your man probably said something or did something not quite acceptable.”

[Nienna]

Ædre heard her name called and was pulled out of her thoughts.

“Ædre darling… go with uncle Fulcher.”

“Yes, papa” she said sweetly while silently plotting ways to ditch Fulcher. They had been travelling for a while and she just wanted time to herself. She wanted to explore this new place she was supposed to call home, without a nursemaid. “I am not a baby” she thought to herself.

“Uncle, I’m going to use the privy. I’ll come right back.”

Fulcher nodded, happy for a reprieve from the spoiled child if even for a short time. He was glad to do whatever Athanar asked of him but he could be of more use than being the chaperon to a difficult girl.

Ædre wandered in the direction of where she assumes the privy to be and then as soon as she was out of viewing distance she changed direction and headed toward the stable. She wanted to make sure these new people would take proper care of her horse and maybe have some time to be away from all these people.

She walked into the stable and looked around. Thankfully she was able to sneak in unnoticed. She looked quickly around until she found her chestnut brown mare and slipped into the stall. Leta whinnied as Ædre pulled out her favorite brush and began grooming. The motion soothed both horse and owner from the stress of the move. Ædre began talking to her horse a way to get her thoughts out.

“I know dear, it’s not as nice here but you have been groomed and fed well. Don’t worry I won’t let these people hurt you. You are the only one who understands me; I won’t let anything happen to you.” She kept talking and grooming until she heard someone enter the stable.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas, not wishing to alarm the child, called out, "Hello?" rather than simply entering.

He heard what sounded like a dropped brush, or something about that size and weight.

"Is there somebody in here?" He knew there was, but from what he'd heard, the cooing voice of a girl, he was beginning to suspect that it might be Athanar's child, and he knew little of her. As a consequence, he dealt with her like he would a scared dog: he gave her plenty of warning of his advance, speaking gently and calmly as he moved forward so that she wouldn't panic and snap at him.

When he reached the stall, he looked into it and saw Ædre. The horse blew irritably at him, to all appearances seeming like she was chastising him for interrupting a private moment.

"I am Degas," he said. "You are Ædre?"

She nodded, looking quickly at the door, and he wondered if she was supposed to be here.

"She's very beautiful," he said, reaching into his belt purse. He held out his hand, in which sat a few small wafers consisting of baked grains and apple. "Does she like treats?"

[Nienna]

Ædre dropped her brush when she heard someone call out “hello?” She glanced around quickly wondering if there was any way of escape. She realized there were none and huddled closer to Leta. The strange man walked into the stable and started talking to her. She barely looked at him and heard very little of what he said.

“She’s very beautiful. Does she like treats?”

Ædre noticed that he seemed to be waiting for an answer so she nodded her head in thanks and in answer to his question.

She then stuttered “I am sorry. I must go,” as she ran past him and out of the stable.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas smiled a little with his eyes, amused by the child. Saeryn was just like her at that age. They even looked a bit alike, except that Saeryn's hair was dark red instead of blond.

He saddled up Gleowyn and paused on his way past Leta's stall, unfastening his belt purse. This particular one contained nothing but treats; he had grabbed it from his things en route to the stable. He fastened it to Leta's stall door, out of reach of her questing nose, right where Ædre could find it. Nobody would bother it, most likely assuming Ædre herself had put it there.

As he led Gleowyn out the far door and off in the direction of the Scar, he shook his head, but not angrily. The girl was charming, in an awkward way. He hoped she would find the bag soon. She looked as though she could use some cheering up. Once away from the buildings and the people, Degas let Gleowyn break into a trot, and then a canter, enjoying the wind in his hair. Though they had ridden here, and though Gleowyn had not been neglected, little of Degas's time recently had been spent riding for the sheer pleasure of the sensation of flying. Too busy farming, he thought a little ruefully. But then he distracted himself by steering Gleowyn toward a large, broad boulder, and he stood a little in his stirrups, leaning back, and she took the boulder with a long leap, landing gracefully, whinnying, enjoying the exercise easily as much as her master did.

She slowed and frolicked, and he let her, taking the time to move without thinking, one with his horse, one with the wind that came today from the west, blowing along the cold mountains. His hands were cold, but the rest of him was warm, his movement countering the chill of approaching winter.

The sky was blue. The grass was thick and lush. Any problems at home or at Scarburg were, for now, of no matter.

[Groin Redbeard]

Never had he felt so betrayed. He stood for a long moment in disbelief. Dan had been his loyal companion ever since he had come to Scarburg. How could he put him, all of Scarburg, in danger? Slowly he felt his anger begin to swell and his breath came in long blasts.

Long ago, on the very first day Erbrand had first come to Scarburg, he had encountered a stranger spying upon Scarburg; however, the stranger had been able to escape the Erbrand. Lord Eodwine had sent Dan to track down and find the stranger and brought back someone called Scyld, a shifty character. If Scyld was not the stranger Erbrand had first encountered nearly four months ago, then this was indeed the same character that had dealt him these bruises. Oeric was the stranger’s name then, Erbrand would not forget it.

“Are there any other people whom you have failed to mention?” Erbrand’s tone was angry and filled with hatred. Dan didn’t speak and shook his head. The poor little fellow looked as if he might cry and looked very pitiable.

“Ahh,” Erbrand exclaimed in frustration, torn between pity and contempt. “I can’t blame all of this on you, Dan, my friend. There must have been good reason for you to keep this news secret for this long.” Dan’s face lit up with joy. Erbrand almost smiled, Dan looked just like a child.

Together they walked to the edge of camp and Erbrand told Dan of the fight in detail. If Oeric was indeed spying on Scarburg, what would be the gain? Was he in on it alone or was someone hiring him? The landlords, who had visited last month, immediately came to mind, but there was no proof of it. The only way to find out for sure was to catch this Oeric and question him.

“Shall we tell Saeryn of this fight?” Dan asked as they were about to enter camp. Erbrand rubbed his chin for moment in thought.

“I don’t think so. Saeryn will have a lot of issues on her mind with the arrival of the new lord,” he paused for a moment and looked at the crowd gathered around the wagons. I wonder what type of a fellow this new lord is? “But let us not think on that for now. If this Oeric fellow is wise, he will lay low for a couple of days.”

“You still haven’t answered my question Erbrand, who are we going to tell? Remember, you nearly got killed due to my silence.”

“True, my friend,” again Erbrand paused and thought. “My advice is for us not trouble lady Saeryn with this. I’m not too sure of this new lord, but he will have to know sooner or later. Besides, Thornden will doubtlessly maintain some of his former prestige and he will know what to do.”

After they had put Erbrand’s horse, Traveler, back in the stables, both headed for the Meadhall; however, they were informed that Thornden, lady Saeryn, and the new nobles were in a counsel and were under no circumstances to be disturbed. Erbrand grimaced, Are they trying to take control already? Now, now, give this Athanar fellow (I think that’s his name) a chance, he might be very good. The door opened suddenly and out walked a soldier. Erbrand grabbed him by the arm and forced him to stop as he tried to slide past.

“How goes the counsel?”

Suddenly, Erbrand realized that this was not one of the soldiers native to Scarburg. Erbrand released his grip as if he had been holding a red hot brand. The informality of the old Scarburg under Eodwine’s rule had finally begun to sink in; however, lady Saeryn had warned Scarburg that nothing but the best behavior was to be expected of them when Athanar arrives. Erbrand stood a little stunned with what he had done.

[Loslote]

Lilige was somewhat comforted by the boy, Javan. The tension was sharply felt, and Lilige could tell that even those unloading the wagon were unhappy with her coaxing, probably because she was one of the new arrivals.

Shaking her head slightly in a futile attempt to banish the tension, Lilige noted with pleasure that the unloaders had finally retrieved the last box from the wagon. "Gently!" Lilige murmured, but she doubted anyone heard, and besides, there was no real need. Either they would remember her countless earlier admonishments or they wouldn't.

"Where will Eorl Athanar and the Ladies be quartered?" Lilige asked. Looking at the scattering of trunks on the ground beside the wagon, she dearly hoped the place would be nearby, and not uphill. The unloaders had barely managed to remove the trunks from he wagon with out breaking anything. She dared not imagine what kind of harm could befall the trunks on a longer journey. Hoisting the trunk carrying her own clothes, Lilige followed Javan and the others to her master and mistress' new quarters.

[Nogrod]

“But at least grant me the right to mention to you and expect your attention when I see a problem that needs to be addressed. I will not be brushed aside in my own home.”

Lord Athanar was a man of principles and required that everyone knew their place. That being observed he was quite a reasonable and polite man dealing with other people. He had no idea of lady Saeryn's background - the pure fact that he didn't know her lineage suggested to him she would not be from any influential or aristocratic family - but he had still decided to treat her as the wife of an eorl... well to all odds a former eorl, but still. He had honoured her as being on par with him. But now he was losing his temper.

So this woman is not only of low birth but also of shallow wits... or with terribly short memory... Wynflaed saw his husband's expression and threw a sharp glance towards him. Athanar noticed it clear enough and held his temper. That's what a long marriage creates; an understanding from a slight wink of an eye. And Athanar knew his wife was right.

"Of course lady Saeryn..." He bit his lip to hold back the words his mind went through. I just said a minute ago that she will have a say in what is done here... But that she'd just need to negotiate things with us... and we'd help her as she'd help us... with a special status at the Hall... Now what else is she looking for?

"We will actually need your help in pointing out things that require addressing lady Saeryn, and I think my husband agrees on it fully." It was Wynflaed who decided to save the situation as it took time for Athanar to continue.

"Yes I do." Athanar smiled to his wife and then nodded to both Thornden and Saeryn.

"I think there is one thing you both might point to us rather now than later..." lord Athanar had once again gathered himself and was into bussiness. "Now I understand people loved lord Eodwine - well you of course are a special one lady - but the people in general working and living here loved him..."

The two nodded, Saeryn did it especially slow but firmly.

"It is clear for any experienced leader that new subjects are not too enthusiastic about any new order and there maybe even an air of resistance or people trying the guts of a new leadership. I'm pretty comfortable with that as I have led many households and companies of the Rohirrim... one to the war in the end. But looking at the situation here... can you tell me of any individuals who I should be more careful with, or any issues the people here would be especially sensitive on? That information would be valuable indeed, for the good of us all."

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

When Hilderinc walked to the scene, he was too late to see what had just happened, but he could as well make a good guess. A group of the Scarburgians was glancing at him sideways as he approached and several of lord Athanar's soldiers were standing just a short distance apart, surrounding Áforglæd. Hilderinc glanced at the horse: it looked fine, while Áforglæd did not. Picking a fight with the Scarburgians? That didn't sound like Áforglæd's style, though from what Hilderinc knew about the young soldier, it would not be impossible to imagine that he provoked the fight by some rather impetuous action.

Hilderinc turned first to him and the group surrounding him.

"Why are you not taking care of the horses?" he said, as if he did not notice the few bruises on Áforglæd's face. "If yours are already in the stables, go and help to lead the cart-horses there, if the wagons are already unloaded."

The soldiers followed his order, some of them slightly reluctantly or with ambiguous expressions.

"Áforglæd, you stay here for a while."

Some of the soldiers looked back.

"They started it, Hilderinc," shouted Scyrr, the senior guard of Athanar's house.

Hilderinc turned to him with cold eyes. "Didn't you hear the lord's order? Go about your business."

"Oaf," he heard Scyrr whisper under his breath, but ignored it. Over the past few months, he got used to the fact that some of Athanar's guard did not respect him because of his incommunicativeness. But he did not concern himself with it now. He turned to the Scarburgians. He could have as well asked Áforglæd himself, but he felt it was more tactical to engage the natives directly, also to emphasise the impression that he was not taking any sides here.

"What was that?" His eyes moved from one to another, he was not quite sure to whom of this company he should speak to as to their representative, but he did not let his expression give out anything of his uncertainity. "What happened here?"

[Folwren]

Thornden and Saeryn glanced at each other. “Not in Scarburg,” Saeryn said, shaking her head and looking at Athanar. “I mean, the people here are not quarrelsome. They loved Eodwine because he gave them all he had. You treat them fairly, and serve them half as well as Eodwine served them, and they will respond to you as whole-heartedly as you should wish.”

Saeryn spoke like a woman, and even Thornden realized that. He addressed himself to Athanar. “What my lady means is that we have no truly hardened characters here. They will do their best to please and be pleased. But, yes, there are issues on which they will be sensitive about. They will be very upset when they hear that your lady has taken Saeryn’s place. Not,” he added quickly when he saw the cloud once more forming on Athanar’s brow, “that they have a right to form any judgement about such matters, but nevertheless, they will feel that she has been wronged. I am merely warning you – be careful how you handle that and in what way it is finally broken to them that she is no longer their lady.

“And they will not like anything that Eodwine has done to be changed. I know you will not be pleased with this, my lord, but to change the plans of the hall will appear foolish to them, especially the carpenter and his helpers. They know, as do I, that we have made plans that will utilize our supplies to their greatest fulfillment. We have planned the bare necessities, and we cannot finish the plans with what we have here. Now that you have brought some supplies, we will be able to finish, but if you try to alter the floor plan and add a great deal to try to make this into some great hall. . .no, that will not go well with them at all.”

Athanar listened carefully, looking Thornden squarely in the eye as he spoke. “Is there anything else?” Athanar asked, when Thornden paused.

“Forgive me, sir, yes,” Thornden said. “You have already removed me from my place as leader of the men-at-arms. That is all very well, for Coenred is my superior in rank, and the soldiers, at least, will realize and accept it. But be careful of replacing everyone here. You will have idle people on your hands and they may grow resentful.”

“Ha! They’ll hardly be idle!” Athanar said with a laugh. Thornden did not smile.

“I am serious. Eodwine has carefully chosen the people he has, and to replace them would be changing what he set up, and as I just said, the people will not like that.”

[Durelin]

Coen simply looked at the man for a moment, having been pulled sharply from his thoughts. He was a local, as Coen did not recognize him and he was in very simple peasant garb. Once his mind could wrap itself around the question, the captain thought about his response for half a moment, though he knew immediately what he should convey.

"It goes well, sir," he said politely. It was clear the man was embarrassed by what he had done, grabbing Coen forcefully. Either nerves were that strung out or he had thought Coen was someone else. "The lord Athanar and your lady Saeryn have begun their friendship and have started discussing business of the Mead Hall."

He paused, considering the man for a moment. He was about the same height as Coen, and quite a bit younger it seemed...and there was an odd smell about him, which took Coen a moment to place - he was a tanner.

"I am Coenred, a servant of the lord Athanar," he introduced himself.

[Mnemosyne]

"Duly noted, Thornden," said Wynflaed. "Rest assured that my lord Athanar will only implement those changes which he deems absolutely necessary for the good of the Hall." Her eyes flicked over to her husband.

"You must understand, and indeed it shall be our burden to make known to the people, that we of Edoras often have a different conception of what exactly that good is. Yet trust that we do not change things for the sake of change alone, nor that we change things without any discussion beforehand.

"My lady Saeryn," she said, turning to look at her, "I hope, when my family and I are more settled, and matters press in on all of us less closely, that we may arrange some sort of private meeting concerning the domestic ordering of the Hall. I do not wish to court the disfavor of the people through letting them think I am naught more than a usurper."

[Folwren]

Thornden was right. Saeryn allowed him to speak while she sat by silently. She had wanted to paint an overly good picture of the people, but Thornden showed a more realistic side. He did not exaggerate. What both she and he had found startling and otherwise unacceptable in their minds at the meeting here, everyone else would be dissatisfied with, too.

She was growing tired of this. Athanar had expressed a desire to talk, so that they could decide how best to run Scarburg, but all it seemed that he did was tell them how he was going to run it.

“You must understand, and indeed it shall be our burden to make known to the people, that we of Edoras often have a different conception of what exactly that good is. Yet trust that we do not change things for the sake of change alone, nor that we change things without any discussion before hand.”

Why must anything change? When things are smooth among a set of people, when quarrels are seldom, and everyone works together like a well oiled machine, what could possibly be better? Did they really think that they were sent here to make order among the people? They were only here as figureheads, so that the other ignorant landlords would honor them and pay their dues.

It was pointless to say any such thing. She looked politely towards Wynflaed as she addressed her.

“My lady Saeryn, I hope, when my family and I are more settled, and matters press in on all of us less closely, that we may arrange some sort of private meeting concerning the domestic ordering of the Hall. I do not wish to court the disfavor of the people through letting them think I am naught more than a usurper.”

Domestic ordering of the hall, indeed! What do you plan on changing? We do not live in filth and stench – the place is kept clean, I have no complaints – and our meals come on time. What more do you really expect from the girls?

Saeryn inclined her head slightly, smiled a little, and said out loud, “Of course. I will be ready whenever it is your convenience.”

[Groin Redbeard]

“I can answer your question,” Lithor said stepping forward with a bright smile. Time for him to work some magic, to turn a possible disaster into a opportunity.

“It was but two minutes ago when my friend and I where admiring the magnanimous gifts presented to us by the gracious Athanar that we heard a commotion here. I came to inspect the situations, as is my duty as a guard in Eodwine’s house and found that two of our soldiers were quarreling.” Lithor felt that it was necessary to emphasize the word our. He didn’t want Hilderinc to feel as if this was an incident worth reporting to Athanar, who had only just arrived.

“I inquired as to the nature of their quarrel. In short, it appears that that young man there,” Lithor pointed to Áforglæd, “had given my lady such an insult as to make my ears burn. The lad was sorry, however, that he had spoken hastily in insult, but equally as hasty was my friend to uphold the honor of our lady Saeryn! I was unable to pull our two men apart, but thankfully Harreld and Crabanna here intervened. Both brawlers were hasty and wrong was done on both sides, but I pray that you not punish either of them. My friend has defended my lady’s honor and your friend has taught his lesson.”

Hilderinc glanced at Áforglæd and then scanned the surrounding people. “Where is your man?”

“Gone, I’m afraid. That was my doing. I think that it is better to let things settle before he shows himself. Besides, he won’t be hard to find, he’ll be the only one with bruises.” Lithor laughed and searched the man’s eyes—hollow and emotionless.

“He won’t have any reason to hide, will he?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erbrand

Thank goodness, this wasn’t a grouchy, old, “experienced” (which Erbrand often figured to be a polite way of excusing arrogance) soldier. The man seemed quite genteel, very nice in the way he answered Erbrand’s question. So the counsel is going well then. The people of Scarburg are in good standings with the newcomers! The man introduced himself as Coenred, Athanar’s servant no less—the man with inside knowledge of all his lord’s doings!

“Coenred,” Erbrand let the word roll of his tongue and swirl around in his mind for moment. “My name is Erbrand,” he responded, there was no prestigious epithet that he could give to himself that would impress or interest this person.

“The counsel is going well then, that is good news indeed. Everybody seems on edge right now, it is good to hear that some people are getting along.” Erbrand laughed nervously. Coenred just smiled.

“I am sorry for stopping you like that, I thought you were… well, someone else—a friend.” Erbrand immediately regretted saying that. Idiot! “Someone else?” “a friend?” Stupid, your making this man feel unwelcome and you are looking like the simpleton you are. Make it up to him, show him courtesy.

“Don’t let me stop you from what you were going to do. Perhaps I can help?”

“No thank you, I can take care of it.” Coenred replied courteously.

“Oh but I insist!” Actually Erbrand was in no place to be insisting anything. Coenrad was an influential man and Erbrand was a mere peasant.

Coenred’s response was cut short by loud thuds on the grass behind Erbrand. The noise surprised Erbrand and he spun around quickly to see what had happened. Trunks, lots of heavy trunks were being piled (none too carefully I might add) next to the Meadhall. It suddenly occurred to Erbrand who all these people really were. They were not newcomers as he or Harreld or Rowenna or Dan had been. Their lifestyles were strange from the rustic country folk of Scarburg and their mindsets were equally as different.

It occurred to Erbrand that the majority of the newcomers were city folk, not at all the type that Erbrand liked. He had been a city man not long ago in Aldburg, a large city by Rohan standards yet out far enough to have its rustic qualities. However, that lifestyle was not to his liking at all and while his life at Scarburg had been rough and downright dangerous, he would not trade it for the city life. However, these people were from Edoras, the cushion pillow of Rohan society. To Erbrand, city folk meant soft, soft meant weak, and weak meant death out here in the wilderness, especially with winter coming on. Even the soldiers who this Athanar brought with him looked less hardy than Eodwine’s guards.

Athanar! Erbrand thought with horror of what man this new lord might turn out to be. This lord Athanar is from the city, what does he know of the rough living in the Middle Emnet? I bet he’s one of those cavalier type of Rohirrim that fought in the great war. The type that did valuable service to King Theoden (may he rest in peace) and asked for an earldom: something that he knows nothing about, at least out here. What happened to the type of service that the antique world taught? When service sweat for duty and not for reward. I am young, but I am not for these times when none will sweat, save for promotion and having that, do choke their service up with more ambition. If Athanar be such a man, I will not swear allegiance to him! Lord Eodwine was kind to me, he earned my trust and lady Saeryn earned it by becoming his wife. Athanar will have to earn my love and trust just as Eodwine did, but he will never have it completely.


Erband looked back, Coenred was looking at him in a peculiar manner. At least this one wasn’t all that bad. “Still at your service, sir,” Erbrand said wiping the scowl off his face. Despite his thoughts of these new people, Erbrand liked Coenred (as far as first impressions go).

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"He won’t have any reason to hide, will he?"

Hilderinc frowned. "You tell me. I assume you should know better than me, if you have witnessed these events, and if he is, as you say, your friend." He could not help but to feel a strong stab of aversion to this man at first sight. A soldier, clearly, but honey-tongued in a rather repulsive way. Hilderinc did not like men like this, who tried to buy others' goodwill by speaking in such manner. "My friend and I where admiring the magnanimous gifts presented to us by the gracious Athanar", indeed! Such an obvious sweet-talk, trying to win Athanar's men's sympathy. No way are you going to lull me like that, you serpent. I can see right through you, Hilderinc thought. He also noticed how this man had used the expression "our soldiers". Fairness and just approach towards different people is one thing, but obvious sweettalk is another, and it is not worth a proper soldier. When Hilderinc came, he did not have any intention to pursue the matter of the fight, if it could have been avoided. He did not want to contribute to creating any ruptures among the natives and Athanar's men – from his experience, he knew well that some awkwardness would be present at least during the first days, before the people get used to each other - but the way this soldier seemed to attempt to win his goodwill set him alert. Was his friend really so "innocent"?

Hilderinc, however, did not let any of his inner thoughts show in his face. Let's hear Áforglæd's version, then. He turned to the bruised soldier.

"What can you tell me about this, Áforglæd? Is this man speaking the truth?"

The soldier reluctantly moved his head in affirmation.

Hilderinc also nodded. Well, it seemed at least that this was how the matter went. It was true that the other man attacked Áforglæd first, but Hilderinc could very well imagine what kind of remark might have caused that.

"You know that I should report you to Coenred," he addressed the soldier. "However, if you are going to watch yourself, there is no need to do that. But be assured that if something like that was to happen again, there'll be no avoiding the punishment. If the matter is settled," he turned again to the Scarburgian who spoke before, to see an affirmative reaction, "go and take care of lord Athanar and lady Wynflæd's mounts," he pointed at the animals standing peacefully nearby.

"And then you can think of improving your looks before meal, so that the local kitchen ladies don't fly from you. We seem to be almost done," he added, looking over his shoulder to the rest of the soldiers.

As Áforglæd walked away, Hilderinc turned once again to the Scarburgian who had spoken before.

"What was your name?"

"Lithor."

"Well, thank you for your help," Hilderinc said, but maintained a straight face, to make sure that he won't give the sweet-tongued soldier any false hopes. This was a well-settled matter, but if the man aimed to ingratiate himself with Hilderinc, he picked the wrong person.

[Thinlómien]

Wulfric & Wilheard

Wilheard was rapping the table impatiently. He never felt comfortable indoors for long times, and meetings like this were a pain to him. All the pompous, boring words meaning nothing, his parents' typical lordly waffling and Wulfric looking as self-important as if the King himself had appointed him to clean his shoes of horse dung.

He could not understand why he had been summoned to this meeting. There could be nothing he could contribute to the discussion and nothing he could do, for Mother had told him to hold his tongue and just be quiet and observe so many times that it had really gotten on his nerves and he had had to promise to do so. He had no idea what this pathetic cow-like soldier and the whining - although quite pretty - young babe could give them. He envied Coenred who had been freed from the torment.

He tried to amuse himself by imagining taking a wild ride to the Scar to see the surroundings properly. Unconsciously, he started rapping the table more quickly and loudly to mimick the gallop of his horse.

"Stop that," Wulfric whispered and shoved him with an elbow. Wilheard threw his elder brother a murderous glance.

Wulfric rolled his eyes. He could not understand why Wilheard could not behave. This meeting was boring - that he could wholeheartedly agree on - but they would have time to have fun later. Now they should concentrate on showing the order of things to these peasants. He himself did his best by sitting very stiffly and looking at them as menacingly as he could. He was quite sure he was an authoritarian figure with his broad shoulders and commanding eyes.

The women were talking now about some feminine arrangements. This was surely not important, so Wulfric concentrated studying the features of Lord Eodwine's second-in-comand, Thornden. The man was maybe a few years older than Wulfric himself and had a warrior's aura. Wulfric was yearning to know if he'd beat this peasant on the battlefield.

The man was taller than Wulfric, but not any broader. He would have a few years more experince in the arts of war, but on the other hand, he had surely not had the best teachers and tutors Edoras could offer, unlike Athanar's sons. Wulfric's biggest fault as a fighter - or so had his teachers told him - was underestimating his opponent, so he reminded himself not to make quick judgements, but he just couldn't see himself losing to this peasant. He grinned to himself. He would love to have that fight.

He glanced at his father, rather meaningfully this time. Surely it was time to end this meeting if nothing more important than women's chores remained to be negotiated. Besides, he had to agree with his agonised-looking little brother: this was getting incredibly boring.

~*~

Modtryth

"Now, tell me everything." Frodides's tone was rather authoritarian, and Kara's bright eyes were full of curiousity although she smiled cheerfully at the older woman being so characteristically herself.

Ginna glanced at Modtryth and the dark woman sighed. "Well then, I'll tell you I guess. But what's there to know? You saw them yourselves, I don't have much to add."

Frodides looked as if she was about to protest, and Modtryth, suppressing a laugh, continued before any exclamation was uttered. "Both the lord and his wife seem courteus yet firm inside. I hope they're not going to be any trouble." The women exchanged worried glances.

"I think they were alright," Ginna said soothingly.
Modtryth nodded. "I agree. I'm not so sure about the sons though. They seem a bit too rash and full of themselves to be utterly harmless."
Frodides waved her hand dismissively. "Any kind of idiocy can be whipped out of a child."
Modtryth gave the old cook a slight smile. She knew her well enough to know what exactly she meant. But she was troubled still - it might be that Cnebba or Garmund or Javan would start behaving after a gentle slap, but these two were grown up men. "And the idiocy can only be whipped out if the parents are willing to use the whip..." she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else.

"Did anyone manage to have a look at any of the other new arrivals?" Kara asked after a short and uncomfortable silence.
Modtryth and Ginna shook their heads.
"Well, off you go scouting then!" Frodides said. "Although I wouldn't mind if one of you helped me and Kara with the dinner, it has to be extraordinarily well done today, and there's more to do than normally."
"I'll stay - shall I fetch water?" Ginna asked quickly. She grinned at Modtryth mischeviously.
Modtryth smiled ruefully.
"Coming back with a detailed report, sir," she said in a mock soldier-like manner, bowed stiffly to Frodides and hurried away to have a look at the newcomers with the excuse of helping them unload and arrange stuff.

~*~

Cnebba

"Hey, you two, come give a helping hand!"

Cnebba and Garmund glanced at each other desperately, but they knew there was no way to run away unnoticed. So they nodded sheepishly and walked to Raedwald.

"There seem to be some stuff there. The woman who was organising things around said they should be carried to the main building."

Cnebba and Garmund repeated their sheepish gestures and walked over the wagon. They took a pile of relatively small, neatly packed packages and started walking towards the main building.

Soon Cnebba started having problems. The package he was carrying seemed to be of a difficult shape. "Which way is this supposed to be carried?" he grumbled and shifted, managing to drop a small and elegantly carved wooden comb from the package.

"Oops," he muttered.

[Nogrod]

“Of course. I will be ready whenever it is your convenience.”

After Saeryn's words there was an awkward silence as all present - not probably counting the two sons of Athanar - saw the bitterness in them.

"Well... Shall we call it a day then?" lord Athanar asked matter-of-factly trying to hide the storm inside him. "I think this was a good meeting and I have learned a lot."

Turning towards Thornden he continued: "Good Thornden, I do appreciate what you told me and I respect your frank openness. I do trust you and will pay heed to your advice."

Moving her eyes to lady Saeryn he added: "And lady Saeryn, you're clearly under an emotional stress and that is just natural. You've been through some hard times... harder many of us have to experience in our lives. But fear not, we're on the same side, on the side of Rohan and king Eomer - like lord Eodwine would have been, were he here..."

Wynflaed looked tormented with the clumsiness of the soothing-attempts his husband was up to and broke in. "Please lady Saeryn, we appreciate your stature here... it's not my convenience but the good of the Mead Hall we have to think, together."

"Right..." lord Athanar added. "Now let us call this meeting off."

Saeryn didn't react but Thornden nodded courteously.

"Then... I'll postpone the meeting with the craftsmen for later tomorrow and the soldiers will have an exercise led by Coenred early in the morning. I hope I could see you two after the breakfast... Now I must beg your pardon. I need to think."

Wynflaed turned towards her husband and Athanar paused.

"Yes, forgive me... I'm clearly overloaded... I'd like to see you two accompanying us at the banquet, by our side. I'll make a few announcements. And you can address the people if you wish then as well. And if there is anything you wished to talk with me before it, feel free to address your concerns or your propositions. Is that allright for you?"

Lord Athanar rose up noticing the approving nod from Saeryn and Thornden and turned towards his sons. "Go and help people outside if there is anything left to do. And don't go messing up with anything... We'll have a party tonight and everything needs to be in order. You understand?"

Wilcred and Wilheard flied from their seats. Their releavment was apparent indeed. Lord Athanar shook his head as he watched them go.

Athanar glanced at her wife and nodded to her. "I will go for a walk, just to look at the place... and to think. Shall I see you my love, in an hour or two? You must be busy arranging our apartment before that?"

[Durelin]

Coen dearly wanted to escape this man, but could not think of a way to do so without upsetting him. In his mind, a 'no thank you' was as plain as 'no' any day, and he couldn't think of a polite way to say 'no, I'd really rather you go away now.' He did not hold any quarrel against this Erbrand, though he had seen the look on the man's face only a moment before. It was perhaps best to step lightly around this man, if possible, so Coen simply nodded politely in recognition of his reinforced offer. He then turned his attention immediately to those carrying the baggage and requested, "Try to be careful with those." They weren't all his men, so he did not wish to sound like he was barking orders at them yet.

He was about to go find Hilderinc, leaving his conversation with Erbrand as it was - if the man wished to follow him, so be it - when just moments after his 'request' he heard a very slight thud and an "oops." He turned to see a boy with a package about to unwrap or fall from his hands, and one of (he assumed) Lady Wynflaed's combs already on the ground in front of him. Coenred closed his mouth and went over to the boy, and stooped to put a hand under the package in the child's arms and pick up the comb.

"That's a difficult one," he said simply. Taking the package from the boy, he turned to Erbrand and offered him the package. "Would you mind placing this with the others, sir? There's something I dearly need to attend to."

[Loslote]

Lilige directed the unloaders to put the trunks in the center of the room and had them go back for the rest. She opened one of the trunks with Lady Wynflaed's clothes and began smoothing the wrinkles out. She folded each and placed them in a neat stack near her Lady's bed.

Emptying one trunk, Lilige turned to the next one. This contained the personal heirlooms and other small items Wynflaed had brought with her. Lilige set those aside, waiting for her Lady's direction about where to place those.

Lilige moved through the rest of the trunks, hoping to have the room fairly well organized by the time Wynflaed and Athanar were done with their counsel. Smiling, she surveyed her work during the lull while she waited for the next trunks to be brought in. She was well on the way to finished her small contribution in helping her Lady settle into her new life.

[Folwren]

Saeryn regretted her choice of words as soon as they had escaped her lips. She looked crestfallen as their effect became obvious on the newcomers. When would she ever learn to curb her tongue and her feelings? She listened in silence while Athanar wrapped up the formal meeting and dismissed everyone. She and Thornden rose and stepped back, they both bowed slightly to Athanar and his wife and then drew aside.

“What would you have me do now, my lady?” Thornden asked.

“Just go out and see that all is well between our people and the newcomers, Thornden. See if you can help with anything.”

“Of course.”

“I will be in my room,” she said. It was not really her room. She had given up the room she and Eodwine had stayed in so that Athanar and his wife could be in comfort while they were there, and the place where she and Eodwine had lived was the only real comfortable place for a man and wife to be together. She had proposed moving into the women's quarters with all the other ladies, but the people would not allow that. Stigend and Garstan had assured her that it would be a simple matter to put up a privacy wall in one of the corners. With a little bit of persuasion, she had agreed, and they had built her a private room for herself. She would be near the other women, but she would still have her own place to go.

Thornden nodded and turned to go. “Thornden,” she called after him. He turned. “Thank you for speaking there for me, just now. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Thornden nodded again. Then he said, “If there is anything else I can possibly do for you, do not hesitate to let me know.”

Saeryn smiled a little. “Thanks. I’ll remember that.” He bowed and turned away again. Saeryn’s smile faded and she, too, departed the hall. It was colder in the women’s quarters and in her room. Saeryn picked up her shawl from her bed and wrapped it close around her shoulders. She sat down on the foot of the bed, pulled off her shoes and curled her legs beneath her.

For a long time she sat, silently mulling over what had just passed. Had she acted acceptably, or had she spoken as a fool? Did she have a right to wish to cling to her status? Was she frightened for imaginary reasons, or real ones? She felt so lost and confused, she didn’t know what to think. As the thought of Eodwine sprang to her mind, tears filled her eyes suddenly.

“I try to be strong,” she murmured aloud. “But I need you, Eodwine.” She laid her hand on her stomach. “Soon I will need you more than ever.”

Her musings were doing her no good. She must talk to someone, and the only person she could truly pour her heart out to was Degas. She rose to go find him.

[Thinlómien]

Wulfric and Wilheard walked out of the hall and strecthed almost identically in the fresh air.
"Whoa," said Wilheard. "That was easily the most boring meeting ever." "Possibly," Wulfric agreed drily. He was looking at the crowd unpacking the arrived goods and packages. There were a lot of people and even more folk was joining the chores, now the peasantish officer and a suspiciously Dunlending-like woman.

"Hey! Where are you going, Will?" Wulfric shouted. His little brother was striding not to the masses of people, but to the stables.
"Riding," Wilheard replied with a slight shrug.
"We were supposed to do the unpacking, idiot," Wulfric pointed out.
"As if I cared," Wilheard replied. "There seems to be enough peasant folk seeing to the stuff, we would be just on the way."

Wulfric set his jaw in a stubborn way. "You are not going anywhere, kid." In truth, he preferred riding to unpacking just as much as his brother.
"You're going to run and tell mummy and daddy, are you?" Wilheard asked gleefully.
"No," said Wulfric with a hint of a grin. "I'm going to beat some sense into your thick skull."
Wilheard flashed a grin in return. "Catch me if you can, then!" Without further warnings, he dashed to the stables and appeared in no time at all, riding his grey steed who seemed to be as enthusiastic as his master. "You'll never catch me, Wulf, I've always been a superior horseman!"

"Maybe so, but if I catch you, you'll be in deep trouble - for I've always been the better fighter, you little maggot!" With this words, Wulfric ran to the stables to quickly saddle his horse and urge it to follow the grey, almost running over some peasant carrying packages. But Wilheard, of course, was already almost out of sight. Cursing, Wulfric urged his big white horse to run.

[Groin Redbeard]

Lithor did not know what to say. His plan had not worked. He could not understand it, this had always been his usual course for lightening up the mood. Did he overdo it? No, for it had always worked before. Maybe a straight forward approach would work—Lithor did, obviously, not impress his guest with all his court talk. However, Lithor decided against it, Hildernic was did not seem in any mood for humor.

“Now that hurt.” Lithor said inspecting his clothes after Hildernic left.

Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. Hildernic, was certainly a tough nut to crack. Perhaps later at dinner they could get a word in edgewise. Lithor would not give up on the man. Besides, he did not believe Hildernic to be as gloomy as he let on. Yet, there is time for all that later, for now, duties were to be done. Lithor took the horses that Hildernic pointed out as Athanar’s and took them to the stable. He had never considered himself a stable boy, but for today it would be prudent for to act as one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erbrand

Nodding slightly, he took the package and Coenrad thanked him before taking off. Erbrand held the package in one hand and examined the tool that Coenrad had picked up with the other.

“What on earth is this?” Erbrand wondered out loud. Another one of those city comforts?

Cnebba was still standing looking at the package and then pack at the large pile of boxes and trunks waiting to be brought. Erbrand noticed it and took the hint.

“Make yourself useful Cnebba, run and find some mischief like young boys are supposed to do. At least you’ will be out of everyone’s way.” He finished with a wink and a smile.

Erbrand placed the box down and went for another one. The morning was almost spent and he had not done any real work yet. Some work would do him good, take his mind off his fight and the newcomers.

[Nienna]

Ædre ran out of the stables and looked for a place to hide just in case that man came looking for her. It wasn’t that she feared him at all. She just didn’t know where she stood with him or how to act around him.

These peasants are so strange. No one at home would have spoken to me like that.

Degas did have one thing going for him, though; he was nice to Leta.

Frustrated and uncertain, Ædre was scanning the area. She noticed a group of people unloading her family’s belongings. She was about to turn away to find something more interesting when she saw a boy who looked younger than her, drop her mother’s favorite comb and then just stare at it. An older man picked it up and spoke to the boy who then meekly trotted off. She saw this as an opportunity to settle herself into the hierarchy that she knows exists – at least at home - between all local children. She was the new girl and she needed them to know that she wasn’t to be bossed or pushed around. She was, after all a descendant of Aldor the Old, and not to be treated as a commoner.

“Hey! You, boy!” she shouted at the child who was trotting away. Cnebba, startled, turned around to look and see if he was the one being summoned.

“Me?” he asked. Ædre nodded and Cnebba began to introduce himself because obviously this girl was new around here.

“I do not care,” said Ædre interrupting him. “The only important thing is that you know that I am the daughter of the Eorl and a descendant of Aldor the Old.”

Cnebba just stared at her not sure how to react to the way he was being treated. He began to speak again but was interrupted.

“Go bring me my trunk, because who knows where it has landed, and then run to the kitchen and bring me something to eat. I am hungry.”

[Mnemosyne]

A simple word to one of the locals gave Wynflaed the location of the eorl's bedroom. No doubt Lilige was within, diligently unloading her belongings. Wynflaed let a small smile grace her lips. She was rather fond of her maid, though of course she would not admit such a thing to her face.

The meeting had gone about as well as could be expected. She had hardly thought that she and Athanar would arrive with no challenges to their authority, and it would take time to wear the walls of distrust and hurt down.

At least those two sons of hers had done as they were told and kept their mouths shut! It was hard enough when her husband had momentary lapses of tact--though, of course, she appreciated his ability to utter truths deemed too impolite to come from a lady of the Eorlingas.

At least the Lady Saeryn was not pressing her counterclaim... for now. She was already feeling from the servants' dark looks of curiosity that she pretended not to notice that her household would not be wholly welcome, not for a good while at least. She did not doubt that if--say, that Degas pushed her to some rashness--the will of the people would remain with the old order of things. And that would go ill for all.

She had hoped to speak with her husband before the banquet, to remind him once again to temper his new pronouncements with soft words. He had already done well to release the new provisions from Edoras to the people, as soon as they had arrived. But no matter. He already knew her mind on this, and she knew from long years of experience how effective a lord he made.

She stepped inside the room that was to be theirs for--how long? She had heard much of the healing arts of Gondor; it could be that the Lord Eodwine could still recover...

She pushed the thought from her head. The room was sparse, and from first sight the bed looked much plainer than the one that had graced their house at Edoras. But already most of her things--of those that had arrived, at least--had been put away.

"Thank you, Lilige," she said, without turning to look at her. She bent over to pick up a small, polished, wooden box. It had been carved from a tree whose trunk now upheld the roof of Meduseld. Carefully she set it just so on the corner of the bed and opened it. She would have to decide which of her gems would make the best impression on these new and uncouth people.

"I shall want my hair in a braided crown for the banquet tonight, Lilige," she said. Then she turned to look at her maid; she was emptying whichever trunk must have been brought in most recently. "What think you of the people here, thus far?"

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc once again briefly overlooked the situation, to see if everything goes right, and sent a few soldiers who seemed to have nothing to do to help with unloading and carrying some of the goods inside. For a short moment, looking after two men rolling a keg towards the kitchen, he looked at the stream of smoke coming from there. Meal was being prepared, no doubt. Hilderinc suddenly felt hungry. On the way, he was limited to cold and dry soldier rations, a proper warm meal perhaps with a sip of good ale... agh, horrible! He should not start thinking about that, his mouth watered. He forced his gaze away from the kitchen. There was still work to be done. But there will be time, later, in the evening.

"I hope we are going to have some grub soon," said a voice behind his shoulder. Hilderinc turned to see Áforglæd looking also in the direction he was looking just a moment ago. So he was not the only one to think about food, of course. Hilderinc looked around. All the soldiers, most likely, were starting to think about meal now, and certainly looking forward to the evening. First evening in the new place. A great event. Barrels of ale. Hilderinc already pitied those who would be picked by the lot to stand guard that night.

He turned back to Áforglæd. "Did you take care of lord Athanar's horses?"

"Aye sir, they are properly stabled now."

Hilderinc nodded. "Good." He noticed Coenred heading towards them through the courtyard.

"The Captain's coming," he said calmly. "Wouldn't you prefer to stay out of his sight for the time being?"

The soldier cast a quick look in Coenred's direction. His grimace told Hilderinc exactly what his thought was. If the commander sees him from close-by, he is going to ask where did he come to the fresh bruises.

"Bloody good idea," he said and turning, swiftly hurried away.

Hilderinc met Coenred.

"Sir," he saluted. "Everything is proceeding well, the horses have been stabled and men are unloading the rest of the supplies. We should be done in no time. There have been no problems."

He briefly wondered if Coenred was bringing any news from the inside, if he and lord Athanar and the local people have decided something that they were going to announce, and if things were going well. But it was not by any chance his place to know, unless Coenred himself had told him. For now, maybe there were other orders, or maybe the soldiers could at last go and see the place where they were going to live.

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan held his tongue as Hilderinc headed off to check the unloading of the wains, but he had a healthy variety of belligerent remarks which he would have loved to call after the man. He turned to Lithor.

"You realize we're going to be asked to help if we hang around here?"

Lithor grinned. "The thought had occurred to me, yes."

"Of course," Crabannan continued, "You and Wilcred here are somewhat obligated, being vassals of Rohan, but I, on the other hand - I'm not even supposed to be here. I could leave right now."

"Face the facts, Crabannan. You're happy here. You'll never leave," said Wilcred, who had finally begun to cool down, though he was still following Hilderinc with his eyes.

Crabannan fell silent. You might be right, Wilcred. You might be right. The same notion had been growing on his mind recently. Why had he never left? Crabannan knew himself to be a wanderer by nature, shiftless, always trying to stay a step ahead of his past. If he stayed anywhere too long, all the dark things he had done would catch up with him he felt. And yet he stayed on in Rohan - despite the fact that everywhere he looked, he saw familiar faces from the War, faces he deserted. Did they remember him? He hoped not. And desertion wasn't the worst of his crimes...

"Well, here I am," Crabannan said. "I have nothing against helping my friends - but if this new eorl, whats-his-title, tries to give me any responsibilities, Horse and I will be on our swift way. Let's see what can be done."

[Loslote]

Lilige closed the lid to the now empty trunk and moved to stand behind Lady Wynflaed. She gently began pulling her hair back into the braided crown her Lady had specified.

"The soldiers are already brawling," she said. "I don't know why, or what happened, but it was quite startling. I do hope it does not continue. The servants who unloaded the wagon could have been more gentle, but what can you expect? The children here seem helpful and polite, as far as I could tell. I've not had a chance to meet many other people," she admitted, "but so far they seem to be good sorts, if a bit rustic. They are all anxious to meet you and Lord Athanar, and eagerly await the banquet."

Lilige wished she had something more helpful to tell Lady Wynflaed, but she truly couldn't think of anything more to say. Her experiences among the people so far had not been overly enlightening. She hoped to learn more during the banquet.

"Which gown will you wear tonight, my Lady?" she asked, nudging a stray hair into place. "This banquet is sure to be a grander affair than any these people have seen in a long while. You look splendid," she added, stepping away.

[Thinlómien]

“Go bring me my trunk, because who knows where it has landed, and then run to the kitchen and bring me something to eat. I am hungry.”

Cnebba had absolutely no idea what to do. His eyes scanned the surroundings for Garmund, but his friend had disappeared. He saw his mother carrying a heavy package and following two soldiers rolling a wine keg to the kitchens with it. She caught his eye, but he looked away quickly - the last thing he wanted was that his mum would come and interfere.

"Are you deaf? I said bring me my trunk and then bring me something to eat."

The girl's tone was full of authority and she was both older and bigger than he was. And his mother had told him to be nice to the newcomers.

"What does your trunk look like?" Cnebba asked, his ears red. He didn't like to be ordered around, especially not by girls.

"It's light brown and there's a blue flower embroidered to it."

Cnebba would have wanted to ask where was he supposed to find the trunk, but the girl's eyes were so commanding that he fled without any further questions.

He walked around the yard looking for a light brown trunk with a blue flower embroidery, but he didn't see anything like that, not even in the hall. The trunk could've been anywhere, in the worst case in some private women's chambers where he would never ever go - he'd rather die. So, he decided to sneak away to the kitchens to find the food instead.

"Cnebba! What are you doing here? Weren't you supposed to be helping with the unloading?"

Cnebba jumped when his mother addressed him. She seemed busy with putting fresh meat to dry, though.

"The new eorl's daughter asked me to bring her something to eat."

Cnebba saw Kara, the younger and prettier cook, give his mother a quick grin and say something about young gentlemen. Cnebba's ears grew even redder. He wondered if there could be any worse humiliation than this. Fortunately Kara relieved him quickly by giving him a piece of fresh bread with meat and a mug full of blackcurrant juice. He muttered a half-hearted thanks and hurried away.

He could see already from afar that the new girl wasn't happy at all. Still, he steeled himself and called as he approached:

"I couldn't find your trunk but I brought you something to eat."

[Folwren]

Thornden went out and found the courtyard full of people and activity. Wagons were still being unloaded, but he was not surprised to see that many people did not know where to take their belongings. He walked forward, intending to begin directing the men, but then he paused, and his eyes swept about for Coenred. It would be best to speak to the man accustomed to directing them, he decided.

He found Coenred speaking with a soldier who had been directing the work during Coenred’s absence in the council.

“Coenred,” Thornden said, stopping just to his right. “I can show the men where they’ll be staying so that they can finish the unloading.”


Saeryn

Saeryn left the hall by the side door, hoping to avoid all the people out front. She sighed a breath of relief when she saw no one. For so long she had been bogged down with the responsibility of overseeing. Questions were always being asked her. Now everyone was busy, others were in charge, and she had a moment to be alone. A moment to go and ask someone else what she was to do. She only to find Degas.

Where would he have gone after being so insulted and rebuked in his own sister’s hall? Saeryn’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and shame to think what he had endured, all while he was merely trying to defend and support her. He was so good. And the dear brother had not even lost his calm and flown into the arrogant Athanar’s face. He had grown.

But the question – Where would he be? Her eyes scanned the fields around the hall. She saw the figures of two horsemen galloping in the distance. Neither rode with Degas’ style, but instinctively, she knew that was the answer. Degas had gone riding. How better to escape the people and free himself from the frustration and sting of Athanar’s words?

She turned back into the hall, hurried through to the front door, and went out. She threaded her way through the people (so many people!) and entered the stables. There was less activity there – most of the horses had already been put away. She turned right to find Léof, but a flash of white from withing the first stall caught her eye. She stopped and looked.

“Who’s horse is that?” she demanded out loud.

A man grooming a horse farther down the aisle looked up. He turned to face her and stepped forward. “My lord Athanar’s horse, my lady,” he said. Saeryn looked sharply at him. His polite answer saved him from a sharp reply. She merely nodded curtly and he turned back to his horse.

Saeryn looked about for Léof. A glance showed her he was not in the stables, but before she could begin searching for him, he entered from the end of the stables, carrying two large buckets full of water.

“Where’s Flíthaf?” she asked him.

“Out in one of the paddocks,” he said, setting the water down. He looked tired and harried. The sudden traffic in his stables and extra work seemed to be overwhelming him. Little wonder. And now Saeryn was demanding about his lord’s horse. He looked at her, hoping he had not done wrong. “I turned him out this morning so he could exercise.”

“Of course,” Saeryn said. “Well, someone has presumed to put lord Athanar’s horse in his stall.” She jerked her chin in the general direction.

“It is the best stall,” Léof conceded quietly. Saeryn glared.

“You can put it in another, and Flíthaf will go back there.” Léof nodded slowly. “Thornden is in the courtyard,” Saeryn continued. “Go out and tell him or Coendred, the new chap in charge, that you need help. You can’t be expected to feed and water all these horses on your own. Tell them I said so.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he said.

She strode past him, and then remembered her original purpose. She turned again. “Léof. Have you seen Degas?”

“Yes. He came and took his horse out a while ago. He went that way.” He pointed. “He didn’t say when he’d come back.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you want your horse?”

Saeryn shook her head. “If I change my mind, I’ll get him. Thanks.” She gave Léof a smile, before turning and walking again out of the stables.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar opened the doors and let the autumn wind blow to his cheeks for a while before taking a step forwards and letting the doors shut behind him. It was a brisk and windy afternoon and he loved it. He was so happy the hot days of summer were over...

There was a hustle and bustle all around him. People carrying things this way and that way, people discussing with each other using their hands to bring home the message, people walking around looking for something to do... That was something he really liked; looking at people being busy and getting things done. Like when he still was a captain of the Rohirrim back in the years so long past; seeing people do what they were told to and as a unit being more than the sum of the individuals in it. He somehow loved that sight - and was proud of the people making the miracle true.

He smiled to himself and headed towards the scar behind the Mead Hall.

But as he walked away from the front-yard his spirits did sank a bit... and then a bit more.

Thornden had spoken of some great grievances he had been able to foresee himself as well... but not the wealth and scope of them. He would have to be really careful with his words when addressing the people at the banquet for the first time but he would have to stay firm and steady as well... It was a question of principle, a question of authority, and a question of his allegiance to king Eomer.

And if he was to establish his sovereignity over the landlords he would have to have the people of the Mead Hall behind him... well, especially the soldiers. Coenred would take care of that tomorrow... hopefully with the help of that Thornden fellow. He's a good lad indeed. He may be a bit twisted by the surroundings but he's a man king Eomer would love... and if I can win his trust, he'll be the most valuable officer around...

Lord Athanar finally reached the scar and turned to look back towards the Mead Hall - or what was under construction to be a real Mead Hall on a later date.

It was both smaller and more modest he had thought of it when king Eomer had called him to take it over. But somehow, right now, it didn't bother him. Standing on the top of the cliffs and the autumn wind blowing his yellow-grey hair he just felt good. So free, so much on his own!

And put that against all the trouble and toil he would have in front of him when he would go back... So why not stay a little here, with the wind and the blessed solitude?

Looking at the basic structures in front of his eyes his mind went on planning how the Mead Hall would need to look like to please his eye... to please his hunger for effectiveness. How small parts could be more than just a loose union of them, how a great house would be more than what went into it... how the practicality would turn into beauty... to be beauty itself.

He fell deep into his thoughts and dreams.

[Nienna]

Ædre watched as Cnebba walked away to find her trunk. She was quite pleased with herself. He looked a little hesitant to be following her orders but he went off to do it. Now she would just have to make sure the rest of the children behaved the same way.

While she was waiting for her trunk and food she looked around to see what else was going on. She could no longer see the boy but she saw a bunch of people still unloading the wagons. She watched as her trunk was unloaded from the wagon. Now she was really starting to wonder where the boy had gotten to.

Where did he go. I have been waiting forever. This should not take this long. I can see my trunk from here. Where did he go!

She was starting to get really irritated when the boy returned a few minutes later only carrying some food.

"I couldn't find your trunk but I brought you something to eat."

“You couldn’t find my trunk? Did you even look?!” She yelled. “I can see it from here! Do I have to do everything myself? And what took you so long?”

“I’m, I’m really sorry” Cnebba stuttered. This girl was really starting to scare him and he just wanted to be done with her. The only thing that was stopping him from running away was that she was the daughter of the new Eorl and he didn't want to offend her.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

As they grew up, Saeryn and Degas were so rarely apart that they rarely had chance to notice what happened when they were not. But on rare occasions when they were apart and something momentous occurred, the other tended to know faster than logic allowed for.

When Degas fell from their father's horse and broke his arm when they were seven, Saeryn began to cry in the middle of her work on a tapestry, and ran from the room. She was followed, and her sister found her on the ground, holding Degas while someone ran for a healer.

When Saeryn found herself in the hayloft of the stable at age sixteen, sharing kisses with the stable boy, Degas knew the exact moment she panicked and fled as the boy grew more insistent. Degas first comforted his sister, and once she was calm and indoors, her fright forgotten, Degas confronted the stable boy, breaking the fingers of the offending hand.

It was harder when Degas was in Gondor, because any unexpected flare of emotion could not be easily investigated. But here, now, Degas felt both his fury and humiliation and his sister's.

Letting his horse guide herself, he sat introspectively and was only half surprised when he found himself at the gate into the courtyard. There she was.

"Sister!" he called.

Saeryn, who had been standing near the well, her face a mask, looked up.

"Ride with me? Gleowyn will gladly carry two."

[Folwren]

She was relieved to see him. Her face brightened visibly when he called to her and she went forward to meet him.

“Ride with me?” he asked. “Gleowyn will gladly carry two.”

“Oh, yes,” Saeryn said, smiling outright. “I would love to.” She hurried to his side and he extended his hand downward. A foot on the stirrup and a heave upward and she was behind him. He turned Gleowyn’s head out and away they trotted.

For a while, there was a silence between the two of them. Finally, Saeryn broke it. “I am sorry how you were treated, Degas. I would Eodwine had been here. He would have stopped it. I would I could have stopped it.” Degas tarried in answering. Saeryn’s hands tightened as she gripped the back of the saddle. “Degas, he makes me so angry!”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened after I left?”

“He asked us to talk about what we needed to accomplish, but I wanted to gain a clear understanding of where we stood. After he had treated you so abominably, I didn’t know what he thought of the rest of us! I never got a clear answer on that question, though. Thank heaven Thornden was there, he kept a cool head on his shoulders, and tried to answer the man. But Athanar did come back to where everyone’s status would be.”

“And...?” Degas pressed when Saeryn paused.

“And the lady Wynflaed is to take my place as lady of the hall, because her husband is taking Eodwine’s place as eorl.”



Javan

The maid, Lilige, kept Javan busy, carting trunks from the wagon to the lady’s room. How many gowns did the new lady have? How many did she think she really needed? Saeryn certainly didn’t have this many. But, of course, Saeryn was a sensible woman, and not even as girly as his own sisters.

He was coming back out for the last trunk he would have to haul when he caught sight of Cnebba being verbally abused by a girl he had never clapped eyes on before. He did not like the looks of this at all. No one should come in and start bossing the boys around. He neglected his errand and went their way.

“Hey, there!” he called as he drew near, but the girl didn’t hear him.

“Sorry, are you? By the stars, I oughta-”

“See here!” Javan said again, coming up right beside her. “What are you doing, talking to him like that? Who do you think you are?”

The girl drew herself up. “I am Ædre, daughter of the Eorl, and descendent of Aldor the Old.”

“Lord Eodwine is the eorl, and almost everybody is descendent of Aldor the Old,” Javan replied. “Now you mind your own business and quit yelling at Cnebba.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas drew Gleowyn to a halt and half turned to look at his sister, concern and fury etched into his features. "Which leaves you with none of the wealth and power you were promised upon marriage to the most powerful lord in the region."

Saeryn was silent, but angry and helpless tears sparkled in her eyes as the wind pulled her hair from its neat coif.

"Perhaps," he growled, "in Harad or in Umbar are the noble ladies relieved of their authority and their belongings when their husbands fall ill, but not in Rohan. In Harad and Umbar, yes, the line of succession has more to do with who has more physical strength than in who has the right to a place. In Harad, yes, usurpers wait for any moment of weakness to claim the land as their own and the ladies as their thralls, but this is not Harad! Your husband is not dead. Upon his return, will Athanar and his people quietly return his authority to him? And will he be pleased to hear that his lady wife was relegated to household staff, there for the convenience of those who are merely stewards?"

Gleowyn pranced at his tension, and Saeryn closed her eyes tight to keep her tears from flowing.

"Saer, if the king desired to strip Eodwine of Eorldom due to illness, he would not also strip him of his lands. He would still be the voice of authority in his own home; you, in his absence, are that voice. The proper course of action if Eodwine was no longer Eorl would be more or less what Eodwine experienced: lands would be bestowed, and the seat of the Eorldom would go to where the new Eorl settled. That the king would gift the lands rightfully belonging to you to a new man while your husband yet lives, instead of gifting uninhabited lands wherein Athanar could establish his own household and rule...

"Would a new king have stepped forward when Theoden King fell to the bile of Grima Wormtongue, casting aside Theoden King as a relic, claiming the rights and responsibilities of king while Theoden still lived? Saeryn, it is a farce. There is something wrong here. Regardless of Athanar's place as Eorl, he has the rights of guest and Eorl over your estates, but not the place of lord. Saeryn, he's not the bloody lord of Scarburg, unless Eomer King has stripped Eodwine and you of your titles and lands, and if this is so, the nobles will rise to defend you."

[Nienna]

“Lord Eodwine is the eorl, and almost everybody is descendent of Aldor the Old,” Javan replied. “Now you mind your own business and quit yelling at Cnebba.”

Ædre was in shock that this boy, who seemed no older than herself, would even dare to speak to her that way. Now she was furious.

“You vile rascal you! I’ll yell at who ever I want! My father is the Eorl around here now; appointed by King Eomer himself. Look around. Whose belongings are being unloaded from the wagons? Is it Eodwine’s? No! It is my father’s belongings, my belongings. Eodwine is not here. We are, and we are here to stay so you better get used to it.”

Javan looked like he was about to reply but Ædre cut him off.

“You have no right to come over here and yell at me and disrespect my family. At least I know who my ancestors are; you probably don’t even know your own father,” she said scathingly.

[Mnemosyne]

Brawling? Already? This was no good news indeed. Soldiers especially should know to obey orders and changes in command seamlessly. She hoped that few of her husband's men were involved, and filed the thought away for future thought.

"You flatter me, Lilige," she said. "I am all too aware of age's encroachment. But thank you, nonetheless. I fear it shall be my duty to outshine all others at the banquet tonight." She thought a moment. "Green, I think, to stress the common bond shared by those of the Riddermark. Perhaps the dark one, with the slits in the sleeves? I think that will be fine enough."

Again she opened the wooden box and drew forth a single pendant with a dark green stone. She had only been to the Glittering Caves once, when business had called them to Helm's Deep, but she had been entranced with the strange beauty of the caves and the stranger folk who delved them. Athanar had bought it for her right there, "on a whim," as he had said. She smiled at the memory. "Yes, I think that will do quite well."

[Durelin]

Coenred made his escape and looked for Hilderinc in the courtyard, soon finding him speaking to one of his men. The soldier walked away quickly, and Coen raised an eyebrow to himself. He said nothing when he approached Hilderinc. The man showed great promise, naturally taking leadership among the soldiers and demonstrating great responsibility. Coen hoped that he did not seem as if he did not trust the man, but he was not about to give any of his men too much freedom without supervision - especially not yet.

"Sir, everything is proceeding well, the horses have been stabled and men are unloading the rest of the supplies. We should be done in no time. There have been no problems."

Coen nodded to the soldier. "Thank you, Hilderinc. When the supplies are unloaded -- " Coen cut off as he saw the man from the council, Thornden, approaching him purposefully.

“I can show the men where they’ll be staying so that they can finish the unloading.”

"Thank you, sir," Coen responded, turning back to Hilderinc with a crooked grin. "Well, have the men report to me."

When all the soldiers had saluted and formed up in front of Coenred - including Hilderinc, whom he thanked - he scanned them briefly. "Where is Áforglæd?" he asked, observing their faces again.

[Folwren]

Javan's quick temper rose swiftly as Aedre made her scathing, false remarks about Eodwine's loss of eorldom. It hurt to hear her speaking about him as though he were dead and her father had taken his place. A reply rose instantly to his lips, but this girl spoke before he could even utter a word.

"You have no right to come over here and yell at me and disrespect my family" ("I wasn't yelling at you!" Javan interjected, ignored.) "At least I know who my ancestors are; you probably don't even know your own father."

He looked at her and blinked, and then the meaning of what she had said struck him.

"Why you filthy little wretch!" he cried, his face turning pale with anger, and then red with fury. His hands clenched hard by his side. "You take that back!"

"You apologize for calling me a filthy wretch!" she screamed at him. She stepped closer to make her demand more demanding.

"You insulted my father!" Javan yelled back, using his right hand to push her away. She stumbled back, and then came forward again, swinging her fists. Javan jerked to avoid getting hit, but her left hand caught him beneath the jaw, and without thinking, he swung in return.

--

The commotion at the edge of the courtyard caught Thornden's eye. Shrill, angry voices rose above the general hubbub of work. Children's voices, no less. He turned and looked sharply in their direction. The boys had not had a quarrel since Eodwine's marriage day. What would make them fight now?

He caught sight of them the instant that Javan struck out. To his horror, the one his foolish little brother hit this time wasn't Cnebba or Garmund. It was a girl, and he sent her toppling straight to the ground.

The child looked no older than Javan, and she was a pretty thing, all told, though now she was covered with dirt, her hair was tousled, and her nose was bleeding.

Thornden heaved a silent sigh of frustration. Coenred had called the men to attention and they were all standing there, and he was not free to move. He suddenly realized how unused to strict discipline he had become when it occurred to him that under Eodwine's rule, he could have left immediately and dealt with it. He looked at Coenred and waited.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

As Coenred called him to assemble all men, Hilderinc briefly wondered what is the commander going to say to Áforglæd's visage. It was possible, though, that he might not notice – but that option became highly improbable after Áforglæd was not found.

"Where is Áforglæd?" Coenred asked.

Hilderinc was wondering about it himself. It was improbable that the soldier went to hiding, it would make no sense to hide away completely, mainly, there was really nowhere to hide in an unfamiliar place. Hilderinc initially expected Áforglæd to be by the well or in the stables, but since all the men from the stables came, it seemed illogical that Áforglæd would have remained there, especially as the order to assemble was clear.

Hilderinc opened his mouth to reply to the captain when he caught Scyrr's eye. The guard's expression was the one Hilderinc knew, Scyrr looked like this always when somebody did something he disapproved of. Right now, his gaze piercing Hilderinc seemed to suggest something like "if you cause trouble to Áforglæd, you will have me to answer to". Hilderinc shrugged. He would not cause any more trouble than what Áforglæd already did to himself. And if Scyrr was worried that Hilderinc would report Áforglæd's brawl now, he was foolish. Why would he? The commander was not asking about it, and Hilderinc had no reason to mention it, as it would not help finding the place where missing soldier was now in any way.

"I don't know, sir," Hilderinc said to Coenred. Nobody else seemed to know either. "He hasn't been in the courtyard nor in the stables. Should I look for him?"

At the same moment, he noticed that one of the soldiers, the local who has joined them a few minutes ago, turned his head, looking at something back in the courtyard. Hilderinc did not turn, but heard raised voices. Áforglæd, again? No, these were children fighting. The commander must have spotted them as well.

[Folwren]

“No, Degas,” Saeryn tried to say, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. “No, Degas,” she said, her voice stronger. “We must not have an uprising, of all things. That would be treason against the crown, if the nobles rose up for the reason you have said. Too many men would die. It would be better for Eodwine and I to step down.”

“It won’t to come to that,” Degas said. “And you and Eodwine should never have to step down!”

“I know.” She swiped at her tears and drew a shaking breath. “I know. But what am I to do, Degas? He has more men-at-arms than I do, not to mention that he has brought some of the guards from Edoras. I couldn’t fight him, even if I wanted to. And I can’t argue with him! He’s so. . .he’s so. . .commanding.”

She slipped down from the back of the horse and walked a few feet away. Degas dismounted and followed her, holding Gleowyn’s reins.

“There’s more, immediate concerns, though, and we can’t stay out here much longer. There is to be a banquet tonight and Athanar plans on presenting himself to the people. He said Thornden or I may speak then, too. And he said that if we had any concerns to speak to him about, we can beforehand. But, Degas, I don’t think it would do any good. He says he’s just acting for the king and that Eodwine himself would have it this way. Don’t get angry, Degas, but don’t you think it would be better if we all agreed and worked the same way, together?”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Perhaps 'rise' was the wrong word to use," Degas murmured, pulling his sister into his arms. He hated how weakly she allowed herself to be moved. "I would not dream of an uprising. However we live in a civilized place, ruled by a just king. Surely if the troubles at Scarburg were brought to his attention, he would realize the error of the situation and rectify it."

