Scarburg Meadhall

[littlemanpoet]

July 8, Year 15 of the Fourth Age - (see Time Line for play up to this opening post HERE (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showpost.php?p=551133&postcount=4))

(2 weeks later)

It had been a difficult two weeks, and Eodwine was weary. He rode at the front of the procession of his House, made up of an assortment of horses and wagons laden with the possessions of many. Trips would have to be made back to Edoras to reload the wagons with yet more items, for much was deemed unnecessary for the immediate needs of them all. The trusty Thornden rode at the back of the procession where he could keep an eye out for any signs of trouble from this unknown region, as well as an eye on any signs of trouble amongst the travelers; such as Javan.

The boy had not taken his punishment well. Eodwine had finally decided to bring him before the court, even had Thornden stand by his side and the entire House arrayed before them so that the he would get a sense of the seriousness of his misdeed. Eodwine had laid out the charges, giving them the sound of the full weight of the law.

"You have cost this House nearly a hundred Thengels of gold coin in wood, nail, thatch and rope, as well as seven days' labor of five grown men; so runs the estimate of my master carpenter, Stigend. Javan son of Thaldon, you are guilty of the crime of burning down my stables. You shall be under watch of those of my House whom I shall appoint, until such time as I deem that you no longer are a danger to my House. Further, beyond the normal chores of a lad of your age, you shall work each day in my House until you have paid seven days for each day spent in labor by each man rebuilding my stables."

The boy's jaw had dropped and his eyes had widened in astonishment. Then his face had turned sullen and he had mumbled something, which Eodwine had read on his lips: "That's not fair."

"Boy, I could have you flogged instead."

Javan's head snapped up and fear came into his eyes. "Yes, sir," he mumbled. But even then the lad could not hold himself in check. "Why don't you just send me home?"

Eodwine had smirked. "You need punishment, not escape and further spoiling."

The boy had scowled then, and had dragged himself around, under the watchful eyes of different members of the House betimes, doing what he was told, but as reluctantly as one could.

Eodwine looked back at the boy now; he was staring off into the distance looking miserable. Eodwine shook his head. It would be a long, long tutelage.

They rounded the final curve and came at last to the edge of Scarburg, formerly known as the land of Sorn. There was a line of tall trees the trunks of which grew tall, unkempt bushes, blocking the view of the holding itself. So it was not until Eodwine came to the gate, which was leaning off its hinges between two tall oaks, that he saw the buildings and lands within.

"Oh no." Eodwine reined in Flíthaf.

Garstan rode behind. "What is the matter, lord?"

"It's a wreck," Eodwine replied hollowly. Garstan came up beside him and saw for himself. The main house and all the outbuildings had been put to the torch. Their walls leaned in blackened sooty shambles, the roofs collapsed in. The grass all around the ruined buildings had been burned away.

"Who has done this evil deed?" Garstan cried.

"Who can tell? Maybe our neighbors. I doubt we'll ever know for certain."

Harreld drew up beside them. "At least we have canvas with us for tents."

Next came Stigend. He blew a winded sigh. "There is much to be done, no?"

Eodwine hung his head and laughed weakly.

[Folwren]

Javan rode in complete silence the entire journey from Edoras to Scarburg. Even had he been in a talkative mood, he doubted there would be many who would have his company. Since that day two weeks ago the behavior towards him had changed. Some had grown cold, scarcely giving him a glance the entire day. Others treated him distantly, as though they were afraid he might do something dangerous suddenly. A couple, he thought, pitied him. But it was the sort of pity he detested. He didn’t want pity. He didn’t know what he wanted.

The journey was lonely, therefore, and altogether miserable. He was glad when, late in the afternoon, they were finally drawing near to the end of their journey. He knew that they must be getting very near. Thornden had told him about how long it would take, and surely they had gone enough miles. . .

When Eodwine drew his horse to a stop, the entire procession stopped behind him. A murmur passed through the people and some of the men rode up beside him. Javan, his curiosity not-surprisingly roused, urged his horse forward as well. He halted in time to hear Harreld say, “At least we have canvas with us for tents.”

The carpenter, Stigend rode up on the other side of the Eorl. “There is much to be done, no?”

Javan’s eyes fastened onto the burnt ruin. His lips pressed together as a strange, ironic thought whipped through his mind.

