Scarburg Meadhall

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Athanar dismissed them, and Thornden and Coenred immediately turned and headed back towards the stables to get their search parties together.

"Gather the men, Thornden, we will speak to them and separate into parties once we are all assembled."

"Aye, sir," Thornden responded. He approached Hilderinc and Áforglaed who stood nearby apparently waiting for orders. "We're going to send out search parties, we are to assemble at the stables and prepare to move out as quickly as possible," he said.

Hilderinc nodded. "Yes, sir."

It was the first time he was actually under direct orders from Thornden in a more important matter, so he did not know how much he was expected to talk or if he should just listen, but Hilderinc was not used to entirely push away his thoughts if they troubled him. Áforglaed's words about possible threat from the local lords took some root in his mind after all, and it was always important to know what they were standing against before starting to prepare for the action. He also preferred to ask the question himself than to let obviously agitated Áforglaed to start spilling his thoughts in front of the new commander. "Has there been an attack, sir?" he added.

Thornden paused briefly. "No. The man who attacked Scyrr there," he pointed, "has escaped and lord Athanar wants him brought back. The captain will give whatever further details are necessary when everyone is gathered."

Hilderinc nodded. Áforglaed cast a worried look at Scyrr's figure.

"Is Scyrr okay? Could I-" he straightened himself and apparently forced himself to acknowledge the fact that he was talking to his new commander; in Hilderinc's opinion, he seemed to be able to control himself quite well.

"Scyrr is my friend. Could I just take a look at him, sir? I would like to be sure he is all right... only a moment, I will be at the stables immediately, sir," Áforglaed said.

Thornden nodded distractedly, he had too much on his mind to argue or say no for no apparent reason. Áforglaed rushed away towards the lying body. Hilderinc turned to walk towards the stables.

"I believe most of the men will be around there still, sir," he said to Thornden. "We should be able to ride out soon. We should be able to find the culprit fast, unless -"

He suddenly recalled a man he had briefly spotted riding away during the training. Thornden seemed to acknowledge that they could continue speaking together. It had now occured to Hilderinc that it was likely some soldier informing Thornden about the event, or perhaps riding out on his order. That would mean, however, that there had passed already some time since the crime happened.

"Unless," he continued, "sir, is it so that the man you sent away during the training was a scout sent to look for the culprit already? In that case, the culprit has a bit of a time advantage, if he wasn't caught already by that soldier."

Thornden was about to say, "I sent no one out," when he bit down on his tongue as it nearly delivered those very words. He looked sharply, sidelong at Hilderinc, and his expression was sour. Confound you for your stupid pretense back there. You idiotic fool. Of course someone saw you, and of course he'll say something. Many other explenatives came to mind, directed both towards himself and towards Hilderinc, but now his thoughts were racing to think of something to say.

"I was not the one who sent that man out. Scyrr was attacked after we had all left for the drills. It is possible that he was sent out by someone here to follow Erbrand," he conceded.

The mentioning of the culprit's name made Hilderinc forget all other questions for that moment.

"So it was Erbrand?" he said aloud, surprised at first. But once he started to think about it, the surprise easily faded away. Erbrand was, after all, the one from whom he would have expected something like that. This had completed Hilderinc's picture of Erbrand: a hot-headed brawler seeking out fights wherever he could. Sad, in a way, he thought. But obviously Erbrand is a two-faced man, dangerous, possibly using all the energy which he cannot let off during his playing and at work only for fighting. He was the one who attacked Áforglaed yesterday, and now Scyrr... Considering this, Áforglaed was quite lucky. It easily could have been him lying on the ground in a very bad state.

Hilderinc remembered his meeting with Erbrand in the morning. It seemed to him back then that Erbrand was trying to test Hilderinc's strength or recruit him into his gang. Perhaps he was disappointed with the result and went to let off his frustration by attacking the nearest victim? Hilderinc had met more fighters who were like that...

"He seemed to me like the local troublemaker," he finished his sentence. "I assume you used to have tough times with him as well."

Thornden clenched his jaw. At a normal time he would answer cooly, and correct Hilderinc and his flawed thinking mildly, but right now there were more pressing thoughts on his mind than being polite.

"We didn't have any local troublemakers here at Scarburg," he said. "Lord Eodwine saw to that. Erbrand was quick to defend his honor, and the honor of those he loved, and he is hot tempered, but he is not a troublemaker. It's as well to get that clear in your mind before we search for him, so that you and your men don't loose your heads if you find him, and treat him as though he were some witless brawler." His voice brooked no argument, it was tight with impatience and, if Hilderinc had known it, fear.

They entered the stables as he spoke, and there were many men there waiting, some with their horses still in the aisles, others waiting outside the stalls.

[Folwren]

“All the soldiers are to gather in the stables. Don’t unsaddle your horses, we’re going back out.” The word spread among the soldiers as they worked both within the stables and without. Quin looked up as his hands paused while losing the girth of his horse’s saddle. The passing message bearer placed his hand on Quin’s horse’s powerful haunch. “Better tighten up again, lad, we’re needed.”

The man went on and Quin turned again to prepare his horse for riding. The question of what they were going out again for briefly passed through his mind before it was gone and he was only paying attention to getting ready to take his orders. He left his horse and followed the others to the stables to hear what they were to do.

As all the soldiers and men-at-arms drew near, Thornden cast his eyes quickly over them. He roughly counted their number, verified that most, if not all, were present, and then turned to Coenred to tell them all what was going on.

--

Saeryn

Saeryn agreed to go out with lady Wynflaed. As they drew near, she saw lord Athanar dismiss Thornden and Coenred. The two men walked swiftly towards the stables. Something about Thornden’s expression caught Saeryn’s attention, even from the distance that separated them. The tight rigidness about his eyes and mouth worried her. He seemed harder, with a sterner command over himself than the trouble with Erbrand or his disappearance called for. Something troubled him greatly.

She barely had time to determine these things before they were drawing close to Athanar and he came to meet them. She looked at him, and then glanced quickly at Wynflaed, hoping to catch some indication of what she gathered of Athanar’s mood. To Saeryn, he seemed tense and angry, but that was not surprising. But then a swift curve of his mouth into a wry smile made her think perhaps he was a bit irritated, too.

“Excuse me my outfit. What can I do for you, my ladies?” he asked.

Saeryn stopped half a step behind Wynflaed, and then folded her hands before herself and waited until her time to speak.

[Durelin]

Coen returned to the stableyard where the men were still waiting, surely wondering what orders could await them, and what might have broken the peace so in this young hall in this fledgling emnet, but quiet and orderly, waiting for a command without gossip or questioning. At least not more than a few words under than breaths. Some might have been as apparently surprised and concerned as Thornden was about the tanner being a fugitive, and the others were perhaps grimly setting their minds for a rocky new start in these lands.

"There will be one party on foot lead by Captain Thornden to search and maintain security around the hall." He picked out several men to stay with this party from those he knew well, including Hilderinc. "Two small parties into the marshes; we need men who know the land well to lead these," he said, asking for volunteers or looking to Thornden to point them out. He then pointed out the rest of the men for each of these parties, including at least one of 'his' men.

Once they were chosen, he continued. "The final party will ride with me to the south; we will cover as much distance as we can to be back by nightfall." He chose his men for this, including a couple of local men who would be helpful for knowing the terrain and the local inhabitants. "Those remaining," he began again, which were very few, "you will stable the remaining horses and secure the barracks." They would have some help from the stablehands, but Coen was not one to leave all the work in the hands of the servants.

The men hurried to report to the leaders of their respective parties, Coen leading his horse from the stable and out to the edge of the yard where the other riders gathered. He gave Thornden a look before mounting up that told him that he would not lay aside his distrust for the man until he learned the truth or Erbrand and Lithor were found and Thornden proved himself a just man by not defending them if there was no defense to be made.

"The soldier Lithor," he began, calling out to the assembled parties again; the word 'soldier' was flat on his lips, "is also at this time unaccounted for. There is no proof that he is in any way connected with the fugitive, but until he is accounted for, be aware that we may be dealing with two men. We are all to return by night fall."

Coen and the riders rode south, looking and asking for any sign of the fugitive Erbrand, though the Captain worked on the assumption that Lithor was with him, or had fled as well.

[Firefoot]

Saddle this horse, stable that one. Bring one horse in. Let another out to graze. Léof wasn’t even totally sure how many horses were in residence at Scarburg at the moment, much less which horse belonged to which rider. Chaos, absolute chaos, that was all these new folk had brought with them. People seemed to be in and out of the stable at all hours of the day or night and he didn’t know who half of them were or if they had any legitimate business in the stable.

Honestly, it was an accident waiting to happen. Already things were getting misplaced, and that was only a step away from lost or stolen. As glad as he was that several of the newcomers were brushing down their own mounts, they didn’t always put things back in the proper places.

And it didn’t help that most of them seemed to regard him as having very little real authority. He’d heard the term “stableboy” tossed around more than once, and it was starting to grate. He had always been slender, it was true, and the scruff on his chin resembled a beard in the same way a Hobbit’s pony resembled one of the Mearas, but he had put on a couple of inches in height during the last couple months (finally – it had only taken nearly seventeen years). That ought to count for something, right?

But such was his lot. Too old (and with too many responsibilities) to run around with Javan and the younger boys, but too young for real camaraderie with the men of the hall. He’d been hopeful to see that the younger of the new lord’s sons seemed about his age, though his hope had been somewhat dampened since their arrival, in large part because of Lithor’s trial earlier that morning. Both brothers had seemed to him then like troublemakers, at least to some degree. Maybe they just weren’t sure how to fit in here yet. It might yet be worth some sort of friendly overture to Wilheard; first impressions were not always correct.

But now there was some fuss going on in the stableyard; the soldiers were all gathering. They’d been putting their horses away, and now they were going back out? He rushed out in time to hear the captain of the men-at-arms dispensing instructions for search parties. They were after… Lithor? Had there really been some credence to the trial against him this morning? And some fugitive whose name Léof had not heard. He thought a moment. Lithor had been through the stables with Erbrand earlier, he thought, though he had paid little mind. He’d been more focused on getting the stable in some semblance of order before all the soldiers brought their horses back from drills. What in Middle-earth was going on? Chaos, just like he’d said.

He spotted Thornden only a couple of feet away heading somewhere, but Léof caught his attention: “Thornden! What’s going on here?”

[Folwren]

For some reason, Thornden’s heart beat harder and harder as Coenred gave his commands. He felt almost as though he were about to lose command of himself, about to panic, or to run himself. He stood by, however, his mouth shut, his eyes fixed on the captain, appearing on the outside as calm as anyone would expect him to feel on the inside. Finally, the orders were given and the soldiers began to split up. He had his men and they started to move out to search the premises.

As the other soldiers were mounting up to ride out, Thornden led his men across the courtyard. But as they were leaving the vicinity of the stable, Leof caught his eye.

“Thornden! What’s going on here?” he asked, walking towards him.

Thornden changed his direction to meet Leof. “You haven’t heard what has been going on?” he asked. Leof gave him an answer to the negative. Thornden ran his hand swiftly through his hair and glanced towards his men, waiting halfway across the courtyard. “Erbrand apparently lost his temper and just about killed one of Athanar’s men, Scyrr.” He nodded in the direction of the wagon wherein Scyrr lay, half dead. “And he ran for it. We’re searching for him. And Lithor.” He shrugged, and his eyes scanned the area in a swift circle. “He’s gone, too.”

[Thinlómien]

Wulfric

Commands were given, action was taken and here they were, him and Will, unnoticed again. Wulfric clenched his fists. A tiny voice in his head said that Lord Athanar just wasn't used to having to full-grown sons in his household, but Wulfric felt like exploding anyway. What were they for in this pitiful distant place if not for dangerous situations like this? Forgotten, they now stood next Scyrr while the healer was tending to his wounds and a suspiciously Dunlendingish-looking woman had appeared out of nowhere to assist her.

"By Oromë!" he swore. "Can't you get a sick man to a bed or do you have to tend him on the grass? Is this how professional folk we have here in Scarburg!"

He didn't care if the women replied or not. "Wilheard! Find anyone to help you and find a bier and take Scyrr in, wherever these women guide you!"

"I'm going," he announced, and strode away. Where, he didn't know yet, but at least he had managed to give out some orders and at least he didn't have to play nanny anymore.

~*~

Wilheard

"Sir, I know where the bier is and I can find it for you," the Dunlending woman said.
"Why then, fair lady, are you still standing there?" Wilheard asked. The woman apparently figured out it was better not to answer and turned to hurry away.
"Good dog," Wilheard muttered and rolled his eyes.

It had been like this for the past several weeks, ever since they returned from the barracks. Their father would do something stupid with would irk Wulfric and he'd give Will a stupid order with the authority of the elder son and march away to protest. Such a wonderful leader that man would make one day, Wilheard thought.

He started scanning the yard lazily for someone to carry the pier with him - or better, two men to carry it so that he could go riding. He really needed a break.

~*~

Modtryth

So there was a search for Erbrand and Lithor. Modtryth had never liked either of them too much - Lithor had downright annoyed her but she had thought Erbrand a good man because of Kara's feelings for him - but now she had a bad feeling. She felt for Kara even though Erbrand's deed was hard to understand, and she would have rather taken the boisterous and conceited greybeard back than all this mess. And the new Eorl and his family - well, to work under them was like working under any smaller or bigger lord in Rohan. The time of noble Eodwine was over, and it was time to go back to reality.

It wasn't difficult to find the pier, it was by far the biggest object in the corner where Aedhel kept her healer's equipment. Last time they had used it to take Lord Eodwine to the carriage to be taken away... but better not to think of that.

Modtryth took the pier and carried it out to the yard.

"Mum! What's happening?"
The kids were standing idly on the yard, following the unfolding events with enthusiasm.
"There has been a fight between two men. Now get out of the way but stay within sight of the house. The soldiers are in the woods." With that, she hurried away to where the wounded man was.

~*~

Cnebba

"Your mother isn't very informative, is she?" Javan asked darkly.
Cnebba glanced at Garmund. He didn't know what to say. Should he defend his mother or agree with the older boy?

"I like her," Leodern said.

Javan ignored the girl. Cnebba knew he was too old to play with babies like Leodern. "Why don't you go away?" he asked the girl. He half expected Garmund to become angry, but he sided with his best friend instead of his sister: "Yeah, go away and play with your dolls, we don't want you here."

Leodern gave the two boys a sulky face and ran to the kitchen where she was always welcome.

Cnebba shrugged. "I wish we could find out what's happening." Ghastly scenes of brutal murder were already going around in his small head and there was a glint in his dark eyes.

[Firefoot]

“He ran? But – oh.” Léof’s brow furrowed as he processed this information. He had not known either man particularly well, though he had liked them well enough. Nor had he forgotten Erbrand’s gift of a saddle to him earlier that summer. But this – this was very bad. And from what he had seen of this new lord, mercy would not be swift in coming to either man were they caught.

He lowered his voice slightly. “You will not likely find them on foot. They took their horses and left some time ago, though I was not paying them much attention then. I don’t want to keep you, but my guess would be that they have already cleared the nearby area and could be heading in any direction, so why only search to the south? Though I doubt they will be easy to catch. They left only lightly burdened.”

[Folwren]

Thornden did not tell Léof that he knew already the two fugitives had taken their horses. He passed over Léof’s statement as though it had not been said.

"We are searching not only to the south, but also up through the marshes, though lord Athanar things it unlikely they went that way. The parties going in there are to be small and will only go out after we have searched the immediate surroundings. It is Athanar's orders that we search here first, to make certain that everyone else is safe," he added, in a hurried way, hoping to banish from Léof’s mind the waste of time searching Scarburg really was.

"Do you want to go out with us?" he asked, on a sudden impulse.

[Folwren]

“I wish we could find out what’s happening,” Cnebba said ruefully. Javan and Garmund followed his gaze into the courtyard. A sudden thought occurred to Javan.

“Your mum said the soldiers were in the woods - but look! They’re not, yet. They’re still getting ready. They won’t be out for a few more minutes. If we hurry, we can get to the top of the lane and hide before they come through, then we can see what is going on!”

The two boys looked at him doubtfully. He stared at them, changing his eyes from one to the other, before throwing up his hands and saying, “Well, it’s better than staying around here and rotting, isn’t it?”

Cnebba looked at Garmund, but Garmund suddenly agreed with Javan and wheeled about, heading off at a run. “Come on!” he shouted over his shoulder. “We won’t have much time!”

“But, boys!” Leodern called, straggling along behind. “But, Modtryth said to stay in sight of the house and - and - and you shouldn’t be doing this! You’ll get in trouble!”

“Shut up, ninny,” Javan threw over his shoulder, “and don’t give us away, whatever you do! Stay here, if you want to!”

Leodern slowed to a walk and watched as the boys disappeared around the corner of Harreld’s smithy. A sad, dejected frown etched itself into her face and then she dropped to the ground, herl legs folded tailor fashion, and her chin sank into her hands.

The boys ran on, unmindful of Leodern. They sped up the hill towards the main road and then darted off into the woods on the left of the road. Behind them, they could hear the stamp of horses and the jingle of the bits and harnesses. Then a shout was given and trotting hooves came up the path.

“Quick!” Javan gasped. A strange sort of fear wrapped about his chest, as though he were being the one hunted. Something told him they must not be seen. “Up into the tree, just as quick as you can!”

[Firefoot]

Had Thornden listened to anything he had just said? It did not seem to Léof that he had. Well, perhaps these concerns had already been thought of, and Athanor thought it more important to secure the area than to actually find the fugitives? Truth to tell, he still had a hard time thinking of either Erbrand or Lithor as particularly dangerous, but that was not for him to decide.

Then Thornden asked, “Do you want to go out with us?”

That was unexpected, and Léof had no idea what use he might be on such a venture, but it suddenly seemed very attractive to get out of the stables for a while – even if it was just on a fool’s errand to the marshes. “Actually, yes, I would,” he said. “What would you have me do?”

[Folwren]

The questions were obvious in Leof's face as he looked keenly at Thornden. But, thankfully, Thornden's invitation seemed to drive those questions from his mind.

"Yes, actually, I would. What would you have me do?"

"Saddle your horse. And then wait for us here while we search the place. We'll be back for our horses before going out towards the marshes. We'll split into two groups once we reach them and there I'll give further instructions." He turned as he finished and then stopped and turned again. Leof was already walking off to get his horse. "If you like, you can make certain no one is hiding in the stables and all," he said. It sounded ridiculous, and he knew Leof knew it. Of course they weren't skulking in the stables. Leof knew as well as he did that they weren't anywhere near Scarburg.

Without waiting to see it on Leof's face or hear him ask a single question, he turned and strode away.

"You two," he said indicating two men, "check the kitchen and the smithy. You four, check the great hall and all the sleeping quarters." He continued to partition his men and send them off until they all had someplace to search.

[Durelin]

The riders started out heading south east, cutting across the flatlands to the road toward Tancred and Faramund. They searched for any signs of the riders and stopped briefly every few miles if they came upon a farm house or traveler to inquire about one or two fast riders, a tanner and possibly a soldier... There search was turning up nothing, and Coen grumbled and cursed to himself that they had not gone this way. But he would never dare to criticize his lord, even speaking to himself. No, it was not a matter of having more riders covering different areas...it was simply that he had not acted quickly enough; or rather, he had not kept track of his men well enough. And he had not kept his eye on those two troubled men. What had he told himself? That Lithor was dangerous, and it was to be watched what company he kept.

The party was small, but Coen still sent out two men as if they were scouts serving a larger train. One road ahead periodically and reported back, the other might cut to the east or west a ways beside the road and loop around back to the road. Both men were good trackers, and the latter was one of the locals who knew the land well. Neither was to stop and ask questions of anyone unless there was some other sign that indicated the men had been that way. The main party then was slower going, as it periodically stopped to inquire about Erbrand and Lithor.

The front rider came back at a gallop, having just reported only a couple minutes before. Coen brought the party to a halt in confusion as the man approached. "I just watched two men or something disappear into the woods from the side of the road," the man reported ineloquently.

"Then why did you come back here rather than pursue them?" Coen asked angrily, letting his frustration get the best of him.

"Er...the brush is too thick for riding sir. I...thought it best to... If it is them...I mean...two against one..."

Coen sighed. "Forgive me, you are right. But we've already wasted enough time."

With a shout the riders took off at a gallop until the scout signaled that they were getting close. They then slowed to a trot, Coen at the head of the party with the scout, who slowed to a stop and nodded toward the woods to the east of the road.

Coen dismounted and took his sword from his gear to put on his belt and the rest followed suit. He indicated a man to stay behind with the horses, and then prepared to make his way through the brush carefully and as quietly as he could, searching for signs on the way. But he already saw clearly that someone, or likely more than one person, had clumsily plunged into the forest from the road. Coen fingered his sword's pommel.

"Sir," he heard a voice behind him a little louder than a whisper. Coen did not turn around. What was this fool doing? He was talking loud enough for anyone within a hundred meters to hear him! "Sir, above us."

The Captain stopped dead and looked up into the branches of the tree before him. The first thing he saw was a set of shoed feet, and then the body of a boy...and then another...and another. Three boys perched in the branches like birds. Coen's hands dropped to his side and he sighed.

"You two get down from that tree before we shake you down," he shouted, grimacing as he suddenly realized that he had a headache since the morning's drills.

[Firefoot]

As Léof was preparing Æthel for riding, a voice spoke up behind him. “You don’t expect to find the fugitives here, do you.”

“What?” Léof spun around to find Nydfara standing there. Léof knew that Nydfara had no horse, and so likely had no business in the stable. He also did not think that the question the other man had asked was any of his business. “I mean, what makes you think that?”

“It was plain enough to see that you looked puzzled after Thornden called after you to inspect the stables. And since coming in here, you have not looked for them.”

Léof scowled at him. “So you’re both eavesdropping and spying on me.”

“Say rather that I keep my eyes and ears open. Nor have you yet answered my question,” said Nydfara.

“And why should I?” asked Léof stubbornly. He had previously known Nydfara to be a hard-working if fairly aloof sort of man, even at times pleasant, but this was absurd.

Sensing Léof’s mood, Nydfara put up his hands placatingly. “I mean no offense, yet I find your response to Thornden’s orders odd. One might think that you were trying to aid the fugitives, rather than find them. And that would be more than odd. It would be treasonous.”

“What! You’re mad!” cried Léof, loudly enough that Æthel snorted and stomped her foot. He lowered his voice. “I did not even know what had happened until ten minutes ago, and am now going out to search. What are you doing to help, other than searching for conspiracies where there are none?”

“I would not be so sure of that. I ask you again: why did you not think to find the fugitives in the stables?”

“If you must know, their horses are not in their stalls,” said Léof, frustrated and wanting nothing more to do with Nydfara. “Erbrand and Lithor left with them some time ago.”

“And you did not try to stop them?” asked Nydfara. “Or tell anyone?”

“I did not know they had done anything wrong! I already told you that. Nor is it my practice to interrogate everyone who comes into the stable and leaves with his own horse. There is nothing here for you to report about me, if that’s what you’re after. I’ve already told Thornden what I know. Now, I would kindly ask you to leave, for I have nothing left to say to you.”

“Not so kindly, I think,” said Nydfara. “But as you wish.” He bowed slightly and left the stable.

“I wonder what that was about,” he muttered irritably as he turned back to the care of his horse. Perhaps it had been a jest (albeit an odd one). Or maybe there was some darker purpose – maybe Nydfara had actually been the one helping the fugitives, and he was trying to blame someone else. No, that made little sense. Lithor and Erbrand hadn’t needed any help; when they left, no one knew there was a problem. Right?

~*~*~*~

Nydfara, or Scyld, as he had once been known, smiled slightly to himself as he left the stable. That had been too easy, and more fun than he had expected. It had been so long since he had needed to manipulate information out of anyone that he feared he was growing rusty. Léof had been almost laughably easy to needle and, for as reluctant as he had initially been to speak, he had confirmed all that Nydfara wanted to know from him.

What he would do with the information was the question. He did not yet have proof of anything, but he, like Léof, was skeptical of the plans for the search parties. Searching the grounds and the marshes seemed a waste of resources, when the fugitives had taken off on horseback. He knew from experience that the scar was no terrain for riders, and the marshes were at least as bad. So why not instead send out more groups such as Coenred’s?

Thornden was an intelligent man. Nydfara could not speak for Athanor or Coenred, and them he could suppose were acting on misinformation. But since Léof had shared his knowledge with Thornden, if they did indeed continue on their current plan, Nydfara would indeed be suspicious. Perhaps Thornden had not directly aided them, but he also did not seem eager to catch them. Nydfara had observed his friendship with them, and he had no doubt that Athanor would want to know that his new officer had placed friendship over law.

Nor was Nydfara above wanting to curry favor with the new lord. It seemed that Athanor had few enough allies among the old crowd here. He did not know why, exactly; Eodwine did not seem likely to return. Anyway, one lord was much the same as another to him, and none were to be trusted.

And yet – if he shared these suspicions he had, he would be far more likely to make enemies of Thornden, Léof, and others than to make friends with Athanor. In fact, if his suspicions were wrong, he may just be labeled as a troublemaker (and an eavesdropper and a spy, as Léof had pointed out). He would have to think about it, and make his move, if he made one at all, sometime after Thornden left with his search party.

[Folwren]

"You two get down from that tree before we shake you down!" the captain of the guard shouted. Javan blinked in surprised. Coenred seemed very upset about something and quite honestly, Javan did not feel like going down if the captain was in a bad mood.

"But there are three of us," he observed without moving.

"Then all of you, get down!"

Javan looked at his two companions, pressed his lips together resolvedly, and bent down to grasp the treebranch. He swung his legs down and dropped to the ground just before Captain Coenred. Cnebba and Garmund landed behind him.

"Well?" Javan asked. "We're not the ones you're looking for. Hadn't you better keep searching? We were only coming out to watch."

[Durelin]

When the boys jumped down from the tree, Coen recognized the apparently lead boy as the one who had gotten into a fight -- a physical fight -- with Aedre. This boy needed some paddling, dearly. Fighting with a girl, and with a real smart mouth on him...

"Do you have respect for anyone, boy?" he asked, almost growling. He preferred disciplining a soldier with his head in the wrong place any day to dealing with a brat...much less three of them. They wanted to watch? Watch smugly while two criminals escaped judgment, responsibility?

Coen knew how these more backwater places could be all too prideful about their communities, but there was something just...off about Scarburg folks, he swore it. All he had seen so far were brash words, mad men, and liars. He had that young man Thornden had a good head on his shoulders, but now he had apparently seen his true colors. He respected the Lady Saeryn but would respect her more if she didn't have so many hounds guarding her apparent interests.

"Fearghall," he called to one of his men. "Take these boys back to the Hall. String 'em up and drag them along behind you if you have to," he remarked. He knew Fearghall had enough sense not to take Coen seriously on his suggestion, even if the Captain was tempted. "This is no spectacle," he grumbled.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

After Thornden gave them the orders to secure the area around Scarburg, Hilderinc could see that many men among those who were given this task - especially those of Athanar's household - obviously seemed to consider their mission the dullest possible of all. One or two gazed enviously at Coen's party riding away. Hilderinc only shook his head slightly. Yesterday evening, many of those now craving for excitement were apalled at the idea of going to the drills in the morning. How easily did the mood of soldiers change. Of course, there were mixed feelings for many: among Athanar's men, there were also those for whom Scyrr was a friend, even though there were not too many. Most, however, were just keen to bring to justice the man who attacked one of "them" - once again the division between "old" and "new" Scarburgians seemed to manifest itself, this time in the personified form of Erbrand and Lithor. Lithor - the fool who had managed to insult the newcomers yesterday by calling them "guests". In some way, the fact that just these two have disappeared at the same time did not come to Hilderinc as a surprise when he heard Coen's words. And despite what Thornden tried to tell him, the image of local troublemakers seemed to get clearer in his mind.

It was curious that Thornden had defended Erbrand so ferociously - but in a way, Hilderinc could understand. Perhaps there was a kind of defense of the "old" Scarburgians, perhaps Thornden had tried to prevent Hilderinc from thinking badly about all of lord Eodwine's men, now that the issue threatened to awaken again. But Hilderinc was not the one to throw all hay into the same bag. Quite the opposite - the two fugitives seemed to be the prime example of those trying to ride against the wind while it was the least favourable. Inside, Hilderinc felt some calming pleasure in that his assumptions regarding Lithor as an incorrigible troublemaker and Erbrand as an impetuous brawler proved to be correct. These two obviously represented the most extreme of the old squad - their deed only has proved it.

There was still a hint of doubt inside Hilderinc, however. Something kept telling him that Thornden was really very plain in trying to prove that Erbrand was not a "witless brawler", as he had put it. And Thornden did not seem like a person who would act irrationally or too emotionally - no good leader would, in Hilderinc's book.

As he was passing through the courtyard, however, he bumped into somebody who did not seem unemotional at all: Áforglaed. Young Quin was with him, but looked rather noteless next to Áforglaed. Perhaps during all his time under lord Athanar's command Hilderinc had not seen the soldier so obviously irritated. No wonder, if there was somebody who could be considered Scyrr's friend, it would be Áforglaed. Hilderinc was quite sure that if Erbrand now appeared out of nowhere in front of them, Áforglaed would waste no time to attack him personally - and, he reminded himself, these two have also fought each other the day before. But Hilderinc certainly did not think that being in such a mood was good for Áforglaed.

"Any news?" he asked when the soldiers approached him. Áforglaed shook his head.

"I think they have fled," he said with anger apparent in his voice. "What is that Thornden doing, keeping us here? It is obvious that them traitors are not coming back-"

"We have to be sure," Hilderinc said calmly, looking also at Quin and bearing in mind that he should not let the young soldier be disturbed by Áforglaed's emotions. "Especially as there is two of them. Lithor might be just around here..."

"He is of no concern to me," said Áforglaed. Hilderinc could not help himself and raised eyebrows in surprise. This was really a bit different Áforglaed.

"Lord Athanar will see to that Erbrand is brought to justice," Hilderinc said after a while. "Don't worry about it. Has anyone been to the kitchens yet? No? Somebody should also report to Thornden how our search is going, even though there is nothing to report." He pointed towards the stables.

[Folwren]

There really was nothing to report. Individuals from all the small parties that Thornden had split up came trickling back thim. He nodded and sent out word that everyone should rejoin at the stables and mount up. In a matter of minutes, they were all mounted in the saddle. Leof rode some way behind Thornden, next to Quin and another soldier. Hilderinc rode at Thornden's right hand, and a soldier named Áforglaed rode on his left.

Áforglaed's horse pranced and jogged nervously in place. Thornden glanced towards horse and rider. "What are you so anxious for, sir?" Thornden asked sharply. He knew at once when a rider was excited and therefore made a horse so. The horse's reins were taught, but Áforglaed's body was a rigid as a board and his heels were pressed firmly against his horse's side, and the horse fairly frothed at the bit to be given free rein. "Cool your head. There will be no killing, is that clear?"

Javan

Javan frowned. He did have respect, where respect was due, and he had not been fully disrespectful, even to this man, although he had been disrespectful to the boys, first. It wrankled under Javan's skin to be spoken to thus by this new captain, and to be referred to so roughly. He would not be bound, and though Coenred really didn't mean it, he would not be made sport of.

"I don't want to go back," Javan stated, looking Coenred straight in the eye. "This may not be a spectacle, but we haven't made it one, and you have not the right to send me back if I don't want to go. I will stay here. We're doing you no harm. Besides, if you use a man to drag us back, you'll be down one soldier, and how will that help you?"

[Firefoot]

As the company mounted and set off, Léof found himself riding next to a soldier whom he guessed was only a couple years older than him. He did not remember having seen him before, though that was unsurprising – there were a lot of new faces at Scarburg now. In fact, he realized that he was unsure of the names of most of the soldiers in their company. He frowned, trying to remember. The soldiers with Thornden were Hild… Hild something, and the other one’s name started with an E. Or an A. The point was, these soldiers seemed to keep to themselves, and even if any of them had needed something from him in the stables, they hadn’t much bothered with names.

Well, that was no good. He turned to the soldier next to him and offered: “My name is Léof.” The soldier replied that his name was Quin, and Léof realized that he wasn’t quite sure where to go from there. “So, ah, what were you doing before you came here?” He asked. “Have you served with Athanar for very long?”

[Folwren]

Léof’s simple extension of friendship put Quin more at ease than he had been ever since he arrived. He drew a breath and cast a sidelong glance at Léof, studying him for the first time. He looked like a nice fellow, and now he was looking at him, not with a hard intimidating look, but kindly and openly.

“I’ve been with Lord Athanar for eight years,” Quin answered. “At the beginning of my eleventh summer I was sent to him as a paige, and I have stayed with him ever since. I became a man-at-arms only just last year. It’s something of a step for me.” He ventured a smile.

“Will you answer me something? I’ll let you ask anything in return, and I hope you do not think ill of me for asking this.” Léof nodded, indicating he continue. “What sort of man…I mean…is Erbrand safe? Thornden there requires that we not kill anyone, but what if Erbrand attacks us? I ask you because I figure you know something of him.”

[Firefoot]

“I do not think you need fear Erbrand. If I thought this would come to a fight, I probably would not have come for I would be near useless in a real attack,” replied Léof. “Erbrand may be argumentative at times, and act without thinking, but beneath that he really is a decent sort. He cared well for his horse, and even made me this saddle that I’m using as a gift, though he said it was thanks for my care of his horse.

“I might ask you a similar question,” he continued. “What sort of man is your lord? What sort of punishment do you think he would judge fit for Erbrand, were he to be found and brought back?” Léof abruptly recalled Nydfara’s odd and annoying questions back in the stables. “And how might he deal with anyone who helped him?”

[Folwren]

Léof’s answer of Erbrand did not sound bad. Quin began to think that perhaps the tanner was not quite so evil after all. He wanted to think good of these people here, and he certainly believed that Scyrr could have easily provoked Erbrand to fight, if his temper was known to flair easily.

But the questions concerning lord Athanar caused Quin to think soberly for a moment. “Lord Athanar is a fair man, but he does not have a great deal of tolerance for reckless or undisciplined behavior. I do not know for a certainty, but I think my lord believes that Erbrand attempted to kill Scyrr and then ran because he knew his act to be wrong. By the law, Erbrand is subject to death if he had killed Scyrr. Since he did not kill him, quite, Athanar may be lenient on him and not execute him. He may order him to be branded, or one hand cut off.” He paused. “I am not sure, quite honestly. For as long as I’ve been in his household, no one has ever done anything like this.

“As for someone helping him…I don’t know if I quite understand what you mean. I guess Athanar would see it as a sort of disobedience or disrespect for his command. If it were one, say, like you or I, he might be flogged, or perhaps forced to leave in disgrace. But what do you mean by help? How would anyone help him?”

[Firefoot]

“As in, help him escape, I guess,” said Léof. How could he explain his question? “Like – like Lithor, the other man that has gone missing. If he left with Erbrand, Erbrand probably would have told him why he had to leave so quickly, and yet Lithor still went with him instead of reporting him.”

Now that Léof thought of it, Lithor couldn’t have been the only one to know. Erbrand would have wanted some supplies for his trip, right? At least what he could gather in haste. Which meant… the women in the kitchen? Kara! Surely Erbrand wouldn’t have left without saying anything to Kara. The ongoing romance between them had been plain for anyone in the hall to see. He hoped she was coping alright.

So were the original inhabitants of Scarburg all being dreadfully uncooperative, or had Athanar simply not thought to ask any of them (as Léof himself had not been asked)? All Léof could think was that this whole situation was being handled exceptionally badly, and that there was a lot more going on than he knew of.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

As they rode out with Thornden, Hilderinc felt somewhat unusually tense and attentive - partially probably because of Áforglaed, who rode just on the other side of Thornden and who still seemed on edge. Even Thornden had noticed that. Hilderinc wondered what could possibly happen had they found Erbrand and Áforglaed's anger went off in an uncontrolled way. Hilderinc had seen a fair share of such events among less disciplined men he used to serve with under various masters; he could well imagine one soldier's nerves breaking, others trying to stop him, somebody getting hurt and the tracked men using the confusion to escape, only to be shot in the back a few moments later, effectively negating any chance for being brought to justice...

To prevent his mind from conjuring dramatic scenarios, Hilderinc tried instead to focus on his surroundings. The road in front of them was empty and no signs of anybody else's presence in the vicinity could be seen. Thornden was quiet, but the soldiers in the back, Quin and the young "stablemaster", as he jestingly called him in his mind since their arrival - was it only the day before? - were talking to each other. With his keen senses focused on the surroundings, Hilderinc overheard bits of their conversation. His interest was abruptly raised by realising that the "stablemaster" seemed to talk about Erbrand in rather positive tone, too. Hilderinc casually slowed down his horse's pace just to be a few steps closer to the discussing two.

What the boy was saying was just the same all the others have been saying. "He may act a bit rashly sometimes, but inside he is a kind person" - it was said so many times that it was becoming sort of persistent. Hilderinc tried to remember his encounter with Erbrand in the morning. Well, it was true, Erbrand seemed kind. And as for attacking Scyrr... now that he thought about it, Hilderinc really knew Scyrr well enough not to think that he was completely innocent in starting the fight.

But that only raised the importance of bringing Erbrand back. Similar questions like those the "stablemaster" raised were going through Hilderinc's mind. How will Athanar act? Hilderinc knew Athanar to be a fair man, on the other hand, almost killing a soldier of one's own army was one of the worst things a man could do. The best masters Hilderinc had were those who could maintain order among their men, and one of the best ways to do this was to make an example of those who disturbed the order. In his initial years of service, during the War, Hilderinc had also heard and a few times even seen on his own eyes how such doctrine was taken into the extreme by the Uruk-hai of Isengard. He preferred not to recall the memories of it, however, and he doubted than anybody would like to. Civilisation was, after all, one of Men's advantage against the Orcs. Still, even though Erbrand's - and Lithor's, if he had indeed helped the tanner escape - destiny would not be as grim, still it probably would not be anything enviable.

[Folwren]

“If Lithor left with Erbrand, he will be in more trouble than just aiding the man,” Quin replied to Léof’s question. “Do you not see it? If Lithor is gone with him, as you suppose, he will be counted a deserter. He left his partners in arms without permission and with the apparent intention of not coming back. There’s really no better definition for deserting.

“But I see what you mean,” he said, glancing at Léof again. “Others may have helped him go. Or at least, helped him some by not saying anything immediately. He cannot have left without anyone noticing him, you mean. Well, I don’t know if anything can be done in that case. It might be different if they knew where he was going and refused to tell. That indeed might call for something or other. But I cannot imagine anyone withholding that sort of information from Lord Athanar. Why should they?”

[Durelin]

How will that help us? By getting rid of you pests! he thought. And it would hardly hurt them very much. This was a hopeless chase anyway. Various other scenarios went through his mind of what should have happened, should have been done...but he pushed them all aside. He was not to argue.

Coen raised his eyebrows at the boy. Of course he had respect: enough respect to talk back to his elders. But it had been glaringly clear that this boy did not have anyone to control him at home, much less once he had taken off into the woods.

"It will help us by keeping you three out of our way. The Lord Athanar's orders were not only to seek the fugitives but to see to the safety of the Hall and its inhabitants -- and you will find yourself safest at home."

It was not a suggestion. Coen lead his horse back to the road and mounted up. He was done here. He looked apologetically at Fearghall, making it clear that if nothing went as hoped, the soldier would be completely excused... "See to it that these boys make their way home."

He turned back to Javan and the boys. "If I see you again out here, you will be thrown over the back of a horse and taken back to the Hall."

Coen called for the others to follow him and took off at a quick trot down the road. Perhaps they would not come back empty handed at least, he thought, grinding his teeth. This was ridiculous. How could someone as accomplished and noble as Athanar get landed this backwater bunch of ruffians who did not even know how to keep their women and children in line?

Fearghall stood holding the reins of his horse, frowning at the boys and looking tired. "I have no more desire to deal with you than you do to deal with me, boys. I assume you're gonna persist kickin' and screamin' about all this?"

[Folwren]

Javan stood glowering after Coenred. He hardly minded a word that Fearghall said to them. He finally turned back to the man as he finished speaking.

“Look, sir,” Javan said, trying to sound like the men did when they bargained. “All we wanted to do was amuse ourselves a bit. We weren’t causing no harm. If you take us back, we’ll probably be seen by Cnebba’s mum, here, and be given chores of some sort. Worse yet, we might be in trouble for slipping off in the first place. Why don’t you just go back to Captain Coenred and tell him you took care of us, we’ll meander back towards the hall and just stay out of sight?”

He looked hopefully up at the soldier. If the man fell for it, the boys would be left to their own devices again, and they’d decide what to do after he had left.

[Firefoot]

Because they were his friends? The answer seemed glaringly obvious to Léof now. But he had not intended to make such a big deal out of this issue of deserters and traitors. He had only added the question as an afterthought – and he didn’t want any of these soldiers to think he was asking because he had been someone to help out Erbrand! So instead he said, “Perhaps you are right,” he said instead, hoping to let the matter drop. “My question was ill thought-out.”

By now their company had reached the edge of the fields behind the meadhall and would soon be ascending into the Scar. Were it not for the dark overtones of the day, Léof thought that he might thoroughly enjoy this ride. The air was chilly but not yet cold, and overhead the sun shone palely out of a crisp blue sky. They were not here to enjoy the scenery though. “I suppose we ought to be on the lookout for them now,” he commented. Or at least pretend to be, more like.

[Mnemosyne]

Wynflaed's eyes flicked over to Saeryn, as if reminding herself of all that she had just heard from her. She seemed hesitant--

Ah, yes. Saeryn, at least, knew enough comportment to know when to hold her tongue.

"I only know," she told Athanar, "what I heard from Lilige, from the maids' gossip, and from the lady Saeryn just now--that Scyrr was grievously injured by a local man, who then rode away. Given the madness that seemed to be going on out of doors, I thought a few more stabilizing presences might be necessary. Also, I believe Saeryn has some additional information concerning the man who ran away."

Truth be told, however, much of the madness had tempered itself--or else moved elsewhere, if Athanar had indeed sent out a search party. "How long and how far are your men pursuing the runagate? Is there aught the household should do to make things run more smoothly?"

[Durelin]

Fearghall looked at the boy flatly. "You are a schemer, aren't ya." He looked between the two others. "I'm guessing this was his idea, too?"

He sighed. "Trouble is just what you deserve to get in, boy. And if it's chores you're escapin', well, I can think of plenty more I'd like done myself! The men don't keep the barracks clean enough for my liking, you see..." He laughed a little. They would have to go back home at some point.

The Captain may not have any patience for children, since he had yet to settle down with a good woman even, much less bring anyone into the world -- a shame, too, Faerghall thought -- but he didn't think he had much more patience for these boys either.

Faerghall stretched a little and mounted his horse again with a groan. "Well," he began idly, "I think I'll meander back towards the hall. I've got some chores to attend to myself," he said with a chuckle and a sidelong look to the boys. He had one of their names at least...all he had to do was find a woman looking for her no-good son to get him to go chop some wood or some such...

[Thinlómien]

Unfortunately, all the men seemed to be doing something important. No bier-carriers for Wilheard, it seemed. If you want something to be done, do it yourself. Yes, yes. Uncle Fréathain's immortal piece of advice, something he and Wulf had always laughed at: his serious tone of voice when he kept repeating it and how he, a respected officer, lived by it himself. Will could remember him doing all kinds of funny stuff, like emptying containers in outhouses and fixing his own saddle.