He smoothed her hair back behind her ear, and kissed her forehead. "Saery, while none would rise in arms, many would raise their voices. You do not stand alone, and I will not hear of you stepping down. This a matter to be handled diplomatically. And while our family is not the greatest of noble families, we are allied with many who would support your rights.

"Saer, the cornerstone of a successful kingship is to respect the rights and properties of nobles and peasants.

"I am not saying that we should rise against anyone in arms. I am saying that we should seek counsel, and that we should not merely let this matter rest.

"Sister, this is not about you alone. Think of your husband, who, if you gave up your lands and nobility, might return, healthy but weak, to a loss of everything he owns and deserves. Think of the child in your belly that was conceived as the heir to title, lands, and alliances. You cannot let this matter drop, for the sake of the stability of Rohan's hierarchy, and for the sake of the babe that grows inside you."

[Loslote]

Lilige smiled. "A good choice," she said, retrieving the gown. "My Lady, you look as stunning now as when I first came to your service."

Now admittedly, she had only entered Lady Wynflaed's service five months ago, but the remark sounded flattering anyway.

"My Lady, you will certainly outshine all the other ladies at the banquet. You always do," she added, not without a certain trace of humor in her voice as she remembered one night in particular at Edoras.

"Have you anything more for me to do?" Lilige asked. The trunks were unloaded, and she did not wish to be idling while there was so much to do.

[Nienna]

Ædre didn’t know what she was doing. She had never been in a fight before. She only knew that this boy infuriated her and that she just wanted to make him stop. She started swinging her fists without remembering that she was fighting a stranger. She usually only had these sorts of outbursts with her brothers and they were much older and bigger than her. They usually laughed at her and picked up which would make her more mad.

Finding herself on the ground in the dirt was a surprise. Her jaw hurt and she realized that this boy must have hit her. She got up, not wanting to seem the weak one, and lunged for Javan a second time.

“You hit me!” Ædre screamed.

Javan quickly tried to back up after he realized that she was coming after him again. He didn’t want to lose control of himself and hit her again.

[Durelin]

Coenred was about to respond regarding Áforglæd, when he followed Hilderinc's gaze to a fight in the courtyard. There were two children, and one of them... Ædre! Oh no... She was screaming at the boy, looking worse for wear.

"Áforglæd will have to wait," he said quickly, speaking to no one in particular anymore as his eyes were locked on the children. "If you find him before I do, tell him it would be best to be ready to report to me in the barracks before I have to look for him all over the Mead Hall." Coen was growing steadily more frustrated.

"Follow Thornden if he does not mind taking you to the barracks right now. I expect the rest of the supplies to be unpacked as quickly as possible, then keep to the barracks until I can have a word with you all."

His words came out in a rush, and he had no time to worry about whether Thornden wished to take the soldiers without their captain, or if he wanted to leave the problem of the children to Coen. He wondered why the young man had not stepped forward to deal with it in the first place - he seemed to be one used to running things around here. Perhaps he was waiting for more of an answer from Coen, but...

"Ædre!" he called as he stepped quickly toward the brawling children, all at once angry and worried - worried both for Ædre and what Athanar might think. "What is going on?" Coen grabbed Ædre by the shoulders - not roughly - and looked at the boy, presumably a local.

"I don't think your father would approve of you striking a girl," he said gravely to the boy, not waiting for an answer from either of them. He then glared silently, still expecting answers. His only experience with children he had was with his younger siblings, and he felt a little silly, but he knew that he should protect Ædre, and indeed all of Athanar's family.

[Folwren]

The girl came back at him, still wanting a fight. Javan had to stave her off, but after that first blow, his temper had suddenly cooled and he would not strike out again. When she had fallen, crumpled in the dirt, realization of what he had done dawned on him.

Then the captain came rushing towards them, calling out sharply. Javan’s heart leaped into his throat for a brief instant. The captain snatched Ædre back and held her off Javan. Javan stopped and stood upright. “What is going on?” he demanded. He fixed Javan with a keen, disapproving glance. “I don’t think your father would approve of you striking a girl.”

“My father’s not here,” Javan said. His eyes flashed menacingly in Ædre’s direction, “But I do have a father, and I know who he is.” There was a silence. The two children glared at each other and Coenred remained silently in the dark about what he just said. Javan collected his wits and answered Coenred properly. He did feel a little ashamed for hitting her, but it wasn’t really his fault, after all. “But, no, you’re right. He wouldn’t be pleased about it at all.”

--

Saeryn

“I think of the baby all the time, and I know that whatever happens now is probably going to affect it. I know. I have to do something, but I don’t know what. He makes me feel like a little girl, like I’m being foolish to put up a fuss, and that I’m throwing a sort of child’s tantrum. I don’t know how to not let the matter drop without making things miserable for everybody.”

“If you can’t argue it with Athanar, you must take it to the king.”

“I’ve taken it to the king!” Saeryn cried, stepping back from him. Her voice was shrill with vexation. “I spoke to the king while Eodwine was in Edoras, and he insisted that he send a man to take Eodwine's place."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Then we beseech him on your behalf." Degas ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "He must see reason. He must see that there is difference between granting Athanar Eorldom and granting him your husband's lands! Yes, in this instance now Eodwine - you - would be a landlord under Athanar's rule, but that is not the same as giving all of your things and the allegiance of your household to the man!"

Degas let Gleowyn graze on her own, reins draped over his pommel. She would not wander far.

"I know exactly how you feel though," he continued. "The man is insufferable. I would say it is like being around Father, except father would never have spoken to a woman - or even a little girl - with the same condescension Athanar directed at you. And he has the most galling way of making everything we say or do seem childish, simply by suggesting that it is. It's as if he can only see the reality he permits to exist! How to you speak reason to a man that prefers obedience to justice? He treats us like unruly children, never mind that he was lord by my age, just as I am. Never mind that his wife was with child at a younger age than you. Never mind that!"

Degas ranted now, because he would not let himself later, around anyone but Saeryn. He knew that here, in the outer fields, no one could hear him, no one was near enough to read his lips. And he did not betray his emotion with physical motion; they would not see his agitation from afar.

"I intend to summon Lin's brother Farahil. He is older than us, and he is the nephew of Imrahil. He is level-headed, and will be able to advise us. And unlike summoning Adragil, who is as loud as he is huge, Farahil's presence will not raise suspicion, since it is well known that he and I are close. There are marital matters that need to be discussed with Lin's family at any rate, and I would have needed to travel to Gondor. Two birds, sister. I'll make arrangements for my wedding, and we can see what Farahil thinks should be done about... about all this. And if he passes through Minas Tirith, he would bear news of your husband. Without a father or brother, Saery... I wish I was better placed to help you now. I wish I wasn't so..." He clenched his fists hard enough that his nails dug into his palms. "I can't fix it, Saer. I don't know how."

He realized he was shaking, and took a deep breath to try to calm himself. Had Eodwine known? Had he guessed this would happen when he asked Degas to protect Saeryn and their children as her dowry? Had he known even then that he was falling ill? But somebody would have noticed... If he had known, and never mentioned it... It would have been just like him, working through, not complaining, giving all of his time to others.

Degas was angry. If Eodwine had foreseen his own failing, he should have warned them. This could have been averted. Degas didn't know how, yet he was sure...

This was all wrong.

Every bit of it.

And he was helpless, being treated as a spoiled child.

[Folwren]

Saeryn looked down thoughtfully at the grass and listened while her brother made his plan to ask Farahil to come. That would be well. She felt another ally would be good.

“Without father or brother, Saery. . . I wish I was better placed to help you now. I wish I wasn’t so. . .” Saeryn looked sharply at him. Was he blaming himself for something? “I can’t fix it, Saer, I don’t know how.”

Hot tears suddenly pricked her eyes. She swallowed at a lump at her throat. Quietly she moved over to him. He was looking at the ground, his hands balled up into fists by his side as he stood lost in thought.

“It’s alright, Degas,” she said. He looked at her. She smiled a little. “I didn’t expect you to fix it for me. I have to figure out my own problems someday. You mustn’t blame yourself. You are here, and that is everything to me right now. I do not know what agonies I would be in if I were alone in all this, but your very presence comforts me.

“We will confront this more on the morrow, if that is what we must do. Now, let us gain control of our emotions and go back, and prepare ourselves for the banquet. Speaking with you has helped to harden my resolve and my feeling that I am right. I will fight. If not for myself, then for my child.”

They turned and went back to Gleowyn. After they had mounted and Degas had turned her back towards home, Saeryn said, “You really think that Athanar is trying to take both eorlship and our lands and household for good? That’s not what the king sent him here for. He’s just here until Eodwine comes back. I think that’s why your so mad and I’m only half so. You think it’s permanent and I think it’s not. I’m just worried about the short-term, but you raise fears that he will never leave.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas steered Gleowyn with his knees, letting his hands rest on the pommel lazily. "I think that if Eodwine does not live, you will be hard-pressed to oust a family that has comfortably settled in your home. I think they would give you what they call 'special treatment' and allow you to stay, and they may not even mean it as an insult. I do not think they are malicious or manipulative, and I thought Athanar's wife was quite charming. I merely think that they mustn't be allowed to treat you as an inferior. You are graciously allowing them to stay in your home, on your lands. It is not the reverse."

[Nogrod]

Garstan and Stigend heard the cries and as fathers immediately recognised them as voices of children. They dropped the loads they were carrying and ran towards the screaming. Harreld followed them.

They saw Coenred holding the young daughter of the new eorl, her nose bleeding and her clothes all messed up. And Javan was there looking both guilty and firm, and they heard his words: “But, no, you’re right. He wouldn’t be pleased about it at all.”

Stigend sighed first from relief realising that Cnebba was not the culprit this time... but it didn't look good either. He could not make out Coenred's expression in reaction to Javan's words and had it hard to come to grips with the situation. But he felt a need to act before things could take a turn for worse.

"Javan! What is it? Now go back to your work and let us settle this thing... and don't think Thornden will not hear of this." With a commanding wave of hand Stigend hushed Javan away from the situation - aided with the grave looks of Garstan and Harreld. Javan had no intention to disobey but ran away with relief.

"Sorry about that, Cap'n... Coenred it was?" Garstan addressed the Captain.

Coenred nodded - looking like he was not quite sure how to react to the sudden interruption.

"Javan there is a bit hot-headed lad, we should know that, but in no way would he have assaulted a young girl unprovoked..." Harreld voiced firmly looking at Coenred to the eyes.

"So what happened?" Stigend queried.

Garstan had observed Coenred's expressions closely and then went for the real issue: "I'm afraid there is no way we can keep this little incident secret to the benefit of all... but what's your bet on not making a mountain out of the molehill?"

[Loslote]

"No, Lilige," said Wynflaed, "I should like some time alone, in fact. You are dismissed until the banquet."

As Lilige turned to go Wynflaed held up her hand. "You will, however, come and fetch me if you think there are any matters that need my attention? I fear my husband might be difficult to find."

Lilige curtseyed and left, closing the door behind her. She paused for a moment outside, wondering what to do next. She headed toward the courtyard. Hopefully there would be something to do there.

As she left the Meadhall, she stopped for a moment to take in the view of the bustling courtyard. Her gaze moved casually over the scenery. Then she frowned. Coenred was standing near two screaming children. As she watched, three other men ran over. The young boy was dismissed, and Lilige shook her head. Evidently brawling is common here, she thought disapprovingly. Still, it was just between children this time. No harm done. Then she saw who was standing with the four men.

Lady Aedre's face was covered in blood. She was scowling furiously. Lilige wavered a bit on her feet. "Lady Aedre!" she called, horrified, as she ran up. "My Lady, what's happened to you? We must get you to your mother."

This would never have happened in Edoras, Lilige thought. Oh, poor, poor Aedre! What will her mother say? And Lord Athanar! They will be furious.

"Come, Aedre," Lilige urged. "Let's go to your mother. I'm sure she'll know what to do."

[Folwren]

Saeryn and Degas

“Yes, that is how I think of it, too. But now that they have come, I have been reduced to a visitor in my own house.” She paused. They were coming near the Hall now. Degas was riding towards the stables from the back entrance, so they could avoid the prying eyes of all the people in the courtyard. “How long will you be able to stay, Degas?” she asked.

“As long as you need me, sister,” he said. She hugged him around the waist.

They rode into the stables and Degas stopped Gleowyn. Saeryn slid off. “Thank you for coming to get me,” she said, looking up at him. “It eased my mind a great deal to speak with you.” She turned and walked away. She paused and turned again. “Degas...promise me one thing. Don’t start an argument tonight. Whether we feel that I am being treated right or not, we have to keep a single front before the people.”

Degas smiled a strained smile and hugged Saeryn around the shoulders. "For a moment there I thought of saying, incredulously, "Who do you take me for?" until I remembered that it's not so long ago that I probably would have challenged the man to a duel as a matter of foolish pride. He weighs more than me yes, but I'd bet a great deal I'm faster and could win..."

He shushed Saeryn with his hand before she could say anything.

"Don't worry, sister. The troubles of nobles should never be made the troubles of commoners, and this Emnet has enough problems without our revealing to the people that we question our superiors." He swore. "Really, Saer, it would be a nightmare if commoners got it into their heads that it is acceptable to talk back. We protect and govern them in return for their loyalty and obedience. As long as we are good rulers, commoners absolutely must remain good subjects. No, we can't show them by example that they may question or refuse. Upon both of our honors, Saeryn, I swear that I will not fight with anyone tonight, no matter how I am baited to do so."

"Thank you," she said, her voice hushed. She smiled up at him. "I love you." She hugged him one last time before turning, at last, and leaving him alone to put Gleowyn up.

--
Javan

The courtyard was not an ideal place to have a fight. Everyone swooped down on them almost instantly, like vultures to carrion. He felt less and less sure himself with each new bystander.

“Javan! What is it?” Javan turned to face the carpenter and lifted his shoulders and hands in a slight shrug, giving the impression that he had little answer to offer. “Get back to your work and let us settle this thing.” Javan turned away, and Stigend sent after him, “And don’t think Thornden won’t hear of this!” Javan dug his hands into his pockets and his shoulders slumped forward. Several paces away, he turned his head to look over his shoulder. The men were talking, and then up came the maid, Lilige, running across the courtyard with her petticoats flashing about her knees.

“Lady Ædre!” Javan grimaced with disgust. He could hear her shrill voice from where he stood, and as she came nearer, he could hear her even better. “My lady, what happened to you?” My lady? She’s a rude girl! He paused, though, to hear what else she said. “Come, Ædre. Let’s go to your mother. I’m sure she’ll know what to do.”

Javan ducked his head lower and slunk away into the stables. The place was filled with the sounds of horses eating, slowly moving in their stalls, and sometimes nickering to one another. Léof was no where in sight. Silently, Javan let himself into Flíthaf’s stall. The horse turned his head from the manger and looked at him, then returned to his hay. Javan went to the farthest corner from the door and sat down.

He had not been there for long before he heard Garmund’s and Cnebba’s voices outside the stall. They were whispering to each other, not as though they did not wish to be heard, but merely because no one else was near and for some reason, to speak quietly seemed most appropriate. Then Garmund’s face peered over the door. His eyes met Javan’s and he turned back out.

“He’s here.” Cnebba came up to the door and looked over. “Can we come in?” Garmund asked. Javan nodded. They both came into the stall. Flíthaf flicked his tail and went on eating. Javan stood up and leaned against the wall, folding his arms in front of him.

“Well...am I wanted?”

Garmund and Cnebba shook their heads no.

“Listen, you two. Just ‘cause she’s the daughter of the new eorl doesn’t mean she can boss us around like she was trying to do to you, Cnebba. She’s just a girl and she isn’t any older than me, and she’s new here. You don’t have to take everything she gives you without speaking up for yourself.”

“But she’ll get mad, then, and hit us, like she did to you,” Garmund said. “And we’re not allowed. . .we’re not supposed to hit girls back.”

“Cnebba told you, huh?” Javan asked, giving him a keen glance. He stood up right and let his hands come down to a more relaxed position.

“Yes.”

“Do you blame me?”

“I don’t think so. You were just sticking up for Cnebba.”

“Well, sure,” Javan said, a spark of fierce loyalty lighting his eyes. “If I didn’t say anything, she’d intimidate him so much he’d do whatever she asked whenever she asked it! Then she’d try taking you down, and I’d be next. She had to be stopped.”

“Lord Athanar is going to be very angry,” Cnebba said in a very small voice.

Javan folded his arms again and leaned back once more against the wall. “I don’t care,” he said defiantly.

“He might throw you in the dungeon,” Garmund said.

“We don’t have a dungeon,” Javan reminded him.

“He might tie you up.”

“Eodwine did that much.”

“He might beat you.”

Javan’s chin tilted upward slightly. He pressed his lips hard together before answering. “I’ll bear it.”

There was a heavy silence among the three of them. A sound drew all three pairs of eyes towards the door. Footsteps walking down between the stalls. They froze, waiting for it to pass. But the footsteps stopped outside the stall.

After finishing speaking with Degas, Saeryn headed through the stables to the courtyard. On her way past, she looked into Flíthaf’s stall to make sure that he had been put back into his rightful place. To her surprise, the stall not only contained the horse but also the three boys of Scarburg.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

[Thinlómien]

Cnebba

"What are you doing here?"

The boys exchanged glances.

"We are talking, my lady," Cnebba said brightly and in his most courteous manner. He smiled unsurely, he didn't know if this was a sufficient reply. He added:

"About kids' things."

His smile turned smug. He remembered the dozens of times when adults had dismissed his questions by answering they were talking about adults' things. Now the adults could get a taste of their own medicine.

~*~

Modtryth

Modtryth had hung the meat to dry and was about to go back to fetch more stuff to the kitchen, when a bruised-looking soldier popped in. He looked around suspiciously.

"Food," he said, looking at Modtryth suspiciously.

Modtryth crossed her arms on her chest. "The cooks are currently working on the dinner, which will be served soon enough. I trust your lord has given you sufficient provisions to manage for the earlier part of the day."

The man's eyes narrowed a bit. "Heartless cow," he mumbled and turned to leave.

"Wait," Modtryth said, more out of duty than out of any willingness to help the stranger. "Here's water and a clean rug. Those bruises could do with a cleaning."

The man glanced at Modtryth. "I can take care of myself, woman," he said and left the kitchen.

"What a nasty man," Ginna exclaimed empathically as the door closed after the newcomer.
Modtryth waved the complaint away. She was used to such behavior, any person with more experience in the serving jobs than the young noblewoman would be.

Soon the other door opened. In stepped another newly arrived soldier. Undoubtedly asking for food like the previous one. Sighing, Modtryth took a step forwards to meet the man. She clenched her jaw. A quick look at the soldier told her that he was not of the type to be bossed around by kitchen women like the previous one had been.

Modtryth offered the man just enough smile not to be impolite. "Good day to you! How can I help you?"

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan waited in the Hall with an enormously heavy trunk, waiting to be told what to do with it. This was his fifth trip from the wagons to the Hall and they were making significant headway. Trying not to think about the weight, he looked around, admiring the rough timbers and clean, gray stone - and suddenly he realized how much of his own sweat he had poured into the construction of the edifice. It took him aback for a moment. He frowned in surprise.

Curses, he thought. I think I enjoyed it. I may have even made a friend or two.

The notion made him uneasy for some reason he could not pinpoint. For weeks on end his sword and bow had lain dormant, his hands more frequently taking up the harp at the end of a long, satisfying day of labor. They would sit around the fire, drink, play music, and sing of actions bold and violent. But their weapons had been the hammer and chisel, the plow and the scythe.

He dropped the trunk.

"Mordor take it," he muttered, "I'm hungry." He stomped off towards the kitchen, reflecting grimly that if these fine new nobles from Edoras continued as they had begun, he might need his sword and bow very soon indeed. There had been two fights already today among the children and he guessed that those same tensions were present in the adults, only held back behind the mask of manners.

Crabannan shook his head. No, if it came to trouble, he'd clear out right away. He had no desire, indeed, no right to get involved.

He strode at a swift pace into the kitchen, buried in his thoughts, and ran smack into a large soldier. He jumped back in surprise, and the soldier stumbled, regained his feet, and turned around looking very irritated. Crabannan winced for a moment, thinking he recognized the soldier, but then realized the fellow was new.

"Pardon," said Crabannan. "Apparently I'm not the only one looking for something to eat." He raised an eyebrow hopefully at Modtryth.

[Mnemosyne]

Wynflaed had finished arranging her personal effects just so on a sideboard--Lilige would see them there, remember their exact positions, and ensure they were always where they were supposed to be--when she heard the scuffle of swift footsteps coming down the hallway.

It was Lilige, looking moderately flustered, and--AEdre? Her daughter had dust on her dress, and--her mothering heart surged in her--blood upon her fair face. Wynflaed could not stop the look of horror on her countenance.

"AEdre, what happened?" she said. Then, more calmly, "Lilige, a basin of water and some soft rags, please. I shall, when you are finished, wish to know how you learned of this."

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

After the rest of the things have been unloaded, the soldiers followed the tall guy - Thornden was his name, if Hilderinc remembered correctly. The barracks were but one room, not too big for all people to fit in – Hilderinc could tell that many of the soldiers disliked it on first sight. Well, this is where we are going to live, he thought, we need to cope with that. Given the overall state of the Mead Hall, it was nothing that could not have been expected. Of course, Hilderinc was used to all kinds of places from his long life as a soldier – some better, much larger spaces, furnished almost luxuriously for everyone. But he had seen also many barracks far worse than this one. It was not that bad for a soldier's taste – it would probably score among the average ones. Maybe in the top of the lower half. At least it was clean. And Hilderinc also noticed that it was easily accessible, and all parts of the Hall were easily accessible from here, it was easy to get to the courtyard, to the stables, to the kitchen...

Kitchen... that reminded him of how hungry he was. He really hoped that the meal will be ready soon. And he was probably not the only one, he thought, looking at the rest of the soldiers moving around the place and unpacking their valuable possessions. Even Áforglæd said...

Now the idea struck Hilderinc. Áforglæd spoke about food. Was it possible that he would go to the kitchens, and that was why they could not find him? Inspired by the idea, Hilderinc immediately turned around and went to confirm his theory. He walked outside into the great hall, where he stopped. Another sudden stroke of inspiration flashed through his mind. The kitchen outbuilding was set next to the Hall itself. Wouldn't it make sense that there was another entrance from inside the Hall? He looked around curiously. Small door in the corridor on one side seemed to confirm his thoughts. Encouraged to test his theory, he marched to it and dauntlessly opened it.

He was right! It was the kitchen, warm and full of steam and smoke. Air was filled with pleasant smell of food being prepared. To Hilderinc's slight disappointment, though, there was no sign of Áforglæd, only four women busy around the fireplace.

"Good day to you!" one of them welcomed him with a smile. She was about as old as him, he noticed, or maybe a bit younger. She did not look like most of the Eorling women, her hair was even darker than Hilderinc's, but her eyes again slightly lighter than his. Despite being far from the image of a perfect Eorling woman as most of the soldiers would see it, she had some dark beauty about her. "How can I help you?" she asked.

"Good day to you too," Hilderinc replied politely, looking down at the woman; she was slightly shorter than him. "I am sorry to disturb you, I was hoping to find here one of our soldiers who has gone missing, he... oof!" At that moment, something heavy bumped into him from behind and he lost his balance, but quickly regained it again and turned around. The man standing in the door seemed vaguely familar. Hilderinc did not manage this far to get into much contact with the locals, but the man's dark hair and eyes were once again something not completely usual here. Was he perhaps one of those who were in the courtyard with that Lithor fellow?

"Pardon," the newcomer said. "Apparently I'm not the only one looking for something to eat."

"Well, I was not strictly looking for something to eat, as I was just saying to the lady here before I was interrupted," Hilderinc said in a calm tone. "Although I am also looking forward to some meal, that's for certain." He turned to the kitchen-woman and then back to the newcomer.

"But I was looking for one of our men, about as tall as you, long blond hair, actually you might have seen him in the courtyard, didn't you?" he finished his question with an implication. If the man was indeed one of those who were with Lithor, he would remember Áforglæd.

[Gwathagor]

It was Hilderinc, Crabannan realized - the fellow who had come in with the new lord. He smirked."Tall with long blond hair? You're going to have to give me a little more to work with than that, since you described your entire race to me. Though - I can't say I've made a point of trying to get to know any of your men."

He started to walk past Hilderinc.

[Folwren]

Despite the awful day, Cnebba’s answer amused Saeryn. She grinned broadly and under normal circumstances would have laughed, but matters had been too disappointing so far today for that. Still, Cnebba always said something funny with his attempts to sound grown up.

“Very well. Talk about kids’ things, but not in Flíthaf’s stall. I think he might get tired of so much company.” She unlatched the stall door and opened it to let the boys file out. As Javan passed her last, she grasped his shoulder and held him back while she fastened the door again. “Alright, Javan, tell me what’s up.” She hadn’t missed his downcast expression. The two younger boys huddled at the corner of the aisle, peeking around the stall corner to watch.

“If it please you, my lady,” Javan said, “I’d rather not tell you. You’ll probably hear it from someone else soon enough. You’ll be angry, like everyone else, and you won’t understand.”

“Try me,” Saeryn said. “If you’ve done something wrong, I’m the first person you should tell because I can help you more than anyone else. Plus, I can understand a lot. Trust me.”

“You can’t help me with this. Lord Athanar will be very angry and I doubt anyone will be able to stop him from doing whatever he decides to do.”

Saeryn looked quizzically at him and he looked at the ground. “Javan. . .what did you do?”

“I punched Ædre.”

Saeryn felt her heart beat a little harder just for a second. “Who’s Ædre?” she asked, but she had already guessed.

“Athanar’s daughter,” he said, meeting her eyes fleetingly, just to get an idea of her reaction. She had no reaction but shock for a moment, her mouth open a fraction and her eyebrows raised in surprise. “She was bullying Cnebba, see,” Javan said, “and I came up to stop her and she wouldn’t stop and . . . it just happened. She hit me and then I hit her. And now the whole mead hall knows, ‘cause it happened in the courtyard, where all the new men were, and captain Coenred came over, then Garstan and Stigend, and then Lilige, the maid, came and took Ædre to her mother. . .”

“Oh, no,” Saeryn finally breathed.

“I know. I’m sorry I caused trouble today. I was doing so well, Eodwine would have been so proud of me, and then I did this.” Neither said it, but they both knew how disapproving Eodwine would have been. “What will Lord Athanar do?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll see to it that it’s not terrible, or anything. Don’t look like that, Javan. Athanar won’t kill you, anyway. You’ve hit his daughter, you’re going to have to take the consequences.”

Javan squared his shoulders. “I know. I will.”

“That’s it, lad. Now come on. It’s best to meet the trouble halfway, rather than hiding and making them look for you.”

“I wasn’t hiding.”

“No, I guess not, but it’ll be best if you make a clean breast of it to the lord and lady.”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"Tall with long blond hair? You're going to have to give me a little more to work with than that, since you described your entire race to me. Though - I can't say I've made a point of trying to get to know any of your men."

"Well, I can't say I would know any of the men here, either," Hilderinc replied. "But I guess that will come in time," he added more calmly. "Maybe even knowing you."

He looked more closely at the man as he tried to move past him. Now that it came to it, Hilderinc was pretty certain that he was one of those who have been in the courtyard.

What was occupying Hilderinc's thoughts now, though, were some of the man's words. What did he mean by "your entire race"? Was he not an Eorling? Well, when it came to that, he didn't really look like one. But what was he then? A Dunlending? No, not that, Hilderinc was certain. Hilderinc knew a Dunlending when he saw one, yet this man had no features resembling a Dunlending. In a way, he did look like an Eorling – some of his features were like that, but no Eorlingas Hilderinc knew had such hair, skin-colour or even the overall build.

"Are you a Woodman?" he asked suddenly without thinking.

[Groin Redbeard]

After Coenrad had generally dismissed the soldiers for now, Lithor and the soldiers of Scarburg huddled around each other (Wilcred, Osmund, Matrim, Balvir). “We are not going to let them punish Matrim, are we?” Osmund asked hotly. The instinct of the group was protect their own. Both had been wrong in the fight and it seemed unfair that any one of them should be punished again.

“It’s not that simple,” Lithor responded. “Your actions Matrim were unacceptable for a soldier and Athanar might want to make an example of you and Áforglæd.”

“I won’t shirk from reproach, if it comes, but you heard Áforglæd, his words called for someone to correct them!”

Lithor frowned and then turned to see what had become of the fight between the children. Thankfully some adults were on hand. “As they say, one ill turn deserves another.” Lithor pointed angrily at the scene between Coenrad and the locals. “How are we to reprimand our own children (by our Lithor meant Scarburg. Everyone claimed responsibility for the three boys) when we act little better?”

“Arrogance is fitting for a fool,” Wilcred said. “And much less fitting for those who claim to be our betters.”

“Let it pass. How are we ever to get along with Athanar if both parties act like they are above justice? It is our first day together with these newcomers and I don’t want any more brawls!”

Lithor was piping mad. He seldom got mad, but he could not stand the stupidity that had led to these circumstances. The Scarburgians needed to learn how to accept this new lord graciously. Likewise, the newcomers needed to respect the rights of Scarburgians and stop looking upon them as peasants to man-handle. Nothing was worse for a group of people than to be considered collateral for the success of an ambitious lord. Lithor did not hold any special rank now that Coenrad had arrived, stripping him of his second in command for the soldiers, but he was oldest soldier. More than once Lithor acted like he was in command and asserted his experience.

“Sorry,” he said a bit embarrassed. “I, uh… I didn’t mean to preach.”

“That’s a first.” Balvir noted dryly. At this, Lithor smiled again. Balvir’s grim moods always brought him more amusement than the liveliest court jester.

“What do you say to this, Balvir? After all, Matrim has been your friend for longer than mine.”

Erbrand

The bags had all been unloaded. Nothing was left to do now but sit and wait to be ordered what to do, but sitting around was not what Erbrand wanted. He had a lot on his mind. Maybe a walk would clear his mind. As he walked over the scar his mind turned to the pressing matters on his mind.

Oeric. So that was his name. What where his intentions? But Erbrand had already gone over those questions a dozen times over in his head. Now he had to decide what to do with the knowledge that Scarburg was being watched? His pace became a brisk walk as idea became clear in his mind. Erbrand did not like the thought of these strangers coming in and taking over, so he would postpone telling lord Athanar until after the celebration tonight. That is, if Athanar was someone to be trusted. Thornden could be trusted, but, of course, Thornden was a man driven by duty and might tell Athanar anyways.

Around a month ago, on the eve of lord Eodwine and lady Saeryn’s wedding, Erbrand had asked Stigend on how to impress a woman. In short, Stigend had to save his wife to win her heart. Since, then Erbrand had been bent on impressing Kara (his sweetheart), but to little avail. Erbrand was a clumsy man when he tried to be a charmer. He was a working man, not a courtier. As a leather craftsman, Erbrand could bend and cut the leather into the most beautiful decorations, the hardiest of saddles, and the most useful of protection but he could not shape Kara’s heart in the same way. He could bend his bow with great ease and pluck a bird from its perch at a hundred meters but Kara’s heart was a harder target to hit. Nevertheless, Erbrand still had not given up on trying to impress her. Maybe this Oeric fellow was his chance.

Erbrand started back towards the hall. However, upon reaching the top of the scar he came across a soldier. Erbrand did not recognize him and assumed that he was one of the new soldiers.

“Hey there,” Erbrand called to announce his presence. The man turned to look at him without a word. Erbrand walked up to the man and extended his hand.

“I am Erbrand and although I might not be the first to bid you welcome I offer it anyway. Welcome to Scarburg, sir.” The man looked at the extended hand and siezed it with enthusiasm. It was a very strong grip.

“I heard that some of our soldiers got in a brawl with yours. Sorry about that. However, it is only natural that there should be some slight tensions. It will all go away tonight I am sure.” Erbrand casually sat down on a rock. “It is not that you newcomers are unfriendly, that is, but we do not like strangers much around here. Lord Eodwine was a very caring in his rule over us and he will still have many friends even after this new lord takes over.” The man’s eyes showed some interest at this remark.

“What do you mean by that?” The man’s voice contained some curiosity in it. Erbrand had forgotten that this might be someone very important in the administration.

“Oh, of course I did not mean it like that?”

“Then how did you mean it?” The man was becoming more interested.

“Well, you see we are common folk out here in the Emnet, plain spoken, hard working, and down to earth people. Even lord Eodwine and our lady Saeryn are very humble when it comes to asserting authority over us and that might all change with this new lord, Athelwyne or Athelrod, I forget his name. We do not like to change once we have found a good thing and what Eodwine founded here was good. This new lord is from court and will doubtlessly bring his ‘improvements’ but we need no improvements. We are true laborers: we earn that we eat, get that we wear; owe no man hate, envy no man’s happiness; glad of other men’s good, content with our harm; and the greatest of our pride is to know that we are ruled by a just lord. We could say as much about Eodwine. What about Athanar?”

[Nogrod]

"That remains to be seen my friend... for I am lord Athanar indeed" lord Athanar said with a smile backed with authority. He was in his field of expertise now. Studying the man before him he finally continued.

"Do you think we were not looking at the common good at the Pelennor Fields fighting Sauron, or that we are people estranged from reality when we drove the last orcs off from the lands? I was there when those things happened. But where were you, master...?"

"Erbrand" Erbrand answered in confusion of the knowledge of whom he was discussing with.

"Erbrand... a good name... Anyway. Excuse me, but you seem to have a widely shared but crippled view of the nobility in Rohan I must say. In king Eomer's court there are no slackers or "Wormtongue friends" any more... actually lord Tancred is one of the last vermin whom I'm here to root out."

Lord Athanar looked at Erbrand to the eye and continued firmly.

"Now listen, we have a common goal and I hope you guys can see it. What you told about the tensions is understandable and we need to work on it. And forget it not, that I will be plain-speaking as well and will not tolerate any splitting of loyalties." Lord Athanar raised an eyebrow and looked at Erbrand intensively.

With a nod he made his way from Erbrand back towards the Hall. Turning back to Erbrand a few meters away he added: "And by the way, improvements are a relative issue, Erbrand. Oftentimes people do not like changes. But when the old order has crumbled, things just have to change... it's up to you guys how they will change..."

[Groin Redbeard]

His face grew red with embarrassment. Stop running your mouth off! You talk like an old goat bearded cripple! For a second, Erbrand imagined that Athanar’s cool, understanding expression might transform into a glare. The man’s hands were strong, not a worker’s strength but a warrior’s strength. Fortunately, Erbrand was the best runner in Scarburg. He wondered if he would have to use his skill.

It became clear that Athanar was not a bullying man, nor was he the type to be bullied. Indeed he showed some similarities to Eodwine, even fighting in the War of the Ring. Erbrand wanted to explain that he was but a boy of thirteen at the time of the war, not yet strong enough to wield a sword and not rich enough to have a horse. Is he challenging my honor or asking question?

Athanar was certainly as courteous as lord Eodwine had been and was a man of vision. Erbrand could hear the enterprising words spring from Athanar’s lips with a confidence that only experience can give. There was, however, a look in Athanar’s eyes that made Erbrand shudder. This was a man of great vision, that he could tell, but he also sensed the determination behind those words and to Erbrand it did not seem gentle. It would be a new Scarburg within a month, transformed in the image of its new lord. This was a man who would be brutal if given the proper excuse for it. He must be marvelous on the battlefield. Erbrand had been too honest thus far to stay silent at Athanar’s last words.

“Not so my lord,” Erbrand said as he jumped from his position and neared the distance between them. “I admit that you may have better experience on the matter, but it has been my observations that change, when unwanted, comes best slowly. The people of Scarburg have been through a lot together in this settlement’s short existence. Now, we have lost our lord to a sudden illness, we fear for our lives when the sun sets because of hostile neighbors, and soon lady Saeryn will be bed laden because of…” Erbrand stopped himself quickly. It occurred to him that Athanar might not know of Saeryn’s pregnancy. If so, then it was not his place to reveal such information. Erbrand breathed a hard sigh before continuing.

“I am tired, my lord, of all this. I am tired of being pushed around by nobles who think they can bully us and…,” Erbrand almost did not say it but he had to be honest. “And strangers who can come in and bully us around by means of rank and office. I pray you, be slow and patient with us.”

[Nogrod]

“I admit that you may have better experience on the matter, but it has been my observations that change, when unwanted, comes best slowly. The people of Scarburg have been through a lot together in this settlement’s short existence. Now, we have lost our lord to a sudden illness, we fear for our lives when the sun sets because of hostile neighbors, and soon lady Saeryn will be bed laden because of…”

Erbrand followed lord Athanar and what he said really stroke a nerve. So that's the way things are! Well... it explains some things... and changes the situation. Hmm, I need to see Wynflaed... and lady Saeryn before the speech...

“And strangers who can come in and bully us around by means of rank and office. I pray you, be slow and patient with us.” Erbrand went on. Lord Athanar halted and turned to face the man.

"Listen now Erbrand... you may not be of noble birth but you look and feel like an honest man with a stern heart." Athanar studied Erbrand's expression while saying that. "When on a battlefield you suddenly lose your captain and the enemy is pressing... you don't go slow into thinking whether things should be changed or not - and on what speed, even if the change is unwanted..." lord Athanar actually smiled... but then re-focused himself in a wink of an eye.

"King Eomer's plans on Scarburg have not gone as he might have wished them to go and lord Eodwine's sudden illness is an unwelcome surprise to him... but that kind of crisis calls for strong measures and those king Eomer has taken... and I have pledged to him personally to fulfill them. Lord Tancred and all those around him will finally obey the king and I'm here to see for it."

Lord Athanar eyed Erbrand a moment before continuing. "Some changes are abrupt and unwanted by many, but they must be faced head-on, don't you think?"

He let his last words hammer down, not actually waiting for an answer though, before making a last remark. "I know lord Tancred... personally. He's probably the last rotten apple in the whole of Rohan - with his apprentice lord Alboin... and I fear young lord Faramund so much a distortion of his father - put in charge of his lands by that cursed Wormtongue himself. I do appreciate the guts of young master Thornden and lady Saeryn, but with Tancred... you need something more than just a good heart."

With that he turned around, but halted half-way. "But thank you for your words Erbrand... I hope I will be wiser this evening because of them..." Winking an eye to Erbrand he turned around and went towards the Hall...

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand thought for sure that his words would provoke an unfriendly response from Athanar, but to his surprise Athanar stayed civil. It seems that not everyone was as short tempered as Erbrand. Athanar is indeed a lord. However, the response from Athanar was unyieldingly committed to the idea of change. What that change was Erbrand could not guess, but from what Athanar was saying about Tancred and these nobles, it did not sound all positive. Erbrand felt like snapping back: you are not on the battlefield! This is my home! He was not angry, but he was getting a little frustrated.

The conversation had gone on long enough. Erbrand knew that he should be silent and let his lord have the last word. However, something inside of Erbrand was screaming at him to press the matter further, not to let Athanar think that he could simply come in and change things without resistance.

“What of our lady?” Erbrand called after him. It was extremely rude Erbrand knew that and his impotence could be punishable if he continued much more. “You will, of course, respect her position over us as our lady?”

“I will respect her, yes, but you forget Erbrand, Scarburg has a new lord.”

Athanar was solemn. Erbrand was at least thankful that he did not show any signs of glee in what he had just said, but still. Erbrand felt downcast. Poor Saeryn, does this mean that Athanar has ousted her from the hall? No, he cannot be that cruel. If he is, however, Scarburg should stand up against him, but he cannot be that cruel! He will make a good lord.

“My thanks to the king that Scarburg has an honest lord,” Erbrand replied with a bow. “I wish you good faith in your rule.” Athanar smiled and returned the bow before turning and heading back to the hall.

He is honest and humble in his dealings whether cruel or no, I will give him that. Erbrand watched his new lord until he disappeared inside the Meadhall. He will do.

[Thinlómien]

Modtryth

Before Crabannan could answer the stranger's question, Modtryth cut in: "There was one such soldier here just a while ago, but he left. He seemed to be a bit bruised." There was a hint of question to the tone of her voice.

"What's going on?" asked Ginna, suddenly appearing behind Modtryth's shoulder and leaving just the two cooks to prepare the food. She wiped her fingers on her apron and eyed the two men questioningly.

"This man here is looking for his friend, and Crabannan - well I understand he just came to beg for food," Modtryth told Ginna, and threw a quick smile at Crabannan.

"I know, I heard that," Ginna said. "But what's up with bruised and disappeared people?"

~*~

Wilheard

Oh, Wulf would never catch him. He was a better rider, he had a better horse and he had got a head start. Wilheard shook his head. It was almost sad, some more excitement would be in order. There hadn't been any excitement for days, just dull riding across the fields and plains. Willheard didn't mind spending time or horseback or in open air - in fact he enjoyed it a lot - but it was incredibly frustrating with dozens of people and wagons that moved slower than snails.

His steed was breathing heavily, so he let the animal take a slower pace and looked around. The Scar was quite a beautiful place with the rough rocks and cold autumn sunlight reflecting on them. There was marshland on the other side, and forest formed dark green patches here and there. Wilheard could feel the wind in his hair, and he couldn't help urging his horse to gallop again. It felt good to be here.

He grinned. If Wulf had heard him say that! It was true this was uncultivated countryside and away from the inns and barracks of Edoras, but there was something else here, a wild and savage spirit, the feel of earlier times and heroic deeds. Something he could not quite hunt down and catch, but something he could feel even after such a short while on the scar and something he could let take him over.

He started looking for a way down the scar with the horse. There was swamp, true, but not all of the ground was so wet and it definitely merited a look. Maybe, after all, this would be an adventure instead of an all too long sentence in a boring faraway prison.

[Groin Redbeard]

Balvir’s response was uncommitted to praising or condemning Matrim’s action. The discussion went on for another fifteen minutes before the soldiers decided on the “forgive and forget” approach to the matter. After which Lithor promptly left, followed by his usual companions Balvir and Matrim, to change into his good uniform.

“I have not worn this since lord Eodwine’s wedding,” Lithor stated as he strapped his leather tunic on.

“It hasn’t been long enough,” responded Matrim, hopping up and down while trying to pull a boot on.

“I rather like it.” Lithor fastened his prairie green cloak on his shoulders and sarcastically stroked his hair producing a grin from Matrim and Balvir.

“I wish I was rich enough to afford a looking glass.”

“You should have seen the one that I unloaded from the wagon train, Lithor. It must have been three feet high!” Balvir whistled and Lithor raised his brows in surprise. “This Athanar is sure rich. Perhaps you could ask his wife if you could borrow that mirror of hers.”

“Never mind that, just so long as everyone else can see me I am fine.” They laughed and Balvir opened the door leading to the main hall.

The long tables were all joined together to form an unfinished three sided square. The kitchen maids had begun to decorate the tables with the berries and plants that best represented the wintery time of year. The scent from the kitchen suddenly made Lithor realize how hungry he was.

“Frodides!” Lithor called after the old cook. “Are there any samples for a few hungry soldiers?” Frodides simply shook her head knowingly and the three soldiers laughed.

“My my, someone sure looks good!” Erbrand said coming through the hall door, closing it behind him. The light was beginning to fade in the evening sky and the freezing night winds were beginning to pick up. Erbrand was dressed for the occasion in a sheep skin cloak, covering his shoulders, and mostly butternut colored clothing. His clothes were the best that he had, but they were worn by the weather and months of hard work. However, his face was merry and his hands were busy tuning the cords on a fiddle

“Hey there Erbrand.” Matrim said “My! What happened to you? You look worse than I do.”

For a minute Erbrand was confused and hurt. He examined his clothing and brushed at it. Erbrand thought that he had dressed quite well for the occasion. However, when he looked up Matrim was pointing at Erbrand’s forehead, not Erbrand’s clothing.

“That is the longest, nastiest, looking bruise I have ever seen. Where did you get it?”

“Oh that! Never you mind, it does not matter where I got it.”

“Say, Erbrand,” interjected Lithor with a big smile on his face. “I did not know that you could play.” He pointed at the fiddle in Erbrand’s hands.

“Something my grandpa taught me from his experience in Aldburg’s taverns. There has not been the proper occasion to bring it out and I thought now would be a good time. Perhaps Crabannan and I could combine our talents to make some proper music for our guests.”

“Indeed, and speaking of our guests, I am most anxious to hear what Athanar will have to say.”

“He has a good character. I do not think that he will be a bad lord in the least.” Lithor looked at him surprised. Erbrand was the last person in Scarburg, with the exception of Scyld and Crabannan, who Lithor expected to hear this talk from.

“You sound awfully sure of yourself, Erbrand. Is there something you would like to share with the rest of us?” Lithor’s lips curled in a large grin, but Erbrand simply winked and returned the grin.

The hall was beginning to fill up with people. The great fire was lit and filled the great meadhall with a warm, glowing, light. After wishing one another a merry night, Lithor, Balvir and Matrim left to find what their duties would be for the night, leaving Erbrand alone. Erbrand, however, soon left the hall for the moment to the kitchen to see if he could find Kara. But he would have to hurry, the feast was about to begin!

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"There was one such soldier here just a while ago, but he left. He seemed to be a bit bruised."

Hilderinc looked at the cook, forgetting the question he had just asked the man. So Áforglæd was here, after all. Hilderinc felt kind of satisfaction inside once again - so his guess has been correct. Apparently the missing soldier did not stay for long, but there were not many places where he could go - and at least it was clear now that he was not "lost". Well, surely, Hilderinc thought, there won't be many places for Áforglæd to get lost. He might already be in the barracks by now as well.

"What's going on?"

Another woman, considerably younger than the one who spoke to Hilderinc in the first place, came to them. She was very pretty, Hilderinc realised on first sight, with long, very light hair and clear blue eyes. A beauty worthy of a king's daughter, Hilderinc thought, and somehow reminded himself that he should not make his opinions on Scarburg too fast. This girl certainly did not fit the image of the place he formed for himself during the last few hours. Automatically, his eyes flicked to the remaining two women in the kitchen, as to confirm his thoughts. Well, he thought, there is still a lot to learn about this place.

"This man here is looking for his friend, and Crabannan - well I understand he just came to beg for food."

The dark cook's voice made him return back from his thoughts. All right, so this non-Eorling man's name was Crabannan. Another useful thing to remember.

"I know, I heard that." The young woman not only was very beautiful, she had also a pleasant voice. "But what's up with bruised and disappeared people?"

Hilderinc looked at her, shaking his head slightly.

"There is nothing 'up', I think," he said. "It looks like Áforglæd did not really disappear after all, he was just looking for some food - and we could not find him. I was thinking he might be here. He was bruised because - well, men. Sometimes they fight," he added in a kind tone.

"Anyway, thank you for your help," he nodded towards the dark-haired woman. "I won't hinder you from your work anymore, I will go outside and most likely meet our missing man there. And we are probably going to see yet tonight," Hilderinc looked also at Crabannan this time. Then, he walked across the room, past the two other cooks, towards the outer door.

[Groin Redbeard]

*ding* Erbrand plucked at his fiddle string in his hand as he walked towards the kitchen. He plucked at the string again and the then sawed his bow along the chords. It had been awhile since he had played it but it should be like swinging an axe--you never forget. Erbrand would never forget the way that he had learned to play. Listening to his grandpa saw the same fiddle he was holding was as good as it got. The great fire that had been lit in the hall contrasted the quaint fireplace that his parents had in Aldburg. Erbrand's mind swiftly brought him back to that room and he could picture his parents and grandparents sitting together around the fire, while he and his brothers lay on the floor listening... just listening.

Erbrand's thoughts, however, were cut short when he walked right into a soldier coming from the kitchen. Thankfully, his fiddle avoided injury but the impact knocked Erbrand back.

"Whoops, sorry!" Erbrand exclaimed once he saw that it was not someone he knew.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

It was for the second time in a few minutes when somebody ran directly into him. Hilderinc looked at the man as he apologized. He was dressed like a peasant, but he was holding a fiddle. Some local bard, perhaps? But then Hilderinc looked into the man's face and noticed an unmistakeable feature.

Ah, so this one was the brawler, he thought. Áforglæd probably showed him quite a lot, though. The bruise on this man's forehead looked really bad. Somehow, Hilderinc started to think about the fight that took place among the men from a different perspective. Áforglæd in the end escaped with very little consequences. No punishment from the authorities and also the marks of the battle afflicted upon him were not as bad as what he himself had caused to this man. He was luckier than he deserved. And especially taking into account that this man was probably bigger than him, and he looked strong enough too.

"No harm done," Hilderinc forced his gaze away from the man's forehead. For a moment, he looked into his eyes. Then he moved past him. There was still probably some time before the meal, but there were all sorts of minor things to do before it started, surely lord Athanar has prepared something big for tonight and Hilderinc did not want to miss anything.

[Nogrod]

SAVE

For any posts that deal with things happening before the banquet begins. See the discussion thread for details.

----------

Wynflaed, Aedre and Lilige


Ædre spent the sort walk to her mother’s room ignoring Lilige’s ramblings and trying to figure out what she was going to say to her mother. She knew that she couldn’t get away with as much with her mother as she could with her father. She needed to tread lightly.

"Ædre, what happened?" Wynflaed said. Then, more calmly, "Lilige, a basin of water and some soft rags, please. I shall, when you are finished, wish to know how you learned of this."

"Yes, my Lady, of course!" Lilige said, and backed out the door. "Right away, I won't be long," she added as she turned and hurried away.

As she left, she heard Ædre and Wynflaed start to speak:

“This local boy… he… he hit me…” Ædre began.

"That was a very dishonourable thing for him to do," said Wynflaed. "Did he give any reason for doing so? Did you give him any cause?"

“No!” Ædre yelled as she really didn’t think that she gave him any cause. “I asked this other boy to help me because I don’t really know my way around here. After he helped me this other boy came along and told me that I had no business being here and that Papa isn’t the real Eorl.

“Papa is the real Eorl isn’t he? I thought that is why we came to this terrible place because they need a strong leader. Like Papa.” Ædre said bringing the conversation from herself to her father.

"Ædre," said Wynflaed, "this place is not terrible. It may not be Edoras, but it is not terrible, and I suggest that you talk to your father or any of the soldiers who weathered the War if you want to know the true meaning of 'terrible.' You should be grateful that this is all you or any of us have to worry about.

Ædre bowed her head and nodded somberly, glad that she was only getting a mild scolding.

"Not," Wynflaed continued, "that there are no problems. The people in Scarburg may have trouble accepting Papa as the new eorl, but if they are to take that out on those who clearly had no choice in the matter..."

She sighed. "Thank you for letting me know of this matter, Ædre. You--all of us--will have to be patient and kind with these people until they accept us. I will speak with those who are more familiar with the hall to determine what is to be done with the lad who struck you--a good leader always listens to all sides of the story before passing judgment. Did you catch the name of the lad who struck you? Do you know who his mother and father are?"

Ædre realized her mother was done talking about boring matters and that she was asked a question and was expected to respond.

“No… he never said his name… I… I think he mentioned that his father isn’t around though. He seemed about my age with darker hair than mine. Maybe Lilige knows…”

"I do wish she would get back here soon..." She sighed, and found a linen cloth--much finer than should be used for the tending of scrapes, but it was better that than letting the wound fester unwashed any longer--and the ewer of water provided for general refreshment. Dipping the cloth in the water, she began to dab at Ædre's cut.

"I dislike the idea of your going to the banquet with your face marred so. And depending on how the rest of the Hall perceived this fray, it may not go well to have you there. It is not your fault, mind, but I should still feel better..." She sighed. "Never mind. If you do not feel up to attending the banquet, you shall not. But if you do, I shall expect you to be on your best behaviour. We must set a good example for everyone else. Your father and I shall see to it that no one else lays a hand on you, but I would feel better if you only spoke at the banquet when spoken to. If you hear anyone speak out against your papa's rule, you will to tell us, before things get beyond control and you get hurt."

“Yes, Mother” Ædre replied wincing both from her words and her touch.

She was now trying to decide if she should go to the banquet or skip out and maybe get a chance to see her horse. If she went to the banquet she would be able to see her father’s reaction to his baby girl being assaulted on their first day here but she would also be under the watchful eye of her mother and under strict instructions not to have any fun. If she went to the stable she wouldn’t have to deal with her mother any longer but she also wouldn’t get an immediate reaction out of her father. She decided that she has had enough meeting new people for today and would rather just go calm down with Leta. She could see her father later.

“I… I think I’m not feeling well enough to go to the banquet. Give Papa my love.”

Lilige hurried back into the room, nearly tripping over the doorsil in her haste. "My Lady, here you are," she said, breathless. "How is she?" She set the basin and damp rags on the floor beside her Lady. "I brought a new gown for Aedre to change into for the banquet. Oh, what will they say? What will Lord Athanar say?" Lilige put her hand to her mouth to stop herself from rambling.

Wynflaed squeezed the bloodied linen into the basin, then rinsed it out a few times.

"Lord Athanar and I will determine what is to be done with the lad who struck our Aedre. But Aedre herself has said that she does not feel up to attending the banquet--and I honestly cannot blame her. Would you mind watching over her and making sure she does not come to any more harm in this new place?" She smiled. "I would do so myself, but unfortunately the Hall requires me to be elsewhere."

She rose from where she was kneeling. "The banquet is soon, and I must find Athanar and speak to him of what has happened before it begins." She bent down and kissed her daughter's brow. "Be a good girl for me, Aedre."

“Yes, mother.” Ædre responded.

Now I just have to get rid of Lilige and figure out how to make it back to the stable without trouble. Everyone should be at the banquet so I shouldn’t run into anyone. Mother would be really mad if she found out I disobeyed her.

"Of course, My Lady," Lilige said. "I would not dream of letting anything more happen to your daughter." Lilige closed her mouth again as she realized that Wynflaed could not hear her, as she had already left.

[Nogrod]

The Hall was filled to the last seat. The first jugs of wine were served to the tables and Erbrand and Crabannan performed a few songs with a fiddle and a harp.

After the two settled down to their table lord Athanar rose up.

”Ladies, gentlemen, soldiers, workers, household… well, all you people of the Scarburg Hall!” Lord Athanar’s words echoed loud in the Hall like the words of a man who was used to address large crowds. The discussions in the tables died down and everyone turned their attention towards him.

“Any man in Rohan should mourn the fate of a man of lord Eodwine’s calibre. Sadly we can only bring you ill tidings. The king’s messengers came to Edoras from Minas Tirith the day before we left… They told us that the physicians in Minas Tirith’s Houses of Healing seem to think his condition is what they call “the dead man’s life”… it means a condition where the body barely keeps the light of life alive but the spirit has ceased to exist. It was even rumoured that after king Eomer’s request king Elessar himself had visited him… but to no avail. He has been unconscious for over a month.”

Lord Athanar fell silent and laid his head down to honour lord Eodwine and the feelings of those who loved him. There was a total silence in the Hall.

Saeryn, too, turned her head away from Athanar. She clenched her jaw tight, trying to keep from crying, and her eyelids pressed hard together. Then she felt Degas' hand reaching for hers. She opened her clenched fist and grasped his hand. She gained control of her emotions and then drew a deep sigh and turned back again to Athanar.

Finally lord Athanar raised his head and eyed the people around the Hall. And he continued.

“Let me assure you, the king himself took his illness heavily. But he had also heard of your plight with the local lords here – them being the first reason he decided to set up a Mead Hall into Mid Emnet…” He glanced at the people, especially those on the tables of workers and household staff as he was not sure they understood all the politics involved.

“I’ll make this short, but I do think you need to understand this, everyone, so that we can start building a working relationship between all of us… to fulfill the king’s will and not need to witness the kind of incidents I’ve heard have already taken place earlier today.” He laid his eye to the table where Javan sat and then to the soldier’s tables.

“The king wishes to establish his rule and the rule of common law to all corners of his kingdom. And there still are areas around Rohan where this is not the case… and Mid Emnet is one of them. Establishing the rule of the king means that the local lords will have their law-given deal of the taxes from the peasants, but not more. They will then pay the rest to the eorl as the king’s representative in the region who deals the law… and the eorl will pay to the king his share in turn. And establishing the rule of law puts to an end any high-handed methods of local lords dealing their own justice by giving the right of fulfilling the law to the king’s representative, the eorl, who is then responsible for his decisions to the king himself. This way the same laws are used all around the country and people are given a right to live under the prosperity of their king instead of the arbitrary rule of whoever lord they happen to live under.” He let the words hammer in.

“And this, all this, king Eomer has seen as an urgent task enough to nominate a new eorl to the Mead Hall at Scarburg when hearing of lord Eodwine’s condition.”

Suddenly he produced a parchment from his sleeve and rolled it out, showing it to everyone.

“This is the decree signed by king Eomer appointing me to take over the Scarburg Mead Hall as the new eorl. It is a similar decree like the one handed to lord Eodwine back in spring.” He paused to check if the people had gotten what he had just said.

Saeryn felt the blood leave her face and she jerked unintentionally from the shock. She felt Degas move in his chair, too. She laid her hand quickly on his knee and held him back, despite her own violently beating heart.

“Now that you all understand the situation… I will not tolerate a single incident questioning this decree and my authority following from it in this place. Any such disobedience will be handled as a high treason against the king himself. Do I make myself clear?” Lord Athanar had decided already beforehand to make that point as firm and clear he could. The acceptance of that point by the original Scarburg-dwellers was the founding of everything. But now he was a bit embarrassed of the fire in his words - while realising seeing his bruised daughter with his mind’s eye like she was, sobbing, just an hour ago. But he realised he had to calm down… and he did.

“I will be both straight and fair with you. Those of you who have lived under my rule I think know that already.” There were several nods and “ayes!” from the tables of Athanar’s soldiers and his household.

“And that means… I will reward those who do their duties and work for the common good… and will have no toleration for those doing the opposite. Be honourable and I will honour you, be dishonourable and I will punish you with a strong hand. That is the base of all good government. I have been brought to believe in it, I have followed it all my life and I have seen it work all my life... all the way from the Pelennor Fields to my recruitment into this Mead Hall. So I’m not going to change my ways.”

Lord Athanar paused, grabbed the goblet in front of him and took a sip of the wine. It was clear he was trying to remember what other things he had to state his position on as he had gotten a bit carried away once again. The air in the Hall was heavy with expectancy as so many things dear to the original Scarburgers were still not spoken of, and the newcomers were not too clear about their status in comparison to this other staff.

“You should all meet Coenred, he’s the commander of my guards – and will be the commander of all the soldiers at Scarburg Mead Hall as the highest ranking officer… Coenred, please rise up!

Coen rose up and nodded to the crowd.

“I have complete trust in him and wish to see you all follow my example there as soon as possible… He’s a fine soldier, an experienced commander and of true Rohanian blood… And let it be announced right away: all the soldiers will have a light training session tomorrow after breakfast… just to get to know each other... you know.”

There was a reaction to the announcement of rehearsals in the soldiers’ tables but after the explanation - and the accompanying smile from lord Athanar - it died off fast.

“What comes to master Thornden…” Lord Athanar waved his hand showing that he should stand up as well. The air in the hall turned tense. Stigend, Garstan and Harreld leaned closer to hear the next words closely – with so many others.

“Thornden will be second in command with the soldiers after Coenred… but also my special advisor, my seneschal… if he accepts the offer. I do appreciate his openness and straight-talking ways... and his guts. And he knows many of you and this Mead Hall better than I do. I would appreciate his counsel.”

There was cheering with the people of the Mead Hall even if the feelings were clearly mixed – and Athanar’s praise also caused cheers among his own soldiers; they knew Athanar would not praise anyone that much without a reason.

Athanar waited for the applauses to die down before going on.

“You should also meet my family… Will you please?” he nodded to his family to rise up.

“Meet my lady Wynflaed, my sons Wulfric and Wilheard! My sons I do hope will earn their places in the ranks of the military, which I think them perfectly capable of doing in here as they have done in my earlier households… Then there is also my youngest daughter, Aedre, who unfortunately does not attend this banquet..." Everyone saw the storm cloud gathering over Athanar’s forehead but he held it at bay, with some noticeable suffering.

“Aedre is young and she is your eorl’s daughter… I expect you to behave accordingly…” His words were poignant and it was clear lord Athanar forced himself to stay calm of the events that had happened earlier which most of the people had already heard of.

“My wife, lady Winflaed, will naturally be the lady of the Scarburg Mead Hall…” A murmur rippled through the old Scarburgians. Angry glances were exchanged and quite a few looked towards Saeryn to see what she thought of this. Lord Athanar quickly waved his hand to indicate he was continuing.

“I can see your feelings… But whatever you think, it is downright impossible that the honourable wife of the eorl would not be the lady of the Hall. Could you name a lord who would accept that? Lord Eodwine would not have accepted that! The king would not accept that!” Athanar paused to let the people think.

“You know people are sometimes thrown into situations they have not picked themselves… You didn’t choose lord Eodwine’s illness, we didn’t choose to replace him in a Hall where everyone mourns him, making this hard for us as well…” He waited for a moment.

“Lady Saeryn will have an honoured and special role in the Mead Hall – like master Thornden… I don’t know if there is a traditional role we could give her… but if there isn’t, we’ll have to come up with one as this is an unordinary situation. It’s just that things are happening too fast and I have not had time to come up with a good title for her. But rest assured, her voice will be heard and honoured – and you can channel your grievances to me by her – like by master Thornden. And I’ll take care the arrangement is approved by the king as well in the end…”

There was a marked unrest in the Hall as people were puzzled as to how to cope with the news…

“I will form a council of the Mead Hall which includes my lady Winflaed, Coenred, lady Saeryn and Thornden. I will make no major decision concerning this Hall without listening to this council. But the last decisions will be mine. As the eorl I carry the consequences of the decisions, in front of the king and Rohan… therefore I make the final decisions…”

Lord Athanar bent forwards to take one more sip of the wine and to concentrate to his last effort.

“Now some of you may wonder why I have such a host of soldiers with me… am I going to cease power with force, am I going to suppress you under my rule? Well, first of all I hope the king’s decree is enough – and that I am enough.” He paused once again just to see the faces of the audience… especially of those who belonged to the “original Mead Hall”.

“But fear not. Scarburg Mead Hall will not be a military camp but hopefully a leisurely Hall with an easy-going life… King Eomer suggested I’d have a dozen of his Rohirrim from Edoras to cover us on the way with our precious belongings – and to use them as possible negotiating tools against the local lords. And that is why they are here. We will settle this thing with the local lords soon enough… the next week if it’s up to me. And after the most urgent things have been settled, they will go back to serve at king Eomer’s court.” It was clear that the way lord Athanar produced the last words was meant effectively to convey the message that he had men from the king’s personal guard under his command and therefore the original residents should be even more careful with how they act.

What he said was actually true, but it was pretty shrewd of him to stress it that way. But then again, looking at the situation, he thought it a necessary move. He couldn’t afford an uprising. He had promised king Eomer to settle the situation with the local lords and with a rebellious Hall he would never manage it. Looking at the tensions that had burst out into minor rows already during the first hours he needed to take the authority and put all those hard feelings at bay with authority. Knowing people only a few hours one doesn’t make them co-operative with just being the prince charming, especially if the people think you’re stepping on their toes…The mission first…

Lord Athanar coughed to mark the end of his speech.

“People of the Scarburg Hall! I look towards a bright future for us all and I have all the confidence that we will get those landlords behaving as the king’s vassals they need to behave. They may be able to gather a host of spears but with the force we have… and the authority we have… they should see their own good sooner than later. And we will get into business with them immediately. The next week I hope.”

There were cheers from around the Hall, although some were markedly less enthusiastic than others.

“Now I suggest the meal should be brought forwards. And when you feel right, when you have thought of it in peace, please lady Saeryn, master Thornden, share your thoughts with us.” He looked at the two sitting against each other on a table right to him. He looked at them both confident and easy but a bit reserved at the same time. But nevertheless, he had called them forwards to speak their minds to everyone. So it was fair and square to him.

“Let us raise a toast to the happy future of the Scarburg Mead Hall!” he said and raised his goblet.

[Nogrod]

The craftsmen and their families had their own table at the corner of the hall. After Erbrand’s and Crabannan’s performance was over the air in the hall electrified. The air of nervous anticipation was felt in the craftsmen’s table as well, but Náin’s stony presence made the feeling even weirder. The children were especially confused and even a bit afraid as their parents and other adults felt so oddly tense.


“The dead man’s life”? Cnebba was confused but it sounded like something really bad had happened to lord Eodwine. He saw a small tear in the corner of his father’s eye and felt like crying himself. When everyone laid their heads low it felt better not needing to look at all the adults in their anguish. It was kind of scary even to see the adults crying... if they couldn't handle something how then could he?

After the silence lord Athanar spoke at length of things Cnebba didn’t quite understand but after he produced a parchement from his sleeve Cnebba could feel the tension and toughness, even anger in lord Athanar’s voice. Cnebba was afraid and grasped his mom’s hand. Modtryth tied her arm around her son to comfort him. Cnebba felt she was shaken as well.


Lord Athanar’s decision to make Thornden a seneschal and his praise of him gave the people a chance to vent off some pressure and Stigend noticed himself cheering much more eagerly than he should from sheer relief. From the corner of his eye he noticed Náin clapping his hands dignified but somehow looking concerned at the same time. Stigend toned down his cheers and felt confused again.


“Aedre is young and she is your eorl’s daughter… I expect you to behave accordingly…” lord Athanar said poignantly. Cnebba was startled and hissed out aloud “That girl is a bully…”

Modtryth tried to hush him but he would not stay silent. “She got what she deserved. I hope someone beats her again…”

“Cnebba! Just shut up!” Stigend ordered with a commanding tone but not raising his voice.