“Seems as though fire’s your bad luck, my lord. At least I didn’t light this one,” he said, before he could think twice about his words.

[Thinlómien]

Lord Eodwine halted his horse and Modtryth managed to stop Snowstreak, who was distressed because of the sudden halt. "Hush, good girl, we've arrived", Modtryth said, stepping down from the wagon and caressing the horse's big head. During the journey, the old mare had been more nervous than she had ever been. Modtryth suspected it had something to do with the fire. No Man could forget such experience, why should a horse?

"Mum, look!" Cnebba cried out. He and Garstan's children were sitting on the wagon, eyeing around. "Mum?" Cnebba asked again, anxiously. Modtryth lifted her gaze from the horse to the scenery before her.

This was the great Scarburg for which Lord Eodwine had left the homely, newly renovated Mead Hall. The estate of Scarburg would have been grand, Modtryth reflected, had it been anything more than a ruin. Someone had been there before the Eorl's folk, someone who had had no good in his mind.

"Why are we stopping here, Modtryth?" Léodern asked.
"What is that ruin?" Garmund asked, "Shouldn't we be in Scarburg already?"

"I'm afraid we've arrived," Modtryth said, keeping calm, "the house just needs some renovating." She smiled weakly at the children who were watching the remains of Scarburg, their faces plainly showing both horror and interest.

The Eorl had exchanged a few words with the men riding behind him. The wind had muffled their words, but now Javan's voice rang clearly, audible to all. "Seems as though fire's your bad luck, my lord. At least I didn't light this one."

"Did you hear what the bad boy said?" Cnebba asked Garmund and Léodern, in a gossipy tone.
"Hush now", Modtryth said sharply, "and don't you call him names, it's rude."

She would need to think about this and talk to the children. It was not the first time Cnebba or Garmund expressed disapproval of Javan, but now it was more clear than ever before. Modtryth would not see them bullying the older boy in such manner - even though he probably wasn't aware of the younger boys' attitude towards him. But she could not make them think such idiotic carelessness as burning down the stables would be forgivable either. Not every lord was as lenient as Lord Eodwine, and neither of the boys was a brother of a lord's right hand man. The issue would have to be treated with care.

"Look!" Léodern interrupted her thoughts, "what's that?"
Modtryth glanced at the direction she was pointing to. "Probably just a stray dog, scavenging the ruins and looking for food," Modtryth replied, even though she wasn't sure.

[Firefoot]

It had been a long ride, though not necessarily in terms of distance. It had been long because the whole time Léof had had little else to do except think. Occasionally the silence had been broken by conversation, in which he gladly took part, but the rest of the time he was left to think.

He had tried not to think much, these last two weeks. He had kept himself busy, sometimes with inane tasks sheerly for the sake of doing something. Nights were the worst; his sleep was plagued by dark dreams, dreams of burning, of horses shrieking, of him unable to help – sometimes forcibly restrained by Thornden or some faceless entity, sometimes mired to the ground for no apparent reason, sometimes unable to find the horses. The horses always died. And Javan – Javan was normally somewhere in the background, standing mutely or, worse yet, laughing manically and triumphantly crying, “Try to teach me now! Try to boss me around now!” Most nights he would wake, then close his eyes again only to fall back into the same dream. It helped, he had found, to sleep outside near the horses. After that first night in Eodwine’s own room, it had occurred to him to sleep out in the Hall with the footmen, but he had been uncomfortable there and usually rose in the small hours of the morning anyway to assure himself that the horses were alright, all except Herefola.

Scarburg had represented a new hope to him, a chance to start over without having that burned down stable leaving a gaping hole in the scenery every time he went out to the paddock to tend the horses. As the ruin of Scarburg came into sight, his hope fell.

From one burned stable to the next – except now, it wouldn’t be any sort of priority; the main hall would have to be rebuilt first, he imagined. As the procession stopped, he turned to Thornden, near whom he was riding, and commented weakly, “At least Eodwine will be able to build the new hold up just as he wishes – I doubt much will be salvageable from that wreck.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine led the party into Scarburg and had them tie up their steeds and livestock and gathered them around in a large circle. They sat together under the shade of the tall trees that fenced Scarburg from the road, for it was hot.