Now it seemed like a useful piece of advice, and definitely not so funny anymore. He assessed the situation quickly: the Dunlending woman had just appeared with the bier. If he wanted to go somewhere to find a man to carry the bier with him, he would have to leave quick. But he should actually have left already. Now the serving woman and the healer - and worst of all, Scyrr - would think him a total idiot, after all he had just stood on the yard lazily for the past few minutes. He cursed in his head. Why didn't he ever learn? He functioned much better with animals than people.

"You, woman, help me lift Scyrr to this bier. Then we carry him to your healer's place. Healerwoman, see that we don't bump him into anything."

Now Wilheard felt even more stupid. That was probably the stupidest order he had even given, it even sounded so silly! He was grateful Wulfric wasn't here to see this - he was supposed to laugh at his brother, not the other way around. But there was no way taking back the order once it was given.

The women obeyed quickly and once Will and the dark woman left the bier Will was surprised - the sturdy woman was much stronger than she looked. Spent too little time with serving women, he thought sourly and then grinned at his own jest. Anyway, he hoped as few people as possible would pay attention to this humiliating operation. "Is it far?" he barked.

~*~

"Just around the corner, sir," Modtryth replied. She was surprised by the straightforward and down-to-earth manner of this young lord, carrying the bier with a womanservant. Not maybe as far from Lord Eodwine as I first thought... she mused.

She had figured the Lord's sons were just like so many other self-important young nobles and she had seen that side of them - all the carelessness and cruelty, but it amused her how much they actually reminded her of her own son and his two friends. Well, they are not that much older! she thought, and then wondered if she was becoming old herself. More a mother than a maid anyway, I should know that...

They arrived at Aedhel's temporary healer's quarters and lay Scyrr on one of the sickbeds.
"I shall look after him now, my lord," Aedhel said in her calm and pleasant voice.
"Good," the young man replied and with a quick glance at the wounded soldier, quit the room abruptly.

Helpless laughter rose in Modtryth and she sat down and let it all pour out. Aedhel gave her an odd look.
"What is it, Modtryth?" she asked quietly.
Modtryth shook her head. "Nothing. I mean... this day has been just absurd, everything is absurd. Everything has changed."
Aedhel nodded. "But hopefully not only for the worst."
"Yes," said Modtryth. She could not think of anything better to say. "Look for me if you need help with him. I will visit every now and then."
"Thank you."
"That's nothing. I'll go now. By the looks of it, there's a lot of stuff going on where I might be needed. And people tend to forget that the household has to be run even on days like this. Ginna and I were supposed to do the laundry today!"

With those words, she hurried off. Ginna would be at the kitchens, by Kara's side. Well, now Kara should be left for Frodides brusque words and warm heart, that would probably be for the best. Modtryth didn't make it to the kitchens yet when her keen eyes spotted Leodern sulking by Harreld's smithy. She had better find out what was going on.

"What's up, little one?" Modtryth asked and picked the girl in her arms. Leodern was no baby anymore, but Modtryth secretly liked treating her like one - she was such a sweet and pretty child.

Leodern his her small face in her hair. "Garmund and Cnebba didn't listen to me. And Javan called me ninny."
"I'll see to Javan hearing of it later. It was wrong of him to say that." Modtryth let out a small sigh - but of course a 13-year-old boy would think a 5-year-old girl a ninny. He just should have enough brains not to say it aloud. Modtryth was more concerned about the second part of Leodern's worries, though. "And what did you say when Garmund and Cnebba didn't listen to you?" she asked, although with a sinking feeling she thought she knew what it was about.
"They didn't listen to me when I said you..." she stopped abruptly.
"Told them to stay in sight of the house and out of trouble, yes," Modtryth finished. Don't the boys ever grow up... at all?

"Now you, my lady, shall come with me to the kitchen and you shall eat apples with Ginna while I find a few tricksters I'd gladly have a word with. Then later today you may come do laundry with us - but no splashing or dangerous experimenting with the hot water this time!"

Leodern's eyes lit up. If the months in Scarburg had made Modtryth her loving mother, Ginna, whom she still called "princess" every now and then, had become her much admired big sister and Modtryth knew the little girl just loved doing the laundry. She would make such a perfect maid some day, Modtryth thought wryly.

[littlemanpoet]

He opened his eyes. Where am I? It was dark. There were curtains around him, linen? He got up .... no; he had tried. He could not move. What is wrong? He could barely move his head. So weak! Saeryn? He had meant to call her, but his mouth was so dry. He worked some moisture into his mouth.

"Saeryn?" He had meant to call out, but his words came out a whisper. He tried to call her again but could not find the strength. What is wrong with me? Where am I?

Someone came, a balding man, looking care worn. He bent over him.

"Ah, I see you have finally wakened. You have slept long. The king's athelas has done its work again. Shame that he had been away so long journeying across his realms. Here, drink this."

He opened his mouth and let the water pour in, drinking greedily, but coughed most of it away. When the fit had passed he felt weaker than ever. But he was determined to speak.

"Where am I?" His voice was a mere wheeze.

"You are in the Houses of Healing. You have been here some long while, but you will be on the mend now. If you like I will send news to your wife."

He nodded and sighed again. Then he slept.

[Folwren]

The sunlight slanted down in cold, comfortless rays while the wind whipped right through the folds of the riders’ clothing. The marsh was always bleak and barren place, but in the mid-winter, it was even worse. Thornden rode silently on, picking a careful path through the boggy pools and the patches of dry, rattling weed-stalks.

Back at the edge of the marsh, he had split his group into five groups, three men riding together. They had fanned out, spreading across the marshes and heading in as many directions as possible.

Thornden’s eyes scanned the trail listlessly. No one knew better than he that Erbrand and Lithor had not come this way, and yet here he was, putting up a most impressive sham of searching for them. The very nature of it disgusted and sickened him. Yet still he rode on, winding farther and farther in. Soon, Scarburg was out of sight and all that surrounded him were cold, half frozen pools of water, and reeds that whispered in the cold wind.

The sun, already at its zenith when they had set out, was far down in its arc to the west. They had to head back, or risk being lost in the marshes at night.

“This is it,” he said to his two companions. “We have searched as long as we can.” He took the horn that he bore at his hip and blew a blast upon it, to signal to the others that they were to head back. Answering horn calls came from his right and left to indicate they had heard and were spreading the message. He and his companions turned the horses’ heads back towards home.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

The search of the marshlands did not seem to bring any results. Hilderinc was not any master in tracking, and this terrain was completely unknown to him, but when Thornden's horn called all parties back, it seemed that even the local soldiers did not succeed in finding a single trace of the fugitives. By that time Hilderinc was already rather exhausted. Even worse could be said about Áforglaed, whose temper had sort of mingled with the gloomy presence of the marshlands. All the afternoon he seemed to be walking as if in sort of half-dreamy, almost feverish state, with a dark look in his face; but in the most unexpected moments he would burst out with a single angered shout. After trying to remind him several times that he should be quiet and not bring the attention to himself, in case that somebody was around after all, and after realising that it does not lead to any results, Hilderinc gave up. Áforglaed, the sometimes a bit rash, but generally quiet man, suddenly became something else. The man who had always played the second fiddle to Scyrr became something else with the attempt on his friend's life.

There was something mightily disturbing Hilderinc as he watched the young Áforglaed wandering about and hewing the withered reeds. He would not name it consciously, but there was something deep in his mind which made him understand the young soldier's feelings. But he would not think about it and he would focus on his job, as he always did. Áforglaed might be annoyed – but he is not going to accomplish anything if he lets himself to be distracted. He is not going to catch the one who attacked Scyrr if he cannot remain calm. But he is still young and he can learn.

Hilderinc was still thinking about this when they were returning back. Áforglaed seemed gloomy, but at least his anger seemed to drown in the atmosphere of defeat: he was not saying anything. They caught up with Thornden and the other parties joined them soon, but one look into the soliders' faces made it clear that they were no more successful in finding but a single trace of the fugitives. Áforglaed was riding near Thornden, in the front, and Hilderinc caught up with him.

"If we didn't find them, then captain Coenred's party might have caught up with them still," he said aloud. Áforglaed raised his downcast eyes and there seemed to be a glimmer of hope in them.

"It would mean, though, that Erbrand was really attempting to flee from Scarburg for good," Hilderinc continued his thoughts. "If he had left early enough, he would have had more time to get away - or even cross the border before we caught up with him." Suddenly, he remembered the man he had seen riding away from the drills.

"Maybe the scout who was sent out earlier has brought some news to lord Athanar while we were away," he said. "Maybe the captain's party was actually going for a definite trail, unlike us."

The nearby soldiers did not pay any particular attention to his remark, they took it as a part of Hilderinc's silent evaluation. None of them had seen the lonely soldier leaving in the morning and nodding to Thornden, so nobody knew what "scout" Hilderinc was talking about – nobody aside from Thornden. But Áforgled seemed to be at least calmed by the strong possibility of the culprit being caught, and in the vision of at least learning more about the subject, he spurred his mount faster towards the Mead Hall.

[Folwren]

Javan frowned at Fearghall, then down at the ground and kicked at the dirt. The soldier didn’t look back at them as he turned his horse back towards home. Finally, with a defeated shrug of his shoulders, Javan waved his hand to the other boys and headed back. “If we don’t go back, he’ll tell somebody, and then we’ll really be in trouble,” he said in explanation.

They agreed and the three trudged back to the Hall behind Fearghall’s horse. They found the courtyard quiet and empty. The wounded man had been moved, the search parties had all left, and the rest were inside.

Fearghall turned his horse about in the courtyard to face the three boys. “I’m glad to see you three decided to follow me back. Give me your word that you will stay here after I leave to go rejoin the captain, and I will not inform anyone about where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing.”

Javan and the other two exchanged glances and then Javan nodded. “You have our word. We will stay.”

Fearghall nodded then, and without another word, rode back out. The boys turned to watch him go, and then Javan tapped Garmund on the shoulder. “Come on. I don’t see anyone about, we might be able to get back to where we’re supposed to be without being noticed. Quick!” He started off at a run, and Garmund, after grabbing Cnebba came after him.

[Folwren]

"Maybe the scout who was sent out earlier has brought some news to lord Athanar while we were away," Hilderinc said. "Maybe the captain's party was actually going for a definite trail, unlike us."

Thornden sent Hilderinc a covert glance and the worried frown that had been etched in his face all day deepened a little more. He did not respond to the comment as Hilderinc had not directed it to him, but his thoughts dwelt on it and the possibilities that lay within it for the rest of the ride home.

What had Hilderinc seen and noticed? How long would it be until Hilderinc learned that no scout had been sent out? When would Hilderinc guess the truth of the matter? And would he go to Athanar and tell him of his suspicion of Thornden's dishonesty, as any true and loyal soldier should? The outlook had been grim from the beginning, and the more Thornden thought about it, the grimmer it became.

They came into the courtyard more than an hour after dark. Once dusk had fallen, they had been obliged to pick their way carefully through the marsh. They were hungry, tired, and half frozen by the time they got back and they all unsaddle their horses with stiff and numb fingers. As they were finishing, Coenred with his men came riding back in. A searching glance through their numbers showed Thornden that they had been as fruitless in their search as he and his men had been. It gave him a little comfort to know that Lithor and Erbrand were safely away, but it did not ease the tight feeling in his stomach.

The men flowed into the warm, fire-lit hall in a steady stream, clumping in groups inside near the fire and scattered about to talk about what had happened throughout the day and during their searches. When lord Athanar and the two ladies entered the hall, the room became silent and they turned their eyes towards him, hoping finally to hear something that would satisfy all their curiosity and answer at least some of their questions.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

When they have arrived back to the camp, Áforglaed was the first to unsaddle his horse and as Thornden already gave them leave, he ran across the darkness-covered courtyard into the healer's room to see Scyrr. That way, he had missed the return of Coenred's party, and learned about their unsuccessful mission only later when he came down for dinner.

Scyrr seemed to be getting better, and at least the local healer took good care about him. When Áforgaled came, he was sleeping, probably the best thing he could do at his current condition anyway. The healer woman was just on the leave herself, going to join the rest for the evening meal. Áforglaed remembered seeing her before, she was a pretty young woman, about his age, and somehow it seemed to him that she did not really fit the place. She looked different from the fair-haired girls back home, and there was something in her bearing which made her look almost noble lady-like. Perhaps she is an Elf, Áforglaed thought, but then he dismissed the thought straightaway: he had never seen an Elf, but he assumed them to be different.

"Your friend will be all right," the healer told him, standing at the door, as if nudging him to leave too. "I will bring some food for him when we go back from the dinner."

"No... no, I will do that," Áforglaed said. He followed to the door, with one last turn back to resting Scyrr.

The healer woman nodded in approval. They left the healer's quarters and slowly walked towards the main hall. As they walked in silence, Áforglaed's grim thoughts were suddenly washed away in the presence of this fair lady, which was so unlike the loud yellow-haired maids and girls in Edoras. He almost forgot about the trouble of the day, until another man joined them, and to his dismay, Áforglaed recognised the man who got into fight with him just after their arrival yesterday. The man cast a sideway look at him and then spoke a few fast words to the healer-woman. She nodded and they continued their pace towards the hall. Áforglaed stopped and gazed after them darkly. His brief moment of relief was gone again. What does this man have to do with her anyway?

So his mood was still grim as he arrived to the hall. The warmth inside took the evening chill off his bones, but his mind remained troubled. He sat along the table with the rest of the soldiers just as lord Athanar had entered the hall.

[Nogrod]

Seeing lord Athanar arrive both Coenred and Thornden came forwards to give their reports. Athanar didn't look surprised upon hearing they had not found the two. He took a long draught from his goblet before turning to his captain and seneschal.

"Well, it would have been news indeed had you found them... Now we'll just have to hope we didn't find them because they had a headstart and went on as fast as they could." Suddenly lord Athanar turned his gaze on Thornden.

"You know them better than I do Thornden. What do you think is the probability they stayed hidden somewhere around? Are there any special ties that could draw them back winning their fear of getting caught?"

[Folwren]

Thornden shrugged some, taking a moment to think of the relationship between Kara and Erbrand. Then he answered, first speaking his thoughts on Lithor:

"Lithor would have no reason to remain or come back. He had no very close ties here, and though he made friends with everyone around him, if he's really deserting and running, he won't return...

"Erbrand, on the other hand, loved one of the women here. Kara, who helps Frodides in the kitchen. I don't know if they spoke before he left, but if there were anything that he would return for, it would be her. But, really, I doubt that even she will bring him back. If he thinks he killed Scyrr, he will leave and not want to drag her down with him. I believe he loved her well enough not to endanger her like that."

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar raised his eyebrow.

"But did she love him... or did he think she loved him? That's the crucial question."

[littlemanpoet]

With an oath he threw down his hammer, startling Ginna at the bellows.

"'Tis no good! You see all the work now that this troop have joined Scarburg! I fall ever further behind!"

Ginna remained quiet. This had been brewing for some time, for many days. She watched him pace, biting her lip. She was not afraid of him for she knew well how gentle he was to her, but she could not quiet her nerves for she had always disliked it when her father or other men had fallen into a rage. It was hard to unlearn old fears.

He stopped his pacing and looked at her, his eyes still burning with his frustration. "There is enough work here for two blacksmiths!" His eyes went wide, startled by his own words. "There is enough work, and therefore pay, for two blacksmiths!" This time his words held hope.

"What are you thinking?"

"I must send for my brother Garreth!"

[Folwren]

Thornden shot Athanar a questioning look, but did not give the query voice.

"I do not know," he said, the words coming slowly. "I would say that she liked him, and perhaps she liked him very much, but I don't know."

He thought about the interactions between Kara and Erbrand. Kara was a very quiet and shy woman and didn't make her feelings clear to very many people, and Thornden was not one of the few to whom she did confide. He considered telling Athanar he'd have better luck asking lady Saeryn, but changed his mind to ask first,

"Why would that be the crucial point? What bearing would that have on the issue?"

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar's jaw dropped. Both Thornden and Coen saw his amazent all too clearly.

He's hiding something... he's too busy hiding something that he doesn't see the obvious, or does he just pretend not to see it?

Athanar collected himself and turned to look at Thornden with quizzical eyes. "Does an impassionate old man need to teach a young man about passion?" He took a small pause but then continued, now with a smile in his face.

"Think of a young man in love and in trouble for his life... well, at least for his freedom. What does he think? If he thinks the feeling is mutual he is ready to go against the whole world to get his lady. But if he thinks the love is one-sided, he'll save himself... That's the bearing, the crucial bearing." Athanar glanced at Coen but turned then back to Thornden again.

"If you come up with anything on the issue - or hear something about it - you'll let me know?"

"Of course." Thornden managed to answer.

"Good. That's it then. Thank you for your information. I need to think for a moment how to address the Hall on the issues in light of the information you have given me, so if you masters took your seats?"

"Aye sir!" Coen said and turned away.

"Yes, sir." Thornden said and went back to his seat.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar sat down and took a bite of cheese falling deep into his thoughts. Now that's it... sending a clear message without forcing it out into the open! That's the way I can let the king know without looking like a jerk... some light then, some light then... He took a sip from his goblet and wiped his beard before taking a careful look at the hall.

The people hadn't mixed too much. Most of the people from his own household seemed to stick together as did the original people of the Mead Hall. To lord Athanar's great satisfaction he noted one table of soldiers having his men and the young soldiers of the Mead Hall together sharing some laughs. Maybe we have not lost hope then? Like dad used to say: drilling, drilling, drilling; there the bonds are made. He shook his head with the sad memory of his father. And then he rose up.

"I have a few short announcements to make!" The hussle and buzzle faded remarkably fast. Whatever the people felt, this was what they were looking forwards to.

"Thank you." he said, looking actually quite pleased with the effect his words had. "The first one I think is no news to most of you who have eyes and use them. Our searching parties didn't find the fugitives."

He monitored the reactions closely for the short time he needed to gather breath. "So I'm sending a word to king Eomer about Erbrand's attempted manslaughter and Lithor's desertion." Some murmurs were heard from the tables of the original Meadhallers, but Athanar quieted them down with a wave of his hand.

"Actually I'd like to see you both Coen and Thornden after I finish." He glanced at both of them and after receiving a nod from them he turned back to the hall.

"I am enraged about what happened to Scyrr today!" Suddenly there was a different lord Athanar on the stage. His eyes were in flames, spurred by his memories of the wars he had fought, rekindled by him trying to soothe and aid the bleeding man earlier in the day. Many of his men banged their pints to the tabletops for approval.

"But!" the banging of the pints died down like a sharp sword would have cut a paper in two.

"But... I'm not blaming anyone present for what happened. And none should!" Lord Athanar had been looking at the tables filled mostly with lord Eodwine's people, but with the last paert he glanced at his own men before concentrating on the original Meadhallers again. "None of you did it, and thus none of the blame should fall on you! Let there be no bad will on either side!"

A few backbone reactions of relief and joy spread over the Hall and suddenly the hall was full of applauds. Lord Athanar followed the reactions closely and seemed content to what he saw.

"Please, let me finish!" he shouted over the general noises of acceptance - and the hall went quiet.

"Tomorrow will be an important day in regards the future of this Hall. So not too much drinking today." There were some "gah's" from the crowd. "And no quarrels, mind you!" Some "aye's" were heard.

"All soldiers of the Scarburg Mead Hall, all of you!" After the initial bafflement all the soldiers, old and new, answered in chorus yelling "aye!"

"Tomorrow we're going to meet the local lords! Let's make sure we give them a show worthy of the king's Mead Hall!" There was a thunderous acceptance from the soldiers - and it was especially easy for the original Mead Hall soldiers to join the shouting as they remembered the pomp and circumstance - and the arrogance - with which the lords had visited them... "If they came here for a show-off, then let's show them as well!" There were loud "hurrah's" all around.

"But that means..." the hall went quiet again. "That means an early morning call and some serious work tomorrow morning. Trim your horses... and yourselves..." There was some scattered laughter. "Polish your gear, look what you are, look like true eorlinga!" The soldiers were beginning to applaud themselves but Athanar cut it with a swift wave of his hand. "Tomorrow evening, when we have made our position clear and the Mead Hall of Scarburg has been established for good... we'll have a big party, a big party indeed!"

With that all of the Mead Hall burst into cheers of both hope and relief. And for a moment the issues that had made a rift between the two people seemed nonexistant. People were proud of themselves and felt something like unity. Not that there weren't less happy faces around... and lord Athanar marked some. But for the most part the people seemed more relaxed they had thus far.

Nothing to unite people like a common enemy... lord Athanar thought to himself while clapping his hands with the crowd. He tried to hide his smile but couldn't.


Sitting down lord Athanar soon had both Coen and Thornden around him.

"Okay?" He asked and look at the two men.

"Good speech mylord." Coenred said.

"This may sow a seed of good things to come, lord Athanar. Well spoken." Thornden added.

"Thank you for your words. I hope we'll get the better of this lousy start... but anyway. I have a job for you, today." He looked at both of them. "Now, I want you to pick one soldier - both of you from your men - one that you think would have the most extreme way of looking at this divide there has been between the people. Pick the one you might think could pose a threat to our unity tomorrow, if there is any, or then just the man you think we'd least wish was there with us tomorrow. Tell them to meet me here in one and half hour to pick my letter to the king - and as I know anyone would be reluctant to go riding through the night, especially after this kind of a day, tell them they will have a day free tomorrow in Edoras and they will have to report to me they're back only in the evening meal of the day after tomorrow. That clear?"

Coen and Thornden looked puzzled but nodded.

"Well, off you go then to pick. I have a letter to write... so please excuse me." With that lord Athanar smiled and rose up, and with a nod left the table heading towards his chambers.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld walked back from the hall to his smithy, arm in arm with Ginna.

"Your face would curdle milk, Harreld!" Ginna said. "Did you not like the eorl's speech?"

"I've heard worse," Harreld allowed.

"Why the glum face then? You did not wear it until we left the hall."

Harreld heaved a sigh. "The eorl was playing us as if we were his circus beasts. It was as if he was on stage acting out a play. Eodwine never spoke to us so."

Ginna looked from side to side before replying. "It saddens me, remembering how differently Eodwine used to address us. He had always made us feel that we are more to him than mere servants. But careful now with your words, Harreld."

"The eorl will get no treason from me, fear not. I do not hate him, nor do I like him well." He sighed again. "Maybe I am merely overworked."

They went into the smithy.

"Are we to work more tonight?"

He sighed again. "Nay. It is late. No bellows work needed now. Go and take your rest."

She looked up at him with a determined expression. "I could stay here and keep you company, if you wish."

He smiled and almost relented, for she was a balm to him when he was in these moods. "Nay, lovely one, I think it would be best if I take some time alone."

She narrowed her eyes. "Best?"

"Maybe not," he paused, "best, but needed."

She touched his shoulder and caressed his face, and looked into his eyes. "Do not putter too late. Good night." She left him.

She knew him well. He did not expect to sleep soon for his mind ran the same ground over and over again, like the ruts a dog would make along the fence of its prison. He took a sword blade and a whet stone and set to work sharpening the edge.

It would be good to have Garreth back again. He would have Thornden deliver his message in Edoras, if the eorl would allow it. Or would Athanar not approve the extra mouth to feed? He was not sure. It angered him, because he knew that Eodwine would have welcomed another smith gladly were he needed, regardless of the extra food he would cost.

The sharper Harreld honed the sword edge, the bitterer his thought ran. He knew that it was not just what was wrong with Athanar; he missed Eodwine. I wish you well, lord and friend. He meant it, but what hope was there? Eodwine was as good as dead. He wiped at his eyes and refused the tears that wished to come, even though here away from prying eyes it would not seem unmanly. He worked far into the night until so weary that he could no longer stand it. Something must be done.

[Folwren]

“Extreme view of the situation here...threaten our unity...” Thornden mused at his table, repeating lord Athanar’s words while he pulled worriedly at his chin. His eyes scanned across the faces of his men seated near him, all engrossed in their own conversations of the following morning. His eyes settled briefly on Matrim. Of all the soldiers, save Lithor, Matrim had showed the most dissatisfaction with the new setting. Others had grumbled and questioned Athanar’s authority below their breath, but only Matrim had actually stood up for Eodwine and Saeryn. But, no. Matrim was Æđelhid’s escort and Thornden did not feel he had the freedom to send him away. He continued scanning his men.

Gárwine. He had known him since his first day at the Mead Hall. Gárwine loved Eodwine and Saeryn as much as Thornden did himself. He was not what one would call a troublemaker, but Thornden did not think any of his men really were. Yes, Thornden thought he would do very well. He would tell Athanar that although he did not think that Gárwine being with the company would cause any trouble, he felt that he at least filled the requirement of having an extreme view on the situation.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld rubbed his eyes again as he walked from his smithy to the mead hall. Before he fell asleep he wanted to talk to Thornden. Not that telling him tonight instead of tomorrow would change a thing, but he wanted it done.

He stretched his arms and neck, trying to loosen them after hours of whet stone work. He squinted ahead of him: the moon hung just above the horizon in the west. It was late, but he was determined to wake Thornden if he had to. It turned out to his surprise that this was unnecessary, for Thornden was just coming out of the Mead Hall.

"Thornden! Hail!"

"Harreld! You are still awak?"

"Aye, there is a matter I cannot banish from my thoughts. Will you be gong to Edoras?"

"Not I, but I will be sending- Ugh! You stink, Harreld! Did you sleep in your scrap iron?"

Harreld chuckled. "Close enough. I will bathe in the morning. I would beg a boon of you, though."

"Speak it."

"Have your messenger stop in at my brother Garreth and tell him to come to Scarburg. There is more than enough work for two smiths now with the extra soldiers."

Thornden's brow rose. "I suppose a few moments can be set aside for that-" he murmured doubtfully.

"Or do you think our new eorl would say me nay?"

"I ... cannot say. Would you like me to ask him?"

Harreld sighed. He had been hoping for quick reassurance from Thornden. The man's doubt did nothing to assuage his dislike of the new eorl. "Aye, I would be in your debt if you would. The work is more than one man can handle now."

"I will take care of it," Thornden replied. "Get some sleep! I'll tell you in the morning."

"Aye. Good night," Harreld replied unhappily. Now that the thing was done he was very weary and it was not long before he was sound asleep, dreaming of sharpened sword edges and prison bars.

[Mnemosyne]

"I must be getting old," said Wynflaed, as Lilige carefully hung her dress away. "I do not recall my back aching this much since I bore Aedre."

"You do not look it," said Athanar. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, but his eyes were alight with thought.

"You flatter me, husband. Lilige, that is all I will need you for tonight; I know you must be weary from the day's events as well. I will call you should I require anything."

Lilige curtsied and left the room.

Wynflaed sighed. She had not seen Athanar very much that day, and while that could be typical in a day's work at court, so much of the day had dragged on...

After Saeryn had told Athanar of Lithor's desertion, the two of them had gone back to the kitchens and begun to muster the effort for when the searchers would return--plenty of hot broth, with barley thrown in for good measure. Then there was the general bustle of trying to keep everyone calm, getting the stables ready for the return of the riders, and even trying to find a stout store-room in case the runagates were found and needed to be locked up.

"Is aught wrong?"

"Hm?" Wynflaed turned to look at Athanar, and then sat next to him on the bed. "No, I was merely woolgathering. I had wished to acquaint myself with the household, but I did not think I should have to do so this soon--or this suddenly."

"Mishaps are what bring out the genius in a general." He brought his hand to the back of her neck and began to rub it.

"Aye," said Wynflaed. "And you did most marvellously today, especially at the feast. I only wish I could have done more."

"You kept things running--"

"--I and the Lady Saeryn--"

"--and that is what matters."

"Well," Wynflaed said, rising, "I do not expect tomorrow to be much easier than today. I can see your mind is still working, but I am weary. Let us discuss what is to be done in the morning--and do not stay up too late with your plans!"

But Wynflaed could not tell if Athanar had heeded her advice or not, for she slept not too long after she laid her head on the pillow.

[Durelin]

Coen rose the next day feeling nearly as much dread as he had when he first learned of Scyrr's near death. There had been a moment yesterday that had felt almost as if this Hall were one unit, and not two butting heads over imagined and purposeful insults and encroachments. He also woke with a headache.

He had not slept much. His mind was on Erbrand and Lithor, two men who he thought the Hall was surely better off without. The one was young and hot-blooded, and with the course he had set himself on, he was likely never to return to a straight path. Lithor was well old enough to have cooled his blood and become accustomed to using his head. So he was truly just a bad sort.

The meetings with the local lords were on Coen's mind, as well, but not nearly as much. He would be there to do as Athanar ordered and to support his lord as was needed. But that all the bad blood and misfortunes that had taken place since they arrived, several of them could have easily been avoided had he been more attentive. He had let Scyrr be dragged into this confrontation, as he had let him out of his --, when all the others were at drills. Except Lithor, whom he had simply assumed, foolishly, was still detained by his lord for his foolishness.

He knew that man was dangerous, and he had done nothing about it. But it had not been his place. It was not his place. It was his place to find him, to find him and Erbrand both, for justice and to restore the insult to his lord, but...his place was wherever his lord told him to be. And he told him to be here. Tomorrow he would be at his lord's service for the necessary politicking, which needed a show of force if not actual force.

Coen rose and made his way through the barracks, waking those men who were not already up and tending to their horses or themselves...as Athanar had ordered, he smiled to himself. He had sent Aforglaed to serve as one of the king's messengers to Edoras, and Scyrr was still laid up. But he had no complaints so far regarding any of the other soldiers now that Lithor was gone, except perhaps for that one who was quite young...though so many of them looked so young... And he still had Hilderinc to help hold them together. Perhaps things were not as steeped in chaos as he thought.

He went to the stables to see to his horse, give him some feed and tack him. Coen felt bad putting him through another rough day after yesterday's search, but he did not doubt he was strong enough to do so. He had not ridden with full equipment yesterday, at least.

[Folwren]

Nogrod's Post

Lord Athanr looked at the empty parchment and wrote the words My King, to begin the letter. It felt preposterous and not himself. He took the parchment and folded it in parts, sending it to the fire.

My lord. He began the next one. He looked at the paper for a while and thought it would have to suffice.


I need to make a call for a tanner named Erbrand and a soldier named Lithor. This Erbrand tried to kill one of my men, Scyrr, if you remember the old warhorse; and Lithor joined Erbrand in escape after having been judged for trying to revolt against your rule. The two are armed and dangerous. Although I find it sad to call after them as they seemed like good men.

They ran away before noon this day and I sent men to go after them as soon as their desertion caught my ears. Neither was found around the premises within ten miles.

Do ask the two messengers I sent you with this message, why there were these troubles. You'll get the picture from there.

Yours truly,

lord Athanar


He eyed the parchment once more and then rolled it to a tube pressing his seal of wax on it.

Coming downstairs he met Aforglaed and Garwine waiting for him in the hall.

"So it is you two to carry the message?" Both of the men nodded. "Good..."

"Give this letter to the king - and do not let all the soothsayers get in front of you. Say it is important news from the Scarburg Mead Hall."

Lord Athanar gave the parchement to Garwine and stood back. "Go with my best wishes and come back later... and use your free time in Edoras well..." he smiled to the two and winked an eye to them.

"I'm waiting to hear your report the day after tomorrow.... Now ride as like the ghosts would pursue you... the earlier the king learns of your news the better chances there are getting these two caught."

--

Folwren's Post

Thornden and Harreld parted ways, Harreld to go to bed, Thornden to find Athanar. As he entered the hall, he met Garwine and Aforglaed coming out. They were bundled so thoroughly against the freezing night air that he would not have recognized them due to the scarves wrapped about their faces were it not that he knew no others would be leaving at this hour.

"Garwine?" he said questioningly. Garwine turned and then reached up and pulled the scarf down so he could speak.

"Aye, sir?"

"Get your horses, but wait until you hear from me before you leave."

"Very good."

They went out and Thornden went in. The hall was all but dark, with only the light from the massive fireplace illuminating the shadows partially. As reluctant as he was to call Athanar out from his chamber at this hour, he didn't hesitate. He knocked firmly on the door. Athanar himself opened it.

"Excuse me, my lord," Thornden said, "but I have a question that cannot wait till morning, for it needs an answer before the messengers depart."

"Speak it," Athanar said.

"Our smith Harreld has a brother in Edoras who is also a smith. Harreld informed me this evening that it is impossible for him to be able to fulfill all the duties required of an armorer and smith with so many men-at-arms here now, and he asks if the messengers you are sending may stop by his brother's smithy in Edoras and tell him to join him here."

Athanar stood considering a moment. "He is in Edoras, you say?" he asked. Thornden nodded. "So the messengers would not have to go far from their direct road," Athanar mused.

"Since they have all day in the city tomorrow, they can easily go after their interview with the king," Thornden pointed out.

"True. That would work. Go and tell them to go by the smith's tomorrow after they have delivered my message to the king."

"Thank you," Thornden said. Athanar nodded, bid Thornden goodnight, and shut the door again. Thornden smiled as he turned and walked quickly across the hall and out into the courtyard. He saw the two messengers and their horses. One was already mounted, but the other, Garwine likely, was standing and holding his horse's rein.

"Garwine, do you remember Garreth, Harreld's brother?"

"Of course I do," Garwine said, a flash of white showing his smile in the darkness. "He was the loud one that always used to amuse us with his jests."

"Yes, he is the one. Go to his smithy tomorrow, after you have delivered lord Athanar's missives, and tell him that his brother, Harreld, has need of him here at Scarburg. Tell him that with the coming of our new lord, the load of smithying has increased and he needs Garreth's help."

"With pleasure," Garwine replied.

"Good. Thank you. Ride well," he said. And as Garwine wrapped his face once more against the cold and turned to mount up for his night ride, Thornden went inside to find a warm bed and sleep until morning.

[Firefoot]

Léof rose early, but if he was hoping for a bit of peace in the stables before the armsmen showed up, he was disappointed. One soldier was already there tending to his horse, and another couple arrived as Léof was starting to feed the horses. Well, it was going to be a busy day after all, and Athanar seemed eager to make a good impression on the local landlords. Hopefully a better one than Thornden and Saeryn had made, anyway – not that that debacle had been any fault of theirs.

He said good morning to Quin when he came in, but Quin seemed to be in a hurry and Léof had duties of his own to attend to, so they did not stop to talk. Even so, the interaction cheered Léof somewhat. It was nice to see a friendly face in the midst of so many unfamiliar ones.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc woke up once again earlier than most, but he felt refreshed and ready for anything. Even though the hunt for Erbrand and Lithor could not have been called successful, there was a job to be done today with the local lords, and at least here, the enemy was clear and could not hide from them.

Hilderinc used the moment before most of the soldiers managed to get up, he went to the hall, and shoveled up his breakfast quickly before it became too crowded. It was a part of his loner-side taking grounds during this brief moment: perhaps he did so unconsciously, with the expectations of yet another day spent among the still mostly unfamiliar men of Scarburg and old, too well known men of Athanar's household. There were two sides working inside him: first one, the habit he had acquired during the last eighteen years of his life as a soldier under various lords, to smoothly fit into a new environment; and the other one, more lonely side shunning too much contact, the side which had made him a "queer fish" in the eyes of some fellow soldiers.

But no trouble was on his mind when he entered the stables. Several men already were inside, tending their horses. Hilderinc headed to the one chestnut stallion he had arrived on to Scarburg; the horse had not been in his possession for very long, but now it was his own. Coenred was standing nearby, and Hilderinc saluted him as he stopped near the Captain.

"Hilderinc," Coenred greeted him. "Good that you are here. As soon as everybody arrives, see to that all men assemble in the courtyard, fully ready. We ride out with all equipment. This is not like yesterday."

"Aye, sir," Hilderinc replied. "It was rather unfortunate that we could not catch the fugitives yesterday, but at least the local lords cannot hide from us," he remembered his early morning thought.

"We cannot allow a failure today," the Captain said. His mood seemed somewhat grim to Hilderinc, but the soldier thought that it was no wonder.

"We most certainly won't, sir," he replied. "Yesterday, the fugitives were just in too much of an advantage. With all the time they had, they have fled us easily. After all, if even the first scout did not catch up with them, no wonder that even your search party did not."

Coen frowned. "Scout? What scout?"

Hilderinc hesitated. He remembered the rider he spotted during the morning trials the previous day.

"A scout... a man who left on horseback during the morning trials. Master Thornden said that he was not the one to send him away, so I thought it was a scout whom you or lord Athanar have already sent out after Erbrand back then..."

Just as he spoke the words, the clear implication of what he said formed inside his head. It was clear that Coen had no idea about any scouts being sent, in fact, he was in no position to send anyone out during the trials; and Athanar would surely have told him about a scout he had sent out before him. And who then could have been this rider, this man who rode away? Who could have left the Hall at that time? The thought hammered Hilderinc with full strength - was it possible that whomever he and Thornden saw riding away was one of the fugitives? He was in utter shock, so he could not speak at first, just looked at Coenred's own reaction.

[Durelin]

Coenred was pleased to see Hilderinc, but not surprised. He knew he could trust the man to be at the ready even before he was. But his spirits and confidence that had begun to rise for only moments that morning were seized and strangled by Hilderinc's words.

'A scout.' That had been the term Thornden had used. The lie he had told. Coen had no doubt he would have recognized Erbrand or Lithor on the spot. What had he said about Lithor? Well, nothing as Coen recalled...but at mention of the man he had acted strangely. Had it been Lithor he'd seen?

Again Coen had failed to act on his feelings and again that caused him grief. He should have confronted Thornden more directly. But when had he had the time? And what time did he have now? There had been no time for Athanar and his household to settle in, much less for the character of anyone to be judged except purely by their actions. A man's actions were important, but his inaction could be even more.

"You do say that Thornden saw this rider?" he asked grimly. He did not want to accuse the man if he had misunderstood Hilderinc, though he had little doubt of that. All of his doubts in Thornden were suddenly confirmed, particularly by Hilderinc's reaction to the conclusions he had drawn himself. "He did behave strangely, when news first came to us," he said, a little more quietly.

Coen knew that this would have to wait, as much as he wanted to grab Thornden by his shirt and drag him before Lord Athanar.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

It became clear to Hilderinc that Coen was thinking along the same lines as him. "Yes, sir," he replied to the question immediately, but at the same time he already started to think what all this meant. Thornden had seen the leaving person, and he did not mention that it was Lithor or Erbrand when Hilderinc spoke about the subject. And even though he did not mention it directly, Coen's words implied immediate suspicion of treason.

So was it this way that the newly formed "soldiers of Scarburg" were supposed to work? Thornden seemed to be a sensible person, but if he had helped the fugitives – whichever of them – then his authority has just dropped in Hilderinc's eyes. Was he also one of those trying to ride against the wind? Whatever sentiment brought him to hide this fact from his superiors, it was the most foolish thing to do. Or did his treachery reach further?

Just at this time, this won't bode well at all, Hilderinc thought. He knew enough about the importance of leaders, and the need to keep the men together under trustworthy authority. Lord Athanar obviously wanted to help bringing the old and new Scarburgian soldiers together by putting Thornden in command. But what would become of the unity in such a case?

Hilderinc knew that it was not upon him to judge this. He drove all emotion away from his voice as he recounted to Coenred what he knew.

"I think I saw the rider saluting to commander Thornden, and then riding away. When I asked him about it later – I assumed that it was a scout – he only said that he did not send the man, and..." Hilderinc tried to remember, but his sharp memory served him well this time, "- and that if somebody had sent the man away, it must have been somebody else."

[Folwren]

Thornden hefted his saddle up on one arm and reached for the bridle. His heart was a little lighter this morning than it had been yesterday evening. What was to be done about Erbrand and Lithor was done and no one there would or could do anything more about it. All that lay before them seemed clear and straightforward. Nothing more could go wrong. The lords of the surrounding lands would listen to Athanar and pay, the men would work together, and all would be well.

So he hoped, anyway, but as he carried his saddle to his horse, passing other soldiers on the way, he went by Coenred and Hilderinc. He could not but help hear Hilderinc’s words as he passed, “…saluting to commander Thornden, and then riding away. When I asked him about it later – I assumed that it was a scout – he only said that he did not send…”

Thornden did not stop to hear what else he said. He did not even turn his head as though he had heard. He continued to his horse and set the saddle on the aisle wall. He stroked the horse’s shoulder firmly and then ran his hand down his back. Worried questions ran swiftly through his mind about what Hilderinc was saying. Finally he shook himself out of his reverie. “That’s not good, whatever it is,” he said to his horse, and then began saddling.

[littlemanpoet]

He had slept through the night, and had woken with the dawn, still feeling very weak. Once he had taken a little food and drink, however, he felt much better. He bathed and dressed and walked a little bit, exploring the Houses of Healing and the gardens and the balcony that overlooked the lower levels.

He looked to the east and saw the mountains of the lands of Mordor, and shivered. The evil of the Dark Lord had been removed, but the memories lived on. Still, other evils lurked in the mountains and hidden recesses of Mordor, and some of them might never be completed cleansed. He shivered again and turned away from it, feeling his weakness again.

He returned to the apartment where he had lain as one dead for weeks. The steward of the Houses of Healing had dispatched a message to Scarburg as he said he would, and now Eodwine wished the time away so that he could be reunited with Saeryn. He wondered how she fared. Surely Thornden was taking good care in his place. He knew that he needed regain his strength quickly, for surely Thornden must be overburdened with the duties of an Eorl. He wondered if they had begun to build the Hall. He recalled the names of each of them and tried to bring to mind all he could of each of them. So he spent the few hours of his wakefulness until sleep beckoned long before sundown.

[Firefoot]

It really was difficult to get much done with so many people in the stable, Léof mused as he worked his way back to Æthel’s stall with a pail full of clean water for her. Perhaps he just ought to see to his own breakfast and come back when everyone had left. That might not be such a bad idea.

When he reached the stall he saw that Thornden was standing nearby, saddling his horse, whose stall was the one next to Æthel’s. “Good morning, Thornden,” he said.

“Same to you,” Thornden said, though his reply came a few seconds late.

“Is everything alright?” Léof asked as he hung the pail in Æthel’s stall. “Are you worried about the meeting with the landlords today?”

[Durelin]

Coen's jaw was gripped tightly. There was no doubt in his mind now that Thornden had seen one if not both of the men riding away. There may have been no reason for Thornden to detain them then, but once he had learned what happened to Scyrr, the man lied. He saw no reason to tell the truth, for the sake of two troublemakers? He now risked a great deal more than if he had given up this information.

"Thank you, Hilderinc," he said quietly. The weight of a poor night's sleep was now catching up to him. "It is perhaps no matter now, except to know that he cannot be trusted." Which was a great matter to him.

Coen kept his voice low. The stables were getting busy as the men prepared to leave. Thornden might be among them. He would not keep this from Thornden long, but it would have to wait until after the day's concerns. Today there would still be peace between them.

The Captain lead his horse fully tacked out of the stables and into the yard.

[Folwren]

Was he worried about the meeting with the landlords? "No, not really," Thornden said. He tightened the cinch mechanically while looking across his horse's neck to Léof. "I think that Athanar will have everything in order so that everything happens smoothly, as it should."

He paused while he adjusted the bridle in his hand before slipping it over the horse's head and sliding the bit into its mouth.

"You're coming with us, right?" he asked as he prepared to lead the horse out from the stables.

[Folwren]

Saeryn spent the morning ensuring that in the kitchen food was being prepared and packed for the men going out and checking up on the Scyrr. Ǽðhel had been up with him most of the night, and this morning as Saeryn came into his room, Ǽðhel was coming out.

“How is he?” Saeryn asked as they stood just inside the door.

“He will do well,” Ǽðhel replied. She looked over at Scyrr. “He had a slight fever last night, but I think it has gone. He will mend.” She told Saeryn what she could and when she had finished, Saeryn nodded and told her she might go and get some sleep, now that Scyrr seemed to be resting peacefully.