Cnebba looked at his father and realised he was right. He exhanged looks with Garmund and then nodded to his father turning to listen to the speech again.

Lord Athanar started to speak about the lady of the house being his wife and that Saeryn would be something he wouldn’t say. The inconvenience of the original Mead Hal people was more than tangible. Stigend looked at Harreld, Garstan and Modtryth – they all tried to find some comfort from each others’ eyes but confusion and disbelief was all they were able to come up with. Glancing at Náin Stigend found himself even more puzzled as the dwarf seemed just stern and calm, almost like he would have thought the decision a natural or right one… or was he?

[Folwren]

Many things the new eorl said should have been said earlier to Saeryn. This, at least, was Thornden’s judgement. A sharp, observing glance in Saeryn’s direction when Athanar spoke of Eodwine’s condition showed him quite clearly that Saeryn had not heard this news about her husband. It was cruel to break it to her so, at the same time that he broke it to the entire Mead Hall. So impersonally, so formally, when Saeryn had no chance to withdraw and allow her feelings at least some freedom.

And then the signed parchment from the king. Why had he not shown this to them earlier? Another look at Saeryn showed Thornden that this, too, was news to her. It was a shock to all of them, but he imaged to her most of all. By all appearances at this moment, it seemed that King Eomer had taken Eodwine’s titles away from him and replaced him completely, not just temporarily.

But everything else Athanar said seemed in order, though perhaps presented rather strongly. Thornden could not really blame him. The man was coming into a new environment, and as one of his men and his daughter had already gotten into fights with those who already lived there, it seemed likely to be a hostile environment. Having been a soldier before, Thornden understood how a military mind worked, and Athanar’s was one such mind. He would crack down hard on them all if only a few of them rose up. It would be his, Thornden’s, duty to keep peace among the people. After Eodwine’s departure, he had led the men of Scarburg, and if they still followed his lead, they would keep the peace to the best of the ability. Those that would tend to rise in anger, his brother, for one, must be held back – gently, if possible, but they must be held, lest they go to far and bring Athanar’s wrath down on them. It seemed that wrath would fall swiftly and hard on anyone who stepped across the line.

This brought his mind to the fight he had seen in the courtyard. Javan had already crossed the line. That had been before Athanar’s official announcement, so perhaps the man would be inclined to be lenient. Perhaps.

He turned his thoughts away from his brother and as the noise of conversation rose about the hall, he began to think of a few proper words that he should speak when it came time.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc listened carefully to Athanar's words. He already knew the lord's manner of speech, having heard him before and last time during a short speech before the soldiers left Edoras, but this was the first "big" one he heard from him. Athanar was a soldier, not a diplomat by heart, it was clear - yet his speech seemed smooth and balanced. He could not reach the qualities of the masters of rhetorics whom Hilderinc had encountered during his long service, but he was good enough, clear and to the point.

Hilderinc also noticed, or thought that he noticed that Athanar seemed perhaps a bit upset this time, but he soon came to conclusion that it was because of what happened to his daughter. And it seemed that he had heard already about the soldiers' brawl, too. Hilderinc's eyes briefly wandered to the man with the fiddle. He played well, indeed, Hilderinc quite liked the sound of the instrument. Crabannan, the strange man from the kitchen, also performed with him. So were these two the fellow musicians in the Hall? It was interesting, though, the man with the fiddle did not make the impression of a brawler. But perhaps first impression was confusing. Maybe he needed only little to be roused.

Athanar continued on introducing Coenred as the new commander of Scarburg and announcing the soldiers' training tomorrow. As expected, several men didn't seem too pleased with the prospect of having an exercice in front of themselves, they would have preferred long sleep after the long ride and celebrating night. Scyrr, sitting opposite to Hilderinc, made a half-voiced "boo" upon hearing the news. Hilderinc didn't mind, though. It was good to have something to occupy yourself with, and he was sure many of the soldiers were of like mind.

Athanar then also announced the appointment of Thornden as his seneschal. Hilderinc didn't have much chance to get to know Thornden yet, he has encountered him only briefly when he was taking the soldiers to their quarters, but the man seemed fair enough. And Athanar probably knew what he was doing when appointing him.

Hilderinc noticed some whispering and quick glances among the people when Athanar was announcing that lady Wynflaed will become the lady of the Hall. He shook his head. What was the point? The eorl has changed, what did the people expect? They looked as if they were surprised. What was there to be surprised about? Wasn't it logical? In Hilderinc's mind, it was the same as if they were surprised that Athanar was the eorl. They knew that a new lord will come and now that it happened they acted as if they haven't thought about it at all. It made no sense.

Then the part came where Athanar once again mentioned his intentions with the local lords. Hilderinc listened carefully. He had heard some rumours before and some semi-official proclamations, but nothing specific - here it was at last. He could imagine that many of the soldiers would be looking forward to this, riding to the other lords' holds and looking intimidating. Especially Athanar's own sons - the two of them would maybe like it more than the rest of the men put together. Hilderinc liked the prospect for different reasons - it would be something interesting to do again. And maybe, if the local lords were unwilling to surrender to their terms, maybe there will be even more to it. A real battle? Hilderinc had no idea about the opposition they were facing, but in these remote lands, anything was possible, including roguish lords who would not give in.

The random thoughts flashed through the soldier's mind, but it was not the time to start pondering them yet, or thinking about them deeply. And now as Athanar finished his speech, everybody raised their glasses. And the meal... Hilderinc felt incredibly hungry all of a sudden. So hungry that he could not think of anything else. He raised his pot and drank. The taste was delicious, so delicious after such a long day, but it would be even better as soon as he could bite into the food which was just being served.

[Groin Redbeard]

The speech ended. Erbrand and Crabannan gave each other grim stares and slowly applauded. Erbrand did not care too much for the speech. It was as if it was shrouded in a dark mist, very depressing. One step out of line and there will be trouble for Scarburg. Yet, even if Athanar was a bit headstrong, perhaps he could solve the problems with the local lords. This was Erbrand’s primary concern, for the basest duty of a lord is to protect his people. Everything else would be put to right when Eodwine recovers.

Poor Saeryn. Athanar really could be that cruel! Erbrand hated the way that Athanar broke the news to the entire hall. Effective, using Eodwine’s illness as a crutch to lean on. And degrading Saeryn for all of Scarburg to see! Any man who would do such a thing is afraid that his rule will not last, but he forgets that Rohan’s women are strong. Old Scarburg will stand behind her if she were to contend with this “lord.” Erbrand’s anger, however, was soothed by Crabannan, of all people.

“Come, shall we play?” And with that Crabannan strode forth to the center of the hall and struck on his harp a fast and merry tune. Erbrand soon followed and amidst the music and discussion of the hall, laughter began to arise.


Lithor

“No doubt, no doubt!” Lithor laughed as Matrim finished his story.

“But tell me, Matrim, what did the man say after that?”

“Why nothing. He just turned purple and walked away.”

This produced more laughter from the table. They had forgotten their uneasiness from Athanar’s speech. Modryth was coming around serving drinks.

“What this feast needs is a bit of livening up!” Lithor said after the laughter abated.

“What more could we need,” asked Osmund. “This is what we like: good food, good company, and a beautiful woman to flatter.” He winked at Modryth.

“I mean something else.” And with that being said, Lithor got up and strode to the wall were some of the armaments were hanging. After gathering several spears from the wall he strode to the center of the hall.

“Friends, friends!” he exclaimed with outstretched arms in a loud voice that silenced the music. “I would like to welcome our guests tonight for the duration of their stay with us here at Scarburg and to our gracious temporary lord.” Lithor bowed in the direction of the high table.

“First, allow me to introduce myself. My lord, gentlemen, I am Lithor. I am half horse, half lion, and a little kin to a snapping turtle. I have got the fastest horse, the prettiest sister, the surest lance, and the ugliest dog in the Middle-emnet. My father can lick any man in Dunland and I can lick my father. I can hug a bear too close for comfort and eat any man opposed to lord Eodwine.” His boasts produced some laughter from the crowd.

“As a challenge to all men here tonight I propose a friendly contest.” Lithor raised his spear and promptly threw it at a horizontal beam at the far end of the hall. The spear hit the beam with a thud that echoed through the hall. Murmurs began to arise.

“Friends!” Lithor cried again with outstretched arms. “As a gift to any of the newcomers who can throw their spear closest to mine, I will give to them my spear; three woolen coats for the oncoming winter; two quivers of arrows for the winter hunts; two swords for which I haggled from our dear smith Harreld; and twelve beaver pelts, which will catch a fair price at our local tanner.” Lithor looked at Erbrand and gave him a friendly wink. Erbrand frowned a little I never should have shown him how to set snares! Oh well, all for the greater good.

“So, in the name of friendly competition and of the honor of the individuals seated here tonight, step forward those who would take up this challenge!”

[Formendacil]

Náin's heavy, Dwarven hands tightened into fists as he braced himself against the table, and his typically ruddy face paled behind his beard.

"...eat any man opposed to lord Eodwine... temporary lord... newcomers..."

"Stigend!" he said in low, voice. "Has Lithor sunk so far into his cups? Is he mad? No lord of the Dwarves would tolerate such an attitude!"

Náin grimaced, blinked slowly, and tried to ease the stress out of his fists. He turned to the Eodwiningas around him and said with great deliberation.

"Don't let Lithor turn this into a brawl--whatever he's up to!"

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan looked at Lithor, a little annoyed at being interrupted in the midst of a rather emotional ballad. It was jarring, and he found himself regarding Lithor an amount of dislike at that moment, though he never had any quarrel with the soldier.

"Livening up?" he muttered to Erbrand. "That's what we were doing."

Erbrand frowned and nodded. "Looks like someone hit the ale early today."

"Lithor is aware, isn't he, that there have already been 3 or 4 fights between the Scarburgers and the newcomers? We don't need to provide opportunity for 3 or 4 more." Crabannan paused, and, reflecting, realized that he never would have said that a month or two ago. Who had he become? He looked around the room uncomfortably, suddenly feeling out of place. He glanced at Erbrand. The man was tuning his instrument and pretending to ignore Lithor. There was no response from Athanar's men, and even the sounds of eating died away as they stared at Lithor. A crow croaked madly somewhere outside the Hall, then faded away.

On an impulse, Crabannan leapt up from his chair and covered the distance between himself and Lithor in two swift, ungainly bounds - like a great, ragged raven. Standing tall by Lithor, he raised his voice.

"Come now!" he laughed, gesturing to the crowd, "Are there no men among you? At least do us the courtesy of a swift 'nay' if there are not!"

He clapped Lithor on the shoulder and laughed again, long and loud, a feeling of elation rushing through him and out to his fingertips. He had no idea what he was doing.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athar had listened to the sergeant making his show first with curiosity, then with growing disdain and finally he felt his veins were exploding...

And then there was this guy seemingly trying to save the situation... whoever he was. Actually lord Athanar was puzzled as the intruder clearly was not a Rohanian soldier, but he didn't look like a craftsman either, but a soldier from... he was not sure from where. There seemed to be people he would have to learn who they were in this Mead Hall indeed... little had he been told in Edoras...

But enough was enough. Lord Athanar stood up violently, looking stern and dead serious. His commanding voice ran through the Hall.

"Quit disgracing yourself any more sergeant Lithor! And that is right now!"

Everyone held their breath as Lithor turned to face lord Athanar. All the eyes were glued into the two men.

Athanar glanced at Thornden. It was clear what his eyes indicated.

"Tom-foolery is for the jesters. Soldiers have other duties. Looking at your years you should know that Lithor. Now thread yourself carefully sergeant..." He paused and eyed Lithor carefully.

"Me and my soldiers - and my household - are not your quests in here! And I mean especially you sergeant Lithor! You are not in a position to call anyone a quest here! Take your place soldier! The king decides who is the lord, who is the subject and who is a quest. You should understand that, soldier? The order of command and decision making is taught in the boot-camp and you should know it!"

Lord Athanar was clearly enraged. "It's not you, or even me, but the king who decides on these issues!" He let his words to sink in before continuing in a bit softer tone, but firmly showing he would continue, barring Lithor from any explanations.

"And don't think of me as a fool Lithor... that's almost the worst of what you do. I can hear from your tone that you're not liking the way things have gone... Let me bring you some news Lithor, neither am I. Had king Eomer given me a Hall where everything was to be built from scratch to my liking... and without all this stuff of needing to face lord Tancred and his allies... had I loved that? Yes I would have changed this to it any moment, just belive me! Being not forced to hear that lord Eodwine's condition is beyond cure... would I have liked that? Sure. He was a good man, a good leader and a fine soldier - and a great loss to Rohan!"

Lord Athanar paused for a moment to look around, glancing at the table with Saeryn, Thornden and Degas the last and nodding to them in passing.

"But quessing and seeing your feelings - and combining them with the disgrace you uttered them - I am quite sure you were not ready to give away your "treasures" just like that to show goodwill... Your words do contradict themselves. So you had something up to your sleeve, didn't you? As I said, I am no fool people like you may try their luck with..."

The thought was unnerving and quite new to all but Erbrand who decided to look downwards not to meet the eyes of other people.

"I offer you two choices Lithor."

There was a total silence as everyone held their breath with the new turn of events.

"You either make a full confession to master Thornden and he will then suggest me a suitable punishment for you I will either accept or change tomorrow... or you will be taken into custody right now and will face in the worst case a court marshall for treason in Edoras as without other motives for your actions I can only infer you were trying to cause harm to people the king had ordered into their duties..."

Lord Athanar looked at Lithor with a piercing gaze.

"Your choice soldier..."

[Mnemosyne]

Wynflaed pinched the bridge of her nose. So much, she thought grimly, for this being a relaxing evening of song and tale. Although the prospect of that had been ruined as soon as she had seen her daughter stricken! She hoped that soon she would be able to speak with someone who could tell her who had done that bloody deed, so that justice could be done. But now this... that the soldiers of this hall would think to treat them as guests, and take a man's dangerous sport into a household setting was effrontery enough. But treason... At times she did not understand her husband's need to put all actions in the framework of war.

Not that there was not something unsettling about Lithor's speech, insult aside. She knew well the silvered tongue of politics from Edoras. It would be no different out in the Midemnet, and if anything speech and declaration of intent would be rougher. Lithor was under Athanar's command, and a soldier. Let him be dealt with as a soldier ought.

Looking over the array of people in the hall, she was a little astonished to see the array of color in the locks of those present. Some guests, perhaps, or commoner folk whose blood had mingled? Most astonishing of all was one of the women who had refilled her cup at table. Her eyes were not clear the way one of the Eorlingas or the Dunedain should have, but dark, even darker than the brown she had once seen in one of the holbytlan.

Surely a lord like Eodwine would not have had one of the Dunlendings under his employ? She made a note to inquire after the matter when she met with the lady Saeryn--if indeed they ever reached the point of making that meeting. She had heard the mutterings of the people when Athanar had declared her lady of Scarburg. The path that lay ahead of her was steep indeed.

[Gwathagor]

Athanar finished speaking. Wilcred slouched down at his bench and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. This is ridiculous, he thought. Lithor is acting absurd and here Crabannan has to go and make things worse. The man's been no trouble for months, why'd he have to go and choose this moment to stir things up?

He sighed and concentrated on his plate. Some men just can't escape themselves, their pasts. Wilcred looked up, towards Crabannan, who was standing beside Lithor in the center of the hall. A moment before he had been grinning like a demon, but now his countenance was as dark and impossible to read as he eyed Athanar keenly. There was something strange about the man, an imbalance in his humors, maybe. Is he mad? Wilcred thought, and frowned, realizing that they still knew next to nothing about the stranger. He could fight like a whirlwind and play the harp like a born bard, but beyond that - nothing. He was a grim, dour enigma, taken by spells of strange levity. Almost like he's some mad hill-spirit, raven-like, and yet...he laughed at himself. No, Crabannan was a man. An strange man, but a man.

Wilcred looked from Crabannan to Lithor to Athanar, awaiting the next move. It hurt him to see his fellows cut down so by Lord Athanar, but he honestly hoped they would simply sit down and not embarrass themselves further. A fight was the very last thing they needed, though he began to wonder if Lithor and Crabannan felt the same way...

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan's laugh died the moment Athanar began to speak, for he could sense a sword's edge behind the man's words. And sure enough, there it was: the threat of court marshall. For Lithor. Crabannan's face turned hard and cold, like dark basalt. He gritted his teeth, but showed no emotion.

"Treason?" he said, trying to hold his temper in check. He felt his hands shaking. He knew this feeling, and it did not bode well - mostly for Athanar and his men. "Treason?" he said again. "He meant no harm and spoke no ill. He has not threatened, or murdered, or deserted, or disobeyed. Lithor is not a traitor," he finished quietly - but he found himself instinctively counting the unfriendly faces turned in their direction. "There are traitors and cowards in this room, but he is not one of them."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas heaved a sigh. He'd have much preferred almost anything to attending this feast, yet Saeryn had given him little opportunity to make his escape. And where would he go? He was a notable guest; his absence would be distinctly marked. And so he sat at his sister's side, and tensed with rage that Athanar chose to break the news of Eodwine's decline to Saeryn in public. And for what reason, to weaken her? To show her that she had nothing left that he did not grant her, including dignity?

But at the same time, Degas felt for Athanar, and was disgruntled by it. Yet it was only a month ago that Degas had ridden into a small village to take control over a community that desired no new lord after the loss of their former one.

Granted, the circumstances were different. Eodwine had taken ill, whereas Fenrir had been killed. Degas considered the peasants lucky that they were not all executed. As it was, most of the rebels had died in the fighting, and those who had not had wisely chosen to flee. Degas knew that if he discovered that one of his people now had been amongst those that killed his brother, he would kill that man. It was not a matter of vengeance, it was a matter of duty: if peasants had a problem with their lord, they took that problem to their eorl, or to the King. They did not riot. They did not murder. They did not burn.

In that sense, though, Degas knew that he had gotten off luckier than Athanar: the people of his lands had loathed their former lord. They did not want a new lord, but they could be shown that their ruler - who they had no choice over - could be a good man.

Athanar, however, replaced a man that was good, and that was not dead.

Degas was the natural heir, being the oldest male of the line. There was no one but Saeryn with any claim to the lands, and his twin had no desire at all to return to their childhood home again. Nightmarish memories lay heavily on both of them, but especially on her. At least Degas had not been confined or beaten.

Athanar, though, rode onto lands he did not inherit. Though Eomer King had granted him these lands and this title, there was a lady of the lands still in residence.

Degas shuddered to think that it would be easier for Athanar and for Rohan if Saeryn simply died. He reached for her hand and squeezed it so tight that she flinched, and looked hard at him.

In his mind, he promised he would look after her so much more carefully. She might fall from a horse. She might take ill. There could be an accident in the stables, or in the kitchens. She could step too close to walls being raised, and something could fall.

Degas did not doubt that Athanar was a good man, in his own way, but he wondered if any man could resist the opportunity to simplify his own life so easily. He never once thought Athanar might seek to kill his sister, but he squeezed her hand again, thinking that with tempers running this high - he looked around - she could be desperately injured in any number of ways, and would the newcomers rush to her aid as quickly as they would for a lady that did not complicate their lord's position in the household?

Saeryn was that which was left of Eodwine's rule, her and the child in her womb.

She would need a guard. One that would go unnoticed in the general bustle. A guard that could tend to her, and watch her, and see to it that no accidents befell her. Degas made a mental note to tend to this later.

For now, he watched Athanar with a mix between pity and disdain.

Yes, Athanar had been handed a mess. If he did not show a firmness of rule, the commoners would not take to him as their lord, and the lords certainly would not accept his authority. There were those born with authority, and those who developed it, and those who shouted it from the rooftops to no avail. Thus far, Athanar seemed the type of leader that had learned it, and he was unbending in his ways.

Degas sipped from his mug of ale, watching almost boredly. Athanar would rule more effectively if he stopped shoving his power down the people's throats.

And as Crabannan said, "There are traitors and cowards in this room, but he is not one of them," and Athanar's entire body tensed, Degas hoped he had been taught the old saw: a man is only as good as a sword. Once he loses his temper, the battle is lost.

[Folwren]

The events of the evening turned with such speed and ferocity that Thornden’s head spun. He was as surprised as the next man when Lithor stood up and interrupted the two players with his absurd introduction and challenge. Such mirth, such humor, might have been accepted in Eodwine’s day, when heart’s were lighter, all was well, and everyone was in a position they knew and understand. Now it seemed out of place, ridiculous, and irreverent. Thornden knew Lithor well enough that he meant no harm in the least. As he had ever done before, Lithor only tried to lighten the mood, make everyone laugh and enjoy themselves. He didn’t mind being the center of attention, and he didn’t mind being the cause of laughter. But now he had gone to far.

Athanar rose from his place. His expression could not be misunderstood. Anger emanated from him like lightning from a thundercloud. The hall became deathly still and silent as he spoke. It was not the polite silence that he had enjoyed while making his polite speech. It was a silence so loud it throbbed in Thornden’s ears along with Athanar’s voice, quivering with anger.

In passing, Athanar’s eyes locked briefly with Thornden’s. It was a sharp, accusing look, and obviously Athanar passed some of the blame onto Thornden himself. It was almost like a physical blow, and Thornden winced inwardly as he took it. ‘This is your man, Thornden – is this how you allow them to behave?’

“Tom-foolery is for jesters. Soldiers have other duties.” It was addressed to Thornden and Lithor both, and Thornden understood it. Then all the wrath of Athanar’s words were bent solely upon Lithor.

“I offer you two choices, Lithor,” he said in closing. “You either make a full confession to master Thornden and then he will suggest me at suitable punishment for you which I will either accept or change tomorrow...” Thornden shot a brief glance at Lithor at the same instant that Lithor glanced towards him. Their eyes flickered briefly together and then both looked back at Athanar. “Or, you will be taken into custody right now and will face the worst case a court martial for treason in Edoras was without other motives for your actions I can only infer you were trying to cause harm to people the king had ordered into their duties. Your choice, soldier.”

Thornden felt his blood run cold. Neither choice seemed enviable. On the one hand lay punishment by the hand of this man, who none of them knew, and no one could predict how harsh he would actually be. Yet in this choice, there lay a glimmer of hope. Thornden was the one to suggest the punishment. (This did not seem very pleasant to Thornden, but if it saved Lithor from execution, which, if he faced a court marshal and he was found guilty, would be his fate, then Thornden would find passing punishment easier.) On the other hand lay imprisonment until his trial could be heard, and when it came time for that, he would be judged by biased judges and possibly sentenced to death. Thornden looked at Lithor.

“Treason?” The voice was not Lithor’s. Lithor had no time to speak. Crabannan instead broke the silence after the eorl’s question. “Treason? He meant no harm and spoke no ill. He has not threatened, or murdered, or deserted, or disobeyed. Lithor is no a traitor. There are traitors and cowards in this room, but he is not one of them.”

Thornden glanced about sharply. Dangerous, dangerous words, for Crabannan clearly meant to incriminate none of Eodwine’s old followers. Tensions were rising. Crabbanan had taken sides against the eorl, and now it would be easier for others to join. The lines were being drawn, and soon blows would begin to fall, and in the end, blood might be shed.

Thornden leaped to his feet. He held up his hand, palm forward, towards Athanar, a signal pleading of peace and restraint on Athanar’s part. “My lord, please hear me!” Athanar’s eyes riveted to him at once. “Please hear me,” he said again in a quieter voice, but no less urgent. “Do not take the men’s words amiss. Crabbanan only speaks for his comrade and friend. He is right: Lithor did indeed mean no harm. He spoke foolishly, my lord, I agree, but he meant in no way to cause unrest among the people, and least of all did he intend to commit treason. He will submit himself to your judgement, but a court martial?” Thornden shook his head. He tried to gain some idea of Athanar’s fury diminishing, but no such expression changed or even glimmered momentarily in Athanar’s eyes. He moved to put himself between Lithor and Crabannan and lord Athanar. He now stood directly in front of Athanar, looking up at him as Athanar stood upon the raised platform.

“I ask that you just dismiss him now and look again on this in the morning.”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc almost spilled his ale upon hearing the words "temporary lord". He quickly glanced to the lords' table and saw Athanar slowly turning colors. Around him, the other soldiers were also raising their voices. Hilderinc looked again at the person in the middle of the hall. It was Lithor, he remembered even before the soldier introduced himself. The smooth-talking man from the courtyard. But gone was all his smooth-talk. What was the fool thinking? He must have been completely and utterly drunk.

Still, it probably took an arrogant fool to say things like that in front of the new eorl and his household. Hilderinc would not have minded the "guests" part, after all, part of the soldiers were only "guests", but "temporary lord" was a clear offense to Athanar and it was clear that he won't leave it unpunished.

And he didn't. Now it was obvious that this wasn't a diplomat's, but a soldier's speech. Hilderinc had to once again acknowledge lord Athanar's talent to settle matters. Although Hilderinc knew from experience that diplomatic speech can be far more useful to settle disputes among men, he also knew that for most of the leaders, soldier's attitude was good enough. Athanar was not being nice, but Lithor, in Hilderinc's opinion, hardly deserved otherwise.

Then Crabannan came in. His words puzzled Hilderinc for a while. What was that the man had said? "There are traitors and cowards in this room, but he is not one of them." What did he mean? Hilderinc scanned the faces of the other Scarburgians to see any trace of reaction. Has there been already any unrest among the people themselves before Athanar's men have arrived? Did they come into an already divided Hall? Was there somebody who deserved to be called a traitor and coward? That started to worry Hilderinc. This far, the Hall seemed easy-going enough to him, and the brawls among the newcomers and the original denizens nothing out of the ordinary (how many times he had seen things like that!). But the tense atmosphere and now Crabannan's words gnawed inside him. Was there something more going on?

Scyrr, sitting opposite to him, was of a different opinion.

"What does that scraper mean?" he said loudly enough for all at the soldiers' table to hear him. "Is he making fun of us again? That's for leaving that brawler of theirs unpunished, Hilderinc," he turned around. Hilderinc understood that he had interpreted Crabannan's words as pointed against Áforglaed.

"And he was there too," Scyrr continued, pointing at Crabannan. "He's one of that guy's friends. It was his, not our man, who ran away like a coward to hide himself from punishment. I still say we should've reported him."

Hilderinc wasn't listening anymore. Thornden was now speaking. Hilderinc felt some sympathy to that man, after all, he was probably trying to save one of his fellow soldiers. But he was perhaps too soft, or unsure of himself. A good potential for a leader, but he did not have enough courage to put all of his authority into his voice. But maybe, Hilderinc thought, maybe his manner will calm also Athanar down. He glanced at the lords' table. What will Athanar's response be?

[Folwren]

Saeryn looked on in wonder and shock. She had found Lithor’s challenge amusing and she hoped that it would ease the unpleasant feeling in the room a little. At least it would distract her from her thoughts. But it did not amuse Athanar, apparently, and now he charged Lithor with disrespect, and worse. A sharp pain shot up into her head and pierced her skull at her forehead. She winced and looked away from Lithor, standing thus humiliated in the center of the hall, and pressed her hand against her temples.

Every turn of event this day had brought disappointments and strife. Load upon load was set on her heart and feelings, and she felt pressed down beyond endurance. Her eyes burned, but her mood now was such that she couldn’t cry. More than anything she wanted to stand and say that Athanar could not act such in her hall. This was not what he was sent to do, and in Eodwine’s absence he should try to uphold Eodwine’s standards.

Eodwine’s absence? Athanar had been given eorlship. It didn’t matter if Eodwine had been eorl, or even if he ever would be eorl again. She struggled with this reality, and the pain in her head became worse.

As from a distance, she heard Crabannan’s furious, though quiet, protest against the accusation of treason.

Eodwine would never have treated a man – any man – in such a fashion. Not even in his court of law did he speak so to a man. Never before had Thornden had to stand before his eorl and speak as he spoke now, pleading for another man’s life or fair treatment. It was all wrong. All terribly, terribly wrong, and it hurt Saeryn deeply to hear one of her men spoken to in such a manner.

[Groin Redbeard]

The silence was unnerving. Lithor had expected immediate responses from the lord’s two sons, but all just stared at him wide eyed. Lithor was about to say something when Crabannan sprang forward like an energetic doe in the springtime. His words were as merry as his movements and clarified what Lithor meant. “I could not have said it better myself,” whispered Lithor to Crabannan. Lithor smiled once again to see if his challenge would be taken up.

His challenge was indeed answered, but by Athanar. "Quit disgracing yourself any more sergeant Lithor! And that is right now!" The lord’s first words sounded angry, but Lithor did not detect any hostility at himself directly, only at his challenge. Lithor picked up a spear and readied it to be accepted. So this lord is not such a stick in the mud, as I thought! This will be grand! Thought Lithor. Another of his smiles curled to its extent. His smile, however, died quickly as Athanar shot damaging accusations at him.

Lithor was stunned wide mouthed eyed. It was the only time that Lithor could remember that he was entirely unable to speak. Lithor had uttered some insults in his time but Athanar’s was the worst that he had ever heard. Treason! What had he done? He was not contending with the rule of Athanar. In the opening of his boast, Lithor had actually acknowledged him as “my lord”. Thankfully others spoke in Lithor’s defense. Crabannan was the first and then Thornden, but as Lithor’s senses returned it was his turn to speak.

“Commander,” Lithor called to Thornden, “I thank you for your defense and for yours, Crabannan, but I will speak for myself.” Lithor stepped past Crabannan.

Lord Athanar was about to call Lithor back to his place before he would even open his mouth, but looking at his determination and sensing the feeling in the Mead Hall he decided otherwise and just waited silently, not giving any response whatsoever.

“My lord, I have no ill feelings for you, your family, or your rule. I am a soldier by profession but a jester in spirit when a soldier’s duties are done.” Lithor suddenly began to feel very old. His hand was shaking and his voice was obviously quieter than it had ever been before and sounded very confused. Even his mannerisms were less confident than was normal, like a dog after it had been kicked in the gut.

“Tonight was meant to be a night for merry making."

Lord Athanar would have none more.

“Do you call offending your eorl and his family “merry making”? Or throwing spears in a fully-packed hall? I think master Thornden speaks wisely. Sit back to your seat, sergeant. This will be decided tomorrow. Do not make your situation any worse."

"What is my crime?" Lithor questioned, standing proud and defiant. "I am not accustomed being accused of something so dire as treason without knowing the reasons. Is it not enough that I have offered the better part of my livelihood away as a gift to any member of your house?"

"That's enough soldier!" Lord Athanar was getting angry again. "Do you really need me to tell you what you have done?" He looked at Lithor, but he clearly wasn't going to blink.

Lord Athanar sighed as he really didn't like to spell the thing out in public himself, but Lithor's defiance gave him no other choice.

"You have not only publicly disrespected your lord and his household but actually publicly questioned his rule... well, you have actually questioned your King's decree!"

Lord Athanar draw breath while still looking at Lithor to the eye, but then turned his head to face Thornden.

"Where I come from, questioning the rule of your superiors is called treason... Maybe you have another vocabulary here..."

Lithor was genuinely confused. He had not meant anything as defiance to Athanar's rule; in fact, he considered himself to be rather complacent in the changing of lords.

"My lord, I have not questioned the King's decree! I have addressed you as my lord as the King demands and I have welcomed the King's guests. I was not referring to you, my lord, when I said this. If I have offended you by describing your rule as temporary then I apologize for it," here Lithor paused and bowed apologetically. "But is that not the truth? Lord Eodwine will recover, despite your thuggish usage of the news of this illness! Such behavior becomes lord Tancred."

Lithor for the first time in his life had acted completely out of character and had insulted a lord. He hated the fact that his good will was being twisted so that this new lord could show how tough he is. What Athanar had won in reputation was soon lost in Lithor’s mind as he saw how the lord really was. Lithor did not mind boldness, but he hated Athanar's arrogance. Athanar had nothing to fear from him.

"Enough!" lord Athanar yelled cutting in over Lithor's last words. But then suddenly he calmed down as fast as he had ignited. There was a total silence in the Hall.

"Oh you wormtongue you..." lord Athanar almost whispered the words. "So you said something but then again you didn't. And you both apologise and call me a thug in a same sentence... and lord Tancred, eh? You would have been beaten already if I were him..." He still didn't raise his voice. He was about to make a remark of no one yet having survived a "dead man's life" - condition, but then thought the better of it. That would have been bad politics right there.

"This discussion is over for today." He said in his commanding voice and turned to Thornden.

"Thornden, see sergeant Lithor to his table." Turning to face Lithor yet again, he continued: "Let me not hear anymore from you this evening so that I don't have to arrest you. We'll settle this... tomorrow."

He sat back down and grabbed his goblet. He was clearly thinking.

Lithor bowed as Athanar took his seat. As he looked from Thornden to Saeryn’s eyes, Lithor could sense the deep resentment. Where they disappointed in him? He could not tell, they just stared at him with blank expressions. It was a very foolish move to talk back to his superior, but it could have been worse.

Lithor put a hand on Crabannan’s shoulder and said in a hushed voice. “I have doomed our chances of an early transition. Thank you for your defense, I was not worthy of it.”

Athanar’s orders were to return to his table and Lithor obeyed. He sat down very slowly and watched as the hall began to erupt with a cacophony of angry discussions praising and condemning him. This was not what Lithor wanted, he could not stand it. So slowly, without being noticed, Lithor rose from his chair and made his way from the main hall. He had been thoroughly ashamed of his actions. Some time alone was what he needed.

[Thinlómien]

Wulfric

"I need to pee," Wilheard whispered just after their father had finished his speech.
"Did you need to announce that? Are you four years old?" Wulfric replied in a hiss. He was very annoyed at his little brother managing to get him lost and avoiding the beating earlier during the day.
Wilheard rolled his eyes. "Don't you know an excuse when you hear one, dumb?"
Wulfric raised an eyebrow. "An excuse for what? Not drinking? I didn't know Aedre came here after all, quite convincingly dressed up as Wilheard."
"More speeches," Wilheard whispered in an agonised voice. "I know these parties. It's always more speeches."
Wulfric emptied his cup. He didn't really want to hear any nonsense from these peasants either, their father's speech had surely been everything interesting. "I guess no one is watching us..." he muttered and the two slipped away into the night.

"Speaking of Aedre. Why wasn't the tiny one in the party?" Wilheard asked as they sat down on the grass out of earshot of the party area.
Wulfric shrugged. "Nobody told me. Why so interested?"
"Dunno." Wilheard shrugged. "Didn't you notice anything, o brilliant one?"
Wulfric gave him a friendly punch. "Nah, father said she didn't want to come." Then he frowned. "But he said no one should mess up with her."
"You get my drift," Wilheard said darkly.
"Blimey, when did you develop wits?" Wulfric asked.
"I just haven't been drinking as much as you," Wilheard said simply and laid down on the grass.
"I'm going to find out who did what to my sister and see they don't do it again," Wulfric announced.
"I'm with you, bro," Wilheard nodded.

There was a silence, and they could here loud voices from the party area. Wilheard sat up quickly.
"What was that?" he said, eyeing around.
"Nah just some applause for a speech probably," said Wulfric. He scratched his head thoughtfully. "The sad thing is that they get all the drinks. I'll go fetch some ale from the kitchen."
"Sure," Wilheard said, cocking his head. "And it has nothing to do with the pretty kitchen maids, eh?"
"Kitchen maids?" Wulfric asked, his face slightly flushed. It irritated him that the little wimp could always read his mind. "For your information, the hottest wench around is obviously the peasant damsel in charge of this lot."
Enjoying the astonishment on his younger brother's face and the howling laughter that followed it, Wulfric started to make it for the kitchens.

~*~

Modtryth

Although the worry about the current situation and Lord Eodwine was heavy on her heart, she could not help being irritated by the Cnebba issue. What did he mean by "she deserved it"? They'd need to talk, and rather sooner than later. It was definitely no good if Cnebba and the other boys started being hostile with the new Eorl's daughter.

She was relieved when she could leave the table after the speech. As she had guessed, Ginna, Kara and Rowenna were happy to have her help with serving the drinks and the food. She walked to the soldier table and poured for the household soldiers. They were getting into a merry mood. "What more could we need? This is what we like: good food, good company, and a beautiful woman to flatter," Osmund declared and winked at her. She gave him a stern look but her eyes were twinkling with merriment. Osmund was a terrible flirt when drunk.

She moved on to serve to the other soldiers when Lithor started his boast. She winced. The boastful jerk had never had any sense of social appropriety, and announcing such a boast right after the new Eorl's speech was plain foolishness. Nevertheless she was taken aback by the stern response and the argument that followed. She almost felt sorry for Lithor.

With a little hesitation she approached the Eorl's table, seeing that the Lady's cup was empty. So were the sons' cups, but the lads themselves were nowehere to be seen. She filled the Lady's cup but let the two others remain empty for the time being. When she walked away, she could feel the lady's eyes on her back. She couldn't help the uncomfortable feeling that crept up her spine. She was happy to slip away and go back to sit beside her son and husband. They both had their eyes fixed on Lithor, who was now offering apologies. In horror, she watched him make his situation worse and worse.

"Stupid old fool," she muttered in a barely audible voice as the Eorl dismissed Lithor and he sat back to his table.

[Durelin]

Already unrest among even his own soldiers (what exactly Coen still hadn't been able to discover, he had been kept so busy with what he saw as trivial matters), Lord Athanar's daughter with a bloodied nose, and now a man shouting a challenge to Athanar's men, while insulting the lord and contradicting what he had just stated about his position. They were not guests. Even if they were, Coen was hardly pleased with their hospitality. The folks were civil in his hometown, and they were some hardheaded people, and deeply rooted.

Coen had tensed at the words "guest" and "temporary lord," and he had started to rise at the words "opposed to lord Eodwine." But he remained in his seat when he saw his lord about to stand himself. This was not well for him at all. Coen trusted Athanar's judgment, and knew that something must be done in this situation. He respected Athanar greatly because he was not a man to sweet-talk his followers; he sought to gain their respect, not simply their attention and silver-lined affection.

He knew this type of man, the challenger. He obviously enjoyed his ability to draw all eyes upon him. And with his baited words, he insured that there would be nothing pleasant about this day. He sowed further seeds of conflict, all for his own delight. Coen shook his head, and watched his lord with concern. This lot was going to do their best to string up a good man, and bring down the entire Hall with him.

"There are traitors and cowards in this room, but he is not one of them."

Coen's fists clenched, and he brought his gaze around to all of his men that had ridden with him from Edoras, making sure his eyes met each one. They were to remain in their seats and demonstrate their discipline, and that they did not wish to start anything.

And these men who could not hold their ale or at least their lips...were they both soldiers? Had they no discipline? There was a time for challenges, and a mode for initiating them. The days of hot-blooded warriors and living and dying by men's strength of arms were gone -- the rule of the king and the lords beneath him made sure of that. And these soldiers were meant to enforce that.

Coen wished with every ounce of him that Athanar had not received this position. The man deserved better than this. And truth be told Coen feared he would fail his lord here; he feared he would not be able to control these men, to keep the peace even in the Hall itself. And what of protecting his lord and his family? He looked over to Wynflaed, her face set grimly but betraying no emotion.

He laughed inwardly when Thornden defended the soldier. In no way meant to cause unrest? Coen agreed that deliberation was necessary before a court martial, and he doubted the lord Athanar would resort to such a punishment unless the man continued to demonstrate that he wished to...cause unrest. The new Captain of Scarburg feared he might. They at least had to keep him from gathering other men around him as hot-blooded, such as that Crabannan.

The man -- Lithor was his name; Coen noted it deep in his memory -- attempted to defend himself, as well. So he was referring to some as guests, and not others, and of course only being optimistic about his lord's condition...Coen felt himself being draw in, but then the man commented on Athanar's "thuggish usage" of the news of the man's illness. He had announced to the Hall the condition of the lord, giving them the truth and even telling them that the King Elessar himself might have seen to the man's care. Was that not something to be proud of? They acted as if Athanar had brought the illness to Eodwine, as if he would have planned such a situation as this.

Coen focused his attention and energy on keeping an eye on his soldiers. He would not tolerate a word from them. He would leave all the talking and bringing of order to Athanar, even if he felt sorry for his lord to have to deal with so much. Perhaps, had tensions not been so high from the start, this man's boastful words would have been largely ignored. But with harm already done to his daughter, if not seriously... The lord had reason to be disturbed, and Coen was as well. He both dreaded and looked forward to tomorrow's drills. He would have a better gauge for things then. Today they were all maneuvering blindly.

[Groin Redbeard]

Of all the idiotic things Erbrand had ever heard this had to be the worst. Coming from people who were suppose to lead people like himself. People who scorn him as a peasant and then act like a peasant when they think their pride is challenged. What was worse is that no one spoke up to put an end to the matter. Where is the high proud Thornden? Why did lady Saeryn stay quiet? I know why: because it is best to make an example of one man instead of risking their own necks. One man who had done nothing but cause laughter and promote good friendship amongst Scarburg since its founding and now suddenly charged with treason. Treason, of all things! Why? I know why: because Athanar misunderstood Lithor that is why. So Athanar accuses Lithor of challenging the King’s authority, heh. So Athanar accuses Lithor of contending with Athanar’s rule, heh. Well perhaps if this lily livered lord would start acting like a lord, instead of being paranoid with his precious earldom from the king, then perhaps things can get back to normal! Athanar calls Lithor a traitor for his words and Lithor calls Athanar a thug for his tactics to suppress us. Athanar’s defense will be that he is speaking the truth of Eodwine. Sure he direly sick, but why did he have to cudgel us with it! Then that parchment from the king, producing it from his sleeve as if Eodwine had no hope to live and he were Scarburg’s only hope. I swear that the look on lady Saeryn’s face is enough to make my heart burst with pity. But Athanar’s defense will be that he was simply being honest. You can’t condemn honesty and good intentions can you? Lithor is being called a traitor for being generous and honest!

Erbrand’s thoughts raced through his head so fast he could not see straight. Even if his logic was not correct, something in his gut told him that there was something very unjust in all of this. There was nothing but silence when Lithor took his seat. Lithor should have kept his big mouth shut! It was not like him to pick an argument. Also, Thornden will be unjustly punished for this. That little phrase that Athanar spoke to Thornden was full of contempt. Crabannan might have a hard time ahead of him as well. It was no secret that Crabannan had never been to Erbrand’s liking, but this quick show of courage changed all of that. If the nobles would not speak for our rights, then perhaps it is people like Crabannan who will start speaking up.

The hall slowly livened up but nowhere near the extent that it would have before the outburst. Lithor’s spear still hung at the end of the hall as a ghastly reminder of the terrible argument. Erbrand slowly started to play on his fiddle, but the hall did not seem in the mood for it. He saw that Lithor left his chair and was leaving the hall.

“Carry on Crabannan.” Erbrand placed his fiddle on the stool and started after Lithor. The old soldier opened the great door (nobody seemed to notice the noise) and wrapped himself in a warm woolen cloak before stepping out into the frosty night air.

“Lithor,” Erbrand whispered after him once he was outside himself. The old soldier recognized the voice and smiled faintly.

“I guess I am not as stealthy as I thought. Does the whole hall know of my absence?”

“You will get in more trouble if you leave the table, Lithor. Come back inside.” Lithor looked at Erbrand with surprise. There was a silence and then Lithor began to laugh. Not a half hearted, forced, laugh but a deep throated laugh that one gives when genuinely amused—Lithor’s typical laugh.

“Shhh! You will draw more attention to you!”

“Have you not heard Erbrand, I am a traitor. There is nothing more they can charge me with; unless, of course, Athanar has outlawed laughter.”

“You should have stayed silent Lithor. Athanar would never have gone through with it.”

The smile slowly faded from Lithor’s face and was now staring at nothing. It looked to Erbrand as if Lithor was recalling some past event that was similar to this. Painful memories. “Tonight I took Athanar’s words all I could and tomorrow I will take Athanar’s sentence like a man. I did not argue because he called me a traitor, although that would give any man ample reason to argue, it was why he called me a traitor. Athanar was trying to dictate my actions, acceptable as they were. I am not his horse he can use when needed; I am not his dog to give him comfort and security; I am not some chicken he can spook; I am a man. To allow someone to dictate your conscience for you, Erbrand, is a terrible thing; it sticks in your gut until the day you die. I am too old to start changing.

“I acted like a fool tonight for arguing and tomorrow I will accept the consequences. Go back inside, have some fun before the evening ends. I just need time by myself.” Erbrand watched Lithor walk away without a word. It was scary to watch his best friend sound so defeated, entirely out of character.

The night was a cold one, and Erbrand suddenly realized that he had rushed outside without any heavy clothing. He did not feel like going back into the hall just yet and he door to the kitchen was unlocked. The warmth from the kitchen felt good on his face as Erbrand quickly closed the door.

“What’s this?” A familiar voice asked. Erbrand saw with joy to see Kara come towards him. She grasped Erbrand’s hands in hers and immediately led him to a place in front of the furnace. For a few minutes Erbrand let her fret over his cold condition. Kara’s eagerness to make him comfortable was so refreshing. Usually he was unnecessarily trying to make Kara feel at ease and usually upset a few things in the process. The other kitchen maids were busy waiting on the table for now and for a little while they would be alone.

“What were you doing out there?” She asked.

“Did you hear what Lithor did?” Kara shook her head gravely. Erbrand looked away imagining the whole scene, a flame of rage coming back into his eyes. He wanted to vent his frustration to Kara, she would understand. However, when he began to speak Kara gently placed her hands to his lips. Whether Kara meant that venting would do no good, or whether she thought Lithor’s punishment was just, or whether she simply did not want anyone to hear Erbrand could not guess. This is why he loved her, there was no reason to speak, she knew what he meant. The flame of rage quickly died and for a while he was content to simply just stare into Kara’s understanding eyes. Crabannan’s sweet melodies came to them from hall and suddenly Erbrand had an urge.

“Dance with me!” The excamation caught her off guard. Before she could answer Erbrand had jumped up and pushed back one of the smaller tables. As quickly as Erbrand had cleared the space, he grabbed Kara and lifted her high above his head (he did this only when in his best moods). Crabannan’s song was slow and soft. Erbrand was not a natural dancer when it came to slow songs but Kara soon caught on and took the lead through the song. Erbrand felt as if he was dancing with a daughter of the Eldar. She was too good for him. Kara would never do anything to hurt him and there was nothing she ever needed to hide from him. Erbrand had made a vow on lord Eodwine’s wedding day that he would stop taking everything that Kara gave for granted and be worthy of her love. She had changed his life, but he did not know if he had changed hers as well. He was never the courtier and moments like this almost never happened. For now he was content to forget about Athanar and his troubles and simply hold Kara in his arms until the music ends.

[Folwren]

Saeryn slowly gathered her wits back together. She lowered her hand from her forehead and looked about the room. Talk had spread again among the people at the table, but whatever spirit of good will there had been was almost completely lacking now. Thornden had gone back to his seat. He ate in stolid silence with a face set in an expression of stone. She had to say something now, or else there may remain a permanent split in the inhabitants of Scarburg.

She stood up, using her hands to push herself to her feet. Crabannan wound his song to a quick, but well sounding end, and stepped back to indicate her. She felt cold, and her face was unusually pale. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and she looked in no condition to speak. But speak she did, her voice trembling at first, but growing stronger a she gained boldness.

“Friends of Scarburg,” she said. Her eyes swept across the tables, meeting the eyes of people she knew, and those she didn’t. “Friends, old and new. It is clear that we have all gotten off to a bad start. But this does not have to be so. We are all of us...all of us,” she repeated firmly, “wanting to find how best we can serve the king, and in serving him, serve our new eorl. There can be no rift between us.” She paused as she allowed her and Crabannan’s eyes to meet. Then she continued looking from person to person as she spoke.

“We have taken sides, and this can not be so. We are all Eorlingas. We can all work towards the same goals. I ask you – those of you who have been here in Scarburg for some time – join with lord Athanar for my sake. And I ask you – those who have come just today – join with those people who have been here before for your lordship’s sake. All of us are all the same, if we could only come down to the root of it. Yes, there are tensions, but I am asking you to bring yourselves beyond that. You are men and women of the Mark. Be proud of your brotherhood with the people here. Let us put the strife behind us, and live now together in peace.”

She slowly let her eyes travel about the hall again and then she took her seat once more.

[Formendacil]

"You are men and women of the Mark. Be proud of your brotherhood with the people here. Let us put the strife behind us, and live now together in peace."

Saeryn resumed her seat, and Náin raised his goblet slightly and toasted, barely audibly, "Westu, Eodwine, hál"--an ironic toast of health to the far-departed eorl--and drank deeply of the mead. As he lowered the goblet back to the table, his eyes darted about the Hall. Náin didn't quite shake his head, but his nose twitched, and his lips twisted with mild concern. He wasn't even sure that Eodwine's recovery would be positive for the Hall. Though he wished Eodwine well as a friend, he knew that Athanar was now eorl and would remain so as long as the current situation with the other lords held.

Náin, from his unofficial status as the ambassador from Aglarond to the court in Edoras, knew King Éomer somewhat better than most in the Meadhall--perhaps better than Athanar, insofar as he knew Éomer somewhat as a man, while Athanar knew him as a superior--and he did not think Eodwine would be returned to Scarburg even if he recovered that night in full strength and rode back to Edoras. It was the role of the eorl to be the king's agent in the Emnet, and it was clear that quite apart from keeping the king's peace, Eodwine had become associated in minds of his followers with the bringer of Eodwine's peace.

It was unfortunate. If Eodwine recovered, Éomer would either have to return him to Scarburg--taking priority from crushing Lord Tancred and others, which Náin did not think he would do--or settling him on an estate elsewhere in Rohan, which was possible--maybe even in the Angle, across the Isen where there was talk of settlement. In either case, the anomalous situation of having both the new lord Athanar in Scarburg and the old lady, Saeryn, would be resolved. In Náin's mind, the retention of Saeryn was at the heart of the difficulty. Men, like Dwarves, did not have room in their hearts for two fealties.

The fact that Saeryn was a woman, Náin muttered to himself, was also not going to help things. Men were peculiar about their females, and Saeryn was young, pretty, and pregnant--everything Men were taught to protect. Among Dwarves, it would have been a simple matter: the lord is gone, we have a new lord, but among Men it was complicated.

Náin's perspective on this matter may have been somewhat biased by his observations of more intimate social interactions in Men. For example, as he cast his eye over the crowd, he frowned briefly at the sight of Erbrand. The Dwarf wasn't certain he liked the young man, but he was certain that the young man was thrice as dangerous if he thought Kara endangered. Having noted this jealous streak, Náin had mostly avoided Kara during his frequent visits to Scarburg since Eodwine's wedding, so as to provoke no confrontation. He wasn't sure if Kara had noticed, but what Men noted and what they failed to note had always been a mystery.

Draining his goblet completely, and glancing again at the head table, Náin shook his head--visibly, this time--and decided the whole thing was as bad a mess as dividing Smaug's treasure before the Battle of the Five Armies, and over something far less serious. He considered whether he could find an acceptable excuse in the morning to leave for Edoras or Aglarond, but having only returned to Scarburg the week before, there was too much to be done.

Náin sighed, and determined to himself that, if possible, he needed to get across to some of the more level-headed old Eodwiningas that Athanar was here to stay. Hope for Eodwine's recovery was good, but it was Elvishly impractical.

[Groin Redbeard]

The night was a cold one. There was no wind, thankfully, and Lithor could walk around comfortably so long as he was properly dressed. His walk was aimless. There was no place Lithor wanted to go in particular so simply wondered around the stables. His challenge, Athanar’s outburst, and his defiance revealed a lot to him. First off, know your audience, this audience was not ripe for the picking—his pick had been too hasty. Secondly, that deep down he had no stomach for politics. Around and around the stables Lithor walked each time faster than before until he had accelerated to a brisk walk. His mind thought well when his body was at work with it.

What did you accomplish by speaking back to Athanar. The sentiment in the hall did not change, they all still despised you for what they saw as an unnecessary boast and challenge. All I did was make enemies. I believe saying what I believe, but there are some times when it is prudent to stay quiet. Thinking out loud is responsible for much of mankind’s misery as you are about to found out.

“You insulted Athanar. You insulted him in public! It is perfectly acceptable to insult someone in private (sometime they might even thank you for it afterward) but when you do it in public they tend to think you are serious about it. There was no need to go that far. After all, you were never against the change of rule in the hall, only the haste for it.”

Erbrand
Crabannan’s song ended. Erbrand and Kara stood looking into each other’s eyes still embracing one another, not ready to let go (at least, Erbrand was not ready to let go). Then something quite unexpected happened, Saeryn’s delicate voice came echoing through the kitchen door. Erbrand looked at the opened door and then back at Kara.

“I must hear this,” he said as he sprinted to the door followed closely by Kara. Erbrand held her around the shoulder as Saeryn spoke of peace once again. Was it too late? Saeryn was doing what Athanar could not do, which is to unite the old Scarburg with the new Scarburg. There was no mistaking Athanar’s intentions, he was to be in charge of the settlement by whatever means necessary. Erbrand thought that Saeryn was wise to call for unification instead of Athanar.

“Just look at her, Kara.” Erbrand said looking at Saeryn, frail, timid, pregnant, yet rising above all of that and standing amongst strong men. It was good to see someone with a clear head taking control.

“Before she was lady Saeryn she was just Saeryn: an ordinary country girl with no experience in professional diplomacy or commanding a hall. Yet, to see her now rising above all of that to try to bring order out of an impossible situation—no one has even tried! Saeryn has not only inherited lord Eodwine’s respect, she has inherited his strength.” Erbrand looked at Kara. He was obviously proud at what he was hearing.
“But will Athanar accept her good will?” Kara asked with a troubled look on her face. It was a grim thought, the possibilities of which were not certain.

“He will, he must!” Erbrand’s voice was resolute and determined. “How can he not? Look at her face Kara, shining as light coming through a glass window. Oh to finally have someone that we can look to, who we respect—we must support her with words and leadership and swords, if necessary, and most of all faith in what she does. ”

“Do you not hear yourself?” Kara clung to him; he could hear the shock in her voice. “Lady Saeryn is speaking of peace and you are already mentioning swords.”

“If I have to stand and rail until my voice breaks and my legs collapse beneath me, I will not see her wronged.” Erbrand looked at Kara her delicate form showing courage but frailty. He cradled her head in his hands. “I will not see you wronged either Kara, I promise you that.”

Saeryn finished talking. She looked bolder than she had at the beginning of the address, a natural leader. To speak so boldly after someone had been accused of treason was admirable to say the least. There was no longer any doubt that Athanar would do as he wished when it came to the status of those in the old Scarburg. Saeryn had already been placed at a rank lesser than that of lady, Athanar might bring her down another notch for this. However, if enough people rallied around Saeryn, Athanar might be afraid to do anything to her. Erbrand could not stand it any longer. He had to let the newcomers know that at least some of the remnants of Scarburg would unite behind Saeryn.

Crabannan had been the first, now it was his turn. With a loud voice Erbrand boldly proclaimed “Aye, well said!” He could feel Kara tense up as he spoke. It was an innocent remark that betrayed nothing but his opinion. What he hoped for was that it would provoke other members of Scarburg to find their voices.

[Nogrod]

Athanar listened to Saeryn's speech attentively and with growing pleasure as her speech went on.

So she's the good cop and I'm the bad cop... Well if that is what is needed to accomplish the king's orders...

Saeryn's speech ended and there was aloud “Aye, well said!” from somewhere back of the hall - and Athanar recognised the shouter, it was the same man he had met outside an hour ago.

With the instinct of an old fox lord Athanar immediately stood up and raised his goblet.

"Well said indeed! Cheers to lady Saeryn and her wise words!"

With that all of Athanar's men cheered and it seemed the earlier Scarburgians were in no way willing to be left playing the second fiddle in the cheering. So the Hall was thundering with cheers.

Lord Athanar smiled widely as he turned to look at Saeryn while the cheering was still going on. He made an approving nod and raised his goblet just a little to toast with her.

[Folwren]

The hall had quieted. People had returned to their dinners and conversations were flowing freely now among the people at the tables. Good. Perhaps they were somewhat at their ease. Thornden glanced at Saeryn. She and Degas were speaking to each other. She looked more at ease now that she had spoken her piece and gotten a positive reaction from the people.

Athanar had asked Thornden to speak, but now that it came to it, Thornden did not want to. Even if the others had already recovered from Lithor’s humiliation, he had not. Responsibility hung heavy on his shoulders still, and despite the conscious realization that he really had no part in what had happened, he could not rid himself of the feeling of guilt. His plate was cleared and instead of getting seconds as he very likely would have at any other time, he quietly excused himself to his neighbors and departed from the table and hall.

Briefly he stepped into the guardroom to see if Lithor had gone there. He was no where to be seen, so after Thornden snatched up a cloak, he went out into the courtyard to find him.

A hard frost crunched under his boots as he walked out. He drew the neck of the cloak tight about his throat and watched as his breath went up in a cloud of smoke past the torchlight. Before he could begin to form of a plan of how to search for Lithor, the person in question came round the corner of the stables, walking quickly and in agitation. Thornden strode swiftly to intercept his path and stopped him with a word.

“Lithor?”

He stopped wide eyed as Thornden approached. The torchlight lit up his face, showing the depth of his confusion and surprise but kept Thornden's face a dark silhouette. The silence in the air was now pierced by the eery sound of distant howling. Neither could tell if it was the wind or wolves. Which ever it was, it made for an uncomfortable and foreboding feeling inside Lithor's heart.

"At your service." Lithor bowed as he said this. "Your presence is a surprise," he paused for a moment and took a deep breath. "But it was not entirely unexpected. What is your purpose with me?" It was a dumb question, but one that needed to be asked. Lithor did not know what Thornden thought about his outburst and whether the rebuke that was sure to follow would be soft or hard.

“I wanted to find out where you had gone, to make sure you did yourself no harm, mostly,” Thornden said. He looked at Lithor and regretted that his presence should cause such discomfort in him. “You have nothing to fear from me, Lithor. I have not changed with the coming of lord Athanar. I will guess that I was as surprised as you when he became so angry with you.” His words stalled briefly, for he knew not how to go on.

“However,” he finally said, “what has happened cannot be changed. I expect Athanar to ask of me what should be done to you, and I really have no answer for him. I think you know best where you strayed from propriety, and I wanted to ask you what you think would be the most fair punishment. I do not want you to think that I want you punished, or that I wish to do so unfairly. In truth, Lithor, I believe that were it up to me alone, I would let even your rash words there at the end pass with only a warning. But,” he said, looking back towards the lighted hall, “Athanar felt that he had already been insulted. Those final words were the final straw, I think.”

"Just as the accusation of treason was the last straw for me. I know I have nothing to fear from you, Thornded, so long as I am obedient. And I must say that your offer for me to pass judgement on myself would be like offering the condemned man a choice between a slow or short death-- death will come despite the choice!" Lithor was not angry with Thornden at all, but he was very dissapointed. He thought that Thornden would have known better.

"You are not going to be killed," Thornden said, his voice sharp, not from anger with Lithor, but perhaps with doubt that suddenly attacked him. "I will not back Athanar in such a choice."

"Think with your head, Thornden!" Lithor tapped his temple with vigor. "Learn from what has happened. Lady Saeryn has been ousted from her position by Athanar and he is using me as an example for unquestioning obedience. Did you not see the contempt in his eyes when he looked at you? My action has reflected on your command and right now, to Athanar, it looks very poor. Athanar will do with me what Athanar will do me, your intercedence on my behalf will only make it worse for you and Scarburg." Lithor ended his speech on a grim thought. A silence fell between them.

"I did not mean to sound so forceful, master Thornden." Lithor sounded a bit more timid now, he bowed courteously. "You were right when you said you have not changed, but the fact is that everything has changed. I am old, too old to change and that is one of the reasons why the argument was brought on. But you," Lithor stepped closer to Thornden. The man was more like a boy to Lithor, to think that if Lithor had married his son would be Thornden's age. Lithor had great hope in the younger generation and what he was about to say he could see as clearly as the expression on Thornden's face.

"But you," he began again, "you are young, master Thornden, and you have a great level of prominence in the old Scarburg, which has now been transported to the new Scarburg. Athanar respects you, even if it is little. Don't give him any reason to betray that trust. When Eodwine returns the shift may be very difficult, we will need people who are respected on both sides. And (the Vala forbid it!) if Eodwine does not return you must lead Scarburg to renew the seat to its rightful heir: Saeryn, and later her son! If I have not made myself clear thus far, then in short I am asking you to change with the times. Do not abandon your principles (which a man like you would never do), but co-operate with Athanar and his men."

Lithor was no longer asking or advising Thornden, he was pleading with him. As sure as the stars in the heavens sometimes fall, he was sure that Thornden would one day rise, but it had to be with the rightful heir of Eodwine. Thornden was dutiful and Lithor was sure that he had said nothing that Thornden had not thought over a hundred times; however, sometimes things are clearer when spoken and easier to do if friends support it.

Thornden felt uneasy. He shifted on his feet, and finally forced himself to break from Lithor's gaze. Of course he would cooperate with Athanar and his men, but to do so at the expense of one of Eodwine's men? Not so! That would be to turn his back on more than his principles. That would be to turn his back on his friends, and in effect on Eodwine and Saeryn, both to whom he had sworn fealty.

“Perhaps you have read my position wrong, Lithor,” he said, quietly. How could he say what he had to say, and appear not to be talking badly behind Athanar’s back? He had no wish to strengthen whatever ill thoughts or feelings Lithor had against the new eorl. “I will follow and obey Athanar as far as I am able, but I will not stand by and watch a man innocent of treason be punished for it. I will stand between him and you, even if it means that he will break me while passing. If I am to be brought down to the level of a common soldier, so be it. I was that not more than a year ago.

“But I feel certain that it will not be necessary. Athanar is not a cruel man. Hasty and hard he may be, but he is not cruel. I ask you again, Lithor, take the help I offer, speak to me, and tell me whatever you can that will aid me while I speak to Athanar. Remember, he offered you the choice to talk to me.”

"Indeed, I would rather say this to him in person, Thornden, you understand, but I know that the sight of me will send him into another rage. To tell the truth, the sight of him would do the same to me." Lithor laughed to himself. He wondered if Thornden caught the insult hidden in his words.

"You may tell Athanar that I am sorry for my hasty words. I am sorry for my insults at my better and will accept the consequences of my actions." Lithor did not know what else to say. He was indeed sorry for those things, but nothing more. However, it seemed a till short for an apology.

"Tell Athanar something else from me as well. Tell him that I am a soldier, and an old one at that. I have seen many winters and have experienced the rule of many lords. Tell him that experience has taught me reverence for my superiors and that prudence has taught me the proper ways in which to serve them. I had no intention of an insult of any kind."

It was a genuine expression of his feelings. Seldom did he betray the gloomy side of his heart and he did not wish to show anymore than he had to.

"I thank you for your consolment, master Thornden. It does my old heart good to know that I have friends who care for me. However, if you understand, I would prefer to be alone with my thoughts. I have a lot to think about."

"Of course," Thornden said, nodding. "I will gladly bear your message to Athanar. I am -” he paused, and looked again at Lithor. The man turned his face upwards, expectantly. “I am sorry. . .for what happened. I wish I could have. . .I wish it could have been avoided, and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you there.”

Lithor nodded. “You did grand job stepping in to save me.” He rubbed his chin in thought. "Traitor." he said trying the word of for size. "All my life, I always wanted to be somebody. Now I see that I should have been more specific." A good humored grin brightened his face. He bowed.

Thornden bent his head in answer and then turned to go back to lighted hall and the feasting.

[Thinlómien]

Wilheard

It was a while until Wulfric came back, and he didn't look too happy. And he didn't have any beer.

"Where's our beer?" Wilheard asked. He surely hadn't been sitting on the cold ground for nothing for ages when Wulfric took his time harassing kitchen maids.

"I didn't get any! There was just one grumpy old hag present and she told me that the barrells are all brought to the hall and I can go and get some drink there."

Wilheard couldn't help laughing. The image of slightly drunk Wulf wandering to the kitchen looking for beer and pleasant company and finding just an ugly old cow refusing to give him any beer.

Wilheard found himself laying on the ground, his ear was ringing. "Fool!" Wulfric spit. "Don't you dare make fun of me."

"You hit me," Wilheard said.

"Good point, ninny. You deserved it. For earlier, too," Wulfric replied darkly. "I'm going. Speeches or no, I want beer. Besides there's fire there, so it's not so freaking cold." He started walking back towards the fires.

Wilheard clenched his fists. It would be right to hit him back, but he knew his big brother would start a fight and wouldn't stop before he was one punch ahead. And given that he was bigger and stronger, Wilheard would get more hurt in the process. No, he would take his revenge in some other way. He followed his brother quickly and caught up with him.

They walked a few steps before they froze in their tracks. Two people were talking nearby.

"You are young, master Thornden," said a stranger's voice, clearly an older man. "And you have a great level of prominence in the old Scarburg, which has now been transported to the new Scarburg. Athanar respects you, even if it is little. Don't give him any reason to betray that trust. When Eodwine returns..."

"When what?" Wilheard hissed but Wulfric stepped on his toes. He looked suddenly very alert, and not so drunk at all.

"...very difficult, we will need people who are respected on both sides. And (the Vala forbid it!) if Eodwine does not return you must lead Scarburg to renew the seat to its rightful heir: Saeryn, and later her son!"

"Treason," Wulfric whispered darkly. Wilheard nodded. Scarburg was Lord Athanar's place now, and the rightful heir was Wulf, not any unborn baby of the peasant babe.

The rant went on: "Do not abandon your principles (which a man like you would never do), but co-operate with Athanar and his men."

Wulfric and Wilheard exchanged glances. They waited in eager silence what the commander would reply.