"We have much to do. First we must learn the land. I will teach you what I know. To our south, across the road, is the only other land holder nearby. He is our neighbor and we must befriend him. I do not know who he is yet. To our north is the Scar, which Garstan and Thornden already know about. It is a scar of hill and rock that runs from east to west across the fields of Cormallen. Beyond it is unclaimed fen. To both our east and west is unclaimed fen as well. I will claim these lands for the Eorl of Middle Emnet, and some day not far from this we will begin to tame those lands.

"But for now, there are three tasks that must be performed. First, all must set their hands to preparing shelter that will last until the hall is built; that means the kitchen first. I place Thornden in charge of that labor. Second, we must secure the horses and livestock. I place Léofric in charge of that labor. Third, I will send us out in parties of two or three to learn every inch of Scarburg between fens and scar, so that we may know what kind of land we own, what needs to be done.

"Garstan and Stigend will form one team, to seek building materials. The rest of you form teams of two or three as seems fitting, and learn what you can. We will not search through the ruin yet. Leave that for tomorrow morning. When today's tasks have been achieved, we will sit down to a meal that Frodides and Kara will prepare for us. Rowenna, you will have charge of Javan.

"But as I said, first we make shelter."

[Nogrod]

Garstan turned to Stigend for an approving nod of the shared task but he found Stigend busy staring at the line of tall trees like he was measuring the distances.

"Stigend?" Garstan asked quietly but needed to poke him before he realised he was talked to. "Did you get the briefing?"

"Mhhh... ahh..., yes?" Stigend turned to face his mate. "Do you have the measures of the canvases?"

"What?" Garstan began but then fell silent for a second until there suddenly was a light in his eyes. "You're thinking of a lean-to?"

"I am, or rather a baker. A large one if there are enough canvases. It will take time before we sleep under the roof of a new hall so why not make it right the first time? I do prefer doing things only once if possible." Stigend smiled to Garstan.

"You're right. They might fit here. So what else would we need?" Garstan asked and returned the good-willing smile with a nod.

"If the ridgepole of the earlier hall survived the fire we only need a few peeled trunks and some rope to begin with...", it felt like Stigend had gotten lost into his thoughts until he shrugged his shoulders and continued now with a wide smile. "We can upgrade it little by little you know... We might have some dull evenings ahead of us..." Stigend chuckled.

Garstan couldn't help it but bursted into laughter with Stigend following. The disappontment of the sight and the realisation that most of the task of rebuilding the hall laid on their shoulders were eased a bit with the open laughter.

But the open laughter didn't pass unnoticed and in the end Garstan had to poke Stigend again, this time to calm him down when most of the eyes were fixed on them.

Stigend turned to face lord Eodwine. "Excuse the demeanor of your servants my lord. We were just..."

"Adjusting our spirits to our duties", Garstan added smiling.

Stigend was not sure what lord Eodwine made out all of this but at least after Garstan's remark he smiled widely. "It's always good to have men who fulfill their tasks with joy" he remarked and laughed heartily, somewhat relieved from the gloomy athmosphere that had taken hold of the entire party.

"With your permission my lord...", Stigend put in while the general merriment still lasted. After Eodwine had nodded him to continue he went on.

"It will take a moon or two until we sleep under a solid roof and at least a week or two before we cook over a real hearth. So I was thinking if I myself and Garstan should build a large baker for us and a steady fireplace in front of it. It would take a few hours to construct the baker and a few more with the fireplace. We'd manage most it twosome but for spreading the canvases and carrying the stones for the fireplace we'd need a few able hands for a short while."

[Folwren]

Eodwine had originally placed Thornden in charge of the labor of building the shelter and kitchen. So the young eorlinga listened carefully as Stigend, with a few words added by Garstan, explained the process of making a baker. Javan ambled close to him, his arms folded moodily and his lower lip protruding a fraction. It had been an insult to hear Eodwine dealing out jobs to the others and then get assigned, not to work, but to Rowenna’s apron strings.

As Stigend came to a close of his explanation, he glanced upwards towards Thornden, and his eye fell almost immediately on Javan.

“You’re brother can help us,” he said. “He’s small and nimble enough to climb up and lash the cross beams in place more easily than a man.”

“That should be alright, hey, Javan? Better than being stuck with a woman,” Thornden teased. Javan gave him a hateful look and turned away. He didn’t answer Stigend. Thornden looked at him disapprovingly a moment. “He will be glad to help,” he said, turning to the carpenter. “Just tell him what you need when you need it. For now, how do we get started?”