They parted; Ǽðhel to take some rest and Saeryn to go and find something else to turn her mind to. She felt somewhat ill again this morning, and she hoped that very soon this sickness would stop.

She came into the main hall and glanced about. It was quiet here, for most of the men were outside preparing their horses for the day’s ride. One group of five or six men stood by the fire, talking. There, coming out from the bedchamber, came Wynflaed. Saeryn went towards her.

“Lady Wynflaed,” she said. “I thought that today we might go about the house and I show you everything that is done here, as you suggested a couple days ago. With the men gone, things should be quieter than yesterday.”

[Firefoot]

Did Thornden really expect Léof was coming along? He was an ostler, not a soldier – his place was here, was it not? Or was this some duty that he was unaware of? Riding out after Lithor and Erbrand had been one thing (and almost more of a joy ride than aught else), but surely this was meant to be a showier affair.

“Am I? I mean – that is, I had not thought to,” Léof said. “I thought Lord Athanar spoke only to the soldiers last night. You are all riding out fully arrayed, but I have no sword and wear no mail. What would I do but sit there and look out of place?”

[Folwren]

“I thought you could probably come if you wished, to help with the horses and preparations of meals and things of that sort,” Thornden said. “I think you could be of service, and I imagine you would enjoy yourself riding out with the rest of us as opposed to staying here.” He ensured that the reins were secure over the saddle and gave his horse a last, affectionate pat on the shoulder. “Come if you like, Leof. I need to go and see the other arrangements are being taken care of.”

He turned and went out, and as soon as the conversation with Leof was out of his mind, his thoughts flew back to what he had overheard Hilderinc say.

He was crossing the yard when a rider came trotting down the road towards the hall. Thornden saw him as he drew near the out buildings and turned to meet him.

“Hail,” he said as the stranger drew rein.

“Hail,” replied the rider. “I bear a letter from lord Randvér to his daughter Ginna.”

Thornden smiled, thinking the letter bore glad tidings for Ginna and would give her father’s well wishes for her match with Harreld. “I will see that it is taken to her,” he said. “I am the steward of the hall.”

The messenger nodded and reached beneath his cloak for the letter. “We have not yet broken our fast,” Thornden said as he took the missive. “Come, dismount and rest your horse while you eat with us.”

The messenger accepted his offer and dismounted. Thornden directed him to where he could take his horse. As he went towards the trough to water his mount, Thornden turned towards the kitchen.

“Thornden!”

Thornden turned to look, and there came Harreld running up. "Will the Eorl let the messengers go to Garreth?"

“Aye, they did,” Thornden answered. “They will see him after they have audience with the king. Here, speaking of messengers, one just rode in a moment ago, from Ginna’s father.” Harreld’s expression became attentive. Thornden smiled broadly. “Here is the letter. It is for Ginna, and I trust you shall get it to her.” He clapped Harreld on the shoulder and passed him, leaving him standing in the yard with the letter held in his hand.

[Mnemosyne]

He had left her to sleep in. Again. "New hall; new habits," Wynflaed had warned him, but Athanar did not seem to want to change this one. Judging from the sun in the sky, a third of the morning had wasted away, and if today was to be the day that the men rode out, they had left the Meadhall long since.

Sighing, she called for Lilige, dressed, and considered what would be the best use of the day with the menfolk gone.

It would be good to get a better feel for the workings of the hall, but there was much else to be done. She decided for the moment to continue the inventory that had been interrupted the previous day, and walked into the main hall. The lady Saeryn came towards her and said, “Lady Wynflaed, I thought that today we might go about the house and I show you everything that is done here, as you suggested a couple days ago. With the men gone, things should be quieter than yesterday.”

"Thank you, Lady Saeryn," said Wynflaed. "I was considering asking your help in that very thing. I should very much like to see the way the Hall has operated on a normal day, and, barring a fire, I doubt to-day will reach yesterday's level of... unrest." She smiled. "And, if you do not mind, I should like to hear a little of yourself, since we shall be working so closely, and since my husband and I are to be adopting you."

[Firefoot]

Come if you like. Léof worked that over in his mind for a couple moments as Thornden left the stables, trying to figure out if that really was all there was to it. Finally Léof decided that Thornden usually said pretty much what he meant, but that if Thornden had made the assumption that he was coming along in the first place, maybe he ought to go.

Then he needed to hurry. Several soldiers had already led their horses out of the stables. He knew better than to run in the stables but he strode as quickly as he could down to the tack room where he fetched his saddle and bridle. He returned to the stall, nearly colliding with one of the soldiers as he rounded the corner, and in almost no time at all had Æthel tacked up. He looked her over with a critical eye and decided that she, at least, looked more than presentable.

“Come on, then,” he said to her, and led her out into the courtyard where the soldiers were gathering, half-wondering what he was getting into.

[littlemanpoet]

“Here is the letter. It is for Ginna, and I trust you shall get it to her.” And Thornden was gone. Harreld stared at the small paper in his hand. He had never seen a letter before, much less handled one. He had come across scrolls and such, but not this new fangled Holbytlan thing. It had candle wax sealing it shut. He wondered what that was for. Was it supposed to be unseen by some folk?

Harreld new his letters. To be good in the business of smithying, he had to be. He read the outside of the paper. It was from Randvér, Ginna's father. Harreld caught his breath. This could be his word giving his yes to their betrothal. He started walking, aimless of his direction, and not thinking a sealed envelope indicated privacy, he opened it eagerly, and read.

My daughter, greetings. I hope you are well. You are missed here at home, but I am well.

I hope you do not take my silence over the past moons to mean that I have forgotten you. In truth, all this time I have been giving careful thought to your wellbeing, but with Eodwine's illness I felt I could delay this letter no longer.

I had little doubt you would find a good man in Eodwine's household for it would be unlike my friend to have ruffianly men in his charge. Take his right-hand man, Thornden, for example. He is hardworking, loyal to his lord, and good to his lord's folk. From the first I took a liking to him in the former mead hall. Had it crossed his mind to win your hand I would have granted him his wish. I think it likely he will not stay unwed for long, and seek the hand of Lady Saeryn. They are both young, both love their lord, and nothing could be better for the folk of Scarburg - though I'm unsure I could say the same for you.

Do not mistake me, I know what you see in the smith Harreld. He is a man of gentle manners and careful speech, and he treats you with the honor meet to a woman of your lineage. You are of the right age to choose for yourself, but know, my daughter, that in all of this I seek only the best for you, and should you entrust to me your future this is how I would have it.

Harreld stopped in his tracks and looked ahead vacantly, crestfallen. Ginna's father wanted Thornden for son-in-law, not himself. This was something he never should have read! Maybe that was why it had been sealed. His hands shook. He would reseal it and give to Ginna. No, there was no way he could be the one to give this to her. She might think he had read it! He would give it to one of the women and act as if he had never seen the contents.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar had slept well despite the not so happy conditions at the Mead Hall. That was one of his advantages: while some totally lost control of their rhythm and sleep when under pressure, lord Athanar had always had a gift for sleeping soundly. He woke up early and got himself prepared both mentally and physically - finally getting into full gear before coming to the hall.

So he came downstairs a bit later than most others. He enjoyed a slow and full breakfast watching the slowly dying hussle and buzzle in the hall as the men went out to prepare their gear for the ride. He was ready.

Seeing that the last of the riders had left the hall he slowly rose up after wiping his mouth and beard clean with a cloth. Off we go then...

He went outside and looked for a while the gathering of men and the last minute preparations being underway. And he smiled. This was something he truly enjoyed; the concentration and the busyness of the men preparing to go, the feeling of tension before an errand... He draw a deep breath of the fresh and cool autumn air and felt it filling his lungs with its' scent. It was clearly different from Edoras; crispier, but damper at the same time, a bit sweet... He closed his eyes just to preserve the moment.

[Folwren]

The word came to mount up. There was a rustling and a clopping of hooves as men led their horses out and gathered the reins in their hands before grasping their stirrups and stepping up into the saddle. They took their spears in their right hands and rested the shaft on the stirrup and then arrayed themselves, four riders abreast across the road. Athanar rode down the side of the line, casting a sharp and critical, though approving, eye over them. Behind him half a pace, Coenred rode to his right and Thornden to his left.

Quin found himself at the rear of the column of riders. Hylath was on his right and just to his left was the stable hand, Léof. “Hullo,” Quin said, turning his head to speak once Athanar rode back towards the head of the line. “I’m glad to see you’re coming, too. Meet Hylath. He’s been in Athanar’s guard for six years.”

Hylath looked across at Léof and nodded. “We have met in the stables. You’re fairly young yet, are you not, stable master? Why not, as we ride, you tell us about yourself, and how you came to be here?”

[Folwren]

“I certainly hope today does not reach yesterday’s level of unrest!” Saeryn said. “I will tell you whatever you ask of myself, though it is hard talking of oneself a great deal. Come, let us go to the kitchen first and see what there is to be had of breakfast.”

They walked together to the kitchen and Lady Wynflaed set the example to sit at the kitchen table and break her fast there. Saeryn joined her, happy to see that she was not so superior that she could not sit with the women who served her. Kara set two boals of steaming porridge before them.

“Kara,” Saeryn said before picking up her spoon. She reached out and took Kara’s hand. “How are you doing today?”

“Better, Saeryn,” Kara said, glancing briefly across at Wynflaed.

“It is alright,” Saeryn told her reassuringly. “You may speak freely before lady Wynflaed.”

“It is a little hard, getting used to his not being here. But I will soon be well.” Saeryn smiled, and pressed her hand before letting go and turning to her breakfast.

“We may as well start in the kitchen as anywhere else,” Saeryn said. “As you can see, Fordides, Kara, Modtryth and Ginna manage quite well with things. I help when I can. There will be a lot more to do with more men here. I am glad that you have brought your maid servant with you. Will she be able to help with the household duties?”

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar passed the troops and he was pleased. He was so pleased.

He was no friend of plotting and backstabbing, no friend of conspiracies and all that politics. He was an aristocrat to the bone, but his ideal was the ideal of old; the ideal of aristocracy on horseback, in the windy plains ahead of his troops, in the midst of action, doing things, acting on matters openly... And now he felt he could leave all the problems behind him for a while and he would lead the men doing things together, having a single purpose to serve the king and the country. He wanted so much to forget all that stuff with Erbrand and Lithor, to forget all the rows and tensions within - and now he had a chance to focus on what was his to do.

"Men of Scarburg!" He shouted as he had taken his position in the lead with Coen and Thornden and turned to face the men.

"Men of Scarburg! Today we ride as one, as eorlinga!" He looked at the men and let them cheer - but broke in soon enough not letting the cheers to die themselves.

"We're not going to war and we're not going to any confrontation! Keep that in mind. We're going to meet the local lords... I have only been told about it, but those of you who came here with lord Eodwine saw the pomp with which they came here for a show-off. So let's make sure we'll show them in turn what the King's Mead Hall is about! Discipline, honour, alertness, readiness... and cool heads!" He took a pause glancing at Coen and Thornden, nodding at them both as his eyes met with theirs.

"You're not to answer to any provocation by yourselves - if there is one - and you shall follow the orders of the venerable Coenred while I'll conduct the talks with master Thornden."

There was a buzz of whispering and soldiers looking at each other with the announcement. Athanar turned to Coen and nodded slowly with a comforting face. He knew his first officer would understand this deal... he needed Coen as the highest ranking officer to lead the men if it came to that - and he trusted Coen's judgement after all the years they had rode together - and he both thought Thornden to be more wise with the local lords and he wanted to test him, as how he would cope with a possible situation of pressure.

He turned to Thornden and smiled encouracingly before turning back to the men on horseback.

"Let's ride men! For the King and the Scarburg Mead Hall!" With the howl of men on his back he turned around and spurred his steed to lead them from the yard and to the road.

[Firefoot]

For once, Léof was grateful when Athanar started giving another one of his speeches, thus interrupting all conversation. He paid little attention to Athanar’s words, however, for he was preoccupied with trying to figure out how he might respond to Hylath.

So few knew his true story; since coming into Eodwine’s employ, he had told only one person the full truth about why he had left home, and he had not seen her in many months. At first, the truth had shamed him, so he had kept it hidden for fear of losing his position. Now he was secure here, and time had lessened the sting of banishment from his father’s home. What was more, if ever he was to rescue his sister Cerwyn, the truth must come out eventually.

It was not as though he had ever lied about it. Well, once. To Garwine, some time ago. But he thought that mostly he had simply neglected to tell anyone anything, which was his right, perhaps: to bury his past if he saw fit. But he supposed that the past could never be truly buried… and perhaps it was time he was honest with someone, at least a little bit. He liked Quin well, though he knew little of Hylath. He was out of time to decide, however, for just then Athanar was declaring, "Let's ride men! For the King and the Scarburg Mead Hall!" Léof nudged Æthel with his heels and they were off.

“So, you were about to tell us of yourself,” Hylath prompted, resuming the conversation.

“Well, I was raised out in the West Emnet, in a village some days’ ride from here. It was a good life, though I fear I had little desire to farm as my father did. My father and I… I fear we did not get along well, and last spring we had something of a falling out, and I left. I came to Edoras hoping to find a place for myself, just as Lord Eodwine was setting up as Eorl. This was before he moved out here, you see. He had a place in Edoras, then – it used to be an inn. Anyway, I had always taken care of my family’s horses, and Eodwine had need of an ostler, so here I am.”

[Lhunardawen]

As Saeryn and Wynflaed talked and Kara began washing the pots and ladles Frodides used for making breakfast, Ginna went to the dining hall to gather the dishes left after the men had eaten. She took one glance around and sighed, walking toward the nearest table. The women had been much busier now that Lord Athanar had taken over the eorlship of Scarburg as he brought with him more people to add to the household. Perhaps today, she thought as she stacked a dirty bowl on top of another, the workload could be lighter with some of the men gone. She did not feel very optimistic about it.

Ginna approached the last messy table, the one closest to the doors, and saw a folded piece of paper lying close to a bowl. She put down the tray she was holding, wiped her hands on the apron around her waist, and took it. A letter from her father! She wondered why it was left there instead of handed directly to her, but it was quickly replaced by excitement as she realised what it possibly contained. She had half a mind to open it right then and there until she remembered that Kara was waiting for her. She dropped the letter in the pocket of her apron and walked back to the kitchen with the dishes.

There was only one thing her father could possibly write her about, that they had failed to discuss when he had been in Scarburg months ago. Randvér had to return to his lands sooner than he expected, but not before meeting Harreld and seeing him with her. If Rand did not approve of Harreld, he would have had no trouble letting her know immediately. As it was, it seemed he had to think things through. Ginna took it as a good sign.

"Frodides, may I step outside for a moment?" she asked as she dropped the tray full of dishes beside Kara.

"Go ahead. Just make sure you come back soon."

Ginna headed back to hall and sat on one of the benches. She took out the letter, tore off the seal, and read. It left her dumbstruck, quite unsure of how to respond. She read it again.

Take his right-hand man, Thornden, for example. He is hardworking, loyal to his lord, and good to his lord's folk. From the first I took a liking to him in the former mead hall. Had it crossed his mind to win your hand I would have granted him his wish.

Ginna was not surprised. She had always known Thornden was the kind of man her father would want for a son-in-law, which was probably why she never considered being with him. Perhaps unconsciously it was her way of silently rebelling against his efforts to control how she lived her life.

Do not mistake me, I know what you see in the smith Harreld. He is a man of gentle manners and careful speech, and he treats you with the honor meet to a woman of your lineage. You are of the right age to choose for yourself, but know, my daughter, that in all of this I seek only the best for you, and should you entrust to me your future this is how I would have it.

You are of the right age to choose for yourself. Ginna guessed it was the closest she could get to an approval, and thought sadly that it was far from what she had hoped for. She had dreamt that the man she loved would be able to win not only her heart but also her father's, and it was not so. But if such an approval would be enough for Harreld, then it was enough for her. Rand may seek the best for her, but now she knew what it was better than he.

As she stood and made her way to Harreld's smithy, she thought about what her father said about the likelihood of Thornden and Saeryn being wed to each other. It never occurred to her, but it made sense. Would she dare broach the subject with Saeryn?

Ginna saw the smith already hard at work, trying to do alone a job equivalent to that of two smiths. "Harreld," she said, "may I disturb you for a while? There is something we need to talk about."

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld had gone directly to his smithy after breaking his fast. He had no doubt that the letter would find its way to Ginna's hands. As he stoked the hearth and prepared his tools, he gave thought to this new trouble.

Would Ginna come to him, or not? If she saw the same thing as he, she might stay away from him, which would be hard to bear but would allow for her father's will to come into play. What if she did not see how things stood, but chose to be stubborn, not heeding her father's will? Then she would come to him and say ... what? He had no idea. But to be sure she would want to stay betrothed.

The hearth stoked, he prepared the hammers and swords and mallets and soup ladles to be repaired or honed. What if she tried to say to him that all was well? He could not bear it.

The first sword was ready. He took his hammer, laid the sword on the anvil, and began to ply his trade. A shadow appeared in the door. She came in. His heart lurched. She was everything to him, yet he could not keep her.

"Harreld," she said, "may I disturb you for a while? There is something we need to talk about."

A fair question. How could he speak to her? A knot formed in his throat. He blinked hard and scowled, wiping the sweat already formed on his brow and the moisture in his eyes with it.

"Now is not the time," he said gruffly. "Have you no work in the kitchen? Leave me to my chores, Gi-" his throat caught on her name. "Leave me!" He hammered hard and fast, giving her no chance to gainsay him.

[Lhunardawen]

A strong urge to hurry out in fear came over Ginna, but she knew it would be unreasonable to do so. Harreld had always been gentle, and he loved her. He would not do anything to hurt her. But she felt an equally strong urge to demand whatever the matter with him was. This outburst was different from the ones before it, and she guessed it had nothing to do with having too much work in his hands.

It took all her willpower to fight down both urges. She knew Harreld, he would soon come around. When the time was right he would seek her as he always did and tell her his thoughts. She only needed to wait until he was ready.

Harreld gave her no more notice, striking his hammer at a sword as though his life depended on it. She wanted to walk towards him and wrap her arms around him, but she had to respect his wish. For now she had to be contented with conveying her concern through her words.

"You know I'm always here for you, Harreld," she said loudly enough, not letting his hammering drown out her voice. And she left.

[Folwren]

“Must’ve been quite a falling out for you to have left for good,” Hylath said when Leof had finished. “Quin, here, I imagine would give his right hand to be able to have his father back.”

Quin looked a little annoyed. Hylath was a good meaning fellow, but he spoke in an offhanded way on occasion that could be hurtful. Quin had been around so long that it didn’t affect him much at all anymore.

“Never mind,” Quin said. “I didn’t know lord Eodwine was so newly made an eorl. Why was he moved out here?”

“It makes more sense that he was moved than to stay in Edoras,” Hylath interjected. “What is the need of an eorl holding court in Edoras? The king is there already. It is much better than Eodwine was moved here, closer to the land over which he holds his eorlship.”

Quin turned to look at Leof again and shrugged, as though to apologize for his friend’s brusque manner. He thought of any question to ask, just to keep talking and keep his mind off of the long, cold ride ahead. “How old are you, anyway?”

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld kept hammering long after Ginna had left. He had been thinking about what she had said last: I'll always be here for you. So she did not heed her father's will. This was going to be hard. He broke off hammering.

Why could she not understand? Yes, of course he loved her and wanted her to be his wife, but it was not to be! Could she not see that? He hammered the sword hard three more times; too much. He had bent it, and now he would have to reheat it and start from the beginning. He threw his hammer to the floor; it bounced and clattered against a pile of slag iron before coming to a rest. He shoved the sword blade back in the oven.

He stared at the fire. His face slowly melted from rage at the sword to sadness about Ginna. His hands, which had been at his hips, fell to his side. You fool, he told himself, your words were cruel. She did not deserve them. She had come too soon, before he had had a chance to ready any words that would not have him melting into what she wanted - what they both wanted. How am I to get her to see that she must obey her father's will, no matter how much we love each other?

There was only one way: he would have to behave as if he did not love her any more. The moment he seized upon this plan, he collapsed onto his stool. It broke beneath the force of his fall, and he fell to the stone floor, weeping. He did not notice until later that a sharp point of the wood of the stool gave him a cut along his ribs beneath his right arm. It was more than a minute before he regained control, set the stool aside, and went about his work, his face settled now into grim mourning.

[Mnemosyne]

“I am glad that you have brought your maid servant with you. Will she be able to help with the household duties?”

"Indeed, she shall," said Wynflaed, for it was always important to get a second set of eyes in the household, and one often saw more things from below than above, where people were more likely to hide. "Of course, if the additional burden of men becomes too much, I can look into hiring another hand. And," she added, "in the worst of emergencies, all may--and often must--work."

Her mind returned to Kara, who was now working through the large stacks of dishes. It would be well to ease this one's mind, if only to make the rest of the kitchen more harmonious, and thus better working. Strange, how the politics of the country mirrored those of Edoras so clearly!

Ginna was the one who had just left for the Hall, which left Frodides and Modtryth. She had committed each name to its face quickly--a skill Wynflaed had always prided herself on--and that latter name sounded uncouth on her tongue. The inkling that she had had at the welcoming feast grew. She would have to speak with Saeryn about that woman--but not until their privacy was assured.

In the meantime, though, she wished to know more about Saeryn herself, but the lady was modest and circumspect--admirable qualities, but not conducive to Wynflaed's better knowledge. She finished her porridge, took the bowl up to Kara, and murmured some perfunctory words of encouragement to the whole staff.

"Whither next?" she asked Saeryn. "And why not start by telling me somewhat of your parents, or how you came to be at Scarburg?"

[Firefoot]

There were several points during the brief exchange between Hylath and Quin where Léof might have interjected, had he thought more quickly. There seemed to be some undercurrent which he had just missed – like that bit about Quin’s father. Quin seemed inclined to let it drop, however, so Léof had not pressed and Quin changed the subject. “How old are you, anyway?” he asked.

“Six-and-ten,” said Léof. He nearly added, though my birthday is within the month, but that seemed overly childish to say. Most days it did not bother him, that he was several years younger than most of the men in the household, but other times he felt it keenly – like a gap that could be only partway bridged from either side.

“That’s older than you look,” said Hylath.

“That’s not something I can much help, can I?” said Léof, trying not to sound too disgruntled.

Hylath laughed. “I suppose not. But it matters little.”

Léof quickly seized the opportunity to change the topic, sensing a reasonable stopping point in the current one. “So, what do you do for fun, when you’re not soldiering for Lord Athanar?”

[Folwren]

"Oh, well, I don't know what it's going to by like now that we're here in Scarburg," Quin said. "Back in Edoras, on market days, the soldiers who were not on duty would go out to the market. Some of the men play a game of chance in their free time, but lord Athanar does not encourage that sort of gaming. I have never joined in, though I've watched. They often make wagers against each other, occasionally playing for money, but more often playing for favors or service from one another."

"Aye," Hylath added, "like that one time Aforglaed lost to Scyrr and spent the rest of the afternoon polishing his stirrups and armor."

"During the evenings, when we had pints of beer to drink, some of the men will tell stories. Some have been to the wars and they still remember the battles. Sometimes the men will sing. Hylath here has a good voice for a tune." Hylath looked partially modest towards the praise.

"I have the feeling that while we're here, there will not be much time for such play," Hylath said after a pause. "There is much to be done at Scarburg - the building of the hall not the least of our tasks to accomplish."

"But surely it's not all work and drudgery," Quin said. His brows knit concernedly over his eyes and he turned to look a Leof. "Surely you have times in which there is merriment and not all work? What do you do for fun?"

[Folwren]

"Whither next?” Wynflaed asked. "And why not start by telling me somewhat of your parents, or how you came to be at Scarburg?"

“Let us look over the house, at least until it is a little warmer outside,” Saeryn said, leading the way to the door. She held it open, allowing Wynlfaed to pass before her.

“My parents were lord and lady of a rather large landholding in the Folde. They were rather indulgent, I fear, and really raised all of us children with a rather free hand.” She smiled in fond recollection. “I left my home a couple years after their death and met Eodwine when I was seventeen. At the time, he was at the White Horse Inn, and he wasn’t even eorl yet.”

A lump in her throat prevented her from continuing for a minute. She opened the door to the women’s quarters and filled the pause with entering the room and allowing Wynflaed to look around.

“This is where all of us are staying for now. Of course, we have plans for the upstairs which will enable everyone to have a little more room. Usually, we all get up together, but lately they’ve been letting me sleep in.” The melancholy of thinking of her parents and of her husband was slowly passing. She walked into the room a few steps. “The girls are up well before dawn these days, getting breakfast ready for everyone.”

[Thinlómien]

"So what is it?"

The old cook was sharp, as always. Modtryth gave Frodides a half-hearted smile. She didn't really want to explain her friend that she had taken intuitive dislike on the new Eorl's wife. There was just something about her which made Modtryth distrustful, if not even frightened. You have worked under much worse and much less likeable mistresses, she reminded herself.

"Just feeling a little sad. Times are changing, and I suppose we have to change with them. Still, Eorling Meadhall and Scarburg Meadhall under Lord Eodwine and Lady Saeryn were better places than I could ever have imagined." Modtryth paused. She had intended to give Frodides an inconsequential lie or a half-truth, but what she said was definitely a truth although not the truth she should have told the old cook.

Frodides nodded gravely. She didn't reply immediately, which was uncharacteristic. "Saeryn has managed, and so will we," she finally said brusquely, and continued arranging the dishes. Then she smiled fondly. "She is a brave girl, I say. So tell me, how is she doing? I think you gather more than us others."

Modtryth smiled at Frodides. "Saeryn's been well, a little ill in the mornings but that's normal. Aedhel has been making her raspberry tea which helps. Everything is as it should."

"Good. So Eodwine's son will be a healthy big boy. Or do you think it'll be a girl?"

"Quite honestly, Frodides, I cannot say. When I was expecting Cnebba, I was certain it was a girl, but I proved to be wrong. So, don't you think, if I cannot predict the sex of my own child I should keep away from predicting that of others' babies?"

"Might be," Frodides laughed. "But that's a thing about you, lass, you never put your nose in other people's affairs, do you?"

"Not really," Modtryth admitted. "Unlike you." She gave Frodides a grin.

"That is, I dare say, a bit unfair my lass!" the older woman protested. "Who else would take care that you girls are alright? And besides, I am a cook and cooks are supposed to know the house gossip."

"Sure. You have nothing to keep your head busy while cooking so you have to gossip. I see."

"Now that is quite enough from you, Modtryth! Now you shall take these buckets and fetch me some water from the well."

"Yes, sir," Modtryth replied cheerfully, took the buckets and slipped away from the kitchen.

Maybe the day was going to be alright after all.

Or, so she thought until she saw Ginna emerge from the smithy. The girl looked troubled. Modtryth walked to her.

"Ginna," she said. "Is everything alright?"

Frodides would be proud of me, she thought wryly.

[Firefoot]

Léof laughed, seeing the concern on Quin’s face. “Of course there are times of merriment! No one can work all the time. And especially now with winter coming on, the work day is somewhat shorter – it is hard to get much done in the dark.

“I imagine our pastimes are much like yours – often in the evenings there is talking or story-telling, and some like to play games. There is a strategy game some like to play with stones upon a board, though I’m afraid I’m not much of a hand at it. And as you say, sometimes there is singing – and dancing if a particularly merry mood strikes the hall.”

“Dancing’s a bit easier when you actually have women about,” interjected Hylath. “And more fun.”

Léof grinned. “I suppose so. It will be nice to have some celebration tonight, if the meetings with the landlords go well. Since Lord Eodwine took sick, everyone’s been more subdued than usual.”

[littlemanpoet]

Falco trotted up the road and rounded a corner just in time to see a whole troop of these oversized Eorlingas galloping straight towards him. He coaxed his mount to the side of the road and put his cloak over his nose to protect himself from the coming dust cloud. Who were these folk? He saw a lot of strangers. He got a number of suprised glances his way, no doubt these folk had not seen proper Hobbits in some time if ever in their darkened lives far away from proper civilization.

"Surely they did not jest back at the White Horse," Falco said aloud to himself. "These folk seem a lot of strangers. Hold! Is that not Thornden? And in the back, Léof! Surely! Hey! Haloo! Léof, you silly ostler! Ack! All this dust!"

The troop rode past. Falco turned his mount. "Come on Daisy." They did not seem about to stop. Or had one of them turned back to look?

[Lhunardawen]

Ginna jerked to a stop and looked up.

"Modtryth!" Her breath caught. She had been thinking of needing to talk to someone, to a woman. But who was there? Frodides and Kara made good listeners and even gave sound advice sometimes, but she thought that this time a married woman would understand her best. Saeryn, unfortunately, had her hands full assisting the new eorl's wife.

Ginna had forgotten Modtryth. She never really had a lot of chances to talk with her since she came into Eodwine's service, and so she did not feel as comfortable with her as she did with Frodides and Kara. Perhaps, she thought absently, this would be a good start.

"N-no. I don't think so. Do you think Frodides would be kind enough to give us some time to talk?"

And before Ginna realised it, a few tears had rolled down her cheek - half out of confusion, half out of relief.

[Firefoot]

Conversation had lulled when Athanar quickened their pace into a gallop; it was difficult to talk at such a pace. Léof wondered if they were in a particular hurry or if Athanar simply wanted to arrive in style and make a strong impression upon the first landlord. He was busy thinking this over and so almost did not notice the child riding a pony on the side of the road, but just as the column was passing Léof thought he heard his name. Wait a moment – had there been something familiar about that pony? He did not know why there should be, for he knew very few children, but he glanced over his shoulder to make sure.

It hit him suddenly – no child had that been, but a Hobbit! And a very particular Hobbit, for now Léof recognized the pony – Daisy, who had been in his care many months, was its name. “Hold up!” he cried out, without even the briefest thought for whether it was his place to make such a statement. “Hold up! That’s Master Falco!”

Again without thinking much of it, Léof checked Æthel’s speed and wheeled about, then trotted back towards Falco. “Greetings, Master Falco!” he said. “It’s been some time since we’ve seen you in these parts! What brings you back?”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc had been lost in thought for most of the journey, he barely registered the chatter of the few soldiers and the "stablemaster". It was a good thing to see; the soldiers, or at least some of them, seemed to start getting along together well. Hilderinc's mind, however, was now mostly focused on the upcoming confrontation. The local landholders, at least according to the rumours, seemed to be the kind of people who preferred to keep their own and they could cause trouble unless they were put in their proper place by some supreme authority supported by strong arguments. It was only Hilderinc's conclusion based on what he had heard, but his rich experiences with various masters included also the kind of people he expected the three landlords to be. In fact, now as they rode, he remembered that more than eight years ago, he had been passing through this area as part of a small group of soldiers and he remembered that sometime during the day they have stopped at a farmstead which, to him, back then resembled more a small fortress. It was a vague recollection, though, and things might have changed meanwhile. Still, some rich landholders seemed to have these delusions of grandeur.

A shout of the "stablemaster" suddenly interrupted his thoughts. "Hold up! Hold up!" Trained to immediate response, Hilderinc quickly stopped his chestnut horse and turned him around, hand on the sword's hilt. But he immediately saw that the boy's shout was not anything akin to warning against an ambush, not by the least.

"That's master Falco!"

Hilderinc could not prevent a very distinct expression of surprise from appearing in his face.

"A Holbytla?" he almost shouted. As any Eorlinga, he had heard even stories about this strange folk from time to time appearing in the Mark, but he had never seen a live one before. Here it was, straight from the tales. He did not put his hand away from the hilt, but gripped it even more tightly and frowned.

"And the boy knows him? What is this about?" he muttered, but loud enough for all those around to hear him.

[littlemanpoet]

“Hold up!” one of them shouted. "Hold up! That’s Master Falco!”

"That's more like it," Falco commented, and turned again to look. It was Léof, a clever lad amongst these Big People, which was not necessarily saying much, but Falco liked him. The lad checked his mount's speed and wheeled about, then trotted back towards Falco.

“Greetings, Master Falco! It’s been some time since we’ve seen you in these parts! What brings you back?”

"Greetings to you as well, Master Léof!" Falco bowed as much as sitting astride a pony allowed. He heard one of the men shout a word that sounded like 'hobbit', but gave it no notice. "I reached the Shire and spent a few days there before my wanderlust got the best of me, so back I came! Besides, I can't leave you Big Folk without something going awry! If this group is from Scarburg, how is it that Eodwine is not leading? How is he?"

[Firefoot]

Falco's question momentarily startled Léof, for Eodwine's sickness had become old news at Scarburg and he had forgotten Falco would not have heard. “Eodwine suddenly fell very sick, about a month back,” said Léof somberly. “The last we heard, he’d been taken to Minas Tirith, in hope that the Healers there might have some wisdom or skill that ours do not.” Léof brightened for a moment. “They say that the King Elessar is a mighty healer. Perhaps his arts will bring Lord Eodwine back.” Léof sighed. “If indeed he could be bothered about Eodwine at all. And it has been a whole month, which is a long time to be so ill.”

“He’ll come through,” said Falco. “He’s too stubborn not to. We’ll just have to keep the hall in good stead for his return.”

“But there’s the problem,” said Léof. “Scarburg has begun to move on as if he isn’t coming back. You noticed the large number of new faces in our company.” Léof gestured back towards the now disorganized column of soldiers. “It’s because there’s a new Eorl at Scarburg now, and I think he plans to stay.”

[Folwren]

Of the leaders of the column, it was only Thornden who recognized the small rider, and only he turned his head as they thundered past the hobbit and pony. Falco was dwarfed to such a degree by the huge Rohirrim horses and their armed riders that he seemed even less of stature than he really was. A glance as they passed was all that Thornden was going to give the hobbit. Greetings would have to wait until they returned to the hall, for he guessed that was where Falco was heading. That backwards look, though, was enough to show Thornden the sudden falling away of several soldiers. The line was broken; discipline slipped again.

“My lord,” Thornden said, turning to Athanar and raising his voice enough to be heard above the horses’ hooves. “Some of the men have fallen out. I am going back to see they are put back in order.”

Athanar just nodded, and Thornden immediately wheeled his horse about, stepping out of the way of the oncoming riders. He cantered back, passing the rows of men until he came to the tattered tail-end of the riders.

“Reform the line,” he shouted, as he passed the hesitating riders at the end. “Get back into the line,” he repeated as he drew near those soldiers who had actually left. “What do you think you’re doing!” he said, not at all expecting an answer. He glared especially at Hilderinc, a soldier he knew to be experienced and well disciplined. His eye caught Quin’s, and his stern expression did not relent when he saw the young man’s sheepishness. The soldiers turned their horses quickly and without a word caught up with the retreating column and took their places once more. “You, too, Léofric,” Thornden added, as Léof hesitated by Falco’s pony.

“Back to your old mischief making again, I see, Falco,” Thornden said, as he turned his horse to rejoin Athanar and Coenred. “I have no doubt I’ll see you this evening at the Hall.” And without waiting for a retort from the hobbit, which he was sure Falco would formulate just as quick as he could, Thornden allowed his horse to gallop again to the head of the line.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco opened his mouth to give Thornden a sharp retort, but he had already started cantering away.

"Well how do you like that," Falco said aloud. "Daisy," he said with a pat to the pony's neck, "it seems I have returned not a moment too soon. There are things to be set aright, make no mistake! Let's go, girl!"

He kicked Daisy into a trot and continued on his way to Scarburg. Well, there was news, and that was saying something! Eodwine sick and off away in Minas Tirith! For just a brief moment Falco considered turning Daisy around and heading off to Minas Tirith, but he thought better of it. There was a second breakfast and a lunch to be had, and Frodides' kitchen had a good reputation.

But a new Eorl? What was wrong with Big People? Had they no thoughts in their heads for the consideration of traditions? "You don't just go changing things just because one little thing has gone wrong. Ask any good hobbit in the Shire and he'll tell you," he said to nobody in particular. "Well, we'll just have to show them the right way to do things. New Eorl! What a lot of ninnies!"

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar heard the hooves galloping fast towards him and then slowly settling to the general pace beside him.

Athanar waited a moment letting Thornden's breath to settle before turning towards him.

"Everything's alright master Thornden?" he asked casually.

"Yes my lord. The men are back in formation."

"So what was it?" he asked.

"It was... it was a hobbit..." Thornden wasn't sure if he'd have to explain more but before he could continue lord Athanar replied with another question.

"Someone you know?"

"Well... yes. He was master Falco Boffin from Shire, a close friend of Eodwine's who seems to have come back." Thornden fell silent.

Lord Athanar was quiet for a while as well while they rode on. He was thinking to himself how was it that all those close friends of lord Eodwine and Saeryn kept turning into the Mead Hall one by one, like there was something like a plan being executed. Degas was a good young man and he liked him. He had nothing against getting Harreld's brother back as they needed professional workers and he had heard just good things of the hobbits even if those were more tell-tales. Maybe I'm just getting paranoid... he sighed to himself.

Finally he turned towards Thornden again.

"I see. I'd wish to meet this master Falco as we come back." He gave Thornden a quick smile but then got more serious. "If I read my maps right we should be at Tancred's estate in a short while. Let's focus on this now."

"It should be less than two miles, my lord" Thornden confirmed.

Lord Athanar nodded and fell silent. He was focusing on meeting old Tancred.

[Firefoot]

Thornden’s words burned in Léof’s ears as he again took his place at the rear of the column of soldiers. Get back into the line! What do you think you’re doing? You, too, Léofric!” Léof had counted Thornden as a friend, but the last time Léof had heard his full name pronounced so harshly had been from his father. Granted, Thornden was neither so unjust nor so cruel as his father, but just now his words had held the ring of authority and not of friendship. Léof had forgotten how poorly the two matched each other.

And how poorly Thornden had greeted Falco! Mischief making? In what way was the meeting of old friends and the exchange of news mischief making? Surely there had been time for a short conversation? He had thought that the others would want to greet Falco, especially Thornden who knew him already.

“Make no mistake, that plainly didn’t go over like I thought it would,” muttered Léof to himself.

[Folwren]

Thornden answered Athanar absently, speaking with little thought and little conviction. He thought instead of what had just happened, what he had said, and how much he now wished he could take back some of the words he had spoken. He was not wont to speak hastily, yet that is what he had just done to Falco. He frowned inwardly and then came out of his own thoughts to hear Athanar tell him that they would be reaching Faramund’s holding in a little while.

“It should be less than two miles, my lord,” Thornden said. It would be twenty minutes, continuing at this same, rocking gait.

The road rolled from beneath their feet. As they drew closer to the landlord’s dwelling, the tracks became clearer, the grass grew less in the dirt of the road, and the land around them changed from the ever bending and blowing golden-brown grass of winter to broken and plowed fields. The smell of bare earth came to their nostrils as they passed between the croplands. All the crops had been taken in, the stalks harvested, and the earth turned and returned before the ground froze.

And then before them opened the scene of lord Faramund’s hall. Smoke issued from the chimneys, and men worked in the courtyard. Soon, they would be seen and word would be sent to Faramund.

[Folwren]

Wynflaed wanted to see everything, so Saeryn showed her all that she could think of. They went from the women’s quarters to the great hall and then into the guard’s room. The place was overcrowded with the guard’s belongings and it was evident on first glance that something would have to be done to provide the men with more room, now that Athanar’s men-at-arms had come. They looked into the armory. The racks and walls were nearly bare of weapons, now that all the men had ridden away. Wynflaed glanced about, took note of the strategic way the room had been built to ensure that the weapons were easily accessible, and then turned and followed Saeryn out again.
They went out into the courtyard and across to the stables. Saeryn saw Javan at the door of one of the stalls, shoveling out the soiled bedding. “Where is Léof, Javan?” Saeryn asked walking towards him.

Javan leaned on his pitch fork. “He went with the men to the lords,” Javan said. “Can I be of service?”

“No, thank you,” Saeryn said. “I am going to show lady Wynflaed the stables.” Javan nodded and returned to work, and Saeryn led the way through the stables. She showed Wynflaed where they planned to build additional stalls and then where the paddocks were and explained what she understood of Léof’s method of rotation.

Next they visited the few animals they had – the swine that came with Athanar, the Mead Hall’s lone cow that soon needed to be bred else she go dry, the chickens – then went to the smithy where Harreld was hard at work at his forge. They stood silently in the door watching, unnoticed for the time being. Afterwards, they went together to where the building materials were stored. They surveyed the piles of lumber and stones and talked some of how long it would take to complete everything they wished to complete. They surveyed the land beyond the settled area of the hall and considered the land, rocky and marshy as it was. Then they turned and went back towards the hall.

[Mnemosyne]

Wynflaed stepped back inside the Mead Hall and walked to her chamber, beckoning Saeryn to follow. She had been most helpful in giving Wynflaed a clearer picture of the Hall itself, and how it ran. She could already imagine the thoughts galloping through her husband's head as he sought ways to improve the Hall--more livestock, certainly, perhaps a weaver and a tailor, and certainly some sort of horse-breeding program! That is, she thought grimly, if we can manage the problems already given to us!

Still, Wynflaed was impressed with what she had seen. The Hall had its own blacksmith, and pigs, and plenty of chickens. It was not Edoras, but of course, Wynflaed had not expected Edoras.

Wynflaed opened the door to the bedchamber and invited Saeryn in. "I do not mean to pry," she said, "but I wonder if your condition is giving you any trouble." She walked to the small bedside table and picked up a stone crock. "When I bore Aedre, the healers of Mundburg gave me this. It is made from a root that grows far to the east, and is meant to settle an upset stomach. I found it most helpful, and have arranged to have a supply of it ever since, but I have not needed it much of late." She handed the crock to Saeryn. "I hope you will find more use in it than I."

"I thank you!" Saeryn said, a little surprised by the gift, so freely and naturally given. "It is a little rough in the morning, I find, but I think I shall get on quite well. Thank you." Wynflaed nodded and then went and sat down, folding her hands in her lap.

"Now," said Wynflaed, for she doubted that anywhere in the Hall would be more private than this room, "since you have been so kind as to show me the place of the Mead Hall, what of its people? I know I have already met most of them, but I should like to know the mind of someone who has lived with them. It is good to know who is dependable." And who is not, she added silently.

"As I told you the day you came, we have no truly bad men here," Saeryn said. Next moment she paused, considering how false that must sound after what had occurred the previous day with Erbrand, and even with Lithor. To fill in the silence and make it less awkward, she set down the crock of tincture by the door and then sat in a chair opposite to Wynflaed. "At least, you will find all of our craftsmen very dependable. Stigend and Garstan are both very skilled workers and are as respectful and considerate as you should like. Harreld likewise is a good man. He is quiet and apt to be shy, and he is therefore perhaps all the more worthy of trust. We hope very much to see an alliance soon between him and Ginna, in fact," Saeryn said, her face brightening into a smile. Wynflaed's face reflected the smile slightly and she nodded her head slightly.

"Leof is yet young, but he has done well as the stable master. Crabbanan is perhaps our only one who does not have one trade to call his own and who is perhaps not quite as...steady? as the others." She tried to cast about for a better way to put it. "He really does try to fit in," she finally said. "But I think he loves traveling and it is possible that settling here is not as easy for him as it has been for some of the others.

"There are the men-at-arms, but I do not know them very well. Besides, they are Captain Coenred's men now. And you have already met the women folk."

"And what of the children?" Wynflaed asked. "I fear that I already know Javan too well, but I have seen others throughout the Hall..."

"Cnebba is Modtryth's and Stigend’s boy. Garmund and Leodern are both Garstan's children. Leodern stays mostly with the women. She has taken especially to Ginna, but I believe Modtryth takes her under her wing when she needs a mother to look after her."

"And the two younger boys?" Wynflaed queried.