The answer came at length: "Perhaps you have read my position wrong, Lithor."

"Coward," Wilheard mumbled. Wulfric shook his head but didn't say anything.

They listened as the talk continued. There was talk of treachery this man, Lithor, had committed. Wilheard was baffled, and angry. Surely the locals wouldn't start acting treacherous on the first evening? Both the brothers clenched their fists when they heard this old fool offend their father.

"We should tell Father that this idiot is planning treason," Wulfric muttered under his breath when the two Scarburgians were exchanging parting words.

"No," Wilheard protested in whisper.

Wulfric raised an eyebrow and gave him a menacing look.

"I simply think that he has enough in his hands at the moment," Wilheard replied with the hint of a grin. "Surely he can trust his precious sons with some of his worries?"

Wulfric suppressed a laugh and swore affectionately at his little brother. "Let's follow the greybeard. I want to know what he's done to upset Father so."

Quiet as two shadows, the two brothers slipped after Lithor as he walked away.

[Groin Redbeard]

The conversation had wiped out all thoughts from Lithor’s mind. Now he was simply walking for the sake of it and turned his thoughts to more agreeable topics. Each rhythmic crunch of the frozen grass under his feet reminded him of the youthful days and the crunch of gravel under his feet in Edoras. His days as a soldier had been many and he had seen many places and he would be content if he never saw the inside of a city again in his life. Lithor’s trip to Edoras with lord Eodwine brought back pleasant memories of his station there, but he was older now and the streets and people seemed to change. Upon thinking of his recent trip to Edoras, Lithor remembered his stay at Athanar’s house and the peculiar old grouch that he had for a head servant. What a fascinating person. Lithor thought to himself. His unhappiness brings nothing but misery to almost everyone who encounters him, but I cannot help but find amusement in his melancholy. Speaking of melancholy, what are you so upset about, old man? It is like you said: “Athanar will do what Athanar will do” so stop fretting about it. It is like you always say: “cheerfulness is the best road no matter where it ends.”

Finally at peace with himself, Lithor started to head back to the hall. A night’s rest will do him well, especially with the training in the morning. Lithor had walked amongst the tents and makeshift buildings where the “commoners” stayed. He decided to stop by Crabannan’s tent and thank him for the meager defense on his behalf. However, the tent was empty—still feasting in the hall. With his first purpose tried, Lithor turned to his second task before heading to his bed.

“Alright, who’s there?” Lithor asked as if giving up on a guessing game with a child. “I know you have been following me whoever you are. Did not your parents teach you that it is rude to spy on people? Come out so that I may know you better.”

[Thinlómien]

"Alright, who’s there? I know you have been following me whoever you are. Did not your parents teach you that it is rude to spy on people? Come out so that I may know you better."

"Yes, our father taught us manners. But I wonder if your father ever taught you to how to address your superiors, soldier."

Wulfric wanted to make a dramatic pause to increase the effect as he and Wilheard stepped away from the shadows, but he didn't risk too long a pause because he didn't want the greybeard to interfere with his speech; he was having an inspiration.

"But for now, you are forgiven, you couldn't of course have recognised your lord's rightful heirs in the dark. But if I understand the current situation correctly, our father had to teach you something your father forgot to teach you - what a scandal! A man of your age ought to have manners. You are probably twice our father's age."

Wilheard let out a laugh, and Wulfric grinned, pleased with himself. They were edging closer to the man in the dark and enjoying the feeling that with the two of them they would easily overpower the old soldier.

"But there are things I do not understand. One of them is what you said today to upset my father so. He is a wise man, and not provoked easily. The second one is why are you and commander Thornden plotting treason."

[Folwren]

Javan cleared his plate once, then twice, and then became restless as people continued sitting about, chatting and eating slowly. He glanced to his right. Cnebba sat leaning his cheek against one hand with his elbow resting on the table, while with his spoon he pushed about some left over potatoes. Beyond him, Stigend and Garwine were talking together. He glanced to his left, at Garmund, who sat with both hands folded in his lap and his eyes staring straight forward with a dull, bored expression on his face.

“Come on, fellows,” he said, tapping the boys on the shoulders. He turned and slipped off the bench. With a glance at each other, the two others followed him.

“What are we going to do?” Garmund asked.

“I don’t know, but we were all three of us bored beyond endurance.”

“I want to check Snowstreak,” Cnebba said, suddenly. “I don’t think she’s in a stall tonight and I want to make sure she is alright. Would you come with me?”

“Sure. Let’s get a scarf or something – it’s cold outside.” They raided their room quickly, searching for warm garments to throw on, and then as swiftly as possible, so as to avoid detection, they passed quietly through the main hall and then out into the courtyard. They were about to enter the stables when the sound of angry voices reached them. The boys crowded into the shadow of the doorway and peered out.

“Who is it?” Garmund whispered. Javan shook his head. From here, he could not even see the shapes of the people arguing. Without a word, he crept out, following the wall of the stable. They hurried down it, crouching in the narrow shadow by the wall, until they came to the corner and finally came into view of where three men stood, two facing one.

“It’s Lithor!” Cnebba whispered, horrified.

“Who are the other two?” Garmund asked.

“I don’t know either of them. They're new,” Javan replied, shaking his head. It didn’t look good. It didn’t look good at all. They knelt on the cold ground, waiting.

[Groin Redbeard]

So who exactly are these young rascals who sneak in the dark and reprimand me thus? Lithor eyed them curiously as they emerged from the shadows. They were dressed richly, at least richer than him, and carried themselves with a posture that was unmistakably noble. Lithor thought he had seen them somewhere before, but where?

Somehow, Lithor was amused at these two youngsters. One of them talked while the other listened for support, an amusing pair. This young man’s indignation was in vain, Lithor felt no shame at being corrected by someone barely old enough to have hair on his face. Suddenly it became clear. These were none other than the sons of Athanar! Lithor had seen them in the hall; however, they were not there when Athanar and Lithor argued. Where did they hear it from? All was made clear to him before the young man finished. He did not know why, but this type of conversation sounded familiar to him.

“Thornden? Treason?” The thought was too much for Lithor. He threw back his head and gave an uncontrollable laugh.

“You are right, on one matter young master: there are things you do not understand.” Lithor wiped several tears from his eyes. It felt indescribably good to laugh again after all the pressure he just endured. Lithor regained control of himself, but by now he was feeling too happy to be grumpy with this boy and his sidekick.

“Furthermore,” Lithor said in a groan as he seated himself on a nearby crate. The boys were edging closer. They will get no provocation from me this time. “I will not answer you last question, simply because you do not know what kind of a man Thornden is. But as to you first question, your father…”

“Lord Athanar!” The young man insisted calmly.

“Lord Athanar,” Lithor bowed slightly, “and I spoke our minds to each other and nothing more. Besides, you will likely hear from your father what was said. I will not try to justify my part.” Lithor squinted in the dark to try and see the two young men clearer.

“And for future reference, I would appreciate it if the both of you kind gentlemen would stop eavesdropping on my conversations.” The image of these two young men slinking around in the dark after him like Cnebba or Garmund brought a smile to Lithor’s face. That is where he had heard this type of conversation! This is exactly how Cnebba and Garmund would question Javan after the stables incident. So I am Javan and these two characters are Cnebba and Garmund! Lithor threw back his head and laughed again. This was becoming fun!

[Thinlómien]

"Eavesdropping!" Wilheard burst out. This was ridiculous.
"Eavesdropping?" Wulfric echoed, but Wilheard continued before his elder brother could take the lead again:

"A servant may eavesdrop on his master, but not the other way around. You are a common soldier, we are the sons of your lord. You are showing utmost disrespect, greybeard."

Wulfric stepped forwards. "You heard my brother, soldier. Now kneel and beg for forgiveness for your rude words."

"Show some obedience, now!" said Wilheard and gave the old soldier a harsh shove, making him lose his balance and stumble.

[Folwren]

“No!” the word burst out between Cnebba’s clenched teeth. The boys liked Lithor – he told them stories and made them laugh and he was nice, for a grown up. Now he was being asked to kneel and beg forgiveness. It was ridiculous, and they all knew that Lithor would never stoop to such an action. Cnebba started forward, out of the shadows.

“Stop, Cnebba!” Javan exclaimed, leaping up after him and catching his arm. “We can’t do anything. Not by ourselves.”

“But the just shoved him! They’re going to get worse, ‘cause he won’t kneel!” Cnebba cried, pulling against Javan. But Javan was pulling him away, and waving his hand back at Garmund.

“Come on. We’ve got to go tell somebody.”

“We’ll tell father,” Garmund said, running ahead. Cnebba finally stopped fighting and they were all running back towards the hall.

“No!” Javan said. He didn’t slow his pace to speak. “We can’t. That would only start a big fight because your boys’ fathers would run out and try to stop it and then it would be three against two, and Athanar would be furious that there was another fight, and it would be bad.”

“What are we going to do then?” Garmund asked as he pushed open the door. They stood panting a while in the entrance, panting in the warm glow of the torches and looking at all the people still at the tables. “We’ve got to do something!” Garmund hissed at Javan’s elbow.

“Yes…Yes, I know…” Above all else, Javan wanted to avoid another fight. He felt that once Athanar punished one fight, he would punish all the fights that happened that day, and after what he said to Lithor, he did not want to find out what he would say to Javan when he found out it was he who had hit his daughter. “I know,” he said. “We will tell Thornden. He’s in charge of the men. The two men of Athanar out there will have to listen to him.”

Without another word, they started around the square of tables, skirting the edge of the hall and getting to Thornden in what they thought to be the least way noticeable. He was sitting, unfortunately, at the table at the head of the hall, opposite to Saeryn, Degas, and the new Lady of the hall. He turned his head as the three boys came near.

“Thornden,” Javan said in a strained whisper. He skidded to a stop at Thornden’s chair and grasped the back of it as he bent is his head beside his brother’s. Thornden glanced at him and then at Garmund and Cnebba.

“Lithor is outside,” Javan began.

“And two men are bullying him,” Cnebba went on.

“Asking him to kneel and beg forgiveness,” Garmund said.

“And they shoved him and I don’t think he’ll do as they ask, and they’ll hurt him, Thornden,” Javan finished. “They’ve got to be stopped.”

[Groin Redbeard]

The shove rocked Lithor on the crate on which he was sitting, nearly upsetting him and the crate. These boys were becoming obnoxious. Base actions for base persons! So simple and puffed up, as if they had been raised instead of born to their current positions.

Lithor jumped to his feet. He thought of reaching for his sword—that would bring a quick end to this—but he remembered that his sword was tucked away under his cot. His uniform was for the feast and he bore no sword while inside the hall. They outrank Lithor but their actions are beneath him. He would show them some wit and if they still insisted on a fight then let them do their worst. He was not going to strike the sons of Athanar. A crooked smile crept on Lithor’s face as an idea formed in his mind. He was still in a relatively good mood and he was going to have fun with this.

“No bowing today, my friends. Eavesdropping knows no distinction of class; therefore, you cannot excuse your rude actions on it.” Lithor was sure to make himself talk loud and fast so as to not be interrupted.

“Such boys! Such shallow wit and knowledge! Know you not that when a boy becomes a man his pride diminishes and his chivalry grows. For a man with great chivalry indicates a great man: genial, courteous, intellectual, selfless, and courageous. While those faces of yours, those blank inglorious concavities, are devoid of pride, of poetry, of soul, of contour, of dignity, of character, in short, of chivalry. You are too simple. Why waste your opportunity on a shove? A dull, stupid and profligate boy, full of drink and low conversation, without dignity of appearance or manner, without sympathy of any kind with your working peasants and their ways and without the slightest knowledge of how to use the common tongue gently. Born into the ranks of the working class, your most likely fate would have been that of a street-corner loafer.

“These my dear sirs are things you might have said if you had some tinge of letters or of wit to color your discourse. But of wit you never had a grain. Therefore, if we are to continue in our delightful banter, I suggest that you cease in choosing from your poor vocabulary and continue in shoving this old greybeard.”

[Gwathagor]

Lithor trailed off. What was that? He squinted hard into the dark beyond the two young men, where he thought he could see...

A deep black shadow filled the doorway behind Wilheard and Wulfric silently. Lithor could not quite suppress a grin, for the shadow was tall and had loose, ragged hair the color of raven's feathers. It hovered behind them.

Wulfric scoffed at Lithor's cheer. "Wit, eh? What are you, Eodwine's jester? I hadn't heard he kept one."

Wilheard moved towards Lithor threateningly. "You're a very poor jester, fool. From the moment you opened your giddy mouth, my humor has only gone from bad to worse. And now - "

The shadow behind them spoke.

"And now?" said Crabannan. Wilheard and Wulfric turned about in surprise as Crabanan stepped out of the shadow into the lamplight. Lithor grinned wider. Crabannan crossed his arms and looked at the two fellows. "Forgive my interruption, it seems the play is just beginning. Well, the audience is here. Recommence."

Wilheard and Wulfric looked the newcomer up and down. They recognized him from earlier that evening and eyed him darkly. They said nothing.

"Or off the stage, then!" Crabannan said. "And hurry back inside to hide behind your father's robes - ow!"

Wilheard and Wulfric looked at each other and back at Crabannan. He was doubled over, clutching his side in apparent pain. They smirked. He looked up at them.

"I must do something to relieve these cramps," he said. "This is what comes of lack of exercise - ow! I have been idle too long." He straightened up and began twisting his head from side to side. His neck made a cracking noise. He stretched his arms and flexed his shoulders - all the while keeping his dark eyes on the two young men.

[Mnemosyne]

Even if her ears had not been trained to pick out such things, Wynflaed would not have been able to help overhearing the boys' rushed report. She tutted to herself--dashing in the hall like that, making report to someone who had not the authority to deal with such a situation anymore...

Ah, well. It had, after all, only been a day.

But the words "two men" and "bullying" pricked at her ears, and out of habit more than anything else her eyes scanned the hall for her two sons. Her heart sank as she realized that they were nowhere within sight. It would not do to assume things of them, but she knew Wulfric and Wilheard and how slowly they took to the lessons of diplomacy. Her eyes sought her husband. He was finally beginning to enjoy himself, and somehow she had the feeling that his presence would exacerbate whatever problem was currently unfolding.

Standing up in a single fluid motion, she turned to the boys. "Thank you for your intelligence," she told them, in a voice much louder than the one they had used to speak to Thornden. "I should like to examine this matter further. If you would accompany me, sir?" With no further word she turned and swept out of the hall.

[Folwren]

“Oh, but,” Javan began. He flushed dark red with embarrassment, worry, and fear, mixed altogether. “We didn’t mean to bother you, lady.” Wynflaed was already gone. The three boys stared after her, gaping. Thornden stood up in obedience to her request to follow her, and when Javan protested, Thornden impatiently pushed him down into his chair and then quickly followed Wynflaed out.

Javan stayed where he had been sat, and the two younger boys stood on either side of him. All three pairs of eyes watched as the two grown-ups went out to deal with the problem.

“I hope Lithor doesn’t get in trouble again,” Javan said. “I wish she hadn’t gone out.” He paused and the other two didn’t say anything. He looked at them. “If you two hadn’t been so loud and insisted on interrupting and not letting me tell Thornden, she wouldn’t have overheard.”

“We weren’t interrupting!” Garmund said. “We were being just as quiet as you!”

“You were not, I was whisp-”

“Javan.” He turned his head sharply. Saeryn was looking at him from across the table. She raised an eyebrow warningly and tilted her head in the direction of the door.

“Sorry, lady Saeryn,” Javan said, standing up quickly. “Come on, fellows,” he said, and led the boys away.

Searyn turned back to lord Athanar. He was speaking at some length of a conversation that had at first been concerning Gondor and the lands there, but she had lost the thread of conversation when the boys distracted her. Their behavior worried her, though she had not heard anything that they had said. She noticed Wynflaed’s departure, and Thornden’s, and she also noticed that although Athanar had looked up and watched his wife leave, he did not stop the conversation.

She did not know what the trouble was, and as they had not come to get her, she figured she need not worry about it. She ate in silence, turning things over in her mind. So much would be happening tomorrow, and so much would be new. She really had no idea what to expect. So much had to be resolved – Javan’s actions must be addressed, more details had to be settled about her own position in the hall, and most lately, this issue concerning Lithor must be resolved. She truly dreaded that most of all. She felt he was not guilty of treason, but if Athanar thought it, he would try to punish Lithor accordingly, and she told herself now that she would do everything in her power to keep Lithor from being killed. However, even if he was not guilty of treason, he was guilty of gross disrespect to the lord in the lord’s own hall. Saeryn had no desire to see Lithor punished in any way, but she felt sure that Athanar would not let it go unaddressed.

And that brought her mind back to Javan. She had not seen Ædre even once, and the fact that the girl had not come to the banquet made her fear that Javan had done more than just hit her once. They had not had a chance to speak with Athanar before the feast, and she knew that the following day, it would be her duty to tell him who it was who had so insulted and injured Ædre. She did not look forward to it.

The simple fact was, she found herself saying in her mind, was that she didn’t look forward to tomorrow at all. She wished she did not have any dealing with it in the slightest, and for the first time since marrying Eodwine, she longed for the simple status of serving-maid again with all her heart. She wanted nothing to do with these responsibility issues – not when it all had to do with punishment and harsh order. Everything that happened had gone awry.

And what was happening outside, anyway?

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas was delighted to find Athanar well versed in the goings on of the nobles in Gondor. His first thought was that conversing with someone who knew all of the nuance of the City and its inhabitants was like being home again. But then he mentally checked himself, and reminded himself that while Gondor had been his home for several years, and was the home of his wife-to-be, he was born a man of Rohan, and he was now a ruling lord of Rohan, a peer of Athanar, and, as a lord not under Athanar's rule (Degas sent a quick thanks into the West that his own Eorl had nothing to do with his sister), a man capable of calling Athanar by name, and speaking to him as a peer.

While they discussed the impending marriage of the daughter of a man they were surprised to learn they both knew, Degas realized that Athanar was quite an excellent conversationalist, when he was not busy asserting dominance. Degas hid a smile behind his cup, and spotted Athanar's wife leave the hall quietly, followed by Thornden. He cast a glance around the room, noting Athanar and Saeryn doing the same. Even most of the old inhabitants were unfamiliar to Degas, so he was not all together concerned with who and where they were. He shrugged mentally. It was not his problem, and if it was important, someone would come find Athanar.

"Yes," he interjected, "Lady Ivoraen is quite understanding of the matter, but the question remains: will the floods in Edhellond affect the movement of salt cod and pearls to Ethring? After the blight this summer, trade is already much lower than Calembel can handle. If Ethring loses its access to the coast, the King will be looking at a fortnight of negotiations to get enough grain to his people in the west."

[Groin Redbeard]

It was absolute bliss in the hall. No music, no singing, but still Erbrand clung tightly to Kara. Tonight his troubles were ignored and the rivalries between old and new were forgotten as they held each other by the roaring fire in the great hall. Tonight had been waiting a long time to happen. He was at perfect ease around Kara and she seemed to like his company. Oh what a long awaited night indeed! There was a new wind blowing like Erbrand had never known; he was breathing deeper than he had ever done. It felt so natural and fulfilling.

Something small and cold pressed against chest. It was the ring, the same ring that had been given to him by that magician, or mage, or wizard, whatever he was, on Eodwine’s wedding day—the man (if he was man) who performed the wedding vows. Whoever the magician was, he had given Erbrand the same ring that now adorned his neck. It was the same day that Erbrand made the vow to be worthy of Kara’s love. Sometimes it was hard for Erbrand to understand, but he believed Kara was teaching him to be a better man. No longer did he want to take his life and grant it like he used to do. He was undoubtedly in love.

Tonight was another night for a vow. Tonight, Erbrand let go of all his lonely yesterdays and correct the mistakes that he made. With the new people in the hall that meant that there would be new suitors for the women of the hall and Erbrand would have nobody seeking after Kara. Too long had he been deluded in to thinking that Crabannan, or even Thornden, was interested in Kara. He would help her and protect her as much as possible, all the while keeping off potential suitors. The bliss that he felt when Kara was close to him was too dear to be snatched from him, Erbrand would not allow it! From tonight on he would start acting as a man in love should act and openly seek to win Kara as a wife.


Lithor
It was funny to see Crabannan suddenly appear in the doorway. Lithor watched as Crabannan immediately took his side in the manner without even waiting to hear what had happened. Crabannan was always good for an honest brawl.

However, Lithor’s amusement soon turned to dreaded doubt. He did not want this to turn into a brawl. If it was a beating only one man would be marked but to turn it into a brawl with four men would bode ill for himself and mostly Crabannan. Crabannan openly came on the side of Lithor in the hall, it would look like Crabannan came searching for revenge after Lithor had been humiliated. No, there must be none of that!

Lithor had become dull as an unused scythe from his “joy making” tonight. Things were constantly becoming worse and worse because he found everything amusing and what the end result was he did not know. The sight of the two angry boys and a protective Crabannan cut Lithor right in two with sorrow. It made him feel empty and worthless to think that he was the cause of all their unhappiness. If that is how things were going to be then Lithor was going fight it. He would not stand to have these boys bully others like they were attempting to do with him, he would not allow his friends to be rejected by Athanar, and he was going to be the cause of no one’s unhappiness other than those who were scoundrels. How had he become so cold?

Lithor hated that he was jaded and made trouble. This was not him, this is not what he would allow himself to become. His heart was numb, devoid of feeling. Lithor reached within his soul to pull an emotion out. What he ended up with was a mixed feeling of gratitude for Crabannan, anger at the behavior of the two young men, and acceptance for the consequence that might follow.

Lithor looked up at Crabannan (who had not gone in), full of his former self. “Thank you, my friend. You have once again proven that you are more than a roguish traveler. You are a loyal friend.” Lithor turned his hateful eyes to the young boys.

“Now, know that your bullying towards me will be accepted, but I can foresee further acts of cruelty to my friends by your hands. Only then will I fight you! I am willing to let things go as they are. However, if you wish to demand satisfaction for my “insults” then you will have to take it out on my flesh.”

[Nogrod]

"... If Ethring loses its access to the coast, the King will be looking at a fortnight of negotiations to get enough grain to his people in the west."

"I see what you're pointing at... so maybe he wants to replenish his granaries from north of Ered Nimrais? That would be only logical. So from Eastfold, East Emnet... maybe even from here? Hmm... That is actually something to consider."

Lord Athanar pulled back in his seat and took a sip of wine thinking about what Degas had just told him.

After the banquet going so bad in the beginning Athanar had now almost forgotten all the ill words and feelings exchanged. This young lord Degas sure was good company; witty, knowledgeable and even more importantly, he was of a stature he could relate to so much more easily than with all the peasants, craftsmen or the rank and file soldiers. It was not that he didn't care about those serving him, on the contrary, he had always fought on behalf of those who were loyal to him with firmness and passion; but there was a difference in going into informal relationships or just chatting around with a person of nobility and education and doing it with people of lower rank.

And it was such a relief to be able to converse on interesting matters like power politics and general affairs of Rohan and Gondor leaving the domestic troubles behind him for a moment.

Speaking of which; he had noticed his wife leave with Thornden following her and he feared there was something he wouldn't like to hear going on outside... But he didn't want to put himself into any new public argument this evening if he was not forced to do it. It could flame the situation once again just as the general feeling was getting a bit more relaxed in the Hall. So if Wynflaed could handle it, the better. He would have a night full of decisions ahead of him but now he just wanted to put them off from his mind and enjoy the conversation.

Leaning towards Degas he put the goblet on the table and looked at the young nobleman to the eye. "And I guess you know what that means. It means remarkable revenues to these areas - and with revenues one gets power... Now most of the Eastfold, the western parts, is right under the governance of king Eomer so most of the added revenue will go to the king's treasury and will thus strengthen Rohan. But East Emnet? That's just a county ruled by wild independent lords - like West Emnet has been. So the revenue will go to those lords and not to Rohan. And if lord Tancred learns the news, which he surely does, it might make him even more bold trying to cling to that extra-wealth for himself... So we might have to act sooner I had thought and force him under the king's rule before he has more money and power to strengthen his position."

Athanar paused, he was thinking.

"That means we just can't afford these brawls here."

He leaned back again picking his pipe from his belt and started stuffing it. There clearly was no way of putting the pressing matters behind. He sighed.

But noticing Degas' and Saeryn's expressions he smiled again. "Heh, a nice northern habit, even if a bit odd around here. I learned it in Minas Tirith actually, during the war...". After lighting his pipe and puffing it to burn evenly he finally made the question he had been thinking of making for a long time - addressing both siblings.

"Now that we're here the three of us; lord Degas, Lady Saeryn; you know the general air of this Mead Hall better than I do. As long as we don't break the decree king Eomer gave me and my wife, I'm pretty much ready to give your ladyship any status here that would make you both feel comfortable and secure the peace within the Mead Hall. Do you have any wishes, any ideas how we could solve this problem that is not our own making?" He looked at both of them with anticipation, more serious he had been the whole evening. It was clear he meant what he said.

[Formendacil]

Náin was being poor company, and he was somewhat aware of it, as he sat in a less-lit corner of the hall, not far from the fireplace, with one hand around a perpetually half-full tankard of ale, and two eyes darting about the Meadhall. Though never particularly unguarded among Men--or even his own race--those who knew Náin better noticed that he was being unusually taciturn.

The Dwarf was not so much feasting as observing the feast, and while the tension seemed to have been eased since the altercation between Athanar and Lithor, Náin was only somewhat relaxed, as the ale worked on his mood. He was still watching the old Scarburgians, as they interacted with the newcomers, and the soldiers of King Éomer--or, rather, as they mostly didn't interact. With very few exceptions, the Old Scarburgians seemed to be keeping to themselves, speaking mostly with their proven friends and avoiding the possibility of another scene.

Náin noted the exit of Athanar's lady, followed closely by Thorden--and he noted too that it was precipitated by the arrival of Stigend and Garstan's sons. This either meant fun or trouble, and Náin did not think it meant much fun this night, but it was not his place to investigate.

One of the very few ongoing interactions between Old Scarburg and New was happening in the person of Scarburg's new Eorl. Athanar was conversing with Degas and Saeryn, and Náin nodded approvingly to himself. Foolish though the Rohirrim were for it, he knew that the Meadhall would remain divided if the memory of Eodwine could not be reconciled with the presence of Athanar. Saeryn could bridge this divide, and he was pleased to see that she was.

It occurred to the Dwarf, for a fleeting moment, to go over and join the nobles. He was, as the grandson of one of Thorin's companions, and distant kin of the Line of Durin, a Dwarf of considerable lineage, and indeed he was the formal ambassador of both Thorin Stonehelm and Gimli of the Glittering Caves. He was not, however, a bold man, and thus he hung back in his corner, deciding Athanar would meet him soon enough, and that he would not presume on Degas or Saeryn's indulgence. Náin had, in any case, no desire to be identified in Athanar's books with "Old Scarburg"; though he knew them and loved them, he was in Scarburg at King Éomer's pleasure, and had more in common with the elite soldiers sent as Athanar's bodyguard than the vassals of Eodwine.

Besides, what had he in common with Lord Athanar? Náin was a formidable warrior at need, as all the Dwarves were, and had fought well in the Battle of Erebor, though he was young, when the Dale was overrun and Dáin Ironfoot slain before the gates of the Mountain. But he was not a soldier. He was a craftsman, indeed a fine artist. He had more in common with the more advanced labourers of Scarburg, common men like Stigend or Garstan, but even they did not understand fully the art of creation. But then, few Men did.

As he continued to observe the nobles of the Hall, however, he noticed that Athanar drew out a pipe and lit a bowl of pipeweed, and his estimation of the soldier rose. Náin smoked a pipe as well, but this was common among his people. His grandfather, Nori, had said that all fifteen of Thorin's legendary company had smoked pipes. But this was not common among Men. Even in Dale, under the influence of the Dwarves, it was a rare habit, often looked upon in askance as a Dwarven, rather than Mannish, trait, and Náin had never seen one of the Rohirrim smoking.

The Dwarf wondered where Athanar had his pipeweed from. He knew that some was traded down the Greenway from the Shire, inheritors of the trade done with Isengard in Saruman's day, but he had thought it was only sold at Helm's Deep, where the Dwarves provided a ready market, or else in Minas Tirith, where it was said King Elessar paid a handsome price for Hobbit pipeweed. Possibly Athanar did more business with Helm's Deep than Náin had guessed, if he had a supply of pipeweed, and in addition to those about Éomer's court, he might know others of Náin's acquaintance.

Náin metaphorically put this in his pipe and began to smoke it, letting the scent of these cogitations seek into the pores of his mind.

[Durelin]

Coen ate quickly, but often scanning the hall, and especially watching the table the near end of which was filled by his men. One sign of someone having a bit too much to drink and acting a fool and he would be ready to drag them out rather than have them embarrass themselves and the lord Athanar. The banquet had settled into private conversations, and so Coen soon excused himself from the lord's table to pay a visit to the soldiers. He did not feel comfortable sitting at the table with the lord and leaders, but mostly because he did not like leaving his men on the hall's benches for too long without him. He was fidgety -- he had been since before even they arrived, and unfortunately the worry and stress had only been heightened with the day's events.

The 'Captain' approached the soldier's benches, and gestured for them to make room for him. They grew quite a bit quieter, and he smiled slightly. Once he was seated, he looked up and down the benches briefly. His eyes stopped at Áforglæd. "So you decided to show up for the banquet anyway?" he asked the man, not expecting an answer. The soldier's face reddened, adding color to the bruises. Coen would speak to him later, and the look he gave the soldier told him that if he had any doubt.

"I'm glad you all kept your heads about you earlier," he spoke to his men at large, keeping his voice at a level which he hoped would not be heard beyond their part of the table. "If any of you should do anything to embarrass Lord Athanar, and to cause any more problems with the locals, you'll be lucky if I let them keep you on as kitchen staff." Coen spoke calmly and evenly, without malice behind his voice. He was not angry at his men, besides being annoyed about Áforglæd, but he was generally distressed.

"I'll speak with you tonight in the barracks about tomorrow's exercises." Coen changed his tone to a bit more conversational. "How do the barracks look, anyway?" he asked the men, and particularly looked to Hilderinc for information.

He couldn't believe he had not even seen the barracks yet, nor even his own quarters, which he hoped were nearby. His responsibilities had grown beyond what he was used to -- meaning beyond the barracks -- and he was certainly starting to doubt that Athanar had made a wise decision with his appointment. But he had to admit that much of his responsibility was by his own assignation. He never could leave well-enough alone, much less leave someone else to do what he considered his job.

[Thinlómien]

"Now, know that your bullying towards me will be accepted, but I can foresee further acts of cruelty to my friends by your hands. Only then will I fight you! I am willing to let things go as they are. However, if you wish to demand satisfaction for my “insults” then you will have to take it out on my flesh."

Wulfric laughed aloud. This was absurd.

"Bullying? Acts of cruelty? Fight us? Are you mad, crone? I am not bullying you, I am commanding you as a rightful noble of this Hall. I have no interest in harming your insulting scoundrel friend: he seems old and hardly fit. You, on the other hand, are still serving as a soldier despite your years, I understand, and will therefore not avoid my anger if I decide to fight you.

And speaking of fighting... are you seriously thinking of attacking the two of us with that cramped and crippled funny-looking friend of yours? Come on, you're old and aching and so is your friend, we are two young and fit warriors!"

He laughed again, it was so absurd. Wilheard, however, was not laughing. He rolled his sleeves up, glaring at the two friends.

"I think he wouldn't attack us," he said, eyeing Lithor with sheer loathing. "For I see it clearly now. This man, if somebody, wants harm to our family. He has insulted our father and now us, but he has been cowardly enough not to let his fists talk. That is because you only attack the ones who are smaller than you, don't you, soldier?"

"I don't understand what you're talking about," Lithor said coldly.

"Sure you don't," Wilheard said with a bitter laugh. "Wulf, I think we've found the jerk who did something to our sister."

Before Wulfric could react in any way, his little brother aimed a mighty blow at Lithor's head.

[Mnemosyne]

Wynflaed tsked to herself as soon as she heard the voices. Her guess had been correct--and her sons were not even bothering to keep their voices quiet. Who knew how many people would know of this fray by the time the night was over?

"Let me handle them," she said quietly to Thornden.

As she reached the scene she heard Wilheard: "Wulf, I think we've found the jerk who did something to our sister." No, no, no... she thought, hurrying forward, as he drew back his arm, ready for a blow. With two swift steps she was there, gripping his other arm with surprisingly strong fingers.

Wilheard whirled around to meet his mother's icy stare.

"Come," she said, in a voice that brooked no disobedience. "You as well, Wulfric. Thornden, speak to these men and learn from them how this happened. I expect an honest report."

At Thornden's nod she continued walking until she found a safe distance from which she could question her sons. She did not turn to see if they had followed until she was there.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc was already in the happy state of having his stomach full of good food and finishing his pot for already... well, he wasn't counting anymore how many times had he seen the bottom of it this evening. Most of the soldiers didn't seem to be counting either. Áforglæd seemed happy enough and cheerfully led a discussion with several others, until Coenred appeared. Hilderinc noticed that few of the soldiers quietly chuckled when Coenred addressed Áforglæd. Scyrr sitting opposite to Hilderinc seemed as if he wanted to say something, most likely something on the address of the old Scarburgians, but Coenred continued.

"I'm glad you all kept your heads about you earlier. If any of you should do anything to embarrass Lord Athanar, and to cause any more problems with the locals, you'll be lucky if I let them keep you on as kitchen staff."

Hilderinc's face once again did not betray any emotion, but inside he approved of Coenred. The commander knew how to work with people and kept soldiers in line without being outwardly harsh. Even now the soldiers, including Scyrr, seemed to be somewhat calmed down. Coen was their commander after all, and he had authority among the men - also authority of the sort that they have been aware that he was a good commander. Hilderinc, who had served under many commanders, including very harsh ones, arrogant ones and some who have been downright mean, was especially grateful for this.

"I'll speak with you tonight in the barracks about tomorrow's exercises." Not all of the soldiers seemed to be happy to be reminded of this, but Hilderinc nodded. He didn't know why, but he actually felt like doing something. More would be seen after a night spent in the new place, though. "How do the barracks look, anyway?"

The commander looked at Hilderinc. The soldier shrugged.

"I think it is fair enough, sir," he said. "I think we might be a bit cramped -"

"A lot," red-faced Scyrr interrupted him.

"But I don't think it will be such a problem," Hilderinc continued without paying attention to him. Scyrr's face turned even more red as he took another gulp from his mug. "After all, we are just sleeping there. I guess there will be enough chance to stretch our bodies after that..."

Scyrr quickly swallowed the ale in his mouth, but still he did not avoid spitting some of it with his next words. "It's small for the lot of us, sir," he said in a deep voice. "And we are going to sleep in it all the time. Back home it was twice as big and there haven't been any other blighters sharing it -"

"...or those who feel it is too uncomfortable may take double shifts and sleep outside," Hilderinc finished calmly. Scyrr's face was now of the color of a ripe cherry.

"It ain't bad," said calmly Feargall who was sitting next to Hilderinc. "To be honest, I was worried that it will be a hole filled with wet hay."

Hilderinc nodded. "Also, sir, wouldn't there be more space after the Hall's construction advances a bit? I assume there is still a lot left to do."

"I hope they do not expect us to build -" Scyrr interrupted once again, but Hilderinc did not let him finish. Somehow, most likely due to the ale consummed, he felt a lot more talkative than he usually was.

"The barracks are in a quite good place, too," he said. "Especially when you want to go to the kitchen... though I have been almost knocked over twice when going there from inside the Hall, so everybody better watch out..."

A few soldiers laughed. It was unusual for Hilderinc to make jokes, or at least not with obvious intention like this time.

"Kitchens," one of the young soldiers, Baldwic, interposed. "Seen any pretty lasses around there, Hilderinc?"

Hilderinc's eyes briefly shot towards the dark woman who has been serving the ale and then the young fair-haired girl whom he encountered in the kitchens.

"I am sure you will have time to look around, Baldwic," he said, turning to the soldier. "You could have asked some of the girls for a dance, you can still do that, even though I don't hear our musicians now anymore." Hilderinc knew very well that Baldwic has been looking around all the evening, obviously being curious as a young man coming to a new place would be, yet he did not dare to move away from the soldiers' table.

Hilderinc turned back to Coenred.

"As I said, sir, I think the barracks should be fine for the time being..." The interest in the conversation of most of the soldiers, except for those who were sitting close by, seemed to decline. Many were turning back to their own talks. Hilderinc leaned across the table, pulling his mug closer, but also leaning closer to Coenred.

"Sir, I wanted to ask, is commander Thornden going to be with us tomorrow too?" This was perhaps somewhat unnecessary question, but Hilderinc kept an unspoken question behind it too: what does Coen think about his new second-in-command? Hilderinc wondered whether his words would betray anything about the opinion he had formed about the local commander. Despite not being overtly curious, Hilderinc preferred to know what to expect, it helped him to make easier judgements later on. Coenred's opinion on the new commander might give him a better notion of the man he had seen only casually.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"...Do you have any wishes, any ideas how we could solve this problem that is not our own making?"

Degas leaned forward, looking between Saeryn and Athanar. "May I, sister?"

She nodded, as regal as he had ever seen her.

He set his drink down and addressed Athanar directly. "Saeryn and I have discussed the matter at length, and so I know her mind. The question has never truly been Saeryn's position as the Lady of Scarburg, though that will remain an open wound for some time amongst the people. That is merely a matter of peasant loyalty, as they doubtlessly understand the nuance of their household far better than matters of state. It's in the very nature of peasants to remain loyal to those nobles who have treated them well. With time, they will grow accustomed to their new situation."

Athanar inclined his head, acknowledging Degas's point, and inviting him to continue.

"As I said, it is not Saeryn's title that is of concern to us. You see, my sister is with child, early enough yet that - forgive my indelicacy - her gowns are only just beginning to feel too snug, and being stripped of title and lands also strips her unborn child of the inheritance promised to him by nature of his noble parents. While Saeryn would accept the loss of her own station if it were the will of the King - and I would most certainly invite her back to our family lands, where she would live as sister of the lord, with all the rights and privileges of the immediate family of the ruler - for her to accept that option would be to leave her home and the people who have come to signify family to her, and to forfeit the rightful inheritance of her child."

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar draw his breath with the news. He toyed with his empty goblet for a while thinking but then addressed Saeryn.

"So that is how it is, you bear a child to lord Eodwine? And everyone in the Scarburg Hall knows that?"

Saeryn nodded, not saying a word.

"Well I quessed it was so after speaking with this Erbrand-fellow before the banquet... he kind of slipped it even if not openly... But it is good to know it from your mouths - and that it's not just his knowledge, but everyone's."

Lord Athanar pulled back and took a long puff from his pipe to concentrate.

"King Eomer never told me about this... here you just have to believe me. Had I known that, I would have acted otherwise today... I don't stand the way this Lithor acted - or that someone beat my daughter - but I might have been able to suppress things in time had I known what feelings there were running under the surface..."

He leaned back to the table trying to drink from an empty goblet. Disappointed he looked around finally finding the eyes of Modtryth and raising his goblet to show their table needed more. Modtryth nodded and went to the kitchens to get them more wine.

"I see what you mean, it's most unfortunate." Degas added feeling relieved. Lord Athanar was clearly not jumping off the walls with the news.

"Thank you Degas... Well I have to... well, we have to think about something. The king's mission is the first priority whatever our private fortunes might be..."

He looked at both of the siblings studying their reactions.

"So... it's not only your status right now lady Saeryn, but the inheritance then?"

They both nodded.

"I have promised to look after my sister's rights and that's why I am here in the first place." Degas added to confirm the negotiating position.

Lord Athanar nodded in acceptance and leaned back again to think puffing his pipe.

Modtryth was just coming to pour them some more wine when lord Athanar suddenly spread his hands with a seemingly bright idea crossing his mind.

His right hand hit the winecase and a lot of wine poured down to his lap. He turned his eye to Modtryth only to see her grow pale. "What is your name woman?" He asked in a stern voice while wondering if she was indeed a dunleding... Now what is this... a dunleding in my Hall... I clearly know not half of what is going on down here.

"Modtryth, sir, at your service," she replied curtly, eyes downcast. "I'm the wife of Stigend the carpenter... and the humble servant of the eorl, and lady Saeryn."

"Well Modtryth, it was my fault... you were only carrying out your duties. Fill our goblets and then get a towel for me." He said now quite softly even if determinatedly, looking at the woman beside her.

"Sure my lord," Modtryth said and filled the goblets and thus went away to search for a towel.

Lord Athanar seemed not to care of the wine poured on his lap but leaned forward.

"If the inheritance is the problem, I think we could come up with a solution..."

Looking at the confused faces of Saeryn and Degas lord Athanar almost laughed out aloud.

"Now listen to me... this will be between ourselves and not leaked into the commoners... not even to master Thornden... right?" He looked for the accepting nods from the two.

"I'm here on an assignment from king Eomer but I have no idea of spending my retiring years here... so whoever takes the leadership of the Mead Hall here after my duties are fulfilled, and I get a promotion from the king, it's pretty much same to me... so how if we could come up with an arrangement that you lady Saeryn would be the inheritor of this place? If king Eomer is not knowledgeable of your child or has just not thought of it... then we could act by ourselves, or ask his blessing on our deal?"

Modtryth came with the towels and together the two tried to clean as much they could. After a few minutes lord Athanar asked Modtryth to leave.

"I see you have grown into this place lady Saeryn... well not the place... but the people here. And they have grown to you. But you will not defeat lord Tancred which is what king Eomer is asking from this Mead Hall right now, irrespective of how lord Eodwine is. That thing needs to be settled now. And if anyone can do that, I can do that. I know that scoundrel and know his game... and he beat me in the war for honours... with vile tricks... so I have the motive to fight him back and fight him hard. Hopefully not with weapons... but if it comes to that... then even that way. In a duel he will die..."

Lord Athanar took a sip of his newly filled goblet and fell into his memories for a moment. Hearing the heavy thoughts both Saeryn and Degas decided not to say anything.

And lord Athanar turned back to them at last.

"So let's find out a way to show people that you - or at least your child - will have his rights to this community. I think that at the time of your child reaches adulthood I will be far away in other places fulfilling greater requests for my lord - or then I have failed my lord indeed."

[Groin Redbeard]

His feet were comfortably perched on the table. Never had he had the chance to eat such magnificent food! Such cooks were angels! Girth’s left hand was filled with mutton joint and his right hand dutifully scratched the ears of Dog. His eyes darted around the hall and settled on a couple standing close to the fire. Girth watched them for a while, finding comfort in their obvious affection for each other, but the scene did not last long. The man gave the woman a slight peck on the cheek and departed. The rings of the man’s fiddle soon echoed throughout the hall once again.

“You see, Hamrod, they are not such an unsophisticated people as you think. Though I don’t know why you think of such things. People like us should be satisfied with what is currently ours. After all, most of the people here are simple folk like ourselves.”

“Nay, it was not that the people are un-so-phi-sti-cat-ed, as you say. I have no clue what that means.”

“I hang around my betters too much. But go on…”

“These people are too independent. Why look take that old soldier. Such disrespect! It would do these people good to feel the lash.”

“What? What is this I hear from your lips?! I have never known you to be such an unfeeling man.”

“Aye, and I have never known men such as these.”

“You condemn these people too fast. They are a different people; therefore, it holds that they have different customs. I hold reserved opinions of all men involved in the squabble, but I forgive them. Why just look with what they have provided us with: a magnificent hall and an abounding feast. Tell me Hamrod, when was the last time that you supped at your lord’s table? Have you ever been invited in your lord’s home.”

“It is not our place to sup at lord Athanar’s table or to be invited in his house.”

“True, true, therefore, I am grateful that I am allowed to sup where I have the better sense to stay away from.”

“That didn’t make a lick of sense.”

“Maybe, but that is how I feel and nothing you say is going to make me miserable tonight. Let your opinion ferment for a while longer. The more it sits the more it will stink, in your case.”

“Spoken like a true swine herder!” Hamrod shook his head causing his straight curly hair shaking like ruffled bush. Girth grabbed his belly and laughed heartily.

“Aye, I’ll drink to that. May the dirt of Scarburg bring forth a great many piglets!”

[Folwren]

Saeryn stared at Athanar, not comprehending quite what he meant. “The king has given you lands and a title, what more do you really expect? Eomer may not realize that you are hoping for some larger grant from him. What if you don’t ever leave this place, after all? What then? Your sons will not simply step aside for my child, if your family is still here when the time for an inheritance comes. I cannot see that they would let anyone outside of your family take something that they would rightfully think is theirs. I don’t blame you, lord Athanar. Don’t think I do. It is a difficult situation that all of us have been thrown into. I wish there was some simple way of solving this problem, but so far as I can see, I cannot say what the answer is.”

----
Thornden

Thornden watched Lady Wynflaed walk away, followed by their sons. He was struck with the authority she held over them. It was very different from the authority that Saeryn exercised, being much colder and aloof. She let her orders leave no room for argument, and even if they did, she didn’t, for she left without waiting for any questions to be asked. Twice she had done it to him now in less than two minutes, first ordering him to come, and now ordering him to stay.

He turned his head to Lithor and Crabannan who both stood waiting.

“Well?” he asked. “What’s happening now, Lithor? And what are you doing here, Crabbanan? I hope you weren’t looking for a fight?”

[Thinlómien]

The two young men followed their mother in silence. Wilheard was thinking of other matters, and Wulfric knew better than to start arguing with his mother while the three old Scarburgians were still within earshot.

"Now," said Wynflaed once they were far enough, "both of you had better have a perfectly reasonable explanation for what you were doing here and why--especially you, Wilheard. Unfortunately, I myself cannot think of any excuse you could give me that would hold water, so I must needs conclude that neither of you are particularly reasonable and are in fact lacking in mental faculties altogether. Do I make myself clear? Why were you not in the Hall setting a good example for the people?"

"You might ask that same of Master Thornden," Wulfric replied. "We two just went out for a short walk. He, on the other hand, was plotting treason with that old soldier called Lithor. Lord Athanar needs to know about this."

"I was not asking for an explanation of Master Thornden's behavior. I was asking for an explanation of yours.

Be that as it may, you know full well that we of the Eorlingas do not deal with anyone, traitor or otherwise, by striking at them in private as if we were ashamed for others to see our deeds. If indeed Thornden and Lithor were planning treason, why did you not run and fetch your father as anyone respecting the rule of law ought?"

Wulfric and Wilheard exchanged glances. Again Wulfric spoke: "The accusation of treason should not be spoken lightly. We followed Lithor to ask him what were he and Thornden up to."

"And we also wanted to know what he had done to upset Father, since we weren't present when that happened," Wilheard added quickly. Wulfric gave him a dark look.

"And if indeed the accusation of treason should not be spoken lightly, why are you so quick to accuse Thornden?" Wynflaed held up a hand to quiet her sons.

"I am not saying that your accusations are groundless; however, thus far Thornden has proven himself a reliable ally in this transition of power. If what you say is true there must be stronger evidence at hand than a mere conversation, overheard at the wrong times. Such things have been expanded and exaggerated in the past, to the grief of all. And this still does not explain, Wilheard, why you leveled the baseless accusation at Lithor that he hit your sister, nor why you were so eager to strike him."

"How can you say the accusation is baseless!" Wilheard burst out. "That man hates our family! He obviously disrespected our father, and he insulted me and Wulfric too. Who else would dare offend Aedre?"

Wynflaed laughed--a slow, quiet, rueful chuckle. "Ah, the innocence of youth," she said. "You must have taken the tales of Orcs and Riders too much to heart when you were young. We are not fighting a single Shadowed enemy as we were when you were children, my sons, and we are not fighting for land or even people, but for their hearts. I can think of many good people who, if goaded the wrong way, would do something they previously thought dishonorable in the heat of a moment--even something as dishonorable as striking a defenseless girl.

The one who hit Aedre, as it turns out, was not a man but a child her age. But since you were ready to jump to conclusions based on a few scanty actions of this man, you very nearly made our already tenuous position worse. If you will continue to so dishonor our house that the hearts of these people are set against us--whether you think you are in the right or not--you will hurt me, your father, and yourselves even more than if you had let small slanders lie. If you cannot learn to deal with people and these situations properly and respectfully, I am not above placing you in the service of the stablemaster for a day or two. And I doubt, when he hears of this, that Lord Athanar will be above it either.

I am ashamed of both of you, my sons, but even more ashamed of myself that I should have borne and raised such sons as this. Leave the ruling of this hall to the adults until you have proven yourself fit for their company."

Wynflaed took a deep breath. "Now, as for the matter of Thornden--I wish you to tell me, word for word, what you heard him and Lithor say. I do not approve of your snooping about like this, but we may as well make use of such information."

"As for the matter of Thornden, I'm going to report that to Father, not you, since I know you will undoubtedly present the matter in a way that suits you and not true to what I say," Wulfric replied.

"And as for being ashamed, that you should indeed be." There was a flash of anger in his eyes and although he knew he was on dangerous waters, he could not help but continue: "What kind of woman are you? You hardly care that your daughter was beaten, and you join the insulting choir against your sons without first bothering to find out what happened. You refuse to act on treachery against your lord and husband, undoubtedly you will do nothing until he lies dead at your feet!"

Wynflaed's eyes smoldered. "I very much do care that Aedre was hurt, and rest assured that the one who laid hands on her will receive justice." Her lips spread into a thin, feline smile.

"If you truly think that Athanar and I will do nothing in defense of this treachery and treason, then you have forgotten--we both of us grew up and lived--and survived--under the court of Grima Wormtongue. I assure you, compared to those dark years, these intrigues are child's play. And as for you, Wulfric--how can you expect anyone to treat you as your status merits if you cannot even keep a civil tongue when talking to your own mother?

Make your report to your father, son. It is, in fact, probably better that you do so than I, since these matters are strictly military. I shall learn as much about this situation as I may, and if it turns out that you were blameless in all your words and deeds here, I will apologize to you. You are correct--I should not be ready to assume you are wholly in the wrong.

But if you think Lord Athanar will trust your account of these events over anyone else's simply because you have spoken to him first, you are mistaken. If I learn that you have left anything out--including your fist, Wilheard--it shall go worse for you in the end.

Go, with my blessing, to share your intelligence, and in the meantime I shall try to glean as much more from this situation as I may."

Wilheard gave his mother a morose look. Wulfric wanted to reply his mother's words, but he knew it would end up in another sermon - such was the way of aging women - so he merely nodded.

"Come, Will," he said to his brother. They turned to go.

"I may be unable to keep a civil tongue when talking to my mother but she is surely unable to keep her tongue when talking to her children..." Wulfric muttered as they started towards the Hall where they would find their father.

[Groin Redbeard]

Thornden seemed annoyed in his voice. Lithor was very surprised to see that Wynflaed had acted so promptly on the situation, she had startled him far more than the young man’s oncoming fist (Lithor still had not caught the young men’s names). Lithor watched for a moment as the men obediently trotted after their mother and then turned his attention to Thornden and addressed him formally.

“Certainly not, Master Thornden. Crabannan is in no way responsible for my actions. Indeed, he came here to prevent a fight but arrived too late. I am to blame for this fight.”

“Tell me what happened.” Thornden asked. Lithor was quiet and stood straight at attention as if to expect an order or rather a judgment.

It may seem strange to hear Lithor, who had almost been in rage and indignation with his two unknown opponents, suddenly turn and defend them by remaining silent. The answer is simple: being now twice accused of treason in one night he had better start acting like a soldier. The consequence of his actions had finally begun to sink in. Decades of training, long forgotten under Eodwine’s rule, were beginning take hold. Lithor had been more like a guard than an actual soldier under Eodwine. Now that Lithor had come into contact with a lord who was true soldier, his mind began to draw its nourishment not from everyday working life, but from training and years of unquestionable obedience.

However, Lithor was troubled that if he took the better part of the blame the accusation that the men will bring against Thornden might be believable. Lithor was not optimistic with two of his lord’s sons about to testify to their father, he hardly expected Athanar to be a fair judge in this case. What mattered was keeping Crabannan’s (who had already been in hot water with Lithor) and Thornden’s reputations clean.

“I will not defend my actions, sir, but I think that you should know that these young men are out to slander your good name. They are accusing you of treason as well, sir.” Lithor was still standing at attention but he noticed that Wynflaed had joined them.

He hated to be gawked at and examined like some horse at a fair. Athanar’s words rang in his ears: court jest, start acting like a soldier, should know better. This is precisely why Lithor liked Eodwine’s rule: everyone was their own man adhering to a common law—that was a working man’s life, a peace time life. All that had vanished so fast today. Still, Lithor would do his duty and start being more obedient. Lithor swore allegiance to his lord; however, his conscience would remain his own.

[Folwren]

"I don't know what your actions were, Lithor," Thornden replied. "It might be defence enough if I were to just learn what happened." He glanced at Wynflaed, standing silent just out of the ring created by Crabannan, Lithor and himself. "As for their report to their father, I know not how they could slander my name, for I have done nothing to be ashamed of.

"Come, sir," he said, only half sternly. "You must tell me what has happened here, or I cannot possibly judge fairly."

[Durelin]

Coen shook his head as his men bantered, and waited for Hilderinc to finish as he tried to answer the captain's question in between all the interruptions. Coen nodded at the man's conclusion that the barracks would be fine. He was sure they would be, and that the complainers like Scyrr had become too accustomed to his position in Edoras. This Scarburg was a far cry from the Golden Hall and the barracks attached to the hall and in the surrounding area.

"You should be happier to be building than riding at the head of a charge," he said pointedly to Scyrr before answering Hilderinc's question. He glanced around the group of soldiers, letting his eyes linger a moment on the young Baldwic. "And I hope none of you will lose your wits over any kitchen maids," he all but muttered before turning back to Hilderinc.

"Thornden?" he said as he thought. "I expect so. He was the man the soldiers here answered to, and of course he's going to continue managing some things around here, at least for the time being." He stroked his beard momentarily, something he did not do often. This Thornden was quite a young man, not that he seemed incapable. "You men are still under my command, and the few soldiers under Eodwine will be under my command as well -- and remember that even though I talk of you separately, by tomorrow you will all just be soldiers of Scarburg."

Coen looked at Hilderinc thoughtfully, but not accusatorily. "Why do you ask? Did you have any problems with him when he showed you the barracks?" He glanced around at the other men now, as well.

[Groin Redbeard]

"Sir, it is not a question of truthfulness, it is a question of character." Lithor spoke in a low tone to Thornden. Lithor was wary of Wynflaed standing amongst them. So far he disliked her children, had no cause to love her husband, but how would she fair? Her eyes seemed gentle and understanding as Thornden's. They seemed to command for Lithor to continue.

"Madam," he said bowing low. "Sir," he turned again to Thornden. "I have been in squabbles like this before and I know that it is the person with the best character who is believed. Let my past actions be my witness, whether it be a good or an ill one." Lithor turned to Wynflaed and bowed again.

"I crave your pardon, madam, if I seem rude. Today has been a strenuous day for us all and I feel quite out of myself. I trust your sons to be truthful men and I trust that their telling will be accurate. I, therefore, yield to your graces and will speak no more tonight."

[Folwren]

Thornden pressed his lips together. If Lithor would not speak to defend himself, then so be it. "You are retiring, then?" he asked. Lithor nodded. "I bid you goodnight," Thornden said. "I will see you in the morning."

Lithor turned and departed and Thornden turned back towards the hall. Wynflaed walked beside him and Crabannan came a step or so behind. Thornden turned to look at him. "I am sorry I leaped to conclusions just now. I should have known that you weren't looking for trouble."

[Thinlómien]

The two brothers walked to the hall in silence. Wulfric was too aggravated to start about the treachery at hand or about his mother's nannying; he feared that if he let himself start, there would be no end to his rant. Wilheard, on the other hand, was trying to come up with the most painful yet lawful enough ways to revenge on the rascal who had beaten his sister.

They entered the hall, full of warmth and merry chattering of people. They looked with despisal on the unknown faces. Traitors, though Wulfric. Beaters of kids, thought Wilheard.

They found their father deep in conversation with Lady Saeryn and her brother.
"Excuse me my lord, there's something that cannot wait," Wulfric cut in formally, hardly letting Saeryn finish her sentence.

Athanar's blue eyes flashed with annoyance, but also with interest. "I have an important discussion here, Wulfric."
"Not to disrespect, but this could be even more important," said Wulfric. Wilheard nodded in agreement.

For a while, Athanar studied their serious faces and the anger behind their eyes, and rose up then. "Excuse me, Lord Degas, Lady Saeryn..." he said and lead his sons to the corridor next to the hall.

"Now what is it?" he asked with an edge of impatience to his voice.

"The locals act with utmost disrespect towards us," Wilheard said.
"But we can handle that, of course, we are grown up men and we can earn the respect that belongs to us," Wulfric amended quickly, stepping on Wilheard's foot. Why was his brother such an idiot?
"Well what is it then?" Athanar asked, now the impatience clearer in his voice.
"Treachery," said Wulfric. "We heard Thornden discuss with a soldier named Lithor, and Lithor was talking of how Thornden must earn your trust so that the folk that lived here under Eodwine can use it to their advantage."
"And what did Thornden say?"
"He didn't say yes or no."

Lord Athanar shook his head. "Then you are making hasty conclusions and we will not discuss this matter now. There has been enough talk and trouble for today."
"But..." Wulfric protested and Athanar cut in:
"I will nevertheless expect a full report of the discussion tomorrow. I will also want to hear how did you manage to hear the discussion and what happened outside after Thornden came back in and he and your mother left."
"Sure, my lord," Wulfric said stiffly, inclining his head a little.
"Sure, o most noble and gracious liege-lord to whom I give my loyalty until and after my woeful death in the hands of thy enemies," Wilheard said in a mock serious voice and bowed so low that his hair wiped the floor.

"Good night, boys," Athanar said, his eyes glinting with amusement, and went back to the hall.

"Idiot," said Wulfric, and smacked Wilheard.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"Why do you ask? Did you have any problems with him when he showed you the barracks?"

Hilderinc shook his head firmly. "No, sir. I was just curious. Even though you are now the first in command here, commander Thornden will also be our superior from now on. I think he has not given himself away very much when showing us the barracks, he just lead the way. Of course back then he did not have yet the formal authority."

So, Hilderinc thought, it did not seem that Coenred had any special feelings about Thornden either - not especially positive, but also not especially negative. That was reassuring by itself, although tomorrow and the following days will certainly show more. Hilderinc assumed, given his own experiences with many commanders throughout the years, that he would be able to figure Thornden out quite soon.

And the conditions of this entire stay here - Hilderinc looked over his shoulder at the rest of the soldiers in the hall - will be all the same from the beginning, unless some unexpected things happened. That would mean that accustoming himself to the circumstances will be the most reasonable thing to do in the very beginning, as soon as possible, as it has been always anyway. Many of the young soldiers - and sometimes also old, more experienced ones - made often the mistake of riding against the wind, thinking that the world will change if they fight hard enough. But Hilderinc knew very well that this was not the case. Many soldiers will come complaining about Scarburg, about its other inhabitants, about this and that, while eventually they will get used to Scarburg as it is and succumb to the conditions and the daily rythm of the place. It made one's life a lot easier if he did that earlier than later, though.

Getting accustomed to new commanders and new fellow soldiers was one of the ways to do it. Coen had said it well - "by tomorrow you will all be soldiers of Scarburg". This was exactly the case. They will all be the soldiers of Scarburg, only some would refuse to accept it immediately. But that's how it was. And it was easier to accept it than to learn about it the hard way.

In a way, Hilderinc now pitied that there have not been any more attempts for interaction between the local people and Athanar's folk today - apart from perhaps the very bad and awkward performance from this Lithor, of which Hilderinc still was not sure; the man seemed to be perhaps one of those who, despite their age, seemed to favour riding against the wind. But even apart from that the atmosphere has been possibly just too tense tonight. After some time of drinking and eating Hilderinc now felt more relaxed, even among most of the people the initial unrest seemed to be forgotten, but if they were to be ready to start doing something tomorrow, they would better not start getting acquainted with each other now as that could well last until morning. And Hilderinc at least wanted to have clear head tomorrow of all days, and he would also prefer to feel as little grumpy from having to wake up as possible.

He actually started to think that it might be more reasonable to go to sleep earlier, to return to the barracks before most of the other men do, to claim some good spot for himself. The soldiers would likely make noise while returning, but as a seasoned soldier himself, Hilderinc has learned how to wake up easily and again immediately fall asleep easily and almost anywhere.

He turned back to Coenred. "I think it will be all easier for us to start to work together when you are here in command, sir," he said, thinking now about the soldiers who were familiar with Coenred from Athanar's household. "And it will be easier for those who originate from here that commander Thornden will be there with us, too. You will see us working as one, the soldiers of Scarburg."

Hilderinc intentionally used the word "Scarburg", not "Athanar", and it occured to him that maybe Coen did the same thing before on purpose. Telling the soldiers that they were all soldiers of Scarburg eliminated the gap between those who could - like that Lithor seemed to - still ride against the wind and not accept Athanar's presence, for whatever absurd personal reasons.

Hilderinc was thinking about lifting himself and leaving the table if Coen did not have anything more important to say to his men about tomorrow. Some fresh night air and getting early to bed was just preferrable now.

[Formendacil]

Náin was watching Athanar again. The Dwarf had drawn his own pipe, and was gently tamping a bowl of pipeweed in with his broad, muscular thumb. He had to move briefly towards the fire to find himself a light, since it was more effort to strike tinder and flint than he was interested in exercising, and soon a cloud of sweet-scented smoke was drifting towards the rafters from his corner near the fireplace. Quite possibly, he thought, if it were only Athanar and himself who smoked in Scarburg, the idea might develop that it was some sort of noble past-time.

Degas and Saeryn were left alone as Athanar's sons approached him, and drew him aside to the corridor. Náin watched their interaction through the thickening film of smoke, and shook his head slightly. Young noblemen, it seemed, came all too often in the spoiled model--or, at least, the immature. Wulfric and Wilheard were too old to be acting like children--though they were, in Náin's opinion. It was the curse of the nobility--and of Mannish nobility specifically. Granted, it was years longer before a Dwarf was full-grown, but no nearly-grown adolescents would have acted so obviously puffed up around the Lord of their house, especially if he were their father.

Not that Náin had any idea what the young nobles were cornering their father for. It didn't matter. They had the excited, self-consciously proud bounce to them that said they had something to say that made them important. In an adult, it would be called toadyness, but in children--which they belatedly were--it was simply immaturity.

Here the Dwarf's sympathies were decidedly with the common folk, who had no time for nonsense. In Rohan, as in Dale or Bree or Gondor, if your father was not wealthy, you started labouring with him form a young age--younger than Wilheard, certainly. But when your father was a noble? Náin thought a touch more Dwarvenness would serve Men better, by apprenticing their noble sons to a craftsman, but no noble among Men would ever consider such a thing. So while Náin was both a lord of moderately high standing among his people and a master craftsman, the sons of Athanar would probably never be more than nobles--maybe, if they were lucky, Athanar would send them for soldiering, and they'd learn discipline thus.

Not that it seemed likely. Wulfric, at least, should have been sent off already if he were to serve with the Riders, and Wilheard would ride as well if Éomer had to summon the Muster of the Mark.

As usual, thought Náin, Men do things well up to a point--and then cease being practical because of some unfathomably large blind-spot. So often it was their children.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc's gaze was wandering about the room and for the first time he properly noticed the Dwarf sitting near the fireplace. Now he remembered that he had spotted him before, but his mind was probably occupied by other things at that moment - like Athanar's or Saeryn's speech - and he didn't pay much attention to the short man back then.

Hilderinc had no experience with Dwarves, he had never encountered one face to face, even though he knew many of them were now working at Helm's Deep. This Dwarf was just as Hilderinc had expected Dwarves to be: short, rather square-shaped and with ridiculously long beard. Hilderinc's eyes stopped at him for a while and he also noticed that the Dwarf was smoking a pipe. That only contributed to the alien feeling the Dwarf was giving to Hilderinc. Of course, the habit of smoking was not completely unfamiliar to him, but he had never tried it himself (he did not even expect to have a chance to try it) and it still seemed like a novelty to him. Lord Athanar also had a pipe, Hilderinc has learned about that fact already back in Edoras, shortly after entering into his service. It seemed like an odd habit for an old man like Athanar, but perhaps for the nobles it was an interesting curiosity to occupy themselves with. Actually Athanar might not have been the first of Hilderinc's superiors who had been smoking, Hilderinc was thinking that possibly one of his earlier masters had been smoking as well. If rumours were to be believed, this habit came from one of the strange peoples beyond the Mountains, the holbytlan - in whose land, if rumours were to be believed once again, Saruman of Isengard and Wormtongue have met their end. Folk from the legends and bedtime stories - as Hilderinc kept hearing them since his childhood - yet according to what Hilderinc once heard from one old traveler from the North, they have killed that slippery snake. Too much real for the creatures from children's stories anyway. A bit like these Dwarves.

What was the Dwarf doing here anyway? The Dwarves were rumoured to be good craftsmen, perhaps that was why this one was in Scarburg. But couldn't the former eorl's men have built the Hall by themselves? Hilderinc was wondering about that. The Hall certainly did not seem to be in any better condition than if it was being built by Men only, as far as he could see. Now was this the Mark or some sort of Dwarfland? Maybe it was just the previous lord's whim to have a "special" worksman here. Great lords indeed seemed to have these weird habits. Hilderinc wondered if Athanar was of the same mind, though. But once the Dwarf was here, Athanar would probably leave him in his place. Especially if they shared the pipeweed-smoking habit. But what exactly was this Dwarf's position in Scarburg anyway?