Stigend, always polite and never overstepping his place, began to make suggestive sounding orders. Thornden very quickly turned them into direct orders and before long, everyone was at their proper work, gathering and preparing the materials to build the baker. The wagons had to be unloaded, the horses eased of their burdens. Stones could be gathered and proper trees for the baker located and cut down. The canvas and ropes were unpacked. The place was as busy as a beehive, just as it should be.

Javan wandered halfheartedly along with everybody else, filling his hands with whatever work came conveniently with no real spirit in it. His expression was angry and fierce thoughts flew about in his mind. He had been insulted and humiliated twice before everybody. Well. He’d show them. They’d be sorry. He didn’t deserve this sort of treatment.

He paused on the edge of the active group. His eyes swept the landscape, barren and mostly wild. Before him he could see the scar of rock that the eorl had spoken about. It looked intriguing and dangerous, somehow.

It took Javan less than ten seconds to decide to go explore it. Eodwine had said he wanted the new lands explored, had he not? There were helpers taking care of the other jobs that needed to be done. Javan, with a quick look behind him, started off at a run and concealed himself behind the burnt ruins. Then, keeping them between himself and the others, he started off for the scar.

[littlemanpoet]

To Javan's surprise he heard someone's feet running hard behind him. It was Rowenna, and she was catching up to him. She was fast!

"Boy," she huffed angrily, "some men may dismiss the Eorl's command," she stopped talking to run harder, her gown forgotten in her headlong chase, and she tackled him! Before he could find words to say what was in his mind, Rowenna had him face down on the ground, her knee in the small of his back. She was panting, but her grip on each of his two arms was like iron.

"As I was saying," she said, still breathing hard, "some men may dismiss the Eorl's command with a joke, but I do what I'm told, and I've been watching you, never too far away, and lucky for you it was so, for if you had escaped from my attention I would expect just punishment from the Eorl for failing of my duty; and you ~ you can be sure that I would have made you pay for that. As it is, you will now be punished for your own misdeed, silly little fool, and I'll get reward for doing as I was told."

She brought both his hands behind his back, and lifted him to his feet from the back, making his shoulders feel like they would burst form their sockets. He screamed and tears came to his eyes.

"Cry all you like, rascal, for your punishment will be harder from the Eorl than what he's given you so far. I'll see to that." With that, Rowenna holding his hands vise-like behind his back, she pushed him back to the work area, heading straight for Eodwine.

[Folwren]

She kept up a smart pace, even after that run, Javan noticed bitterly. He blinked back unwanted tears, tears he was ashamed of, but couldn’t help. His eyes were quickly dry and his anger swelled up bitterly within him.

“Let go of me, you disgusting witch! You have no right to come tackle me like that and drag be back to Eodwine!”

“Of course I do,” was the curt rejoinder.

They were drawing nearer. Javan tried to twist his wrists free from her hands, but he couldn’t get enough leverage with his arms behind him. People were sending curious and dark glances towards him.

“Let me go, Rowenna,” he hissed. “Let me go. I won’t be dragged to Eodwine like this.” Rowenna’s hands, if anything, only tightened and she gave him a sharp nudge, quickening his pace, until they came right to Eodwine.

[littlemanpoet]

"He tried to run away, my lord," Rowenna answered quickly, her grip still tight as ever on Javan's trapped arms.

"I wasn't-!" he blurted.

"Quiet!" Eodwine cut him off. "You were assigned work and a guardian. At least she did her job. You have earned yet another day of work to pay off your debt. We have no dungeon or I'd put you there. In the meantime, you will be bound and tethered between those two trees until you learn obedience. Once you have become sorry for your deeds in stead of merely sorry that you got caught, then we will see about you paying your debt.

"Garwine, take the boy and tie him up." Garwine stepped forth, chose another man at arms, and between the two of them tied the boy securely but not painfully at wrists and ankles, then took him to the trees Eodwine had pointed out.

Eodwine turned to Rowenna, his face unreadable. "I saw you there. You were ruthless."

She bowed her head. "I am sorry, my lord."

"No, you should not be sorry for having no ruth for doing as you were told." She raised her head, more hopeful. "You have done well."