"They mean well, I think. Sometimes they let Javan lead them in a course that may be less than advisable, but they really do nothing more than boyish pranks, at worse." There was a slight pause. Wynflaed said nothing, for she saw that Saeryn still wished to speak, but did not know quite how to form her words. "I think, lady, that your daughter will be able to fit in with the children somehow. I heard that when they fought in the courtyard that day, Javan was trying to defend Cnebba, who he felt was being..." she considered her words carefully, "was being intimidated by your daughter's status."

"Then Javan has a trusty spirit in him, and he will go far if he can steel it with discipline. As for Aedre... I do hope that she will find fit companionship here. She had many friends in Edoras and I fear she was most unwilling to move here. I do not wish for her to become lonely."

Wynflaed sighed, caught up for a moment in some distant memory, then returned herself to the matter of business.

"There is one more thing," she said. "I could not help but notice the dark-haired cook--Modtryth, I believe was her name? Can you tell me aught of her parentage?"

A troubled and half suspicious look entered Saeyrn's face. "No. No more than I believe she is half Dunlanding. But she is from the Westfold, and she has Rohanian blood in her. Why?"

"Let me tell you a story. I had an elder brother, named Aedric, my father's heir. He was a fine rider, better with the spear than the sword, with a bold, strong voice for singing. My Aedre is named after him." She smiled. "He once... he threatened to geld Athanar should he ever cause ill to befall me. Happily, he never had to make good on his threat."

Wynflaed fixed her eye on Saeryn's, and as she continued to speak her voice grew hard. "Aedric was killed in the defense of the Hornburg, by men from Dunland. When the war was over, Athanar and I journeyed to Helm's Deep, and I stood on the place where he fell while a rider who had been with him told us how cruelly he had been slain. And I would rather lose all my titles, yea, and all my things, than let one of those people serve under me."

Saeryn's reply was instant, and her voice was just as hard as Wynflaed's, although a little more heated. "Modtryth did not kill your brother. Nor did her mother who gave her the Dunlandish blood. Modtryth has served well in this house for more than a year, and I will not see her and her family sent away."

Wynflaed pressed her lips together. Of course--she had married one of the craftsmen, whom they could afford to lose less than a kitchen hand, and they had a son--a quarter Dunlending, that--whom Wynflaed had already half-hoped would serve as a companion to her daughter! It had been years since she had let her feelings so outpace her that she had failed to account for the simple connections of family.

Not that she regretted her words--not yet. "Come," she said. "I spoke over-quickly. One cannot make a Mead Hall overnight, and even the best changes fail when not administered with wisdom and prudence. It would be folly to upset this Hall further while this matter of the lords is unsettled. Modtryth may stay until then.

"But this matter is not closed. I shall wish to discuss it with my husband, of course, and perhaps some others if they can hold their tongues. Her father, after all, was one of our kind, and so there may be some worth in her. But as for her mother--though she may not have killed my brother, yet still she was kin to those that did, and little love can I bear any of that folk for it."

Saeryn was about to answer when their discussion was interrupted by eager voices in the hall, footsteps fast approaching and then a rap upon the door.

[Folwren]

Javan topped off the wheelbarrow with his pitch fork and then placed the fork by the stall door while he pushed the load out of the stables and towards the plot of ground they planned on turning into a garden the next spring. He was coming back towards the stables when he saw riding down the path towards the hall a small rider on a pony. Before the rider, running as fast as their legs could carry them came Cnebba and Garmund, shouting when they saw him, “Javan! Javan! It’s Falco! Falco’s come back!”

Javan waved and then picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow again and pushed it as fast as he could back to the stables. When he came out again, Cnebba and Garmund were in the courtyard. “Falco is back and he’s brought the same pony as before!” Garmund said, fairly dancing with excitement.

“He sent us ahead to tell everyone,” Cnebba added. “He’ll be here in just a minute.”

“Run into the kitchen and tell the ladies there, Garmund,” Javan said. “Cnebba, find your dad. Lady Saeryn is with Lady Wynflaed. I’ll find them.”

The three lads parted ways, each running in their different directions. “Tell Harreld, too!” Javan shouted over his shoulder. He had seen the two ladies going into the hall just as he came out of the stables with his load of dung, so that was where he headed. No one was in the main hall. He knocked shyly on the women’s chambers, but no one answered, and when he peeped in he saw the room was empty. He looked in the kitchen, just in case they were there. They were not. Only Fordides and Kara were there, listening with surprised to Garmund’s news.

“Falco is back, is he?” Fordides said. “He’ll be welcome, I’m sure! Ginna and Modtryth are without, lad. Go and find them to tell them the news.”

Javan withdrew his head back into the hallway and wondered where next to look for the two ladies. He’d pop his head into the armory and the guardroom, though he doubted they would be there. He was right, and the only place was left was lord Athanar’s chamber itself. He hesitated only a moment at the door, and then he heard their voices from within, so he lifted his hand and knocked.

Saeryn and Wynflaed both stood when they heard the knocked. For a moment, they stared at each other, still caught in the emotion of what had just been said. Then Wynflaed stepped to the door and opened it wide.

“If you please, my lady,” Javan said, his face containing something between respectfulness and a broad grin. “Lady Saeryn, Falco is back.”

[littlemanpoet]

His back had been turned to them, and he had been making a fair amount of noise, but he knew they were there. The shift in light when the door had opened had been enough. They stayed for a little while, watching him work, and said nothing. He chose not to stop, and to say nothing as well.

Harreld the smith is like that, they probably said to each other, or to themselves. He is quiet and he works hard. It was true enough as far as it went. They did not need to know why. Were he to stop working, his thoughts of Ginna, lost to him, would be too much to bear. He could not afford to stop and talk light fare with these ladies. They might say something of Ginna, and he would be undone. He would not let them see him shed tears.

He hammered and hammered, sustained by the endurance of years in the smithy, his arms and legs provided the strength of body to prop him up as his heart was wrung with the pain of loss.

One moment he stopped, for a sudden realization had hit him full force. What have I done? Garreth in this smithy with me, his jokes about marrying and the like! His poking will be enough to make me mad!

He sighed. And began hammering some more.

Some time later the door opened again. "Harreld! It is me, Cnebba! Falco has returned!"

Harreld ceased his work and turned. "Falco! The hobbit?"

"On his same pony!"

Should he stop his work to go greet the holbytla?

"Are you coming, sir?"

"Ah, no. I have much to do. I will see him at the mid day meal. Thank you for the news, Cnebba."

"You are welcome, sir!" With that the boy hurried off, slamming the door behind him.

Strange, why was the hobbit back? He would be saddened, no doubt, to learn that his friend Eodwine was ill. Maybe he knew already. Harreld would learn at meal.

[littlemanpoet]

Why did everybody have to look at him that way? Did they not know that he saw their sidelong glances, comparing him to his father? Sometimes the looks held fear, other times disdain; often a mix of both.

"Stedford, bring in Wiglaf."

"Yes, lord." Stedford, his almbudsman, began to walk away.

"And make sure he stands on his own two feet. I don't want him leaning and mewling like he cannot take his stripes."

"Yes, lord."

Maybe he should contrive an accident and do away with the old man once and for all. That way these fools would not have the man alive with all his opinions and mouth-of-the-seer words, to drag in front of him. It was no good. The old man would say his say, and everybody would listen to him. How am I to lord this folk if he won't shut up?

A little voice inside said to him, Mayhap you should be a lord more like your father..

Faramund threw his knife across the room in a sudden rage. It skittered across the floor and stopped with a clatter against the far wall. He would lord over his land as he saw fit. It did not matter if his way was different than father's. This folk had better learn soon that it was his way or the law would wrest them of what was his by right. I'll show them.

Stedford walked the prisoner in front as they came into the lord's chamber. Wiglaf still had rope tying his ankles to each other; he could not walk a full step. His arms were still tied behind his back. He was a filthy, bloody mess. Serve him right.

"Wiglaf!" Faramund cried. "You owe me a bull and a mare! When will you pay?"

"I - I have naught with which to pay, lord. Please!"

"Find a way, fool!"

Wiglaf winced. "Lord, I c-cannot! I have naught!"

"Then you must pay with your life, mustn't you?"

Wiglaf's eyes went wide in sudden terror. "You cannot-"

"Nay, fool, I will not kill you. But I must be paid. All you have is your own skin and bones. You will be my bondsman until you can pay your debt, even if it takes you until your dying day. So be it! Stedford, take him out of here and clean him up, then put him to work."

"But lord!" cried Wiglaf. "I am a free man! I am an Eorling born and bred!" Now the fool was getting angry.

"It matters not. Pay and you are free. Until then, you are in bond. Stedford, get him out of my sight."

[Mnemosyne]

Falco? Wynflaed looked first at Javan, then at Saeryn. She had told her of no "Falco" among the Hall's men, and the name did not sound entirely like an Eorling's either.

"Who is Master Falco, Javan?" she said, deciding to address the youth first. She could always learn more from Lady Saeryn.

"Oh! He's a hobbit, my lady." The lad's enthusiasm was somewhat contagious. "He lived with us at the Hall, before..." His eyes flicked up to Wynflaed, then over at Saeryn.

"I thank you," said Wynflaed. A hobbit? The word sounded oddly familiar. "One of the holbytlan?" she said. She had seen them riding in Theoden King's funeral procession, and later, one of them weeping alone at his mound. It was only later that she had learned that this was indeed the Holdwine of the Mark, who was indeed a knight of the Riddermark even if his home was far to the north. Yet his name was not Falco, nor were the names of any of those heroes. And even if they had been, she did not see what purpose any of them would have had in coming to Scarburg. She turned to Saeryn. "How did one of that worthy people come to know this Hall?"

[littlemanpoet]

The two lads, Cnebba and Garmund, had been playing near the front gate when Falco and Daisy had trotted up.

"Good day to you both, my lads!" Falco had said.

They looked up, their eyes wide as saucers. Garmund found his tongue first. "Falco! Master Falco Boffin!"

"That's my name, young Master Garmund. You two run on ahead and let somebody know I'm here. I'll bring Daisy to the stables."

Falco had dismounted at the stables. Léof would not be here, so he would have to tend to Daisy himself. He whistled while he worked, getting Daisy hay and water. It was while he brushed the pony down that his whistling stopped and that region between his lugs kicked in.

"New Eorl? Whatever for? Eodwine made a fine Eorl, don't you think, Daisy? There may have been a few ways I'd have been tougher on a body or two, but his folk liked him. Why would they want him replaced?" Then his hands stopped at the brush.

Is he that sick?

He brushed faster, but not too fast, eager now to get the job done, because he had questions on his mind, and he wanted to find someone to answer them. Finished, he bid Daisy a pleasant rest and walked with determined steps toward the Hall. His stomach was growling, and it wouldn't hurt to kill two birds with one stone. He had a first and second breakfast, and a first lunch to catch up on, as well as news.

"Frodides, my dear!" Falco said, bustling into the kitchen. "Master Falco Boffin at your service. Or I should say, I hope you don't mind being at mine!"

She turned and faced him, setting her red-from-dishes-hands on her hips. "A proper hello will do nicely, Master Boffin!"

Falco doffed his hat and bowed deeply. "Please accept my humble and fond apologies, oh kind matron of the kitchens!" He came straight again. "Hello, Missus Frodides! How are you doing this fine day?"

"I am well, and you look like you have eaten well enough while on the road, I dare say!"

"Not so well as I'm sure to here, if you'd be willing to oblige!" Falco grinned.

Frodides laughed. "You haven't lost your silver tongue, thought the stars know you need it as much trouble as you get yourself into! Have a seat here on this stool, and I'll see what I can rummage up!"

"If you don't, mind, Missus Frodides, I could stand a second breakfast to go along with my first."

"Haven't you eaten yet today?"

"Well, I s'pose you could say I did, but it can't compare to food from the kitchen of Missus Frodides."

"Listen to you!" she laughed, and went rummaging with a will. Falco lipped his lips in anticipation.

[Folwren]

Javan’s tidings caused a glad feeling to warm Saeryn’s heart. She turned and picked up her shawl which she had taken off after coming in from the outdoors. Thoughts of Falco preoocupied her while Javan told lady Wynflaed who Falco was.

“One of the holbytlan?” Wynflaed said thoughtfully. Then turning to Saeryn as though for confirmation, she asked, “How did one of that worthy people come to know this Hall?”

“He came long ago, as a guest, and became such close friends with Eodwine that he stayed here for months on end. He left some months ago to go back home. The day I came back here, actually…” she thought for a minute of how that had turned out. The day Falco left was the day she had returned, wounded, after her brother’s death. “Come, let us go and meet him.”

Javan stepped out of the way and the two ladies went out. “If Falco is as I remembered him,” Saeryn said making a straight path towards the kitchen, “he will be in search of food after a morning’s ride. No one ever knew how to beg food out of Frodides better than Falco Boffin.”

She opened the door as she said these words and Frodides and Falco turned towards them at the same moment. Saeryn grinned, more happy at seeing him than the fact that she had been right.

"Welcome back, Falco! What brings you here at this time of year? The ride must have been simply terrible! Have you arranged for some breakfast?"

[littlemanpoet]

"But of course!" He rose and bowed deeply. "I am honored to be in the presence of such a redoubtable personage as yourself, Saeryn!"

He turned to the woman with her, and bowed again. "Master Falco Boffin at your service, ma'am!" He faced Saeryn. "Who is this, Saeryn, that have I the honor to meet this fine day?"

[Folwren]

“This is lady Wynflaed, lord Athanar’s wife. They have just arrived a couple days ago, to, um, ensure that things go smoothly in Eodwine’s absence.” For all her diplomatic attempts at choosing the right words, Saeryn couldn’t keep a troubled look from passing swiftly over her face. She quickly smoothed her features into a smile again and walked forward to invite him to sit down at the table. Frodides set a plate of hot food before him and in a moment it was followed be some steaming brew in a mug.

“You haven’t told me why you came back, Falco,” Saeryn said.

The hobbit had no chance to reply before the door opened and Cnebba, Garmund, and Leodern all tumbled into the kitchen together. They swarmed about Falco’s chair, Leodern hugged him excitedly, and they all talked together in a jumble of high, childish voices. Javan came in from the hall, but he stood back by the door.

[littlemanpoet]

"Whoa now! Don't hug me so tight you knock my breakfast about!" He put down his spoon, turned, and pulled Léoðern up to his lap. "How's my big girl?"

He got back a big smile, but her attention quickly wandered to his plate of food. "Now now, only Hobbits needs second breakfasts, my little one!" Falco could say 'little one' in regard to the young lady because she was one of the few Big People actually of smaller size than he.

Léoðern tried to pout but couldn't keep the grin off her face.

"As to why I'm back," Falco turned to Saeryn, "to see all of you! And that gave me an excuse to go a-wandering. Now, I heard Eodwine was sick and at Minas Tirith. What's all that about?"

[Nogrod]

As they got Faramund's hall into their sight lord Athanar immediately made the obvious observation. It was a lordly dwelling, starkly in contrast to how the more ordinary people lived and whose houses and fields they had passed - and also much more lavish than the Mead Hall itself was. Well, that is, how the Mead Hall is as yet... Lord Athanar thought to himself. But this sure is a rich place... I wonder how have they gotten this rich...

There were some people on the courtyard and they clearly noticed the approaching party. Just as one of them reached the doors of the hall they opened before him and a man was being thrown out from the hall by two henchmen. The man rolled down the few steps and something was yelled at him. Athanar couldn't quite make out what it was but the tone was in line with the way the man was handled. That is most curious indeed...

From the distance Athanar could see the man who had been rushing in in the first place pointing his hand towards the party and all three disappearing inside.

"Take your places! Straight lines! Let's show them some quality!" lord Athanar yelled and clearly straightened his own posture. They were reaching the sideroad that branched from the mainroad and went up the low hill on top of which Faramund's hall was located.

While they started climbing the narrower path towards the courtyard he glanced to his both sides nodding to Thornden and Coenred in turn.

"Cool now..." he said, as much to himself as to his two commanders.

They reached the courtyard where many of the men and women working outside had already gathered to see what the strangers were about. Although they kept their distance, standing around the barnhouses and the stables like they were ready to run away if needed be. They looked both curious and nervous. But it was not everyday a host of two dozens of armed eorlinga rode into their yard.

Lord Athanar halted the party about thirty yards from the hall's main entrance.

[littlemanpoet]

"Lord Faramund!" Stedford came walking hurriedly.

"Yes, Stedford," said Faramund with forced patience, "What is so urgent?"

"A small army of Eorlingas has arrived!"

Faramund sat upright. "How small?"

"Mayhap three dozen."

"Can you tell me any more than a number, Stedford?"

"They bear the livery of Lord Athanar."

"Ah. The new Eorl of the newly fashioned Middle Emnet is out for the day," he said disparagingly. "Hmm..." This was news. What were they doing here? Were they hostile? "Stedford," he asked, his tone more urgent now, "how did they seem? Do they seem on patrol, or do they mean ... worse?"

"They have set themselves in ordered ranks, lord, and they seem to be waiting."

Faramund put his hand to his unshaven chin. "Have they said aught?"

"Nay, lord."

"Gather the men. I want an armed guard at my back when I go out to meet them. Do it now! Get them here double quick!"

Yes, lord!"

Faramund paced while he waited. Soon his men started running into the room from the neighboring armory. Stedford called for ordered columns. Sometimes Faramund disdained Stedford. The man was the son of his father's best loved steward, who had since been laid in the ground. Stedford was as responsible and dutiful as could be hoped, and therefore useless for plotting strategem. He had stopped asking him for counsel long since, having grown used to the typical response, "I would do the right thing, lord." It irritated him. At least the man was competent. Soon the two dozen men at arms were rounded up and in columns.

"Stedford, march the men out ahead of me and order them up in rows of six, four deep. Make a space between three to right and left. I'll walk up the middle, and you will announce me. I want to make an impression on this new Eorl of ours."

"Aye, lord."

[Mnemosyne]

"What you have heard, alas, is true, Master Falco," said Wynflaed. "Lord Eodwine is gravely ill, ill enough that Eomer King has seen fit to lay plans in the event that he should never return. That is why Lord Athanar and I are here, and while we both truly hope that he may recover, we must act as if the worst has come to pass."

She glanced over at Saeryn, hoping that her bald statement had not wounded her too badly.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco followed the Lady Wynflaed's eyes to Saeryn, whose eyes were not exactly dry.

"This is serious, then. Léof sounded more hopeful, leastways about King Elessar's healing ability. What manner of illness has he got?"

Not even Falco had interest in second breakfast with his friend's illness unknown. Maybe he would have to hie himself to Minas Tirith. His heart sank. Wanderlust or no wanderlust, he had expected to end his journey at Scarburg. Minas Tirith was five days to a week away.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar waited patiently for a short while, but as it was obvious their entrance had been noticed he thought Faramund could not pretend he didn't know they were here.

He turned towards Coen and nodded.

Coen took his ride a few steps closer and then called for Faramund: "Lord Faramund! Come out! It is lord Athanar, your eorl, requesting you to come forwards!"

Just as the sound of his cry had died in the air the doors opened and men started pouring out organising themselves into columns as Stedford guided them. While they poured out Coen backtracked to the level of his lord.

Finally Faramund came from the doorway and started descending the stairs to the space the men had left him to descend.

Lord Athanar looked at the pomp and circumstance half amused and half puzzled. That kid has not seen real danger or valour, I bet that kid has never needed to face his strengths and fears in the first place, all this parade... for what? But he has manpower... even if not too sharp-looking... hmm... let's see what he says...

Suddenly lord Athanar picked a figure from among the people standing around the two parties from the corner of his eye. It was the man he had seen kicked out from the hall, there was no mistaking as rather few men had reddish tunics around. He was distracted for a short moment until lord Faramund settled to the first step of the stairs.

Athanar turned to face the young lord and looked at him in the eyes, curiously but also steadfast.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc had not been paying too much attention to the rest of the journey to the first of the landholders. His thoughts have been mostly dark on the way, as if somehow the sighting of the holbytla was an ill omen to him. His face was stern, but if anyone had looked closely, they could have seen that he was troubled. He was angry at himself that he had acted so foolishly and could not restrain himself. He, a veteran amidst all the younger and less experienced soldiers, should have been the one to call the others to keep order; and not to cause that Thornden himself had to come back and what more, to rebuke Hilderinc himself. Hilderinc had very well noted the look Thornden gave him and he felt ashamed, it now looked as if he was but one of the youngsters who could not maintain discipline.

And as Hilderinc had been mulling over this inside his head, in some way, his anger with himself had also turned towards the holbytla, as he was the one initially responsible for everything. What was he even doing here? And once again Hilderinc was lost in thoughts, so much that he almost had not noticed that they were arriving towards first of the landlords' household until they arrived at the gates.

Hilderinc blinked, seeing the large hall and several other buildings. He heard young Quin by his side gasp, obviously surprised by the richness of the place in comparison to Scarburg. Hilderinc himself had not anticipated this much; his expectations have been that he might see something akin to it, but this place looked a lot... better than Scarburg. Maybe it is good that Scyrr is not here, he thought. He would have had one more reason to complain about the state of the Mead Hall. Hilderinc could well imagine that even some of the other men around him felt envy towards the inhabitants of this hall, even though Hilderinc thought such an envy was misplaced. The lavishness of the place did not certainly simply equal better conditions for living.

Athanar had called them to order and Hilderinc now did his best to straighten himself up in the saddle and to bear the banner of his lord raised loftily - just like he did on the day of their arrival to Scarburg. Each of the men tried to bear himself proudly, magnifying the appearance of their lord, as if they wanted to remedy for the bit of disorder during the encounter with Falco. Even the "stablemaster" seemed to try to fit into the ranks with the soldiers, as if he were one of them.

Occupied with observing whether the order is being kept and whether he holds the banner correctly, Hilderinc had not paid much attention to the folk in the courtyard until the moment when men began walking out of the hall. He kept his face inexpressive, but inside, he was surprised at the pomp which easily matched that of Athanar's arrival. What a showoff, he thought. I would not have expected this from some local land-owner, not by the least. Quickly, he looked at the expressions of his companions, and realised that some of them have been doing the same, but in a bit less unsuspicious manner. In some of the faces he could see uncertainity, in some eagerness and expectation. Like small children, he thought. They look forward to confrontation. Hilderinc knew very well, though, that the role of the soldiers will be most likely - or hopefully - to just stand by their lord's side and look menacing enough while Athanar will speak to the local landholder. Hilderinc trusted Athanar to be more than fit for any kind of diplomacy, and after all, his mere status dictated the landlord to submit. Later, of course, the soldiers will all take pride in his victory on the matter and merrily celebrate "their" victory in the evening. Hopefully.

[Folwren]

Thornden was displeased. He was displeased in more than one way. At first, he had been inclined to think well of the place they now stood. All had seemed in order, the courtyard clean, and the workings of the hall apparently going on in an efficient manner. But the sight of the elderly greybeard being thrown from the hall’s doors and left in the dust had stirred a distrust and deep disgust in Thornden. Then there was the expression on the face of the man who had seen to the ejection of the old man. He disappeared in the hall again, looking like a frightened dog with its tale between its legs.

As lord Athanar stopped and the men formed their columns behind and on either side of him, Thornden watched the old man crawl and scramble away. Then they had waited. Too long, they waited. And when Faramund finally decided to come out, it was with a show of force and arms.

This was not how anyone should greet their lord. He should be made welcome, not greeted with men-at-arms. In a time of peace, no known friend should be greeted so. His mind harped back on how he and Saeryn had greeted lord Faramund and the other lords and their soldiers when they had come to the Mead Hall two months ago. They had not tried to impress them with strength. They had attempted to make them welcome and deal with the business as diplomatically as they could. Much thanks they had received for it. When he thought of how they had treated lady Saeryn and her claim to levy the taxes in Eodwine's absence, his blood heated within him, and he looked with calculated distain on this young upstart who presumed to set his men opposite Athanar, as though against him, and who dared to show his face in such a proud and haughty manner.

[Folwren]

Saeryn mastered here trembling breath and answered Falco evenly. “It started as any sickness might when one is out in the cold often and working past one’s strength. Then he became consumed in a fever and very quickly it worsened until he fell into a sleep. He woke only once or twice before he left Edoras and was taken to Minas Tirith.” Her voice sank as she added, “Some say it is a sleeping death, and he will never wake again.”

“They that said that weren’t counting on King Elessar,” Javan said from the doorway. His face was set in a defiant expression and he glanced briefly at Lady Wynflaed as though blaming her for the rumors sent around that Eodwine was going to die. “I think he will be fine.”

Saeryn looked at him and smiled a little. Eodwine had been a great man to Javan, and she knew this. She knew well that Javan did not want to face the fact that Eodwine might die, and that was why he spoke so boldly in defiance of it. “We all hope he lives,” she said quietly. “But I fear we have spoiled your appetite,” she said, trying to brighten the mood. “Don’t push Fordide’s food away, Falco! You might offend the poor woman, and we wouldn’t like that. Besides, your fasting won’t make Eodwine well. We are glad you have returned. You will make the people happy and bring back glad remembrances of old times.”

[littlemanpoet]

Pushed himself too hard, was it? Sleeping death? Falco shuddered. That sounded like something out of the War of the Ring!

Saeryn spoke more brightly after young Javan put in his bit. It seemed the lad liked Eodwine well enough.

"Oh, don't you worry about my food! I was just paying my respects. After all, it's unnatural to both talk and eat at the same time, at least for sensible Hobbits! Not meaning to offend any Big People, mind you! But if I'm talking I'm not eating, and if I'm eating I'm paying full attention to my victuals! And so!"

With that, Falco set Léoðern back on her own two feet and laid into it again, letting them gawk all they liked.

But while he ate, he wondered about moving on to Minas Tirith. He stopped between mouthfuls, which was odd for even him.

"Say, have any of you a notion how long Eodwine is likely to last? I'd rather get to Minas Tirith with him still around, if you take my meaning. I'm not too keen on arriving just in time to watch a body-" his voice trailed off as Saeryn's eyes moistened and she put her hand to her mouth. "Um, that is, watch a body stay sick and not quite on the mend."

[Nogrod]

It was quiet for a moment. The two lords were looking at each other.

"Welcome to my hall, lord Athanar", Faramund finally said. He was clearly collecting himself to be relaxed and self-assured. "What brings you here on this fine autumn day?"

Lord Athanar studied the young lord a moment before answering.

"You should know it very well, Faramund, son of Friduhelm. You know the king has decided to build a Mead Hall to this part of the country to re-establish order and the rule of law around here. I don't know why he thought it that important, but I guess he had his reasons... and I'm here to find it out." He made a pause just to follow Faramund's reactions.

Athanar watched a smirk form on Faramund's mouth as he opened it to begin some retort. He chose to cut him off before he began.

"And I think you also know what happened to lord Eodwine who was to take the eorlship... and that you know I was appointed by king Eomer on his stead to be the eorl of Mid Emnet. At least you seem to know my name already?" He looked at Faramund to the eye with a thin smile.

"So, what do you think I'm here for?" he asked finally.

"We did make a deal with that woman already... what was her name... Saerin, something." Faramund seemed to be stalling, trying to find a way to save face. "So please tell me why do you call us again? Everything should be settled."

"We?" Athanar asked, like he was making a casual remark... and he did not continue, but stared at the young lord.

There was a silence at the courtyard. After a considerable pause lord Athanar broke it.

"What do you mean by "we"? Or "that woman"? Do I have to remind you that you are talking about the king's Mead Hall and your personal responsibility as a lord to the law and to your king? Or do you have some other structures around here to wield power?"

[littlemanpoet]

"What do you mean by "we"? Or "that woman"? Do I have to remind you that you are talking about the king's Mead Hall and your personal responsibility as a lord to the law and to your king? Or do you have some other structures around here to wield power?"

Lord Athanar was being curt with him, Faramund thought. It reminded him of his father; somehow the old man always put him in a posture of defense. This new lord was doing the same thing. Very annoying! But he was the king's appointed man, and therefore Faramund had better placate him or he might become a gnat in his ear like dear old pop.

"Forgive me, lord Athanar," he wheedled, "your Gondorian laden speech is lost on me. I do not know who struck what nor what that has to do with wielding power." He glanced to his side with a half-smile for his men, hoping they appreciated his half-respecting dig at this man's expense. He glowered: the fools were too afraid of him.

"In any case, "we" lords who visited Scarburg are the "we", of course, and I think you know the woman better than I. I mean no offense for forgetting her name. Far be it from me to stand in the way of the king's business. How can I be of-" he paused, half bowing with an ingratiating smirk, "-service?"

[Nogrod]

Garmund and Cnebba had been listening to the adults' discussion in a remarkable feat of quietness for them. But now they just couldn't hold their horses.

"Master Falco, can we come to Minas Tirith with you?" Garmund asked excited, pulling the hobbit from the sleeve.

"We needn't bother our parents about it!" Cnebba begged, looking at Falco with his dashingly bright young boy's eyes. "Pleeease?"

At the same time the door opened. Stigend and Garstan came in to have something hot to drink as they had been working outside for hours in the cold.

"Well this is news!" Garstan yelled immediately seeing Falco.

"If that is our good old Falco..." Stigend stated, smiling warmly as they both went to greet the hobbit.

"Now, have you been teasing Mr. Falco again boys?" Garstan asked heartily after shaking hands with the hobbit. But something in the reservedness of the boys countenance told them both there was something the kids were hiding.

Stigend stopped on his feet. "I know that face Cnebba... what is it?" He raised his eyes to meet Falco's with curiosity. "Might you be the key to this mystery, Falco?"

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar looked at the foolery and felt his blood pressure rising. He was pressing the reins so hard his knuckles turned white. But he managed to keep himself more or less calm.

"Let's start with you behaving like a lord should!" He said in a commanding voice.

"Get my men something to eat and drink, like a lord should honour any guests, not to speak their eorl. And we Faramund... we should talk." He made a short pause.

"Speaking of which... I'd like to see your father Friduhelm as well. I'd like to meet that old war-horse. It's been a while our paths have crossed." With that he unmounted his horse and set his helmet on the knob of the saddle. "And something for the horses..."

Thornden had followed lord Athanar and had unmounted too.

Coen looked at his lord questioningly, but Athanar just wawed to him to stay mounted with the men until it was settled.

[littlemanpoet]

"It seems, Master Stigend, that these boys wish to stow themselves in my luggage should I be on my way to Minas Tirith."

He looked at the two youngsters whose countenances registered frank betrayal. He could almost read their minds: he's nothing but another adult!

"Now now, boys, don't look at me like that!" he grinned. "Who says I'm even going to Minas Tirith? And even if I do, I'm not altogether sure you'd be so pleased when I put you to work making my six meals a day while I take care of all our other needs. Do you like to do kitchen work, boys? The care and feeding of a hobbit is a demanding task!"

[littlemanpoet]

Faramund was enraged. This old chunk of coal was being offensive. He felt his face darken.

"Such as keeping a civil tongue in one's mouth, my lord," he shot back. "I will do my very best. Let us hope all here will do the same. We must be an example to those in our service."

He bowed, keeping his eyes locked on Athanar's.

"As to my father, he is unwell and cannot leave his bed. I shall see that he is asked whether he is willing to have company."

"Stedford! Show Lord Athanar and his retainers into my chambers, and see that his men and their horses are cared for. Then seek out Lord Friduhelm and ask him if he will take visitors this day."

With that he turned on his heel, gave his back to Athanar, passed back between his men, and without another look back, entered his hall.

[Nogrod]

When Faramund turned his back to him and went his way, lord Athanar was near explosion. His right hand went for the hilt of his sword. But he calmed down, barely touching the knob of his sword's handle. Had someone noticed? He was worried but pulled a fair face.

"Coen! At ease..." He turned around to say and waved with his hand for him to take care of the men and their needs as lord Farmund had said.

"Thornden?" he asked turning to him.

Thornden nodded and took the few steps to stand by his side while two local men at arms took care of his and lord Athanar's horses.

Suddenly lord Athanar turned back to the riders of Scarburg.

"Hilderinc!"

Hilderinc was surprised of the call. But he managed to answer controlledly: "Yes sir!"

"Come Hilderinc! I want you with us."

Athanar glanced at Coen and nodded sharply. Coen had unmounted and answered with a nod. Then Athanar turned towards Thornden.

"I wish Coen to stay with the men" he half whispered to Thornden, "but looking at this lord's behaviour I do think it better there are three of us rather than two..."

He turned towards the hall and followed lord Faramund who had now already vanished inside. Thornden and soon Hilderinc as well followed his steps.

A man ran after them.

"Please lord, follow me." He took a few steps but then suddenly turned to the yard and yelled "Crowhair! You're responsible for the horses! And Mallorhan, see to the wine for the men!"

He turned to lord Athanar and apologised. "I'm sorry lord, just too many things depending on one head..."

Before Stedford could turn back to lead them, lord Athanar nodded and smiled, halting him: "Steadford you are? Not all heads are able to do what you do."

There was a moment of silence betwee the two.

"Now, please show us to lord Faramund's chambers... and if you will yourself check with lord Friduhelm... Well, we'd be happy to meet him at his place if he is unable to meet us at lord Friduhelm's quarters. Just for you to know..."

Stedford looked back at lord Athanar, nodded and then turned to lead them inside the great Hall.

[Nogrod]

Stigend and Garstan laughed merrily.

Stigend took Cnebba by the hair, gently but firmly. "Now you boys, take Leodthern with you, and go outside to play. You'll have time to mess with master Falco for days to come... as he's going nowhere for a while!" He glanced at Falco to get a confirmation for the kids.

"I'll tell you if I need any squires to attend me for any perilous adventures!" Falco chuckled.

"And you Javan as well..." Garstan said in a steadfast tone nodding towards the door.

When the kids had reluctantly left the room, both Stigend and Garstan turned to the hobbit.

"So what's the news?" Stigend asked.

"Have you been to Meduseld, or Minas Tirith? Any news with lord Eodwine?" Garstan added.


Saeryn was looking amused for a long time, looking at the kids, their fathers and Falco, but lady Wynflaed just stood there not quite sure of what to make of all that.

[littlemanpoet]

Faramund walked by his seat in the hall where he held court, and passed into the next room. It was a place of meeting with a large oaken table his father had placed there. The room was wider than it was long. There was a big window to the left, a door to his own chambers in the far wall, and a door in the wall to the right leading to the kitchens.

Stout oaken chairs were lined along the walls, decorated just above the chairs in hung pelts of fox, wolf, badger, and mink. These were interspersed with mounted elk, deer, bear, and mountain lion heads. Some were older than his father.

Faramund had a man servant place six of the chairs around the large table, and took his place, standing behind the chair facing the door through which Stedford would lead his unwelcome guests. He ordered the serving man to get from the kitchens the freshest bread they had, honey, wooden mugs, and mead. Best to put forth a show of hospitality. He knew better than to insult these men more than he had already.

[littlemanpoet]

"I passed through Edoras on the way here, of course," Falco replied, "but Minas Tirith I have not seen, now nor never, though that may change soon enough.

"As to news, the king and queen are well and very kind to me. They asked after Master Meriadoc, of course. Funny, I know him no better than I know your royal sires, but everybody I talk to seems to think I hold them all as personal acquaintances.

"I did pass a couple of riders on their way to Edoras, before I saw the new lord and his men. At least one of them looked familiar, I think, though it's hard for me to tell one of you Big People from another, leastways when you're mounted high up on a horse's back. Do you know who they were, and what business they might be about?"

[Folwren]

“Oh!” Saeryn said, “That would be Garwine and Áforglaed! You would have known Garwine, he has been part of Eodwine’s guard since he took up his eorlship. Áforglaed is one of Athanar’s guard. They went to Edoras for a double purpose. They are going to tell Garrath that his brother Harreld has use of him here, so we shall hopefully soon be joined by another old friend.”

Words and looks of general surprise and pleasure from those who had not heard the news, and from Falco. Then after a slight pause, Falco asked what the second bit of business had been.

“Athanar sent a message to the king by the messengers. Do you remember Lithor?” Falco remembered him. “He and Erbrand both left yesterday morning…Lithor without leave, and Erbrand after almost killing one of Athanar’s men. They are outlaws, now.” How much she might say, were Wynflaed not standing there! But instead, she left it at the bare minimum. Later, perhaps, she would be able to tell Falco so much about how she felt about this new lord and what had happened since his arrival. Falco had been so close to her husband. They would sit and talk so comfortably back when they were both there, and Eodwine had often discussed ideas and plans with Falco. She felt as if a part of him had returned in this little hobbit.

[Folwren]

Thornden followed Athanar into lord Faramund’s hall, mulling over what had just passed in the courtyard. This was not going to be easy, and he hoped very much that the other lords would not be as stubborn or foolish as Faramund. He reached back in his memory to that day that they had visited Scarburg. The other two had been more civil. Tancred had been the calmest and most commanding, and he at least would not treat Athanar in this manner. The other, and Thornden could not remember his name, had seemed a more violent type and possibly capable of such indecencies as Faramund had shown. Being older, Thornden doubted he would handle his guests in such a manner when he was faced with a real lord with real power and commanding.

However, they were not dealing with either of the other lords right now. Thornden focused again on the present. They went through the great hall and into a smaller room beyond. Smaller, but well furnished for purposes such as this, it seemed. Faramund stood behind a chair facing them when they entered and he motioned with his hand that they might be seated. Bread and other victuals were being brought and placed upon the table. It seemed Athanar’s rebuke had gone home, Thornden reflected. He waited for Athanr to sit and then had indicated that Thornden should also sit. Hilderinc stood back by the door.

After they had eaten some and the edge of hunger that had come upon them from their ride had been taken away, Athanar set aside food and drink and looked across the table at Faramund. Thornden, too, pushed away his trencher, and then laid both hands on the edge of the table as he waited for Athanar to speak.

[Nogrod]

"Thank you for the plenty, lord Faramund. It was very good indeed. But I think we have things to talk." He looked at the young lord straight to the eye.

"Well, sure. So what might have brought you here?" Faramund answered, keeping his calm now.

"I knew your father before the war. We were not close... but I knew him. He was a wealthy man from a traditional family, but he was also a modest man with modest goals in life. And he was a devout rider of Rohan." Athanar made a pause, not letting his eyes from young lord Faramund.

"So I'm just wondering..." lord Athanar started gazing around to all the adornments, the precious pelts, the valuables on the table. "You are doing pretty well for a lord in Mid Emnet... Would you like to tell me where does all this come from?"

Lord Athanar took the half full goblet and toyed with it. "I failed to see such wealth in the surrounding countryside... I maybe new around here, but I'm not new to life, or stupid!" Lord Athanar hit the goblet to the table so that some of the mead fell over while his voice got louder. But he controlled himself immediately. "An eorl should know the lands and their ways. So, how does this household work? How do you make your fortunes?"

[Mnemosyne]

Wynflaed looked at Saeryn, who seemed to want to say more to the holbytla. Small wonder, she thought, if he knew her husband well.

Yet she did not think that that was the only reason for the Lady Saeryn's reticence--unfortunate that she should be harbouring thoughts about the runagates that she felt did not warrant sharing, but understandable.

For a moment Wynflaed considered staying, but compassion won out over prudence--and besides, she thought she could grow fond of Saeryn over time.

"Master Falco," she said, "it was a pleasure making your acquaintance, and indeed, meeting one of your people in the flesh. I fear I must take your leave, however--though I hope I may speak to you in private at some point, when you are less caught in the bustle of reunion. I hope you will stay here for some time, but should you decide to travel on to Mundburg, let me know and we shall provision you accordingly." She turned to Saeryn. "Lady Saeryn," she said. "Thank you once more for all your help; it was of great help. I will continue to think on what you told me earlier. Good day."

And with that, Wynflaed left the kitchen and returned to her and Athanar's room. She sat down on the bed, indulging in a moment's weakness to massage her temples. Now, would it be wise to ask Lilige to help in the kitchen?

[Folwren]

Thornden shot a sidelong glance at Athanar. He felt his muscles tense in response to the flash of anger that Athanar showed. Although he had seen it more than once in the last two days, he could not get used to the show of fierceness, however brief, in this new eorl. Thornden hoped that he did not become truly angry and decide to do something more drastic than raise his voice. He thought about the soldiers outside, and lord Faramund’s soldiers. Surely, lord Athanar would not become so furious himself that the men would actually be called to fight…or surely he would not provoke lord Faramund to that point.

Thornden looked again at Faramund. He knew that his fuse was short, and pushed too far he could become violent. He had seen it before. When he and the other two lords had come to Scarburg, Faramund had threatened to draw sword in the hall. Only the presence of lord Tancred had kept Faramund under control. Now it the situation was even more dangerous, and Thornden began to hope that Athanar would not try to lord it over him quite so much, despite his rights as the new Eorl.

[littlemanpoet]

Once lady Wynflaed's back was seen to disappear through the door, and a few more seconds passed, Falco cleared his throat.

"Seeing, my dear Lady Saeryn, as the new Lady is now gone from this dining hall, you can tell me your true mind, eh?" He glanced at the others. "And that goes for the rest of you too, I wager."

He picked up his tankard and took a pull, eyeing one after another over the wide brim. News there was, and he knew he'd have it from them soon.

[Folwren]

“I think you’re right there, Falco,” Saeryn said, taking a seat to his left at the table. “All is not right here,” she said in a low and serious voice. “There are moments when I hope that all will be well, but then things happen and the place is thrown into an uproar.”

“Like what things?” Falco asked.

“Well, the very first day lord Athanar and his people came there were two fights in the courtyard. Then that night, Lithor made a toast to Athanar and all the others, and some of the things he said infuriated lord Athanar so that he accused Lithor of treasonous actions, or at least of thoughts and words, I can’t remember now exactly what it was he said, but he was so angry that he decided to bring Lithor before his seat of court the following morning. But before the night was out, Thornden had left to speak with Lithor and Athanar’s sons overheard them speaking and accused them both of treason and plotting against lord Athanar.

“Lord Athanar did handle things well in his court, I admit, but he did not understand Lithor, and that is why he reacted so. Lithor was given extra duties in addition to his duties as a soldier. He made some very serious threats, though, and made it clear that no foolishness would be tolerated. He informed everyone than any more fights or brawls would be punished by flogging. It is not bad in itself..we don’t want fights and the like here, but it is so harsh compared to Eodwine.”

“Is that all that has happened?” Falco asked.

“No. After the trial, the people went about their business, and the soldiers went out to be drilled by the captain, Coenred, and Thornden. By chance, one of Athanar’s soldiers went to the stream, near where Erbrand, the tanner, was working, and somehow it came about that Erbrand and this soldier fought. Erbrand nearly killed him, and came back here before anyone had found out. He spoke to me briefly before he left, but he did not tell me why he was leaving, though I found out soon enough. But before he left, Lithor met him, and together they rode away.

“Fordides and Ginna brought Scyrr, the soldier, back. That was when lord Athanar discovered what had happened. And not long after, when the other soldiers returned for the noon meal, it became plain that Lithor and Erbrand had both left. Athanar immediately had search parties formed, and though they did not catch them, I know his intent as clearly as though he had spoken it – they both would have been judged harshly, possibly both been put to death, had they been found. They were not, thank heaven, but had they been - !" she broke off and said nothing. Her hands clasped each other tightly on the table top where they rested. She calmed her frightened tone and looked at Falco again.

“Falco, I don’t like what has happened. The people are discontent and unhappy, and Athanar’s heavy hand in ruling is not helping them settle under the horrible news that Eodwine may never return. But I don’t know how to stop it.”

[Firefoot]

Any optimism Léof might have felt about the first visit had dissipated as soon as he saw the old man bodily thrown from the hall. From his position at the back of the column, he had a difficult time seeing and hearing everything that was going on, though he did not think that all the armed men at Faramund’s back were meant to be welcoming. And once Athanar and Faramund started raising their voices, Léof knew for sure the meeting was beginning poorly.