Hilderinc interrupted his thoughts at that point. His mug seemed empty and he was not sure if he wanted to stay around much longer. Maybe a last one, then, and after that it was the time to go.

[Groin Redbeard]

The hall was merrier than when Lithor had left it. Good, it was good to see some mighty cheer within the hall. On the far end Lithor saw the two sons withdraw with their father. How honest would they prove? He would find out tomorrow. On the right hand corner of the hall the soldiers were talking in groups segregated between old and newcomer. His friends Matrim and Balvir seemed to be enjoying themselves, Lithor desperately wanted to talk to them to anyone of his shrinking circle of friends. Those who he had thought knew him well received him with cold stares as he walked along the wall into the barracks. He had half thought of sleeping in the freezing night air rather than sleeping with more than half a dozen soldiers who thought the worst of him, but in the end he decided against it. Let them try and force me out. I still might have friends left. He knelt down on his bed and threw the covers on.

These torments would pass in time. It had been his experience that time and solitude would heal him. For a long time Lithor lay gazing up at the beams thinking of all those faces in the hall and of those two ungentle men who he would encounter tomorrow. No need to worry about that yet, tomorrow will come in its own good time; sleep instead.

~~~~~~~~~~

Erbrand & Girth

The song ended on a fast beat and Erbrand was relieved when he had finished it. Playing such fast songs challenged his mind to race faster than his fingers, but it was very well played.

“Well done good sir!” Someone shouted nearby. It came from a balding man of incredible size sitting to his left in a most liberally comfortable position. Erbrand rose and walked over seeing a good opportunity for a meeting.

“I don’t believe I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance.”

“Pleasure? That is a matter of taste. Few people find pleasure in the acquaintance of a pig master.”

“You attend pigs?”

“Pigs, cattle, goats, all are my own to protect and watch just as Athanar watches over us. I have no such prominence (nor do I seek any mind you) as you but I am proud and content with my status in life.”

Erbrand smiled. “I hold as much prominence in this hall as you, good sir. Tonight’s honor will be gone tomorrow. I am a tanner and craftsman by trade.”

Girth’s eyes brightened when Erbrand said this and eagerly pointed to a chair for Erbrand to sit. “Good! then we may speak as equals and not be bound by the restraints of formality.” Erbrand already began to feel uncomfortable—he liked formal speech. However, Girth pressed on with question after question pertaining from everything from quality of mud (as if Erbrand studied the mud on the bottom of his boots every night) to relations with the locals (as if Erbrand had bumped in to Tancred and his friends everyday in the kitchen). The discussion (rather the questioning) proceeded in this style for a good many minutes leaving Erbrand feeling very tired of the mundane questions he had to answer but also pleased at finding such an open person. Presently the discussion changed.

“Tell me of your former lord.” Girth asked right after Erbrand had finished answering Girth’s previous question. For a moment Erbrand did not know what to say, the thoughts taking form in his mind.

“My former lord?” he said presently, “You mean lord Eodwine.”

“Is that his name? Oh, then tell about this Eodwine. Was he a good lord?”

“I do not think that there is a better man in Rohan, save the king. He was a gentle ruler and did not like to pester his subjects a lot. When something needed doing he would calmly address the people and tell them in the plainest terms what was happening.” Girth listened intently he nodded his head in thought.

“An honest man?”

“I never knew a more humble and honest man than him. My loyalty to him is fierce. I would follow him down a dragon’s throat.”

“Ah, I can see Eodwine was a good lord by the loyalty he instills in his subjects. Loyalty is everything when it comes to ruling.” Girth rubbed his head and looked to where Athanar sat. “What think you of my lord?”

The question was not unexpected, Erbrand had anticipated it. “I have had the privilege of actually talking with your lord, Athanar.” Girth’s eyes widened in amazement. “When I talked with him he sounded reasonable and a good man, as every bit as good as lord Eodwine was. However, I have yet to swear an oath of allegiance to your lord, not that I expect him to ask for one, nor do I intend to give him any.” Girth gave Erbrand a cautious stare, he was speaking too loud. The two leaned closer to each other and Erbrand continued in a suppressed voice.

“I do not like your lord, Athanar, at all!”

“Why so friend? Is it because he ousted your soldier from his place in the middle of the hall?”

“That soldier is a friend of mine.” Erbrand said in a growl. “I have known him to have an honorable and a loving soul. Athanar does not know what he is talking about when he accused Lithor of treason!” Girth leaned back in his chair and viewed Erbrand thoughtfully.

“Go on, sir, continue. What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly what I say.”

Girth looked astonished at Erbrand. If there was vocation where bluntness and brute honesty were required, this man would excel at it.

“Know you to who you speak?” Girth asked astonished. “You should curve your tongue a little more. Men in such lowly estates as us cannot afford to be ratted out to our better for such slanderous talk. Athanar is my lord as well as yours now and we should honor him.”

“Aye, and let the Dark One who reigned in Mordor be sometimes honored for his burning throne!” Erbrand’s eyes were lit with rage. His fist slammed down on the table at his last word. Girth looked around uneasily, no one had noticed them.

“Sir, I see honesty in your eyes,” spoke Girth with urgency as if Erbrand’s honesty was a disease that must be cured immediately. “Come now, your full mind is not yet known to me. Empty your thoughts to me and I will empty mine in turn.”

“Athanar has shown nothing but disrespect for Scarburg and its people since his first minute of arrival! First, he strips my lord Thornden and my lady Saeryn of their titles and offers the titles to some of his own people. Then to seem “reasonable” and “kind” he offers them lesser titles.”

“Know you this for certain?”

“Aye, it was as unmistakable as your portly belly in his speech. And speaking of speech, did not lady Saeryn speak wiser than he? Answer truthfully, she was not talking about her wonderful status and how the king gave Eodwine the earldom of of the East Emnet therefore she should be in charge. She was above that, talking of unity. Athanar will treat Saeryn until everyone is calmed down and then toss her out of the hall!” Erbrand was getting too loud once again. Girth urgently motioned for him to quite down. They were not noticed.

“Secondly, Athanar has dared to cudgel us with the terrible news of my lord Eodwine being close to death, may he be spared! That speech he made was full of foul handed tricks, such as suddenly revealing that parchment from the king. Thirdly, Athanar has moved too fast in asserting his lordship and has shown that he is too hard in his dealings with us. A most unjust move to condemn a soldier that he doesn’t know, performing a tradition that he doesn’t honor. Do you not have games at great festivals such as these, Girth?”

“I do not think it was the surprise of such a bold game that angered my lord as it was Lithor’s words. He questioned Athanar’s rule and again questioned him when he was called on it.”

“Ah! Are we to condemn men for inquiring to why they are being accused of treason over a baseless claim? Your lord is too eager to assert himself over us. He expects us to fall in line and follow him without any ceremony of allegiance. Why does he need to rule Scarburg if his objective is to deal with the treacherous nobles? A military expedition would work better in my opinion. Athanar is a tyrant just like the Tancred and Faramund. Those two jackals who he calls sons are devils of the deep too, I can see it in their eyes!”


“Enough, in truth enough!” Girth was not angry, but frightened. This man had changed from being complacent and pleasant to being on the verge of explosion. No, he had exploded and had quite lost his head.

“Calm down friend. You speak too passionately of things that you have no business in speaking of.”

“Is it not my business by whom and how I am ruled over?”

“No sir, in fact it is not. Lords are placed over us by the king himself. An act of defiance against our lords would be an act of defiance against the king. We must go along with the king’s will no matter what.”

“In that you are wrong, good Girth. For the king may appoint nobles to look after us because he knows their abilities as governors, but that does not mean he knows their hearts and the fullness of their minds. Ambition and ingratitude can easily be disguised in modesty and gratitude, patiently waiting until the time is ripe to pick their fruit. Look at the nobles who we have dispute with. Did the king not appoint them too?”

“True, you speak truth, Erbrand. But as long as my lord is an honest man, I need not be ashamed of him.”

“He is not an honest man and I am indeed ashamed of him! My lady has been ousted from her position without a care and replaced. I have heard insults lain on lady Saeryn that make my ears burn. Yet, no action is taking against it; whereas, Athanar demonizes a good soldier for less. Such arrogance is not fit for lords, only for fools.”

“Listen Erbrand, and I mean listen carefully. You may not like how things are going right now, but it may all change soon enough. I know Athanar to be a fair ruler and I doubt not that all will be dealt with and properly balanced. Just like Athanar might have misconceptions about Lithor, so may you about Athanar.” For the first time Erbrand’s complexion softened with surprise. He had never thought of it like that.

“Lord Athanar is ordered by the king to look after us here at Scarburg and he has the king’s authority in the matter. It is only right that he should have command of Scarburg, and I see no treachery or foulness in him producing a piece of parchment that proves his authority. Lady Saeryn will find a position that will suit her and the old Scarburg in time. Tomorrow will be a better day for us all. Though if Lithor is executed for treason, it will make a lier of justice, but I doubt it will come to that. No use fighting it, best accept fate and live with it.”

Girth was indifferent to how is lord ruled just so long as it was honest. He had no ideas of permanently settling at Scarburg, his troubles would all be left behind when his lord decided to up and move. Girth was disturbed by Erbrand’s explosion of rage. Not fifteen minutes ago Girth had seen him acting quite happy with a maid over by the fire. There was love in his eyes then and not a spark of hate, yet this was an uncomfortable warning to what this fellow could fast become. It was unhealthy for a peasant to get too upset about things he could not change. However, Scarburg was a small settlement; perhaps the peasants had more say in their governing than they did in a large city.

“Fate may not always go justly with us,” Erbrand said. “And you are right that we must live with it one way or another, but I will never be silenced from speaking my mind.”

“Of course, friend, I do not wish to silence you. If you choose to get upset over such things then you do that. Simply tone it down a bit.” He smiled.

“I am sorry if I have offended you in my rage against Athanar’s injustice. I now know you to be a man of clear thought and would feign know you better. My first impression of Athanar was that of a good man; I hope he proves to be so again.” Erbrand smiled and rose from his seat.

“That he will, friend, that he will you wait and see. The hour is late and I am tired. Till tomorrow then, and may it prove a brighter day to us all.”

[Nogrod]

Athanar returned to the table clearly agitated. Degas and Saeryn couldn't help noticing it. Their questioning gazes followed him as he sat down and emptied his goblet with one draught.

Lord Athanar turned towards the kitchens to see anyone at the door. As Ginna emerged from the door he waved his goblet to her and then finally turned back to face the siblings.

"Well?" Degas asked, trying to sound as neutral as he could.

Lord Athanar breathed heavily gazing at the goblet he toyed with in his hands absent-mindedly.

"Well... I don't know." He glanced around to make sure no one else was hearing them speaking. "Well, watching you two... you could be my children, you're not that different age from Wulfric and Wilheard... and yet you seem so much older." He fell silent and studied the goblet in his hands.

"Maybe I should have given the two more responsibilities to stand for themselves... maybe I should have thrown them out to stand for their own a lot earlier..." Athanar shook his shoulders and finally turned to look at the two again. "I don't know your stories but I hope being able to hear them one evening... What made you decent and reasonable noblemen?"

He fell silent for a moment but then continued: "That's what I have been thinking myself over and over again... My childhood was not easy... I had to fight for myself and for justice to me and my brother..." Suddenly there was a tear in his eye, and another.

"Please lord Athanar..." Saeryn started, but he waved her to let it be. After wiping the tears from his cheeks he turned back to the two again.

"We were schemed away from the lineage of inheritance by my cousins who were helped by their family. My brother..." He had to swallow once again.

Suddenly he straightened himself up. "Excuse me.. There maybe another time for this..." He had heard the oncoming steps and Ginna was there indeed pouring him and the others some more wine.

Athanar thanked Ginna with a cordial smile and then turned back.

"We'll have to make some strong decisions tomorrow... We just can't afford another day like this." He took a sip of the wine looking like thinking where to begin.

"Someone bruised my daughter today, this Lithor-fellow played fool with me openly challenging king Eomer's decree - and he was supported by some people here... but now I hear my sons have meddled up with this Lithor and Thornden as well..." With the last news Saeryn and Degas looked confused. Athanar could sense a worried look in Saeryn's eyes.

"No one's hurt lady Saeryn... at least physically." He made a try for a comforting smile but it was a bit lame and he knew that. He was not in a good or comforting mood himself, too much aware of the sleepless night of heavy decisions he would be facing.


They heard the door opening and saw Thornden and Wynflaed coming back in - and someone following them but taking another route coming inside.

"Master Thornden" Athanar said firmly and then turned to Saeryn "Lady Saeryn".

Waiting for Thornden and Wynflaed to take their seats he then continued.

"I want to see this Lithor and that guy who stood for him here tomorrow morning after breakfast... before the military excercises. I hope you Thornden will see it done. And you should be here too yourself." Thornden nodded.

"And if anyone of you knows who was the person who roughed my daughter, let that person be there as well." He looked at all the people around the table.

"I'll see personally that Coenred will be there, and my sons... to hear different sides into what happened out there." Lord Athanar emptied his goblet.

"But I would like to see you lady Saeryn and lord Degas there as well to make sure the judgements are dealt fairly. That should do for the disciplinary measures... But we have other matters to discuss as well tomorrow, especially concerning you and your unborn one lady Saeryn. I hope I can come up with a suggestion on that tomorrow."

He rose up and laid the goblet on the table. "But for now... if you have no pressing matters to share I would like to wish you a good night everyone... I have quite a many issues to settle before I can get to sleep..."

[Folwren]

Saeryn felt embarrassed when tears came to lord Athanar's eyes. She looked away, across the hall, and then at Degas briefly. How had she and Degas turned out thus? Good parentage, mostly...their mother and father had been kind and gentle and let them learn the lessons of life instead of holding them above it. But more recently, Eodwine himself had trained her, at least, and maybe Degas, too.

After a moment, the strong man that had been present all day returned and Athanar was once more composed and stern. He turned his speech to what must be done on the morrow, and Saeryn again looked at him, listening in silence. She was startled to hear Thornden’s named mentioned and her eyes shot towards the door. He put her fears to rest – another fight had not, apparently, taken place. She missed his implication when he added ‘at least physically.’ In just a moment, as though to confirm to her that Thornden had not been hurt, the man in question came inside with Wynflaed and they both came back towards the head table. Athanar called Thornden over and addressed himself to him.

"I want to see this Lithor and that guy who stood for him here tomorrow morning after breakfast.” Saeryn looked from Athanar to Thornden. Their eyes met briefly. “Before the military exercises,” Athanar continued. “I hope you, Thornden, will see it done. And you should be here too yourself." Thornden nodded, and considered asking why Crabannan was wanted, but he held his tongue when he saw Athanar continuing.

"And if anyone of you knows who was the person who roughed my daughter, let that person be there as well.” Thornden leaned back slightly in his chair and broke the eye contact with Athanar briefly. He knew very well who had roughed up the lord’s daughter, and apparently Athanar didn’t. He looked towards Saeryn and saw that from the way she was looking downwards at her hands, she, too, knew. He looked again at Athanar, waiting for him to finish.

When he rose from his seat, Saeryn, Degas, and Thornden rose as well. “But for now, if you have no pressing matters to share I would like to wish you a good night everyone. I have quite a many issues to settle before I can get to sleep."

Thornden gave a half hearted smile and bowed slightly. Saeryn curtsied, and Athanar turned to go. The three of them sat down again and Saeryn leaned towards Thornden across the table.

“What happened out there?” she asked in a quiet tone of voice.

“I don’t know. Athanar’s two sons were angry with Lithor and Lady Wynflaed and I arrived just in time to save him from being beaten.”

Saeryn clenched her teeth and drew back. “Don’t worry,” Thornden said, smiling a little at her anger. “Although Lithor seems unlikely to have raised his hand in defense, Crabannan was standing by and I doubt he would have continued standing by doing nothing for very long.”

“Why did they want to fight him?” Saeryn asked.

“I don’t know. Lithor refused to say.”

“The two boys came in and pulled Athanar aside to speak with him,” Degas observed. “They seemed angry about something.”

“Angry!” Saeryn said. Her eyes flashed a little. “They were probably angry that they weren’t given the opportunity to bully Lithor!”

Thornden shrugged. He played absently with his knife, turning it in his fingers with his eyes fixed on the blade, watching the light flash up and down it. “They seem like hot-headed young men. Their energy just needs to be turned to something worthwhile, that is all. I don’t think they’re really bad.”

“Don’t make excuses for them, Thornden,” Saeryn said. Thornden looked at her. “Your younger brother isn’t truly bad, either, but I expect he’s going to catch it something fierce tomorrow for hitting Athanar’s daughter, and in the larger picture, what he did is nothing worse than what Athanar’s son’s intended to do to Lithor, if you are right. Lithor is old enough to be their father, and they should respect his years, not strike at him like a vagabond. Those two young men should receive a worse punishment than Javan, for they should know better than he. But will they be? No. I can almost promise you that nothing will happen to them whatsoever.”

“Javan deserves what comes to him,” Thornden said. “Just because Athanar’s sons are not disciplined doesn’t mean that Javan shouldn’t be. Don’t think I don’t agree with you, Saeryn,” he said as he saw her bridle with anger and then prepare another answer. “But I don’t feel sorry for my brother, and I’m not really making excuses for Athanar or his sons. I’m just observing that they’re no worse than he was when he first came here. So, I think we should endeavor to accept them and treat them as Eodwine would have if he were here – give them a chance, and the benefit of the doubt, and see what we can make good.”

“You would be just as happy to be walked on, wouldn’t you, Thornden?” Saeryn asked. Thornden didn’t answer. He just looked at her. “One of your men gets accused of treason and then after being humiliated before the entire hall, goes outside for some peace, and the eorl’s own sons go out to beat him, and you’re just willing to say, ‘let’s give them the benefit of the doubt and make them good.’ I would have never imagined you would take it so mildly.”

“He wasn’t beaten, Lady Saeryn,” Thornden said.

“No. But he would have been if your brother – your brother who you don’t care about, whether he gets in trouble or no for the same crime that these two young men were about to commit and won’t be punished for – if he hadn’t come in and told you.”

“This is so, but they did not commit any wrong, and therefore I cannot see why you should expect them to be punished. I do care for my brother, but he has a hit a girl – and she happened to be the eorl’s daughter – and I’m not going to beg Athanar to not do anything to him. My power of persuasion will probably only go so far as to protect one person out of favor with Athanar tomorrow, and I think it is more important that Lithor be shielded, considering the circumstances. If you disagree, I am sorry, but I can only do my best in the circumstances given to me, and I am sorry if they do not meet your approval.” The last statement came out sounding stronger and more out of temper than he had intended it. He laid the knife down by his plate and sighed. “I’m sorry, Lady Saeryn,” he began, but she stopped him.

“No, Thornden, never mind. It is late, and we are both tired. We’ve been through a lot today and I think neither of us realized what restraint we were under as long as we were with Athanar. I’m sorry I became angry. I think I will try to go to bed.” She stood up. “Goodnight, Thornden. Goodnight, Degas.”

[Mnemosyne]

Seeing her husband rise to leave the hall, Wynflaed rose to follow him. As soon as she was out of the hall her steps quickened until she had caught up to him. She rested her hand on his arm.

"I hope my lord has enjoyed himself this evening?" she said with a small, somewhat sad smile.

Athanar heaved a sigh.

"We do seem to have our work laid out for us..." They reached the private chamber reserved for the eorl and his wife.

Stepping inside, they found Lilige waiting. She dropped a curtsey.

"Good evening, Lilige," said Wynflaed. "I trust Aedre behaved herself?"

"Indeed she did, my lady. I sent her to bed two hours after sundown."

"Thank you. I will not require your services any further this night; it is late and there will be much to do tomorrow. My husband will assist me."

Lilige curtsied again and left the room. Wynflaed sat down at the edge of the bed and began to work at the braids that her maid's fine work had kept tightly bound to her head through the entire banquet. Silently Athanar moved behind her to help work them free.

"I am glad," said Wynflaed, "that Aedre seems to have gotten through the evening well despite her mistreatment earlier today. I shall have to check on her myself tomorrow morning."

"That was plain outrageous... I could understand displeasure with changes, even action like Lithor’s… but roughing with a young girl... and eorl's daughter! I’m not going to be lenient with that person, whoever it was..."

"Athanar, you are pulling at my hair!”

“Oh, forgive me… I was getting upset…" Athanar was confused. "Do you know who it was that bullied her?

“From what I gathered from her account, it was a boy around her age. Apparently he said that you weren't the real eorl here, and she felt the need to correct him. Lilige said she recognized the child... I believe Javan was his name. At any rate, I think we need to hear the account from more people ere we pass judgment; Lilige only walked in at the tail end and Aedre has been known to embellish things in the past..." She sighed. "But justice must be taken. It is never right nor honorable to strike a lady, especially a child."

“Hmm… but if it was also a child who did that...” Lord Athanar fell into his thoughts while still unwinding the braids from his wife’s hair. He sighed heavily. “I was ready to get that person flogged for real you know, but if it was a child as well… you’re right, Aedre might not be totally blameless then…”

“Are you suggesting…”

“Oh no my dear. I think the kid needs a punishment. It’s not only what happened between him and Aedre, but it is a matter of principle that eorl’s daughter is not to be bullied… and if she is, there will be consequences.”

There was a silence while both concentrated on opening the last braids from Wynflaed’s hair. When it was done Wynflaed started combing her hair and lord Athanar sat down next to her on the edge of the bed looking at his wife. She was still a beautiful lady, actually he had always thought she looked even fairer with her hair open.

“What have you thought with that Lithor?” Wynflaed asked, still combing her hair.

"That Lithor deserves a fair punishment... and people should understand why it is so… things like this must be resolved determinedly. Especially if what you told about this Javan is true; that he had also questioned the eorldom… I will allow no disrespect or mutinies in my Hall and that kind of thoughts need to be cut off firmly and immediately."

"It was good of you, my love, to involve Thornden in that decision. I could, perhaps, understand Master Lithor's words at the beginning--speaking out of ill habit or misunderstanding, but afterwards?" She sighed. "I am rather glad it is not my place to determine treason among soldiers. At any rate I fear that the laxer style of command Eodwine appears to have exerted extended to his men at arms as well. I do not know what to make of that."

Wynflaed smiled. "What exactly did Wulfric and Wilheard tell you, anyhow? They refused to say anything of what they had heard Thornden and Lithor talking about, except that it was all treason."

"I’m not sure, they told me the same, well, they said Lithor had suggested treachery but then again Thornden had not aswered him… I do actually trust this Thornden fellow and what they said confirms it to me... but the treason then? If that Lithor has actually suggested some tricks it will be worse for him. Do you know what happened there in the first place? Where did that claim come from?"

"Apparently they overheard the two talking, leaped to conclusions, and tried to take matters into their own hands--or fists, I should say. By the time I and Thornden arrived Wilheard had his fist aimed for Lithor's face. I got there in the nick of time, as you might say, but they did not take their chiding very well." She sighed. "They appeared to be under the impression that Lithor was planning to kill you, had been the one to hurt Aedre, and all sorts of other things. I tried telling them that their violence would only make matters worse, but Wulfric told me--his own mother--that I cared more for these strangers than my own family's welfare and that I would do nothing to stop these so-called traitors until you laid dead at my feet!"

"What? They acted like that on you? What a disgrace!” Lord Athanar was clearly agitated and sprang up from the bed. After some furious walking around he finally came to her wife now a bit more settled. Stroking gently her hair he bent down to her. “What have we done wrong with them my love? I mean, look at Degas and Saeryn, they must be approximately their age – and how they behave, how they carry themselves like noblemen do…"

Wynflaed shook her head; her eyes glimmered just a little at the lashes. "They do not understand honour or nobility beyond mere prowess on the saddle, and I do not see how they ever will. Maybe if the Southrons attack Gondor again and Eomer calls for a muster?" She sighed. "A little war would do great wonders for our sons, and gladly would I see them put in harm's way if they came out of it as men and not these overgrown children."

“You might be right my love, but they have to learn… and one can’t order wars just to get his children educated into the secrets of nobility…” Athanar actually laughed for the thought and kissed his wife gently on the neck taking a soft grip on her shoulder.

He stood up and started walking around again… but how? but how?

"Wait a minute my dearest... I think I have it!"

Wynflaed rose to join him and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Tell me!"

"Lady Saeryn will have a child, but it will take twenty years for the child to grow up..." Athanar whispered to her ear, pulling her closer. "If we do it well here - and that requires that these people look well on us – king Eomer will be pleased… and we can be far away from here then: in Edoras, Minas Tirith, Dol Amroth... whatever you fancy my dear. Back with civilization..." He folded her in his arms.

"Mmm..."

"So why don't we adopt Saeryn as our heir?" With that he pushed her a little away from him to look at her in the eyes. "That would grant the good will of the people here, and our sons would get a reminder of needing to actually earn their status themselves." He was smiling.

Wynflaed laughed. "They will not like that, I'm afraid! And I daresay they shall rather deserve it, if this carefree behavior of theirs continues!"

"Exactly. And I actually trust Saeryn not to wish for any other inheritance than this Mead Hall to her child... she feels like a true noblewoman, even if she’s so young and emotional; but we might make such a clausule in the deal that her inheritance would concern only this Mead Hall and nothing else we might own by that time… or later."

Wynflaed stepped out of her husband's embrace and walked over to the bedside table where her jewelry box lay. "Hum. It does seem to be a better solution than any others I have thought through this night. I am not sure how the common people will understand or take to it, though. They may think that we are merely using the adoption to further our own ends and control the Lady Saeryn further, if they do not see that we would be leaving her and her child all the property they would have had if not for Eodwine's illness. We shall have to give the matter some more thought."

“You’re right Wynflaed… as always.” Athanar gave her a smile and sat back on the bed starting to open his shoelaces. “I’ll think about it… we’ll think about it.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas rose before dawn. He scrubbed his face with cold water to wake up better, and found himself vainly wondering why no one had noticed he had recently taken to sporting a short beard. He cleaned his teeth and, shivering, pulled on a sapphire blue shirt over his gray breeches. Boots on, he fastened a dagger to his belt and tied his hair back with a thin strip of hide.

And then he went in search of Rowenna.

She was in the kitchen, sipping tea with a look on her face that suggested total displeasure.

"A word?" said Degas quietly. "Outside?"

She rose and followed him, wondering what in the world her lord could possibly want from her this early in the morning, unless perhaps it was to commiserate about the way the Mead Hall had fallen to ruin so quickly. Not, she reminded herself, that it was the lady Saeryn's fault, but things would never have been this ridiculous if Eodwine had been here. He would be ashamed of his men, brawling, and the boy for striking the little girl. Yes, he was over-indulgent, but he would never have tolerated grown men behaving the way the new lord's sons behaved.

She shivered as the full brunt of the morning wind hit her as she rounded the stable corner. It was a miserable, grey sort of day, and the wind was wet and chafing. If she'd known her lord would demand a word with her outside the warmth of the kitchen, she'd have worn a shawl. She would say something to him about his lack of consideration, that she would.

"I shall make this short," he said, leading her into the stables. The sudden transition from the loudly blowing wind and wet air to the warm stable, which smelled of horse must and hay, meant a sudden silence broken by the stamp of hooves and the munching of hay. Leof would be in and out, working, but Degas did not mind his presence. Any others would be noted before they reached earshot.

"My lord," Rowenna interjected irritably, "It is still dark out, and my breakfast is getting cold."

After a month working closely together, she felt comfortable sharing her brusque opinions with him. In private, of course. And, as long as it was in private, Degas was tolerant of her tone. He even smiled.

"Then I shan't keep you from your breakfast. As your lord, I ask a favor of you. No, it is not a command. I understand that there are many reasons why you would desire to say no. And a good lord never makes a command he cannot be sure will be followed. That sort of thing forces followers to question their allegiances. In any case, it has come to my attention that my sister may neglect her own care in favor of coming to the rescue of others, and I fear that of the others that would leap to her defense, most would be punished depending on the nature of the problem."

Rowenna tapped her foot, used to Degas's mannerisms. He'd keep it short, would he? Her eggs would already be cold and rubbery. Pig food, she thought. Perhaps Kara would replace her breakfast, if Frodides was not in a mood. Her hands found her hips and she glared at Degas, clearly insinuating that he should get on with his point.

"I need someone that can play a quiet and unnoticed guard for my sister. Clearly not in terms of physical situations: I do not foresee such a thing occurring, and I believe that Lord Athanar would grievously punish anything of the sort. Still, however, I wish for Saeryn to have a companion whose presence will not draw unwanted attention. A lady's maid," he finished. "As I said, this is a request, not a command. Wenna, I wish for you to attend to my sister. As her maid, you would be privy to much information, and your presence would be excused in places anyone else would be forbidden.

"If I could stay here indefinitely, it would not be an issue, as I could act on my own sister's behalf. However, there are too many matters that call me away. You know how things are at home... I cannot stay away for much longer, and it would give me great peace of mind to know that my sister was not left with no useful allies."

Rowenna sniffed and brushed an imaginary speck of dirt from her apron. "I shall consider your request, my lord." She curtsied. "Now if I may return to my breakfast?"

He dismissed her with a flick of his hand toward the kitchens and she wrapped her arms around herself as she emerged back into the blowing wet.

Degas stopped to cosset his horse, and spotted Leof entering with a bale of hay.

"I will assume you heard some or all of what was just said," he said quietly, meeting the younger boy's eyes. "While I wouldn't presume to forbid you from mentioning anything to your lord if directly questioned, and I believe Athanar would understand my motive, this is a matter in which discretion could mean the difference between more troubles in your home, or fewer. Do I make myself clear?"

Confident Leof would not run off immediately to tell the Hall that Degas worried about his sister enough to solicit the aid of the woman who had wanted Saeryn's husband for herself, he left the stables in search of his own breakfast.

The day would be long, and he preferred to be at Athanar's side before the drama began.

[Groin Redbeard]

The chirping song of a robin awoke Erbrand from his rest. It was early, but he always awoke early. There was only the faintest light coming through the bottom of his door, it was not yet dawn but it was beginning to come. With a great effort he got up off the floor and rolled up his blankets and skin. He slept in his workshop, a small wooden building where he kept his tools and skins for tanning. The hut was just barely large enough for him to lie down in, but it was no more than a place to keep his tools and possessions, a table and space to work were all outside. After rolling up his sack and putting it away he reached for his wool cloak—it was dreadfully cold outside. A chill blast of air met his bearded face as he opened the door. Squinting from the dull light sky and the mild wind he stepped outside. Again the robin which had woken Erbrand from his light sleep greeted him as he stepped outside, cold and wet with dew. Erbrand looked at the pitiful bird that did nothing but make beautiful music. It was too stupid to migrate for the winter. The frozen ground crunched under his boots. Thank goodness the snow had not arrived. Winter had definitely come.

Everything was quiet and empty. Drink and a late night was making it difficult for people to get up. Erbrand thought about going into the hall and see if Kara was up yet but decided against it, knowing how much stress the kitchen staff must be under. No, people were probably still sleeping anyway and he had work to do as well. Leaning back inside the door Erbrand grabbed his bow and quiver full of arrows. Nobody was a better runner or a deadlier shot in Scarburg than Erbrand, and that was a fact. He had beaten everyone in the race and the archery contest, even Thornden, back when Eodwine was lord. Since then, he had put that skill to good use and had turned into a marvelous hunter. It was an uncomfortable thought to bring Athanar, not Eodwine, venison.

So today is truly his first full day as lord. I pray it turns out better than yesterday. I still have not told him about the danger, about Oeric. When am I going to do it man? I do not know, the time is still not right. I must tell someone even if Athanar might not be the right person to tell. Very well, I will tell Saeryn to whose husband I swore allegiance to. This lord has no oath to hold me accountable. I will tell her.

With a quick pace Erbrand began to make for the hall. Smoke was coming out of the chimney, somebody had to be up. He was just about to open the door when a familiar voice said softly: “Good morning, Erbrand.”

“Lithor! I never knew you to be an early riser.”

Lithor rose and rubbed his hands through his hair. Dew trickled down his leather jerkin and he shuddered as some of the cold water absorbed in his clothing. Had he stayed out all night?

“I have a heavy heart and have had a light sleep. For nearly two hours I paced the grounds before you awoke.” Lithor’s voice was calm. He twiddled with a singly straw of hay in his hand.

“Walk with me, friend," He continued. "I would enjoy your company this morning.” Lithor asked with genuine but a nowhere near happy smile. It was a that same tone that Erbrand heard Lithor speak in last night: tired and beaten. He was not about to play on Lithor's sympathies.

“No I will not, Lithor.” Erbrand responded rather hotly. Lithor was surprised. “We are not going to start that sort of talk. You will be fine with Athanar.” Erbrand had rightly assumed what was on Athanar’s mind and he was in no mood to discuss Athanar right now.

“I feel that my trial will begin soon. I will not defend myself for I was in the wrong last night.”

“Lithor, you do not have to tell me anything,” Erbrand was still sounding agitated. “I am convinced of your innocence even if you are not.”

“I cannot ask you to understand such things, Erbrand. You are not my age and therefore have not seen what I have. You are also not a soldier and know very little of discipline. I do not fear any punishment that might bruise me, end me, or humble my pride, but I do fear banishment. Oh joyful spirit that use to keep me like good medicine, where are you now? I am not ashamed to say it to you, my broken spirit is drying up my ancient bones.”

For the first time in his life, Erbrand was frustrated with Lithor. A broken spirit (as Lithor described it) was the exact opposite of what was needed. The old man had given up too easily. Just then the door opened and two familiar figures popped out. It was Balvir and Matrim. Balvir wore his usually grim face but this time Matrim shared in the expression.

“Right glad are we to see you.” Matrim exclaimed seeing Lithor. “We were coming to find you. How do you feel this morning?”

“Like an old piece of clothing: used and subjugated to too many rough conditions.” His face was grim, but he put on a smile. “Friends, I am ashamed of myself. I am just as frightened as a dumb thief, I do not feel like a man at all. I do not mind swords, lances, or arrows, but this makes my very blood run cold.”

“As well it should,” Balvir was the next to speak. “It is only right that you should feel something and it should not be joy or excitement. What did you expect?”

Though nobody but Lithor knew it, Balvir was very near Lithor’s age. Time had been kinder to Balvir, his hair was not yet white as was Lithor’s; therefore, nobody knew that Balvir was near the age of fifty. There was a pause, but soon his words had their affect on Lithor.

“Very true, Balvir.” Lithor said. “Ever the straight talker. But no matter how much today unsettles my blood, I am right glad I have noble friends. I will fret for myself no more, courteous and merry words will be my language, nothing else.” He stood and smiled broadly and took Balvir’s hand first, then Matrim’s, and then Erbrand’s.

“You changed your mind then,” Erbrand asked. “You will defend yourself?”

“I will defend only where I am in the right. There is another matter, which you do not know of, that I will address.”

“What’s this?” Matrim asked disappointedly. “I expected at least an hour’s worth of debate and reasoning for us to cheer you up.”

“What makes you so sure reason would cheer me up?” Lithor chuckled. “I have never met anyone who can be cheered by reason. I will only get more miserable in seeing just how bad my situation is, as reason would prove. If you want to cheer someone up, what you need is understanding. Reason is best left for debates, young Matrim.”

Balvir chuckled and Erbrand began to feel hope. This was the Lithor he knew. Though even if the trial turned out in Lithor's favor (it was doubtless that Athanar would punish Lithor) Erbrand wondered if he would see much more of the soldier. Athanar's job was to bring the locals under his control and that would mean flexing Scarburg's military muscle. He expressed his thoughts to the three soldiers.

"I do not know what you mean by never seeing us." Balvir said.

"No, of course we will see each other, but it might not be as often. I know that the soldiers have a drill this morning you might be so busy training to take on Tancred and the other lords that a permanent rift might appear between soldier, peasant, and lord."

All of them looked grim at the thought. Though they knew of Athanar's talk with Erbrand, a peasant, it was clear that Athanar would not have the common men interfering with anything that was under his rule. The scolding of Lithor had taught them this. They would have to know their place.

"Nay!" Lithor said very energetically and sprang up the steps to where he stood over them. "If you are thinking that Athanar is a iron fisted tyrant then you are indeed wrong. Do not constantly blame him for my sake. I was wrong. Give him half a chance. Learn from my mistakes and be obedient soldiers and workers and today will be better."

"I hope you are right, Lithor." Erbrand nodded grimly.

After this, Balvir and Matrim went in search of a meal with the rest of the soldiers now that they saw that their friend had recovered from last night. Lithor and Erbrand watched them depart until Erbrand finally remembered that he had traps to check and headed off towards the marshes at a brisk walk, shielding his head underneath his hood from the wind. Finally alone, Lithor went inside the hall. Not to find breakfast, food would not agree with him now, but to find Thornden.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

When Hilderinc woke up, he noticed that it was early yet. All of the other soldiers in the room were sleeping, although a few blankets thrown in the corner betrayed that some might have already gone out early... or not returned at all, which would seem inconsiderate at least.

Quietly dressing and wrapping himself in his old worn-out grey cloak, he stepped over snoring Scyrr and opened the door into the Hall. Everything was empty, but the early sounds of the stirring day could have been heard from around the place: a distant neigh of a horse in the stables, hushed voices from somewhere outside the building, quiet chirping of a lonely bird.

He decided not to go towards the kitchens yet, even though he felt a cup of something warm might do him good. Instead, he slipped out of the main door and around the building he strolled into the meadows beyond the Hall. There was frost in the ground and the grass was covered by mild white rime.

The sky was grey yet, but a stripe of rosy-yellow glow could be seen in the East. The forest at the border of Scarburg's neighbourhood breathed gentle streams of early morning mist and the marshlands to the north seemed drowning in milky haze. Hilderinc stopped and took a deep breath. The smell of chilly air, crisp yet scented with the flavor of the trees and the wet ground far away, filled his head. This was a different smell than that of the wide grasslands of Eastemnet, different from the smoke-scented smell of morning Edoras, from that of windswept Wold or even of the western pine-scented, yet dry air mixed with the odour of smelted iron coming from Isengard years back in the times of War.

Hilderinc remembered details of many places where he had been staying during the years, from one end of the country to another. There have been distinctive features of each of these places, and Hilderinc liked many of them, as they gave something of a spirit to the place. The smell of Scarburg's pre-winter morning seemed to have a chance to become one of them - Hilderinc could easily grow fond of it. He wondered how long is he going to stay here? Athanar had just arrived - how long is he going to need as many soldiers as he has now after he deals with the neighbouring lords? Actually, given the circumstances, it did not seem unlikely that the soldiers might stay here infinitely - as much as Athanar could. Except for the ones sent in particular by the King, the men belonged to Athanar's household - and they would stay protecting the small and exposed Mead Hall. It was likely that even with the soldiers of old Scarburg already in place, Athanar would keep everybody around - he could probably afford it and with the circumstances with the local lords being as they were, keeping more soldiers around would be better than less.

Hilderinc wrapped himself tighter in the cloak. Even if Athanar suddenly changed his mind, he probably would not mind. He had changed his masters many times, moving from one to another during the long fifteen years after the War, just as the chance played out. It would not have ever occured to him to become something else than a soldier - he had always been one, and even though after the war ended there was considerably less work for somebody who was not a simple guard with permanent employment, some opportunities always popped up here and there - either a problem with bandits, a brawl between the local nobles or simply a lord looking for expanding the size of his household. Hilderinc's experience and skills usually earned him a temporary place with a lord in need of soldiers - and after the matter at hand has been dealt with or after the lord realised that he cannot afford to keep addittional soldiers any longer, Hilderinc got his payment and then go, look for another place. It has always been like that, sometimes shorter stays, sometimes longer, but never permanent. So, what about this one?

That remained to be seen. There was still a long way, nevertheless. What was the matter at hand now was that Hilderinc's fingers started to freeze and he forgot to take his gloves. He turned his back to the marshlands and marched back to the Hall. Before he could reach the warmth of the house, he spotted somebody heading right towards him over the white-speckled grass. Hilderinc stopped when he saw the man, trying to recognise his face, and the man stopped too. Then Hilderinc realised who it was: the young bard who has been playing the fiddle yesterday. And also the one with the bruise on his face - the one who was fighting with Áforglaed. What was he doing here so early? Perhaps also taking a stroll in the frosty morning?

Hilderinc started to walk towards the man again. He remembered his yesterday's idea about getting to know the locals as well as possible. This was as good opportunity to make acquaintances as any.

"Good morning," Hilderinc addressed the man when he was close enough.

"Good morning," the man replied. He probably also did not expect to meet somebody here in such an early hour.

"Out for a morning stroll?" Hilderinc asked. "By the way, you have played nicely in the evening. I really liked it. I think you are a good musician - maybe you'd better not involve yourself in situations where you can get your fingers hurt, though. Whatever the case, it is not worth losing the opportunity to practice such a good skill with the fiddle," he added, hinting at the brawl the man had with Áforglaed yesterday.

"I am Hilderinc, by the way, one of the new soldiers here."

[Loslote]

Lilige closed her eyes tightly against the morning light. She stretched, yawning. Her sleep last night was the worst she'd gotten in weeks. She was sure there'd been a piece of straw or something poking into her back, but she hadn't been able to find it.

Lilige staggered into the kitchen, still blinking sleep from her eyes. She paused in the doorway, looking at the people there. Her brief stop there to request a meal to be sent up to her and Lady Aedre had been rushed, and she had not been able to make much sense of the bustling confusion. This morning she had much more time.

Her eyes narrowed, not in hostility, but in confusion as she saw a dark-haired woman. They were uncommon to say the least among the Rohirrim. Giving her head a tiny shake, Lilige forced herself not to stare. Averting her eyes, she walked over to one of the other women.

"Good morning," she said, voice still slightly rough from sleep. "How was the banquet last night? I wasn't able to attend, but my Lady seemed wearied. I hope nothing disturbing happened?"

[Folwren]

Thornden had no slept well that night. He tossed and turn a great deal and woke frequently, half starting and looking about to try to ascertain what time it was. As he lay back for the fifth time, he muttered to himself, “One would think it was you who was in trouble.” Despite the fact that he personally was not to be called before Athanar to receive judgement, he still felt dreadful. He rose, therefore, early, and went out to the hall to see to it that the fire was large and healthy.

He was still standing by the fire, watching the flames, when his brother entered the hall. He glanced up when he saw the movement by the wall and stopped Javan’s silent passage towards the front door. “Come here, Javan,” he said. Javan gave a longing glance towards the door and came. Saeryn’s words from the previous evening nagged at Thornden cruelly, and he still didn’t even know the full story. “What happened yesterday, exactly? Between you and Athanar’s daughter.”

“You don’t know?” Javan asked.

“Well, I heard you two yelling and then when I turned about to look, you’d already hit her and she was lying on the ground. I want to know why.”

Javan shrugged and then gave a short account of what had occurred. Thornden nodded when he had finished, and then said quietly, “Very well. Go and help Léof, if that’s what you were intending on doing.”

The boy hurried off and Thornden was left alone again. He sighed and rested his hand against the mantle. He stood thus, wrapped in silent thought, ignorant of the few and scattered people who came, passed through, and exited the hall again. Most were searching for breakfast or for someone else, their morning hardly begun, and no one addressed him.

Then suddenly he was aware of someone who had not ignored him and passed by. He lifted his head and saw Lithor standing nearby. Thornden lowered his hand and stood upright.

"Good morning, Lithor," he said.

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand

Seems friendly enough. Erbrand thought to himself as he hoisted his bow on his shoulder holding it in place with one hand and extending the other. “I remembered you from the hall. Remember, the kitchen, I bumped in to you.”

“Of course.” Hildernic replied sounding pleasant.

“I thank you for your compliment and no I am not on taking a stroll. I am a tanner.” Hildernic gave him a quizzical look. Erbrand realized that he sounded snobbish to the stranger. His answer only gave Hildernic another question: what was a tanner doing out here near the marsh?

“Oh…sorry.” Erbrand said awkwardly. “Being a tanner in these remote reaches I am forced to find my own hides to work with, see.” He held up his bow. “Though I suppose that playing a fiddle would be an easier job and not damage my fingers, as you say, I would far rather have my fingers pluck this string.” Erbrand pulled his bow string and let it twang. He chuckled slightly.

“Did you really think that I was a bard?” Erbrand asked amused. He examined his rough hands and looked over his low, dirty, clothing. “I must say that I don’t look like one today, but I am not sure I would like to look like one any day. I saw one once in Aldeburg, all prim and woman like in his thin figure dressed in rich clothes. No, there is work for these hands to do.” Erbrand lifted his fingers up and wiggled them.

“Ow! That was a nasty hit I took.” Erbrand examined several bruised knuckles. “Fights are no fun unless you win them I guess. I am luck that he did not break my fist. Did you brawl much, master Hildernic, in your youth?”

It was an odd question. The answer to which Erbrand wanted to hear, for when he knew it, he would also know if Hildernic was a man of impulse and adventure. Erbrand had practically given the brawl away and was planning on telling Hildernic if he was reliable. Already a plan was forming in his mind if this man could be relied on to help him bring Oeric in. Thoughts of glory flashed in Erbrand’s head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lithor

The hall was beginning to bustle with people. It always seemed that whenever a few people woke the rest of the hall was not far behind them. Some of the faces were familiar but most were people were soldiers and therefore Lithor did not know the majority of people. Someone brushed by him not too gently, striking Lithor with his shoulder. Lithor did not turn and kept walking. Attention was what the person wanted from him. However, Lithor’s attention was on Thornden. Perhaps he wanted company and comfort, Lithor had no clear objective in seeing Thornden this morning, other than where Thornden was the council would soon be. The master’s head was bowed in thought on the mantle, but Lithor still wanted to stay.

”Good morning.” Thornden sounded tired and Lithor wondered if he slept at all. I have gone ahead and caused my troubles to worry him. Poor master Thornden and there is so much else he needs to do. But despite this thought Lithor could not help but see the humor in Thornden’s statement. He let out one loud “HA” and folded his arms.

“Is that a joke, master Thornden. It was not a good one.” Lithor smiled even wider. “But yes it is a good morning, if you take me out of it. Any news on when my trial begins? I am very anxious to get it over with.”

[Folwren]

Thornden did not smile, though the slightest hint of one did stretch his lips slightly in reply to Lithor’s smile. He shook his head in response to Lithor’s question about the joke. He studied Lithor closely while the man spoke. Was he truly as unworried about what was to take place as he looked? He had always been quick to smile and quick to laugh, but today, for him of all people, did not seem like a day for merriment.

“I do not know when your trial begins. I have not seen Athanar yet, nor any of his family. I, too, am anxious to get it over with." He wondered what good he would do in the court. He did not like to tell Lithor that he was uncertain of himself and the outcome. So he remained silent. "How are...how are you?” he asked instead.

[Groin Redbeard]

“How do I feel?” Lithor asked in return. “Why, like any man in this position would feel.” He eyed two men passing by before he leaned closer to Thornden and replied in a voice barely above a whisper. “I feel like a goose waiting to be led to the chop. I do not feel as chipper as I sound, but do not tell anyone that. I will laugh with any punishment Athanar gives me.”

His eyes saddened, but only for a moment. He would not be gloomy as he had promised. Thornden, however, was very grave. There were obviously more matters pressing on his mind. Athanar will rely heavily on him today to complete the transition.

“I see that you have found yourself in good favor with Wynflaed.” Lithor said with a pleasure in his eyes. “That is good. She seems honest and good, though I do not know how such a noble lady could have raised such…” Lithor thought for a proper word. “Such ‘misbehaving’ sons.” He smiled broadly.

“By the way, are we still searching for the person who hit the lord’s daughter? I pity the person, though I think that those two young men suspected me of it (cannot wait to find out what their names are).”

[Folwren]

Thornden grimaced. Of course Lithor felt like a creature being led off to slaughter. That is practically how he should feel, though the more Thornden learned of Athanar the less likely he seemed to actually kill anyone for an insult.

“By the way,” Lithor asked, “are we still searching for the person who hit the lord’s daughter? I pity the person, though I think those two young men suspected me of it (I cannot wait to find out what their names are).”

“Be in suspense no longer, on either account,” Thornden said. “Their names are Wulfric and Wilheard. Wulfric is the older one, I believe. And as for the one who struck their sister...” A look of annoyance that he couldn’t quite keep contained passed over his face. “That was my brother, and I knew it from the very beginning, though I did not know who the girl was when I first saw her lying on the ground. Yes, I, too, pity him, for it seems to me that of all the things that happened, Athanar has been made most angry by the fact that his daughter was beaten – he mentioned it more than once, and I have a feeling that had this not happened, he would not have been half so inclined to put such a heavy hand on things last night.” He paused and kicked at a log in the fire. Then his mind grasped on what Lithor had said before asking for the two young men’s names.

“What do you mean, you think Wulfric and Wilheard thought you were the one who’d hit their sister? Why do you think that?”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"Ow! That was a nasty hit I took." Erbrand examined several bruised knuckles. "Fights are no fun unless you win them I guess. I am luck that he did not break my fist. Did you brawl much, master Hildernic, in your youth?"

Hilderinc's eyebrows rose slightly at the question, but it was only a very small change in his expression, otherwise, his face betrayed nothing of the emotional response inside him. So this man really seems like a brawler, after all, he thought to himself. So much for a quiet bard.

But then, the guy was not an obvious ruffian-type person. In the worst case, he could be one of these unpredictable types - as Hilderinc was sort of suspecting from the beginning - kind and mild with his fiddle-playing and tanning, but with a bit of a hidden violent nature which sometimes erupted and made him join the nearest brawl, or start one himself.

But his question did not sound like a provocation - it was however possible that the fellow was "gathering information" for later to see whether Hilderinc was an easy target. But in a way it sounded more like genuine curiosity - so perhaps the man was trying to look for potential companions among the new soldiers? Maybe someone he could recruit to his "gang"? Maybe something like that has been already existing here, Hilderinc had encountered these things few times on some of his stays: a group of soldier pals formed a sort of bullying squad - and then they were making trouble among the others. Of course, if something like that existed here, this guy might have understandably felt uncertain with the arrival of the new soldiers, not knowing whether his gang is not going to face a similar gang of the newcomers, possibly stronger than the original one. Trying to fish for friends among the new people would be the most clever way to try to cope with the issue.

Nevertheless, Hilderinc never had any intentions in joining any of these internal fights. He preferred to stay out of any groups like that.

"I haven't really been into brawling, if you ask me, mister..."

"It's Erbrand."

"Erbrand, all right... Well, like I said, I have never been much into that kind of things. Or, maybe better said, I have never been much on the good side with troublemakers. Honestly, I think there are better ways for a man to spend his time," Hilderinc said these words with all attentiveness, prepared to dodge if the man became angry at these words and attacked him. "Like tanning or playing fiddle," he added calmly, to sort of soften his response if it has been taken as a provocation - and to possibly encourage Erbrand in focusing more on other things than brawling.

"Maybe this is why I became a soldier," Hilderinc decided to finish his speech after a short pause. "I think fighting needs a cause."

[Groin Redbeard]

So those are their name. Lithor rubbed his chin. Noble names for vagabonds. But Lithor had no time contemplate on the Wulfric and Wiheard as Thornden continued, annoyed Lithor thought. Thornden’s cool gaze and attitude that had topped his conversation last night, and even just moments ago, began to melt under his warm anger. Lithor had never seen Thornden riled, even now Thornden muzzled his anger. It was good to see that Thornden put aside some of the formality that surrounded him.

“Oh nothing,” Lithor said still smiling. “I dealt them an insult for their discourteous behavior and they assumed I was after their whole family. Child play, all of it.” Lithor leaned against the mantle opposite of Thornden and stared into the fire with him. The warm flicker of the flame was surprisingly relaxing to the mind and eyes. Relaxed as Lithor was, he felt Thornden’s hard stare.

“I would not worry about Javan. He’s done worse.” Lithor said, insensitive to the painful images it might evoke in Thornden’s mind. “Besides, Athanar has no more right to punish your brother for striking his daughter than I have to punish Wulfric for trying to strike me. Children will be children and I do not see the point in making such a big deal over something as petty as a fat lip. Now if Athanar and Wynflaed have enough sense about them, which in this case I doubt, they will keep the fact that Javan was the bully quiet; however, if they do not, then dealing with Wulfric and Wilheard is punishment enough. They will break your brother’s hand if they have half the chance.”

The effect of his rambling came to him quickly when Thornden lifted his head sharply to look him in the face. His lips tightened in a hard line and his eyes flashed as he glanced about the hall for either of the eorl's sons. "Wulfric or Wilheard, you mean?" Thornden said, looking back at Lithor.

"It is what they tried to do to me." Lithor said dryly. Thornden shut his mouth and clenched his jaw, reverting his eyes to the fire once again.

“Why did Javan hit the girl anyway?”

“He said she was bossing Cnebba and him.” Thornden answered (Lithor could not tell if he was angry).

“You do not say?” Lithor said with great surprise. He was not surprised at the fact that the girl was bullying two boys (his own sisters did a lot of that in his day) but that it all fit so well into a defense for Javan.

“Well no worries, master Thornden. If you have a moment, I think I have a plan we can weasel Javan out of punishment from Athanar.” Lithor wore one of his cocky grins, the kind that people see on a cat’s face after it has just swiped a gallon of cream.

[Gwathagor]

The morning chill had just begun to lift as Crabannan scrambled down out of the rocky hills outside Scarburg. Just in time, he thought, for the Hall was beginning to bustle. He picked his way down between large outcroppings of rock, trying to avoid patches of loose shale. He was in a good humor, which was all for the best, given the bad start he had gotten with the newcomers on the day before.

He had risen early and chopped a pile of firewood for the kitchen, as was his custom, after which he had climbed up onto the hill to watch the sun rise. His harp he had taken with him, plucking notes as they came to him, singing old songs, murmuring snatches of rhyme to himself. The loneliness was restorative to Crabannan and bit by bit, he had felt himself regaining his footing, as it were. His thoughts fell into place. His nerves grew calm, his hands less restless. He had smiled - then caught himself.

He was smiling again as he wound his way back into the valley. Down ahead of him he spotted two men talking. One was Erbrand. The other - one of the new fellows. Hilderinc. Crabannan paused for a moment, reflecting. It was no good trying to avoid Hilderinc, or any of the other new soldiers, for that matter. It was not likely, anyway, that they would remember him, as the War had been over for many years - but the fact remained that they reminded him - of the past, something on which he did not like to dwell. There was so little to be proud of. They all looked the same to him, these Rohirrim. They all reminded him of the men he had fought alongside, the men he had -

He slipped and slid down the hill about ten feet, scattering stones everywhere. They bounced and rolled down the hill towards Erbrand and Hilderinc. Crabannan followed shortly, back on his feet again.

"Good day." He greeted the men. "The day of reckoning, yes?"

[Folwren]

Thornden grew more and more uncomfortable as Lithor spoke. He didn’t like discussing Javan’s crime. Not in this fashion. He felt that people expected him to try to side with Javan and do his utmost, as a brother, to defend him against any wrath to come. They did not seem to understand that Thornden couldn’t accommodate Javan in any such fashion. Yes, he was Javan’s brother, but Thornden was also the third in command of the mead hall. His duties and loyalties demanded that he detach himself from any personal feelings, even in something so ‘petty’ and unofficial as this. He had resolved long ago, when Javan first started to prove troublesome to Eodwine, that he would stand no more than necessary between Javan and the eorl (whoever he may be) and his judgments.

In addition to this, he felt that what Javan had done was more than just give Ædre a bloody nose and fat lip. He had broken some un-written law of society. A woman should never be struck in such a fashion. She should always be handled gently and carefully. That was a nobleman’s role and code of behavior. Javan had to learn it before he became a man, for by then, it would be entirely too late. Besides that, Ædre was the daughter of Athanar. Would everyone be so swift to defend him if he had struck Wynflaed? Or hit Saeryn, heaven forbid? No, he thought not.

“Well no worries, master Thornden. If you have a moment, I think I have a plan we can weasel Javan out of punishment from Athanar.”

“I think not,” Thornden said, stiffly. “I have little desire to get him completely off the hook, but I will see to it he is not unjustly treated. You don’t seem to understand, Lithor. Even if the girl was in the wrong, Javan should not have struck her. I will not pretend, even with you, that I think that my brother is perfect. He made a mistake, and it is only right that he should be required to pay for it. I won’t have him growing up thinking it’s acceptable to hit someone like that, much less a girl or, as he grows older, a young woman, and so forth.”

Lithor looked at him and merely raised an eyebrow. Thornden sighed, and reconsidered his words and his decision. “Alright, tell me your thoughts, and if it turns out that I need to defend him, I will consider what you say.”

[Groin Redbeard]

It was plain that Hildernic was thinking hard when Erbrand was speaking, now Erbrand knew why. Hildernic was speaking of brawling as if it was an occupation or a past time. Of course there are better ways to spend one's time, I am not challenging you to fight. All the while that Hildernic was speaking Erbrand began to feel less inclined to tell the man about his adventure with Oeric. Hildernic's last words confirmed Erbrand's suspicions: he was an idealist and had almost no sense of humor.

A reply was in place, but before Hildernic finished Erbrand was distracted by somebody coming, or falling, down the Scar. What a sight, Erbrand almost laughed!

"Good day." He greeted the men. "The day of reckoning, yes?"

"Someone seems to be happy about it. You should not be after siding with Lithor last night. Ah! but I do not want to talk about that. I think I should be getting back to my work." Erbrand eyed Hildernic curiously.

"You seem like a good fellow." He eyed Crabannan. There was a sudden impulse to let go of his secret. Erbrand was going to tell Crabannan anyway and Hildernic seemed like a sensible person. However, in the end he decided against it.

"Good day to you sirs."


Lithor

“I will not pretend, even with you…”

Lithor was hurt by these words. He might be full of mirth more than somberness, but he was not a simpleton or a toy that people could play with. Why should Thornden pretend with him? Lithor certainly never pretended with Thornden.

“Well it is simple.” Lithor replied dryly, some of his enthusiasm dampened. “Punish Javan first. I did not say that he should be spared from punishment, only from Athanar’s punishment. Do you really think that Javan’s crime is worthy to be held in the same instance of a military trial? The law of blood allows and the law of society demands that you, as Javan’s brother, correct him, not Athanar.”

Lithor was puzzled by the whole deal. Thornden talking in Javan's defense? What, is it going to be a trial for Javan as well? The consequences of a boy striking the girl will be the same whether it was a lord's daughter or a peasant girl. Lithor dared not say it, for he knew that younger people take things the wrong way, but he thought Thornden was being a little cowardly in the whole deal.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

When Hilderinc saw Crabannan approaching in a rather rushed way, his initial thought was that he indeed had been cornered by two members of a gang who have been following him on his morning walk. But soon the thought was dismissed and proven foolish. Obviously, he thought, that would be a very unlikely thing to happen anyway.

Erbrand seemed to have decided to go about his business. Hilderinc reminded himself that he should probably get back by the time all other people are awake - also in order to get something to eat for himself. He looked at Crabannan. The newly come man's face was unreadable. A mysterious man, Hilderinc thought. What does such a person do here in the first place? He remembered his yesterday's encounter with Crabannan and the interrupted question when he asked him whether he was a Woodman. Something about the man was slightly unsettling.

"We seem to meet each other quite too often," Hilderinc said after a while. "I assume you were taking a morning walk, or are all the musicians in this Hall going to the local marshlands for animal skins?" He left but a short pause, not expecting an answer, as it was not a real question.

"I was just thanking master Erbrand for the nice performance yesterday, and I might say here that I liked your music too," Hilderinc continued. "You seem to know the instrument really well, I assume you have been playing it for a long time to obtain such skill. Have you been invited here as a bard by lord Eodwine?" Hilderinc has been wondering about it, as that would at least explain the presence of the stranger here in the first place.

[Folwren]

He had said something wrong. Thornden was almost instantly aware of it. Lithor’s manner became stiff and withdrawn. Thornden became more wary, but he still stuck to his previous position.

“His will not be a military trial, of course,” Thornden said. “I do not even know if Athanar will treat it as though it were a court at all. All he said last night is that he wanted him to come before him around the same time that you did, but I think that it was more of a matter of convenience then it was a matter of that particular time being his time of court. But if it is, I will not be surprised.

“I have an idea that I will be the one who punishes him, but not before Athanar has seen him and decided what is to be done. It’s not quite so simple as you think. It’s not as if Javan had merely hit a peasant girl. Understand if he had, I would have spoken to the girls father even in that instance before deciding on any punishment, and heard what he thought. But the fact that Ædre is an eorl’s daughter makes the crime greater.”

--

Saeryn

She would not have wakened for a while had a knock at the door not roused her. Saeryn turned onto her back and raised her head. “What is it?” she asked. Modtryth put her head in the door.

“I’m sorry to wake you, but you said not to let you sleep in this morning.”

“Of course,” she mumbled to herself, remembering saying so the previous evening before going to bed. “Thank you,” she said, to Modtryth. Modtryth withdrew and Saeryn sat up and reluctantly pushed the blankets off herself. Her bare feet touched the cold floor and she shivered. She reached for her dress and began to prepare herself for the day, but just after she had pulled it over her head, her stomach seemed to flip. She stopped her movements and frowned, feeling disgusted and sick. What was this? She didn’t need to get sick in the middle of everything that was happening! Resolved not to feel ill, she commenced dressing.

By the time she came from her room, she looked palish green. She kept one hand pressed firmly against her belly, trying to calm the awful feeling of impending disaster. She slowly walked through the women’s quarters and out into the hall.

Modtryth was working around the tables. Saeryn called to her and beckoned with her hand. “Modtryth, I think I am ill.”

[Groin Redbeard]

“Indeed this is more serious than even you think, master Thornden. I do not know if Athanar will bring Javan before those assembled for my trial or not, but it certainly looks as that is what is planned; then, Javan will have gained two pitiless enemies.” Lithor sounded grave and worried. Lithor continued cautiously, slowly.

“The lord’s daughter is a child. Javan is a child. Being children, both cannot be expected to bear the titles of their kin as they should. Therefore, I do not see Aedre as a lord’s daughter any more than I see Javan as the son of Scarburg’s second man. They are children.”

Lithor had forgotten that Thornden had been replaced. Is Javan one to go striking children, even girls, unprovoked? Certainly not and Thornden can see that. However, that is not the question here. If only the children saw the fuss that was being made over them.

“Master Thornden, you must not confuse your loyalties. Your duty is to your brother. That boy is going to go through enough. He is to be punished, but do not let Athanar make a public display of him—Javan is not an adult. If Athanar makes Javan’s offence public, you will have to make perfectly clear that Javan is your responsibility or Javan will be in grave danger.”

Again, was worried. Wulfric and Wulheard were bullies with titles to protect them. Thornden must avoid fights with them if he is not to be charged with treason as well.

“Both of Wulfric and Wulheard tried to strike me, ‘an old greybeard who cannot defend himself’, for the same crime. They will have less respect for a boy.”

Lithor paused for a moment to think of something else to say, but realized that he had been rambling long enough. People did not liked to be talked to for long, it made them look stupid. However, Lithor knew that Thornden would not ignore his words.

“Your responsibility, my friend. Cheerful prospect is it not?”

[Thinlómien]

Saeryn's face looked more than ill, she looked half dead.

"You had better sit down for a minute, otherwise you will undoubtedly just drop unconscious on the floor."

Modtryth's words were brusque, but her tone was warm, and she smiled at the Lady when she helped her sit down.

"Cnebba!" she called across the hall. The boy was with little Léothern; they were examining something on the floor in a corner of the hall, heads bent low to see it better. Modtryth's son lifted his head reluctantly. "Go to Aedhel and ask her to make Lady Saeryn a cup of raspberry leaf tea. Now."

Cnebba cast his mother a slightly grudging look, but obeyed quickly. Léothern remained in the corner, now probing the floor with her small, plump finger.

Modtryth gave Saeryn an empathic shrug. "I know it doesn't help, but it passes. It won't last for ever. And the tea will help now. It's an old trick of the folk of Westfold." She bit her tongue before adding "they say it comes from Dunland". That didn't seem the best of topics for now.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar woke up early as he was used to, but today he decided not to rise up and show himself before due time. And he had a lot to think even if he had stayed up late thinking already.

It was a mess and he felt ashamed. The worst beginning he had ever had anywhere he had been commanded to take the lead he thought he knew how to do.

Wynflaed was still sleeping and for a while he just looked at her leaning on his raised elbow lying beside her. Their shared quilt only covered her body from the mid-waist downwards as he had raised himself up enough to make it roll down that much. She was so beautiful! In the midst of all this, how lucky a man he was to have a wife like that... not only a pleasure to the eyes and the body, but also sensible and wise to actually carry part of the responsibilities... and a soulmate... that was probably the most important thing there was. His life was filled with duties, work and responsibilities... what would it be if there was not Wynflaed who always understood him and his worries? He stroked her hair gently until Wynflaed started murmuring and turned around towards him, still sleeping. Carefully he kissed her on the forehead... he touched her lips lightly with his own not willing to wake her up. Then quiet like a thief in the night he withdraw from the bed and dressed up.

He didn't pick the formal dress but not any of the everyday ones either. It was to be an important day and he had to show his stature with his choice of clothes as well, but not look like overdoing it. After some to and fro he finally ended up with a simple but beautiful finest wool eorling-green robes tied up with his family-belt, the large buckle of which represented an eagle on crossed staves in the background and two spears right beside them. The emblem of who he was.

There was a beautifully carved great knife he had inherited as the head of the family from hundreds of years of tradition hanging on the belt. He discarded it and laid it carefully on the top of his chest of other valuables. Instad of it he took the hammer-necklage of his grandfather and pulled it over his head. That should do he thought looking at his mirror-image from the polished copper-plate that was hung on the wall.


Coming to the Hall he saw Thornden and Lithor discussing. He nodded to them while passing and went out of the door.

The air was so fresh!