Eodwine looked around at the others, who were now standing silently, watching. "That is all! Let us keep up the work for there is much to do!"

[Kath]

Kara had watched the whole sorry affair with Javan from a distance as she, Frodides and Ginna sorted through the things they had brought from the Hall. It would be a while before space for a kitchen was created but there were still things to be done in the meantime and some of those could be done on the cart.

Frodides had set herself up in the centre of the small wagon and was sorting through the various things needed to make an impromptu meal, calling out instructions as she went. In fact she kept up such a steady litany that it was only when she fell silent that Kara and Ginna looked up and saw that there was to be yet another confrontation between young Javan and Eodwine.

It seemed that everyone who had come from the Hall had stopped whatever they were doing to watch as Eodwine's usually generous nature, already stressed from discovering his new holdings to be a burnt out shell, finally snapped and he ordered Javan to be trussed up. The boy struggled all the way but got no sympathy from the kitchen crew, who fully agreed with Eodwine that he needed more punishment than he was currently receving if he was still breaking the rules.

"That boy is going to have to learn fast." Frodides stated, casting a critical eye over the furious form of Javan. "He asked to stay, he'll have to take the consequences. Now," she continued, switching right back into her job, "we're going to need some firewood if we want anything hot tonight. You two go and see if you can find some and I'll get everything set up here."

Kara and Ginna nodded and moved off, searching the immediate area for something to burn.

[Firefoot]

Placed in charge of securing the horses and livestock, Léof was at first at a loss. The stables looked unusable, and he wouldn’t be able to tell whether the fencing around the pastures was sound until he walked the whole perimeter. Trying to hobble them all would be impractical, especially if this arrangement lasted very long. So what to do? Then the obvious answer hit him: he could set up a picket line. There were enough trees standing nearby that it shouldn’t be too difficult, and Stigend and Garstan would probably have extra rope that he could use. At least, he hoped they would – builders used rope, right? He would be able to do it on his own, too, if no one lined up to help him out.

He waited until Thornden was finished conferring with Stigend and Garstan before approaching Stigend. “Say,” he said, “would you have enough extra rope for me to use for a picket line for the horses? There doesn’t seem to be any better way to secure them until I know whether the fencing in the pasture is in good repair.”

“How much do you need?” asked Stigend.

Léof glanced over the number of horses and decided there were too many to really fit comfortably on one line. “Two lengths of thirty or forty foot rope if you have it,” he said, hoping he wasn’t asking for too much.

Just then his eye was caught by Javan streaking off toward the scar, and Rowenna in quick pursuit after him. What ever is the fool boy trying to do now? He watched the struggle dumbfoundedly, his request for rope temporarily forgotten. When Eodwine ordered Javan tied up, Léof was not surprised, nor did he feel any pity for him. After everything he had done, he more than deserved it. There was work to be done here, and plenty of it, but not only was Javan not helping out, he was distracting others from theirs – which reminded him of his own duties. He turned back to Stigend expectantly.

[Folwren]

Furious has been used to describe Javan’s behavior, but the word nearly falls short of the feelings and emotions that pounded through the boy as he was bound, arms and legs outstretched. His body was rigid and he kept trying to pull his hands free of Garwine and Grimlin. But despite his struggling, he was soon tied up and left alone.

There anger and something akin to hate raged inside his head. With clenched jaw and burning eyes he looked out at everyone setting back to their work. His entire body was hot with embarrassment and anger. It never occurred to him that he had brought the shame upon himself. All he knew was that they could have made it ten times better, had not that woman gone after him – tackled him – Javan – to the ground! A tremor of contempt passed through him, for to be overcome by a woman was humiliating beyond anything Javan could dream of, just now.

And then Eodwine himself had treated him abominably. He didn’t allow him to speak at all - simply took that outlaw’s word for what had happened – and sent him away to be tied up like a regular criminal! In bitter sarcasm, Javan asked himself if later, when it fit the eorl’s convenience, he would come and have Javan beaten like a regular criminal. With how Eodwine had behaved, Javan thought it wouldn’t surprise him. Well, he’d bear it - and pay them all back for it in time. But what may have galled him more than all this being bound and tethered between two trees was that, as Javan was dragged off, Eodwine commended and rewarded Rowenna for her actions – actions that he himself had judged ruthless.