Suddenly the party was breaking up, and Léof heard the commands given to Faramund’s men: "Crowhair! You're responsible for the horses! And Mallorhan, see to the wine for the men!" Well, now he had a choice. Ought he to go with the soldiers? Or make sure the horses were seen to rightly? He chose easily – the horses were his care, and he supposed he fit in better amongst them than with the soldiers. Besides, one man would have difficulty seeing to all of these horses at once – Léof supposed he might appreciate an extra hand.

He spotted Crowhair almost immediately – the man’s distinctive hair color made him hard to miss. He had already taken the horses of Athanar, Thornden, and Hilderinc in hand, for they had already followed Faramund inside. He was directing the rest of the men to tie their horses at the fence of a nearby paddock. Léof could see that some of the men looked uneasy leaving their horses to the care of a man who was so obviously at least part Dundlendish – another good reason to help see to the horses himself.

Léof dismounted and made his way over to Crowhair. “Horses by the paddock, I’ve got my hands full enough already,” Crowhair said as Léof approached.

“Yes, I heard, but I’m Athanar’s stablemaster, and -”

“Then take one of these,” said Crowhair, pushing the reins of Thornden’s horse at him. “Don’t know what I’m supposed to do with three of them.” And he walked off with the other two horses, leaving Léof standing there. He supposed that meant he ought to walk his and Thornden’s horses out, and followed after Crowhair.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco listened, nursing his ale, as Saeryn spilled a tale of woe. When she was done he set down his tankard and pulled out his pipe and leaf. He let them watch and wait as he prepared the mix, lit, and took a few satisfying puffs as he thought over what he'd heard.

"Well now," he said slowly, "that might explain Thornden's curt manner a bit back on the road. I can't say we always got along, but he seemed more - ah - more tightened up than his usual earnest self."

He took a drag on his pipe and lofted three smoke rings into the atmosphere.

"Puts me in mind of Sharkey back in the bad old days. But maybe this one's not that bad. Of course, Eodwine is - was - is," he emphasized, "unusual as Big People go. Knows how to treat hobbits, he does. I'll admit he learned some of it from me, but he was teachable."

He caught Saeryn smirking in spite of herself. He grinned. Then he got serious.

"If this Athanar's the new lord hereabouts, and is so by rights, you can't stop it unless he breaks the law. Then you have something to bring your king. So the question is, it seems to me, do you like Scarburg more than you dislike the new lord? Then you'll stay. Otherwise, I think you're all free men and women here, are you not? No one has chained you to this place.

"Or do you harbor some hope that Eodwine will return? If he did, would the king give him back his place?"

Falco looked around from one face to the next. Each was more serious than the last; or worse, troubled. He puffed his pipe, filled the air with smoke rings, and relaxed. Before long one of these Big People would speak more of their mind.

[Folwren]

Whilst the soldiers rode away to do their soldiering deeds, and the old Scarburgians hurried about meeting old friends or attending to their regular duties, one person of Athanar’s household roamed the premises mostly unseen and entirely unnoticed. He poked about the empty hall, and then ambled across the courtyard to the stables, peering into the empty stalls and then into the empty paddocks. Nearly every horse had been taken out. Lord Eodwine’s horse remained in his stall, a lonely reminder of his master’s absence.

Old Raban he was – trustworthy, elderly man of Athanar’s. Wounded almost beyond recognition, and maimed to such a degree that he could not walk without a stick and a limp, nor straighten his back, he was a strange figure and a living reminder of the wars not too long ago fought. He was on a mission this morning, and so far, his purpose had remained unfulfilled.

He left the stables and walked towards Harreld’s smithy. He knew it by the smoke that came from the forge’s chimney and the clanging of hammer against steel. Slowly he rounded the doorpost and stood on the doorstep looking in while the young smith worked tirelessly with tong and hammer.

“Have you a moment, young man?” Raban ask. “I have a request to ask of you, and a duty to fulfill for my lord Athanar.”

[littlemanpoet]

The morning dragged on slowly. The pain was not going away. It was worsening. All his hopes had been to share his life with Ginna; all that was gone, in a mere moment. He was determined not to stop his work, not to give into the pain. He set his face, clenched his teeth, and set himself a fierce pace with hammer and tong. It would not keep his thoughts in check - nothing could do that - but it would at least mask his pain from others.

The door opened. Now who? He stopped, his back still to the intruder.

“Have you a moment, young man? I have a request to ask of you, and a duty to fulfill for my lord Athanar.”

Harreld turned at the sound of the elderly voice, which did not quaver, but the years could be heard in it. It was Raban, Athanar's old smith. What Raban saw in his face seemed to startle him for a moment, but the old man collected himself.

"What is your request?" Harreld's voice sounded gruff in his own ears. He imagined that he must look as if he were in an unending rage, his eyes hard, his jaw set, a tightness in his cheeks. It could not be helped.

[Folwren]

Raban entered the smithy cautiously now. There seemed to be no reason for Harreld’s passion, and yet there he was, apparently caught in the midst of some terrible struggle or fury, just held at bay by his physically violent work. The old soldier steeled himself to his purpose and set right to the business he had come to perform.

“You were there when my lord Athanar brought Javan before his seat of court, and you heard the sentence given to the boy. I am to teach him how to make a shirt of chain mail. What I ever did to deserve such punishment, I’ll never know, but my lord’s wishes cannot be gainsaid by an old man’s grumblings. I came asking if your smithy could afford the space and the forge needed for such work. I have tools of my own, and would need but a corner of your space…” He looked about with his one keen eye, appraising what space there was. Not much, really. Some organizing and ordering would have to be done to make room for two more people. He looked back at Harreld. “Do you think it might be done?”

[littlemanpoet]

Faramund was startled by the sudden violence from Athanar. What had set this man off? Surely not himself! His little demonstration in the yard had not been enough to cause this untoward behavior in the man. Something must be eating him, Faramund conjectured. He eyed Athanar now, picked up his tankard and took a long drink, juggling in his mind the most useful way to reply. He could tell him that how he came into his wealth was none of his business as long as he gave Athanar the fees he had coming. Or he could tell him that his father had been of humble means because the poor wretch had never known how to keep his wealth about him. Or, he could tell him that he had agreed with the other lords nearby that they would charge higher fees for crimes than had been done in the past. All three were pieces of the truth. But he had his self-respect to consider, and this man was abusing it, eorl or not; he had controlled himself too late.

"Eorl you may be, lord Athanar," he said slowly, "which no doubt gives you certain rights and privileges. I daresay I will not find among them treating your landholders as beardless boys. Keep at it and you will not reach your aim here, if I read it rightly."

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld looked about him, following Raban's measuring gaze about his shop. He sighed heavily, his tight face loosening just a little.

"It is cluttered. But I expect my brother soon, and so room must be made. Since you need a smithy to do your duty to lord Athanar, this one must serve. Let us clear a space, and you may begin."

[Firefoot]

Léof studied Crowhair as they walked out the horses. He seemed to be in his late twenties, but he had a sort of worn look about him. He didn’t say anything to Léof until they were finishing up with checking the legs and hooves of the horses, when he suddenly spoke. “You don’t look much like a stablemaster.”

“Well, neither do you,” Léof shot back, sick of the suggestion that he was too young for his role.

Crowhair hardly seemed to notice the jab at his heritage. “Who ever said I was stablemaster? That’d be old Edric.”

“Then why isn’t he out here helping? It seems like it would be his job, not yours,” said Léof. “Or are you his assistant?”

“I said he was old, didn’t I?” said Crowhair. “So I help with the horses sometimes. I just do what I’m told. It’s always, ‘Crowhair, muck the stalls,’ or ‘Crowhair, clean and polish my armor.’”

“So why don’t you leave?” asked Léof.

“And go where? Would you take me in, if you were a lord? You said it yourself, that I don’t look much like a stablemaster – I suppose what you meant by that is that I don’t look like I belong here at all.”

Léof’s hesitation gave him away – Crowhair had him trapped. Crowhair didn’t seem to expect him to say anything though, since he continued to talk. “I did not mean for you to take my earlier comment so badly. I was just wondering how someone as young as you got to be stablemaster. You’re not related to the lord, are you?” Léof shook his head. Any pity he had begun to feel for Crowhair was beginning to ebb away. He didn’t have to stand here and be insulted – insulted by a Dunlending, no less! But then Crowhair said, “I guess I was wondering if someone who might give you a chance also might give me a chance. Maybe looks aren’t so important to them.”

Léof didn’t know what to feel then. He still felt rather insulted – but he also knew what it was to want a chance for another life. “Lord Eodwine probably would give you a chance. I think he’d give anyone a chance. But he’s taken sick, and is away in Minas Tirith. We don’t know if he’s coming back. Now Lord Athanar’s the Eorl in charge, and I’m not sure he’s as fair as Eodwine.” Léof shrugged. “He might give you a chance, and he might not.”

Crowhair’s shoulders sagged. “Well, I thought I’d try. But if your Eodwine ever comes back, do you think you could get word to me somehow? Or if you hear of anyone else who might give someone like me a chance.”

“Well – sure, I suppose I could do that,” said Léof. What else could he say? He wondered how bad it really was for Crowhair here. He remembered again the old man they had seen upon arriving, and decided he probably didn’t really want to know.

“Thank you,” said Crowhair, and he did not say another word until the soldiers came back out of the hall for their horses.

[Folwren]

Raban smiled slightly, glad that the smith turned out so obliging. During their short exchange of words, Raban had been able to detect that the smith had not been angry when he entered, but consumed by some great trouble. His years and experience enabled him to observe the expressions and feelings of his fellow men to some degree. He almost asked what troubled him, but held his tongue. That would have to wait for further acquaintance – at least another couple minutes.

“I should be unwilling to cause you any sort of annoyance and make you stop your work. Let me find the boy, and he and I will begin making space while you work, and instruct us where to put things. Will that suffice?”

[Folwren]

Quin moved with all the other soldiers into the shelter of the hall where food and some mead was brought to them. Quin sat at the end of one table with his back to his companions, looking back towards the door. He watched for Leof, hoping that he would come soon, but the minutes ticked away and he didn’t show.

With a backwards glance over his shoulder at the others, Quin stood up and walked out. He went to the stables and entered. No one was within, and none of the horses there were familiar. Of course. They wouldn’t put the Scarburg horses in the stables. He exited again and looked about. There at the end of the stables was the beginning of the paddock, and he could see several horses tied to the rail already. He hurried across. He spotted Leof and Faramund’s stablehand, walking side by side, each with two horses in hand.

Quin stood for a moment, irresolute. Should he go over to Leof and speak with him? Would it be his business to interrupt their conversation? The closer he looked, though, the more he realized the two weren’t speaking anyway. But what if he distracted him from his work? That was unlikely. Leof seemed like the straightforward sort of fellow who would keep working even if Quin approached him. But then the question presented itself of how it would look for one of Athanar’s soldiers to go talk to the stablemaster while he proceeded with his job? Well, it didn’t matter.

Quin walked towards Leof. “Can I be of help?” he asked.

[Firefoot]

Léof was a little surprised to see Quin heading towards him. He wondered if Quin had some sort of message for him, perhaps about how much longer the meeting would go. But instead he asked, “Can I be of help?”

Because of the unexpectedness of the question, there was a slight pause before Léof answered. “If you’d like, you can help walk out the horses,” he said. “These two I’ve got are about done – I’ll go with you and we can each grab a pair.”

Quin nodded agreeably. “Alright,” he said.

“I take it there is not much going on inside?” asked Léof.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar was about to give Faramund a full response... using the phrase of a "beardless boy" for starters. But he knew better. It was close, as always with him. Darn my temper... he thought to himself studying the flouting youngster in front of him.

But like so many times before, he was able to collect himself and come back to the down to earth, no-nonsense way that was so peculiar to him. He was not a man of sweet talking or round-about queries - like the people in the Mead Hall had already learned.

"I do not find it one of your privileges to smirk at your eorl... or play him for a fool. Or to insult the lady or the people of the Mead Hall, as I heard you have done." He said slowly. "I'm ready to forget that for the time being, if you change your manner right now... That said, and as a token of it, I do apologise spilling your excellent mead. It's a pity to waste good stuff..." He stared intensively to Faramund while stressing the last sentence.

Lord Athanar leaned back a bit more relaxed now. Faramund looked like he was reaching for words to say something but lord Athanar raised his hand to let him understand he hadn't finished.

"Now, you didn't actually answer my question I'm entitled to be answered, whether you like me asking - or my way of asking - it. So tell me now, where does all this wealth come from? I've seen your holdings and they don't produce this, or this worth of anything you could trade in. So how do you get all this?" Athanar turned to pick the goblet from the table, but suddenly turned back to Faramund.

"How do the farmers fare around these corners? It didn't look like they were that well off to just reward their beloved lord out of respect and thankfullnesswith all this?"

He took a sip from the goblet and laid it back on the table.

[Folwren]

“Not much at all,” Quin replied, taking the reins of the two horses handed to him. “Most of us are just sitting about, not talking much, and probably eating less. I don’t think anyone’s comfortable here.”

Léof looked at him with a raised eyebrow and gave a significant nod. “I shouldn’t think so,” he said quietly.

They walked their horses out side by side. “Did you see how they greeted lord Athanar?” Quin asked in a lowered voice. “He was positively rude! I haven’t seen anyone get away with being that disrespectful to lord Athanar before. I swear he even made fun of him at that one point.”

--

In the Kitchen at Scarburg

Saeryn did not answer Falco’s rather poignant question for a moment or so. The others stood silent as well.

“It’s not as easy as you may think, Falco,” Saeryn finally said. “I don’t know how it is in the Shire, but it’s not such a simple thing to pick up and move here.”

“You’ve done it…several times,” Falco noted.

“Aye, but I am one person, and I was foolish then, and unhappy. People here are happy, or were, and in many cases, as in Stigend’s and Garstan’s, they have more than themselves to look after. Stigend cannot just decide to leave on a minute’s notice and uproot his family to go who knows where.

“As for me, I could not leave as I used to, even if I wanted. I am chained here, in a manner of speaking, because I am Eodwine’s wife, and until he has returned or until word has come that he will never return, my place and my duty is here. Not to mention that I have a child to think of and prepare for.”

[Firefoot]

“I don’t think he’s gotten away with it yet,” replied Léof. “I wouldn’t want to be in the same room with those two right now.”

“Nor would I,” said Quin, “as curious as I am to know what is happening.”

“I am too. Lord Athanar doesn’t seem like one you’d want to upset. I mean, I never wanted to upset Lord Eodwine, either, but it was more because I wouldn’t want to disappoint him than because I was afraid of him. Lord Athanar seems to become angry so easily – I’d be afraid of what he was going to do to me. I wonder what he’s going to do to Faramund – and what he can do.”

[Folwren]

Quin bent his head sideways so he could reach to scratch it with one hand while still holding the horse’s reins. “Ah...I don’t know what he will do. It’s not the sort of thing I think I’ve ever seen before. The only people who would talk like that to lord Athanar might be his own sons, but their family. When we were in Edoras, everyone knew their place and there seemed to be an understanding of proper behavior.

“He does have a very strict opinion on how people are supposed to act and speak. That’s why he got so mad at Lithor that first evening we were here. So I really imagine he’s raking Faramund over the coals just about now. I guess he can’t drag him before his court, though, much as he might like.”

[littlemanpoet]

An apology of any kind from this arrogant eorl was a step in the right direction, Faramund thought.

"Apology accepted. And my thanks for your compliment on the drink."

He paused to take a sip of his mead and set down his tankard. "As for these trinkets and blandishments, some of them have been in this chamber for generations. My serving maids do a fair job of keeping the spiderwebs off them. However, this region has been subject to a rash of lawlessness of late. I have of course charged fines and fees for them. The more heinous the crime, the higher the fee, as you can well understand, my lord. I do not ask these fools to break the law to increase my wealth, but since they do thieve and flout the king's law, I as landholder to reap a small reward therefrom ... as I'm sure you understand..."

[Folwren]

“I should be unwilling to cause you any sort of annoyance and make you stop your work,” Raban told Harreld. “Let me find the boy, and he and I will begin making space while you work, and instruct us where to put things. Will that suffice?”

“No, I do not mind helping you clear a space,” Harreld replied. “In fact, I would insist that I do it with you. Go and find the boy, and when you have returned, I will have decided where we shall put you and how to begin cleaning the place.”

Raban nodded and turned to go without another word. He walked with his slow, uneven gait across the courtyard to the stables again. Although Javan had not been there when he first searched the place, he knew that he was supposed to be working there. The temporary distraction of greeting the newcomer was likely taken care of and out of the way, and he should be back at his work.

As soon as he entered the dimly lit and musty smelling place, he heard the scrape of the pitchfork against the stall floor. He slowly paced down the aisle to where the wheelbarrow stood. At quick, even intervals, a thick shower of shavings, straw, and manure came shooting out of the stall door and into the barrow.

Raban stopped just outside the stall door and beside the wheelbarrow. He looked in quietly and waited until Javan turned about to pitch the next load out. The boy gave a start, and his aim fell short.

“You frightened me!” Javan said. It would not have been so bad were it just anybody standing there, but the disfigured face in the half light looked even more grotesque than when he first saw him. “What do you need?”

“You and I are going to begin our long tutelage together today,” Raban said.

“Today?” Javan repeated. “But, Léof is gone and I have to work in the stables.”

“How many more stalls have you left?”

Javan glanced up and down aisle, counted mentally the stalls he had already done, the ones that did not need to be cleaned, and then answered with some chagrin. “Just three, maybe.”

“They can wait for this afternoon. Now, come with me and we will go to the smithy and see what needs to be done there. We should finish preparing our space by noontime, and once we are done in there, you may finish here.”

Javan frowned a little. “Very well. Let me finish this stall, then.”

“No,” Raban said firmly. “Harreld is waiting for us.” He turned about and walked towards the door. “Come along, young man, come along.”

Javan rolled his eyes, propped the pitchfork against the half filled wheelbarrow, and followed the old man to Harreld’s smithy.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar looked at Faramund as he spoke and nodded occasionally to encourage him to continue. But as Faramund finished lord Athanar's face turned into solid and grey like a stone. He looked at him to the eyes relentlessly for a while, thinking.

Suddenly he turned back and called for Hilderinc who had still been standing at the door. He waved Hilderinc to bow towards him so that he could whisper to his ear without Faramund being able to hear what he said: "Go and find that man who was thrown out from this hall as we came here... and bring him here as soon as you find him."

Hilderinc nodded, bowed to both lord Athanar and lord Faramund, and left.

Lord Faramund was puzzled but managed to keep his calm, at least to an extent. But lord Athanar was not fooled that much. He knew the man was uncomfortable right now.

Athanar took a sip from his goblet and then queried Faramund, in an almost absent-minded tone: "So, small fees, without any interest to yourself?" He toyed again with the goblet.

"Well you sure have the proceedings and fines accounted for? Why don't you send someone to get me the documents. I'd like to eye them as your eorl..." He smiled now, not triumphantly or sneering, but self-assuredly enough for Faramund to realise what he was up to. And that was exactly what lord Athanar wished to convey.

[littlemanpoet]

Faramund wanted to wipe that smirk off Athanar's face, especially because the man seemed bent on showing off his superior education. What was he showing off for? Faramund was an eorling through and through, unlike this over-learned Gondorian imitator. Best to deal with it directly.

"Forgive me, my lord," Faramund said. "I have not dealt with men who so make Gondor their second home, as you surely must. I am not sure what you mean by these words, in trist, prow seeding, dock you meant, and the rest. You are more learned than I, no doubt. Do you mean the ledger?"

"Aye, the ledger," Athanar replied.

Faramund called over Stedford and told him to fetch the ledger. What Athanar hoped to garner from that Faramund could not guess. No matter. For Eorlingas a man's word was his bond. The ledger held only lists of items received and still owed.

What was this man up to? Did he have notions of overturning Faramund's judgment? A bile of hatred built suddenly inside. But Faramund held it in check. Let his old piece of coal have his say here this day. Once gone, Faramund would do as he pleased.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc left the hall promptly after hearing Athanar's order. He was not, in fact, entirely sure about the man Athanar wanted him to fetch – he had been too busy with other thoughts that he had hardly noticed the man when they were arriving. But he did not want to ask details from Athanar or Thornden in the room, especially as it seemed clear that the lord did not want Faramund to overhear this command. It did not matter – Hilderinc was simply going to find and ask some of the other soldiers, or some of the locals.

He assumed that the rest of Athanar's men will already be inside the hall, but he went to the courtyard in case the man was still there, or somebody who might be able to help him. When he had walked outside, he stopped and blinked in the still rather bright light of the autumn day, too bright after the calm twilight of the inside of Faramund's hall. Everything seemed calm and peaceful, a soft wind was blowing from the fields and the courtyard was almost empty and quiet except for the sound of horses snuffling from the paddock and the clucking of a few hens from somewhere out of sight. He could not see anybody who would have seemed like the man he had been looking for, only a bit further away he could spot a man who was probably one of the local servants, and coming from the paddock with two pairs of horses, the young "stablemaster" of Scarburg – what was the boy's name again? – and what seemed to be Quin. Why isn't he inside with the rest of the men? Hilderinc thought. But then he was reminded of his own reluctance to share the company of others at some times, so maybe the young soldier felt similarly at this moment. Rather immediately, however, Hilderinc was surprised by realising his own thought – he would never have compared anybody to himself (and much less even compared himself to anybody). It was a rather alien feeling to think of somebody in such a way... no, he shrugged the idea away without thinking about it more deeply. And as the two were coming closer, he decided to go to meet them, as he had considered it easier than to summon them to come after him. They seemed to be busy with the horses anyway, and there was a chance that if he had called them, only one might have come. It was better to ask them both, there was a better chance of them knowing something.

Swiftly, he crossed the courtyard and the two stopped as they spotted him, breaking their chatter. Young Quin looked at him questioningly as he approached, but Hilderinc spoke before he could.

"It's all right, Quin, you are not required inside," he said with a bit of smirk in his face. "I just wanted to ask the two of you whether you remember the man who was," he tried to recall Athanar's exact words, "who was thrown out of the hall as we came here." A slight move in the "stablemaster's" face affirmed that at least he knew who he was talking about.

"I was wondering whether you don't happen to know where he might be, or if you haven't seen him around, since you are out here," Hilderinc continued. "So, what do you say?" He looked around as if checking that nobody else is near. "Lord Athanar had asked me to bring the man inside – you don't need to tell this to anybody, is that clear! - but I am sure that he would rather have him brought as soon as possible, and since the two of you are out here, you could as well help me."

[Nogrod]

When Stedford was leaving the room, lord Athanar gave him a special look.

Stedford nodded hastily so that Faramund would not notice it.

After Stedford had left, Athanar turned to lord Faramund. "Well, lord Faramund... Do you have any idea why people around here are so very unlawful? Were they that un-law-abiding while your father reigned? Or why haven't you lords been able to suppress that?"

[Folwren]

“I can help you, at least,” Quin said. “Léof likely cannot as he is dealing with the horses.” He felt a little emboldened, whereas normally he may not have contradicted Hilderinc. But he was right. Léof had his job to perform. Also, he was Léof’s friend, and he knew that some of the soldiers did not think that such a young man could really be a good stablemaster.

“I do not know if I saw the man who you are talking about,” he went on, leading his two horses back to the fence. “I can help you find him, though.” He looped the reins back over the rail. “Chances are some of the folk here will know who it is you’re looking for – or does telling them count as letting someone else know?” He looked at him keenly. “What does he look like, anyway, and why does lord Athanar want him?”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"Now, that is not quite your place to ask, is it?" Hilderinc said calmly, looking Quin into the eyes. "Sufficient to say, he wants him found - your curiosity might be satisfied then." He looked around.

"I have been counting on that it might be the best to ask some of the locals anyway," he continued. "But if we do, we should avoid telling too many people, is that clear? Let's not rouse the whole hall because of that. We will do the best to ask only one or two at most.

But are you sure you have not seen the man when we were coming here? It seems that there were more of us, then, because I am not very sure about what he looked like either. My hope was that the two of you would have seen him better with your keen young eyes," he finished jestingly, but without a change in his expression or in the tone of his voice. It felt a bit awkward for Hilderinc to have to admit this omission in spotting the man, he was not used to fail in his duties that often. It was the holbytla, a thought flashed somewhere in the back of his mind. Surely there was some ill omen in the appearance of that strange little man. The more reasonable part of his mind pushed this half-unconscious idea away, however.

[Folwren]

“Now that’s not quite your place to ask, is it?” Quiet though it was, Quin still heard and understood the rebuke and he immediately whatever flippancy or lightness he had felt before completely left him and he came back from tying the horses to stand before Hilderinc to hear the rest of what he wished.

“I’m sorry. I was at the very back of the line. I didn’t see him at all. I can go in and ask some of the others who are inside and who would’ve seen better. I’ll be careful about it. Shall I?”

[littlemanpoet]

Faramund peered at Athanar from between furrowed brows. The man's questions were purposely offensive. He stood abruptly.

"You are trying to rile me. You have succeeded. Eorl or no eorl, no one talks to me so mockingly! Go find some other landholder and get him to cower beneath your vaunted eorlship! You have worn out your welcome and I'll not help you toward your purpose any longer. Finish your drink and food if you like. Good day!"

Faramund turned his back on Athanar, walked into his own rooms, and slammed the door behind him.

If this new eorl barged into his own quarters or tried to take charge of any thing at all that was his, Faramund would have Athanar's back to the wall, by law. He hoped the eorl would do something rash.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

“I’m sorry. I was at the very back of the line. I didn’t see him at all. I can go in and ask some of the others who are inside and who would’ve seen better. I’ll be careful about it. Shall I?”

Hilderinc nodded, even though a bit reluctantly. "Go and do it. I shall look around outside the hall, just in case the man is still around here somewhere. If you don't find anything, or if you get some idea of where he can be found or who he is, come and report to me. If you find the man yourself, bring him to lord Athanar and then come back to tell me. Now, quick! We have wasted enough time already."

With these words, Hilderinc pointed Quin towards the hall and he alone turned to walk across the courtyard, towards several smaller buildings - they looked like woodsheds; from there he had turned left, seeing that there was nobody in sight, and then walked next to the hall to its other side. There he stumbled upon a man who had been apparently busy with nailing thin pieces of leather skin over some of the windows in the back. When he noticed Hilderinc coming closer, the man's expression turned to that of fear, he quickly turned back to his work and started hammering the nails very loudly. Hilderinc stopped, puzzled, then looked around to see whether there wasn't any other person in the vicinity whom he might ask, and seeing nobody, he walked fast towards the man.

"Excuse me," he started, trying to be loud enough to be heard over the noise the worker had been making. The man turned, still fear in his eyes, then his expression changed briefly.

"You are not one of lord Faramund's men!" he said with a trace of relief in his voice. "I thought you - oh, you must be one of the people who arrived!" The fear had once again returned into this eyes.

"I am," Hilderinc said calmly, even though inside his mind, he was not quite sure what to make of the man's strange behavior. "Don't worry, I am not going to disturb you in your work... I only wanted to ask you something."

"Oh, I have a lot to do, yes, truly, sir," the man nodded. "I need to get this done by evening... and I don't know how can I be of help, I don't know much that could be of use to you, I'm sure, I'm just a simple farmer..."

"What does a simple farmer do here, doing... whatever it is that you are doing?" Hilderinc asked, in a slightly suspicious voice.

"Repairing the windows, sir," the man said, the fear in his said being now clearer than before. "I am only repairing them for my lord Faramund..."

"Lord..." Hilderinc muttered. There was really something wrong in here.

"Sir, I really have to continue working, so that I can still go back home before evening," the man said. "If you pardon me..."

"Just tell me, then, if you know anything about the man... ah," once again Hilderinc would have kicked himself for not paying enough attention when they were arriving. "Have you seen us arrive?" he asked.

"No, sir, I was here in the back," was the answer.

Hilderinc shook his head. "Never mind, then. I am sorry for interrupting you."

"Good day, sir."

"Good day."

Hilderinc began to walk away, then after taking a few steps he stopped and turned around.

"How did you learn about us arriving?" he asked.

The man put away his mallet. "Why, sir," he said. "Old Wiglaf told me."

"Good," Hilderinc said, inside congratulating himself to a good idea. So here might be somebody who could have seen this man I am looking for. "And where can I find this Wiglaf?" The man again started to look fearful. "I would like to ask him something," Hilderinc clarified.

The farmer sighed. "I think he will be around... he said he will be around... for today... probably working in the barn now," he ended with a sad expression in his face.

"Barn," Hilderinc nodded. "Thank you, then. And good day."

"Good day, sir."

For the second time, Hilderinc turned around and walked away. There had been no doubt something strange in the man's behavior, but Hilderinc did not really have time to think about it. Now he had to find this "old Wiglaf", at least hoping he was not so old to have his sight so bad that he wouldn't have noticed the man Hilderinc was looking for.

[Folwren]

Now was the time that Thornden must step into his position of the eorl’s steward, even if he wasn’t really Athanar’s steward. He stood when Faramund stood and watched him turn his back and leave. When the door had shut behind Faramund, Thornden moved around the table. He paused before the door, thinking of what might happen once he moved.

He only hesitated a moment and then he raised his hand and knocked sharply on the oak door. “Lord Faramund!” he called. “My lord Athanar has yet to settle his errand with you. Come out! Come out and speak with your rightful lord and give him proper reply to his questions.”

[littlemanpoet]

"Now that's what has me puzzled," Falco replied to Saeryn, using his pipe as a pointer. "You're no longer the Lady of Scarburg; this here Lady Wynflaed is that. And as you're Eodwine's wife, it seems to me your duty is with him, way over yonder in Minas Tirith. Now I could be wrong, and forgive me if there's something I don't see, but that's how it looks the way my eyes see it."

Saeryn looked taken aback a moment, frowning. The others gathered around looked from eye to eye. Falco supposed that they were saying silently between themselves that this seemed to make obvious sense to them; or maybe their looks meant, "this hobbit just does not understand". Fine and well. He hoped they'd make him understand, and maybe he could help them. It was the least he could do for Eodwine as the dear old Big Fool wasn't here to speak for himself.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar had been testing the young lord and looking for a reaction. And he had been looking forwards to one. Still he was taken quite unawares with the violence of lord Faramund's sudden burst. So I was right then? He thought to himself as he noticed Thornden going to the door leading to Faramund's personal quarters.

After calling for Faramund Thornden turned questioningly towards lord Athanar who only raised his open palm asking him to wait. It was quiet.

After a moment of silence lord Athanar rose up and turned towards the door.

"Lord Faramund! I have not yet enough evidence to break through your door and have you arrested. And I hope there will never be a need to make that case. But if there is, rest assured I will not shy away from it." He nodded to Thornden to follow him and was already turning towards the door when he halted and called Faramund one more time.

"We'll leave you in peace here but will check the ledger in the hall before we go." He made a short pause. "So good day to you as well."


Walking through Faramund's hall Ahtanar gave Thornden quick instructions talking in a hushed voice.

"Well Thornden, we have a lot to do and the longer it takes the more chances there are for problems to emerge. I hope Stedford will come soon with the ledger. Get five men here for me to the hall and help Hilderinc find that man they threw out from here. When you find him, get him here... oh, and tell Coen to keep an eye on things and get ready if something looks out of the ordinary. Brief him on the situation and he'll know what to do."

They had reached the main door and stepped out into the sunlight. "Any questions?"

[Nogrod]

Before Thornden had a chance but to eye the eorl he seemed to have something to add.

"And one more thing... how stupid of me to not bring it as the first thing. Send two men up the road to look if Faramund tries to send a messenger to Tancred in secret. They have my authority to hold anyone trying to get a message to Tancred, with force if needs be."

He looked at Thornden half-smiling. "Questions?"

[Folwren]

Thornden shook his head once before veering off to carry out Athanar’s orders. He found Coenred with the rest of the men. Most of them were out in the courtyard again, after quenching their thirst from riding.

“Lord Athanar wants five men inside with him. Two need to mount again and rid to the road and intercept any rider that Faramund sends out.”

“Is there trouble?” Coenred asked quietly.

Thornden hesitated in shaking his head either positively or negatively. Finally he answered, “I hope not. I think lord Athanar just wants to make sure that no trouble is made. Faramund is dodging all of lord Athanar’s questions about how well off the place is and why it seems to be thriving. I think he suspects Faramund somehow, for the people here don’t seem happy, but Faramund himself is rich. Anyway, as I said, Faramund won’t answer things straight, and then finally he got up and left. I think he was insulted.” He looked Coenred straight in the eye. “Listen, you are close enough to Athanar to possibly speak to him. Ask him to handle Faramund and the other lords carefully from this time on. Perhaps he’ll listen to you, but I dare not venture say a word, for fear he misunderstands me. He is too rough, too…dominating. Faramund cannot handle it, and I fear he may become angry and violent.

“But come, we must not tarry here. Get your men. I must got help Hilderinc find the man that was thrown out. Have you seen him?”

[littlemanpoet]

He had changed his mind. He was not going to wait for Athanar to take action. He would do it himself. He had left his private quarters through another door and made for the mess hall.

As he expected, many of his men were there refreshing themselves after having finished his drill.

"Up, men! The Eorl threatens to take unlawful action against us! Arm yourselves! The Eorl think he can order things as he pleases on land not his own! Speed to the stables and mount! Place yourselves in tight ranks! Show this overweening lordling he cannot take your holdings from you!"

Only I can do that, he said to himself.

His men hurried dutifully toward the stables. He followed them at a more leisurely pace. He stopped the slowest of his retainers.

"Where is Stedford? I have need of him!"

"I saw him on an errand, lord."

"What errand? I gave him no errand!"

"I know not, lord."

Faramund shook his head, irritated. He continued on toward the stables. Meanwhile, Stedford passed by him just beyond an inner wall, ledger in hand, aimed toward Lord Athanar.

[Folwren]

Coenred communicated that he had seen the man in question when they first came, but apart from seeing him stumble off to the side and end up in the stables, he could give no other information as to his whereabouts.

“Thank you. See to your men.” Thornden turned and headed towards the stables. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another figure converging on the same path. He turned his head and saw Hilderinc. “Have you not found him yet?” Thornden asked.

“I was told he was in the stable.”

“That was Captain Coenred’s guess, too,” Thornden replied. “Good. Possibly we will find him, then. Did you see him when we rode up? You were in back, I would be surprised if you had.”

“I did not,” Hilderinc replied. Thornden described Wiglaf’s appearance quickly as they approached the stables. “He shouldn’t be too hard to find. I imagine not many people will be in here anyway.”

But when they entered, they found the place half full of men already. Thornden stopped short on the threshold and he darted a quick glance about. “Hilderinc. . .” he paused and frowned in frustrated thought. “Hilderinc, go back and tell lord Athanar that Faramund’s men are getting their horses. . .and they are armed.” Hilderinc nodded and turned to obey. Thornden stood and considered a moment longer before acting. How dangerous were these men? Would he be in danger if he continued in his errand of finding Wiglaf amongst them? Would they try to harm him if he tried to enter the stables further? The fact of the matter was, he no longer wanted to find Wiglaf. He wanted to speak to Faramund, and he needed to do it quickly. Where would the young lord be? If he were in the hall, he would be speaking to Athanar. If he were not in the hall, he would be seen by someone outside. He had gone to speak to his men and sent them in this direction to get their horses. Lord Faramund, probably, would be preparing himself just like his men. He would be here, then. Somewhere.

Thornden made up his mind. He stepped forward boldly, made eye contact with no one, and began threading his way through the men carrying saddles and bridle, around the broad flanks of horses, and towards the end of the stables closest to the hall. Then, as he drew near the outer door, he saw Faramund enter. He went forward quickly and unnoticed and stepped quite close to Faramund before the young lord gave a sign that he knew he was present.

"Lord Faramund," he said, his voice low and quiet in the hubbub of the men and horses. "May I have a word with you?"

[Thinlómien]

"N-no. I don't think so. Do you think Frodides would be kind enough to give us some time to talk?"

"Sure", Modtryth said. "Come, let's go sit by the oak, there we can have a moment of peace."

She took the younger woman by the arm and led her to the edge of the patch of forest, letting go of her arm soon enough. She didn't want to be too intrusive. "Frodides shall be fine", she assured Ginna. "There were only the two of us in the kitchen a moment ago, and she could hardly come up with anything to do for me. She sent me to fetch water although I already hauled her more water in the morning than what she needs for the whole day."

Modtryth sat down in the pleasant shade of the huge tree, and Ginna sat down next to her. It still would have been a good day without all the worries, Modtryth thought. She gave the girl a half-smile.

"So, what's it that needs fixing?"

[littlemanpoet]

A stranger approached him in the stables. Faramund was about to ignore him but there was an urgency in the young man that made him curious. The stranger came close and started speaking in low and intense tones.

"Lord Faramund, may I have a word with you?"

The youth looked familiar but Faramund couldn't place him. A stranger, he was probably not from nearby. Scarburg?

"Be quick! What is your business?"

[Folwren]

Thornden had expected more of a rebuff from Faramund, more of an obvious show of hostility. But there was little of that – just haste and impatience. It gave him a little hope.

“If you are preparing your men to fight against lord Athanar, you may want to think further about it. Lord Athanar has the authority of the king’s word and command behind him. If you defy Athanar, you defy King Eomer.” He thought hard in attempt to find something diplomatic to say, something to cool the man’s head. The best he came up with was, “You and lord Athanar have your differences, but they must be thought through, and spoken out, not solved through fighting.”

[littlemanpoet]

Faramund regarded the earnest young man.

"Who are you? You were in the council moments ago. What is your name?"

"I am Thornden, Lord Athanar's steward."

Ah. Now he remembered him. He had stood against the three of them with that woman, the lady of Scarburg. And this steward had thrown him out! He raised himself up as high as his stature allowed, raised his chin, and looked down his nose at this steward of Scarburg.

"I take arms to defend what is mine, as do those with me." Then he leaned into Thornden, eyed him squarely, and raised his pointing finger into the young man's face. "Look here, even the king's law has limits. No man can walk on to another's land and act as if it's his own. Not Athanar, not Eomer. Tell your eorl that for me!"

He held Thornden with his eyes a moment longer, then stalked away. He knew he was in the right on this one. No doubts at all. He was determined to protect what was his from all comers, no matter who they were are claimed to be.

[Firefoot]

Léof didn’t like this one bit. First Hilderinc, who seemed hardly to esteem him, Léof, at all, had approached him and Quin in search of the man whom they had seen bodily thrown from the hall. It had seemed rather sneaky of him; why would not one of Faramund’s men, who would have known where to find the man, have come after him, unless Faramund did not want him found?

And now suddenly the hall was teeming with activity. Many unfamiliar men – Faramund’s men – had come out, and they seemed too heavily armed for normal daily activity – even Léof could see that. And they had all headed for the stables, presumably to get their horses. Léof hoped desperately that there would not be fighting, but if there was he supposed that all of the Scarburg horses ought to be in one place. He took the two that he was holding and lead them back to where the rest were tied.

Another thought occurred to him: what if some of Faramund’s men decided to come and either steal or loose the Scarburg horses? He was only one person, unarmed and somewhat less bulky than most soldiers; he would make a rather poor guard. He looked around for Crowhair, but he was nowhere to be seen. Léof quickly counted the horses to make sure he had not made off with any of them; he had not. Well, that was something; for the briefest moment Léof had wondered if he had made up that entire story to trick him and that he had intended to steal the horses all along. No; there had been a certain earnestness in his face and in the way he stood. But he was gone now, and so Léof had no allies, and no one to tell him what to do or what was happening. He was not even sure that Crowhair would be on his side; perhaps he would feel some duty to his lord, even if he was a poor one, and that might well be proper.

But what now was he to do? One of the horses stamped and snorted nervously. Well, if someone did come to harm the horses, Léof would be of little good against them on foot. He swiftly untied and mounted his own horse; at least now he would have some advantage of height, and if someone tried to scatter the horses, he would now have some hope of trying to round them up.

[Folwren]

The young lord’s obstinance and naivety infuriated Thornden. He held his annoyance in check and stepped after Faramund. “Lord Faramund,” he said, his voice insisting. “The eorl is not trying to take anything that is yours away from you. Nor does he mean to act as though he owns it. He wishes only to know how best to decide what you owe to the king.” Faramund had stopped but he still stood with his back towards him. Thornden felt himself on thin ice, but he must try to convince this fool not to fight.

“You must see reason. If you insist on fighting, there will be a brief clash of arms, some time of rest, and then within a week the king’s men will be down upon you and your own fear of losing your land may be realized.”

If this last warning did not penetrate through Faramund’s anger, he would go back to Athanar and tell him what Faramund had said and let Athanar take it from there. He would have done his duty to try to keep peace and stay bloodshed.

[Folwren]

Quin had been in search of the man, Winglaf. None of the soldiers he had questioned new where he was to be found and after looking about the hall to no avail, he headed back out towards the courtyard. There was a strange, tense atmosphere about that he could not explain. There was Athanar with five men behind him. Stedford, Athanar’s steward, was approaching him, a large leather bound book under his arm. Hilderinc was also drawing near, but he did not have the old man with him.

Outside, Captain Coenred stood with the other men-at-arms. The men were not standing in ranks, but as Quin passed them, he saw uneasy glances being sent about. Coenred stood in an apparently nonchalant attitude, but his hand was on his sword hilt, and his face was set in a grim expression as he surveyed the courtyard. He back was towards the door of the hall and his sweeping glance could see every other door opening into the area of the courtyard.

Quin hurried past and rounded the stables and the paddocks to Léof. Léof was mounted on his horse and he was riding her up and down behind the line of horses.

“What’s amiss, Léof?” Quin asked coming forward to meet him. “Everybody is suddenly uptight and you look like you’re on patrol duty.”

[Lhunardawen]

"So, what's it that needs fixing?"

My heart? My relationship with Harreld? Ginna did not quite know how to answer. How could she, when she did not even have any idea of what was going on?

Her head was bowed, her hands clasped together on her lap. She glanced at Modtryth from the corner of her eye; she was smiling slightly but her eyes were soft, filled with concern. Here was a kindly woman whose appearance much belied her character. Ginna thought of how, despite her lineage, Modtryth was happily married to Stigend.

She had come to the right person.

"How did you know that you and Stigend were right for each other?"

[Firefoot]

Léof was relieved to see Quin hurrying up to him – maybe he would have news about what was going on, or instructions for what needed to be done. But Léof was disappointed for Quin arrived with more questions, not answers. “What’s amiss, Léof? Everybody is suddenly uptight and you look like you’re on patrol duty.”

“I’m not rightly sure,” Léof answered. “It seems that I’m always one of the last people to find out what’s going on. But a little bit ago a bunch of Faramund’s men went hurrying out to the stables, and they were armed. I don’t know if there’s going to be a fight, or what they’re planning to do, but I figure it’s my duty to make sure they don’t try to do anything to our horses,” he finished, gesturing at the line of horses tied to the paddock.

[Nogrod]

After lord Athanar sent Thornden away he fell into thoughts about the affair still standing on the highest step of the stairs. There was clearly something wrong and lord Faramund was not behaving as an eorling should. And he had his own ideas on the issue. But at the same time he was disturbingly aware that he needed proof of it. Maybe the ledger would give it to him, or that old man?

Suddenly he felt the general feeling change. Was it his call for Coen to make his men to look around?

No, it was definitively not that. There was more to it.

The five men Coen sent him came forwards asking for instructions. Athanar had thought of withdrawing inside to wait for Stedfast and to check the ledger just leaving two men outside to keep an eye on the situation, but now it was different.