In Edoras there was always this stench of burning wood and coal everywhere as people lived so close together. But here! Just a few yards from the main doors Athanar knelt to the ground and grasped a handful of frosted soil with his fingers. He warmed up the lump of earth rubbing his palms together and then smelled it long and deep. So this was the place...

Rising up from his knees he saw a few people discussing together further away... one of them looked like Hilderinc but he couldn't say of the others.

Coming inside he noticed Saeryn... and she was looking really bad. There was this "darkling" - as he thought of her - taking care of her. Athanar took a seat on the opposite side of the table and tried to smile encouragingly. He had seen Wynflaed carrying four chirldren and it didn't look like anything out of order. "It is perfectly normal lady Saeryn, it kind of belongs to the carriage..." He finally said and tried to look as supportive he could. Which was not too much.

Looking around he found Thornden. "Thornden! Could you find lord Degas for me? I'd wish to see you both here before the day begins... I have a few suggestions to make."

[Folwren]

“Your responsibility, my friend. Cheerful prospect is it not?”

Thornden gave a humorless smile and shrugged. He was concerned, deeply, about what Lithor said concerning Wulfric and Wilheard. The more Lithor argued about Athanar, the more Thornden convinced himself that Javan had very little to truly fear from him, but when Lithor mentioned the two sons, Thornden felt undeniable fear for his brother’s sake. He had seen himself what they were about to do to Lithor and despite the fact that Lithor was older, he could have definitely withstood such treatment better than Javan. He hoped that perhaps the two brothers would not treat Javan so. Even if they did have less respect for the boy than Lithor, perhaps they would more understanding and forgiveness, seeing as he was no older than Ædre. All the same, Thornden resolved to keep a watchful eye out.

But, then, too, what Lithor said about Athanar and his potentiality to punish Javan publicly was true. Thornden did not fear that Athanar would be overly harsh or cruel, but a public disgracement would not be appropriate, either. He would ask Athanar when he got the chance.

“I will consider what you say, Lithor. I know what you mean, and I understand you now. But,” he added, as he saw Athanar enter the hall, “I think it is too late for me to discipline him myself.”

As if to confirm his words, Athanar called across to him. “Thornden! Could you find lord Degas for me? I wish to see you both here before the day begins...I have a few suggestions to make.”

Thornden bowed in his direction to confirm that he heard and understood, and then he turned again to Lithor. “Well, this is it. Thank you, Lithor, for your advice. I will see you soon.” Lithor nodded and stepped back, in effect releasing Thornden from the conversation and Thornden turned to find Degas.

He did not have to actually leave the room to find Degas, for just as he approached one of the doors, Degas came into the hall. “Degas, Athanar has asked that we go and speak to him.”

“Good. I meant to talk to him before he held court anyway.” Thornden nodded and they went across the hall to the table. Degas sat down beside Saeryn and turned to her with a smile to bid her good morning. Saeryn’s pale face stopped him, and instead he asked, “Are you feeling alright?”

“No,” Saeryn answered truthfully. “But Modtryth tells me it’s all from carrying a child, so it’s normal and I shouldn’t worry about it.”

[Mnemosyne]

The sunlight streamed in and fell on Wynflaed's eyes. Shifting over, the chill air in the place where Athanar's warmth usually reached out to her woke her fully. She opened her eyes.

Her husband was nowhere to be seen. "Athanar..." she muttered, much less vexed than she sounded. Even on days when there was much work to be done, he "couldn't bear to wake her" even when she specifically asked to be woken near dawn. She rose and looked at the window--almost midmorning already! Sighing, she pulled the quilt back over the bed for neatness' sake--Lilige would make it later.

The mattress smelled different--it was strange how the smallest cues reminded you that you were in a new place. She wondered if it had retained any of the scent of Eodwine and Saeryn, or if they had stuffed it with new straw for their arrival.

She only looked briefly around the room before remembering that Scarburg had no bell to pull (a fine innovation from Gondor) to summon her maid. Well, if Lilige was worth her salt at all (which she was, of course), she would be in shortly. Wynflaed only really needed assistance with her hair, anyhow.

Stepping over to the chest holding her husband's clothes, she fingered through them until she knew for certain what he had chosen. Not everyday, but not too fine... just what my Athanar would do for an occasion such as this. She made sure all was in order before turning to her dresses and looking for something that would match with green...

[Loslote]

Before the other woman could answer, Lilige jumped up from where she had leaned against the wall. She'd kept her ear out for the servant bell, which Lady Wynflaed usually used to tell her she was awake, but knowing the Scarburgians, they probably didn't even have one. "I'm sorry," she said quickly to the other woman, and hurried out of the kitchen and up to her Lady's room.

She quietly opened the door and peered into the room. Lady Wynflaed was searching through her clothes. Lilige winced inwardly at the sight of her hair. She opened the door wider, making it rasp slightly against the floor. "My Lady," she called to alert Wynflaed to her presence.

Wynflaed straightened and turned to face the maid. "Good," she said. "My hair needs to be fixed before the meeting today."

"Of course," Lilige said. What meeting? she thought, but put the matter out of her mind. Either Wynflaed would tell her, or she could try to get someone else to tell her. Or she wasn't supposed to know because it was a meeting of the important people. Either way, Lilige decided not to ask, but focused on easing the knots out of Wynflaed's hair and pulling it back into half-braided loops.

"And...there you are, my Lady," she said as she tucked the last strand into the loop. "Perfect." Smiling, Lilige turned to the bed, tugging at the corners.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar greeted Degas and Thornden and after they had talked on Saeryn's condition - and when she seemed strong enough to concentrate on other issues - Athanar finally came clear with what he had in mind.

"I do understand there were strong feelings aloft yesterday evening, and ale gives strength to strong feelings." He looked at all the three carefully.

"I'm willing to come a long way towards your people to settle these issues in a decent and just manner. That means way more leniently things would go in any court in Edoras... even if I'm not going to let Lithor off the hook just like that. As a soldier he must understand his place."

Thornden looked like he was trying to make a defence of Lithor but Athanar waved him quiet with his hand. "I know you would like to talk for him... what happened outside I have no clear picture of, and would like to hear also your view of it, but maybe it's better I'll hear you as one witness among the others so that I'll put similar weight to every account of it. And what he did inside, well there is little excuse for his behaviour... and I wish to see his reactions with a blank eye."

Lord Athanar was not sure if his explanation of why he wasn't willing to hear any account on behalf of Lithor satisfied Thornden or not, but Thornden did anyway lean back again picking up a piece of bread.

"Now I've heard this Javan is just a kid like Aedre is, and with children I must say I'm totally against public physical punishments... growing up in Wormtongue's court taught me that lesson well enough. Those punishments tend to sow the seeds of hatred more strongly anything else does. Now who'd be his parents? I'd like to exchange a word with them before we start if possible?"

[Folwren]

Lithor had done no wrong outside, and it was this that Thornden wished to say. Athanar, however, did not wish to hear it now, though he promised later to allow Thornden to speak. Just as well. Then everyone, including the two young men who had apparently accused him, would be answered as well.

“Now, I’ve heard this Javan is just a child like Ædre is, and with children I must say I’m totally against public physical punishment.” Thornden allowed himself to take a breath as he felt the first real relief he had felt all morning. Lithor’s fears, then, seemed unfounded. “Growing up in Wormtongue’s courts taught me that lesson well enough. Those punishments tend to sow the seeds of hatred more strongly than anything else. Now, who’d be his parents? I’d like to exchange a word with them before we start if possible?”

“His parents are not here,” Thornden said. “I stand in their place. He is my brother. So, anything you would wish to say..." he opened his hands and shrugged and looked Athanar in the face, expectantly.

[Nogrod]

"Ahh, well... that is news indeed." Lord Athanar was confused. He tried frantically to think over the sides of the matter as to whether it was good or bad news that Javan was Thornden's brother. But looking at Thornden's expression he couldn't help but to smile.

"You must fill me in with your stories one day Thornden... and about parents who leave their children." Athanar looked suddenly more serious. He was guessing the truth of the matter and wished to push the thoughts away. "One day."

With that he nodded to Thornden indicating he wished to further the discussion no more. Instead he turned to Saeryn and looked at her closely before opening his mouth.

"Lady Saeryn." He opened but was distracted by Wynflaed who turned into the table wishing everyone good morning.

"Oh, good morning my dear." Athanar answered and gave her a courteous kiss to the cheek as she had sat down beside him.

Turning back to look at Saeryn he smiled cautiously. "If you accept the offer lady Saeryn, I myself and my good lady Wynflaed here," he glanced quickly to his wife who nodded to him in assurance. "So we are ready to adopt you as our daughter to inherit this Mead Hall - or to let your child inherit it in due time."

Thornden and Degas dropped their jaws.

[Folwren]

The sight and smell of food had made Saeryn feel increasingly sick throughout the course of breakfast, although she ate nothing and said almost as little. It wasn’t until Athanar made his unexpected and shocking offer that she realized just how ill she actually was. Her mouth went perfectly dry and her stomach became uncomfortably warm. She swallowed with difficulty.

“I don’t know. I have to think. I can not. . .excuse me.” She stood up hastily with no attempt at politeness nor with any disguise of her immediate distress and ran off as quickly as she could with one hand clamped firmly over her mouth. It took more strength of will and stomach than she thought she possessed to reach the door in time.

Her body trembled with the effort of vomiting. Between her gasping efforts, her thoughts came in broken fragments. “Adopting me? The baby can be heir? This would solve. . .that problem. Adopting me? I’m married. It’s ridiculous. It will solve the problem.” Her shivering abated and she regained her composer. She went to the kitchen to drink some water and then walked back to the hall. Everyone at the table ceased speaking as she came near and turned to face her.

“Lord Athanar,” Saeryn said. “From what I understand of your offer, I am inclined to accept, but I should like to speak more in-depth of what it would mean before I agree entirely.

[Nogrod]

Looking after Saeryn running away from the table lord Athanar felt pity and compassion. He glanced at her wife and smiled to her timidly. He remembered how bad a carriage could be. Aedre had been an especially hard one and he remembered the vomiting, the shakes, the moods...

But he was more than happy to see Saeryn return in an instant as it seemed everyone was waiting for her answer to the proposition and thus were not willing to converse on anything else.

“Lord Athanar,” Saeryn said as she came back. “From what I understand of your offer, I am inclined to accept, but I should like to speak more in-depth of what it would mean before I agree entirely."

Lord Athanar nodded and smiled gently to Saeryn. "Of course, that's understandable, and a justified call." He took his goblet and took a sip of the mead before continuing.

"Adopting you would mean the following..." He looked at her to the eye quite intensively before going forwards.

"Now let this stay between us here around this table... I do not think I will live here for the rest of my life. I'm appointed here by king Eomer's decree and I have a mission I'm going to accomplish. Where I will end up in my life is not in my hands. It is my king who decides these matters." He glanced at his wife and laid the goblet from his hand to the table.

"Also, my eldest daughter is happily married and I wish the same for Aedre. My daughters are not contesting any inheritance there might be here." He leaned back on his chair and laid his hands on the table. "My sons then you ask... they will need to show their qualities and earn their future themselves, like I have done. I do not wish to prepare the way for them as they need to earn their place themselves..." He glanced at Degas and Thornden and leaned forwards to pick the goblet.

He was cleraly thinking about how to put his next words as he raised the goblet and took a sip from it.

"Even if king Eomer doesn't reassign me after Mid-Emnet has been pacified under the king's rule we are twice your age lady Saeryn..." He turned his gaze into her. "And we are forty years older than your child... So if we live into the old age in here, then we will retain our eorlship over this Mead Hall until it is time for us to step aside... but I think that is not the most probable scenario." Here Athanar glanced at her wife once again.

"Who's the eorl of Scarburg is in the end something king Eomer decides, not something anyone here decides... But we can do our part insisting you or your child will be the inheritor of this place here - but the inheritance would not apply to any other belongings we might have in the future. Does that sound reasonable to you? What do you say Degas as her brother?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Of all possible scenarios, this was not one Degas had envisioned. Yes, he had fast earned a respect and liking of the man he had so quickly disliked the day before. Yes, he found him to be a good conversationalist, and he trusted him to be a good and honest man, insomuch as any man can be good and honest at all times.

But to adopt his sister? To name her his heir? The child would inherit the title and estate he was conceived into, if not the eorldom. But that had never been the problem. The problem now, from Degas's point of view, was Athanar's sons.

Degas, as a younger son, had known the lands he lived on were not his to inherit. And when his parents died, he had resigned himself to no inheritance at all, as the papers had emerged - falsified though they must be - that left everything to Fenrir. Still, he had not contested this, as he had desire - he chuckled in his mind - to be a minstrel. A traveling, title-less minstrel. A singer at campfires, a lute-strummer earning his keep by spinning yarns and passing news from one place to another.

He had been raised to know his worth, of course, but the reality of his life... He and his sisters were far too pragmatic to deny the new reality of their brother as their lord. They would have nothing he did not wish them to have. They were his underlings, no longer his siblings.

Yet... somehow they did not rebel. Thinking back, Degas could only think he'd held his piece out of fear for his sisters. He thought himself a coward for this, and moved his thoughts quickly onward, aware the table was waiting for his comment.

Athanar's sons were young. It was not that they were younger than him physically, it was that they had not experienced life they way he had. Degas had been orphaned. He had traveled alone, taken up a craft. He had relied on his skills and his diplomacy, not his name, to earn any accolades allowed to him. He had taken up another craft after music: sailing. His callused hands showed it. He had taken to slathering his fingertips in ladies' salves before bed to soften the calluses that made his fingers fumble on the lute and harp. But the point was, he had lived on his own, without the crutch of a title or an inheritance. He had learned to confront life as a man, not as a son, not as a lordling.

And these boys, though they were his peers in the eyes of his elders, had not.

And he could not envision them, these boys that oozed entitlement from every pore, happily giving up wealth or status, no matter how insignificant and undeserved that wealth and status may be. Scarburg was no Edoras, no Aldburg, but it was a holding, and these boys, Degas believed, would not take kindly to their parents adopting a new heir, surpassing their claims to their parents' titles, possessions, and lands.

Degas decided on bluntness. "I believe that it is a fair arrangement that well suits all parties, however I worry that your sons will take umbrage over something they may feel they are entitled to being passed to my sister. I would dislike to learn later that my sister is the object of any resentment they or others may feel."

[Nogrod]

"There are many reasons for resentment and it may be one is not able to avoid them all." lord Athanar said calmly looking at Degas. "It's a rare occasion when this kind of arrangement can be done with all the parties equally contented about it."

Degas nodded.

"And anyway... I don't see the future of Wulfric and Wilheard in here. They have been serving in the military in the west for the last one and half years and only got back from there a while before I was appointed here by the king. So we wished them to see this side of life for a while untill they will go and search for the continuation of their careers in the military." Lord Athanar paused like he was thinking. "Though I hope in a different place from the last one as it clearly hasn't been only for their good." He sighed and glanced at his wife. "Let's hope this will turn out a learning experience for them..."

He shrugged and shook his head slightly. "Well, what am I babbling here? We should start the proceedings so that the soldiers can take to their exercising and everyone gets to their duties," glancing at the gathered crowd in the Hall he continued now slightly amused: "It seems no one will do anything before we're done here... so let's see it done then."

[Groin Redbeard]

Where the marsh ends, a stream in flood had rolled a scattering of stones and trees uprooted. Here, where the rough wintery cold water course had made Erbrand leave the path of sturdy earth and come onto lofty ground above the stream (whose cold waterway he wanted to avoid), he saw a herd of deer perceive his presence and give flight. In that crisis, he had but one recourse—to sting them with hasty shots. Two arrows he let fly in rapid succession, one hitting his mark but not sinking deep enough and the other falling short. Erbrand frowned and hissed with frustration. The snares had been empty and his only hope of finding fresh pelts for work was in the hunt. With eager steps, he strode swiftly along the trail of blood issuing from the strong animal’s chest. With any luck, he would find the poor beast exhausted after its energy giving terror had abated.

The herd had instinctively moved out of the marsh for Erbrand had traveled across the marsh to find quarry. As he reached the rising ground that led out of the marsh he looked back at the Great Hall of Scarburg. Smoke was rising from the chimney in billowing stacks, poor Frodides had several more mouths to feed than she was used to.

The trail was becoming clearer now as Erbrand continued to pursue. He sensed the kill. Quickly, with nimble fingers, he fastened another arrow to his string. The ground was uneven and filled with boulders and annoying rocks to trip over. There it was! His long sought after prize, the noble stag lay dead on the ground. Erbrand let out a great shout of triumph and slowed his pace, but all was not well. His shout startled two figures whose grayish black coats matched that of the rocky terrain. Erbrand halted, his heart skipping a beat with anticipation. Wolves! The cries of the wounded stag doubtlessly drew them near. Erbrand had forgotten the wintery months drew the wolf packs down from the mountains and into the plains, these two were looking for an early start.

The cunning creatures hunched their backs and paced with black noses nearly to the ground. Erbrand first thought turned towards safety, but there were no trees and the marsh was too far behind him. Frozen in fear his next instinct was to run, but experience contested that instinct immediately. With reason again taking hold, Erbrand grasped his bowstring and taking deadly aim drew the bow back full circle. His hands aligned, the left hand felt the point, the right hand holding the string touched his cheek. The arrow whistled to the closest wolf and plunged deep within its chest. The beast yelped and fell dead with the impact. Courage at once led Erbrand with grinning complexion to hasten the other’s death just as quickly. Bird’s eye shot.

Skinned on the spot Erbrand retrieved the two wolf pelts, but left the stag that had already been bitten by the wolves’ cruel fangs. The pelts were of little use to him, being too rich in warmth to be plucked of their fur for his use, so he decided to sell them to some of the guards heading back to Edoras. Furs were a good way to bring some extra money when his leather work was not selling. Already in his stay in Edoras he had not been sell any of his products with trade not yet established between any of the neighboring Halls. It would be a poor life in Scarburg if trade was not established soon, already he was being overworked as a supplier of food, as a workman for the hall, and for his own trade, which required no small amount of his time.

When he arrived back at camp everyone was up and about. Erbrand brought the wolf pelts to his shed for safekeeping. When he returned Kara had brought out what food the kitchen could spare for the folk gathered round. Garstan, Stigend, Crabannan, Harreld Leof, and he were all a part of this lifestyle. Some of them, such as him, would be better off in bigger settlements where their craft would sell, but all of them were satisfied with their temporary lot in life with the hope that all would be better tomorrow.

Erbrand dipped his bowl into the kettle, scolding his fingers in the hot broth and contented himself with at least having something hot to eat. The dog that the fat man fed amused him slightly. What an amazingly loyal creature with no thought other than to serve his master. All that it asks is to be fed and treated with love, sometimes not even getting that and still it serves. He fished around in his bowl, drew out a chunk of meat and held it out. The dog turned and snatched the treat up in an instant only to find his head within both this strange man’s hands and being rubbed vigorously. The dog took a liking to this treatment of being fed and rubbed at the same time and placed himself at Erbrand’s feet. A man, bubbling with energy, jumped over Erbrand’s seat and landed next to the dog.

“Keeping up your appetite, heh dog, but you mustn’t bother strangers. What’s that you say? Oh! he’s a friend then is he.”

"Erbrand." He said grimly. Although the dog was amusing, Erbrand found this man to behave like a fool.

"Erbrand, my name is Hamrod. You talked to my friend last night I believe, Girth."

"You came with him from Edoras?"

"Not that I have a choice," Hamrod said and sat down looking quite glum. "All my duty is to do what I am told. If lord Athanar would listen to me more we would not be in this miserable little hole that you call a home." Hamrod picked up a handful of mud and rubbed it in his palms.

"Aye, not that Athanar would be any the wiser to listen to you." Girth said with a mouthful of bread.

Erbrand soon found out that both men were extremely simple folk, far simpler than he had imagined Athanar's peasants to be. Both looked as if they could do some mischief if given the chance and cracking a good joke at someone's character was not below their status.

"We'll be off for now, friend." Girth asked Erbrand. "My herd has not the proper sty to wallow around in and I think that this kitchen is the proper place to build one."

"Uhh!" Erbrand exclaimed. "Don't you think that you better ask your lord before starting."

"Pigsty is always kept next to kitchen." Hamrod said.

"Besides, we don't bother lord with that stuff we go straight to Coenrad--he's the man to see. But the sty must be built and you can't do that with your mouth. Come Hamrod, come Dog."

With that the two men ambled off. Erbrand let out a long sigh. Getting along with these newcomers is going to be harder than anticipated if all of them are soldiers and dimwitted peasants. Drinking what was left of his broth, Erbrand made for his shed and started working on his leather. It was well into the morning and he would soon be called to work on the hall.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar gave the order to prepare the hall for the hearings. Breakfast was cleared, the tables born away to the edges of the room, and a seat was set for Wynflaed beside lord Athanar's chair. Thordnen and Coenred withdrew to bring together those that were needed, Javan, Lithor, Wulfric, and Wilheard. Once they were all assembled, they and many others of the Mead Hall, both old and new, Athanar called Javan forward.

Javan came in and walked forward to where Athanar and Wynflaed sat. He glanced towards Saeryn and then up at Thornden who stood to the side with Coenred standing beside him.

Javan came forward and stopped in front of Athanar. His mind harped back unwittingly to the only other instance he had stood before such a seat of judgment, in Eodwine's court. Then he had been guilty of burning down the stables. Now, he felt, he was less at fault, and his crime, if it could be called that, was much slighter. He looked Athanar straight in the eye.

Lord Athanar looked at the young boy and the sharp brown eyes that were nailed on him. Whether it was defiance or just trying to make a brave face he couldn't be sure, but he recognized something very familiar in Javan's presence. There was something in him that reminded Athanar of his own sons while they were younger.

Lord Athanar had looked Javan back with a stern face but suddenly it seemed like he relaxed. Leaning a little back in his chair he finally asked him. "So, you are Javan then?"

"Yes, sir," Javan answered.

"Tell me Javan, how old are you?"

"Twelve, sir, almost thirteen winters."

Athanar seemed to think for a moment before he made the next question: "What are you going to be Javan, when you grow up?"

Javan looked surprised, but he answered nevertheless. "I was sent to lord Eodwine to become a guard or some asset to his household. An eorlinga."

Lord Athanar raised his eyebrow and crossed his fingers nodding eventually. "Well, lord Eodwine must have told you what kind of man an eorling is so that you would serve him right and with honour?"

Javan looked somewhat crestfallen, for inside he felt his stomach sink slightly. He did not like to be reminded so shrewdly what Eodwine would have thought. "He did."

"How did he say an eorling should carry himself?" Athanar asked.

Javan pressed his lips together for a moment and glanced away. Then he looked again at Athanar, though less steadily than before. "By doing what was right and obedient, not acting rashly and without thought. . .thinking about others before myself." He tried to remember all that Eodwine had said that night, long ago, when they first came to Scarburg. "Mostly that I should think less of myself and more of others and act honorably in everything. I wasn't thinking of myself yesterday, in all honesty. I was defending Cnebba, not myself."

Athanar listened to Javan closely leaning forwards on his chair. When Javan fell quiet, he laid his arms on the elbow rests of the chair and straightened his back. "It is indeed a mark of an eorling to not think only of oneself but to do what is right. But even granting your words, do you think you have acted in a way that Eodwine would think honorable?"

Javan shook his head mutely.

"Now..." Lord Athanar leaned forwards again. "Do these kinds of things happen to you often, that you seem to end up in quarrels or brawls?" Lord Athanar studied Javan's expression very carefully.

Javan shrugged. "I haven't fought in more than a month, sir. Before that, yes, I guess so."

Lord Athanar's mouth widened into a smile that looked more compassionate than triumphant, but he drew it back almost as soon as it appeared. He glanced at Saeryn and then briefly at Thornden, getting the information he needed to make a fast assesment of the situation.

"Tell me then Javan, how did lord Eodwine manage to keep you away from trouble for a month? Was there a stick or a carrot... or both?"

"I don't know what you mean. After he swore to treat me like his son and I swore to act more nobly rather than a vagabond, I tried my hardest not to. I still fought, but I got better at not fighting quite so quick."

Lord Athanar rose from his chair and walked to face Javan. He laid his hands on the youngster’s shoulders and bent his back forwards to meet the boy’s eyes from almost a level height. Looking closely at Javan, studying every movement on his face he spoke now softer but no less firm.

“Well Javan. Back in time, in Helm’s Deep for instance, lads of your age were treated like eorlingas. Those were dark times. Happily we’re not there now and I don’t need to punish you accordingly, as an eorling.” He straightened his back and stood tall in front of Javan without letting his gaze or his hands off Javan. Javan understood, and trembled at his words, but continued to meet his eye.

“I don’t believe youngsters turn good by flogging them, Javan. I have been flogged by orders of Wormtongue when I was about your age… heh, several times indeed… in front of all people." He paused. Thornden and Lithor exchanged glances. Thornden clenched his jaw tightly, thinking that this was what Lithor had spoken of and now they would know what Athanar would do. Their lord continued. "But if I have become a decent man now, it is rather not because of that beating I thought unjust but disregarding the hate it planted inside me.” It looked like lord Athanar’s eyes were getting moist with memories, but he held his calm.

“So let me offer you a new deal. Let’s see how it will work.” Lord Athanar smiled now but Javan looked even more shaken and confused.

“Obedient, disciplined, patient… I think I have an idea on what you should be spending the next months with… to learn and to gain.” Lord Athanar looked mysteriously hilarious for a moment when searching the crowds with his eyes, like he was looking for someone special. Javan turned his head to look, too, though he knew not what he searched for. Finally, Athanar's face spread into an open smile, almost laughter.

This was a most odd spectacle to people looking at it from outside. Many a confused gaze was exchanged, especially between the original Scarburgians.

“Raban! Raban you old raven, there you are! Step forwards!”

There was movement in the crowds and an old grumpy man emerged from behind the backs of others much taller than him as he walked with a stoop leaning on his stick limping his other leg. Of the old Scarburgians only Lithor and Balvir recognised the gaffer.

“What is it now, my lord?” he wailed as he went. “Do you leave beating the brats to me once again?”

Javan glanced nervously at Lord Athanar, but the eorl only laughed and many of his household laughed as well. The laugh spread among some older Mead Hall people as well as the situation was comical indeed. The old man was a sight in himself and only a few had noticed him before as he had kept to himself the first evening; but also the way he seemed to make fun on Athanar and the lord not getting heated up with it kind of promised something even if the people were unsure of what it was.

“Now Javan, meet Raban. He may look odd and even sound odd…” He winked an eye to Javan clear enough for most other people to see as well: “And he actually is quite a personality…” he added smiling. But as Raban finally reached the two Athanar got more serious. “He’s a veteran of many wars; he lost his eye and ear in wars against Dunledings, his other leg he lost in Helm’s Deep… and he has served me well for as long as I remember.”

Javan looked at the old man with some repulsion. He took a deep, shivering breath and tried not to show how he felt looking at the scarred face before him.

“So you want to be an eorling Javan? For that you need a chainmail coat. Making that yourself requires patience and self-discipline and Raban here is the best if also the grumpiest mailcoat-maker I know… he thaught me to make them as well, but the one I used in the Pelennor Fields and ever since in times of duty, is made by him and envied by many, even of my superiors… and let me quarantee you that he takes care of the obedience part…” Athanar laughed out aloud with others of his houselold – and the laughter spread across the hall.

Suddenly Athanar waved his hand to indicate the fun was over. He looked at Javan carefully and laid his right hand back on Javan’s shoulder. “Let me assure you, Javan. It will not be easy. It will be tough indeed and you will shed many a tear. But you will learn not only obedience, discipline and patience, but if you get in terms with Raban you’ll learn so much more of what it is to be a soldier, of what it is to be an eorling… that I quarantee there is no better teacher that I know.”

“Watch it my lord…” Raban intervened. “If you encourage him to come too close to me I may tell him also stories about you when you were still wetting your pants!”

Athanar’s household and soldiers roared with laughter and Athanar followed them suite. Suddenly all of the Hall was laughing in an odd mixture of relief and confusion.

But Javan was not laughing. He was struck dumb with confusion. He looked at Raban and then at lord Athanar. He did not want to make chainmail, he had no desire to be a mail-smith, and he had no wish to be cooped up day after day with a crippled, half blind, half deaf old man. Athanar's joviality had dismissed the fear from Javan's mind, and as was his wont, he spoke without thought.

"I do not understand, my lord. Why am I to be punished in such a manner when I did not disobey and when I carried myself with a considerable amount of patience, bearing from your daughter insult and abuse before striking out? If either of us needs to know the meaning of patience and discipline-”

“Hold it right there young man!” Lord Athanar’s voice was loud and commanding and the smile had disappeared from his face. For a moment he gathered himself not to unleash his full frustration on the boy. What did he say… being obedient, not acting rashly and without thought… acting honourably in everything…and then punching a girl! Or now this! Where is the consistency of thought with these youngsters? Thornden should fill him in as I’m not going to argue with a boy in public.

He glanced at Thornden who looked apologetic and a little angry and impatient with his brother. Nodding to him lord Athanar turned back to Javan. “From both what you did yesterday and how you behave now it seems that so far you have not learned to not act rashly or without a thought, and you have not learned to be patient or honourable in what you do. And you can’t be an eorling before you learn that.” He studied Javan’s face carefully. “It is not so much a punishment but something for your own good, Javan… Your brother will explain it to you if you do not understand it now.”

Lord Athanar gazed over the public and then addressed it. “Javan will be supervised by master Raban the next months. Those of you who don’t know master Raban may ask of his qualities from those who do know him. I will just say this: in his prime he was one of the best soldiers this country has ever had but due to age and the multiple wounds he got mainly from helping his mates out from danger he’s now crippled and looks odd… But after not being able to serve his king as a soldier anymore he concentrated on the crafts and turned out a master in that trade as well. So even if we who are used to him may laugh not only with him but to him, please understand that we have earned our right to laugh by his consent as he is a jovial man behind the crab's armor, and he knows us. I will personally challenge every evil grin or scorn to this hero of Rohan I hear of. I hope that is understood, loud and clear?”

There was a sudden silence in the Hall that was broken by Raban himself.

“Come, Athanar, you make an old man weep from emotion in front of all that boasted chivalry. How dare you pull those easy tricks on an old man in public? Every man answers the call if they are just called for… if they are eorlinga.”

The old man studied Javan for a moment: "if they are eorlinga..." he continued as if to himself. Raban turned away and started to limp back to the crowd. Passing Thornden he turned to him and half-whispered “Your brother is a promising-looking fellow, but we have lots to do with him… not that it matters, anyway.”

Lowering his voice he added so that only Thornden could hear it: “Had lord Athanar given his boys to me, we would not be in the mess we are now...” Winking an eye to Thornden the gaffer went off through the crowd.

Javan was dismissed with a nod by lord Athanar. Thornden's face confirmed it to Javan and he backed away from the open.

The hall burst into a buzz of conversations.

[Folwren]

By the time Athanar had dismissed Javan, both Javan and his brother were feeling both discontented and frustrated, but for two entirely different reasons. Thornden grasped his hands behind his back and pressed his lips closed in attempt to cool his anger. How could his brother be so insanely daft at such a moment? The little fool. His eyes flashed a dangerous blue after Javan’s figure as it disappeared out the door.

As for Javan, he was frustrated because he felt that, once more, he had been misunderstood and unfairly treated.

“Make a coat of mail?” he said to himself as he stormed across the courtyard. That in itself was not so bad. It was the man that he was to be stuck with for the next six months, or however long it took. Had Athanar put him under Harreld, well, that would have been different! But Raban was a disfigured, old, decrepit man! Javan shuddered at the mental image of his face. “Make a coat of mail with him? Waste hours of my day on something I will grow out of almost immediately? I’d rather him’ve done something else and had it over with immediately.”

[Nogrod]

Lithor, Wulfric and Wilheard came forwards under the guidance of Hilderinc. The three stood side by side facing Lord Athanar. He glanced at his sons but then turned his eyes towards Lithor. The general stir ceased.

“Lithor, senior guard to lord Eodwine and the Scarburg Mead Hall. That is you?”

Lithor nodded.

“Well Lithor…” lord Athanar looked saddened but firm. He laid his eyes downwards for a moment before looking back at Lithor again.

“Were you a reckless child or a hot-headed youngster I would have the reasons and the heart to look at a lots of things through my fingers and only blame the tensions of the first night, free running emotions, maybe too much ale… whatever it would then be. But you are a veteran of the Pelennor Fields. You must have served as a soldier over twenty years at least.” He made a small pause.

“You should know better how a soldier acts Lithor, especially as a senior soldier who will be looked upon by the younger ones. So as you set the younger ones an example, I will have to make sure that example is disciplined. I do honour all my brothers in arms from the fields of glory but you leave me little choice here Lithor.”

The two looked at each other in the eye. Some people thought they caught a glimpse of a fleeting moment of mutual honour between the two as the battle of the Pelennor Fields was mentioned. They were one of the rare few present who had fought there on that day of sacrifice, blood and honour. That was a memory that would never fade and which united those who shared it.

Lord Athanar broke the silence. “Anyway Lithor, there is a graver issue to be settled than your behaviour here in public last night. There was an incident outside as well, and my sons…” Here he turned his head and nodded as to point them out to everyone who was not yet familiar with them and their relationship.

“Wulfric and Wilheard have told me you have also been planning a treason behind my back, not only mocking my authority into my face in here. And you know full well that is plotting against the king himself. And if that is true, it will be a much graver matter indeed.” Lord Athanar let his words hammer in before he let Lithor off the hook of silence.

“So what have you to say for yourself?”

“It is as your lordship says. My words were ill chosen, I have acted as I should not have. Therefore, for last night’s actions, as the soldier I am, I will accept the punishment of your disappointment.”

He paused for a moment, unsure of how to continue. Saying what he felt will prove dangerous amidst his accusers. His complexion was unchanging, but his thoughts were ever working out a plan of discourse. Lithor eyed Wulfric and Wilheard and then Athanar.

“However, my lord if I am cause for disappointment and trial because of ill words, instead of actions, then you will also have cause for disappointment in your sons for bringing this false accusation of treason forward.” Lithor lifted his hand towards the boys and glared at them.

“My lord, you know me as one you suspect of treachery because of last night, but is last night the only night that counts in my life?” Lithor spoke loud and fast when he saw a hint of annoyance in the listeners’ eyes. “Both your sons’ honor and quality are known to you, my lord. You have known them for all their lives so you can best judge how their actions truly were, but my lord you know me not. I have served faithfully for over thirty years and have fought in the War of the Ring and have helped quell the Dunlendings. I have been taught lessons that only my age of experience can bring. I am sorry that reverence for your lordships hall was not one of them. My accusers, however, are barely men. They are still intemperate in their youth and assume a false truth from a conversation they heard in pieces. Thornded, the good commander he is, came to comfort me after I left the hall and I never spoke of treason to him.”

Thornden took a small step forward, preparing to speak, but Lord Athanar waved him back. "We will hear your view of this, seneschal Thornden... but let us hear Wulfric and Wilheard first."

He glanced at his sons and some people caught signs of sorrow in his eyes, but that was only passing... He turned to Lithor once more before giving them a possibility to speak.

"I'm not questioning your past deeds Lithor... I'm questioning your behaviour yesterday. And I know my sons in good and bad..." He glanced at his sons again. "But even immature ears can hear correctly whilst veteran's tongue might fail. So let us hear what you have to say, Wulfric and Wilheard? Was there a talk of treason yesterday out there or not?"

As the question echoed in the air, Wulfric suddenly realised the weakness of their position. If Lithor and Thornden denied everything, would their father take his sons's word for it? Wulfric was not so stupid as to think his father would grossly favour his own kin to those he sought to get to his side. He gritted his teeth.

"Yes." He said in a clear voice. That sounded impressive, but in truth there was doubt nagging inside. He and Wilheard had quizzed one of the soldiers, Áforglaed, for what had happened in the hall while they had been away, but he would've felt more comfortable if he had been there himself.

"This soldier, Lithor, clearly tried to talk Commander Thornden into some kind of rebellion. He said..."

Wilheard, who had a better memory, cut in: "He said that if Lord Eodwine does not return Thornden 'must lead Scarburg to renew the seat to its rightful heir: Saeryn, and later her son.' He spoke many words implying that Thornden should keep friendly with you, my lord, so that the people who lived here under Lord Eodwine could plot behind your back and yet keep a friendly face."

Wulfric gritted his teeth again. Wilheard spoke right, but perhaps too straightforwardly - this would lead to another confrontation, and those should be resolved in privacy, not under the lord's watchful eye. "These words, combined from his earlier disrespect and lack of loyalty to you, my lord, led us to believe there indeed is some treasonous plot forming in this man's head."

Lord Athanar looked stupefied. He was stupefied.

One could have almost touched the silence in the hall as it wrapped everyone around it. It felt like people were not braving to even breathe.

Lord Athanar rose up and eyed his sons with a sharp gaze.

“Is that what you say Wulfric… Wilheard?”

The boys glanced at each other and then turned to face their father. “Yes”, they both said in unison. If possible, the Hall was even quieter it had been before.

Lord Athanar turned towards Thornden and Lithor. He felt like he was beaten from inside; for whichever party was right here, it would be at least a minor catastrophy for him. He didn’t let it show but retained his composure.

“What do you say Thornden?” He paused for a second, “What do you say Lithor?”

”Do not speak for me, master Thornden!” Lithor cried stepping forward when he saw Thornden about to explain. It would look bad for Thornden to speak first. “My lord,” he said turning to Athanar. “What treason is there in honest words that speak the truth? I encouraged Thornden to follow your lordship for the sake of unity. I encouraged him not to make my mistake. I encouraged him to fight for lady Saeryn and her son, the rightful heir of Scarburg.” Lithor declared this loudly so that the entire hall could hear him.

“My lord, you command Scarburg until lord Eodwine returns and you must help us rid the land of Tancred and his friends. The king’s decree stated no more than that. I would be a traitor indeed if I did not defend Eodwine and his heirs, to whom I swore allegiance.”

The words hung heavy over the hall. Lithor did not know if he had condemned himself or not.

Lord Athanar had been listening to Lithor in a calm and collected fashion despite the anguish the situation aroused in him, even nodding a few times when he started, but little by little he started looking more vexed. If Lithor had not paused there it was clear to all the onlookers that lord Athanar would have done that himself. Bad situation or not, but that was plain outrageous!

“Stop it right there!”

Lord Athanar was more than annoyed; he was torn between willing to end this tom foolery once and for all, but afraid of being too rude to the original dwellers of the Hall and thus making it even harder to reconcile matters.

He had to talk even if his thoughts were unfinished.

“Have you read the king’s decree Lithor? I showed it to you all yesterday evening but you didn’t care to read it now did you?” He drew breath to cool himself off. He knew he should not get really angry even if every word he spoke made him more so.

Suddenly Athanar raised his head and looked around. “Excuse me…” He scanned the Hall looking at the people gathered there. His mind was feverishly going through possibilities of how to address the issue Lithor had brought forwards once again. Were these people still believing in their former lord this heavily, that he could rise from the dead? What kind of god was he to them? He would have to cut that thinking off if that was the cause of all this… but how to do it without actually calling lord Eodwine a dead man?

“Now listen Lithor, and listen good.” He gazed around to bring home the point that he meant everyone should listen and not only Lithor.

“A Mead Hall is the king’s domain. The king exerts his rule via Mead Halls into the lands not straight under his nose. And to run these Halls he appoints eorls to represent him in these vicinities and we are personally liable to him to run them.”

He had talked to the overall public thus far, but now he turned to face Lithor again. “As an eorling serving in a Mead Hall of your king your allegiance is to the king, to Rohan, Lithor. Not to any individual eorl.” He paused just for a moment before continuing.

“And had you read the king’s decree you’d know better. The king’s decree didn’t say I will be here to perform a duty until lord Eodwine – bless him – is back, but that I’m the eorl of the Scarburg Mead Hall… Valar be praised if lord Eodwine comes back among the living, and it will be the task of the king to decide then what will follow… not you… or me, Lithor. And as the king who loved him decided this way, it’s not for you Lithor, or me, to question that decision. And if you continue questioning the king’s decree I will see it you will face the king himself under a charge of questioning his decrees… and the question of you being a traitor will look quite a different one from the perspective of king Eomer.”

“Enough of that...” he said after a few heavy breaths. “What do you have to say against the accusations raised by Wulfric and Wilheard, that they overheard you planning a treason?”

What a sickening sight. Indeed, it would be in Athanar’s favor if Lithor would not question anything, only obey. Lithor felt another great throb of pain in his side. It all became clear to Lithor in the twinkling of an eye. Athanar does not wish for Eodwine to return! Athanar intends to keep the earldom for himself and have Saeryn settle for second best. Why interrupt Lithor if he was mad? Athanar would have enough sense to let Lithor finish before he addressed the matter. There was truth in Lithor’s words. A lord would have addressed it calmly. To Lithor it felt as if all his traveling with his lord had been for naught: all the battles, the Great War, the sickness, the encouragement, and the excitement, the friendship— all for nothing.

“Wulfric, Wilheard, why do you lie?" He said, turning the trial back to its purpose. "You speak of hearing my words in the hall and then overhearing my conversation with Thornden. You were not there to hear my words to Athanar and of my conversation with Thornden you make it sound like a plot. You have left out his magnanimity to me and of our private talk about how to avoid future conflicts. Well chosen, twisted, words. Men can easily twist meanings when telling half the truth. There…was…no crime…last night.”

Lithor glanced at Thornden. The attention must not turn to him. Whatever the costs, Thornden must stay out of the debate while Wulfric and Wilheard were talking about treason. Keep your mouth shut. Don't say a word! Their attacks are on me, keep it that way.

Thornden stepped forward. No longer would his silence benefit Lithor or enlighten lord Athanar. He did not feel that he need hide anything, or be vague in any form whatsoever. He looked towards Lithor and met his eye briefly. Lithor shook his head, almost imperceptibly, but Thornden waved him quiet. “My lord, as Lithor said, they overheard us in the midst of a private conversation, and it would have been simple to misunderstand. I was merely discussing with Lithor what had occurred in this hall last night and I told him I would stand in his defense if the need arose. He asked me that I would not, for he did not wish you to think less of me. He honors the position you have given me, and does not want me to risk losing it for his sake. That is all.

“What he said concerning Saeryn’s child and lord Eodwine was exactly what any of us would wish to hear from a loyal man. Lithor is not treasonous, nor a troublemaker, nor a disobedient member of this household. He is merely a loyal man who wishes everything to happen in an orderly and appropriate manner, which I believe you to be, also. It just so happens that you two do not see eye to eye on just what is the orderly and appropriate thing to do. But I trust that nothing shall occur hastily, you will consider what is best for everyone involved, including Lithor, and in the end, everyone will feel that you have acted justly.”

Lord Athanar thought for a moment. What a waste of talent it was Thornden was here in the middle of nowhere… he could star in the courts of Edoras, as soon as he got his logic fixed. But that lighter thought aside, lord Athanar was on the verge of cancelling all he had said that morning. Now what is this? Was there no limit to the arrogance and self-righteousness of these people? Where did these people think they lived in; a kind of community of the poor where all negotiated the decisions together? Did they really think that if he showed consideration he could be milked into anything they wished? How had lord Eodwine managed to spoil them? Some discipline would be needed indeed!

But his wife’s desperate look brought him back to his senses. She knew him well enough to lay her hand on his arm. And he knew she was right. Glancing at her he nodded in assurance before rising up from his chair.

“So on what happened outside we have here words against words. And I must say I’m actually bent in believing in what my seneschal Thornden here reports on what happened…” He waited for the mild unrest that ensued to settle.

“One major factor here is that my sons reported yesterday that Thornden didn’t answer the call for treason they said Lithor here had suggested to him, and I have no reason to believe they would have a special liking to twist what they heard to save master Thornden from harm. So therefore I have no reason to believe Thornden was plotting something behind my back.” He gazed at the mostly satisfied crowds before turning to his sons.

“Now you two… am I wrong in thinking you acted hastily yesterday and tried to pull a brave face with what you got today?”

Wulfric and Wilheard looked uncomfortable but they didn’t confess on anything.

“Be as it may, I also think you acted in good faith, because of the beating of your sister and all the inhospitality we had been welcomed with thus far yesterday. In any other circumstances I would blame you mightily for attacking a veteran soldier, but now I must confess I’m not too sure about the blame as I sensed the general ill-will yesterday myself as well. So I would compare your case with the one with Javan… possibly feeling a righteous anger but overacting on it. And your punishment will be similar to Javan’s. I’ll come to that in a moment.”

He looked at his sons firmly and then glanced at his wife. She smiled to him encouraging him to go on with that tone.

“But then Lithor. What should I do with you? You clearly have a problem with authorities and that needs to be fixed. Haven’t your years with the military taught you anything? You’re not entitled to question the king’s rulings Lithor! Or to say they are one thing when you don't clearly know what they are! And you’re not entitled to question your eorl’s rulings!! You’re not entitled to question even your closest officer’s rulings!!!” Lord Athanar draw breath to calm down and then continued in a more composed manner.

“You are entitled to your view of things as everyone is. And you have the right to call your closest officer in private if you think something is wrong and needs fixing. Then it is the task of that officer to report your worries forwards if he thinks it a reasonable thing to do. But you never lecture to your immediate officer in public or try to tell him how he should do his job… not to talk of the higher officers, or your eorl… not to talk of the king himself!” Lord Athanar needed to breathe before he was able to settle down again.

“Let me tell you something Lithor… no, let me tell you all something.” With that Athanar raised his gaze to sweep over the hall.

“I have made a suggestion just here at the breakfast-table before these hearings begun – and we had a discussion over it last night my wife and I – and we have asked from lady Saeryn here,” at this point he glanced to lady Saeryn who still didn’t look like she was feeling too well. “that we could adopt her as our daughter to inherit this Mead Hall, or to have her child to inherit it.”

He was about to continue straight ahead but a rushed buzz emerged from all around the hall and he had to wait for a moment. But it didn’t seem the restlessness was going by.

“It’s not finished yet!” The hassle settled slowly and lord Athanar could continue.

“It is of course if she will accept the offer, and I’m not willing to press her on that looking at her condition. I’d be delighted to hear her answer right away, but it’s up to her.” He glanced at Saeryn and the wide open mouths in the audience. But then he remembered where he was going to and turned back to Lithor.

“So how should I read you Lithor? Either you think you understand things better than your eorl and are self-important enough not to only suggest it to your officer which is kind of within the limits, but you also feel the need of making it public in front of everyone, or then you use the hard issues as vehicles for a mutiny trying to capitalise on any possible resentments there could be using downright lies about the king's decree as your base.” There was suddenly a gloomy silence in the hall. “It was that close…” Athanar raised his left hand and put his thumb and index finger just an inch apart from each other: “… I didn’t decide to cancel my offer to lady Saeryn just because of your arrogance... or rebellion…”

Lithor made a gesture to speak but lord Athanar silenced him: “Hush, Lithor. You will now start learning your place. I will hear none of it.” He looked around, checking especially Thornden and Coenred.

“So Lithor… either you were both wrong and a fool or then you have bad intentions. I hope to believe the former and I can’t prove the latter… It’ll be no surprise I’m very disappointed with you even with the better case. So the verdict then…”

He took his time and people waited in silence. One could feel the tension in the air.

“On the issue of treason outside the hall yesterday I will order that you Lithor and my sons, Wulfric and Wilheard, will form a party of three to a few suitable missions we’ll face. I’m thinking of cutting any messengers from the local lord’s houses as we others visit them, or something like that. That should teach you three coming along. There I’m calling for obedience and top-execution from Wulfric and Wilheard and I’m waiting for results from you Lithor – and no brawls, that will be on your shoulders. But on the matter of un-soldiery, out-of-place behaviour…”

Athanar took a small pause before continuing as if to formulate what he was saying clear enough.

“I don’t believe in discarding one of his rank as good soldiers are always needed in places they do their best, and I just can’t think of an idea of a physical punishment with a veteran of the Pelennor… There are limits to disgrace, like flogging children.” Suddenly he stopped like if he remembered something.

“That doesn’t mean I’d not be ready to flog anyone of you soldiers if you’re caught in brawls around here! All that will end now! You are all soldiers of the Scarburg Mead Hall from now on and I will tolerate no factious attitudes… And that means also you from the king’s hall. As long as you serve here you serve under the Scarburg Mead Hall. I’m not going to look past any arrogance on your side either.”

Turning back to Lithor Athanar concluded his verdict. “So, you Lithor will be, on top of your normal status, the one in charge of general maintenance of the gear, leading with your example. When both Thornden and Coenred here testify you have been the model of a soldier for younger ones to look upon for a month or two, I will revisit that order and consider releasing you from these added duties. But if I hear a talk of treachery by you I'm quite ready to send you to be heard by the king himself, and trust me, the court in Eodras is not the gentlest one... The hearing is dismissed.”

He nodded to Lithor and his sons, and then to Coenred and Thornden. “You can take the soldiers to the drill.”

He was exhausted and needed a drink.

[Groin Redbeard]

Indeed, one could hardly hope for a more fair hearing. Lithor thought to himself with a grin. It was obvious that this trial was no longer about treason—humiliation rather for questioning Athanar. The move to put the guards the Golden Hall under Athanar’s command was not only a sign of how far the new lord was willing to go to keep an iron grip on his rule, it was also blatant disrespect for King Eomer. Those guards were not Athanar’s, but King Eomer’s. What had Athanar been lecturing and scolding Lithor for? Words, words, just empty words.

However, the trial was not a total shamble. Quartermaster was not a bad job for an elderly soldier to have and Lithor was content with it. Thornden had been spared and for the most part Athanar’s sons had been spared, apart from being assigned job and a momentary scolding. Balvir and Matrim immediately came to join Lithor and offer their condolences. Let us be thankful, the misunderstanding was not worse. Quartermaster is not such a bad job really. At least the younger newcomers will not have to answer to him. Balvir was now his superior. Was it fair? It did not matter. Few things in this life are.

“Quit whining and accept it.” Lithor said his eyes fixed on Wulfric and Wulheard, lost in thought. “The one constellation is that I will be able to keep an eye on his sons.”

“Yes,” a familiar voice. Erbrand had been watching events unfold quietly from the background. “But don’t forget they will be watching you. Keep on your best behavior, greybeard. They might look for an excuse to report you to their father.”

“Truly, you speak wisely, Erbrand. I will consider what you say.” Lithor smiled comfortingly at his friend.

“Young knaves,” Erbrand said in a whisper, shooting a dark glare at the brothers. “Athanar did not even ask them to apologize to you for trying to strike you for a crime you did not commit. I say he even commended them for their ‘good intentions.’ Bah! It makes me sick the way my home is being run.”

“Hush, not so angry. Do not scold. A true man of character never scolds. Courteous words and brave deeds are the rule that he must live by.” Lithor smiled and slapped Erbrand on the back as if to knock the glum from his friends head. Erbrand chuckled a little after Lithor's laughter broke through.

"I expected you to fall in with my thinking. You are the man who is being wronged. Age changes people, I hope I can be as peaceful as you in old age."

"I thank you, but I am afraid that you are wrong: age does not change people. The only way that a man can be good when he is old is if he is not rotten to begin with. The only difference between me and you is that my joints are achier, brain thinks a littler slower, and the old ticker does not tick like it use to. I still dream the same dreams and feel the same sense of confusion that everyone else in Scarburg is feeling."

Both watched Athanar as he left the judgment table.

"I don't like to see things change, Lithor. Especially when it is for the worse."

"Whether it is for the worse, time will tell. I must be getting to the drill square soon. I might be accused of treason again I don't." He winked and raced off to join the other soldiers.

[Groin Redbeard]

Girth & Hamrod

The stakes fell with that familiar clattering. Hamrod stood standing with open mouth.
“We’re what?” He asked in disbelief.

“You heard me.” Girth responded crossly. He had just come back from the hall with news of where to build the pig sty. However, there would be no pig sty.

“The lord says we’re to go back with the soldier’s to keep his house in Edoras with other servants.” Girth seated himself falling squarely on his bottom and threw his hat in frustration. Hamrod looked as if he was going to cry.

“Now don’t start bawling! This was too good to be true anyways.”

“But I made the stakes for the fence and everything. I was even getting friendly with some of the locals; they are not such bad people.”

Hamrod moaned and sat down next to Girth in the mud. The dog noticed something was wrong and started to whine, placed one paw on Hamrod’s chest and tried to give him a wet kiss. Things were beginning to look better after the travesty of the night before. Now this news destroyed everything. Hamrod buried his face in Dog’s neck.

“Did he give a reason?”

“Something about a military expedition and not wanting ‘peasants’ to get hurt. From what I can tell, the lord does not want us getting in his way. Understandable, we are expendable after all. Lord can always find new help here.”

“But why bring us all that way? I was beginning to like it here. Why tell us now?”

“Cause, that’s why! Because he can!” said Girth angrily. Hamrod started crying now and held Dog tighter.

When Girth saw Hamrod crying he regretted speaking so bitterly. Hamrod might be a simpleton sometimes but he was the only man that Girth could call a friend.

“Don’t cry lad.” Girth said as he put his arm around the boys shoulder. “At least we are going back together. Athanar could have split us up, did you ever think of that?”

“No.” Hamrod wiped his nose and rubbed his eyes.

“Well then, we have something to be thankful for.”

The two pig farmers sat gazing up at the sky for a long while. Hamrod broke the silence.
“Do you think we’ll ever be free, Girth?”

“How mean you?”

“You know, it’s what our parents dreamed about, and their parents and their parents.” Hamrod’s eyes went misty. “Think about it Girth: no lord to order you around as if you were his cattle. Maybe even a place of your own.”

“Sounds all good in words, but a free life is harder than a servant’s life and that’s the truth.”
“Aye, but you’d be your own master and that’s worth everything. Oh promise me one thing Girth!”

“What’s that?”

“Before ten years is out, we pinch and save enough money to buy both our services from lord Athanar and if he refuses us, we run away.”

“What?” Girth yelled in surprise. “But where would go? How would we eat? We’ll be hunted you know. Athanar will cut out our bowels while we are still breathing.”

“Is life so dear with your lord that you would purchase it at the price of your freedom?”

The question rocked Girth for a moment. He paused to think before answering.

“No, I guess not.”

“Give me your word, Girth! In ten years time freedom will be ours.”

“I’m with you Hamrod. You have my word. And if Dog is still kicking we’ll take him with us!”

Dog barked and leapt back when he saw Girth laugh and through him a stick. Both friends stayed awake long after midnight discussing on how the money would be raised, where they would live, how they would live, and what the best escape route would be if Athanar refused them. Ten years later, Girth and Hamrod got their freedom; though, nobody knows whether Athanar consented or not. Eager with their new freedom or anxious to escape before anything was suspected, Girth and Hamrod disappeared from Edoras one night and were never heard of again. I suspect that they are probably still living, on the borders of a wood next to a smooth running river—Girth always said those were the best places for raising a pig.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erbrand & Lithor

Nobody called him to work on the hall and Erbrand was glad of it. Athanar was probably still getting adjusted in his new home and would not be situated until the marrow. The hall was almost done. Stigend needed to be on hand of course to make sure things went properly and Erbrand had not seen him all day. Maybe Athanar is discussing with him on how he wants the hall built. Doesn’t matter, there was enough work of his own that needed finishing.

With his thoughts turning away from his work at the hall and back to his present task, Erbrand tossed another animal hide into the boiling cauldron and pushed it under with a pole. Grease splattered his grimy apron, but not enough to burn him badly. Another hide was tossed into a pit filled with water and pushed under the sludgy surface. More hides were hammered down with stakes to dry and stretch in the sun. The whole area stunk. People always complained about how badly he smelled, but he was just doing his job.

Erbrand did not mind the stink, he grew up with it. Dead things stink! It is the will of Eru, and tanners make good money. Erbrand did not mind the work: digging the pits, grinding the oak bark, smearing the hides with dung. All of this was not done in Scarburg itself, next to his hut; rather, down by the marsh where the ground was solid yet wet enough for the earth to yield water when a pit was dug.

Back in Aldeburg, Erbrand and his father would be laughed at for smelling so bad, but they were not scorned. There were many craftsmen in the city and all found someone to their liking. Tanners and leather craftsmen were well respected people and very rich. They were rich because they worked hard and their items were needed for every aspect of day to day life. Even though Erbrand and his father were rich, they did not show it. Father always said that flaunting wealth on comfortable living and extravagant clothes could ruin a man and destroy his respect from the other craftsmen. Erbrand could still remember those witty tavern songs about city life. Suddenly he began to sing:


“Father is the miller
as was his father of old,
and I shall be the miller
when my father’s flesh is cold

“I know the family business,
it’s been drummed into my head
How to cheat the wealthy customer,
and earn my daily bread


“Ohhhh the sky makes the water,
and the water makes the river,
and the river turns the mill wheel,
and the wheel goes on forever

“Every man’s a cheater,
and so every man is fed,
for we feed upon each other,
and seek our daily bread

“My father is a hard man, muscular and stout
He swings a heavy cudgel whenever he walks out

My grandfather was like him, a man of gain and sin
They find him in the mill pond with his skull bashed in

“Ohhhh the sky makes the water,
and the water makes the river,
and the river turns the mill wheel,
and the wheel goes on forever

“I used to wonder why the peasants hated us so strong,
they think we pick their pockets, and they’re not far wrong

Flour in the flour sack, vermin in the flour,
peasants waiting at the mill hour after hour

“They curse us as they stand in line,
enjoy their little talk
One by one my father grinds their flour,
and replaces all with chalk

“Ohhhh the sky makes the water,
and the water makes the river,
and the river turns the mill wheel,
and the wheel goes on forever

“When you think about the matter,
it’s as good as any sermon,
for the vermin feeds the miller,
and the miller feeds the vermin

“When I was only four years old,
still babyish and unsteady,
I tried to play with common folk,
they hated me already

“I am my father’s son,
my father serves the lord,
one day I’ll show them
hating me is a thing they can’t afford

“Ohhhh the sky makes the water,
and the water makes the river,
and the river turns the mill wheel,
and the wheel goes on forever

“There’s no use in looking back,
for here’s the truth I found:
it’s hunger, want, and wickedness,
these make the world go round

“For every man is a sinner
and he wants his neighbor’s grain,
the peasant moves the boundary stone
and steals the lord’s domain

“The miller steals the flower,
and the baker steals the bread,
we are hypocrites and liars
and we all get fed

“And half the world’s thieving
and the other half’s yearning,
there is no way to retrace our steps
the mill wheel keeps on turning

“For the sky makes the water,
and the water makes the river,
and the river turns the mill wheel,
and the wheel goes on forever

Work is work. I like bread in my belly and ale in my cup and I work harder than many to get it. I do mind the sneering of the soldier’s. Sometimes their tongues could scrape the hair off a hide. And I mind the women nattering on; saying that I fowl the waters. Egads! Do they think I can make leather without filth? Lime, cow dung, oak gall, urine, ash, tallow, and stale beer, these are the tools of my trade.

Erbrand noticed some ladies fetching water from the stream that flowed into the marsh. The women were upstream and there was no worry about Erbrand polluting anything other than swamp water; however, it did not take long for Erbrand to find out their opinions of his revolting work. They sniffed the air and covered their noses. He could hear them exchanging some remarks and one of them was laughing. Erbrand could not stand being scorned at and his work being so unappreciated. In a rage he threw down his pole and angrily marched to where they were gathering water. They were not alone—there was a man with them. The two women were Ginna and Frodides and the man was a soldier, apparently ordered to help the two ladies and not enjoying his job.

The soldier looked up, grimaced and gave a snort. “Phhew! I came for drinking water, but looks like you came for a bath. ” Erbrand felt his rage rekindled.

“And who in tarnation are you to scorn me?” Erbrand bellowed. “Would you warm your hands in leather gloves? Saddle or bridle your horse? Do you dance to the sound of the drum or lace the chords of your armor? What about the bellows that heats the forge? It’s leather! Stinking leather. Do you want good shoes or do you not? Shall I create padding for the lord’s chairs? I hunt and trap for animals and I feed Scarburg with their meat and give people tools that make it possible for them to do their jobs. Why then do you scorn me?”

The soldier simply stared at him. Frodides and Ginna were doing the same although they were a bit more surprised at the outburst. Erbrand let out a long breath before finishing in a calmer yet sill annoyed voice.

“Now, let me get on with my scraper and dung, you hold your nostrils and hold your tongues.” Erbrand turned to leave when a pebble hit him in the back.

“Hey, tanner, watch your tongue.”

“I’m not in the mood today, soldier.” Erbrand said with particular emphasized scorn on the word soldier.

“Name’s Scyrr. And looks like you need to be taught some manners for your betters.”

That was all the provocation Erbrand needed. He spun round and with a mighty yell ran at the Scyrr. The soldier, however, expected this struck a sidelong blow sending Erbrand spinning but not falling. Frodides and Ginna yelled at the two to stop. Blood was spilt, it was too late as Erbrand made apparent as he untied his leather apron and tossed it aside. There was a wild gleam in Erbrand’s eyes as he rushed again. He leaped, hoping to tackle Scyrr, but the swarthy soldier stepped aside. Scyrr laughed as Erbrand spat tufts of mossy grass from his mouth.

"Hope you learnt your lesson, tanner."

Another exclamation of rage escaped Erbrand’s lips. Again and again Erbrand was struck down until his nose was bleeding and his gums were cut. For the fifth time Erbrand arose, sagging, bleeding and weary. Scyrr had been unhurt, keeping Erbrand at bay with ease.
“Do you still wish to continue?” Scyrr asked, smiling.

Again Erbrand rushed at him in rage. Again the soldier stepped aside, tripping Erbrand.
“Enough! Stop this nonsense!” Frodides exclaimed.

The soldier regarded the woman and turned back to Erbrand giving him a kick on the calf. It was not hard, nor was it gentle, but it was enough to excite an anger that surpassed any that Erbrand had known up to that time. Such was the treatment one gave a disobedient dog.

“I’m done - for today”, Scyrr said.

Whether Scyrr said this to frighten Erbrand or whether he said it because it was true, Erbrand never found out. In a fight anger is as good as courage. With fingers extended like talons, Erbrand’s hands seized Scyrr’s left leg with an iron grip and twisted it. The soldier gave a howl and collapsed next to Erbrand (who lost no time in returning Scyrr’s punishment blow for blow). This time Ginna took up the chorus with Frodides.

“Stop it! Fools. Before somebody gets hurt badly!”

The cry was not heeded. A knife flashed in the sunlight, it was Scyrr’s.

"Get off my leg or I'll sting you with this!" the soldier growled.

Erbrand struck relentlessly and hard. Soon he found his fingers around Scyrr’s neck, pressing harder and tighter.

“I am not some dog you can kick. I am a man! I am a man!”

Soft small hands grasped his and beat his strong shoulders. Erbrand let go of Scyrr’s throat. Ginna and Frodides knelt beside the Scyrr. He was not moving.

“Fools!” Frodides cursed.

Ginna's face was pale when she tried to find his pulse. “If he's dead ... Erbrand, if he's dead, you will hang for this.”

Fear took hold were anger had once been. Erbrand fled back to the camp faster than any stag. He flung the door of his hut open and began digging. The fear had taken hold of his mind. Erbrand was digging for his saddle bag that he had brought with him all the way from Aldeburg. It contained all of his life’s wealth, modest for city life but wealthy for Scarburg. Tanners made good money. A heavy jingle met his ears as he shook the bag and a fleeting smile quickly passed his lips. Then he went for his bow, his arrows, cowl, hood, knife, hatchet—all the necessary items he needed and fled as fast as he could to the stables. Soldiers were everywhere meeting Erbrand’s gaze, turning to peer at his fear stricken face as he paced. They were leading their horses for the drills. Erbrand felt his heart sink there was no way he could hide his secret. Did they know? No, he had been too fast—Erbrand had always been fast. There was his horse, Traveler, the great beast bigger than the other horses: white, young, and eager for a trot. Thank goodness Leof the stable boy had not taken the horses out. Traveler would need the energy.

“Erbrand?” came a familiar voice. It was Lithor. The greybeard was leading his horse last in line. The soldier’s face showed concern.

“Is everything alright?” he asked again.

“Leave me quickly.” Erbrand said. His eyes were wide his mouth was open and releasing quick shaky breaths.

“Your face tells me to do the exact opposite. What happened to it” Lithor slung the reigns of his horse over a paddock and came closer.

“Don’t touch me! I said leave.”

“You are not well Erbrand.”

“I am damned!”

“What mean you by this? What fear prompts such speech?”

“You don’t understand.” Erbrand threw a blanket on Traveler’s back and reached for the saddle.

Lithor put up a hand and motioned for Erbrand to calm himself. “Erbrand, tell me…”

“I have killed Athanar’s guard!” Erbrand shrieked in desperation to get rid of Lithor.

Lithor stared wide eyed and open mouthed. The silence hung heavy in the air. Lithor frantically looked around to see if anyone was in ear shot—nobody was.

“How did this happen? When, where?” Lithor asked.

“I did not mean to hurt him so bad.” Erbrand sounded as if he was going to cry. The realization of his terrible deed rocked him. “I did not kill him, only hurt him. He was still breathing. You see we…I mean I was working and, well…it all happened so fast. He scorned, then I rebuked him, stones thrown, I swung. He kicked me like a dog. I got carried away and nearly choked him to death. I think I sprained his leg badly, maybe even broke it.” The tears now flowed, but Erbrand did not weep.

“I was wrong, Lithor. Athanar will not hesitate to flog or hang me.”

Erbrand crashed to the ground. Lithor kneeled and gently lifted Erbrand back up. The old man’s eyes were patient and friendly.

“It was a foolish act.” Lithor said. “I have seen you start fights for less. Yet, I have never seen you start a fight where both parties did not deserve a good beating.” Lithor calmly looked at Traveler and back at Erbrand.

“Where would you head? You can’t go back to your home of Aldeburg. That will be the first place that Athanar will search for you.”

“Then I must leave Rohan,” Erbrand was now composed. His voice was both somber and thoughtful. “Not to the south. Saeryn’s brother Degas has lands there and Athanar ask him to search for me. It will have to be to the north, out of Rohan where no one will search for me. Arnor.” The words escaped Erbrand’s lips as if the name was deserving of reverence.
“It will be a new land and culture to be sure, but getting there is the problem. I’ll probably be hunted down and killed long before I cross the Isen.”

“Have you thought about facing Athanar and accepting the consequences?” Lithor asked.