Javan turned his eyes from Eodwine and almost immediately latched onto Thornden. Thornden…the older brother who was Eodwine’s own right hand man. He had not said anything, hadn’t even stepped forward to begin to try to defend his younger brother. He had sat back and, like all the others, simply watched.

As Javan looked at him, Thornden lifted his head and turned toward Javan. Across the long space between them, their eyes met. Javan narrowed his eyes and Thornden could clearly see the pinched, angry look in his face before he turned away again and bent to continue working.

Thornden was silent. The talk that had flowed so freely between everyone before the scene caused by Javan had partially revived, but Thornden took no part in it. Although Javan was not aware of it, Thornden partook of his shame. But unlike the younger brother, Thornden put the blame on Javan and did not consider Eodwine or Rowenna at all wrong.

’Why, Javan?’ he asked inside his head. ‘Why did you do that? You act like an uneducated street urchin who has had no upbringing, not like the son of our father.’

[Nogrod]

Stigend shook his head and turned to face Léof again as Javan was getting dragged out from the fast trial.

"Oh, sorry Léof, how much did you say you needed?"

“Two lengths of thirty or forty foot rope... if you have it”, Léof answered.

"Hmm... that's a lot. I'm not sure how much we have it. The kids should have the ropes unpacked though...", Stigend glanced backwards only to notice the children following the incidence with Javan with a keen interest. There were only two bunches of rope unloaded in the grass at their feet.

"Cnebba, Garmund! Did you guys have something to do?" Hesitantly the two boys turned away from the tying of Javan and went back to the carts searching for the ropes peering backwards every now and then.

"I can't promise you that now but we'll soon find out." Stigend regretted. "But would you like to join me and Garstan while the kids search for the ropes? We'll be going to check the ruins for the ridgepole."

Léof looked surprised. "But hasn't it all burned down?"

"It looks like it did. But in longhouses like this the ridgepole is normally supported from under with slimmer deal planks which tend to burn fast thus letting the ridgepole to fall down early giving it a chance to survive the fire. They are valuable things as long, straight and thick trees are hard to find. And it would save us a lot of work if we could use a ready carved ridgepole to our baker without needing to fall, peel and carve two or more shorter trees from around."

[Firefoot]

“Well, alright,” Léof replied. His first instinct was to say that he really shouldn’t, he should work on tending the horses. But it was not as if they needed immediate attention; many of them had been tied down somewhere, and none of them would go far – it had been a long ride from Edoras and they were tired enough to stay put and graze. He couldn’t do anything until the kids dug up the ropes he needed, anyway. “That sounds fine,” he added, warming to the idea.

“Great,” said Stigend. “Between the three of us, we ought to be able to carry it back here, if we do find one. Now, where did Garstan get off to…?”

As if summoned by the mention of his name, Garstan promptly walked up. “About ready to go look for that ridgepole?” he addressed Stigend.

“Quite ready,” Stigend answered, “and Léof’s going to come with us while he’s waiting on the boys to unpack the rope.”

“Great,” said Garstan. “Let’s go, then.” As they started walking toward the ruins, Garstan turned to Léof and asked, “What do you need the rope for?”

“Yes, you do need a fair amount of it,” said Stigend.

“I was going to set up a picket line,” Léof explained. “I don’t know what kind of condition the fencing here is in, and until they can be released into some kind of pasture or housed in stalls, they need more space from other horses and more room to move around in than just tying their leads to the wagon will allow.”

[Nogrod]

The three; Stigend, Garstan and Léof walked towards the burnt hall.

”I see... but I think they will stay calm for a while after the journey as you said”, said Garstan as they approached the ruins.

The grass underneath their feet grew suddenly darker. First only the tops of the grass were charred but soon it was all black and wasted under their feet.

”But we need the lines before the sun sets... Who will go after the horses tomorrow if they’re left free to roam themselves overnight?” Léof insisted.

Garstan nodded fully knowing he had no answer to Léof’s concerns.

They walked over the charred grass. Stigend’s pace was resolute like he had his mind set only to the goal they had.

”This will just take a moment...” said Stigend who had now reached the stone structure and jumped over it landing on a pile of burnt debris. There was a burst of ash that spread over them all forming a kind of a cloud that denied them any view around for a while.

”Okay, c’mon! It’s just a ashes!”, Stigend yelled to his companions in the middle of the cloud of dust. After it started to settle down at the edges he called them once more. ”Do yo see anything. I can’t?”