"We might have trouble... You two", he said pointing at the the two last ones to arrive. "Go to the farther corner of the hall on guard. If you see anything out of the ordinary... call." The two nodded and went their way.

"You then... Blimring, go take guard inside. If anything moves there - other than the kitchen stuff - report to me immediately." Blimring nodded and climbed the steps going in the hall. "And you two, stand by me here at the steps, and keep your eyes open."

Before they could nod, Hilderinc reached them, panting. "Lord, Faramund's men are at arms, at their stables! They're clearly gathering about..."

That was bolder even lord Athanar had foreseen... well, more stupid... he thought to himself. But he had to take a moment to take in the information and to decide what to do.

"Tell Coen to gather the men and come here, fast. You should take a few men and go for the horses and that guy... Leif?"

"Léof, my lord", Hilderinc corrected.

"Yeah, Léof. Take the horses here as fast as you can. But first, to Coen." Hilderinc was about to take his leave when Athanar called him once more.

"And hey, do not run... we're not in a middle of a fight as yet and I do hope we will not be. So let's us not provocate anything. But be quick, will you?" Lord Athanar looked at Hilderinc in a compassionate way anyone looks at another person he has given an impossible mission.

Hilderinc nodded and turned around to leave just to crash on Steadford running towards them. "Go Hildernic", Athanar said firmly to the hesitating soldier and then turned to Stedford. He looked troubled, eying around him all the time. Finally he reached his arm and gave the ledger to Athanar.

"Here they are. I'm not sure if it is accurate though..." He said not daring to look at lord Athanar in the eye while saying it.

"Stedford" Athanar called him firmly, forcing him to meet his gaze while picking the ledger from his outstreched hand.

"Yes lord eorl", Stedford answered looking at Athanar now.

"How about lord Friduhelm?"

"He was keen to meet you lord Athanar, but he was afraid he had not the strength to come to meet you. But he asked you to visit him. He lives in a private cabin there behind the main hall."

Athanar nodded and thanked Stedford. Then he looked at him, at the same time both quizzically and concerned. "What do you think of your lord Faramund, in earnest? Is he a good man like his father was? I know you may not wish to answer this question... but would you?"

[Thinlómien]

"How did you know that you and Stigend were right for each other?"

Modtryth shrugged, surprised and not sure what to say. It was clear the girl needed comfort, but Modtryth could hardly decipher what exactly she wanted to hear and she knew sometimes it was best to tell the truth.

"At first, I didn't really know." There was a moment's hesitation when Modtryth considered what to say to her fellow maid. Despite Ginna's current status, she was a noblewoman born and bred. It doesn't mean she's stupid, Modtryth reminded herself wryly.

"As a maid and a half-Dunlending bastard, I got a lot of unwanted attention when I was young and unmarried. Not that I didn't have my ways of dealing with it," she added, softening her words with a bitter smile. "Some guys were more harmless, more sincere. When I first noticed Stigend, I have to admit I didn't think much of him. I had seen more handsome men, men more intelligent and more skillful. Not that he wouldn't have been attractive or talented, but he just didn't stand out. So at first, I had no idea."

Telling the story, Modtryth thought how much there was she never thought of, how much she had left behind. "But in time, I came to see him for who he was. He did not seek to take advantage of me - rather, he stood between me and those who had bad intentions, although it was not always necessary - nor was he just randomly infatuated with me. I realised he truly cared for me. And I will not lie to you - there never were too many people who did. My mother, of course, and I'm not trying to say I didn't have friends. But the people who could look at me without seeing an enemy were not many."

"But I don't wish to burden you with all this. Lord Eodwine and Lady Saeryn and all of you in their service have been so good to us that I keep forgetting how much my father's people still hates that of my mother's." Modtryth smiled. "Anyway, I guess I was trying to say that once I realised that Stigend would stand by me whatever happened I knew that my place was by his side wherever he went and that I had been a fool not to realise it earlier."

She made a pause, realising she had spoken for an uncharacteristically long time. There was something in Ginna that inspired trust, and she had asked. Modtryth held her tongue and refrained from adding anything about how you came to see things yet differently when you had been married for ten years. That was hardly what Ginna had asked, or what she wanted to hear.

[littlemanpoet]

The steward spoke insistently, saying that Athanar was not doing what it was so clear that he was. Faramund stopped, debating within whether to humble himself enough to have a debate with this man of Athanar's.

The steward spoke again. This time he used threats. Faramund turned, a ferocious smile on his face.

"I defend what is mine. If there is a fight here, it is because your lord attacked. Go and tell him that for me, and if he 'sees reason', then he will send you back to me that he will cease with his threats and-" Faramund lost control, and the youthful uncertainty that lay at the root of all he did leaped out. "Tell him to stop trying to trap me!"

The whole stable had quieted. Others were listening. Faramund felt a fool. His face went dark red. This could not be borne. He had to make it seem like rage rather than embarrassment. He gritted his teeth and glowered at Thornden.

"You threw me out of your hall! Tell me why I should have you thrown out right this minute!"

The fool youth just stood there. "Get out of here! Give my words to your lord! Go!"

[littlemanpoet]

"I - I will answer your question, lord. Faramund is not like his father. I do not know what makes him bitter, for lord Friduhelm has always been of a great heart. I do my duty by lord Faramund, for that is right, even when he does wrongly.

"But I have not said all that could be said, lord, if you will pardon me. You will find in this ledger much to show that my lord takes and does not give without price. He is a grasping man, and he drives a hard bargain, especially with those who have little to bargain with.

"Take Wiglaf, for example. He fell upon hard times for his lands dried and a poor crop came up, not enough to feed him and his family and stock. He came to Faramund seeking help. Faramund gave it, but for a price. Wiglaf's stock were to be his bond against failure to pay. Faramund gave him the grain he needed to survive, but Wiglaf has not been able to pay. So Faramund takes the bond.

"So you see, Faramund does nothing against the law, but his justice is cruel and has no mercy in it. Soon these free farmers will find themselves his chattel. I - I hope I have spoken enough for you to understand how it is here. I fear I may have said too much.

"These other lords, these friends of his, I don't think lord Faramund came by these ways on his own. I think he was taught them."

[Nogrod]

Athanar had hoped Stedford would have revealed something about his lord, but all this was just so much over to his anticipation. So for a while he just stood there his mouth open with the openness of lord Faramund's sergeant standing in front of him. But finally he was up to the changed situation...

"Tell me one thing Stedford, you know your lord better than I do, would he try anything desperate in a situation like this? Like trying to use force or a threat?"

Stedford glanced around and then returned his gaze to Athanar "I'm afraid he has already done that... he's... well... impulsive."

Lord Athanar was able to make the calculation; his observations about the feeling around the place added with what Stedford just said made for an outcome he recognised.

"This is important now as I wish to avoid any bloodshead... How is lord Friduhelm? Can he come here? Can he come here if someone aided him with no great risk to his health? Or would he be willing to take that risk?" He looked at Stedford intensively.

Stedford felt awkward, feeling like he was put in between the rock and the hard place, but after a moment he answered to his best knowledge. "He might not be able to walk, but he should be able to be moved..."

Lord Athanar thought it for a second. "'You give me hope Stedford... let me tell you I will not forget this." He looked at the young sergeant with a concerned smile. "Blimring!" he suddenly yelled to the soldier inside the hall. As he came to the doors Athanar turned to Stedford.

"I'm not intending to push you, but if you think Faramund is really able to act that recklessly; and if you love lord Friduhelm, king Eomer, the eorlinga, all the farmers... then you go with Blimring here and bring lord Friduhelm here as soon as possible. It maybe a question of minutes... Will you do that?"

Lord Athanar looked Stedford to the eye with all his authority - but it was no game-changer there as Stedford had clearly chosen already.

"I will do it."

"Praised be the gods for that..." Lord Athanar half whispered. Then he turned around. "Blimring! Follow the sergeant and do as he tells you!"

When Stedfast took the stride up the stairs past him, lord Athanar nodded to him approvingly. "I'm thankful to you for this Stedfast, and so is the king. I will make sure the king will hear of this..."

[Folwren]

"You threw me out of your hall! Tell me why I should not have you thrown out right this minute!"

Answers to this bounded plentifully into Thornden’s mind, but he kept his mouth firmly clamped shut. He stared down at Faramund and waited for his final word. It came in a burst of rage. “Get out of here! Give your words to your lord! Go!”

Thornden did not even incline his head in the slightest hint of a bow. He turned on his heel and went out, shouldering his way through the men standing there. He strode across the courtyard to where Athanar stood on the steps speaking with Stedford. As he drew near, Faramund’s steward was sent away.

“Lord Athanar, Faramund wishes me to tell you that he will defend what is his and he will fight you if you continue to press him. He demands that you stop trying to trap him and he asks that you send me back with word that you will no longer threaten him. This is what he said when I advised him against arming his men and pitting them against you.”

[Firefoot]

Even as Léof spoke to Quin he noticed that the Scarburg soldiers were beginning to gather up in front of the hall. Soon he saw Hilderinc with a couple of others break off from the main body and head towards them. “Maybe now we’ll get some news,” Léof said, nodding towards Hilderinc.

“Just orders, more like,” said Quin.

“Better than nothing,” said Léof.

It was not long before Hilderinc stood before them and said, “Lord Athanar wishes the horses be brought up to the main hall.”

Léof glanced over to where all the soldiers were milling about, then back down at Hilderinc. “But there is no place to tie all of them over there,” he said. “Half of your men will have their hands full holding onto horses – unless you mean for everyone to mount up now. But then it would probably be easier for the soldiers to come get their own horses over here, rather than us walking all the horses over there.”

[Nogrod]

Just as Stedford and Blimring left it was Thornden with the news.

Lord Athanar smiled briefly like he was happy about the news. "So that's what he says... so he's the insecure and aggressive child I thought he was... just like..." Suddenly his face got grim, almost terrified. Thornden was baffled.

Just like Wulfric and Wilheard... and they are there somewhere..., lord Athanar thought to himself with growing fear of his own reckless sons.

"Excuse me lord, is there a problem?" Thornden queried carefully.

Lord Athanar pulled himself together shaking his whole body to wrestle himself out of his thoughts. He had a situation here and he had to take care of his men's safety, not to sacrifice the others for the concern over his sons.

"Right... sorry Thornden..." Athanar said while recollecting himself. And then he was back to the present focus.

"Okay Thornden. Here's a mission for you." From the corner of his eye he could see the men of Scarburg starting to gather together and making it towards the stairs. "Take these two men of mine from here, and take a few from those you'll meet when going back there if you think you need more men or someone special. Go to Faramund and tell him this. He should not be afraid of me trying to take anything from him or trapping him, or of me threathening him. We wish to leave in peace. Don't mention the ledger" Athanar revealed the parchement-roll that had been in his hand behind his back, "unless he asks. Then you can tell him that I'm going to take a look at it - but that if he insists, I can take a look at it in the Mead Hall and send it back to him tomorrow. And don't mention his father either..." he lowered his voice: "he's coming... hopefully in time..."

Thornden looked confused.

"Hah, I guess I know what you're thinking... I'm showing myself as a coward to him pledging peace in front of his threads? Let me tell you, I have no problems in acting like a coward in front of a fool if it helps me to get the evidence to nail him in court and keep all my men alive. That's one thing you learn in the battlefield master Thornden... never lose your men if you don't need to, especially not because of vanity or pride. And even if he got that kind of thoughts into his head he'll be surprised enough to see us all mounted and in readiness to any move he wishes to make before he is able to execute them...."

"You mistake me, my lord. I think it is the right choice not to fight him if at all possible. But what shall you do with his father and with the ledger?" Thornden asked.

Athanar looked at Thornden into the eye and nodded. "Just take care of yourself Thornden. You'l learn that later... Anyway, you should go now. We don't have time to lose. I'll be in readiness to send a few men and your horses to get you back if there is any trouble. We will cover for you, you know that. Now go!"

He looked at Thornden into the eye and nodded. "Just take care of yourself Thornden. I'll be in readiness to send a few men and your horses to get you back if there is any trouble. We will cover for you, you know that. Now go!"

Thorneden nodded and turned to go back to meet Faramund once more.

"Frumgard! Bettelhird! Cover him!" Athanar called the two guards with him and the men followed Thornden.

[Mnemosyne]

Wynflaed sighed and took a few deep breaths once she had reached her and Athanar's room. For not the first time, she blessed her status and the privacy it afforded her. Her heart still pounded at the exchange she had had with Saeryn, though it had been pushed out by the holbytla's arrival. That she could not see the enemy in their midst, be Modtryth witting or no, stunned her and left her cold. Was it her youth that made her think so, or her coming of age in a time of peace, or the rule of her husband, who, fine eorl though he may be, let this Meadhall run itself more or less on its own?

For a moment, Wynflaed felt her age. More than that, though, she felt the absence of the company that she had come to rely on in Edoras--and especially her husband's company, though he might only be gone for the day. There were so few here to confide in, and none of them of a fitting station...

The easy camaraderie, too, of the entire kitchen once the holbytla had arrived, and the way the kitchen had seemed to let out pent-up breaths as she had departed...

She shook her head. There was nothing good to come of moping, and was she not a lady and an eorl's wife? It had been, and it was, an honour to accept this position; and there was still so much good she could do here, so many inefficiencies she could eliminate.

She left the room and made her way to the stables. Wulfric and Wilheard were with Athanar, of course, but Aedre was at the Hall, and thus was probably with her horse. The horse, and Aedre, were gone. Wynflaed smiled, but if she did not see her before sundown there would be harsh words.

With nothing else to do, she returned to the kitchen. She would learn more of this holbytla, and of the people and the land he came from.

[Folwren]

Thornden strode back towards the stables, the two men behind him. He looked perfectly collected on the outside, but inside his heart was beating a little faster than normal as he prepared himself for upcoming encounter. He highly doubted Faramund would be pleased to see him, and he hoped rather fervently that nothing rash would be done…that he wouldn’t get killed, namely.

He stopped outside. “I don’t want you coming in. It looks too…belligerent.”

“But lord Athanar said-” Frumgard began, but Thornden cut him off.

“I know what lord Athanar said, but I also know what lord Faramund said and is thinking, and I really think it would be best if I went in alone.” The two soldiers looked at each other doubtfully. “Just – stay here and wait, will you? I will not be long, and if aught is said to you of disobeying, I will tell Athanar that I commanded it.”

“Very well,” Bettelhird grumbled.

Thornden nodded and then hurried into the stables. There were fewer men inside now as many had already gotten their horses outside. He hurried through, seeking for lord Faramund, hearing muttered comments behind him from what men were still there. Finally, he found him, waiting for his horse to be bridled.

“My lord Athanar sends me to give you word that he has no intention of taking anything that is yours away, and that his intention is not to threaten you, but he means to leave in peace. He awaits your word that you will not attack his men.”

[Folwren]

"Now that's what has me puzzled," Falco replied to Saeryn, using his pipe as a pointer. "You're no longer the Lady of Scarburg; this here Lady Wynflaed is that. And as you're Eodwine's wife, it seems to me your duty is with him, way over yonder in Minas Tirith. Now I could be wrong, and forgive me if there's something I don't see, but that's how it looks the way my eyes see it."

Saeryn was taken aback. She shut her mouth with a clamp and calmed the sudden and fierce feeling of resentment and anger that sprang up. He didn’t mean it, she told herself. He didn’t understand.

“It’s not easy not being with Eodwine, Falco,” she said softly. “But you forget that Lord Athanar and his family and the new lady just arrived two days ago. Before that, I was the lady of the hall. And even now, I am not at liberty to just up and leave. When the lady Wynflaed has gotten fully settled in, perhaps then I may leave. . .” her voice trailed off as the door opened and the very woman in question entered the room. Saeryn looked at her, and then turned again to Falco. “Until that time, I cannot go, and that’s all.”

[littlemanpoet]

Faramund looked over Athanar's steward. The young man was speaking directly and not mincing words. Good. But that meant he had orders, and Faramund was not sure he dared to trust this Athanar's words. With a shrug he decided that it did not matter.

"If your eorl speaks the truth," Faramund said caustically, "then he will not be harmed by my men for we stand only to defend what is ours. He will see us mounted and holding a defensive position. You and your men are free to take your mounts from the paddock and go. We will not stop you. If you leave in peace, all is well between us. If not, then we shall see."

Faramund mounted his steed and gave Thornden one last look down his nose, then prodded his horse out of the stable.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco had assumed it had been longer than two days. They had been without their eorl for nigh on a month. Saeryn had been under much strain, then. He had spoken in haste and knew it, and he could see by the stiffness in her face and shoulders that he'd hit a nerve with his words. But she had not scolded him.

And here came the Lady of the Hall, back into the kitchens. Had she been listening in from just beyond the door? Well if she had, she might know a few more things than she had before. He would give her a show to remember.

He stood up and bowed low.

"Forgive my hasty words, Lady Saeryn. You are quite right. No doubt you have endured much in Eodwine's absence. And until that time, as you say, lady, I can stay here if you like, and accompany you to Minas Tirith, if you will have me."

[Nogrod]

Lord Atahanr followed Thornden with his eyes and nodded to himself in approval when he saw him dismissing the two guards he had sent with him. He's a man of honour and an eye for situations indeed, I've seen and heard enough of it...Valar be praised for that kind of men.

The men started to gather around him led by Coen, and he could see Hilderinc and Leof bringing forth the horses from behind them. The timing felt good... if Stedford and Blimring could just bring the old Friduhelm in time...

Hilderinc came forwards holding the reins of his steed and he took them nodding in approval. "Well done, Hilderinc." He was about to climb up but then turned back again to face his sergeant.

"What about the old man? Did you find him?", he asked Hilderinc.

"We got news he should still be around here my lord, but I haven't been able to spot him as yet..."

Athanar paused for a moment thinking heavily whether it would pay to get someone to look after him or whether it was a waste of men and time...

He glanced around to see most of the men of Scarburg already mounted and some of the Faramund's men as well in front of the stables facing them. There was a stady flux of riders pouring out from the stables and meanwhile his last men were getting their horses and mounting them. He looked back at Hilderinc.

"Okay... Take your place Hilderinc", he said to his sergeant quietly and turned to mount his steed. But before he did that he suddenly turned his gaze once more towards the stables, searching for Thornden and his men.

Frumgard and Bettelhird stood around the door to the stables and just then Faramund rode out from the stables. Thornded followed him suite on foot meeting the two soldiers behind lord Faramund who was taking his place in front of his men already monuted.

Lord Athanar managed to find Thornden's eyes from the distance and he nodded, carefully waving his hand rightwards. Thornden nodded back and started hurrying the two soldiers.

"Get Thornden's horse, and those of Frumgard and Bettelhird, to the right flank! Hurry!" he yelled to the men behind him. "Go for them!"

He eyed back to the situation in front of the stables and saw Thornden moving with the men away from the doorway, away from lord Faramund's men in between them and lord Athanar's men. He turned his gaze back to his own men and noticed a few going to meet them already. He nodded slightly, just to himself, and finally turned back to his horse to mount it.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc could see the turn of events immediately as it came. Before he could find the man he was sent for, it became clear that lord Faramund was preparing something, men swarming all over the place and taking arms. Hilderinc would not have believed that somebody like Faramund would dare to push things as far as threatening his eorl, on the other hand, the old disillusioned side of him accepted this turn of events even with a kind of grim pleasure, as if that was something he had been expecting all the time. Nonetheless, the spirit of a soldier rose accordingly with the deep sense of duty at the same time, and he ran to report to Athanar, and then again followed his orders to bring the horses from Léof.

The young "stablemaster" seemed somewhat expectant, Hilderinc thought to himself that he clearly must have been agitated by the apparent unrest in the hall and courtyard. Only a blind man won't see that something is going on. But I am not sure about how much the boy is going to like it when something actually starts happening. Then he chased away the grim part of his mind which suddenly seemed to have surfaced with the dramatic turn of events, and quickly came to the two young ones guarding the horses.

"Lord Athanar wishes the horses be brought up to the main hall," he said curtly, not wishing to delay at the present moment.

"But there is no place to tie all of them over there," Léof replied, glancing over to where the soldiers were gathering. "Half of your men will have their hands full holding onto horses – unless you mean for everyone to mount up now. But then it would probably be easier for the soldiers to come get their own horses over here, rather than us walking all the horses over there."

Hilderinc followed the boy's gaze and realised that he was right. Good thinking, he thought, but possibly with bad timing. Hilderinc did not know Léof very well, but he assumed that the boy was rather bright young lad, and a bold one, too, as it seemed. The ability of good perception, to respond to certain situations and give the ideas of how to make things better was a virtue, but in Hilderinc's experience, not all masters were happy with this kind of behavior, especially in tense situations. Some just preferred to be obeyed, even if their stupidity led them to their end. During the years after the war, without even realising it, Hilderinc became comfortable with letting this kind of masters to do their own instead of risking to anger them with gainsaying. It was not out of fear that he was doing this, it was more like once again his hidden, suppressed, resignated side taking grounds at such times. Anyway, his thoughts were that if Léof's life was to be that of a servant, it won't be always for his best to act like he just did. A wise and experienced man should recognise when it is good to suggest something to your superior and when to shut up, but for the young one, it was better to stay safe and just obey until he learns to judge his masters better. Especially since the young ones were the most prone to ride against the wind, whatever the circumstances. Hilderinc was convinced that Léof was not mature enough yet to read his superiors' reactions. However, Hilderinc's intention was not to give lectures to him about that just now.

He looked into Léof's eyes. "There is no time for the soldiers nor for us running there and back again fetching them. Take a few of those," he turned to the men who were with him, pointing at the horses, "and let the men mount over there. Then, we will call the rest of the soldiers and mount here. But quick! Quin, help them, and then get your own horse."

The men hurried to fulfil his order, and Hilderinc briefly addressed Léof before following them too. "You stay here until the rest come for their horses, then you will join us. I will take care of lord Athanar's steed, you watch over master Thornden's horse before he comes back. And," he added, glancing back as he parted, "stay out of the harm's way."

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine had risen from his couch. He strolled, hands clasped behind his back, along the wall, the wind blowing strong, looking south and east and north. He was feeling much better than he had when first he had awakened.

But it was cold. He was wearing a cloak, fur lined, and hugged it around himself. It was a wind from the south. Though cold, it held the promise of the Sea, and Eodwine thought that he could catch the salt scent of it, even these many leagues north of it. It was invigorating.

He heard footsteps behind him and a polite cough. He turned. It was the Master of the Houses of Healing.

"Good afternoon, sir," Eodwine said.

"I see you are up," the Master said meaningfully.

"Yes! I'm feeling quite well!"

"That is good," nodded the elderly man, his hands folded before him. "Do remember that you woke just this morn after a long illness, and you are mending."

Eodwine smiled. "Yes, I know. Be careful, do not rush things. You wish not to have to care for me, sickened after a brief moment of health."

The Master smiled beneficently. "Good. You understand. But that is not why I have come to you. The King has heard of your wakefulness, and invites you to sup with himself and the Queen this evening, if you feel well enough. I think it perhaps unwise, as it seems to rush things, but the King's will is the King's will. I am required to tell you that you may refuse if you do not feel well enough."

"I would be honored!" Eodwine said.

[littlemanpoet]

Faramund waited, mounted, before his men, as Athanar's horses, led by some of his men, passed between them and the Hall toward the front where most of Athanar's men were gathered. The men leading the horses eyed his company warily, as if they expected Faramund to suddenly call for a charge against them.

He smirked.

He enjoyed their caution, their fear. It made him feel full of self control. He was holding a position defense, as he had said he would to that self-important steward of Athanar's. He would show them all.

As soon as the last horses were taken from the paddock and were well on their way toward Athanar's men, Faramund ordered his men to move forward so as to fill the gap between the stables and the Hall. To move back between the Hall and Athanar's men could be construed as an offensive move, so Faramund chose against it. Even this was symbolic of determination and restraint. It would do.

Let him attack, Faramund said to himself. Then I would have him against the king's law.

But what was this? Coming from the other side of the Hall was a small group of men, and they were carrying something. It looked like a bed, or cot.

Father!

"Garrulf!"

"Yes, lord?"

"Go to the eorl. Find out whether he called my father, or if my father goes to the eorl by his own choice."

Garrulf rode off.

Faramund was not sure which would enrage him more. That blasted steward said that Athanar was not trying to trap him. This gesture, like no other, gave the lie to that piece of clever talk. Faramund ground his teeth, waiting while Garrulf ran his errand.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar saw Stedford and Blimring bringing old Friduhelm forwards with the aid of a few of Faramund's men. Just in time! he sighed to himself only to notice Faramund giving orders to a man who then ran fast towards him. He was curious about the message - and much content for the fact that it gave his men more time to rally around his flag if it would turn bad after all.

Garrulf reached him panting.

"Lord, sir, My lord requests you to tell him, whether you have called for his father, or if he is coming by his own choice?"

Lord Athanar smiled and looked at the soldier standing beside him.

"Tell your lord this. I requested to see lord Friduhelm, from your lord himself. He said his father was very ill, but that he would send my request to him to find out whether he wished to have any visitors. After that it was clear he had no intention to do what he promised and later he practically denied us a possibility of visiting him with this aggressive manouver of bringing forth the troops in between and looking like an aggressor. So I asked Stedford to pay him a visit and ask if he'd like to meet us - letting him know about the situation... and it seems he wishes to. Otherwise he would not be coming forwards, or what do you think?" Lord Athanar flashed a smile to Garrulf letting the words hammer in.

"So you can tell lord Faramund that his father is coming here from his own accord and his meeting us is already approved by your lord himself." He made a pause, glancing over Garrulf first to lord Faramund and then to the men carrying old lord Friduhelm forwards, almost reaching the corner of the main building. After quickly glancing at the readiness of the men of Scarburg he finally turned back to Garrulf.

"Tell your lord also this... if he does not make any aggressive moves and let's me speak with his father in peace, we will then leave in peace as well. This is a serious offer." He looked the soldier to the eye.

"And tell him that if he wishes, he should feel free to join the conversation, alone." With a nod lord Athanar made it clear he had made his point. Garrulf bowed and turned on his heels running back to lord Faramund.

Athanar looked at the soldier go for a few seconds and then turned towards Thornden and Coen. "I'm going to dismount and go to meet lord Friduhelm, alone, hopefully in a spot nearer to our troops than Faramund's. I try to time it right... Do not make any agressive moves Faramund could use as a pretext for attacking. But keep an eye on him and be ready to cover me and the old man if he does something stupid."

Thornden looked like he was bursting with questions but Athanar hushed him quiet. "I know what I'm doing Thornden. Just keep an eye on Faramund and act only if you have to. Don't let them trick you into any unwarranted action."

With that he glanced forwards to see that Garrulf had reached his lord and had started to deliver his message. Also the men carrying old lord Friduhelm had entered the zone between the two groups of soldiers facing each other.

"Wish me well..." Athanar said and dismounted his horse. Looking at Faramund he saw Garrulf had just got in to the end of his message.

Athanar nodded to Thornden and Coen and started walking slowly towards the men carrying the old Friduhelm.

[littlemanpoet]

Garrulf was coming back. Faramund had watched the exchange between Athanar and Garrulf, and it seemed to him that many words had been spoken. Garrulf stopped before him.

"Well, Garrulf? Can you cut through all the many words from the eorl's rapid lips and tell me his meaning?"

"Lord, he said that he asked you to see your father and you said yes. He said that since you-" Garrulf paused and looked at his feet.

"Out with it, messenger!"

Garrulf looked up and swallowed. "Since you came to the stables instead of going to your father, and since you made moves of readying for battle, the eorl took matters into his own hands."

"So the eorl called my father?" Faramund grated.

"He said that your father goes to him freely, with your consent, he told me to say."

"He lies! Is there more?"

"He said that if you make no aggressive moves and let him speak with your father, he will leave in peace. He said it was a serious offer. And he invites you, lord, to join him and your father. That is all, lord."

"Back to your horse, Garrulf."

The man nodded and moved away. Faramund looked. Stedford and a few other men had brought his father to the middle of the courtyard. Athanar had dismounted with a look in his direction, and was walking toward his father.

He had to know what they were saying to each other. He called over his war leader, Grimhelm.

"Keep your eyes on me. If I make this motion," he pushed his hand palm down toward the ground, "attack. Otherwise, remain vigilant."

"Aye, lord."

He started toward the eorl and his father, seething and disturbed: this was going to be two against one, but he had to know what was said.

[Mnemosyne]

As Wynflaed returned to the kitchen, the holbytla rose and bowed. "Forgive my hasty words, Lady Saeryn. You are quite right. No doubt you have endured much in Eodwine's absence. And until that time, as you say, lady, I can stay here if you like, and accompany you to Minas Tirith, if you will have me."

"What is this talk of travelling to Mundburg?" said Wynflaed. "Is this a wish you have been harbouring, Saeryn?" She paused to think things over--the idea of abandoning one's duty to be with someone, even one's husband, had never occurred to her. "It is not unthinkable," she finally said, "but I should say that it would be most unwise to do so before the people are wholly used to Lord Athanar's and my rule. You have been invaluable in banking the fires already, and yet see how many troubles have occurred despite our best efforts. And even if things should be ready in a month, would you be in fit enough condition to travel, even with an escort as worthy as our guest?"

[Folwren]

Saeryn shot Falco an annoyed glance and then turned to Lady Wynflaed. “There was no talk of going to the Mundburg. . .not immediately, anyway. Of course it would be unthinkable, now, and that’s just what I was telling master Falco here,” she gave him another glare. She was embarrassed to have Wynflaed have to tell her her duty, and she blamed Falco for the scrape he had gotten her in.

“As for whether or no I will be fit for travel, that is yet to be seen. I imagine that I will be able to for some months to come.” She paused, noticed the stiffness of the situation and stood. “Please sit, Wynflaed, I’ll find another chair. You do not know Falco, although you’ve been introduced.”

Stigend had already swung a chair around from the other side of the room to where Saeryn now stood. Saeryn took it with a grateful glance. The men excused themselves to return to their work, and Falco, Saeryn, and Wynflaed were left relatively alone; only Fordides worked at the hearth, listening all the while.

[littlemanpoet]

"Greetings again, lady," said Falco amiably. "I'm not sure why it would be unthinkable to be with the man you love, but duty is as duty does."

He puffed on his pipe, watching the two ladies over the stem. Saeryn had changed some since getting married, and that was a fact. He'd not known her to be so beleaguered with concerns about propriety in the old days. Hah, back then, he thought, there was no knowing what she might do; of course, that had been back when she'd taken a knock on the head. Maybe being with child had something to do with it. Or maybe being the Lady of an Eorldom did, too. Those glares had been unexpected and off-putting. He supposed he had better get used to the change. She was not going to get unmarried or unpregnant any time soon, though she apparently already had been unLadied, as it were.

"So Lady Wynflaed, where were you before here, and what was it like, if I may ask?"

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar approached old Friduhelm walking steadily but easily, not looking back. He trusted Coen, but to his delight he realised he trusted this Thornden as well. That is good news indeed, he thought to himself while walking slowly forwards.

And he was in no hurry. He kept glancing towards Faramund while he walked towards the men carrying the old man towards him - and finally, just before reaching Friduhelm near the main doors of Faramund's Hall, he saw from the corner of his eye that Faramund had dismounted as well and was making to meet them.

The old man didn't look well...

"Lord Friduhelm! I'd like to say it's so good to see you after all the years, but I see there is no reason to praise the situation we meet again, or the condition of yours..." The eyes of the two met. And it took a while the two just looked at each other.

It was a crisp and fresh day, having the feeling of early winter. Looking at lord Friduhelm covered with blankets made lord Athanar sad. There is the hero... the destiny of all heroes who don't die in the battlefield is to end up like that. Do I wish that for myself? His thoughts were cut by lord Friduhelm.

"I know why you're here Athanar..." Friduhelm said with an effort. He had to cough a lot before continuing. "And I hate this situation as you understand..."

Lord Athanar felt troubled for Friduhelm needing to make the effort, but realising how bad old Friduhelm actually was, he appreciated his coming to meet him even more. And it meant that his initial idea of things being wrong here were correct.

"Lord Friduhelm, would you like to exhange a few words inside around the fireplace rather than in here where the cold wind bites? I see your son is coming and it may be we need to really talk the three of us... I mean, if you think you can do it?" He added the last one looking at the eyes of the old man.

"I see what you're after lord Athanar... and as long as you stay true to the king I will do my best to help you. But inside, the fireplace, hmm... that would be good indeed."

Faramund was closing in.

"Get me inside the hall, we'll talk there!" Friduhelm called his carriers. Stedford glanced towards Faramund who was reaching them, nodding to the old man and lifting the strecher with the other men.

Lord Athanar had been following lord Faramund's approach for a while as well, while still focusing on the old man as his main attention. But now that lord Faramund was more or less facing him and the men had started to carry old Friduhelm inside he quickly turned towards the young man.

"I hope you have nothing against saving your father from this cold breeze and join us inside?"

[littlemanpoet]

Athanar and his father were talking. Father was coughing. He should not be out in the cold. The eorl should know better! It was one more piece of his mind he was more than ready to give the eorl! He was almost up to them and was about ready to speak his piece when he saw that Stedford led the others, carrying Father into the hall.

Athanar turned to him as he stopped. "I hope you have nothing against saving your father from this cold breeze and join us inside?"

Faramund stared at him blackly. This was just the kind of talk that had gotten him so mad in the first place, assuming bad intentions with his very words! How had he heard Lord Tancred handle such jibes? He remembered.

"I will not dignify your insinuations with a reponse." He turned, head held high, and followed his father's couch into the hall, letting the eorl follow behind or stand there offended as he chose.

[Nogrod]

"I will not dignify your insinuations with a response."

In his youth lord Athanar would have made that kind of a comment a pretext for a duel... and on a different situation he would have demanded the one talking to him like that to take his words back unless he wanted to be punished for being an idiot who didn't know to whom he was talking to...

As lord Faramund turned his back to him and went for the stairs lord Athanar realised his hand had instinctively landed on the hilt of his sword. No, not yet... there are stakes higher this young moron realizes... Calm down now... he thought to himself and let loose his grip from the sword. Wynflaed would be proud of me now... he thought and half smiled for it.

He glanced back to Thornden and Coen, nodding to them as a signal everything being cool with him and then followed young lord Faramund to the stairs and inside the Hall.

Stedford and Blimring - and the two other men from Faramund's retinue - had placed old Friduhelm beside the fireplace and lord Faramund was closing on his father showing the others off from him as Athanar entered the hall.

Stedford and Blimring were staring at him their eyes as questionmarks when lord Faramund forced them to back away from the old man.

"Stedford, Blimring, and you two..." Athanar addressed the four men who had brought old Friduhelm to the Hall. "Stay inside to bear wittness to what is said and done here... but do act on lord Faramund's wish and step back from the old man. This is a discussion of the three of us."

Being told to step back by both of the lords the four men backtracked to the wall and then slowly headed towards the door to position themselves there waiting for the outcome. Athanar followed their way with his eyes and nodded to them in approval as they reached the doorway.

In the meantime Faramund had reached his father and had bent upon him. Lord Athanar had no way of hearing what Faramund said to his father. He took the few steps needed to come close to the father and son and to get involved.

"Lord Friduhelm..." he said softly, "I think the king is not happy with the way things are here, and I'm afraid your son is one of the reasons why it is that way."

Faramund stood up and his eyes were flaming with fire. Athanar didn't pay attention to him but continued looking at the old man. "So tell me, please my old friend, what is it that makes this a place the king himself is worried about? I know something's wrong, can you tell me what is it?"

[Firefoot]

The lords had disappeared inside again, making for a rather anticlimactic ending for such a large to-do, in Léof’s opinion. Now he was by himself, still near the stables with perhaps a third of the horses, while most of Athanar’s soldiers and the rest of the horses were milling about near the entrance to the hall. Faramund’s men, all mounted, were still formed up in ranks near the stables. Léof wondered if the crisis had truly been forestalled or merely put off, and whether he still ought to be worrying about “staying out of harm’s way,” as Hilderinc had instructed him. Léof frowned at the memory. He was no child to be looked after or scolded, like Cnebba or Garmund or even Javan when they got underfoot.

But the thought was put from his mind as the soldiers whose horses had not been retrieved came to get them. He then dismounted and followed them back across the yard to where the others waited, and brought Thornden’s horse with him as well. He spotted Quin near the edge of the group and headed over to him. “So much for all that,” he said. “Looks like everyone got worked up over nothing.”

[Folwren]

Quin glanced over at Léof. “It was a close call,” he said. “Athanar doesn’t get worked up over nothing. I wouldn’t say it’s over quite yet. They’re still talking in there, after all. What if Faramund gets mad and comes storming out here ready to fight?” He looked back towards the door to the hall.

“Chances are, there will be no actual fighting,” he went on. “That’s really why we were all told to get together, so there wouldn’t be any. Faramund won’t attack us if we’re all in a group and no one’s causing trouble. It’s like taking temptation away from him not to have one or two men walking around making fools of themselves. Wait…” A horrible thought shot through his mind. His eyes grew wide for an instant and he looked quickly about.

“Léof, lord Athanar’s sons rode with us, did they not? Have you seen them?”

[Mnemosyne]

Wynflaed smiled indulgently at the holbytla's defense of... his idea? That would certainly explain why Saeryn had never brought it up to her before--and why she had looked at Falco so.

"Happy indeed are the holbytlan if they never need worry about those things which might pull man and wife apart. We of the Eorlingas are not always so lucky. It would, say, be unthinkable to follow your husband if he were sent to war and you had to stay, not only to manage the holdings but also to raise your children. For such," she added, "happened to me, during the War. In times of peace, mayhap the bonds of love have more merit than those of duty, but I fear it will be long ere the Riddermark reaches such a state.

"As for where Athanar and I hail from, we both have lived in Edoras for most of our lives, only leaving when service to the King calls us elsewhere, as now. If you travel here often I am sure you have seen Edoras for yourself. As for me, I have till now only seen your kind from afar, and know only of your people and your land by hearsay. And surely it is good to know of the character of the people to whom we all owe so great a debt. What of your kind, Master Falco? Do you truly dwell in the earth as the old tales tell?"

[littlemanpoet]

"Well, in the earth is one way of putting it, but it would be saying too much on one hand and not near enough on the other. You see, we live underground, but not in the earth, as it were. We certainly don't crawl in the ground like worms or grubs! Although I've known a few Grubbs who sometimes seem ready enough, but we're not here to talk about ol' Mungo Grubb! And that's neither here nor there. Or, I should say, that's not here at all and all there!

"But we live underground, as I was saying, and that means that we have tidy hallways leading from our round front doors into our parlors and kitchens and pantries and bedrooms. Living underground is a snug life. Keeps the cold out. Of course, those Brandybucks over by the Big Water, half of them live in houses like you do here, but they always were strange folk.

"And we're not apt to go off to war if we can help it. We're stout in the defense of our homes and crops, of course! And the women folk are as likely to help us as they can when those things happen, like they did back in the bad time just fifteen years ago.

"Any road, it's a peaceful place with lots of company to be kept, many ale houses in which to quaff a few, and seems we haven't had a bad harvest in all the years since the War. It's a pleasant place, and so are the people, if you don't mind the same old talk from the same old folk all the day. Just between you and me," and Falco somehow managed to make it feel to all except Lady Wynflaed as if they were not even in the room, "it's a little boring."

[Thinlómien]

Wilheard

Wilheard was observing his elder brother. Wulfric was eating the bread and meat offered by Lord Faramund and talking with Fearghall sitting on his other side. They were talking about the finesse of the hall and how cleverly it was built. Wulfric was looking notoriously unhappy, his face was so easy to read.

They were riding among their father's men today as any two ordinary soldiers. Wilheard knew Wulfric knew as well as he did that it was prefectly normal, especially as Athanar already had two captains at his service to command the men. Still, Wulf seemed to take it all as a personal rebuke. Wilheard thought he had issues, or then he was right. Their father was a difficult man to read, especially lately. Wilheard wondered why Wulfric even bothered.

He could understand his brother's disappointment though. This was boring - their father and his captains had been away for ages. Wilheard twitched restlessly. Of course he could eat more, or drink more, but he was not hungry or thirsty. He wanted to go an explore a bit, or see to his horse, or anything. He could not just sit here.

"Don't even think about it," Wulfric said in a low voice at his direction. He was sneaky like that. He could appear to be talking to Fearghall next to him and then suddenly throw a comment intended at his brother.

Wilheard emptied his pint. "I need to pee," he announced, getting up. Several soldiers nearby laughed, but they were too eager to do it, too loud. It didn't sound quite right. Everybody had their minds on what was going with the lords.
"Thank you for sharing," Wulfric said, earning a few bursts of laughter from the soldiers too. "Don't do anything stupid."
"Yes boss," Wilheard said, rolling his eyes. Wulfric always had to act so responsible in the presence of soldiers.

He left the hall, fighting a grin. Finally he could do something more interesting!


~*~


Wulfric

Wulfric watched his little brother disappear from the door. He seriously hoped Wilheard wouldn't act in his typical manner and get into trouble. Now was no time for foolishness - serious business was at hand. Although Wilheard might not have been paying much attention, Wulfric definitely had. He had been acutely aware of the tenseness of the situation when Lord Athanar's men had arrived, and the petty lord who was hosting them had been outright disrespectful. There seems to be a lot of that around here in the midlands, he thought bitterly.

He hoped his father could solve the situation. When he was small, he had seen his father as a great hero with almost magical powers who could solve anything. As he had grown, he had learned to see his father shortcomings and for the last few days he had become more and more doubtful. He's just becoming old and getting softer, Wulfric told himself although soft was hardly the word he'd normally use of a man who disinherited his sons so carelessly. He's losing his grip.

Wulfric had still not quite forgiven his father for the previous days' shock, and would not do so very soon - if ever, at least so he thought. What the Sauron am I even doing here? he wondered. My father has no use for me, not as his heir or as a captain, I could as well go back to Westfold to join Marshal Agrawine. He at least knows my worth and he'd have use for a commander and soldier like me. He started laughing. It was so absurd! Why had his father sent for him and Will in the first place? They had been much better of in Westfold under Marshal Agrawine's mentorship.

"My lord? Wulfric?" Fearghall asked. He looked slightly baffled. Wulfric shook his head. He could not - he should not - explain the stupid situation to Fearghall.
"Too much mead," he muttered, and immediately regretted it. He would not want the men to think he had no head for drinking!

Fearghall was quiet, and so where most of the men in the hall. "I say," Wulfric said in a raised voice, "that once Lord Athanar has made this local lordlings see their duty to their Eorl and their King, we have a drinking contest at the Hall."
The idea was greeted with enthusiastic cheers around the hall. Good, Wulfric thought smugly, now they have something to look forward to and something to think about.

"So Fearghall, tell me, what do you think of the roof? I say it's been built in a rather shoddy manner. If you cut those poles, and those, you could have the whole hall collapse."
"Not so sure, sir. See the walls? They are also taking part of the weight of the upstairs structures."
"Yes, I see. But you also have to take into account that..."

And so they continued for a good while until Wulfric started wondering why Wilheard had not come back and what was he doing. He started feeling comfortable. He didn't want Will to put them all to shame with his behaviour. "Shall be back soon," he said to Fearghall. "Keep an eye on the boys." Then he slipped out of the hall too.

Now where was Will? Outdoors no doubt, the kid went crazy if he had to stay indoors too long. He was just scanning the yard when he met Baldwic, a young soldier who had kind of befriended Wilheard on their way from Edoras. "Hoy, Baldwic! Have you seen my brother?"
"No sir. I was just in the stables to see my horse," the man replied, coming towards Wulfric. "All's well I presume?"
"Certainly. I think you have still some time to enjoy the mead and the food, so better take the opportunity."
"Yes sir," Baldwic replied and hurried inside.