“There was a time I could do it,” Erbrand said thoughtfully, “when Eodwine ruled. I would not run if Saeryn or Thornden ruled, they are just, but I will not accept punishment from a tyrant. I will not be wronged again.”

“Again?” Lithor asked surprised.

“I spent two years in the gaols of Aldeburg for no other reason than the will of men such as Athanar: impatient and arrogant for their will to be carried out. I will not accept his judgment.” Erbrand was resolute in his speech and his eyes reflected hardness in his heart.

“Then, this is goodbye, my young friend.” Lithor voice was hopeful, but Erbrand felt like crying again.

“I will miss you, dear friend. You have taught me much and have been my closest mentor. Would it be that you could come with me.” Erbrand bowed his head in sorrow. “But I know you cannot: your duties lie here.”

There was nothing left to be said. They clasped each other in a hug of memories and quickly left. Lithor led his horse outside to the drilling grounds and Erbrand raced to the Great Hall—there were still goodbyes to be said. Erbrand dashed into the kitchen nobody was there but Kara. She noticed him and gave a surprised yelp when she saw his face. She hastened to him.
“Erbrand what happened to you?”

“Oh my love!” Erbrand said almost in joy. Kara was startled, he had never called her that before.

Erbrand quickly retold his story to her and of his intention to ride north.

“Oh Erbrand!” Kara said. “Can’t it wait? Can’t you stay to think it over?”

“If I stay, I die. I must flee. I have come to ask if you will come.” His eyes were hopeful and he held her hand when he said this. There was a short pause.

“Oh Erbrand.” Her voice was sad and tears welled up in her eyes. “You came to Scarburg of your own free will and are therefore free to leave at your will. I am bound to the house of Eodwine. I must stay and serve him and his lady.”

“I love you, Kara. You will never have to serve anyone again while you live with me. We will start a new life, a fresh life together.”

“I will not abandon Saeryn, especially when she has a child on the way.”

Kara was not looking at Erbrand anymore. Her eyes were focused in her lap. Erbrand could hear the drip of the tears hitting her dress. He could not say anything to refuter her. It was painful and against both their wills that they should be separated, but their destinies did not go down the same road. Erbrand grasped her in a longing embrace. Both sobbed—Erbrand had never sobbed in his life. The tears flowed in streams and the sobs rocked his body.

“I am weeping.” Erbrand cried. “I could not weep until now. ‘I love you more than life itself’ isn’t that what I said to you the night of Eodwine’s wedding.”

“Yes, yes.” Kara had not yet finished crying.

“Well now at last it’s true. I will stay and face Athanar’s judgment.”

“No!” Kara looked at him frightened. “You must not stay for my sake. What comfort would it be for me to see you beaten when your reason for staying is because of me? My comfort will be in the memories of us.” Again they embraced each other.

“One more day, one more day with you and I would be satisfied.”

“Yes my love, but I know what it would do,” Erbrand held her hands tightly. “Leave me wishing still for one more day, always one more day. There is something I need to give you before I go. Do you remember this? It is the ring that the hermit gave to us on Eodwine’s wedding night. He said I would need it. All I am, all I’ll be, everything in this world is in your eyes. When you smile I can feel all my passions unfolding. Kara, for the rest of my life I will cherish you. I have waited so long to say this to you—if you wonder if I love you this much,” Erbrand slipped the ring on Kara’s index finger, “I do.”

“Stop it!” Kara slapped him. She began crying again. “You are making this difficult. You must go.” Kara composed herself and looked Erbrand in the eye. Erbrand still had to finish his thought.

“Kara, if it is your wish that I should leave…”

“You know the reason why I wish it, Erbrand.”

“Then I shall go, but before I do hear me out. In my world before you I lived outside my emotions, not knowing where I was going until that day I found you. Oh! how you opened my life to a new paradise. Will all my heart until my dying day, I will cherish you and never marry.”

Erbrand kissed her and then tore himself away to her pleas of “I will never forget you. Go, go, quickly!” That parting was the hardest. Erbrand still felt the urge to stay, and would have if Kara had wished it. On his way out, he passed Harreld, Javan, Crabannan, Dan, and lady Saeryn. All these were his friends, but the last two he stopped to say goodbye to. They were confused and questioned him about it, but he did not stay to answer them. When Erbrand exited the hall, he saw Ginna and Frodides helping Scyld back they had just entered camp and people were coming to see what happened. Erbrand ran to the stables where he had left Traveler and his belongings. When he entered, Traveler was standing out of his stall with a blanket over his back and Erbrand’s belongings tightly wrapped in a bedroll that one could sling over one’s shoulder. Lithor was removing the saddle from his horse.

“Lithor, the soldier’s are still drilling outside. You’d better get to them, quick.” Erbrand rushed in and swung the bedroll with his belongings and saddle bag (which contained his money) across his chest.

“Unfortunately my horse has a limp and cannot ride.” Lithor responded in a cool unconcerned manner, paying no head to Erbrand’s urgentness. Erbrand grabbed his saddle and was about to throw it onTraveler when Lithor stopped him.

“If chase if given, you will need to ride light.”

There was a tone in Lithor’s voice that made Erbrand wonder. Then Lithor gave that familiar smile and Erbrand knew.

“You are coming with me.” Erbrand said with joy.

“I am too old to be a soldier, Athanar proved that for me. There is nothing to keep me here; I would be much happier with you in Arnor, my friend.” With that said Lithor sprang onto his horse with all the spryness of an elf.

“What of your horse’s limp?” Erbrand asked.

Lithor laughed and held up a small pebble. “I placed this in his hoof so I could bring my horse to the stables without being noticed. Now," Lithor grabbed the reigns and held them tightly. "We must ride hard all day and well into the night if we are to be safe from a chase. The soldiers will be still drilling so there will be some confusion if they are to give chase. After you good, Erbrand, let's ride! For the the north."

Erbrand mounted Traveler and both men sped out of the stables. As they left, Lithor paused for a moment to see the soldier’s in drill. Erbrand looked back and saw that Thornden was looking at Lithor. The old man looked sad, but only for a moment. Lithor drew himself up in the saddle and saluted his commander for the last time; then, he drew his sword and tossed it to the ground—Lithor would have no more use for it. With light hearts, the riders sped across the scar and into the open plain, heading north with all possible speed. Who can say what sudden impulse got into their hearts. What adventures that await them none can say, nor can it be said that they even lived to see their desired destination. My guess is that they did succeed in reaching the far north; though, I cannot say for certain, for I know nothing of their actions after their leaving of Scarburg. But theirs were souls that thrived on adventure and sought strength from each other and such men find ways when all paths seemed blocked. However, if they did make it to Arnor, I suspect that you will find them roaming about the shores of Midgewater, living contently among the Breelanders. Who knows, perhaps they might pay a call on onetime residence of Scarburg, Falco Boffin. Both will probably spend much time over the ale cup with him.

Of Scarburg and its inhabitants I can speak no more of. I suspect, however, that life continued much as it had before with its unexpected revelries and gaiety, troubles and predicaments. Those days will forever be a source of blissful memories for the two friends. For all who lived there, one can only hope that Lithor and Erbrand will be remembered. Their part in this tale is finished.

[Folwren]

Saeryn felt relieved at the end of the hearings. She allowed herself to relax back into her chair as Athanar called the meeting to a close. The people were dismissed and she stood up. Now that her fear of Athanar’s judgements were proven hollow, the lingering nausea dissipated, and she felt well and strong again. She turned with a smile to Thornden, but the words were checked on her lips. He did not look pleased at all. He and Coenred were discussing something swiftly together and in a moment, Coenred turned and walked away. Thornden turned to Saeryn.

“We are going to go out to do the exercises now,” he said.

“Are you displeased with how things have turned out?” Saeryn asked.

“No, not exactly.” He turned his head and looked at Lithor, now speaking with Erbrand, Matrim, and Balvir. He considered again what had passed and then turned and glanced towards Wulfric and Wilheard. “No, I am not totally displeased. I was surprised to be accused of treason, but I am not displeased with how Athanar handled it. I still think Lithor is not completely as guilty as he imagines, but still. . .his punishment is not ridiculous, by any stretch of the imagination. It is almost as satisfying as Javan’s. To be quite honest with you, I am thinking of Javan.”

Saeryn nodded. She knew he had been beating about the bush somehow. She also knew exactly what he was talking about: that protest he had made to Athanar after Athanar had stated his decision. “You should not be angry with Javan. He is but a boy, and you can not take his words as seriously as you would a man’s. Athanar did not.”

“No, he didn’t, thank heaven. But Javan’s been let off a lot for just being a boy, and I think his words do need redressing. He will not be let off many more years with the excuse ‘he is just a boy’ and the sooner he learns that, the better.”

“You’re very hard on your brother.”

“I know your opinion on it, lady Saeryn,” Thornden said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and help Coenred prepare for the soldiers’ exercises.” He bowed and strode away. He went out first to seek for Javan. He knew where he would be and he found him in the stables, hauling water.

“Javan,” he said. Javan looked at him, still sullen, and unlatched one of the stall doors. “I need to talk to you.”

“I’m busy,” Javan answered and disappeared inside the stall. Thornden frowned.

“You’re already in enough trouble for speaking disrespectfully to Athanar without adding to your fault by answering so to me.” Javan reappeared, the bucket empty, and looked again at him. He pressed his lips together and didn’t say anything. “Would you have answered Eodwine so, if he had given you such an assignment?” Javan’s scowl deepened, and he didn’t answer. “It’s shameful, the way you refuse to take correction.”

“That sort of correction is ridiculous!” Javan finally burst out. “Thornden, she pushed me to it, and what does he do about her? Nothing! She gets off completely clean and I’m stuck making a piece of mail for months, cooped up with an old man!”

“That’s enough, Javan,” Thornden said quietly. “It could be infinitely worse, and you almost made it so, by answering him the way you did. I know you would not have spoken so to Eodwine. You knew better.”

Javan looked away. “Maybe I did.”

“I think you should apologize.”

“I don’t think I will apologize!” Javan said fiercely.

“And you will also apologize to the girl.”

“I will not!”

Thornden was in no mood for argument. Javan was acting childish in a way he had not since Eodwine was married. He knew well that Javan knew better and was merely being stubborn. To argue would be a waste of time and breath and would only harden the resolved will of his little brother. So instead of holding a debate with him, he took him by the arm and escorted him, despite his struggles, to a more private place, and there thrashed him well with his belt and told him quietly that he would apologize to both lord Athanar and his daughter, and if he had not by the time Thornden returned from the exercises, they would go through similar actions again. Javan nodded, to indicate that he understood, and Thornden nodded in return and left him.

The courtyard was busy again with soldiers saddling their horses, preparing to go out. Thornden led his own horse out and soon had him ready. Before ten minutes were passed, the entire company rode out of the courtyard together, towards the field behind the scar where the games had taken place three months ago.

[Folwren]

Javan was not angry anymore. He was a little cowed and perhaps a little afraid of lord Athanar, but he was not angry. He stayed where he was until he felt that he could present himself to Athanar and then he went out.

It was not difficult to find him. Athanar and Saeryn were speaking in the great hall, and Degas was sitting nearby. Javan approached to a respectful distance and then stopped and waited until he was noticed.

“When will you tell your sons and your daughter?” Saeryn was asking.

“One second,” Athanar said, holding up his hand. He looked at Javan. “Do you wish to speak with me?”

“If you please, m’lord,” Javan said, coming forward a few steps. He paused, looking awkward. He glanced at Degas and Saeryn and then back at Athanar. Saeryn looked closely at him, and noticed the very slight rim of red around his eyes. “I am sorry,” Javan said to Athanar. “For the way I behaved this morning before you.” The words stuck uncomfortably in his throat. He forced them out. “I should not have argued after you made your decision. I realize that it is fair and. . .and merciful. I ask your pardon.”

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan kicked at the dirt as he leaned against a wall outside the Hall. Lithor's trial had gone as well as might be expected, he reflected, especially he, Crabannan, had done very little to help the situation by jumping in like that. I should have kept my mouth shut. Always keep your mouth shut, he thought. Have I forgotten everything? He spat in the dirt and pulled his cloak tighter around him.

A few moments earlier, Javan had walked up the stone steps into the hall, slowly but doggedly, barely looking at Crabannan. The tall dark-haired man acknowledged Javan with a nod. It irked Crabannan to see a lad like Javan getting into trouble. He liked Javan and would have been likely to strike up a friendship with him, if he had not always felt some disapproval from Thornden. Maybe he sees what I see, thought Crabannan. Maybe he sees a boy who very easily turn into a vagrant, a mercenary, a scoundrel. Like me. He shook his long dark hair. Thinking again. I need something to do, quick.

He sat on the steps and produced his harp. It wouldn't be the first time that idleness had become restlessness, that restlessness had driven him to do something stupid. As he plucked the strings slowly, aimlessly, he ran over the past few years in his mind.

He enjoyed playing the harp for various squires and nobles in Rhovanion, but those positions invariably ended in brawls and knife fights. By the time he had been thrown out of every village in a 60 miles radius, a lord's son had taken a violent dislike to him and he decided to move on.

Of course, he had not meant to fall in with the bandits in Ithilien - but one thing led to another, as things tend to do. All told, though, it had been better than working as soldier for hire in Rhun. That had been an ugly year, which had culminated in a ugly showdown. Fun, but ugly.

Minas Tirith had been good to him until he started walking the streets at night with a cudgel. The way he saw it, the city was better off without the ne'er-do-wells and thugs that he was incapacitating. The owner of the tavern where he sat as house bard caught wind of it, though, and Crabannan was forced to fight his way out. The irony of course was that he, who could be considered simply another ruffian, had taken such a keen interest in justice. He had moved on quickly.

Then there had been the knife in the leg early that summer, before Scarburg - which, he thought, was hardly worth it, for the girl involved now seemed to him to have been not even particularly friendly, let alone attractive. But he took comfort in the fact that it would be several months before the other fellow would recover enough to spread his name about.

Crabannan shook his head again. That was as far back as he liked to remember. But which was worse? Forgetting or remembering?

[Durelin]

The end of the early part of the morning could not have come more quickly as far as Coenred was concerned. He had recommended punishment for the soldier to the Lord Athanar the night before, and voiced his concerns on the matter -- namely the tone Lithor set for the rest of the soldiers, and how he might be quieted -- and he had hoped he would avoid being at the trial at all. Instead Athanar had asked him to be at both. Of course Coen had witnessed part of the scuffle between this Javan and the lord's daughter, but the Captain felt only concern and anger on behalf of Aedre. He had no reason to be there except to be another man to stare the boy down, which -- even with his anger -- he did not enjoy.

As soon as he was free, he again recruited Hilderinc's help to round up the men he had brought with him, and Thornden to round up the rest. Coen much preferred removing them from their barracks immediately to drills and work, and grumbled inwardly at the fact that they had managed to have some free time this morning thanks to the trials. Their heads were not going to be into this as they would be on a better day. All of the past day's events did not help: a brawl, the harm done to Lady Aedre, countless rumors, the feast...and then the two trials this morning which surely they were all aware of. Likely they already knew half of what was said at them.

Coenred waited for the men to gather in the open field on his chestnut courser. He was in full gear: mail and leather hauberk, his helm sitting in front of him on his saddle, a sword at his belt, and a spear in the ground by his side. He expected all the soldiers to arrive in full equipment as well. When Thornden arrived, he gave him what he considered a friendly nod. He realized he would have to speak to the young man, particularly because of how closely they would be working together, but Coen was determined to do so only after the morning drills. It was no good to make the men wait and watch their superiors talk. He was sure their minds were already in many places besides the field under their horses' hooves.

First Coen did a brief inspection of the soldiers, and noted at least one missing face: Lithor. Hopefully the Lord Athanar had kept him for some reason, and there was nothing new afoot that involved that man. Then he moved immediately into formation drills. There would be no divide between the men he had brought under his and Lord Athanar's command and those who had previously been under Thornden and Lord Eodwine's command, no matter how hard they tried to create one.

The formations were indeed sloppy -- the men were not used to working together. But they were all skilled horsemen, naturally, so the results at least were not disastrous. Each man kept control of his mount, even in the tight quarters with a number of men and horses out of place. Coen had been a part of much, much larger formations than the small group before him. But what else should he expect, out here in the Mid-emnet? It was a testament to the recent time of war that they had even this many soldiers to be garrisoned here.

After the formation drills, Coen prepared to move onto some other riding drills. He recruited the help of Hilderinc and a few others, and began setting up poles, some with simple sack dummies, others with small rings hanging from them. He mostly ignored Thornden, though only because he was not sure how to deal with him, much less how to have him be involved. As far as Coen was concerned, he was in command, and it would do no good having two men sharing that command if they meant to accomplish anything.

[Folwren]

Thornden knew what to expect as much, or as little, as Coenred himself. He respected the new leader, although he found it difficult to get to know him. He hoped that this morning would be an opportunity to learn more about him, but he was disappointed with the results thus far. True, he found out a great deal about his form of leadership. Coenred was efficient with his orders, speaking little and to the point. He watched in silence as the men went through their maneuvers. Thornden also noted Coenred making care that the old and the new Scarburgians did not separate into individual groups or bands. They were mixed and forced to work side by side, and in many cases together.

Thornden, however, did not learn how he himself was to interact with Coenred. He felt out of place, and it quickly occurred to him that Coenred didn’t really know what to do with him. This was not surprising, and Thornden was not offended. Instead of pushing for attention or for a position, he watched and waited. He did as asked, but no more, for Coenred saw that everything that needed doing was done, and Thornden felt no need to go out of his way to gain attention or special recommendation. He positioned his horse to the right and a little behind Coenred, and there he remained. He could learn a lot from observation.

What he saw in the men was not encouraging. It made him realize that he and Eodwine had both been slack with the men-at-arms. They had been so busy building the hall and just living that drills of any sort were completely abandoned. Although what had been done instead of exercises had been necessary and unavoidable, Thornden did feel embarrassed for his men.

However, when it came to riding and archery at once, the men from Scarburg did admirably. Almost every man hit his mark without fail, and those that missed, did not miss by far. The spear throwing went almost as well, and by the end of the exercises on horseback, Thornden felt a little easier with how things were progressing. Next would come the hand-to-hand combat. He wondered how Coenred would do this.

[Nogrod]

“I should not have argued after you made your decision. I realize that it is fair and. . .and merciful. I ask your pardon.”

Lord Athanar was quite taken with the words of Javan. Actually he had to swallow and a keen eye might have caught a slight gleam of a tear on his eye. Javan seemingly didn't quite understand what was going on but slowly lord Athanar's face turned into a smile. And it was not a cold smile but one filled with relief if not even some warmth.

He waved his hand for Javan to come closer to him.

Javan looked at Degas and Saeryn quite confused. They didn't actually nod but he could read it from their eyes it was okay to go. He took the few steps unsteadily as what was to come only to feel lord Athanar's hands on his shoulders again - and suddenly he was staring him to his eyes.

Lord Athanar's grip on his shoulders was firm but not violent. Now there was clearly a tear in his eye and it took some time lord Athanar managed to say anything. He was too involved in his thoughts relating to his own sons, this boy here, the whole situation at the Mead Hall... It was like all the stress and tension had been given a relief and he tried to hold himself steady looking at that young lad in front of him.

"Now there young Javan..." Javan could feel lord Athanar's fingers were shaking a little on his his shoulders. "You don't know how happy I am to hear that son."

Lord Athanar felt the shakiness too and took his other other hand off from Javan's shoulder and gently stroke his hair a few times - still looking at him to the eyes. "Now know this Javan... There are people who are called eorlinga and who have never been brave enough to do what you have just done."

He let go of Javan and glanced at Saeryn before returning his gaze on Javan. "You have many things to learn for you to become a real eorling Javan, and there are blood, sweat and tears for you ahead to achieving the mastery of them, but you have already overcome one hurdle many others never make over with. Being able to admit you were wrong and to apologise, that requires character half of my soldiers don't have... yet... even if they are otherwise eorlinga, the best of men when it comes to fighting."

Lord Athanar leaned back on his chair but did not let his eyes off Javan. Suddenly he remembered Javan's words again and smiled now heartily. "Your pardon is granted young man. I will not bear a grudge on you for what you said during the hearing." Suddenly he leaned forwards towards Javan. "Actually what you did just now coming here with your apology... I will think more highly of you than before we started earlier the morning."

He leaned back and glanced at the siblings again.

"But Raban there..." he said then coming back to Javan. "He might look like a weirdo... and in a way he is one. But remember Javan, he's the most heroic eorlinga you probably have ever met... and that is counting lord Eodwine and me as well... and your brother... He has been in more battles than most of those still living and he has survived them... and not by laying low but by acting like a true eorlinga. So even if the age has quite gotten him there is more from him to learn for you, you could learn from anyone else around. Just look at how he does things, how he focuses on things that are important, what he tells you about being an eorlinga, and paying heed to what he teaches you..."

With the last one lord Athanar thought he could track a slight displeasure in Javan's eyes. But contrary to expectations lord Athanar smiled more freely than for hours now.

"Heh, making a chainmail is not to your liking son? Well just ask me whether I liked the idea when I was told to learn it when I was about your age! What a waste! I thought then. I would have wanted to learn swordplay and riding back then!" Suddenly he felt quiet, like falling into his memories.

Turning his eyes back to Javan he said now more softly. "I still have that first chanmail I did myself with me. I can show it to you one day if you wish. Like I said, I was about your age I made it under his supervision... I used it in the drills that time but I did outgrew of it to be sure. So was it a waste of time?" He looked at Javan like he was trying to see through his eyes to what Javan actually thought. Javan shook with the inspection.

"No. I learned a lot of about patience, of working with hands, or working with metals, of humility and pride, of being an eorlinga. And anyway, it is a treasure for me and I'm not sure if I should either leave it to my first grandson or bury it with Raban when he dies... or just treasure it myself. These are big things Javan. But whatever you think about it now, I'll promise you will treasure those times and the learning from Raban when you're older. And the first chainmail you do yourself will be an object of pride to you to follow you your whole life."

Suddenly he turned to Degas, smiling at him. "Have you being taught to learn to make a chainmail for yourself Degas?"

[Nerindel]

As Matrim followed Balvir to the kitchens he brooded over the past couple of days and in particular on his own behaviour. His soft grey eyes had watched the Momentary tension of the previous evening eased but not altogether fade. A good portion of this hall was in mourning and as he thought on the new Eorl he wonder if the man could see as well as he the confused feelings and frustrations such grief could bring. Unlike Athanar or even himself Eodwine had not been born into nobility, it had found him and as such he had not been raised with the knowledge or prepared for the weight that such responsibility and high expectation brought. He was a Farmer, then a soldier (or so he had heard in many a fireside tale) more content with hard graft and comradary than the more onerous tasks of eorldom. It had always seemed to Matrim that he struggled most with the class derision nobility deemed necessary, perhaps even yearning for that simpler life, but It was for these reasons that his people held such loyalty, he never look down on them and they loved and respected him for it. A trust earned not demanded! Matrim thought pensively.

Just then a horrible thought came to him, that perhaps it would have been better for Lord Athanar if Lord Eodwine had died. As the man who had publicly reprimanded Lithor and asserted his authority did not strike him as one who would abide such split loyalties much less the thought of living under the shadow of another. These first few days would be difficult for both old and new to these halls. But the politics of Rohan were not his concern, he was a Ranger and a lord of Ithilien he reminded himself and as such should be careful not to overstep his position as precarious as that had now become.

As if in affirmation to his thoughts a pain ran from his left eye to his jaw, reminding him of his own frustrations. Athanar’s man had a good right punch to him and whiles all who had heard what went on believed him to be honouring the good lady Searyn’s name it was not completely true. For with Eodwine’s illness had come a new set of problems for him and his company, the worst of which was the arrival in Edoras of King Elessar himself a complication that could not have been foreseen, he had made Balvir recite many times what the king had questioned him about and had been surprised when he was not summoned himself.

The arrival of the new eorl had brought with it news that he had been dreading, sent with one of King Eomers guards who had be attached to Athanar’s train. He looked down for what must have been the hundredth time at the fine lettering adoring the folded parchment in his left hand and read.

I King Elessar of Gondor
Hearby Exile Lady Æðelhild unto Scarburgh
With agreement of King Eomer of Rohan
Until such time as Court can be called and Summons are sent.

Lord Matrim of Aren and Captain Balvir of Ithilien
Are hereby commanded to ensure that Lady Æðelhild does not break with the terms of this decree.
They are also charged with the continued safety of the lady until her return to Gondor.


This had been fresh in his mind when Athanar’s man had made the unfortunate mistake of disrespecting the lady Searyn and her position, the man’s ignorance had hit hard at something deep within Matrim’s mind, doubts he had been loathed to give thought to.... What if his father fails? What if no proof could be found to disprove Cild’s ridiculous claims? What if Æðelhild stripped only from land and title by her uncle’s misdeeds was found guilty? Would others like this soldier in their ignorance mock and sneer insults at a woman they did not truly know? And there it was he had snapped at the thought of knowing they would. Before he even knew what had happened he had assaulted the man. He looked down at his hands still clutching the parchment, even now he could not believe his own actions... diplomacy, disciple the principles he had been raised on forgotten with one thought....

“It doesn’t matter how much you look at it, it is not going to change.” Stirred from his thoughts Matrim looked up to see Balvir studying him, his brow creased with a hint of concern in his grey eyes. “I know” he sighed heavily now aware that he had stopped.

“How did Æðelhild take the news?” Balvir asked, again throwing him off guard as with all the drama of the following night he had not yet had the opportunity to get the young woman alone.

“Is your head full of sawdust soldier?” Balvir scolded reading the look on Matrim’s face, “Where you somewhere else last night!” Matrim knew exactly to what Balvir was referring and he was under no illusions that Athanor would not have been apprised of their situation, the man would certainly have orders of his own and it would not do to have Æðelhild hear her fate from any but her own Kin. “I will speak to her,” he promised.

“See that you do, my lord!” Balvir whispered with a grin and a slight nod of his head, which made Matrim laugh. Their relationship to those outside would have seemed strange, as a soldier Balvir out ranked him in both experience and wisdom, but as a Lord of Aren Balvir was expected to treat him with the respect that his nobility demanded. Matrim however always believed that respect should be earned regardless of class or circumstance and Balvir was only too happy to respect this wish and remind him of it whenever necessary. As his father’s second in command and his most loyal and trusted friend he already had Matrim’s trust and respect, however Balvir had always been more like an uncle to Matrim and as such they could be more at ease with one another and Matrim always welcomed the older man’s advice or opinions when given.

Still laughing Matrim folded the parchment and tucked it carefully inside his jacket and they both entered the breakfast hall, it was surprisingly empty and as they sat Matrim stopped Kara and enquired to the whereabouts of Miss Æðel, the young serving girl quickly informed him that she was in the herb garden and that she had been keeping much to herself since the arrival of the new eorl. “Though I cannot imagine how with all the scraps everyone seems to be getting into!” she said sternly looking at the bruise on Matrim’s face. Matrim could see Balvir suppressing the urge to laugh as he no doubt knew as well as he that amongst those she was referring was the young Erkbrand, so instead he decided to change the subject entirely.

“It is fairly quiet in here this morning is it not miss Kara?” he said looking around at the empty tables. The young woman nodded then went on to tell them about the trials and the many of the soldier where already off getting ready for drill with the new commander. “Now shouldn’t you two be getting ready too?” she finish giving them both a confused look.

“Aye but we are Miss; one should never drill on an empty stomach.” Balvir informed her jovially and with that the young woman smiled and nodded her agreement before heading off to fetch their breakfast.

The two men looked at each other Matrim had forgotten about the drill but clearly Balvir had not, “What are you thinking?” he asked the older man. Balvir paused for as moment before answering, “I am thinking my lord that our swords where offered to Lord Edowine and not Lord Athanor or orders are clear Lady Æðelhild is our charge...”

“But?” Matrim offered as the older man paused thoughtfully.

“But I think it would do no harm to get to know those who in essence will be the ladies keepers.” Matrim agreed and the two decided that while Matrim spoke with Lady Æðelhild Balvir would attend Drills with the others. If Athanor asked for their swords they would be given under the proviso that it did not interfere with their own orders.

Kara soon returned with breakfast and the two men ate quickly before heading off to their respective tasks. Balvir to drill and Matrim to find Æðelhild, as he walked to the herb garden Æðelhild tended Matrim could not help but think he had drawn the short straw.

[Nerindel]

Æðel looked up from the small patch of sorrel she had been tending to see Matrim coming up the rough dirt path to the little garden, it was nothing much to look at the moment but when finished it would be quiet adequate enough to supply both her needs and that of the kitchen staff. She had just been remembering Frodides excitement when she had first suggested the idea and although she had only thought to planting herbs the cook had plans of her own, she had never seen the woman so animated as she had become at the prospect of planting a few carrots and even some sweet peas, so much so that she could not help but agree. The actual work on the garden had been slow as the more important building works took priority. In fact it had been herself and the cook who had selected the plot a little away from the main kitchen and to the rear of the main building, but it had been Matrim and Balvir who had turned the soil when a break in their main chores allowed, often early in the morning or late at night and as Matrim now came up the path she smiled aware of just how used to his company she had become.

Matrim’s breath caught as Æðelhild looked up her smile radiating her pale features in the midmorning light. The young woman’s smiles where rare but had came more often since the idea of the garden had become reality. It brought a great measure of joy to him to think that in some small way he had played part to her happiness and he found himself enjoying his visits to the garden more often. But not today, today his heart was heavy and as she waved for him to join her guilt tightened in his gut and he felt his mouth go uncharacteristically dry. For before him; smiling and happy was Miss Æðel, the shy but capable healer of Scarburg, a persona the young woman had adopted and used to protect herself from the pain and grief of her past. Matrim knew that the decree in his pocket would change that, he knew that she would need the strength and power the nobility of her birth had given her to deal with the trials ahead. Not only in Gondor when the time came but here also. As Æðel he feared Athanar would dismiss her as a simple annoyance that he had to put up with because his King ordered it so, but as Lady Æðelhild of Gondor he would have no choice but to recognise her nobility and treat her accordingly, but still Matrim hope not too much of Æðel would be lost as she pushed past both the pain and the shame to find the Lady of Gondor her father had raised her to be, a woman he had only witnessed briefly back in Edoras when they had first met.

As Matrim reached her Æðel could see the pained expression on the young man face, a worry as he was usually annoyingly apt at keeping his emotions hidden when he wanted too. However before she could ask him what was wrong she noted the yellowish blue bruise on his left cheek, “oh, not you too?” she sighed raising her hand to inspect his cheek (the previous day she had treated cut and bruised faces, bruised knuckles and even the bleeding nose of a young girl) Matrim looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled relieving a tension that Æðel had not noticed was there. “A soldier who needed a lesson in respect,” Matrim explained. “That was you!” Æðel exclaimed, her concern look now turned to a frown. Matrim sighed; shaking his head, “I know I should not have resorted to violence and I will apologise for my actions but not the lesson, it did need learning.” Matrim did not wait for her to be satisfied with his reply instead he continued, “But My Lady it is Important that we speak at once, inside if we may.”

The use of title shook Æðel as did the urgency in his voice, so nodding nervously she led the way to the quarters that had been set aside for the healer of Scarburg. “What is it? What is wrong?” she asked as soon as they were both inside. Matrim did not speak instead he reached into his jacket and took out a folded parchment which he then held out to her. Taking it from him she at once recognised the seal of the King of Gondor, her hands shook as she lifted the seal and unfolded the parchment to read. Almost at once her head spun and her legs gave way, Matrim caught her as she fell. “So it is public then!” she whispered uneasily, Matrim nodded knowing that she meant in Gondor. “So what would you have me do now?” she asked looking into his usually comforting grey eyes, but finding again that pained look as he answered, “I would have Lady Æðelhild of Gondor introduce herself to Lord Athanar at once before he thinks we have something to hide.” Æðel nodded having already surmised as much, but needing him to say it anyway to bolster her resolve. “Then I should change.” She said letting Matrim help her to her feet and looking down at her earth stained hands and clothes. “I shall just be outside.” Matrim assured her and with a nod he left her alone to go wash and change.

It took a while for her to scrub the dirt from her nails and comb out her hair, but after that she was soon dressed and ready to go. She wore the dress she wore to Edowine’s wedding, perhaps not what one would expect a lady of Gondor to wear but it was the best she had. Looking round the room she could not help but shed a tear, she had once promised Matrim and Balvir that when the time came she would be ready, but now it was before her she was not sure she was strong enough, but she had to try! With that thought Æðelhild fought back the tears, wiped her eyes and opened the door to find Matrim waiting as he had promised, he offered her his arm which she gratefully accepted, then they both went to introduce themselves to the new Eorl.

[Folwren]

Athanar’s response was not what Javan had expected at all. He looked up at lord Athanar in surprise and a little wonder. Perhaps Thornden was right, after all.

“Your pardon is granted, young man. I will not bear a grudge on you for what you said during the hearing. Actually, what you said just now, coming here with your apology, I will think more highly of you then before we started earlier this morning.”

Javan remained silent and listened, his attention wrapped with expectation as Athanar told him of Raban, and then of his own experience with chain mail making. This man, so unlike lord Eodwine in some ways, was very much like him in others.

Saeryn, standing by and watching the exchange, had much the same thought. He was a good man, after all. Hard, yes, but good.

Athanar turned to Degas. “Have you been taught to make a chainmail for yourself, Degas?”

Degas shook his head. “No, that was nothing I had the opportunity to learn. My apprenticeships bent in other directions.”

Athanar nodded and turned back to Javan, who stood waiting for dismissal. “Go out and find Raban. You may as well get started directly.”

“Yes, sir,” Javan said, and turned to go. On his way out, he passed the healer, Æðel and Matrim. He stepped aside and let them pass. Once outside, he paused. Crabannan sat just a few feet away, idly strumming his harp. Javan stood listening, wondering what he should do. Thornden told him to apologize to both Athanar and Aedre. But Athanar told him to find Raban. If he found Raban, he wouldn’t get a chance to apologize to Aedre until later, but if he went in search of Aedre now, Athanar might spot him not with Raban.

[Folwren]

Quin heaved a sigh of intense frustration. He turned from the target and clenched his hands. He had thrown a straight spear hundreds of times before. Why now, when there were dozens of people around, could he not do it right? As he passed the captain on his way to stand in rank, he shot him a furtive look. Coenred did not even glance his way. The second in command did look at him, however. Quin looked swiftly away and found his place behind the other soldiers who had already thrown their spears.

The young man did not have the presence of mind to compare himself with others. Perhaps it was wisdom not to compare, for one should not think only of how others do, but how well one does oneself, detached and alone. In such a case, however, it was discouraging. Quin only looked at himself, and he had done poorly, and that was all he knew. He did not realize that others as well were not performing up to their usual standards that day.

Their next object was to practice their abilities on horseback. Quin looked disappointed. His horse had lamed himself on the last stretch of rode the previous day. In order not to be left out completely, he offered his help to the captain and helped set up the obstacles for the horsemen. He stood by and watched as the soldiers put their horses through their paces, practiced their archery and casting the spear again. The men were finally warmed up, it seemed, for most did fairly well.

“We will do the hand-to-hand combats next,” he heard Coenred tell a man to his right. “I want to see how they do at close quarters.”

Quin swallowed nervously. His talent had never run in that direction. He did not like the idea of seeing his enemy die so close, and he had never liked the sword practices. It was different than practicing with the sword or spear. With those weapons, one had a target one threw at. If you hit the target, you did well, and no one was hurt. But while practicing with a sword, even with the blunted weapons they used, people got hurt. Not seriously, no, but the bruises could be gloriously nasty. It was not as though Quin feared pain, it was merely that he did not glory in it, like some young men, and even older men, did. He would much rather have stayed home and learned a craft, or an art, perhaps a form of instrument. But it was not to be.

The soldiers completed their rounds on horseback, and the horses trotted back towards the captain and waited for the next orders.

[Thinlómien]

"This is insufferable!" Wulfric shouted. He and his brother were on a ride again, and they had ridden for an hour without saying anything. Wulfric's face had been as dark as a storm cloud ever since the hearing, and now he had seemed to decide to let it all out. Fine, Wilheard shrugged. Let him rant if helped him. He too was annoyed at many things, but he thought his big brother was being overtly dramatic, as so often.

"Will, what have I done wrong? What have we done wrong? What have I done to deserve to be disinherited like some disgraceful vagrant?"

Wilheard could think of many witty replies, but for once he kept his mouth shut. He didn't truly understand why his father had done what he had, and he was angry for his brother too. But truth be told, it didn't really concern him. He was born the second son, and he had always known he would have to make his own life, earn his own place in the military and not inherit land or holdings. Undoubtedly, it was different from Wulfric's perspective.

"What is my crime, Will?" Wulfric's eyes were full of anguish, and Wilheard could feel his brother's pain. But there was nothing he could say to help him, he understood the situation even less than his brother did. Wulfric had always been the politician, the one who understood the twists and turns, the chances and ways of power. If he was at loss, Wilheard was even more so.

"I don't understand. I did everything they wanted me to! I worked hard to become a soldier, and I was the best in my class. No other son of an Eorlinga ever bested me in a fight.

I learned first how to take care of my horse, and as I grew older I was given the unofficial responsibility to look after you, my little brother. In my training, I was appointed to lead and tutor younger boys and show them what it is to be an Eorling soldier. I strived to be a good leader. I never failed Blackmane or Northwind, nor you, nor any of the lads.

I always did my duties. Maybe not always without grumbling, but I did them. I broke some rules too, that I know, but if somebody says I didn't suffer my punishments like a man, he is a liar and deserves to be flogged.

What is a man that doesn't make mistakes? Am I to suffer a lifetime shame because played pranks on the shepherd when I was but a boy? Am I deemed unworthy because I wooed the miller's or the innkeeper's daughter or because I drank on duty?

Or because yesterday I followed a traitor plotting against my lord and tried to make him talk?

Is this my fate? Has another man ever been so wronged in his life, or do I truly deserve all this from my father whom I always strived to obey and respect like a loyal son?"

Wulfric let out a wail and looked to the sky, as if challenging the gods to be his witness. Wilheard could see tears running down his face. It was not a usual sight, and it made Wilheard's heart burn with fury. His brother spoke true - he had always been an ideal Eorling warrior: the biggest, the brutest, the boldest and looking after his underlings with utmost care. He did not deserve this kind of humiliation or questioning his value, not to mention being substituted by a whining peasant girl and her unborn child. Their father must have gone cracked.

Indeed, the more he thought of that, the more it seemed like that. Athanar as Wilheard remembered him had been a gentle father, noble and distant, but definitely full of goodwill, unlike their mother who had had no patience for boyish whims or cheerfulness and who had often scolded them with harsh words. And Athanar had definitely been a lord to be proud of.

But who was this Athanar they had come back to from the military? He was noble, and gentle, but definitely cracked. His gentleness and turned to weakness - how often did Athanar's eyes glimmer with tears when he recalled something from the past, how meek punishments he executed on his subjects? And who in their right mind would disinherit their eldest son, especially if it was someone like Wulfric?

Wilheard thought maybe this would make Wulfric feel better, so he told his brother as much. Wulfric nodded fervently. "It must be the only explanation. It would also explain why he treated us today like he did." Wulfric's face grew dark on the thought of it, and he would have started another rant had Wilheard not been quicker. He was offended by their father's behaviour towards them too.

"First he publicly inherits us without bothering to tell us first. Apparently we are not worth that.

Then, he talks to us as if we were barely away from mother's breasts. He talks to us as if we are idiots, in front of all the people. Good that he didn't call us 'kiddies'!"

"Indeed", Wulfric growled in a low voice. "And then, on top of all that ridicule, he exerts on us a punishment that could be given to some ten-year olds! Go do a little chippadeedoo duty with uncle Lithor. And behave nicely, boys. No poking fingers in each other's noses!"

Despite everything, Wilheard had to laugh. He had always been the witty one out of the two, but Wulfric could have his way with words when he was angry.

"Although, we have to remember he gave the same punishment to Lithor, so he treats him like a baby too," Wulfric added.

"Well that's no surprise, they greybeard has proven himself to be senile. Have we given as bad an impression?" Wilheard asked.

"This is insufferable!" Wulfric replied, tearing his hair. "He must be out of his mind, there is no other logical explanation, is there? If he didn't seem so insane, I would go to him and demand to be punished like a man for whatever crimes he wishes to charge me of. I can't stand being treated like wayward child when I'm a grown-up man, fully aware of the consequences of my actions. I can understand not being so harsh on a man so old he is starting to sink back towards his childhood, but to a young man in his prime, never!"

For a while, there was silence. Wilheard was starting to feel angrier and angrier, and Wulfric was clearly thinking of something.

"Do you know what this means, Wilheard?" Wulfric asked in a shaky voice after a while.

Wilheard shook his head.

"If our esteemed father is truly somehow out of his mind, we must be extra vigilant. No one else should know about this. We should see to that everything seems as normal as possible. We shall act as if this kind of dishonourable treatment towards one's sons is normal. If we don't raise a question about it, maybe it will go unnoticed.

And we need to take the responsibility as his sons. If he flips totally, we need to get help for him. A healer or a... witch, as you would call them, I suppose. But we are the grown-up men of this family now. We need to take control, and take care."

Wulfric paused. It was sort of contradictory. He seemed as appalled at the idea of their father having some strange illness on his mind as Wilheard was, yet there was a spark in his eyes, something very familiar to Wilheard - it was the spark of determination and enthusiasm in face of a difficult challenge, Wulfric's spark of life.

Wilheard could feel the same. He had never been into politics or responsibilities, his dream had been being his brother Eorl Wulfric's right hand man and a war hero, tamer of the greatest of mearas and the swiftest of hawks, but this desolate place and the queer challenges it brought were something he recognised as an adventure. He spoke at length:

"And if his madness is of the terminal kind, it might be you inherit this place after all, at least for a while."

"Do not speak of that," said Wulfric, but the spark flashed in his eyes. "We shall go back now, and act according to the plan."

"But one more thing before we go," said Wilheard. He lowered his voice. "I think this place is cursed."

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

That was a start of the day! After the somewhat sleepy hour of trials, this has been something of a fresh awakening. Soldiers, barely a few dozens of them, riding through the plain, steam rising from their horses' backs. The men and animals getting to know each other, learning. Hilderinc paid close attention to those around him. Fighting alongside troops alien to you, you had to learn fast. If this had happened in the war, good coordination might have been difference between life and death. Even though these were peaceful times, Hilderinc still acted as if the enemy could cross Scar in every moment. Well, after all, they always could. And anyway, for Hilderinc, there have never been times when he would think that there was not a possibility of a new war. No peace was for certain and the world could always change.

The soldiers of Scarburg did not seem very well trained to him, but then, he had not expected much. Sufficient for a border-guard, much worse perhaps for an armed conflict. There were good soldiers among them, ones who seemed that they could become excellent if they got some proper training. Some of them were even worse than a few of the untalented - as Hilderinc knew them well - but properly trained warriors of Athanar's household. Well, perhaps now, with Coenred as their leader, there was an opportunity for them to improve their skills.

Coenred's next order was to dismount and fight on foot. Hilderinc smiled at noticing some of the younger soldiers' expressions. He knew what they were thinking: he could almost read their thoughts, they were all the same. "We are Eorlingas, why do we have to fight on foot? We have our horses." Have your mount slain in the middle of battlefield, Hilderinc thought to himself, and then we may talk about what is important. Also, these youngsters apparently have not been listening properly to the stories of the old about the Battle of Hornburg. It had been lucky for its defenders that even of the boys fighting there many had enough reason to have at least basic practice in hand-to-hand combat. What would all the wonderful riders do, driven into the stone fortress like rats, with no mount by their side? Oh, what a minor difference, and perhaps Helm's Deep would have had fallen on that terrible night, and there will be no dawn to come! But no, that did not happen, because there were men who knew how to fight on foot. And their current King and the King of Mundburg have shown their best there, too, didn't these youngsters ever hear?

Hilderinc has actually always been giving more importance to fight on foot than many of his companions. And as he dismounted, he decided that whomever he was to face now, he would give him the toughest lecturing.

[Nerindel]

Iomhair

Many times since Lord Edowine fell ill did Iomhair consider packing up and moving on? With no Eorl the stories soon grew stale and Iomhair became restless, even more so as she came to realise that more was being spent on the building of the hall than was being brought back in to it. She had no intention of working for free, even if she was only recording those building works. It was curiosity that finally kept her in place, with no news of Lord Edowine’s recovery she knew it wouldn’t be long before the King of Rohan was forced to appoint another in his stead and appoint another he did! Not only was the man of a recognised noble line but he was completely different in character to that of his predecessor.

Iomhair’s interest was again piqued and the new Lord did not disappoint in her expectations, Asserting and exacting his authority from that first day. Her jaw had almost hit the floor as one of the halls soldiers answered back to a Lord of the Mark, but even this shock could not break the excited exhilaration she felt at the thought of witnessing unfolding events.

Already this morning she had scrolled the trials of both Lithor, the soldier from the night before and Javan, a young lad who had seemingly assaulted the new Lords youngest daughter. She had been careful to scribe word for word all that was said with no embellishments of her own, as her appointment by the previous Lord did not assure her appointment by this new lord. It had not been that difficult as the trials had held intently the attention of all those present, especially when Lord Athanar’s sons accused Thorden of playing part in listening to a plot of treason, then again as Lord Athanar announced his intentions of adopting the Lady Saeryn. This had made her look up and study the man intently, it was something definitely not expected and it had brought new thoughts to Iomhair’s mind. Looking at Athanar’s Eldest son, she had wondered how he had taken the news, if it upset him though he had been smart enough not to show it in public.

The trials were soon over and the hall dismissed, still not sure to whom she should defer she followed the crowds out, returning briefly to her room to lay the scrolls out and let the ink dry. Recalling that the Soldiers were going to drill she grabbed some charcoal and some fresh parchment then set out to capture spirit of those set with the task of protecting this meadhall.

She soon found a spot far enough that she would not be in the way but close enough that she could still make out the beads of sweat on each mans brow. Her hands moved quickly across the page as the men where put through their paces by the new commander.

[Nogrod]

"That was soo groce!" Cnebba exclaimed and pulled a face.

But there was no immediate reaction from Garmund - and Leodthern stood quiet looking at the two boys.

They were outside the Hall after the hearings. Garmund had been looking downwards but now finally raised his head.

"I'm not sure Cnabba..." He eyed at her sister as well. "I'd like to learn to make a chainmail myself... Think how cool it would be!"

Cnebba was fully astounded. He had only thought of the limping figure of that cripple called Raban and Javan needing to spent hours in closed quarters with him, but now he recognised the coolness of what Garmund said... and he blushed (a thing he hated when it happened in front of Leodthern).

"But..." he started.

"I know what you mean Cneb, but he's a war hero, as lord Athanar said. And he's a master-craftsman! My dad always says you should learn from those who know their business and I'd bet a lot that this odd Raban knows things... even if he's a weirdo" With the last remark Garmund offered Cnebba a soothing smile and Cnebba took it laughing in releavment.

The doors opened and Javan got out. He would have looked a bit disoriented to any adult eye, as not quite knowing where to go, but the three kids surrounded him immediately.

"How was it?", "Was it cool?", "Were you afraid?", "What do you think of Raban?", "What do you think of lord Athanar?", "What is that Raban like?", "Will you make a chainmail?", "Is it cool?".

[Folwren]

Javan blinked and put his arms out to ward off the two boys and their flood of questions. “I don’t know – I haven’t – what are you – stop!” he shouted. The three questioners ceased their questioning. Javan drew a deep, deliberate breath. “I don’t know anything about Raban, I haven’t met him, except in there, and from what I saw…” he stopped and didn’t continue. “Yes, I like lord Athanar. (Better than Thornden, at present,)” he muttered under his breath, and then went on. “I will make chainmail, and no it isn’t cool!”

“Why not?” Garmund asked. His eyes studied Javan keenly, and Javan could see he didn’t approve of the contempt with which Javan seemed to consider his task.

“Because I don’t want to. I’d rather stay with you all and continue our practice with the horses and the archery. But I guess I don’t have much choice in the matter, do I?” He sighed. “I’m supposed to find Raban now and start my business.” He dug his hands into his pockets and started forward. The three children silently made way for him. He paused on the lowest step of the porch and turned again. “Do you all know where Aedre is?”

[Nogrod]

“Do you all know where Aedre is?”

"They live in Eodwine's and Saeryn's room!" Leodthern yelled as if to be the smart one. But there weren't any cheers for that remark from the boys. Instead, Garmund stroke his little sister's hair lightly. "Yeah Leo, we know."

Finally Cnebba broke the silence. "Maybe we should ask someone, like Kara or Frodides, or mom?"

"Or some of them strangers if we find them. I'd not dare to go on knocking at their door just like that." Garmund added.

"We? You guys said, we?" Javan looked at the others clearly annoyed. "Now who says you're coming with me?"

"Well, you said you'd rather stay with us..." Cnebba began but shut his mouth with Javan's sharp glance.

"Be fair Javan. We could help you out with it." Garmund tried.

"We wouldn't laugh or anything..." Cnebba added just to receive a hard hit from Garmund's elbow to his side.

"I'd like to see Aedre." said Leodthern.

[Nerindel]

Matrim, Æðelhild and Athanar

Matrim could feel Æðelhild's hand tense on his arm as they entered the hall, stealing a quick glance he was glad to see that the same tension did not show on her face. Lord Athanar did not at present sit in the main hall and Martrim was suddenly aware that he did not know who it was in this hall that relied to him messages of guests in his halls. As his gaze searched the hall for someone to take a message of their arrival to Lord Athanar, someone came forwards from behind the corner and faced them straight from just a few yards away.

It was lord Athanar himself.

He looked baffled for a moment but suddenly his face turned into a smile and he raised his hands to stress his own fault not recognizing them immediately.

"So you must be lady Aedelhild and master Matrim!" He looked at them both inquisitively but retained his smile. "I had totally forgotten about you with all this..." he looked apologetic and he clearly meant it.”... With all this mess... Anyway, please sit down, let's talk." He waved towards the main table.

Æðelhild's tension lifted slightly as they followed Athanar to the table, she had expected a more cooled reception and that it was not so set her somewhat more at ease. A small smile of surprise touched her lips as Matrim held out her chair, it had been so long that she had almost forgotten such small protocols. Though she had only been in Rohan some short months, she had been gone from Gondor over a year and from court longer still, her uncle had seen to that. As quickly as her smile had appeared it was now gone, her face again a blank canvas with only her rich brown eyes betraying the pain she felt at her uncle’s memory. Sitting she looked across the table to see Athanar studying her curiously.

"May we assume lord Athanar that you have been made aware of our situation?" Matrim asked breaking the man’s attention from Lady Æðelhild.

Lord Athanar turned his attention to Matrim and nodded. "Yes you may... although there are a lot of things I'd wish to know more of." He leaned back a little in his chair looking thoughtful.

"I was told about your presence here my lady, and that lord Matrim and a Gondorian officer would be here to protect you. Also I heard that even if the danger on your life isn't necessarily an acute one, there is a chance someone might be after you even this far away from Gondor." Lord Athanar had been looking at Aedelhild while speaking but now he turned to Matrim.

"King Eomer told me to honour any pact you'd have with lord Eodwine and that's how it shall be. But first I should know what kind of arrangements there are. Had lord Eodwine appointed some men of his guard as an extra-security or something? And how about your status? Is it generally known inside the Mead Hall or are you having a cover-story of some kind?"

Æðelhild kept Athanar's gaze as best she could, but hearing again that her life may be in danger and knowing what her uncle was capable of made her shiver. She was glad that he then chose that moment to turn his attention to Matrim.

Matrim paused briefly, thinking how best to proceed. "As you will have noticed on your arrival the guards of Scarburg are far and few between, So it wasn't difficult for myself and captain Balvir to blend as swords for hire recruited by Lord Eodwine to protect this hall." he paused a moment to glean Athanar's reaction, then continued.

"As completion of the hall was Lord Eodwine's priority and many of his men were needed to help with its construction. I and Balvir with Eodwine's knowledge had and still have been using the morning hunt as an excuse to gain the lay of the land and to watch the road/s in and out of the Scar. Edowine saw that Æðel as the lady is thus known here was included in tasks that would keep her in company at all times (He decided to keep to himself the numerous times she had escaped such company to tend the garden or prepare her tinctures alone.) and Master Thornden has always had his men keep an acceptable night watch. Though I have never been sure if he knew of our circumstance or not. As Steward to Lord Edowine I would assume that he did, but if he did he played his information very close to his chest." As he answered Matrim thought again about if their cover was still necessary.

By now all of Gondor would know of the king’s decree and that they where somewhere in Rohan. How much more time really would it buy them to keep up the pretence? He glanced at Æðelhild; he knew that despite her earlier assurances that she was ready, she really wasn't. He also knew that even if she was not she would at least have to appear to be, she had to show Cild that she was not afraid. His mind made up he turned back to Athanar. "Lord Athanar the time for hiding and laying low has now passed by now all of Gondor knows the Lady Æðelhild is in Rohan, She is not guilty of the crimes accounted her and therefore must no longer be shamed into hiding. Her accuser must see that she is not afraid of his Lies!"

Lord Athanar was nodding as he listened to Matrim and he had been just about to open his mouth when Matrim addressed him with the issue of them not laying in hiding any more. He was a bit surprised of the energetic way this young nobleman made his case after being such a composed converser just before. He looked at Matrim to the eye, like he was measuring the young man.

"Well, lord Matrim. I admire your straightness. And if that truly is your wish..." here he glanced at lady Aedelhild, "then you truly shall sit on my table with the other nobles already on the dinner today. And we shall declare your positions then so that everyone understands." He looked at Matrim and picked the spoon from the table reaching his hand so that the incoming sunlight reflected brightly from the backside of the spoon to the wall behind them.

"With that revelation you're calling any possible servants of that lord Cild straight here as that kind of things rarely stay hidden once revealed. There are people who come and go and one ear getting the story will turn into a mouth for another ear to listen..."

Suddenly he rolled the spoon around so that the hollow part of the spoon faced the sunlight greatly diminishing the reflected beam that was now in between them on the table.

"Maybe that's what we'd wish to do then?" He glanced at the two quizzically. "If we catch assassins will it help your plight?"

The fear Æðelhild had been suppressing rose as she watched the spoon and listened to Athanar's words. She looked at Matrim hoping he would change his decision, but instead he was nodding his gaze fixed firmly on the now up turned spoon. Æðelhild was shaking, did he really mean to use her as bait. Sense told her that catching an assassin would indeed help her plight but at that moment fear was winning out and she struggled to fight back the tears that now glistened in the corner of her eyes.

The slightest hint of a grin touched Matrim's lips, he liked how Athanar thought, and catching an assassin would surely prove that Cild had something to hide especially if they could get that assassin to talk. He looked up but was surprised to see concern etching Athanar's brow, realising at once that his concern was directed at Æðelhild. Matrim turned and almost at once he began to doubt his decision, her eyes glistened and she was shaking, had he gone too far? Was he asking too much too soon? It has to be done he told himself, he would have to be her strength at least till she could find it in herself.

Placing his hands gently on her shoulders and ignoring the involuntary flinch that always came (Another scar of her uncle’s ill treatment) he bent giving her no choice but to look at him. "I am sorry Æðelhild, but you know better than I what your uncle is capable of." His voice was calm but sympathetic, "if he means to find you he will, weather we remain hidden or not, at least this way we can tempt him into tying his own noose." Æðelhild looked away and for a moment Matrim feared she would choose to remain hidden, but then she spoke “What if he doesn't?" she asked in a cracked whisper. "Then we hope and we pray that my father has time enough to find that which he searches for." seeing that his words did not comfort her he raised her chin so their eyes met, "I swear I am not going to let anything happen to you! You are not alone in this."

Matrim's words comforted her and fighting back the tears she nodded. "Ok" she whispered, then again to be heard with out straining, "ok I will do it, that is if Lord Athanar agrees, it is to his home Matrim that we bring these troubles?" letting go of her shoulders he nodded his agreement, then taking his seat they both turned to await Lord Athanar's reply.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Upon Coenred's command, the soldiers divided as they stood: usually every man picked the one who stood the nearest, and they would fight, now one-on-one.

Hilderinc looked around himself. There was none of the old Scarburgians nearby, which was a pity, he would have liked to try his skill against one of them. He noticed one of the guards a bit further away, but that one was already engaging Áforglaed. On the other side there was only Fearghall and behind him young Quin.

"So will that be you, Hilderinc?" Fearghall turned to him, calm as usual. "Nice to have the pleasure in the beginning, might save me the trouble to fight anybody else if both of my arms are broken even before we start."

Hilderinc could not resist a smile. He knew that Fearghall was a good warrior, easily his match, but he was one of the few who would make such jokes in front of Hilderinc. After all, many of Athanar's men - all the young ones - had never taken part in any real battle, and so Hilderinc, apart from his reputation of being sort of an outsider, had also the reputation of a battle-hardened veteran. Different people drew different conclusions from that and some of the young ones might have refrained from joking about their battle skill if they truly found themselves lacking it. But Fearghall had always been calm and did not seem to let anything trouble him.

Hilderinc noticed, however, the stark contrast of Fearghall and young Quin next to him. The boy was certainly not shaking, but his nervousness was apparent. Hilderinc tried to recall when he had seen Quin fight hand-to-hand, but suddenly he realised that he probably had not really had the chance to see him fight before. Once again the images of all the young would-be Eorlingas flew through his mind. "Why do we have to fight on foot? We have our horses."

"Excuse me, Fearghall," Hilderinc said and passed around him. The soldier turned around, eyebrow raised.

"What's up, Hilderinc?"

"Next time, Fearghall," he muttered over his shoulder. He waved at another of Athanar's soldiers who stood opposite to Quin. "Go and join Fearghall," he said. "He is waiting for you."

Hilderinc stepped opposite to Quin, with unreadable expression in his face.

"Swords!" yelled Coenred in the back.

Hilderinc drew his blade and took a defensive stance.

Quin stared at Hilderinc, an expresion of loss on his face. He couldn't read the soldier's expression. He never could. Ever since Hilderinc's arrival in Athanar's guard, Quin had felt intimidated by his silent austerity. He had always avoided him, and now he had no choice but to face him and fight him. He gripped his sword hilt.

There was a tense pause between the two of them. Hilderinc did not make a move. Quin clenched his jaw and resolved himself, and then made the first stroke. Hilderinc turned it easily, but did not return a blow. Quin stepped to the right, and Hilderinc followed up by stepping to his right. They slowly circled. Quin wondered why Hilderinc wasn't fighting. Was he studying him? He tried again, attempting to get under his guard with two swift strokes. Hilderinc easily parried both.

"That isn't working," he said, echoing Quin's own thoughts. Suddenly, he leaped forward and lead a strike against Quin's unguarded side, however, the blow was led slowly and the young soldier managed to parry in time. Quin stepped back, a small smile crossing his lips of slim satisfaction, feeling he had accomplished something.

"That's the way you're doing -" Hilderinc breathed, following immediately with the same blow once again. This time, Quin had been even able to anticipate it. What's more, he had noticed that with such a strike, Hilderinc had left himself open to attack. He took advantage of the soldier's lowered guard and after blocking Hilderinc's blow, he turned his blade and brought it down towards his shoulder.

The older soldier managed to parry Quin's strike at the last moment and it was obvious that it took him a great effort. Quin's smile broadened, but Hilderinc's next words shattered his illusion of doing well.

"Don't be so happy. What I just did was the way you have attacked me in the beginning. As you see, with the way you are leading your strikes, you are leaving yourself open to attacks such as the one you just made against me. And in contrary to myself, I am not so sure if you'd have been able to parry them. So, as you see, I could have already hit you three times only because of your own openings."

Quin's smile faded. His eyes burned a little with resentment. Up until now, Hilderinc hadn't proved anything to him. He had barely fought with him. Did he really think Quin was that much below him? His blood rose a little at Hilderinc's condescending tone. "Then do it, don't just talk about it," he said, and re-engaged Hilderinc with real intent, striking towards his left arm.

Young hot blood, Hilderinc thought to himself as he swung his blade in the way of the opponent's strike. The swords rang with a furious clash.

"You are getting serious at least," Hilderinc said aloud. "But you need to think before you strike. I could anticipate your movements, and so parry them." He forced his enemy's sword away from himself.

"But in a big battle, there is no time to study your enemy. You need to learn this, and teach your body to do it by itself."

Suddenly with a swift move, he swung his sword free and attacked back against Quin's unguarded right side. Quin writhed and twisted back, trying to escape the blow and swinging his arm down in a futile attempt to block. He fell back, his side smarting with the blow, but he grit his teeth and did not complain. He took a deep breath and gripped at his sword hilt again. They'd only just begun. How much longer would it be? Hilderinc didn't wait for him to regain his breath. He advanced again, made three more swift strokes, and forced Quin back another step, with another stinging welt across his shoulder.

Quin switched his sword to his left hand and held up his right. "Stop. I'm sorry for my rash words. It is clear that you have the upper hand in this. Will you teach me?"

Hilderinc lowered his arm and watched Quin pensively for a few seconds.

"If you want to learn from me, that is as much as I can do," he said then. "If you truly want to. But it is a good decision to make, to improve oneself."

He fell silent once again for a while. "You can learn as much as you allow me to teach you," he added then.

"Continue!" the commander's voice came from somewhere behind. "We still have some time left to finish this. Nobody stand still, keep practicing!"

Hilderinc again assumed the attack position.

"For start, I will go easier on you, just watch my movements very closely, all right?"

Quin nodded, and prepared himself. He rolled his left shoulder, trying to dissipate the lingering pain from Hilderinc's last hit. This was why he hated hand to hand practice. He wouldn't voice his opinion, though, for the world. They would call him a coward and a weakling. Instead he would learn. He set to the task and watched Hilderinc.

The lesson lasted for what seemed to Quin a long time. Hilderinc permitted him to see a lot and understand what he was doing. He did not permit him to get within his guard even once, whereas he often made a touch somewhere on Quin's body.

Finally, they were called to a stop. Quin waited until Hilderinc had relaxed from his ready postion before he stood upright.

The older soldier nodded at him. "This should give you something for start. How much it gave you you must judge for yourself. There'd still be a long way to go if you wanted to become a good fighter, but you are open to learning, which is the most important thing."

Just as Hilderinc finished his sentence, Coenred's signal called them to get back to their horses. The first practice of the soldiers of Scarburg under the new command was ended.

[Nogrod]

"Ok I will do it, that is if Lord Athanar agrees, it is to his home Matrim that we bring these troubles?"

Lord Athanar leaned forwards in his chair and faced Aedhel. "Don't think about it that way lady Aedelhild. My king has charged me to protect you, so it's he who has brought any troubles to me, if anyone. But he didn't give any specifics on how I should do it. So if you really think drawing your enemies here and catching them here will help your situation, I'm ready to try it." He studied Aedhel's face intently trying to find out whether she really was ready for the gamble. He could say she was nervous to the bone.

Straightening his back lord Athanar turned to Matrim. "You can trust my men. And for a short while still we will also have a company of king Eomer's guards with us as well... So if you think there will be an attempt on her life or liberty anyway, then it should happen rather sooner than later. When Eomer's guard are gone we've a lot fewer men to take extra-turns or prepare for any traps."

Turning back to the lady he halted for a moment looking at how she reacted to all this talk. "I can assure you mylady, that we have the best men in Rohan to guard you if you decide to go for it. But make your decision in peace, not under any pressure to be brave. It's your decision and yours only." Here he glanced at Matrim, but more with a co-conspirator's smile than anything else. "You can signal your decision by joining my table at any meal you feel you're ready for it. From that I know you have decided and will then call out for the Mead Hall about your status." He turned to Matrim nodding lightly.

Rising up from his chair he addressed Matrim. "So I'll be waiting for your decision. Is there anything else for now?"

Matrim looked back at lord Athanar and nodded approvingly. "No my lord, not at present."

Matrim offered his hand and lord Athanar took it. They shook hands firmly looking each other to the eye. Lord Athanar was pleased with the young nobleman and was wishing to see him at his table sooner than later.

When he turned to Aedhel the old reflex suddenly came forwards and she offered him her hand. Lord Athanar took the hand and kissed it cordially. He still held her hand in his own while straightening himself to face her.

"Trust me. I'm a soldier by heart and know the offence is oftentimes the best defence and an open denial is more worthy of a noble than hideous hiding..."

He let go of her hand and nodded to both of them. "Now, if you excuse me. I have a tons of things to sort out here... But I'll be waiting to see you at my table anytime."

[Folwren]

Javan glared. “I don’t need any of you to come with me,” he said. “I have to find Aedre for my own personal reasons, but you need to keep out of it!” The three looked at him, surprised by his vehemence.

“I said we could help,” Garmund began, but Javan interrupted him.

“You can’t help. I’m not doing anything that requires help.”