”There, to your left! It looks like a pole that goes under the rabble!” Garstan called to Stigend.

“Good!” Stigend yelled. “Garstan! Go and check it! And throw away any stuff on top of it! Knock it then and listen if it’s firm or hollow!” He then turned to face Léof. “Follow me Léof, we’ll check the middle... that’s the most vulnerable part...”

A cloud of ashes bursted upwards as the three made their way towards the ridgepole. Many eyes turned to stare the phenomenon even if their own duties called them otherwise.

Finally Stigend and Léof reached the center of the earlier hall and started to pull away the debris. Even more ash was dusting around as they pulled charred planks and burnt grass fallen from the roof to clear the way.

“Here it is! It looks good!” Léof shouted as he had pulled the trash from on top of the ridgepole. “It must be this! It goes from there from where Garstan is standing to the other end.”

“Go to the other end of the building and find the other end. I’ll check if this is good enough” Stigend told Léof and turned towards the part of the ridgepole they had just uncovered.

He fell down to his knees and placed his ear towards the ridgepole knocking it with her wrist first. Then he took his hatchet and knocked the log with the backside of it listening intensly for the sound.

“Okay guys! It’s good! It has not burnt into the core! We can use it!” He looked at Garstan who was at the other end of the pole. “Just bring the debris around you down... we’ll lift it in a minute”

Stigend turned the other way seeing Léof struggling over the debris every now and then through the cloud of ashes his advence created.

Just waiting for Léof to make it to his end and to call for a lift-off Stigend looked around him.



There was a skull there just a few feet from his feet. He fell to his arms and started shoving away the burnt mixture of earth, grass and wood. It was a burnt skeleton of a child. And there was another one right beside the first one, an adult figure clinging to the child. Even if he hadn’t revealed all there was to it he had seen enough.

“Ready?” called Garstan when Léof had actually reached the other end of the hall and waved for him.

Stigend came to his senses soon enough and waved both ways. “With my call... one... two... three...”

The ridgepole emerged from under the debris and was hoisted above it. A cloud of ash bursted from the debris dropping down on the charred ground.

“Can you make it?” Stigend yelled hearing only groans and puffs of the others at first while wielding all the strenght he had himself to hoist the ridgepole up.

The ridgepole moved upwards but it was encircled by a cloud of ashes around where the pieces of charred debris tumbled off from it. Stigend felt his friends were up to the task as the weight of the pole lessened even if he couldn't actually see them.

“Let’s bring it out from here... Slowly... Slowly” he called.

The ridgepole started to move forwards. Slowly but steadily it moved... everyone bringing it on feeling the way the others carried it.

“Feel the pressure and act likewise!” shouted Garstan as they came towards the stony structure.

“I’m at the corner! Wait!” called Léof as he reached the actual corner of the house. “The corner is still intact here as it has not being burnt down! I need help! I can’t hoist this over it myself”

“Thornden!” Stigend yelled out aloud wishing to hear a reply.

"I'm here!" came the answer from near enough and from the direction Léof was in. "I'll help him..." Stigend couldn’t see Thornden from behind the cloud of ashes their advance had produced but he realised he was near Léof.

Hoisting the ridgepole over the higher corner required some effort from the four but eventually it came over.

Still panting Stigend turned to Léof and Thronden “Would either one of you take the middle? You three will easily bring this one to where we will build the baker..."

“What?” shouted Garstan.

“Just bring this ridgepole to where we will build our baker. I need to see lord Eodwine... there's something he needs to know. Let’s discuss this later” Stigend answered.

After Léof came to take his position Stigend rushed away from the burnt hall to meet his lord.

“Lord Eodwine!“ Stigend yelled as he ran out from the ruins and finally reached his master.

Eodwine turned to his carpenter and looked at him with a curious expression but he had already caught the tone of his retainer’s voice.

Stigend came close to Eodwine and then whispered. “There’s a child and an adult there... They’ve been burned inside.”

[littlemanpoet]

Stigend could not know how his news would affect Eodwine. When they had first arrived only to see the place and a fired ruin, Eodwine had been of a sudden brought back to fourteen years ago when he had returned from the War to the Gap of Rohan and his farm, only to find his own lands laid waste by the Dunlendings, and his wife and children burned inside the wreckage. The emotions were hardly less raw these many years later, and Eodwine had had to hold himself in check as he sat bestride his horse as the others gazed on the wreckage.