Alright, so not the stables, Wulfric concluded. Where else would Will go? As an answer to his unvoiced question he heard dogs barking behind a barn which was next to the stables. Of course. If he's not with horses, it's likely he's with hounds or hawks.

Wulfric headed to the sound, and like he had expected, he found his little brother playing with a beautiful wolfhound. What he had not expected though was that he was enjoying the company of a beautiful girl. She was maybe of Will's age, short and curvy, and she had long, golden brown hair and a garland of flowers on the top of her head. She was laughing when while watching them play and when Wulfric appeared she was just rebuking the dog: "Shadow, no. Don't tear him apart, for Bema's sake!" And then she laughed a bit more. Wulfric decided she had a very beautiful laugh.

She didn't laugh anymore, though, when she saw Wulfric. Suddenly she looked serious. Wilheard lifted his gaze from the dog and grinned when he saw his big brother.
"Wulf! See what I found?" he cried, scratching the dog behind the ears. "Isn't she marvellous?"
"I'd get your point if you were talking about the lady," Wulfric said, casting a tentative smile at the girl's direction while approaching them. The girl returned the smile, but not quite as warmly as Wulfric would've hoped. Wilheard, on the other hand, laughed.
"See? I'm up to no mischief," he said.
"Yet," Wulfric observed drily.
"You're also one of Lord Athanar's men?" the girl asked.
"Isn't that kind of obvious?" Wilheard asked her.
"Oh yes, I guess I do know everybody here! Silly me," the girl said, smiling, and blushed a little.

Wulfric was displeased. It rattled him that Will chatted so easily with her, and what was that question: so you are also one of Lord Athanar's men? Not his sons? Hadn't Wilheard even introduced himself to this girl? Did she think she's talking to a random peasant? But it would be even worse to break it at this point...

"His name's Wulf. He's my brother," Wilheard said before Wulfric had time to arrange his thoughts.
"Oh, you do look quite alike!" the girl exclaimed, laughing. "My name is Senwyn."
"Pleased to meet you, Senwyn," Wulfric said. Sometimes court manners were the way with country girls.


~*~


Wilheard

Somehow it didn't surprise Wilheard that Wulfric was immediately all after the girl. Well if it gives him something to do and makes him fuss about the "serious business" less I guess that's fine, he thought. He felt a slight pang of regret though - Wulfric was always so fluent with women, he could pay them the right compliments, he needed only one glance to make them know he was interested but he didn't push it. Well, mostly, Wilheard amended in his mind, remembering a few misadventures the two brothers had had with girls.

Shadow was trying to bite his leg off, or at least that's how it felt like. "Hey c'mon girl stop that," he said, shaking his leg to make the dog ease her grip. "You just want attention, don't you?" He scratched its ears a little more and soon she let go. "There, good girl," he said. "Now, catch this," he said, took his boot off and threw it a good thirty feet away towards the bushes. Shadow started barking and rushed towards it. Wilheard laughed. It made him happy to see dogs play. I should definitely get one, he thought.

He was still watching Shadow when she put her head out of the bush, let out a wail and started barking.
"Everything's not alright," said Senwyn's voice. Wilheard turned to her direction and saw he standing suspiciously close to Wulfric, and one of the flowers of her garland was in his hair. She sounded distressed. Wulfric put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure everything's alright," he said. "Will, go and check out where all that noise is coming from."
"I don't have my shoe!" Wilheard protested.
"You what?" Wulfric asked. His face actually looked quite funny. Senwyn slipped from his embrace and knelt to pat Shadow, who had run to her. There was a flash of dismay on Wulf's face so Wilheard though it better to answer quick and honest.
"I don't have my shoe. I threw it to the dog and it went somewhere to the bushes and I can't see it."
"Idiot!"

The noises became louder. Obviously dozens of men were gathering together, and Wilheard could hear the clink of chainmails and neighing of horses. Wulfric seemignly heard it too, he was suddenly all alert - when it came to the beginning signs of a battle, he was like a warhorse. "We go, right now. Something's happening." He turned to Senwyn and gave her a curt smile. "Til later."

He hurried away, hand on his swordhilt, and Wilheard had no choice but to follow him, shoe or not. From behind the barn they came to the yard, and into the middle of two groups of armed men facing each other on horseback. Wilheard cursed in his mind and grasped his sword hilt. He could not see their father, nor Lord Faramund, but all the men - theirs on one side, Faramund's on the other - were now staring at the two of them, suddenly standing in the middle. Wilheard fervently wished he could've been somewhere else.

Wulfric, however, was not quite so ruffled by the unexpected situation. "What is going on here?" he asked, assuming his most authoritative voice.

Good save mate, Wilheard thought, or would've been if you didn't have a flower in your hair and if your brother wasn't missing a shoe.

[Folwren]

Thornden thanked Leof quietly when he handed his horse's reins to him. He looked intently at Leof's face as the young man turned and led his horse to the side. Something was gnawing at him, and it wasn't fear. Things had gone differently than what either of them had expected when Thornden threw out that invitation to ride with them. It was good that he had.

Thornden tightened the saddle-girth and mounted up. He looked about his shoulder to the hall door. No one was in sight. He sighed and looked across the courtyard at Faramund's men, arranged in rows opposite them. How long would the conference with the old man take? What would be the outcome? Thornden had not heard the brief exchange of words between Faramund and Athanar, there in the space between the two groups of men-at-arms, but he had seen Athanar's face grow hard and stern in response to something Faramund said, and Thornden's eyes had not missed the action of Athanar's hand gripping his sword hilt. Whatever was being said inside the hall now was not necessarily diplomatic, and the threat of a clash of arms was not yet dissipated. At least all was in order here. So long as his men remained calm and made no sudden or threatening moves, all would remain quiet here and no one would be provoked to any violence. He cast a quick eye over the men. They stood silent, waiting and apprehensive.

But then something unexpected did happen. Thornden became aware of the men's attention disrupted. Heads turned, but not one man in his ranks said a single word. Around the corner of the stables came none other than Athanar's two sons. Thornden leaned forward in his saddle to better see. They both had their hands on their swords, but Wilheard had but one shoe and Wulfric had. . .a flower in his hair?

“What is going on here?” the older one asked, stopping short between the two drawn ranks of men. His voice was stern and sounded like the authoritative voice his father used. It annoyed Thornden, and it amused Faramund's men. He saw their faces breaking slowly into smiles. This annoyed Thornden further. Did they mean to bring disgrace to their father by appearing in such a disgraceful fashion? The job of convincing Faramund that Athanar had the authority to levy taxes was hard enough without his sons acting like fools.

“Wulfric,” Thornden said coldly. “Get over here and get on your horse. Willheard. . .” He wanted so badly to ask him what had happened to his boot, but the temptation to humiliate him was overruled by the fact that it would make them all look ridiculous. “Mount your horse, too.”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc's first reaction, when Athanar's sons appeared in the courtyard, was a mixture of disbelief, combined with the urge to roll his eyes and chuckle, giving way to a sting of anger with the young fools; immediately replaced by the attentiveness brought by the reflexes of a warrior. Hilderinc eyed Faramund's men, of whom some seemed to be openly amused. The Scarburgians, on the other hand, seemed to keep their cool – even though their reactions were as much emotional, if not more so. Some looked at Wulfric and Wilheard with a bit of rebuke in their gaze, some tried to conceal their horror in face of such a disgrace in the eyes of their would-be enemies. The appearance of the strangely decorated elder son and the shoeless younger son of lord Athanar seemed to both lower and raise the tension between the groups facing each other in the courtyard. The slight relief and amusement, shared to a certain extent by both groups, only with the men of Scarburg trying to conceal it, somehow lifted the tension – for a brief moment. But then, the Scarburgians had to think about how the other group will think of them now: the show of the lack of discipline and all. But it had occured to Hilderinc that, if it came down to fight, this might actually even give advantage to Athanar's men: if Faramund's soldiers let their minds become distracted by the idea of their enemies being jerks, they could easily underestimate whom they were facing. Still, Hilderinc hoped that it won't come to a fight. But following Thornden's sharp rebuke, the situation seemed as tense as before, and the men of Scarburg were attentive.

[Thinlómien]

"Wulfric. Get over here and get on your horse. Willheard. Mount your horse, too."

Wulfric felt his face turn red the way it did when he was angry. That kind of words from his father would've been a rebuke. From Coenred, they would have been painful but acceptable. From this treachery-brewing peasant whimp? Unbearable.

Still, Wulfric knew that showing their internal disputes before Faramund's men would be even worse than the humiliation Thornden was trying to put him through. Thornden would pay, but later.

"Baldwic," he said, fighting to keep his composure and succeeding for the most part. "Me and Wilheard's horses."

"Yes, sir," the young soldier replied quietly, as if suddenly shy of being the center of so many people's attention. Wulfric thanked his luck that he had named the correct soldier, but then again, Wilheard's steed was so tricky that not many cared or were able to look after it, and Baldwic was a good horseman and dutiful.

Deliberately slowly, Wulfric took the reins of his horse and mounted, while Wilheard acted with double the speed and half the show. Wulfric made a note to himself to discuss the finery of giving a lordly impression with his little brother.

When he was sitting on his horse, he gave Thornden a glance, not bothering to conceal his anger and dislike for the man. He spoke in a voice loud enough to reach the men mounted closest to them, but not Faramund's soldiers: "Next time watch whom you try to boss around, soldier." Before Thornden could say anything, he added in a tone he deemed nobleman-like: "But let us not bicker here now. There are more important things at hand."

[Folwren]

“Next time watch who you try to boss around, soldier,” Wulfric said. Thornden raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth with a retort, but Wulfric cut him off. “But let us not bicker here now. There are more important things at hand.”

A smile played at the corner’s of Thornden’s mouth. Not a companionable smile, but a hard one. “Indeed,” he said. “Such as keeping our status as the men of Lord Athanar we are, looking like noble eorlinga. Your and your brother’s appearances do none of us any credit. It is evident what recreation you have been making, while the rest of us have been attending to our duties, though your brother's occupation is more of a mystery...unless he got further along than you.” He turned his head away, looking forward across the courtyard to Faramund’s men.

“Take the flower out of your hair.”

[Thinlómien]

Without thinking, Wulfric lifted his hand to his hair. Midway through the motion he realised what he was doing and stopped, and took his hand to stroke his horse's neck instead. He was boiling with anger and humiliation but he would not acknowledge it in such manner. Instead, he forced himself to relax in his saddle and lifted his gaze to Thornden with a sneer.

"To me it seems we arrived just in time. And no need to sound so bitter although I do understand that a man like you seldom gets chances with women."

He urged his horse a few steps away from Thornden and closer to his little brother. He leant in his saddle a little and said in a low voice: "Will you useless jerk. Why didn't you tell me?" Casually he slapped Wilheard on the head.

He leaned away from his brother, smoothed his hair taking care to comb the flower out with his fingers and took his most soldierly posture. He was ready for anything - even battle if needs be, and he sure felt like killing someone.

[Nogrod]

"So tell me, please my old friend, what is it that makes this a place the king himself is worried about? I know something's wrong, can you tell me what is it?" lord Athanar asked the old man and bent slightly towards him.

The old man's eyes shined but his talk was stammering.

"L...llet's cut the p..p..pcrab, 'thanar." He looked at Athanar to the eye looking for any signs of scorn from the eorl because of his sorry state. "Ittt's.... jussst, that I'm-mm-m no-o-t..." He had to pause for concentration.

Lord Athanar leaned towards the old man and smiled encouragingly looking him back into the eye passionately. "Don't you worry Friduhelm, I know who and what you are... just tell me what is going on..." he looked at the old man and frowned. "I think I know what's going on, but I can't prove anything... and I'm afraid I don't know all I'd need to know to carry this further." He hesitated a moment and then added just to make sure Friduhelm understood the situation clear enough. "King Eomer is worried, he wouldn't have sent me to take the eorlship that fast after Eodwine were he not concerned enough."

Friduhelm nodded with understanding and tried to cool himself down to be able to speak. Faramund hadn't heard the words between the two but saw his father now struggling. "Let my father be!" he yelled and made it towards the two in anger. Athanar sprang up and his hand was already reaching for the hilt of his sword when old Friduhelm put all his willpower into a loud call of halt, like he was a commander once again in front of his troops. Both men froze in the middle of their move and the soldiers by the door held their breath.

"S-stopp it!" he bellowed, now more energetic than in years. All the eyes inside the hall were fixed on the old man.

And he rose up. He was wawering.

Both Athanar and Friduhelm sprang to hold him up - "Lord!" Stedfast yelled as he ran to his aid as well from the door.

Friduhelm smiled feeling comfortably carried by the the two lords and wawed his hand to Stedfast approvingly showing him to stay away at the same time. He gathered his breath slowly while Athanar and Faramund followed half him and half the other's reaction being in readiness all the time for any unforeseen trick by the other one.

"My ss-son..." Friduhelm said turning his head to face him.

"You have rr-reallly dis-a pp-ointed me." he managed to utter.

Faramund took a step backwards in rage letting go of his father. "How dare you say that! I'm your son and the legitimate heir to this place!" he yelled while Athanar struggled to keep lord Friduhelm in balance. Stedfast ran to his aid and took the old man from the other arm.

It looked the old man got clearer with every bit of anger that was aroused in him.

"I was caught by the b-bb-blessed disease... b-brainbleed, you know? I'm only recovering now and it could go a-a-anyway. No one knows if I recovver 'ully."

Athanar glanced at Faramund but his face was of stone. But with the words of his father they would change totally.

"Youv've brought such a shame on me and our f-family! Shame on you!" The old man would have collapsed with his anger but the two men managed to hold him up. Faramund looked pale.

"It was not me father! It was Tancred... and Alboin! They forced me to this!"

You didn't seem too eager to object to that, now did you Faramund? Athanar thought to himself while looking at the young lord breaking before his father. There were tears in Faramund's eyes. Lord Athanar tried to remain calm between conflicting emotions; a spoiled kid, like my own, repenting for good, or a cynical youngster trying to save what there is to save? He was bent on the latter interpretation.

The old man glanced at his two carriers and then said firmly, without stammering. "Take me to the stairway my friends, I wish to speak to the men."

Stedfast turned to Athanar to see what he thought about it. Lord Athanar nodded in confirmation and glanced to the door indicating they should open the doors. The two started helping lord Friduhelm to the main doors while Faramund looked by. There was no natural way for him to take his father's other shoulder now and it would mean a lot if he was not one of those who supported his father out.

Faramund rushed to the door showing the soldiers to back away and jerked the doors wide open taking the steps outside before the old man and his helpers.

"Listen everyone! Lord Friduhelm will speak to you all! Cease any hostilities!"

The yard went silent and slowly the people could see the figure of the old man emerge from the doorway aided by lord Athanar and Stedfast. Faramund took a step aside to let them enter the top of the steps.

[Folwren]

The air was tense out in the courtyard. It was not so tense with the thoughts of impending battle now, for that had dissipated when Athanar’s sons had arrived, but rather with anger and annoyance on the side of the Scarburgians. Thornden took care not to look again at Wulfric. The last attempted insult from Wulfric had affected Thornden about as much as water on a duck’s back. He was content to ignore him, but he was aware of the young man’s fury.

Then the doors of the great hall flew open. Every head in the courtyard turned and all eyes were fixed on the figure of Faramund darting out into the sunlight. He leapt half way down the stairs and then held up his hands and called to them.

“Listen, everyone! Lord Friduhelm will speak to you! Cease any hostilities!”

Thornden glanced about him, at his men, and at the Scarburgians. They had all jumped at the suddenness of Faramund’s appearance and many had half drawn their swords and lowered their spears. A rustle of the weapons being retired rippled through the men and all were still as Friduhelm came to the door, bowed and walking slowly onto the porch.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc observed the exchange of words between Thornden and Wulfric with his mouth shut and still attentive to any signs of movement from the opposite group of soldiers, but on the inside, he felt the uttermost displeasure with Athanar's elder son. During the time spent in Athanar's household, he had learned a lot about both Wulfric and Wilheard and of their behavior, which reminded Hilderinc of exactly that type of young soldiers he had started to dislike the most when he had been serving as a soldier for the first time in his life. Self-centered, all-important showoffs, he thought. Nothing good will come out of this... He just hoped that Wulfric will have enough sense not to start any trouble before the matter with the local landholders is solved.

Wulfric seemed to have at least this much sense, however, and responsibly took his place. About time, it seemed, as suddenly the door of the hall swung open. Quin next to Hilderinc had almost drawn his sword, but Hilderinc grabbed his hand quickly and stopped him when it was just halfway out. He cast a short glance at the young soldier and slowly moved his head from side to side. He did not speak, but nodded towards the stairs.

Faramund stood there, announcing the coming of lord Friduhelm, and indeed, after a few heartbeats, his servant emerged from inside the house, along with Athanar, leading an old man between them. It occured to Hilderinc that even though lord Friduhelm was old, there was a certain air of confidence around him, and he reminded Hilderinc more of Athanar than of Faramund. He caught himself sitting straight on his horse and expectingly listening to what the landlord had to say.

[littlemanpoet]

"Men of my house, friends, and guests!"

Friduhelm's voice hardly quavered, but was not very strong. The soldiers on both sides had to lean forward to hear him. If he had "brainbleed", thought Faramund, he was done with it. Faramund waited with bated breath to learn his fate and that of the lands he had thought until now were his to rule as he pleased.

"Much has gone amiss while I have been ill. But now it is ended." Friduhelm's voice was getting stronger. "Fetch me some water, Faramund!"

"Yes, father."

Faramund went into the hall and grabbed the first soldier he found. "Get me some water for the old man. Hurry!" He turned around to listen from behind his father.

"Anyone who has not received justice from my son will receive it from me. Let each householder come to me when he is able, and it will be done." The old man turned. "Where is that water?"

Faramund looked behind him. The soldier was coming with a tankard. Faramund grabbed it and took it to his father, and made as good a show of helping his father has he could. The old man wiped his mouth.

"Now! Every Eorling except for the home guard - you know who you are - is to go with Lord Athanar to visit Tancred and Alboin. Let them try their tricks facing a force of double size!" The old man's voice sounded stronger than ever.

"Go, Lord Athanar, and my men serve you well! I will stay home and deal with this whelp of mine, myself!"

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

As Friduhelm ended his speech, Hilderinc caught himself, along with a few others, loudly cheering in approval of the old man's words. It was only a short cry of applause, as the men – and Hilderinc the least of them – did not want to break the discipline and also expected to hear a response to Friduhelm's words from Athanar himself; but the relief, or almost disbelief at the sudden turn of the situation had to be expressed somehow, and the feelings of the riders were just too strong. The fact that the threat of a battle, which was just a moment ago looming like a shadow over them, suddenly disappeared, lightened the hearts of the soldiers. And now that those who almost became their enemies should stand by their side...

Hilderinc would have felt embarassed, perhaps, had he reflected upon his strong reaction, but at that point, the happiness had just overwhelmed him. Somehow, also, his veteran's heart was warmed at the possibility of two groups of men joining together; to somebody like him, who had seen the divisions between men at war and even after the war, even such a small thing had its value.

But he was not thinking about this – and his thinking had soon returned to the cautious, calculative thinking of a soldier, veteran, and mercenary: Is it going to be easy? With the divisions already between Scarburgians, will the leadership work, once there is even one more group among us? Will the men be up to the task? How are Friduhelm's men going to act in this task? And is it possible that still something bad happens before this is done?

Hilderinc turned his eyes towards Athanar. It will be upon him to decide, and to lead us, he thought. Is he going to be able to do it?

[Folwren]

The tension in the air dissipated in an instant. Thornden felt himself breath easier, and he wondered if he had been holding his breath. He smiled as he glanced about. Some of the men cheered at lord Friduhelm’s words. The old man turned to lord Athanar standing on the steps beside him. He spoke loudly enough for Thornden to hear from where he sat,

“Go, lord Athanar, and my men serve you well! I will stay home and deal with this whelp of mine, myself!” He turned his dark eyes on his son as he spoke. Thornden tried to keep the smirk off his face, but for all his decency, he could not help it. He studied for a minute the odd couple standing there on the stairs: the young man, full of life and vigor standing with his head bowed to hide the fury in his face, and his father, bent and old though he was, glaring at him as though he were young enough still to be whipped.

He did not observe them for more than a second. He turned his horse about again to face both Athanar’s men and Friduhelm’s riders that were just put under Athanar’s command. “Come! Prepare yourself to ride out. To horse, eorlinga!” The men still on foot mounted their horses Athanar went down the stairs to his mount and rode forward to head the column once more. As they wound up to the road away from the hall, Friduhelm could still be seen standing on the step with his son to one side of him and a step behind.

It was not a two hour’s ride to Lord Tancred’s. They reached the holding by mid-afternoon. The dust from their horses rose behind them high in the air and acted as beacon to those they approached. Tancred was waiting for them. He did not show a force of arms as Faramund had, though his men-at-arms did stand at attention at each door of the hall. Tancred himself met them in the midst of the courtyard and stood by while Athanar dismounted.

At first, Tancred seemed doubtful of Athanar’s claim as lordship of the Middle Emnet. Thornden observed him cast a grim eye over all the horsemen. Athanar, too, turned to look at the array of riders, and then he faced Tancred again and explained to him the great number of men. Tancred looked as though he had sour grapes in his mouth as he received the news of Friduhelm’s recovery. He looked again on Athanar and nodded. They spoke a few words and then he and Athanar withdrew into the hall.

Out in the courtyard, the men waited. Thornden looked about him. All seemed well in order here. People moved about in their daily business, looking nothing like the cowed and frightened inhabitants of Faramund’s hall. He and the other soldiers were looked upon with curiosity, but little hostility.

In a little while, Athanar came forth again. Tancred came with him and bid him farewell at the door of his house. A moment later, Athanar was mounted again and the column turned and rode once more out onto the road.

[Nogrod]

Folwren's post

“That went well, my lord?” Thornden asked as the company moved out once again. Athanar nodded his head.

“Yes. Tancred is a shrewd man, but he knew that there was nothing he could say to put off paying what was due. He is not a fool.”

“He did not doubt your claim, like Faramund did?”

“No, not after I laid the facts in front of him. Let us hope Alboin is as reasonable as Tancred was.”

Thornden nodded. He fell into silence, thinking again on the one time he had met Alboin, along with the other two lords. Alboin had talked the least of the three, but he had shown no less disdain for them than Faramund had. He would be angry, possibly belligerent, but he could not argue with Athanar for long.

The sun was beginning its downward arch in the sky by the time they reached Alboin’s lands. They drew rein close to the door of the house. Unlike the other two places they had visited it seemed that here there was no one home. Athanar looked around silently. The long day was beginning to show in most of the riders’ faces, and they had yet several hours ride back home.

“Come with me, Thornden,” Athanar said, dismounting, nodding Coen to stay with the men. Thornden stepped down from his horse and followed Athanar. As they drew nearer the house, the door swung open and a young lady came out.


*******************************

Nogrod's post

“Who are you and why do you come with such a force?” She asked trying to keep her voice firm, like a lady of a noble house should.

Athanar and Thornden glanced at each other sharing the curiosity.

“I am lord Athanar, the eorl of Mid Emnet, and I’ve come to see lord Alboin.” He paused for a short while to study the young lady’s reaction. “Where can we find him?”

The young woman hesitated for a moment but then bowed lightly to lord Athanar and asked them to follow her inside.

After waiting a little longer they felt was decent, lord Alboin finally emerged into the hall followed by a few of his men. He had put on his best garments topped with a fancy tunic decorated with stunning colors. He tried to look firm and in control of the situation. He took pains to express himself both lordly and honourably at the same time. “So, what gives me the pleasure of this unexpected visit from my eorl?”

Lord Athanar stared at him with relaxed confidence, leaning back against the seat he was sitting in. In truth he was not at all sure this would go easily but his acted ease was a means to affect the outcome. And it worked, lord Alboin became more clearly nervous the longer lord Athanar remained silent.

Finally lord Athanar let lord Alboin off the hook of suspense. “Do you remember Thornden here? You two have met…” Athanar nodded towards Thornden and then turned back to look at Alboin who was now openly insecure about the situation.

“Last time you two met the then new eorl was very sick and I hear you weren’t exactly honoring of the earldom and those then representing it… Well, king Eomer has seen it important enough to appoint a new eorl to set things right on these corners of Rohan. And I demand perfect obedience and honouring of the king’s orders.” He took short break and leaned forwards. “Lord Friduhelm is back in charge and lord Tancred has subjected himself to the new order. Now you face the choice: I have enough men out there to force you to agree, or you can agree on your own free will.

Lord Alboin hesitated. Whichever way he tried to calculate his chances they seemed slim indeed. He tried to figure out different scenarios but soon realized that right here and now he had no other chance but to agree. But he would not be humiliated with the details before his men. “Bredgard and Gropher, go see that the eorl’s men get some wine and show their horses to the pond.”

~*~

“Well, I would call that a good day, wouldn’t you Thornden?” Lord Athanar asked when they were finally back on their way to Scarburg.

“I would, even if the start wasn’t so good…” Thornden answered studying his lord’s expression.

Athanar nodded. “I think we have all earned ourselves a little party back in Scarburg, don’t you think?”

Thornden and Coen both nodded. The sun was slowly setting behind their backs as they rode the last miles towards the Mead Hall.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc's mood on the way back to Scarburg was quite merry. He was pleased with the way Athanar had dealt with the remaining landholders and for now, Hilderinc was feeling as if things were the way they should be – a rather rare mood for him, in fact. As for himself, he felt comfortably fatigued and for the last few miles he had been looking forward to seeing the warm fireplace, a full plate and maybe a mug of good ale. And he even felt like cheering spontaneously at lord Athanar's speech – which, knowing Athanar, he was expecting to come at some point, maybe around the dinner-time. But that mood was not supposed to last, unfortunately.

Since as the soldiers came back home, put their horses back to the stables and after taking care of all the necessities, they entered from the chilly autumn late afternoon into the warmth indoors, what greeted them was a few of the local people moving around, already preparing stuff for the incoming lord – and apart from them, Hilderinc had noticed a small, chubby man-like figure sitting by the fireplace and sending rings of smoke up towards the ceiling. It was the holbytla they have met during the day, Hilderinc realised immediately... and his mood dropped. He didn't even know why, but somehow all the bad stuff during the day, despite its good outcome, suddenly came back to him: his failure to notice the man Wiglaf when it was needed, the mild disturbance in the soldiers' ranks on the road, when he got himself distracted exactly because of that holbytla, and even the matter of disparity among the men of Scarburg, when he remembered what he and Coen possibly discovered in the morning, the fact that Thornden might have known about Lithor's disappearance – and this thing still wasn't solved, as far as he knew. And who knows how it might just go...

"What are you doing here, frowning like a pukel-man?" somebody poked him from the back. It was Fearghall, one of the "older" (in matter of experience) soldiers. He seemed happy, just like Hilderinc had been a moment ago. "There comes food to be eaten, but I would like to take off my riding shoes first, at least... but you are in people's way," he said and half-dragged Hilderinc to the side. Seeing that his face did not lose its gloomy look, he shook his head. "What is wrong with you? You look as if you saw an ill-omen."

Hilderinc shook his head too, trying to clear it. There was no need to start worrying about the relations between Scarburgians just after the day had ended with the successful completion of a task they did together... but the holbytla's presence definitely disturbed him, somehow, now he had seen it.

"It's nothing," he said aloud, shrugging, but Fearghall followed his gaze, noticing the small man sitting by the fireplace.

"Well, a holbytla!" he observed. "Truly amazing. Is he going to stay here? Some of the men told me that he had known the late lord..."

"I wonder if the others have spotted him already – they are going to beat each other in order to determine who is going to sit next to him," Hilderinc said almost absent-mindedly, not letting his eyes down from Falco.

"In order to... what?" Fearghall said. "Oh, true. Well, I have seen one of the holbytlan, once... but to be able to talk to such a curious little person myself... I might just as well attempt that as well."

"I thought you were not like the enthusiastic youngsters..." Hilderinc said, but Fearghall just laughed at his jest and rushed away to change his shoes.

[Folwren]

While Hilderinc and Fearghall were discussing the holbytla, Thornden was also busy thinking about him. He saw him when he entered and felt a twinge of regret when he remembered their earlier meeting. He wanted to speak to him, but not at once. He would first go and refresh himself after his ride.

Some minutes later he emerged again into the hall, dressed in cleaner clothes and with his hands and face washed. The hall was busier now than it had been five minutes ago. Several of the soldiers were there, and most of the people who had stayed behind had gathered in the hall. Twilight was falling outside, and the warmth of the fire was welcomed by everybody. The women past to and fro, bringing out tankards for ale and just beginning to carry out great platters of food. Even Saeryn was carrying something. She passed him on her way back to the kitchen with a wide, empty tray held under one arm and a pitcher in the other hand.

“Saeryn,” Thornden said, swinging out of his path to follow her. She half turned to see who called her, but didn’t stop walking towards the kitchen.

“Thornden,” she said, smiling some. “How did it go?”

“Tolerably,” he replied. “The full tale will wait until dinner. Can I help you carry something?” He took the heavy tray from her without letting her answer. “Are you sure you should be helping serve? You are still a lady here.”

“Even I cannot afford to sit still,” Saeryn answered. “There are too many mouths to feed to leave all the work to the girls. I would have thought that Athanar would bring more of his servers from his household in Edoras.” She pushed open the kitchen door and went in. The air was hot and heavy with a mixture of smoke and steam. The clatter of dishes and serving spoons filled Thornden ears, along with the chatter and laughter of the women folk working there. He followed Saeryn to the table and deposited the tray he was carrying. Saeryn set her empty pitcher down and picked up another full one and put it along with several trenchers onto another tray and picked the whole thing up. Thornden confiscated it at once. Saeryn gave him an annoyed look.

“Walk with me,” he said. “I’ll carry it and you can serve, if you insist, but I want to talk.”

Saeryn could not help the smile on her face as she conceded with a little grace. She picked up another full pitcher of ale and led the way back out of the kitchen. “What do you want to talk about?” she asked as she threaded her way to the tables.

“Did the messengers from last night return?”

“No. I imagine they will be back this evening, late.”

“Right,” Thornden said. They paused and he stood still behind Saeryn while she filled some of the tankards and then emptied half of his tray and handed several men full trenchers of stew and bread. “And what of Ginna?” Thornden asked as they went on. Saeryn didn’t turn her head.

“What of her?”

“Didn’t she tell you she got a letter this morning from her father?”

Now Saeryn turned and gave him a surprised look with wide open eyes. “No, she did not say a word about it to me.”

“Oh,” Thornden said. Perhaps he had been wrong in his hopes that the letter bore good tidings and permission from her father to marry Harreld. The same thought seemed to be going through Saeryn’s mind, too. She turned away, her eyebrows still lifted and thoughtfully poured the next man’s drink. She emptied the tray and then took it from Thornden.

“You’ve ridden a long way today, you should sit down and join the others,” she said.

He nodded. “I need to talk to Falco. And perhaps I’ll ask Harreld what the news is.”

Saeryn shook her head. “I wouldn’t. I’d wait. If Randvér has told them he doesn’t want the match to take place, he is not going to be very happy.”

“If he has been disappointed, perhaps having someone to talk to will be a good thing,” Thornden countered.

Saeryn shook her head and went off to the kitchen. Thornden went in search of Falco. He found him as of yet still alone. None of Athanar’s soldiers had gotten over their shyness and wonder of him to approach him yet with no other reason save curiosity.

“May I sit by you for a moment?” Thornden asked.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco had been in the mess hall for some time, smoking for the most part. The missus of the place - (what was her name? It started with "F" he thought, and was aghast when a female version of Frodo Baggins came into his thought; he closed his eyes and shook his head to clear the thought away) - the Missus of the place had seen to it that he never got too much to drink all at once. It was just as well, though she had little understanding of a Hobbit's natural ability to hold his brew.

He was working on a fresh tankard now, since it had gotten around time for the evening meal. The savory smell of stew and bread was coming from the kitchen, and Falco saw the first platters being taken out. No hurry, he would get his soon enough.

The men had started to arrive in the hall. Most of them walked back and forth, some stealing glances his way. He smirked. These were shy folk! Then one of them came near. Oh. It was Thornden. Falco wondered if he still had a nettle under his skin like he had earlier that day when he'd spoken so harshly. Well, Falco thought, we'll see how he comports himself.

“May I sit by you for a moment?” Thornden asked.

"Suit yourself," Falco said noncommittally.

[Folwren]

Thornden wasn’t going to wait for a more open invitation. He deserved no better reply from the hobbit. He seated himself opposite Falco immediately.

“I am sorry about my rudeness today on the road,” he said. “I was angry with the men, not with you.” He paused a moment and looked down. Falco sat silently puffing at his pipe, waiting for Thornden to continue. “Things have not been well since you left,” Thornden finally said, lifting his head. “And I guess I was surprised at your sudden return. I know it’s not much as an excuse to be rude to an old friend returning, but I hope you’ll accept it.”

[littlemanpoet]

Falco offered his right hand with an amiable smile, and Thornden took it.

"Bygones are bygone, then."

They shook hands, then grabbed their tankards.

"A toast!" Falco offered. "To friendship at Scarburg, and may Eodwine recover!"

"Aye!" Thornden replied heartily, and they drank deeply.

"Ah!" Falco said momentarily, "the grain fields of Rohan produce a fine liquid crop!"

[Folwren]

Thornden agreed with Falco with a nod of his head. “Sometime, you will have to tell me how you found your Shire, and what has brought you back again so soon. The tale will have to wait, however. Soon lord Athanar will be here and there will be other matters to attend to and other words to hear. And, besides that, there are others who want to meet you.” He indicated the men standing about with a nod and a grin, and then stood up.

He walked away, and as he passed through the soldiers clumped near, but not too near the hobbit, he clapped Hilderinc on the shoulder. “Go and see him now, there’s no formation to keep.” He smiled, containing his mirth at the general hanging back, and went on.

He wanted to Harreld now, before the events of the evening was set into motion. Athanar had mentioned a sort of celebration to take place that night, and the would likely mean there would be no quiet time to talk once the speaking and songs began. But Harreld was nowhere in sight. He walked about the hall for several minutes looking here and there for Harreld. Several times he saw Ginna serving the men, but he did not approach her.

Thornden soon figured Harreld must still be in his smithy. If Ginna’s father had written to forbid the marriage, it would not be surprising for Harreld to be withdrawn and seek solace in his place of work. Thornden immediately went out, shivering against the cold, and hurried through the deepening night to the smithy.

[Lhunardawen]

The workload over supper, with all the men returning, was the price the women paid for the free time they had earlier that day. Ginna had barely set down the empty tray she was holding when Frodides pushed another one toward her, hardly visible through the steam emanating from the bowl of stew it held. She waved off the steam to see the tray more clearly and carried it without another word.

"Ginna, wait."

She turned. Modtryth hurried over to her and placed a ladle on the tray. They traded smiles, and Ginna went on her way back to the hall. She navigated towards one of the farther tables where no food has yet been served, all the while keeping an eye open for Harreld. She had not seen him again after she left him, not even during the noontime meal. Perhaps he was really just overwhelmed by the work he had to do and could not be bothered. But no, she knew him well enough. He had never turned her away in such a manner because he was too busy. Ginna recalled what she had told Modtryth earlier, that for a time it felt like she had to woo him. It had not been easy. But would she have to do it again? Had he let the insecure thoughts he used to have creep back into his mind? Had he listened to them, believed them to be true? Ginna felt a pang in her chest at the idea. She thought they were past that. So what is really going on? The same question had eaten at her all day.

As she reached the table she saw Thornden leave the hall. She wanted to follow him out and make towards the smithy, but she knew better than to abandon her work. She and Harreld needed to talk, but not tonight. She disliked waiting but she would wait until he came to her, and hope that she was not waiting in vain.

[littlemanpoet]

It was dark out. Harreld had not gone to mid day meal after all, hobbit or no hobbit. He had not been ready to face Ginna.

He had watched over Raban and Javan after working with them to make a space for the boy's lessons. Raban had insisted on using his own tools. Harreld had kept watch out of the corner of his eye while continuing with his own work.

The boy's lessons over, Harreld had offered to pay the boy a silver coin to go to Frodides and bring back food and drink to the smithy. The coin proved the incentive needed, and Javan had come back quickly, with more than enough food.

He was hungry again. Tongs and hammer put away for the day, Harreld rubbed blades and soup ladles and other items with a cloth, bringing out a shine.

"Hello?" Someone called at the door.

"Come in," Harreld said.

In the lamp light Harreld saw Thornden.

"Greetings, Thornden. Have you news of Garreth? Or of the day's events?"

[Folwren]

Thornden entered. The smithy was still warm from the day’s fire. “No, we have not heard back from Garwine or Athanar’s man. We expect them back late tonight. I can tell you of today’s work, though.” And he did so, telling him what had passed in a concise way that neither embellished what had happened nor downplayed it. “We completed what we set to do, at least,” he finished. “They promised to send the grain and animals within the next week. We’ll soon be well set for winter.”

When he ended, they were both silent a moment. Harreld continued to polish away at the utensils. Thornden’s eyes were fixed on the glowing embers in the furnace while he thought about what he wanted to say next. After a while of contemplating several ways of making the approach in a side-ways, or indirect manner, he decided that going straight at it was probably going to be the best way.

“Did the letter for Ginna’s father not bear the news you two were expecting?” he asked.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld's smooth polishing motion stopped. He let out a heavy audible sigh. That was no doubt answer enough for Thornden, but he knew he would have to say the words. He stared at the ladle, the pain inside threatening to burst to his throat. His dried out eyes moistened again. He refused to blink, or turn to face Thornden. At least the useless moisture didn't dribble down his face.

"No," he said in a half choked gruffness, "it did not."

He began polishing again. There was no way he could bring himself to tell Thornden the good news for him. That would have to come Ginna. It would be more appropriate. He would say no more unless asked. The man just stood there, to his side and behind him, as if he had more to say. Well, let him say what he would. Harreld would not aid him. He was too distraught and tired on the inside to help others with their words.

[Folwren]

“No, it did not.” That was all. He did not say anything else. Thornden looked at him. He could only see his dark, silhouetted form, and his face was turned away from him. He was intensely still, stiff, even, despite the mechanical motion of his hands polishing.

Thornden looked down and fidgeted with his empty hands. Mildly, he envied Harreld’s pre-occupation. He wanted to say something to ease Harreld’s mind and his distress, but he did not know what to say, and he felt the matter was delicate. Perhaps Saeryn had been right. Maybe it was not his place to approach Harreld without invitation.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” he said slowly. “If Randver just wrote and told Ginna that he did not give her his blessing, she would have told Saeryn. And she didn’t.” What was he trying to say? He stopped for a minute, regrouping his thoughts. He looked again at Harreld. The smith had not responded. “I mean, Randver’s disapproval had never stopped Ginna showing interest in you before. I don’t think a letter will change her for long. Give her time.”

Harreld made little reaction even to that. Thornden again looked down, wondering what was troubling him so intensely. He thought that by now, he would have struck on what the trouble had been, but nothing he had said had seemed right.

“Have you talked to Ginna about it? Are you certain he said no without any exception?”

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld grated his teeth. Now Thornden was prying.

"Thornden," he said curtly, "what I have talked to Ginna about is my affair. As to what the letter said, you had best ask her. It was sent to her, not me."

Finally he turned to face Thornden, a scowl on his face so as to hide any other feeling that might threaten to show itself.

"On your way back to the hall, please send Javan with food and drink. I will have my supper here. Tell him he will be rewarded. He will know what I mean."

He turned back to his work and wished mightily that the man would take the hint and leave him alone.

[Folwren]

Saeryn mulled over what Thornden had told her about the letter to Ginna as she returned her tray to the kitchen and reloaded it. It was odd that Ginna had told her nothing, even if the letter had contained bad news. With a pang of regret, Saeryn realized she had not even noticed Ginna acting in any particularly sad way. She had been so preoccupied with Lady Wynflaed that she hadn’t had a chance to hardly look at Ginna, much less speak to her. Perhaps Ginna would have spoken to her, but did not because Saeryn had been so busy.

As Saeryn came again into the hall bearing the full tray, she looked about for Ginna. She saw her at once, looking towards the door of the hall. Saeryn followed her gaze and just saw Thornden exiting. She looked again at Ginna and noticed how her eyes remained fixed on the door for several seconds after Thornden had left. She guessed her thoughts as she came up to her side.

“He’s going to talk to Harreld,” she said. Ginna started and turned about. “Thornden told me you received a letter this morning, and we’re both concerned that it bore you bad news. He’s gone to speak to Harreld about it, I think.”

--

Thornden

Thornden nodded, standing up from where he’d been leaning his weight against a work table. “Alright,” he said softly. “I’ll send Javan out with something.” He walked slowly towards the door and paused on the threshold.

“I’m sorry if I was too forward,” he said, half turning back. “I should have waited, like Saeryn told me. I hope you have not taken my questions amiss. I meant nothing by them.” He waited a moment for Harreld to respond, and when the smith said nothing, he turned and went out into the cold night.

[Lhunardawen]

"Thornden told me you received a letter this morning, and we’re both concerned that it bore you bad news. He’s gone to speak to Harreld about it, I think."

"I doubt he would gain anything from it," replied Ginna, glancing back at the entrance to the hall. "Harreld doesn't want to talk even to me. I wasn't able to tell him about the letter."

She turned her attention back to the tray in her hands. She set down the bowl of stew on the table and placed the ladle inside it. As her head was bowed, she let the tears that brimmed suddenly in her eyes spill down to her cheeks, then quickly wiped them away before she looked back at Saeryn.

"I hoped to talk to you this morning, but you seemed too busy. I didn't want to burden you further."

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc didn't want to make it seem too obvious, but the truth was, he had intentionally moved near Falco and Thornden – maybe also, partially, because he wanted to overhear what Thornden was talking about. But he didn't dare to come too close, so he didn't hear anything from his and the holbytla's conversation. When Thornden approached him rather merrily – looking surprisingly happy, Hilderinc thought – he was thinking for a moment about leaving, but then, since Thornden himself had somehow nudged him to do it, he decided to approach the strange little fellow now. He cast an unreadable look after Thornden, then picked up his mug and quickly walked through the cluster of soldiers towards the hobbit. He pulled out the neighboring empty seat.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" he asked, putting his mug down on the table. "Falco, right? I am Hilderinc."

"Seats are free at Scarburg, I'm told," said the hobbit. He stood and bowed deeply. "Falco Boffin at your service, Hilderinc."

Amusing manners, Hilderinc thought, but briefly nodded his head and sat down.

"I have not had the chance to meet any of your kind before," he started casually, but even stating the obvious had brought more thoughts which had been swirling through his mind all day, and put words into his mouth before he could realise it. "You see," he said and his eyes suddenly seemed more sharp, more vivid; "just at the times when everything had seemed clear, and every deed seemed laid out before men like a wide plain in the morning light before a horse..." He waved his arm and shook his head. "Small folk out of old tales came, along with many other strange things and creatures, and brought our world to an end, turning it upside down."

Falco grinned. This Hilderinc was an Eorling to the bone, his speech full of the imagery of the plains of Rohan. "Well, I wish I could say I had a part in it, but I was cooped up in the Shire trying to stay out of the way of Ruffians and the like. They turned our world upside down as sure as Master Meriadoc and his friends did yours!"

Shire, Ruffians, Meriadoc - Hilderinc didn't let it show, but the chattiness of this little man confused him for a moment. Falco reminded him of some of the talkative peasants from Eastfold, assuming everyone knew everyone, even if they came from the middle of nowhere.