Leodthern looked at him solemnly, her excited nature somewhat dampened by his apparent displeasure by their well-meaning offer of company and assistance. “What is it you have to do?”

“None of your business.” He pushed past them and began to walk towards the kitchen. He decided that it may be a good idea to ask the ladies there as the boys had suggested. To his intense annoyance, the trio followed him. He stopped half way across the courtyard and turned again. “What are you doing?”

“I want to see Aedre,” Leodthern said.

“And we want to find out what you’re doing,” Garmund added. Cnebba nodded. Javan stood glowering, considering them and the situation. He wasn’t about to find Aedre and then apologize to her with an audience of Leodthern, Garmund, and Cnebba. He found it quite bad enough that he had to apologize at all, but to do before the entire child populace of the Mead Hall! It was preposterous. Even Thornden would agree with him, if circumstances so drove him that he wouldn’t have the chance to do it before his older brother’s return. So, Javan changed his plan of action, and instead of going to kitchen went off his course and began to seek for Raban.

[Nerindel]

Æðelhild remained standing as she watched Lord Athanar leave, the manner in which he spoke reminded her greatly of her father and how his words of advice would sooth and linger even after he had gone. As she stood, she could see the fine lines of her father’s care worn face in her head and how the corners of his eyes would crease when he smiled. “Where’s my brave little Buttercup?” He would oft say to her when returning home from long campaigns and she could still recall how tightly she would hug him glad that he was home. As she thought on this memory Æðelhild knew in her heart that her father would have advised her much the same as Athanar just had. Taking a deep breath and swallowing her fear she resolved to keep to the new path now set before her. She was after all Lord Arethil’s daughter and as such she should act accordingly, her father would have never cowered in the face of his enemies and neither should she.

Matrim too watched Athanar leave, His opinion of the man now greatly changed from the night before, whatever he had once thought of new lord of Scarburg was now replaced with a new found respect. Not only had the man shown great wisdom and the ability to take on the hard decisions when necessary, but he had also shown them the respect he expected in return. Of course it could have all been a good act, put on by a man skilled in the art of deception. But Matrim thought not, he had been studying the man as hard as he knew Lord Athanar had been measuring him and he was satisfied that they could trust his word.

Athanar seemed to have a soldier’s instinct much like his father, Captain Balvir and Lord Arethil (Æðel’s father). All three were named hero’s in Gondor and Matrim counted himself lucky to have learned from them all, he only hoped that he could live up to their expectations, but if he could become at least half the man any one of them was he knew he would be a good man. But for now though his next task would be to inform Captain Balvir of their plans, he knew the old man would not be pleased with the risk they were taking, but he would come round. Balvir was no fool and Matrim knew he would understand the necessity even if he did not like the danger and the old man would know how best to protect Arethil’s Daughter.

“We should find Balvir.” He said turn back to Æðelhild; the young woman agreed with a nod and allowed him to lead the way back out of the hall.

[Durelin]

Coenred was hardly impressed by the drills, but he was not really disappointed. He had not expected soldiers at this new Mead Hall. Not that they were wholly undisciplined men, but they were a little green around the edges -- at least a couple of his men were, as well, but they were accustomed to more discipline and greater expectations in Edoras. Scarburg didn't require soldiers like Edoras did, at least not in these times. Coen was thankful for that.

But the officer took pride in doing things properly, and he would treat all these men just as he would the King's guards had he been their captain. Enemies did not always come from the Black Lands, and order was the first thing required for a hall and an emnet to grow. Even if he did not venture to make these men into an elite guard, he was going to keep them busy -- too much time idle was not healthy for them or the settlement. Besides, laborers were certainly needed.

Though Coen rather wished he could take part in the drills, he had watched each man as closely as he could manage, which was fairly close considering their numbers. He observed Hilderinc sparring with the young Quin. He had hesitated to perform man-on-man drills, but since the others had gone well enough and the men were demonstrating discipline he had decided to risk it. Hilderinc was obviously acting a good deal as a teacher, and the young man did not let his pride anger him too much. Of course mostly the men Coen had brought to serve the Lord Athanar paired with each other, and the Scarburg men paired with each other, but some were forced to match up with a man they were unfamiliar with. A number of the exchanges among the men were heartening to witness, especially after all the conflict and worry that had filled the previous day.

The captain called for the sparring to end, and announced that the men could go rest. "Stable your horses and see to your equipment, and take a rest. You will be prepared for any duties I might assign this afternoon, but you will begin to receive your regular duties tomorrow." That had yet to be worked out, and depended some on the plans for the further construction of and around the Mead Hall. But there was upkeep in the barracks and the stables, and guard duties, and training with the horses...no man would be left idle.

Once the field was cleared and the horses being lead back to the stables and the equipment being carried back to the barracks, Coen held lightly the reins of his courser as he walked with it. But instead of heading back to the stables he guided his mount towards Thornden and greeted him with a nod. "They are good men," he said. And it was the truth -- he indeed had nothing bad yet to say of those that were present that morning, besides of course criticisms in form. "I look forward to working with them more."

Coen meant that to convey that he looked forward to working with Thornden, as well, even though he was not so sure he did. Not that he had any problem with the man, but he was not accustomed to such vague divisions of rank and responsibility. Even if he was not the type to enjoy superiority over others, he respected order and rank, and appreciated efficiency. And this man was rather young... Coen had to wonder if the former Lord Eodwine had been grooming this Thorden as a possible successor, should he not produce an heir. This man before him was perhaps in as odd a situation as the Lady Saeryn. So far he had seemed to handle it better, though.

[Folwren]

Thornden stood by and waited for all the other soldiers to lead their horses off before him. He admitted that he was half waiting for Coenred, to see if he wished to speak to him. Sure enough, as the others were slowly walking away, the captain came near him. Thornden turned towards him to meet him and Coenred nodded.

“They are good men,” he said. “I look forward to working with them more.”

Thornden smiled a little. “Yes, they are good men. I think you will find that as you work with them they will progress quite well. They know what to do, it just has been so long since they actually did it that they are rusty.” He took his horse’s rein and began walking him back towards the hall, inviting Coenred to walk beside him. They went several paces in silence.

“I guess you will be giving all the orders now, concerning the watches and all that,” Thornden said. “Will you change who watches when, or do you wish me to tell you what the plan has been thus far?”

[Durelin]

Coenred felt unease rise up from a controlled ball in the pit of his stomach at Thornden's question. That the young man began with "I guess you will be giving all the orders now," caught him off-guard and made him wary of where this conversation would lead. He greatly wished he was still in Edoras, or even back home, without this title of 'Captain.' And yet there was a part of him that wondered how the Lord Athanar would fare here without a man like him.

The last thing Coen wanted was another man filled with anger over politics or perceptions, but he was not about to let Thornden walk over him, much less would he lie to the man. He hoped that the way the drills were handled had demonstrated somewhat to the soldiers and Thornden how the tiny guard at Scarburg would be handled, and obviously it had on some level, or the young man would not have remarked on Coen 'giving all the orders.'

It did amuse Coen, though, how the young man finished his question. 'Concerning the watches'...of course, what else had they to worry about? But no, he would not just be giving the orders in regard to the watches.

"It serves no good for there to be two men giving orders, and I am the Captain of the Guard here. But I will be working with you, Master Thornden, particularly since you will continue administrative duties under the Lord Athanar. Whatever information you can give me about the men and the duties they are accustomed to is appreciated -- I doubt anyway that my vision of a functioning hall guard and your and the Lord Eodwine's vision differ much at all."

Coen added the last statement for good measure, and hopefully as a reminder that he and the Lord Athanar and the men they brought with them were all men of the Mark, subjects of the same king, and sharers of land and language. It seemed somewhat as if many had managed to forget this. If one more man made a remark that made the Lord Athanar out to be an invader or usurper, the Captain was prepared to send a man to Edoras on his Lord's behalf...

[Folwren]

Thornden paused in his stride and looked at Coenred. This man sounded almost as though he felt he were cornered. Thornden did not like misunderstandings. He had spent too long with Eodwine who always addressed things head on to beat about the bush. “I am not resentful of your position, Captain,” he said. “Nor do I envy you. I won’t try to take charge. However,” he shot a glance forward to the last of the soldiers returning back to the stables. They had fallen behind some way and could talk without being heard. “I have something to impart to you that affects the watches, which is why I mentioned it.” He stopped altogether and Coenred stopped beside him.

“You may have met the healer, Æðel. She is not what she seems, and she is not safe. In the past, I have had the responsibility of seeing that was protected at all times, which made the setting of the watch very important, for I had to be careful that the entire guard did not realize who she was. It is a delicate matter, and I only tell you because you are now in charge of it. Lord Athanar will know of what I speak, for he will have been informed of it when he was asked to take Eodwine’s place. I will tell you what I can, if you ask it of me, but I do not know everything, and if you wish to know everything, you will have to ask him, or the Lady Æðelhild.”

He looked at Coenred a moment and then started forward again, leading his horse. He waited for Coenred to speak, and at the same time hoped he had made the right choice in telling the new Captain about Æðel. He had been ordered to keep it secret, but things had changed so much that he thought this course best. Coenred must know his duty in protecting her lest the protection be taken away.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

The day had already started quite badly. As if anything better could have been expected in Scyrr's opinion. This forsaken place, which he was forced to accept as his temporary home, or Valar forbid, as a place of longer stay, has this far done only its worst to show its quality and it was getting worse and worse. The barracks were small and soldiers were literally lying on top of each other. Scyrr remembered having to push away somebody's boot which was too close to his face in the morning. When he came outside, he realised that it was a disgusting cold morning with an unhealthy smell of wet air, no doubt coming from nearby marshes, which surely had to be full of midges. He also felt he had not had enough sleep, and his head felt a bit heavy - he'd maybe had a few drinks too much yesterday evening.

In any case, maybe if he had known which way the morning's events were going to unfold, he would not have decided to go down to the stream. Not that he was too happy to share this trip with the two women either. The old cow from the kitchen was not his favourite company, and even the pretty young blonde did not seem to respond very keenly to his, albeit not very complex, attempts for conversation.

But then the fool appeared with his stinking business - and Scyrr just could not ignore him. Maybe there was a bit of a wish to show himself in front of the young woman (and the old cow), but there was also the annoyance and the wish to just kick some of those fools responsible for his current situation - as he saw it - in other words, one of the builders of this thatched barn calling itself a Hall, one of these simpletons living in the middle of nowhere and looking at him, a soldier from Edoras, as if he was the stupid one. They surely could not even count up to ten. And when Erbrand dared to lecture him with his clever speech, Scyrr just had to teach him proper respect. What happened after that he somehow lost the track of - too late he had realised that things have gotten out of hand.

Blackness seemed to be appearing in front of Scyrr's eyes as he was half-dragged by Ginna and Frodides back to the Mead Hall. He was in a weird state, somehow only half-aware of what was happening. His breathing was still irregular and only when they have laid him down on an empty cart in front of one of the buildings, he started to properly acknowledge his surroundings.

He could see some people moving closer to him from across the courtyard, but the two women have disappeared somewhere, probably to bring help or to call some officer - maybe even Coen or Athanar. That thought made Scyrr's mind clear for a moment. Really they'd better bring somebody of authority - whatever it was that the plaguy stinking fool has done to me, he will pay for this, he thought.

Scyrr would not let himself think that it was in any way his fault that the fight had started. He was also convinced that the two women will see it similarly and prove that in their testimony, if needed - after all, it was Erbrand who had attacked first, not Scyrr.

He would not think about it much, however. A start of pain shot through him. Suddenly he felt sick in the stomach. Whether it was just another reaction of his body to the fight, some false projection of the pain or a late outcome of yesterday's drinking, Scyrr could not know. Again his sight seemed to darken at times. Where did all this terrible pain come from? He managed to concentrate so that his sight got cleared for a while and he looked down at his own body. It took some time to realise that it was his left leg which lay somehow strangely on the cart. Did... did the fool actually break my leg? Scyrr thought with horror. Did he make a cripple out of me?

If it is so, I am going to beat the living breath out of him!

[Durelin]

Maybe I did become too accustomed to the politics and maneuverings in court, Coenred thought, trying to re-assure himself that Thornden spoke the truth. He certainly seemed honest, but any man could be earnest in what he meant to or hoped he could feel about a situation, whether or not that was how he actually felt. Thornden was a young man with himself to look out for, at least, and apparently he felt a certain need to look after the Lady Saeryn, as well. Along with that brother of hers... At least the better of her protectors was heavily involved in Scarburg affairs.

Coen listened with interest and consternation to Thornden as he discussed an individual of the settlement. How could a small, rather backward emnet have such an apparent security concern? And more importantly, how could one woman be such? He supposed he should not be surprised, as to what sort of people might find a new home in this growing Scarburg. But while some said every town had their secrets, he knew that was an exaggeration. Men did not like to keep secrets, in his experience.

This was clearly an important matter to Thornden, and one he did not speak of lightly. It was perhaps another sign that this young man would be a good ally for now and maybe a friend later. "Thank you for informing me of this," Coen said, tucking the name away in his mind. He would not question Thornden here and now. He would speak to Lord Athanar first. "I will look into it further, and carry out appropriate measures according to Lord Athanar's discretion and your advice."

He continued after a moment, letting his guard down a bit, "I know we have not really finished any business here, and I wish to speak with you further on a number of things, but I have a couple concerns to attend to -- namely a couple of missing faces," he finished with a sour twist of his lips. "If you could, I would be interested in seeing a full roster and a list of duties for the guard here. And an inventory of the guardhouse, if you have it, though that can be done easily enough, as long as the men haven't disrupted everything in the move-in. I will make sure I have similar information for you, Master Thornden, on the new men."

Coen knew that this was coming a day late, and should have taken place before all the men were thrown in together for drills, and thrown into the guardhouse together...should have. But he knew that the politics of the move came before procedure. That was clear, and he saw the purpose behind it to a degree, whether he liked it or not. But at least it seemed that he and Thornden could at least separate themselves from the politics, even if they were not beyond it entirely, and would start really accomplishing things. Once something felt well and truly accomplished, Coen would feel a great deal better. Even the successful completion of the drills was soured by the fact that two particular men failed to be present...

[Nerindel]

Balvir

Balvir was one of the last soldiers to leave the training field, his breathing was heavy but not laboured, he had found himself quite enjoying being on the other end of the command structure for a change. Off course the drills were leisurely compared to what he had been used too, but then that had been in a time of war were you learned quickly or you died. His hand drifted unconsciously to the sheath that housed his Ithilien long sword, the names etched on its blade burned in his memory and for a moment his blue eyes appeared to mist over. But an impatient nudge from his black warhorse knocked him instantly from those dark days to the present.

Glancing back he was pleased to see the new commander engaging Thornden in conversation, he had not failed to notice a distance between the two men; as if neither knew quite how to take the other. Though if any of the men had noticed they did not mark it, that at least was some consolation, it meant that they had some level of discipline a plus given the events of the previous day. Balvir had to admit that he had been slightly disappointed when first arriving on the training field, his memory of the horsemen of Rohan was entirely different to that which met him this morning and he had laughed at his own miss-preconceptions. These men were mostly new recruits; men that Ceon could mould into the soldiers he needed to patrol the scar with a scattering of veterans to help keep them in line and show them the ropes, a good bunch Balvir thought as he led his horse Thor back to the stable.

In the stables Balvir kept an open ear as he listened to the conversations of the men around him. Few remarked on the morning’s drills, most were discussing the hearings and the events that had surrounded them. Intent on keeping out of such conversations Balvir busied himself unsaddling Thor.

“Has anyone seen Scyrr this morning?” one man asked searching through those gathered in the stable.

“It’s not like him to miss drills!” he heard another reply as he filled Thor’s water bucket.
“That Lithor was missing too!” another voice put in dryly.

“What are you implying?” someone else retorted heatedly.

Not liking the change of mood Balvir attempted to change the subject, “The Northern reach can be quite treacherous after rain, whoever gets that watch should be careful up there.” He kept his voice nonchalant and did not look up as he closed Thor’s stall door. keeping the impression that he had been oblivious to the current conversation he looked up to see them all staring at him, know he hoped someone would take his lead and defuse this current tension before it got out of hand and landed all of them in trouble with the new commander.

[Thinlómien]

"So, once more," Wulfric said when they approached the Meadhall grounds. "Let's keep in touch with the men, participating in drills or guards wouldn't be a bad idea. That way they will learn to know us and we'll learn to know them. And we'd better start doing with this before father 'comes up' with something 'useful' for us to do. We need to take the initiative."

Wilheard nodded. Good, everything was clear now. "Any questions?" Wulfric ventured to check.

"Aedre," Wilheard said.
"What about her?"
"We need to protect her, right? If we can't be sure father can manage it?"
"There's mother," Wulfric shrugged.
"She's a woman, Wulf. She can't protect her from everything."
"Try telling that to her," Wulfric said darkly. "But I guess you're right. We should make sure the kid is alright."

"So shall we do that next?" Wilheard asked.
"If you wish," said Wulfric. He wasn't too concerned about his little sister, but Wilheard seemed to be. Wilheard had always been closer to their sister than he was, but it was small wonder given that Wilheard and Aedre had only a five years' difference in age compared to Wulfric and Aedre's nine years.

The brothers dismounted and led their horses onwards. "What's that?" Wilheard asked sharply and touched his brother's shoulder.
"What?" Wulfric asked, looking around.
"There. Scyrr. He's not alright." Wulfric's heart skipped a beat. One of his soldiers, hurt? That was intolerable. What was happening?

"Take the horses," Wulfric said and gave Northwind's reins to Wilheard. Without looking back, he strode to the soldier as fast as he could without losing his dignity.

"Scyrr!" he called from a few steps away. The soldier turned his eyes to him. Everything was not as it should be.

Wulfric assesed the situation quickly. The soldier looked slightly pale - except around his neck, where the skin was red - and there was an absent look at his eyes, and on top of that his leg was weirdly crooked. Broken or sprained or just hurt, it was impossible to say.

"What happened?" Wulfric demanded.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Scyrr tried to straighten himself, but suddenly his head started spinning around. With all effort however, he managed to keep himself in almost-sitting position.

"Master Wulfric..." he started, but to make matters worse, the feeling of sickness in his stomach suddenly seized him with unprecedented strength. Not now of all moments.

"It was the stinking tanner Erbrand," Scyrr took a deep breath. "He tried to kill me. I am sorry..." There was no time to get more into details, Scyrr turned himself around and leant over the cart's side, trying to avoid Wulfric's sight. Inside, he felt angry, what will his weakness look like in front of the young masters? And most of all, when will this end? He felt his head spinning around all the time and when he straightened himself, he did not feel any better than before.

[Thinlómien]

Wilheard

Take the horses. Sure, sir.

Wilheard lead the two horses to the stables with care, but anger was sparkling in his countenance. The horses could sense it, and were nervous. This time Wilheard didn't pause even for a second to calm them. He was annoyed.

Yes, Wulfric was the boss. He was bigger, and smarter. And older and more experienced. He was happy enough to be his brother's right hand - too much responsibility didn't suit him well anyway - but he would definitely not be a squire or a page to be ordered around. Wulf would need to learn that, better sooner or later.

"Good morning, sir!" greeted a cheerful voice.
"Morning, Baldwic," Wilheard replied. Baldwic was a few years his senior and they had been training together a few times recently. Wilheard liked him well enough even though he thought the guy was still a bit of a baby.

It was quiet in the stables and most of the soldiers gathered there were now looking at Wilheard. He knew Wulfric would've said something to the assembled soldiers, but he just stuck the reins of the two horses to Baldwic's hand.

"Bald - take care of these for me, or find a stableboy to do it in your stead."
"Sure, sir," the soldier replied but his young master had already turned and was striding out of the stable door.

He spotted Wulfric and Scyrr quickly - they hadn't moved - and ran to them.


Wulfric

"It was the stinking tanner Erbrand... He tried to kill me. I am sorry..."

Wulfric clenched his fists. He had known the locals were up to no good, but he hadn't expected anything like this yet. He rebuked himself; he needed learn out of such naivety if he strived to be a good leader or soldier some day.

Scyrr looked bad, worse than he had first thought. Wulfric's eyes scanned the yard and spotted a woman with a bucket of water.

"Hey! You there! If you have a healer in this place, find him and bring him here now!"

The woman laid her bucket on the ground and hurried off.

Scyrr tried to talk. "They... they already..."
"Don't speak," Wulfric cut off the soldier's talk. "You need to make a distiguishable report to your Eorl, so save your words."

Wulfric didn't exactly enjoy saying those words, but there was enough soldier in him to put practical matters before pride in such minor things and to respect a commander even if there were doubts on his sanity.

Where was Will when he was needed? He needed someone to stay with Scyrr and take care of the matters for a second.

"I'm here," said a voice behind his back and Wulfric turned quickly just to see his brother standing next to him.
"Need to practice your hearing, soldier, you should've hear me running here had you been concentrating at all," Wilheard remarked.
"Now's no time for idle banter," Wulfric retorted. "I'll go find Father, you stay here with Scyrr. A healer's coming for him - that is if the locals can be trusted."

Without further ceremonies, Wulfric hurried away to find his father. It wasn't very difficult - Athanar walked out of the door of the great hall just when Wulfric was at the doorstep and they literally bumped into each other.

"Sir," Wulfric said quickly. "Scyrr is wounded. He says he was attacked by the local tanner, named Erbrand. Will is now with him - they're in the far end of the yard there, by the trees. I have sent for a healer."

[Folwren]

Saeryn had left Athanar in the great hall soon after the rest of the people had left. She had stood by while Javan made his apology and then she and Athanar had finished their discussion and she retired for a brief time to her room. She could not rest long, for much pressed on her mind. So she rose and went out, leaving soon after Æðelhild and Matrim had finished speaking with Athanar, but she knew not of their meeting with him.

As she came out into the courtyard, she spotted Erbrand coming out from the kitchen. At first, she paid little mind to him, it was normal enough to see him there during the day, but something caused her to take a second glance, and this time she noted the drawn expression about his mouth, and his lowered eyebrows. He did not appear as he normally did. He hastened towards the stables, but she called him back. He stopped and turned and then came towards her several steps.

“My lady,” he said. “I am taking my leave.”

“So suddenly, Erbrand?” she asked. “Why?”

“Something has come up. I cannot explain, but you will find out soon enough.”

“I hope you do not feel that because Eodwine has left and Athanar is taking his place that you are no longer wanted here.”

“No, lady,” he said, a wistful look passing over his face. But he did not explain himself. “I must go. I bid you farewell, and I hope that justice is done here, and you are treated as you should be, and nothing that is yours is taken from you.”

Saeryn shook her head, confused, but he turned and hurried away. She stood, staring after him, wondering what brought this on and what she should do about it. The morning had already been confusing enough, what with Athanar’s offer to her of adoption and her child, if it were male, taking the place of heir of Scarburg. She did not feel she needed this extra burden laid on her. But Erbrand was one of Eodwine’s men. What was happening here? Would the place disintegrate, despite Athanar’s careful attempts to keep the people together?

She was still wondering this when she saw not only Erbrand exit on horseback, but coming behind him on his own horse, Lithor rode also. She stood stock still in the courtyard, incapable of calling after them. She did not believe it. She could not believe it. This action was entirely against both their characters, but there they were, both leaving.

It was not so much for Erbrand to go. He had the right to stay or leave as he pleased, but Lithor was part of the eorl’s guard. He was bound, by his word and by the expectations laid upon a man-at-arms, to not abandon his lord and his companions. But it was clear enough that he had every intention of going and not returning.

Saeryn watched them until they were out of sight and then she turned and hurried to the kitchen. If Erbrand had told anyone what had happened to make him leave in such a manner, it would have been Kara.

She found her seated on the hearth, with her hands clasped between her knees, doing nothing. Her eyes were red, and her face pale, but she was not crying.

“Kara,” Saeryn said, coming inside. “What has happened? Why has Erbrand left?”

Kara did not look towards her. “He has. . .he killed. . .” she shot a wavering glance towards Saeryn and her eyes swam with tears. “It cannot be hidden, you will find out soon enough!” She covered her face with her hands and rocked back and forth, silently weeping.

Saeryn stood as though struck by lightning on the doorstep. She wondered if this numb feeling that she felt was because so much had already happened that day, or because for some reason she did not really care. She felt she did not fully understand. Of course, Kara had not spoken plainly, so how could she understand? What had he killed? Rather, who had he killed? For it must be a man for him to run, and for Kara to be incapable of telling her.

But her questions were answered in a brief moment. While she still stood in uncertainty just inside the kitchen, Fordides and Ginna both suddenly entered behind her. She turned slowly, as though in a dream, and saw them both, observing instantly Fordides flushed face and Ginna’s pale one.

“Oh, lady Saeyrn!” Ginna said, reaching forward and grasping her hand. “Thank goodness you are here. I don’t know what to do. We brought him back as best we could, but he’s badly hurt.”

“Who is?” Saeryn asked.

“It’s that Scyrr fellow,” Fordides answered. She seemed a little tamer than usual, and her eyes were abnormally wide. “Erbrand ‘most killed him, he did, and it was all Ginna and I could do to get him off ‘im.”

Although she knew that Scyrr was one of Athanar’s men and this would mean further trouble with Athanar, she no longer had anything with which to react. Her face did not change, nor did her feelings. She felt cold and unmoved. “Where is Scyrr now?” Saeryn asked.

“Outside. We set him in the wagon. We don’t know what to do. What will happen to Erbrand? Should we tell lord Athanar what we saw?”

Saeryn stepped past them and looked out. Only when she saw Scyrr, looking sick and badly hurt, and Athanar’s oldest son standing by and talking to him did the full realization of the situation come to her. She felt scared again. Almost as badly scared as she had been the previous night when she thought Athanar was going to be a tyrannical ruler who ran Scarburg like a military outpost. Lithor had been punished mercifully, but he had run from it. Then Erbrand, despite seeing how Athanar behaved similarly to Eodwine, and hearing that the two people must become one, had almost killed one of Athanar’s men and then fled. What would Athanar feel necessary to do? How would he react?

“Fordides,” Saeryn whispered. “Fordides, I feel I am going to faint.”

[Nogrod]

"Sir," Wulfric said quickly. "Scyrr is wounded. He says he was attacked by the local tanner, named Erbrand. Will is now with him - they're in the far end of the yard there, by the trees. I have sent for a healer."

Lord Athanar felt like his heart paused for a beat or two. Oh no... not this... not this anymore...

For a moment Wulfric searched in vain for an answer from his father's face.

"Can he be moved? Move him here if he can!" Lord Athanar tried to come to grips with the reality. "Now where did you say he was?"

Wulfric pointed a finger and Athanar nodded feverishly. This was something he didn't like that much but what he was so good at as to rise up to a position he had. He knew how to act in these situations and he was already transforming into that mode of being.

"Forget bringing him here! See to it yourself the healer is being brought up! See it like it was your brother's life at stake! Find Coen and Thornden to organise a full search for the tanner and to secure any other folks that might be endangered by a lunatic! Then make them come to me as it were! Like now! Hurry up!"

He didn't wait for his son to answer him but rushed towards the trees to find Willheard trying to keep Scyrr conscious. Lord Athanar kneeled beside his son and inspected Scyrr's wounds in a haste.

"Don't worry pal, you'll be alright..." Athanar said gripping his shoulder firmly and covering his cheek with his palm. Looking him into the eyes lord Athanar whispered silently but firmly "Whatever this was and whyever it was... rest assured my man, the justice will be done... and you will live to see it done."

Scyrr tried to moan something but lord Athanar put a finger on his lips and hushed him silent. "There's time for everything Scyrr. Trust me, I've seen men dying and you don't look like one. Breathe now, don't fade, don't try anything. Breathe. Help is coming. Take it easy. Breathe. We know it was the tanner... take it easy... breathe... take it easy... breathe... take it easy... breathe..."

He almosted lulled the man into relaxation. Willheard was not sure he believied his eyes. What was his father doing? Athanar felt the astonishment of his son and turned towards him when Scyrr had fell back to concentrate on just breathing.

"Men are frail son. They are frail when they fear death. A good leader stands beside his men and encourages them. Unless you're a healer there's not much else you can do. But even that can be crucial. And there is not such a low man a good leader wouldn't support, even with his life..." Lord Athanar's whisper died in the air as the noise of the oncoming footsteps overcame it.

[Thinlómien]

Wulfric

"Forget bringing him here! See to it yourself the healer is being brought up! See it like it was your brother's life at stake! Find Coen and Thornden to organise a full search for the tanner and to secure any other folks that might be endangered by a lunatic! Then make them come to me as it were! Like now! Hurry up!"

"Yes, sir," Wulfric said - to thin air, for his father had already dashed away. Veteran's efficiency or lunatic's impulsiveness, Wulfric didn't know which one, and he didn't not have time wonder about it.

His eyes scanned the yard and found flocks of soldiers wandering towards the stables or the kitchens. Drills over, he guessed and started striding towards the training fields with a quick pace, but soon broke into a run.

"Coenred!" he called when he saw the commander talking with the peasant officer, Thornden. Both the officers were alert immediately.

"Scyrr has been attacked by the local tanner, who has fled somewhere. You two are to organise a search for the assaulter and see that the folk are safe. After that, the Eorl requires to see you."

[Eorl of Rohan]

SCYRR

Everything was a-whirl. The fever that overtook Scyrr was nothing like any sickness he had known, the scalding heat and shivering chill alternating in turns. Every time he took a shuddering gasp, his slender frame was wracked by spastic coughs that yielded dark, coagulated blood. His breath was a dry rasp in his throat. The nervous and fitful rush of adrenaline that had enabled him to stand in the presence of Lord Wulfric only went so far; the moment he was out of sight, he collapsed. Blood from his crushed larynx spilled into his lungs in lieu of air. They called it drowning on dry land in the Mark, he remembered hazily. His vision blurred as he stared blankly up at the jagged outlines of green treetops silhouetted against the reddening sunset of the sky.

Did a minute pass, or a thousand?

Then a hand brushed his cheek. He almost pulled away with a cry because it seemed too icy a touch to his fevered brow. It jarred him awake from his half-trance, and with consciousness came back the feverish loop of nightmarish visions that danced before him, the searing pain in his lungs, now desperate for air, and the sharp metallic taste of blood. He wished he could fade once more. But the panicky buzz of conversation now pressed their claim to be heard, and the blurs focused themselves into recognizable features, and…

His eyes widened. For a moment he would have leapt to attention, abashed. However, his injured leg buckled under the sudden pressure, and he collapsed back down, pallid as a ghost and swallowing with difficulty a cry of pain. He had not wanted to be seen by Lord Athenar. Not like this. Not when he had let him down like this.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, a pleading look to his eyes, too weak to add the 'For letting you down'.

He had come off worst in a brawl with a craftsman, lowest among the commoners, who presumed to challenge not only his authority but dared to assault a rider of the Mark. And he got away with it. This insubordination, this wanton disregard of authorities, this vicious streak of violence, the baseborn tanner got away with all this because he did not have the power to check the cur's insolence. He had dragged the honor of serving under the banner of Lord Athanar through the mud. It was a shame which he would never live down. Looking into the ashen-gray eyes of Lord Athanar, Scyrr braced himself for disappointment, or even anger; he would deserve it and more. But there wasn’t a single accusatory look from his liege-lord, only concern. It took a moment before Scyrr realized - to his amazement and chagrin - that *Lord Athanar* was trying to comfort *him*, to ease *him* of his anguish, when he himself had a precarious political crisis on his hands. Not to mention that lord seem too preoccupied to even notice that his fine raiment was all bloodstained with his syrupy blood.

"Breathe now, don't fade, don't try anything. Breathe. Help is coming. Take it easy. Breathe." Lord Athanar said gently.

Abashed at this unlooked-for compassion in his lord, Scyrr momentarily struggled to disentangle himself from Lord Athanar's grasp. He didn’t deserve this. Besides, he had to track down that... But none of his sinews responded to his command. With a painful sigh, he let himself go limp, listening to the distant sound of the soothing words that his lord whispered. Before lapsing into a fitful sleep, it was with a flash of his temper that Scyrr snarled to himself, 'And as for you, Erbrand, you should count yourself lucky if you're the only person I kill over this.'
.

[Durelin]

Coenred was surprised by the approach of Wulfric, who ran towards them with clear urgency. He called out to Coen and Thornden before he even stopped, and the two men stood essentially at attention. It was not often that the Lord Athanar put either of his sons in command, but the Captain served them as well. He saluted the young man when he finished speaking, his mind still processing what he had just heard.

Were things not more urgent Coen would have sighed in sad exasperation. So that was at least one missing man accounted for... Had there been a moment's peace since their arrival? It had been nothing but petty politics and brawls, as if these were a desperate people. Coen did not understand it. He glanced at Thornden, observing his reaction. He doubted that young man understood it either -- he seemed a good, level-headed man, contrary to what was often typical of his age.

"We will at once," he said. Attacked... "Dead?" he asked grimly. Coen began going over in his mind what men he would trust with this search and the security of the town. He would snatch up Hilderinc first, as usual. Three groups, with himself, Thornden, and Hilderinc as officers. Two on foot, one on horseback to scour the surrounding area. Coen doubted the man would be foolish enough to hide, particularly if he had killed the soldier. And he hoped no one would take him in. More than likely he would be on foot... Perhaps two groups on horseback.

Attacked by the tanner...alone? That was difficult to believe. Coen had met this tanner, and he knew Scyrr.

Having received an answer from Wulfric, he turned to Thornden. "I recommend three groups, led by you, me, and Hilderinc, my most able man. I suggest we send my party and Hilderinc's out on horseback to search for him outside the town, as he has likely fled. You can see to the safety of the town with the majority of the guards, as well as see if he has chosen to hide. Are there hunting dogs we can use? A tanner has an easy scent to follow."

Thornden and the resident guards still knew the town and its people best, and would be better trusted. Coen and Hilderinc would better serve more as enforcers than protectors for the time being.

[Folwren]

So many questions and possibilities were spinning about in Thornden’s head that he did not know how to answer Coenred. “I don’t want your men to-” he began. “I mean, I don’t think lord Athanar meant us to go,” he stammered.

That was a poor way to put his thoughts. He tried to lay aside personal feelings and shock from the reported incident and spoke more clearly.

“I understood lord Athanar’s command to mean that we are to organize the searching parties and send them out, but we are to report to him as directly as possible, whereas were we to go out searching, we may be delayed for hours.” The two looked at each other. There was a pause, and then Coenred conceded.

"You are right," he said. His words were short and clipped, and his tone tense. "It is best for us to go to the Lord Athanar directly. I will give orders for the search parties to form, and then we will go to the Hall."

Thornden nodded and they strode together towards the stables. Another thing bothered Thornden, though, but if he voiced his concern it may cause a wedge to be driven between the two of them, and their men. Still, after going about ten paces, he had made up his mind to speak despite the possibilities of that.

“Captain,” Thornden said without slowing his pace. “If Athanar does expect us to go out with the search parties, after he has spoken to us, I would rather I was one to lead one of the search parties out. It is absolutely unnecessary to keep a group behind to protect the others, Erbrand is not dangerous unprovoked, and he will not make any further attacks, I can vouch for that. As you say, it is improbable that he stayed and tried to hide, but if he did, Hilderinc will be capable of searching the place. Also…” and here he paused. “If we do overcome him, I feel I should be there. And if we are not to go with the search parties, send Balvir, or Matrim, or Lithor...Lithor!" Thornden stopped in his tracks and things became suddenly clearer to him. He had seen Lithor during the drills, not coming down to join them, but riding...somewhere. He had not thought much of it at the time, uncertain if what had happened that morning had given Lithor different duties than joining the drill, but now he knew that had not been the case. Thornden had just seen the second rider beyond Lithor, and though he had not seen his face, he now guessed his identity.

[Folwren]

Javan had been unable to shake the other children, and unequally unable to find either Raban or Ædre. He was beginning to worry about what to do when shouts and running feet caught all four of the children’s attention. They hurried from the smithy where they had been standing idly watching Harreld at work to the courtyard. Javan rounded the corner of the kitchen first and he came to an abrupt halt. Garmund and Cnebba collided into him and Leoðern stumbled to a halt behind them.

“What is it?” Garmund whispered. Javan herded them back with his arm.

“S-sh!” he hissed. He pushed his way back and stepped out of sight again. The three younger children looked at him with huge, round eyes and open mouths.

“What is it?”

“It’s one of the men.” He nodded his head in that direction. “He’s hurt and Athanar and one of his sons is with him, and they seem really worried.”

“Who is it?” Cnebba asked.

Javan shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ll see if I can find out.” He waved them back away from the edge of the building and then stealthily stuck his head out to look. The other three, despite his warning, crowded behind him to look, too.

“It’s not one of our men,” Cnebba observed.

“So it’s a new guard, who’s come with Athanar,” Garmund surmised.

“It’s the one who got into a fight yesterday with Matrim,” Javan announced. “He’s in a bad way, he might be dying. There’s blood coming out of his mouth.”

“Oh!” Leoðern squeaked. Garmund half turned and put his hand ineffectively over her eyes. As he turned away to look again, she pulled his hand down and continued staring as well.

“What’s lord Athanar doing?” Javan wondered aloud. None of the children had any answer. “Shouldn’t the healer be with him yet? Why aren’t they doing anything for him?”

“Look!” Leoðern said, pointing. “There she comes now.” The children all turned to look. Æðel was hurrying behind Wulfric, one of the eorl’s sons. They watched her like hawks as she drew near Athanar and Scyrr and then they crouched once again against the stonework of the kitchen so they could observe the proceedings without being observed themselves. This day was turning out to be quite interesting.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar witnessed his man going limp and fading from the here and now. He let the man down carefully not releasing the grip on his throat where the major wound was. He fought against the blood pouring freely from the cut but didn't make a number of it to his son. It was better he didn't understand the situation or need to face a dying man.

Lord Athanar pressed Scyrr's throat. The blood was slowly pouring out from between his fingers however he tried to keep them closed together. He was frustrated.

"Where's the nurse? We need her now. Nurse!"

"I'm here my lord..." Aedhel arrived just then and kneeled alongside Scyrr's body immediately noticing lord Athanar's bloody hand pressing on his throat.

"Yes, that bad..." Athanar answered to her glance before she opened her mouth. "Bandage... now."

Aedhel produced a linen and leaned forwards to Athanar. "On your mark my lord..."

Athanar gave room to the healer trying to get his arms off the way while maintaining the pressure on the wound with his hands. "Ready..."

Aedhel nodded and pressed the linen over lord Athanar's hands while letting him to carefully lift the head up. "Wait... easy, easy", she muttered while lord Athanar tried to both lift Scyrr's head and to ease his grip on the wound so that the bandage could be made. "Right... right..." Athanar whispered while trying to help with the folding of the linen. Slowly they managed to wrap the linen a few rounds and lord Athanar had almost slipped his hands from the wound. Only three fingers were now pressing it.

He turned to Aedhel. "Ready?". Aedhel nodded. Lord Athanar slipped his fingers from the cut and pressed on the bandage which Aedhel had tightened that second the pressure was lifted from it. They looked at each other and smiled in relief, even if there was no security of what would follow. But they had made it.

Lord Athanar rose up quite slowly leaving Aedhel to check the other wounds and to assess the condition of the patient. Suddenly he turned around and kicked a small rock in fury. The rock flew a good thirty feet hitting a tree.

I will have no more of this... no more...

But even in his anger he realised the other cause of his strong feelings... the war... the times he had witnessed the same thing... the times he had managed to help... and the times it had been futile... how many men had he seen dying from that close? He didn't remember.

"Coen! Where on earth are you?! Thornden!?"

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc had unsaddled his horse and then turned to go only to bump into Áforglaed, who was among the last ones leaving the stables. He looked confused, as if he only just realised Hilderinc was standing there, and he was having his right thumb in his mouth and sucking it.

"Enjoy your meal," said Hilderinc. "But perhaps I would wait for the lunch if I were you."

Áforglaed quickly removed the thumb from his mouth and wiped it to his trousers. Hilderinc noticed that it was slightly blue in color.

"That was probably not a very safe training for you, was it."

"Says the one who has been coaching babies," muttered Áforglaed, more like to himself, but Hilderinc heard him well enough. He looked around to see if Quin was nearby.

"Are you going out?" he asked then, turning back to the other soldier. "You are standing in the way."

"Ah – yes," Áforglaed seemed rather distracted. Hilderinc could very easily imagine that he had some of the young ladies in the Hall on his mind, or something like that.

"Have you seen Scyrr?" Áforglaed asked suddenly, as they were coming out of the stables.

So maybe it was not about ladies after all. "I don't know," Hilderinc said aloud. "Wasn't he sent back for some help duty after the first round?"

"He was," the fair-haired soldier nodded. "But I have expected him to be here when we arrive, helping to take care of the horses. He'd said that he's going to be here."

Hilderinc shrugged. "Maybe he is still helping. You can go and look at the kitchens – maybe you will get -"

He stopped and frowned, noticing something strange around the corner across the courtyard. Áforglaed followed his gaze. "What is that?" he asked. "Lord Athanar?"

Hilderinc did not say anything, he only took a deep breath. There was no doubt about what he was looking at.

[Durelin]

If Coen had been ten years younger he would have gone quite red, but by now he had lost that care. Likely the young man was right. Athanar would wish to speak with them. He was not a soldier anymore -- not really. He was a Captain, he had a title and position and responsibilities that came with it that had nothing to do with being a soldier. At least, as far as he was concerned. Now that his lord was lord of his own Hall, he would be spending more time at Athanar's side. Most of his time since arriving had been spent in some form of meeting, it seemed.

He conceded that they should go directly to Athanar, and quickened his pace towards the stables, his mind filled with frustration over Erbrand, the search parties, Thornden, and this entire burg. Thornden had begun to speak his mind openly, only to switch back to a more subtle approach to getting what he wanted. Coenred was not surprised when the young man spoke again, voicing more eloquently what the Captain thought he had began to say.

My men, he thought, my men versus his... And Thornden wished to "be there if they found him." To protect him? "He is not dangerous unless provoked...will not make any further attacks..." Thornden certainly seemed to think he knew the man well, but they had yet to know what had happened, and how 'provoked' Erbrand indeed was. Coen did not look at the younger man until the mention of Lithor. He looked at Thornden sharply, as something obviously clicked inside the man's head. But he did not elaborate.

"There will be two search parties to scour the surrounding lands. If the Lord Athanar thinks it right, you may be at the head of one. And if you think I will only send out those men who came here under my command yesterday...I am not sure what gave you that impression. As for Lithor...all I know is that he was not at the drills," he said pointedly. It was as he expected. "You apparently seem to know more. We will have to speak with the Lord Athanar about it."

They entered the stables, and Coen handed the reins off to a stablehand, calling out for Hilderinc, to see if the man was still seeing to his horse. A soldier responded that he had seen him head out into the courtyard. Coen told the soldiers still present in the stable, a mix of men new and old to Scarburg, to stop stabling their horses. "The tanner Erbrand has been declared a fugitive. Search parties will be organized to go after him. Be prepared to leave as soon as possible and assemble out on the grounds. Hilderinc, with or without me, will return with further instructions."

Coen and Thornden then swiftly made their way up to the courtyard to when they heard an angry voice that was strange to Coen's ears, "Coen! Where on earth are you?! Thornden!?"

"Here, my Lord!" he replied loudly, heading towards the sound at a trot to then bow and stand at attention before his lord, nearly running into Hilderinc in the process. He was shocked to find Athanar in such a rage, and with his hands and his shirt-sleeves covered in blood. Coen felt fear for Scyrr mixed with admiration for his lord, and on top of it all shock and anger over what had happened. But he did not have time to feel these things.

"The men are assembling to be sent out in search parties, my lord. Two on horseback will scour the surrounding countryside. One party will remain here and search the Mead Hall and see to its safety. If this is acceptable, my lord."

"I also ask your permission to go out myself, my lord," he added quickly.

[Nogrod]

With Coenred's briefing lord Athanar finally fell back into the world of the leader of the rohirrim in a fight, the one in charge of his own men and being effective at that. There was no room for feelings of anger or hate. It was cool rationality driven by the care and honour of his men.

"Thornden! You might have an idea where he might wish to run for. The marshes? Wasn't he a kind of a hunter? Or where would he go if he'd decide to fool us? Two or three small parties on those areas, back in an hour. The trace is probably cold anyway."

Thornden nodded and tried to answer but lord Athanar was already turning to Coenred.

"Coen! One party to the most likely route to the south with fast horses, and gather information while you go for any sightings of him, spread if you need to. Back before the sun sets! Clear?"

"Aye sir. Loud and clear sir!"

"And Coen, order some of the experienced ones from our host to Thornden who will then lead the search within the perimeters around here." Here he glanced at Thornden to get his nod of confirmation.

After looking at the two captains Athanar finally sighed letting his head fall down for a moment only to recover his posture in a flash.

"I'm afraid the trail might be cold already, but do your best. For the sake of the security of everyone here, and for the sake of justice." He gazed at the two one at the time. "Now we are tested, we really are... Be back for the evening meal, everyone." His eyes went blank and he just stared into some nothingness far behind the backs of the two.

Lord Athanar's head was exploding with the feelings of anger and frustration, and different scenarios of how this could affect the Mead Hall, and how he should try to handle it, whatever way it would go.

The two were standing in front of him and exchanging careful glances as they were not quite sure whether they had been given a leave or not.

"Go! Go now!"

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"It's Scyrr!" cried Áforglaed. Hilderinc grabbed his shoulder. "Wait," he said. At that moment, captain Coenred and Thornden ran past them.

"What happened to him?" Áforglaed asked, as if expecting Hilderinc to give him the answer. He was still looking in the direction of the lying man, but standing his ground.

"I think we are going to learn very soon," Hilderinc said. "Look! Lord Athanar is giving orders to the Captain."

"Do you think we are under attack?" Áforglaed looked around, as if he was expecting enemies to start jumping from behind the corners in any moment. "Wasn't it so that the locals had problems with the other lords? Do you think they will strike to intimidate us?"

"Calm down," Hilderinc said. It was obvious to him that something very bad must have happened, especially since Athanar himself and both of the officers were present, but it was no good to start speculating and panicking. And especially if the leaders have already come with orders as to what must be done, it was crucial to maintain order and let them announce whatever was necessary and tell the others what had happened. Shocked Áforglaed running into the middle of the discussing Captains and Athanar would not only prove embarassing, but also possibly unnecessarily distracting for the leaders. And Áforglaed running back to others and spreading panic would be even worse. Hilderinc looked at the other soldier's pale face. Once again he was reminded of how unexperienced many of the other soldiers were in comparison to him. All their life mostly in barracks, never seeing a real battle or being forced to deal with tough real-life situations. Áforglaed seemed shocked and scared. Of course, Scyrr was also one of his friends, it was all too understandable to Hilderinc that Áforglaed wanted to see if he was all right. But if they wait only a while, they will surely be informed.

Lord Athanar seemed rather agitated and Hilderinc now could hear him shout: "Go! Go now!" It's our turn then, he thought. And he was right. Coenred and Thornden turned towards them. Hilderinc once again gripped Áforglaed's shoulder.

"Don't ask," he intercepted Áforglaed's expected questions. "They will surely tell us themselves what happened to Scyrr. See, they are coming."

[Folwren]

Thornden knew which way they had gone. He had watched them leave. Why then did he say nothing? He knew that if he told them that he had seen them leave, they would focus all of their men on searching in that direction, which would give them much greater chances of catching them.

If they were caught, what then? Thornden thought of the consequences. Erbrand faced certain death if he were caught and brought back. It was uncertain that Scyrr would live, and even if he did, by all appearances, Erbrand had made an attempt on his life. Thornden guessed how the encounter had gone. Scyrr had provoked Erbrand to the point of blind fury, and Erbrand had attacked him. Murder had not been Erbrand’s intent. If it had, he would not have failed. Rather, he was fighting because of something Scyrr had said or done, and though Erbrand’s response had not been right, it had not been wrong enough for him to die for it, and still, that would be his punishment. As for Lithor. . .Thornden was less certain about what Athanar would deal out to him. Lithor had already been disgraced and punishmed for a far less serious crime. That likely was why he ran. But what would happen if he were brought back, hunted the same as Erbrand? Thornden felt revulsion to the idea. Lithor was an honorable man, and to see him further humiliated and punished was a thought not to be born.

If he did not tell them, the search parties would be spread out thinly, and the possibilities of catching them were far slimmer. Athanar asked him to arrange three small parties to search the marshes, and he told Coenred to take the largest party out on what he figured to be the most likely escape route for the fugitive – South, along the main roads. But this was wrong, and Thornden knew very, very well they had gone in the opposite direction.

The choice therefore was either to tell Athanar and Coenred which direction they had gone and almost certainly seal Lithor’s and Erbrand’s fate, or to say nothing, and almost certain ensure their escape. On the one hand lay duty to his eorl and his position. On the other, lay loyalty to his two friends. For once his sense of duty was trumped by something else.

The thoughts passed swiftly through his mind in much less time than it takes to record them, and the decision was made just as quickly. He glanced sidelong at Coenred, who was looking at him, and then looked at Athanar, just as Athanar gave his final command to go.

[Loslote]

Lilige pursed her mouth as she examined the room. Not a thing was out of place and not a surface needed dusting. She sighed contentedly, but couldn't help wondering what she should do now. She paused for a moment, then decided on going to the kitchen. It wasn't so long ago that she'd left the other women there - quite abrubtly and rudely, really - so hopefully some of them would still be there. Lilige hoped they weren't so uncivilized as the male Scarburgians seemed to be.

Lilige peeked into the kitchen. She saw some other people there, including the Lady Saeryn. Three other women, whose names Lilige didn't know, were gathered around her, looking worried. Lilige walked over to them. On close inspection, Lady Saeryn looked alarmingly pale, and the others seemed agitated as well.

"What is happening?" she asked, worried.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Kara crouched on the hearth soundless and tearless in her shock. She rocked back and forth as would a small child, her hands clasped between her knees, the silence disturbed by not so much as a whimper or a sigh. Even the tears were run dry. For what could she say? They would hunt Erbrand down. It was all she could do to gasp out to Lady Saeryn the reason Erbrand left, though even that, she could not finish in her grief; ‘He has killed a soldier of Athanar. Nothing but a hangman's rope awaits him in Scarburg now.’

Ever since the hour Erbrand confessed his love for her, Kara had felt secure and content in that she had someone to protect her. Besides, she had been fond of Erbrand. Even loved him, perhaps. The question played in an endless loop in her mind: Should she have left with Erbrand? Lady Saeryn would have others to help her in her hour of need, but Erbrand was alone and unprotected in the wilderness. It was a question to which she already knew the answer, but this did not make it any easier on her. Kara had known better than abandon Lady Saeryn and run off with Erbrand beyond the borders of Rohan. Kara would have liked nothing better, but she couldn’t… she couldn’t. Not when Saeryn had a baby on the way. Erbrand had whispered of his destination to her, biding the time when she would be no longer bound by the fetters of her duty to the House of Eodwine, but such a day was long off yet.

Kara heard Ginna and Fordides tell Lady Saeryn what happened, though everything seemed but a distant murmur to her. Then Saeryn slowly walked to the window and looked out, the slight flush on her cheeks draining away from her already-pale countenance as the ruckus outside reached its peak. There was sadness in her eyes, and… Kara flinched, and looked up at her mistress, wide-eyed. Fear? What had lady Saeryn to be afraid? Then the answer hit her as soon as she asked herself this question: it was Athanar’s soldier that Erbrand had slain in his fury, and the proud Eorl would not be pleased. Lord Athenar’s rage might even direct itself towards-

“Frodides,” Lady Saeryn whispered, “I feel I am going to faint.”

Kara supported Lady Saeryn as she stumbled away from the windowsill, a pallor cast over her countenance. It was a mechanical movement at first, Kara was not even aware of supporting her, her mind numb with grief. Then, prompted by the silky feel of Lady Saeryn’s dress and her warmth, the reality of the situation rushed back and overwhelmed her in one fell swoop. Erbrand, her intended, pursued for murder of that young soldier with insolent eyes! Kara broke down at last crying and tearfully clung to Lady Saeryn's hand.

“My lady Saeryn,” Kara sobbed, “Erbrand has asked me to come with him. He told me where I could find him when all this ruckus died down, but I just couldn’t leave you… I couldn’t…”

Kara had not checked her words, for she had not realized that Lady Wynflaed's chambermaid Lilige stood wide-eyed on the threshold of the kitchen.
.

[Folwren]

Saeryn didn’t faint. She did not even half loose her senses. She felt weak, though, and was grateful of the support of the three ladies about her. They helped her to a seat. She laid her head in one palm while her elbow rested on the table. She told herself over and over to get up and not to be weak, she had to think – think!

And then she was aware of Kara at her side, clinging to her hand and weeping. Saeryn turned her head towards her and bent her mind to listen. “My lady Saeryn,” Kara sobbed, “Erbrand has asked me to come with him. He told me where I could find him when all this ruckus died down and it was safe for me to come to him, but I just couldn’t leave you… I couldn’t…”

Saeryn lifted her head and finally roused herself. Whatever happened, she had to be able to meet it. She was the Eodwine’s wife, the lady of Scarburg, and therefore the lady of these women around her. She had to be strong enough to lead them now, or she would not be strong enough to lead them at any other time. Kara made this as clear as day to her now, for Kara had been braver in the face of calamity than Saeryn herself. She was shamed by the loyalty and duty of this young woman.

“What is happening?” a voice asked from behind them. They all turned, startled. It was Lilige, Lady Wynflaed’s maidservant. Saeryn rose to her feet.

“There is trouble outside,” she said, and her voice was steady. “I do not know what action lord Athanar will wish to take in regards to the trouble, but I think that lady Wynflaed should be informed. Lilige, please send word to your mistress and tell her I would like to speak with her. I will be in the hall.”

[Loslote]

"Yes, Lady Saeryn," Lilige said. She glanced back over her shoulder. She felt sorry for the woman, whose name she didn't know, but she wondered why this Erbrand had left. Lilige turned to face forwards again, luckily managing not to run into the doorway, and paused outside the kitchen, unsure of where to find Lady Wynflaed. Lilige guessed that she would either be with her sons, Lord Athanar, or attending to the supplies or servants, but she didn't know where the men or servants would be. This narrowed her options down a bit, so she headed in the direction she thought the storage areas were.

A few minutes later she passed the kitchen again, heading in the opposite direction. The storage areas had not been down that corridor. Lilige hoped she could figure out how to get around in this maze-like place soon enough.

"My Lady?" she called, entering the chamber and recognizing . "My Lady Wynflaed, Lady Saeryn wants to speak with you in the hall. She says there's trouble outside. The other women are upset, too. Something must have happened...and they mentioned someone named Erbrand."

[Nogrod]

Thornden glanced sidelong at Coenred, who was looking at him, and then looked at Athanar, just as Athanar gave his final command to go.

"Wait", lord Athanar ordered looking at the two closely. "Is there something I'd need to know?"

[Mnemosyne]

"My Lady Wynflaed, Lady Saeryn wants to speak with you in the hall. She says there's trouble outside. The other women are upset, too. Something must have happened...and they mentioned someone named Erbrand."

Wynflaed turned from the mental inventory she was making, only briefly closing her eyes to commit where she had left off to memory.

"I am sorry, Lilige," she said. "I am afraid I was not listening. Why does Lady Saeryn wish to speak with me?"

Lilige repeated her account of what had happened. Wynflaed's eyes narrowed. Her first thoughts went to her husband--but Athanar had not been planning on going out of doors when she had left him, and if Saeryn was sending for her and not him it meant he was already in the thick of things. As he generally is, she thought.

"Thank you, Lilige," she said. "See what you can learn of what has happened, and offer your assistance as you may. I will go and see the Lady Saeryn."

Only taking a brief look back at the storeroom, she walked down the corridor and into the hall.

"Lady Saeryn," she said. "Tell me what has happened."

[Durelin]

Coenred eyed Thornden once Athanar had finished his instructions, remembering what the man had begun to say earlier...something about Lithor. And Coen doubted it as anything good. But Thornden made no indication that he was going to speak. The Captain's look turned briefly into a suspicious glare before he turned back to Athanar with a plain if stern look on his face when his lord spoke.

"I believe so, my lord. Lithor was not at the training exercises, my lord. Was he detained by you after the trial? If not, I do not know what that might mean."

He waited for Athanar's response, which he was sure would be brief, on the balls of his feet, ready to give Hilderinc orders on his way back to the stables. Luckily both he and his horse were still ready from the exercises -- they would be ready to depart in minutes.

[Eorl of Rohan]

KARA

Kara had the presence of the mind to let go of Lady Saeryn's sleeves. She swallowed a half-sob and dried her eyes on her sleeves. Death was copper-a-dozen in this harsh borderlands; Scarburgians learned to live with the shadow of death on their doorsteps since the time they were in their swaddling cloth. There was nothing that she could do for Erbrand. Now she had to focus on the living, especially Lady Saeryn, who had enough misery and misfortune on her hands without her wailings to further complicate the matters.

And if they attempt to accuse me of being implicit in Erbrand's crime, for better commanders than Lord Athanar have lost their levelheadedness when they saw blood of their sworn men spilt, at least I'd give them no cause to drag Lady Saeryn into it, Kara whispered to herself.

"This would all pass over, Lady Saeryn." Kara smiled with as brave a nonchalance as she could muster under the circumstances, attempting to reassure Lady Saeryn, although how much she was taken in Kara was not at all sure. Not at all, probably. But she had to try anyway; she was Lady Saeryn's handmaid. If she wouldn't comfort her, who would?

Lady Saeryn looked at her for a moment, sadly, or so she thought, and left the kitchen. Kara sank back into the hearth.

"Fordides", Kara said slowly, her eyes bright with tears fixed on the washerwoman's countenance, "Tell me everything. How did... How did this happen?"

[Folwren]

“This will all pass over, Lady Saeryn,” Kara told her as Saeryn rose. Saeryn turned to look at her a moment. She smiled, a sad smile, and nodded. Yes, it would pass over, in time.

“Be ready to help Ӕðel, start some water boiling and do whatever you think will be necessary,” Saeryn instructed as she left the kitchen. She went out and through the corridor to the great hall. The place was empty, and silent. The noises from outside barely permeated the walls. She went towards the center of the hall, and then she paced slowly to and fro, her head bent, and her hands pressed together, her forefingers gently placed on her lips. She was only aware of Lady Wynflaed’s presence when she spoke.

“Lady Saeryn, tell me what has happened.”

Saeryn straightened herself and lowered her hands. “I will tell you as much as I know,” she said, coming forward to meeting Wynflaed. “And this I have only heard from Kara, and some from the other women. Erbrand, the tanner, fought with one of the men-at-arms that came with your husband. It was,” she searched her memory for the name that Frodides had given her. “It was Scyrr.” She paused, and Wynflaed waited. “I believe that Erbrand thought he had killed him, because he’s left. I met him just as he was leaving and he bid me farewell. But Scyrr is not dead, and I cannot think that Erbrand meant to kill him. But, never mind that now, that is not all I saw. Lithor left as well. I saw him riding out of the courtyard with Erbrand, and I did not call out to him, but I do not think he is coming back.

“Lady Wynflaed, my question to you is whether or not I should tell lord Athanar that I saw Lithor leaving with Erbrand? And will it do any good for Erbrand if I were to speak on his behalf to Athanar? I understand that you and your husband and everyone who came with you must think that he was a vicious murderer to do such a thing as he has done, but it is not so. I am afraid for him. . .for what will happen to him if he is brought back. I also fear that his actions will reflect on the rest of us.”

[Loslote]

Lilige nodded as Lady Wynflaed left. She headed back to the kitchen. She knew that the trouble was outside, but she didn't know where outside, or what the trouble was, or what needed to be done...so she decided to focus on her Lady's first instruction, find out what happened. She found her way back to the kitchen rather easier than her way out. She hoped this was a good sign that she was learning her way around, rather than just dumb luck.

Nudging open the door, she saw that Lady Saeryn had gone to meet Lady Wynflaed, but that the other two women were still there. She'd arrived just in time to hear one of the women ask the other what had happened. She closed the door behind her, just loud enough to let them know she was here, but not loud enough to interrupt, hopefully. Lilige didn't want to be accused of eavesdropping, but she didn't want to be rude, either. She quietly sat down, just far enough away not to make the other women feel awkward, hopefully, and smiled tentatively at the other two. "I'd like to know what's going on, too," she said. "I admit to quite a lot of confusion."

[Nogrod]

"I believe so, my lord. Lithor was not at the training exercises, my lord. Was he detained by you after the trial? If not, I do not know what that might mean."

Lord Athanar turned his gaze towards Thornden.

"Have you any idea where Lithor would be, Thornden?"

[Folwren]

Ha. The irony of the situation did not escape Thornden’s attention. His plan of loyalty, formed not ten seconds ago, of saying nothing seemed about to be completely destroyed. Thornden met Athanar’s eyes, and for a split second considered what he should say. He would stick strictly with the truth, and perhaps he wouldn’t be caught, playing this delicate game of straddling the fence.

“I do not know where he is, my lord,” he said. “But I, too, noted that he was not at the drill, and that thought had come back to me in the stables, after your lordship had called us.” He glanced towards Coenred as he said this, hoping it would satisfy the captain’s suspicion about what he had said earlier. How clumsy of him to have allowed his thoughts slip so obviously five minutes ago.

There. It was said. His decision was solidified in words. Did it make him a traitor? He thought not. He hoped not. He knew he was playing dangerously close to the fire, and as much as he wished the best for Lithor and Erbrand, he did not really relish the thought of being burned himself. If anything was going to hurt him, it was going to be those words he had just spoken.

[Mnemosyne]

Wynflaed listened to all that Saeryn had to say. Scyrr, she thought. Yes, Saeryn had remembered the name correctly, and from what she recalled her husband saying, he was a good man. Not dead, though, and hopefully not dying. "Do you know if the healer has been fetched?" she said. "We should probably send someone to look, just in case."

She thought over the rest of Saeryn's words. "And yes," she said, "you should tell Lord Athanar of Lithor's departure, for if you do not, I will tell him myself, and then things may not go so well for you. My husband is a stern man, but he is just. Any testimony you have regarding Erbrand will be taken into account, for we know little of his history."

She tried to think of what the commotion outdoors would look like, and evaluated whether her presence would do more good or harm.

"I am going outside, to see if there is aught I can do." Then she paused. Saeryn was still the Lady of the Hall in the eyes of these people, and the needs of peace exceeded the need of authority at this point. "Will you accompany me? I doubt Lord Athanar will be able to hear your testimony at this point, but perhaps your presence would be of benefit."

[Eorl of Rohan]

It was nightfall.

The eerie starlight poured in from the bedside window and illuminated the chamber. Scyrr sat up, the blanket slipping down to his waist and revealing a bloodied and badly bruised torso. His hand strayed toward his plastered and bandaged throat, gingerly feeling out the wound. Hot and wet. He had not realized that he had bled so profusely. He faintly remembered the arrival of the healer and the emergency treatment but not of being moved inside; he must have been out cold from the loss of blood. Common sense dictated that he lay still and let his wounds be further ministered. However, the staunching of wounds takes composure and patience on the part of the injured, neither of which he possessed in abundance.

Scyrr reached for the herb tea at his bedside, apparently placed there for his consumption: a mixture of golden seal, bistort, and plantain. Emergency anti-hemorrhagic remedy for heavy internal bleeding, he recalled. He remembered its acidic taste all too well. Internal bleeding, too? He really was in a mess, wasn’t he.

He then tentatively swung a foot off the bed, and instantly doubled up from the pain. He gritted his teeth and tried again. Better. The pain wore his patience ragged and thin, but he had to find out what happened in his absence. He ransacked the bedside drawers and came up with an earth-colored woolen pullover, deerskin breeches, and a pair of boots two sizes too big for him. He couldn’t find his uniform, but these would do for now. He was finishing up tying the bootlaces when the healer walked in. She started, as if surprised, and admonished him on getting up before he was properly healed. Not that he listened to her. He wouldn’t trust his life with a Scarburg healer if he could help it; who was to say they wouldn’t have left him there to bleed to death if Lord Athenar wasn’t there to help him?

[Nogrod]

“I do not know where he is, my lord,” Thornden said. “But I, too, noted that he was not at the drill, and that thought had come back to me in the stables, after your lordship had called us.”

Lord Athanar raised his eyebrow and looked at young master Thornden in deep thought for a moment. Thornden was quite clear of why it was he was being looked at in that way. Finally lord Athanar turned to Coenred. "Organise the search-parties Coen."

Suddenly he turned back to Thornden and continued, "Thornden, assign a few men to search for the marches together with Coen's men... then take a few men you trust and go where you think the two could be found."

There was a silence as the two men looked at each other; Athanar trying to see whether Thornden would blink - and Thornden trying not to.

Finally lord Athanar ended the gaze with a neutral smile. "Go. Both of you, go now!"

The two left. As lord Athanar turned to follow them leaving he saw Wynflaed and Saeryn coming out from the Mead Hall. He glanced himself quickly only to notice he was stained by dirt all over. He sighed and walked towards the ladies. But walking towards them he realised they both looked somehow more cognizant they should be. It was something in the way they looked at him approaching. They were clearly not wondering why he was so dirty but they seemed more holding back and thinking about something - quickly glancing at each other every now and then.

So am I the only one in here who doesn't know what this all is about? Lord Athanar shook his head and smiled, feeling the irony of it and getting actually amused by it while he came closer to the ladies.

"Excuse me my outfit. What can I do to you my ladies?"