"Shire, is that what you call your land?" he said aloud, trying to sound polite. "I have only heard about it, tales about..." he hesitated, not sure whether his knowledge was right, and if it was not, then if it won't offend Falco. After all, living in a hole didn't sound, at least to an Eorlinga, very well. "...about your homes in the ground," he finished, trying to use a more neutral word. "What are 'Ruffians'?" The way the holbytla had used the word, it seemed to Hilderinc as if he had something specific in mind.

"Ruffians," said Falco, puffing his pipe, "were the nasty man-sized blokes who came up from Isengard with old Sharkey. I guess he had another name, a wizard name, Saruman. But we kicked all of them out when the Four Famous Hobbits came back from the War." He paused for a long pull from his tankard. Hilderinc didn't speak, he was frowning slightly, as if his mind was troubled by some memory stirred by the halfling's words. He was listening, but Falco already changed the subject.

"Homes in the ground," Falco quoted. "I daresay that's a friendlier way of putting it than Lady Wynflaed, though she meant no harm of course; 'holes in the ground' indeed!" Falco grinned. "Our homes are cozy and warm and watertight. The best ones are furnished with great larders and wine cellars and cozy living rooms, and of course, proper kitchens. So except for being underground, they're like what you'd expect in your own home."

How lucky to have used a "friendlier" term, Hilderinc thought. Still, living in the ground – whether you did or did not call it a hole – sounded strange to him. As Falco spoke, he started imagining some sort of bear's den with multiple rooms, including living room with a bed and a table, a wine cellar (under the underground hole?) and a kitchen with a stove. He shook his head a bit at the idea.

"Your land still sounds like a very strange place to me," he said. "But then, maybe it is always like that with strange lands we do not know. You said you 'kicked out' these Ruffians – does it mean you fought them? That would make your people sound more like warriors, maybe more akin to us. I have heard that it was your people who killed that treacherous snake, Wormtongue – is that true? Have you perhaps seen it with your own eyes? Or even took part in it? I hope you do not take it as an offense, Master Falco, when I say that you do not look exactly like a warrior to me, but maybe the appearance is deceptive – after all, your kinsmen were the ones who..." and he waved his hand, indicating all the important events of the time: the fall of the Dark Tower and that of Orthanc, the last ride of Théoden and the return of the Gondorian King.

[littlemanpoet]

"No slight meant, no offense taken, Hilderinc," said the Hobbit. "I was there at Sharkey's end. Many of us were. I won't say my arrow was one of those that slew that miscreant Wormtongue, but I saw him and his master die. I was proud to watch Mr. Frodo Baggins that day; noble as an elf he was, they say, though I wouldn't know as I can't say I've ever seen one. Aye, we fought them we did, once we had such doughty leaders as the Four Famous Hobbits from the War. They roused us. Aye, it was good to be roused! I grant you we don't look warrior-like and all, and truth be told, we'd rather eat and quaff good ale and smoke good leaf and tend to our crops and stock. But if our homes need defending, and we have the right kind of Hobbit to lead us, then watch out. Yes, watch out, or you'll be sorry." Falco winked over his pipe bowl and blew a smoke ring that traveled up toward the kitchens then changed directions where it met steam from the kitchen, and wafted back over their heads and into the mess hall.

Hilderinc followed it with his eyes, and he felt again something unnatural in the presence of the little man. Now Falco spoke almost like a warrior, and not so different from any man Hilderinc would know... yet still, the halfling's earlier words were what made him feel strange. During the whole conversation, it wasn't even the subject of the Famous Hobbits, as Falco had called them – a matter that would have been certainly more of interest to many of his fellow soldiers – which Hilderinc had been paying attention to. His thoughts were different, returning back to the times of the Great War and his own memories of it.

If somebody had told me sixteen years ago that one day I will be sitting next to a holbytla who had seen the death of Saruman of Isengard and Wormtongue the traitor in the land of the halflings, I would have considered him a madman, he thought. He shook his head, as if trying to prevent memories of the old days from getting loose in his mind.

"I won't deny that the more I hear about your people, the more surprised I am," he said at length. "You have seen things my people wouldn't believe. But now I am sure your friends among the local folk value your friendship and experience. Did you know the late lord of Scarburg?"

"Know him! We came down from the Shire to Rohan together last year. By then we were fast friends. You see," Falco looked around to make sure no-one else was listening, then put his hand to one side of his mouth and leaned in towards Hilderinc. "I saved his life," he said with a wink, then settled back again. "With the help of a few others, I'll admit. It would seem one of the Dark Lord's underlings survived the war and put up shop far to the north, and the Kings of Gondor and Rohan had sent Eodwine up north to scout out reports that there was some devilry up that way. Well, Eodwine found it, but not before the villains found him and captured him; but his horse got away and came back to the inn where Eodwine had stayed, and a search party was got up, and I was one of 'em.

"We found the scoundrel's hideout, up north of Deadman's Dike - Fornost, Men call it - snuck in, and rescued Eodwine from some evil spell that was being brewed up on the spot, and I had the privilege of dealing the death blow to the lout. Herugor, he called himself, supposedly he'd been the Mouth of that Dark Lord, if that makes any sense.

"So I s'pose King Eomer rewarded Eodwine with this here Middle Emnet for his troubles, though I did more work than he, silly old fool, getting captured so easy an' all. But we became fast friends." Falco peered over his pipe to see Hilderinc's eyes looking back at him wider than they'd been so far. "What don't you believe my tale?" Falco grinned.

[Folwren]

"I hoped to talk to you this morning, but you seemed too busy. I didn't want to burden you further."

Saeryn felt a pang of guilt. She set her hand on Ginna's arm. "I'm sorry, Ginna," she said quietly. "I was busy this morning, but you don't need to hesitate about telling me you want to talk. We can find time. When we're finished serving here, we can talk if you want to. We're just about done, and if I make it out before lord Athanar comes in, we'll be able to slip away unnoticed."

"That would be great. Thanks." Ginna covered Saeryn's hand with her own and forced a smile. "Have you - have you heard anything of Harreld all day?"

Saeryn shook her head and led Ginna towards the next table to be served. They moved down past the men side by side, talking as they went.

"I haven't seen him all day," she said. "He sent Javan in sometime during the afternoon to get something for Harreld to eat. He did not come in for the noonday meal, and he has not come in tonight, either. Did you not speak to him at all, Ginna?"

So that was how he managed to take his meal without being seen. Ginna wondered if he would send for Javan again to bring him supper, and briefly considered going in his stead. No, she wouldn't. She had already decided to stay away as he asked.

"No." She swallowed, and tried again. "Yes. I had come to his smithy this morning, when I received the letter. He..." she hesitated, blinking back tears, "He told me to leave him to his work."

Saeryn looked at her quickly and then glanced about at the busy hall and the laughing and talking soldiers. She did not want Ginna to cry here and draw attention and embarrassment to herself. "Let us finish what is at hand before speaking more. We have but one more table to serve and it will only take another trip to the kitchen."

They went back to the kitchen, quickly reburdened their trays, and went out once more. In a couple minute they were finished. Modtryth would be able to hold the fort for a little while now on her own. Saeryn drew Ginna into the room where they slept and then sat her down on one of the beds while she sat down facing her.

"Alright, tell me all about it," she said.

Ginna opened her mouth to speak, but here and now, in the silence and privacy of the room, no words would come. She shook her head in frustration.

"I'm sorry," was all she could say, and reached inside the pocket of her apron for the letter. She handed it to Saeryn.

Saeryn touched her hand reassuringly as she took the letter without looking at it. She caught Ginna's eye briefly. "It's alright. I understand. Are you sure you want me to read it?"

Ginna nodded mutely. Saeryn unfolded the letter and began to read. As her eyes traced over the words, a slow red crept up her neck, flushing into her cheeks and across her ears. Her lips pressed together, and then she folded the paper up again and held it in her hand a long moment before saying anything. In truth, the letter had so angered her that she did not trust herself to speak.

"Do you like Thornden?" she asked, hesitantly.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar went straight to his quarters as he was both tired and dirty. Lilige was preparing a bath for him and Wynflaed looked anxious about the news, even if the smiling faces of the riders coming in to the yard had swept the darkest doubts from her mind already.

"How did it go my dear?" she half whispered while taking off the mailcoat from his husband.

Lord Athanar grasped her hand into his own and turned her to face him. "It went well my dearest, it went very well... in the end."

He didn't give Wynflaed a chance to make any further questions but kissed her on the cheek gently.

"Bath is ready my lord!" Lilige announced her back against the couple. Turning around she realised the inconvenient timing of her announcement. She blushed slightly but Athanar wawed his hand on her smiling.

"Thank you Lilige. I'm in need of it." Turning to his wife he whispered quietly "It's all going to be fine... trust me. We have it now under control."

Wynflaed looked hesitant but then nodded to her husband.


Athanar took a bath and then took on some finer clothes to join the people downstairs. Wynflaed had prepared herself meanwhile as well and so the fine pair entered the hall where the general feeling had already risen considerably. People were drinking and eating and having generally a merry time for it. They glanced at each other and smiled. Everything was allright right now.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

The holbytla was right: Hilderinc, at first, really did not believe what he had just heard. But the holbytla's behavior and honest expression indicated that he was not making things up.

"What don't you believe my tale?"

"I have to say, no, I really won't," Hilderinc said, taking a sip from his mug in order to somewhat focus his thoughts. "Except that everything you have told me before has kind of prepared me for such a tale... but I made a mistake, Master Falco, when I said that you have seen things my people wouldn't believe. You see, now it is even me who wouldn't believe..." He shook his head. "So this is how it is. You and lord Eodwine have been old friends. I have been wondering what would bring one such as you to this place, but then I assume you might know Scarburg much better than me. But you probably must feel sorry for what has befallen your friend."

[littlemanpoet]

Falco nodded. "He always seems to get himself in some kind of trouble," he responded lightly in the manner of Hobbits, as if all Eodwine had done was sprain an ankle.

"I think that I will be off to Minas Tirith soon, to see how he's faring. Word is that the King is a healer. If so, then he's in the right place."

Falco looked past Hildrinc. "Ah, your lord and lady have entered the Hall. I fear our talk must cease. Looks like he's bursting with a speech."

[Lhunardawen]

Ginna noticed the blush creeping up Saeryn's face, and her eyes widened in sudden recollection of the entire content of her father's letter (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showpost.php?p=642852&postcount=814). She had been rash, too caught up in her own troubles with Harreld. She wanted to tell Saeryn about some forgotten errand and leave the room but was frozen where she sat, waiting awkwardly for her to react. She fixed her gaze at the clasped hands on her lap.

"Do you like Thornden?"

She looked up at Saeryn, eyebrows in a knot. That was not among the things she expected her to say. She wondered if she was not taking the letter seriously, or if she merely wanted to lighten up her mood. But her expression was serious, if not muted to conceal a stronger emotion. Ginna let out an empty laugh.

"Have I not - all this time - spoken of nothing but my concern for Harreld, inquired of nothing but his wellbeing? How could you ask me that?" She was struck by the strength of her speech and took a deep breath to calm herself. When she continued, her voice was lower.

"My father likes Thornden for a son-in-law. I like him, too, but not in the same way. I know with whom my affections lie, my lady."

[Folwren]

“That is well,” Saeryn said, nodding. “If that is how you feel about it, then I should say that you should not be concerned about this letter.” That sounded cruel, as though she were saying, ‘all your worry and pain from today are for nothing.’ Saeryn bowed her head and tried to think again on what to say.

“Your father presumed a great deal when he wrote this letter to you.” She paused and once more had to hold in check words of distaste of Randvér’s unfeeling, even insulting, predictions. “But it seems to me that he made clear that if you could not marry Thornden, he would not forbid your marriage to Harreld. Just now, you have told me that your feelings and affections are for Harreld alone. I do not think your father would wish you to be unhappy, and if breaking your ties with Harrled in attempt to pursue Thornden would make you unhappy, then he would not ask you to do it. Besides. . .” she smiled a little bit, “even if you did attempt to set your cap to Thornden, I don’t think it would work. He doesn’t seem to want to marry anybody, and he would sooner cut off his own right hand than take you away from Harreld.

“So, I say, Ginna, not to worry very much about it. Talk with Harreld about it. Perhaps don’t tell him that your father prefers Thornden to him, but tell him that he did not forbid you two to marry, although he is concerned of Harreld’s working status. Harreld will understand. He took that into consideration when he started courting you. You two will talk and will come to a decision about what is best to be done.

“But you said you have tried talking to him. Tell me what happened and why you two haven't discussed it yet. Have you already told him that your father wants you to marry Thornden? Is that why he's shut himself up in his smithy all day?"

[Lhunardawen]

"I have told him nothing of this letter. I never had the chance." Ginna struggled to keep her impatience, fueled by her distress over Harreld's behaviour, in check. She knew Saeryn was trying to help, and appreciated the time she was spending to talk to her, but it had been thrice now that Ginna said the same thing. Saeryn had a busy day, she reminded herself before she continued. "I do not understand why he is avoiding me - or everyone, it seems. I cannot find anything to explain his mood. Unless..."

No, she did not want to think it. Her throat tightened. She trusted Harreld. He would never betray her trust.

"Unless what?" Saeryn asked gently. Her quick female instincts told her that Ginna was keeping something very important trapped inside.

"Unless he had read the letter." Ginna's face contorted in pain as she forced out those words. "And he came to a different understanding of it as you have."

Saeryn raised her eyebrows without thinking about it. "Oh," she said. "Well, that's not. . ." she almost said, 'not very likely, is it?' but stopped, knowing that it was a probable explanation. Perhaps the only probable one. "Well, if he has, then I guess you'll have to correct his misunderstanding."

Ginna's mind still fought against what her mouth had just uttered. But now that the idea had been planted, it became more and more believable, if only because nothing else made sense. She ran through the mockery of a conversation they had that morning, keeping that explanation in perspective. It felt as though she had finally found the missing piece in a puzzle she had been trying to solve all day.

Not that it made her pain any less.

"He asked - no, he told me to stay away."

"He did?" Saeryn said. "I wonder if it was to protect you or to protect himself. If I know Harreld, he probably did it for your sake. Which makes it even more necessary for you to talk to him.

"Ginna," she went on, before Ginna could even try to interrupt, "there were many times that Eodwine and I did not see quite eye to eye on things. I am sure I hurt him a lot by bottling up my thoughts, and it just made the misunderstanding worse in the end. But when he could finally break through my shell, he made it all make sense and we understood each other again. Even when I did not want to give him a chance, he kept trying to make me understand."

Ginna was silent for a while, lost in her own thoughts. When she spoke, a wistful smile was on her lips.

"When we were newly arrived here in Scarburg, when I feared I had lost his friendship for good... I remember complaining to myself how unfair that it was always I who first spoke to him, never the other way around. By all rights I should think it unfair even now," she added, laughing. "But I guess that is how matters are resolved between us because I will not have it any other way. I know now that if I don't try to reach out to him, I would never forgive myself.

"But if I may ask you one more thing... Why did you want to know if I liked Thornden?"

"I wanted to know your feelings on the matter before giving you my opinion as to the usefulness of the content of your father's letter. If you had liked Thornden, I would have possibly told you to take your father's advise, as it will be easier for you if you have your father's blessing your marriage. I did not think you did, but I thought that maybe there was a chance. Now I know there is not."

There was a slight pause, and then she asked. "So, what are you going to do?"

~*~

Leaving Saeryn with Modtryth, whom she thanked for taking over their duties, Ginna left the kitchen through the door in the back. As she stepped out into the dark, a strong breeze lifted the edge of her shawl. She held it more tightly around her and walked resolutely towards the smithy.

There was light inside, but the pounding of her heart drowned out any sound that came from it. She let herself soak in the light from the doorway but came no closer inside. "Harreld?" she called out in a small voice.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar and Wynflaed took their places in the hall and took a moment to just grasp the feeling in the hall. People seemed merry and busy and that pleased lord Athanar who was remembering the first party they had thrown. It was so different now. Nothing ties people together better than a common enemy... but we need more as I hope the lords will not stay our enemies in the long run. But now we should use it to the maximum effect to heal what there is to be healed. He took a draught form the goblet of wine he was given and stood up banging the table in front of him loudly with his open palm to get the attention.

"Dear people of Scarburg!" he called the people, getting the silence he wished.

"I suggest we all raise a goblet to our success today! We had some trying moments in Faramund's Hall early on the day but we made it. Not the least because of your discipline, restraint and pulling together of you all... That is the way Scarburg Mead Hall prevails here and earns the respect it should for itself, and to the King and Rohan! Hail Scarburg!" With that he raised his goblet waiting for the people to raise theirs.

"Long live Scarburg Mead Hall!" he yelled and the people returned the call with a lot of noise. "Let's drink to us, the Mead Hall!" Athanar went on and lifted the goblet onto his lips drinking it all the way down with one draught. The soldiers were cheering as he emptied his goblet and were soon following his example. "And have one round for Coen and Thornden as well! They really proved their qualities today", He added smiling while the people drank and cheered.

Lord Athanar was looking around the soldiers' partying with approval. It was going the way it needed to go and soon the nightmares of the past would be forgotten. It looked so much better right now.

Lord Athanar sat back to his chair and smiled to Wynflaed. "It's going to be allright darling... It's going to be just fine", he said and gave her a light kiss on the cheek.

Suddenly he spotted Falco from the crowd - and Hilderinc sitting beside him. He remembered the encounter from the morning and was wondering what the holbytla was doing here anyway, and he hadn't been coming forwards to present himself as yet. He would wait a little though as he realised he had himself just entered the hall. A decent guest would come forwards and introduce himself anyway.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc had cheered with the others during Athanar's speech, raising his mug to the safe accomplishment of their most important duty. He began to feel comfortable again, with the increasing amount of ale and the good meal, in the warmth of the Hall and seeing everything going well. No problems or brawls this evening, no troublemakers in sight. Hilderinc was thinking this as he raised his mug again to the Scarburg, and then as he was raising it for the second time, something struck him – the unpleasant memory from the morning.

"And have one round for Coen and Thornden as well! They really proved their qualities today!" Athanar exclaimed, but Hilderinc shot his lips and fixed his gaze upon Thornden. His eyes met Coenred's, who was looking around the crowd with his own goblet raised, looking into the eyes of the men toasting him. Their gazes remained fixed at each other for a while, then Coenred looked away. Hilderinc wondered whether the Captain had told anything about Thornden's possible treachery to Athanar already, or if not – which seemed likely – when was he planning to do it.

He shrugged the unpleasant thought away, after all, it was not his concern now anymore. He will do what he must if he is asked to do something, but not now. He looked down at Falco by his side.

"So, how did you like our lord's speech?" Hilderinc asked, trying to put on a smile. "Sometimes his speech is rather curt, but to the point – something of a soldier in him, I think." He looked back at Athanar at the exact time when Athanar had turned towards them, and Hilderinc noticed that he was looking at Falco with some interest. It didn't take long, but Hilderinc nodded at the hobbit and without moving, he raised his thumb, pointing towards Athanar.

[littlemanpoet]

After draining his tankard to the toast, Falco wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

"A fine speech, the kind one would expect from the master of ceremonies. I can tell you of one speech I heard back in the Shire, that was altogether inappropriate, and ended up with the master of ceremonies disappearing before our very eyes, if you will believe me!" Just then he noticed Hilderinc pointing to Lord Athanar.

"Well, Hilderinc, it's a good guest that greets the master of the house on such a special occasion, isn't it."

Hilderinc nodded and allowed the Hobbit to pass by him. Many another Eorling was surprised to find what at first seemed to be an overly dressed child negotiating his way through a crowd of adults, was in actual fact a squirely Hobbit who new how to keep his large hairy feet from getting stepped on, and also knew how to put his best face forward, red as it was from a goodly quantity of ale. At last he reached the table of the lord and lady. He doffed his hat and bowed low in good Hobbit fashion.

"Master Falco Boffin at your service, my lord and lady. You keep a fine hall and first rate board and ale. I'm happy to congratulate you on a fine day's work. My errand was to find my old friend Eodwine, but I've been told that he is not here but is ill in Minas Tirith. I'm sure he would be honored to find such worthy Big People coming in Scarburg's time of need."

With that he stopped and looked at the lord, who seemed a noble fellow. From what Falco could tell, the Man seemed to be the kind who kept his own counsel and thought far more than he ever said. The coolness in the man's eyes suggested he was of the calculating sort. That could be good or bad, depending on whether the lord had good plans or bad. Time would tell. While these thoughts raced through his head, Falco kept his best respectful smile on his face.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar wasn't quite sure whether the holbytla had been polite or sarcastic with his last remark, but he didn't let that show. He smiled back at Falco and waved his hand to show that the hobbit should take a seat.

As Falco had sat down lord Athanar looked at him in the eye and raised his goblet with a more serious expression in his face. "We're all saddened by the fate of lord Eodwine. I knew him not so well as to call him my friend, but I did know him, and I knew him as a good man. We were there in the Pelennor Fields both of us... and those experienes are not easily forgotten." He made a short pause as if reminiscing something. "I bid you welcome to Scarburg Hall master Falco", he said suddenly coming back to life again. "Stay as long as you please, and if you go to Minas Tirith make sure to visit us on your way back. There's not too much news coming from there..."

There was a slight distraction as Modtryth brought Falco a pint of ale.

"You must forgive me my curiosity, but how did you two become friends master Falco?" lord Athanar asked as they toasted their cups.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco thanked Modtryth for the tankard. As the lord of the hall put his question to him, Falco took a long pull: the ale was getting better as the day lingered.

"It was like this, my Lord," Falco replied, "I was in the party that rescued him from captivity in the Hills of Evendim, and he had to get nursed back to health after the bad treatment he'd suffered. So he stayed at one of our inns, which was in my village.

"Being the good man he was, he was grateful to me for saving his life and we talked often and long. He told me stories of Rohan and the Great War, and I told him the little I knew of the Four Famous Hobbits. By the time he was back in good health he said he was going back to Rohan. I asked him if he'd like a traveling mate, and he was willing.

"So by the time we had made it to Edoras, we were fast friends."

[Folwren]

Thornden did not trouble himself about Harreld for long. As soon as he had given Javan the errand of getting some supper for him, Thornden put him out of his mind and turned his thoughts again to the meal and the merry-making at hand. He entered the hall just before Athanar came in and he found himself a place to sit amongst a mixture of old and new Scarburgians. The two groups were mixing more freely now, and soon, he thought to himself, there would be no reason to differentiate who had been there longer.

He cheered with the others at Athanar’s short speech, nodded his head slightly when Athanar commended him and captain Coenred, and then, when the cheering and toasting was done, turned finally to his meal.

While he ate, he paid little attention to what went on about him. When he finished his first serving, he looked up and finally began taking notice of things. Falco sat by Athanar, and the two were talking away quite freely. Wynflaed sat on Athanar’s right, but Saeryn’s place was empty. Seeing that, Thornden turned his head to see if she was still serving people, but only Modtryth was in sight with a pitcher full of mead. Neither Ginna nor Saeryn were to be seen. Kara and Fordides, he assumed, were still busy at work in the kitchen.

“Well, that is good,” he said to himself. “Saeryn is probably talking to her about the letter. Perhaps she’ll find out more than I was able.”

And at that moment he saw Saeryn come out from the hall going towards the kitchen. She stood with her hands at her waist as though she were wiping them on her apron. Behind her, he saw a shadow dart across the hall and into the kitchen. Saeryn, standing in the opening, glanced over the people gathered their. Her eyes finally settled on Thornden. Their eyes met. Her eyes grew wide a moment and then she turned smartly about and disappeared into the kitchen as well.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld heard the call, and the voice was unmistakable. Ginna. The general heaviness inside focused to a point of dread. It was time to say that which he had prepared, but he would not come to it with no preparation.

"I'm here," he answered. "Come in."

Ginna stepped cautiously inside, letting her eyes adjust to the light. She saw Harreld seated on a stool in the corner, but he stood when he saw her and set aside the mug he was holding. It took all her self-control to keep from coming to him with outstretched arms or charging towards him with closed fists - she was not sure which one she was closer to doing. There were a lot of words fighting to escape from her mouth but she suppressed them all, with a lot of effort. She had come to him, she had taken the first step. Now it was his turn.

She stood before him, arms folded across her waist, making sure as little emotion as possible could be discerned from her face aside from the questioning look in her eyes. She willed him to talk.

She was going to make him speak first. He realized that he should have expected this. It was not her way to be full of needless words; it was one of the things he loved about her. Thinking about his love, he almost broke down. With an effort he regained his composure, coughing into his fist.

"I am sorry for my hasty words this morning. Nobody deserves such shouting..." least of all, you, my love, he thought. He blinked, fighting back the moisture threatening to come to his eyes. "I apologize."

The sight of the Harreld nearly in tears was...almost impossible to believe. But there he was, showing his vulnerability in a manner he had never done before. Ginna's heart ached to extend forgiveness without delay. Instead, she took a deep breath to steady herself.

"Tell me, Harreld. Have you read my father's letter?"

There it was. He was sure she could see right through him to the guilt in his eyes. There was no getting around it. He wanted to explain before he even said he had, but felt it would be cowardly. It would be the right thing to do, to simply answer with the truth.

"Yes."

As much as Ginna expected the answer, she realised too late that she was unprepared to hear it from Harreld himself. She pursed her lips tightly and felt herself tremble from restrained emotion.

"And what came to your mind after you did?"

She was angry and had every right to be. He had planned to tell her that he did not love her anymore. It was a lie, but it had seemed at the time that it would be the cleanest way to end things. Now he could see that it would not work. He had imagined telling her the terrible news, and she would flee in horror and pain, and he would double over in pain at what he had said, telling himself that he did not deserve her if he could do such a thing to her.

And maybe he did not deserve her; but that way was not a true way, nor a good way, and he was relieved to set it aside. All these thoughts raced through his mind in a moment.

"That your father has spoken his will. He prefers Thornden to me. You will, of course, obey your father's will?" His question had come out more smoothly than he had expected, but he winced.

[Lhunardawen]

"That your father has spoken his will. He prefers Thornden to me. You will, of course, obey your father's will?"

The question stung, not only by its own words but also with the tone of finality with which Harreld said it. It was as though he had already made the decision for her, for both of them. Ginna looked deeply into the smith''s eyes. "Is that what you would have me do, Harreld?"

He could not hold back his pent up feelings. "It is not my choice!" She winced at the ferocity in his tone. He regretted it immediately. He sighed, took a deep breath, and spoke again in more measured tones. "Your father is your lord. It is his will that we do not marry. What more is there to say?"

"That you have not read my father's letter closely enough," she said, ignoring the single tear that had fallen down her cheek in response to Harreld's outburst. "It is not his will, merely his wish. The time for my father to impose his will on me has long passed."

Harreld stared at her, dumbfounded. He recalled the words from the letter as she spoke them, and she was right, Randvér had said 'wish', not 'will'. But any Eorling knew that the words meant the same when fathers had sons and daughters to marry off. Or was this some new way of courting brought from some foreign land like the Holbytlan Shire?

He did not know how to proceed, and fumbled through his thought until he landed on the question that seemed suddenly so obvious.

"Do you not want your father's blessing?

Ginna smiled sadly. "I used to think it did not matter. But when he met you, I had hoped we would gain his blessing... When he saw for himself how I have changed because of you."

In her mind she was brought back to a late afternoon under a tree not far from the smithy, when her father had first met Harreld. She recalled how Randvér had accused her of leading him on and how he had defended her and given her courage. Bolstered by this memory, she walked slowly towards Harreld and gently took his large hands into her own.

"We can change his mind, Harreld. We have accomplished a lot of things together, you and I. You will not abandon me now, will you?"

[littlemanpoet]

As she had come towards him, opposite urges fought within him, to flee, and to close the distance between them. He stood still. When she placed her small soft hands in his, he almost lost the battle. But no, it was not about abandoning her.

"If it were up to me, Ginna," he said softly, thickly, "we would marry tomorrow. But it is not. Your father's will cannot be so easily shunted aside. A father's wish or will concerning the marriage of a son or daughter are two words for the same thing. He is your lord, and will be until he gives you to the man of his choice. I am not that man, Thornden is. Thornden must be asked if he is willing to court you. Only then will it be permitted -" he stopped and closed his eyes tightly. When he opened them they were moist, but full of despair. "No, I see how this will go. If Thornden declines, your father will find another and another and another of higher station than me. It will go on and on until he wears us both down. It would be better to let me go now. It might lessen the pain for both of us. I'm sorry."

Ginna felt her arms weaken and dropped Harreld's hands from hers. But she held on to her resolve, however tenuously. She still had some fight left in her.

"You know Thornden, he would sooner cut off an arm and a leg than dishonour your friendship in such a way. And I would refuse any man my father might find. I would rather choose to grow old unwed.

"And if you think your pain will lessen in time," she continued, her voice rising as passion overcame her, "then you are a fool. It will not. It will consume you, and so will your guilt when you realise that you have doomed me to loneliness."

These were words she was sure she would come to regret, but she spoke out of a desperate fear. Her tears fell freely now, yet her eyes burned with an obstinate fire as they gazed upon Harreld's.

Seeing Ginna freely shedding tears, tore him within. He wished he could wipe them away, take her in his arms, and say that they could wed, and all else fall where it would. But this was not just about the two of them, would that it were.

"No, I do not think the pain will lessen, but we need not make it worse than it already is, which is hard enough to bear. I am not a man who would dishonor you by ignoring the will of your father. We cannot be wed. Life can be cruel. I wish it were otherwise. I love you but I cannot keep you. I am sorry, more than my words can say."

[littlemanpoet]

Ginna stood still, dumbstruck at his words. Her mind struggled to come up with a response but there was none. She had said all that she could, to no avail. She was spent. There was silence between them for a while. Finally her voice came, almost a whisper.

"Forgive me, I had thought only of myself. I love you, Harreld, and it is because of this love that I will respect your decision."

She touched his face, letting her hand linger for a few moments, and turned to leave.

Harreld reached out and caught her arm.

"Hold. Please."

She stopped, held by his hand, but did not face him.

"Ginna, please."

She turned. Tears were streaming into his beard. "I make one more decision. I do not see any way for us. But if a way may be found, I swear to you by all I am, I will walk it with you, though death take me. I swear it."

She looked up into his streaming eyes and gave him a weary, sad smile. "I wish Eodwine were here. He would know a way."

"Yes. He would. May he cheat death yet."

He took her in his arms and crushed her to him. Long moments passed before they let each other go.

[Folwren]

Saeryn had confirmed Ginna’s decision to go try to speak with Harreld again. Together they had gotten up and Saeryn embraced her quickly to give her support and courage, and then the two of them left the privacy of the room – Ginna to run through the kitchen where there would be fewer eyes to see her, and Saeryn to look to see what sort of condition the men in the hall were in and what needed to be done next.

As she looked out into the hall, her mind was still preoccupied with the conversation she had just had. When her eyes fell on Thornden and she saw him looking steadily at her, she remembered the letter Ginna had let her read, and the flame rushed back into her face. She turned and stormed into the kitchen.

“Kara,” she said. “Let me take your place. You’ve been in here all evening. Do you mind serving out there?”

Kara looked up. She had just turned out a lump of raised dough onto a board. “I wouldn’t mind at all, if you don’t mind kneading the bread.”

“Not at all!” Saeryn replied. “Take a pitcher of mead out, I imagine they’ll be thirsty for more of that. Modtryth is out there now; she’ll know better what is needed.” She rolled up her sleeves as she spoke and took Kara’s place at the bread board. She dusted the dough with flour and then took it up in her hands and began to press and push it, over and over against the board. She allowed the frustration and anger caused by the contents of the letter to pass to the bread, and her fists pummeled it fiercely, sending up satisfying clouds of flour occasionally.

How dare he say such things? she said to herself. How dare he even imply those things to his daughter? Eodwine is not dead, and even if he were, what kind of woman does he think I am? She thrust her hand viciously into the spongy mass. I marry Thornden! Indeed! The thought never crossed my mind. How dare he even presume. . .!

“You look as though you wish that dough were somebody’s face.”

Saeryn’s head snapped up and her eyes still contained the fury she felt. Her expression didn’t soften any when she saw it was Thornden. “What are you doing in here?” she asked. “This is no place for a man.”

Thornden laughed dryly. “In which case, it’s not the place for the lady of the hall, either.”

“I can be where I like.”

Thornden shrugged. “I tried to talk to Harreld.” Saeryn’s hands continued to knead the dough and she said nothing. “You were right. He wasn’t ready to talk.” He watched Saeryn continue to work with the bread and when the pause stretched into a long silence, he said, “What did you find out from Ginna?”

Saeryn’s temper flared. “That is none of your business!” she said, looking up at him. “Now, get out of here and quit meddling in this whole affair!”

“I’m not meddling any more than you were! I’m trying to figure out the right thing to do. You would not think that Eodwine were in the wrong-”

“You’re not Eodwine!” Saeryn said. “And you will never take his place!”

“I neither want nor intend to take his place,” Thornden said, bewildered at her answers. “All I’m trying to do-”

“I told you to leave it alone,” Saeryn said, her voice final and icy. “Go back to the hall and don’t talk to Harreld or Ginna about it anymore. It will do more harm than good.”

Thornden looked hard at Saeryn, and made no movement to go. Her barely contained anger and her impatience to see him gone made him stick more stubbornly with his purpose. “What is the matter, Saeryn? What did Ginna say that has made you so angry?”

“I told you it’s not your business!” she cried, her voice rising with anger. “Can’t you see that? I don’t want to talk to you!” She shot him a furious look, and picked up the entire kneading board, bread, and all and turned her back to him. Fordides turned from the fire and came across the floor towards him.

“See here, Thornden,” she said, “the kitchen’s no place for you. Can’t you see Saeryn’s all upset? Go on out now, and don’t trouble her anymore.”

There was no arguing with the kitchen’s ruler when you are just a visitor in the kitchen. Thornden looked once more over Fordides' head at Saeryn’s back and then he nodded and stalked silently out.

[Nogrod]

As the meal progressed, and the men about him drank and spoke and jested amongst each other, Coenred sat in a brooding silence. Now that the evening had come and the day had drawn to a close, he felt the unpleasant task of telling Athanar what he knew concerning Thornden pressing unpleasantly on his mind. Scarcely being aware that he did it, he watched Thornden's movements all evening. He was conscious when he left the hall to speak to Harreld, and he saw when he returned. He watched him from the corner of one eye the entire time he ate his meal. When Thornden stood again and went to the kitchen, Coenred could not keep still any longer. He stood and walked swiftly to where Athanar sat.

“My lord Athanar,” Coenred said, slipping into the vacant seat beside him where Saeryn would have sat had she not been serving. “May I speak with you on an important matter?”

Athanar turned towards his lieutenant and looked surprised. It was clear he had something pressing on him.

"Go on, Coen... tell me," Athanar said, giving Coen an encouraging look.

"Well," Coen said slowly, glancing around to check that no one was listening, "I think Thornden knows more of this Lithor and Erbrand affair than he has admitted. From things I have heard, I believe he saw them that day, after Erbrand's attack on Scyrr, and saw at least in what direction they went. Yet he said nothing."

Lord Athanar was taken aback with the news. He leaned back and took a long draught from the goblet while his mind worked furiously.

Coen watched his lord with some apprehension. He knew he had done rightly, but he did not look forward to the consequences. Athanar was a good lord and always took into consideration the longterm good, but sometimes his temper burned hot and fierce.

Yet suddenly lord Athanar gave a thoughtful smile. Coen looked at him, surprised but expectant.

"So, a traitor," Athanar murmured. "Or a man worth more I have been aware of?" He spoke low and Coenred had to lean his ear forward to hear him.

Slowly lord Athanar bent towards Coen and half-whispered to his ear: "Does anyone else know about it? Were there others who saw the two as they ran away?"

Coen shook his head slowly, thinking. "Hilderinc, I think, has an idea. I don't think any other of our men know. I don't know about Eodwine's men or the labourers, but I'd guess no, or not many. I don't know more, sir".

Athanar raised his eyebrow. "Very well, Coen. Tell Hilderinc to keep his mouth shut - if he knows anything - or to only talk to me about it. And keep your ears open if you hear anyone else talking about it. Give Hilderinc the same advice. This mead may loosen some tongues." Lord Athanar glanced around the merry gathering as he spoke.

"I will handle this with Thornden in private. If you see him, ask him to come to me, just casually. Don't tell him what it is about. Understood?"

Coen nodded and stood up. He went at once towards Hilderinc and tapping him on his shoulder, drew him away from the group of men with whom he sat and ate.

[Thinlómien]

Wulfric had been on a dark mood all evening and stormed off some hour ago after Théodfara - one of Athanar's stupidest soldiers and Wulfric's childhood playmate - had made an exceptionally stupid joke about dogs with various human bodyparts in place of their heads. Wilheard couldn't blame his elder brother for being moody after the recent events, but neither could he understand why Wulfric insisted on being so surly. There was little he could do about his situation just now, so why didn't he just adapt instead of brooding over it? "Oh bugger him, I hope he finds some kitchen maid to comfort him," he muttered.

"Kitchen maid, you said?" asked Osmund. He was one of the local soldiers, an amiable chap who had been quick to befriend Athanar's folk. He was quick to laugh, and liked to talk, especially about women. "I'm afraid our kitchen maids aren't very available, though. Kara - the curvy beauty with dark eyes - they say she had something with Erbrand - the guy who disappeared yesterday - so I doubt she'd be too excited to comfort any other men right now. Well - who knows women? Maybe she'd need some manly comfort.

Anyway, yeah, that's it about her. She surely has her way to cope with admirers so your brother - or anyone else of you guys, just saying - should know what they're doing when wooing her or else it's lost, especially if Frodides happens to appear. She's the old hag who prepares all this delicious food, bless her, but I doubt any of you would be so desperate that you'd try her. Although maybe she's had time to gather experience..."

There was general laughter, but a majority of the newcomers were listening to Osmund with avid ears. It was not everyday you heard useful information about the local women. "Then there's Ginna, oh she's sure a beautiful sight - I guess you must know whom I mean! Wouldn't you say she's perfect? However, everybody knows she and our smith Harreld have a serious thing for each other - and anyway she's noble born so that's aiming pretty high for us mere rascals and, yeah, well they say those noble girls are brought up in a different manner than the steady peasant folk, of course I have no first hand experience so..."

"They are quite different, I assure you, but all the better if you succeed in wooing them," Wilheard interrupted in a mischevious tone, and everybody laughed. Truth be told he didn't have much experience with girls, but you could learn a lot by just observing Wulfric and listening to his stories.

"Oh yes, well you're a nobleman sir so you sure know both!" Osmund said. "But what I was saying? Oh yes, that however sad that might be, she is definitely out of bounds. Then there's Modtryth of course - I actually think she's quite good-looking, maybe would've been better ten years ago but can't help that I guess, but anyway I understand if you disagree, after all you can quite plainly see she is at least half a Dunlending. Well I always liked dark girls, maybe that's some quirk of mine..."

"The women!" Baldwic interrupted and banged his fist to the table. Wilheard laughed. Shy Baldwic became such a loud barbarian when drunk.

"Sure!" Osmund said. "Well I just wanted to say that she is a married woman so no good either. Her husband's the carpenter but surprisingly good with a sword or a staff! I heard he used to be a soldier too..."

"The women!" Baldwic interrupted again, and everybody roared with laughter. Wilheard knew he'd be teasing Baldwic about this for at least a month.

"Sorry sir, I'm afraid there aren't more, any more kitchen maids at least. Or there was Rowenna - that was a beauty well fitted to my tastes - but she's gone away, I don't know where. So I'm afraid we do lack a bunch of pretty, young and free kitchen maids which is a shame. You didn't happen to bring any with you?"

Slowly the talk died out, and drinking became more serious. Wilheard tried hard to keep up with the rest, but the truth was that he had less experience with drinking and less bulk than many of the soldiers, so after some time he started feeling sleepy and some time later he found himself under the table. It was actually quite comfortable there, listening to the voices of the talking and laughing soldiers. Wilheard had never been the sociable type, but sometimes company was good, and these soldiers were good men. He drifted back to unconsciousness...

...And then he was awake again. A quarrel had broken out between two very loud men and their shouts screeched Wilheard's ears. He decided to get away, but all he could see was men's legs everywhere.

He started crawling until he was closer to the end of the table. He was alarmed to hear his father's voice amidst the general hubbub of noises. He was talking to somebody and now, he stopped. Wilheard hoped his father wouldn't find him under the table - Athanar didn't approve either of his drinking or of his pitiable tolerance of alcohol, Wilheard had never figured out which one - but he was relieved to find out he wasn't actually paying attention. With all the hustle and dogs going around and occasionally popping under the table it was quite safe to be a drunk man lying under the table.

"Go on, Coen, tell me," Athanar said and Wilheard pinched his own ears to keep awake. This would surely be something interesting, Coen was by far the most observant man in Athanar's company - Wilheard himself possibly excluded, but then again, Coenred could read men the way Will never could - and he didn't waste his words or his lord's attention on nonsense.

Horrified and excited on the occasions when he could concentrate on listening, Wilheard heard Coenred tell about Thornden's treachery and Athanar give some very peculiar orders. It was all very peculiar, Wilheard thought, but he couldn't force his concentration anymore, and it seemed like Athanar was giving some final orders to his captain.

Wilheard drifted back to unconsciousness. He knew he had just heard something he should tell Wulfric, but it was already slipping from his memory...

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc was just in the middle of emptying another mug (of how many? He wasn't entirely sure anymore) when he noticed somebody slightly tapping his shoulder. He turned around and, to his surprise, saw Coen beckoning at him. Slightly worried about what the captain might require of him at this time, he followed Coen further away from the tables into one corner of the hall.

Like earlier with Athanar, Coen looked around carefully to see if nobody was listening.

"I have spoken to lord Athanar about what you had told me in the morning," he said. It took only a while to Hilderinc's slightly ale-influenced mind to figure out what Coen was talking about. He nodded to ensure Coen that he had understood what this was about. The captain's face showed relief that he did not need to speak of the matter in detail with the risk of being overheard.

"What did lord Athanar say, sir?" Hilderinc asked, suppressing a burp.

"He says that he will settle the matter himself – and that if you have anything more to say about it, you should talk about it only to him. He does not want you nor me to let any gossip spread among other men. Have you been talking about it to anyone else?"

"No, sir," Hilderinc said. "I had no reason to." He was trying his best to make the good impression, even though he felt his speech was somewhat stuttering.

"Then keep silent. But lord Athanar had also requested that you should keep your ears open in case you hear anybody talking about it or about anything that might be related."

"Aye, sir," Hilderinc nodded again. "I shall be on my guard, sir," he added, trying to sound firm.

Coenred seemed satisfied by that, because he only nodded and left him. Hilderinc cast a look at the table and his unfinished mug, then he decided that it might be good to get some fresh air just for a short while and come back later. He walked to the table, gulped what was remaining in one draught and then slowly retreated outside the hall.

[littlemanpoet]

Of course, it was just like Big Folk to disregard the presence, and the keen ears, of Hobbits when it suited them - or didn't suit them, as the case may be.

So Falco kept his face to his tankard and made himself as invisible as being small could make one, and listened to every word that passed between Lord Athanar and Coen, as the man was apparently called.

He also noticed the drunk crawling under the table, who seemed to get especially quiet as Athanar and Coen talked. Maybe the drunk heard and understood, maybe not.

One thing was sure: these Eorlings did not reckon with Falco Boffin the Hobbit, and he would take advantage of it. Falco did not think over-well of Thornden, especially if treachery was his way; but Falco knew well enough about gossip from his days in the Shire to know that half of what was said about others was only half true, and the other half not true at all and in some cases the very opposite.

Falco would hold his tongue and withhold judgment, and watch and wait to see how things turned.