Now Stigend brought him news that a woman and child; no, an adult and child, had been found in the burnt ruin. Eodwine knew absolutely that it was a woman; he was simply sure of it. It was as if he was suddenly back in the Gap of Rohan confronted by all the horror of it once more.

Stigend saw his lord's face turn suddenly ashen, his shoulders slump. Perhaps he thought that his Eorl was unusually compassionate toward those who had died.

"How - how many?" Eodwine's mouth was dry and his tongue seemed unwilling to work. "Two children, did - did you-" Eodwine swallowed and shook his head absently. "No, you - you said one child, did - did you not?"

[Folwren]

Thornden lifted the ridgepole above the corner. Léof helped until it went above his head, and then he ducked beneath it and was ready to help lower it again as it came down the other side. Once it came down and rested again in Léof’s hands, Thornden scrambled down through the ruin to where Stigend had left the center of the pole. Once there, with a shout to signal each other, they lifted it again and at a stumbling gait, carried it out of the burnt ruins.

In two lifts - for the burden was very heavy, and Thornden was concerned for Léof’s slight build - they brought it to the place where the baker was to be built. There they set it down and the three of them panted for breath and dusted themselves off.

“Garstan,” Thornden said, walking towards him. “You will need more beams than just this…a couple posts, right?” Garstan took things into stock and nodded. “Then I think I shall go hunting for some trees to chop,” Thornden continued. “I’ll be back when I’ve got some to be hauled.”

He nodded and passed Garstan, intent on finding an axe. He crossed the lawn towards the wagons. His eyes wandered over the group, saw Rowenna helping Frodides, and Ginna and Kara wandering off on an errand of finding firewood, and then Eodwine and Stigend. Stigend’s back was to Thornden, but he could see Eodwine’s profile, and he stopped in his tracks. Something was obviously wrong. Even from ten yards away, Thornden could see from his very posture that Eodwine was badly affected by something.

Thornden momentarily forgot his quest to find an axe and his course changed. He hurried towards Stigend and Eodwine. “My lord?” he said, concerned. Eodwine looked pale and slightly disoriented. “My lord Eodwine,” Thornden said again, stopping opposite Stigend. Eodwine did not look at him, he was staring at the carpenter.

[Nogrod]

"How - how many?" lord Eodwine looked agitated. "Two children, did - did you-" Eodwine swallowed and shook his head absently. "No, you - you said one child, did - did you not?"

Stigend was not sure how he should react to the way his master took the news. Surely he hadn't said anything about two children anyway. There was something here he couldn't quite grasp.

"Yes my lord", Stigend managed to answer. "There was one child and one adult clinging to the child... like trying to protect the child. I saw no others." Stigend felt uneasy facing lord Eodwine's empty stare. He tried to wipe his face clean with the sleeve of his coat only to realise his coat was also covered with ash and thence only spread the dirt in his face.

Eodwine blinked hard once and cleared his throat. "I am sorry, Stigend. Your news has brought back nightmares from the War, if you understand me."

"I hadn't time to look further... I don't know if there were others there... Should I go and take another look there? They were quite in the middle of the hall near the hearth and the duct."

"My lord!" It was Thornden approaching them fast. "My lord Eodwine!"

Thornden looked at them both slightly disturbed. It looked like lord Eodwine had just came back from some dark inside journey somewhere far away from the here and now. He still looked frightfully concerned about something.

"What is it?" Thornden asked his uneasiness coming openly through his voice.

"There were charred bodies inside the house... an adult and a child...", Stigend answered cautiously glancing at his lord as he spoke.

[Folwren]

Thornden looked again at Eodwine. It was bad, certainly, very bad news, but was it such to elicit such a reaction from Eodwine? Had he known those that had died? Was there something else that disturbed him about this?

“Stigend,” Eodwine said, he need not have addressed him by name, for the eorl could hardly have had anyone else’s attention more firmly fixed upon him. “You say you did not search farther?”

“No, but I can,” Stigend answered.

“My lord,” Thornden said, interrupting gently, but quickly. “My lord, there is nothing that can be done now. The work must continue. Stigend’s skills are needed. You would not want your own people to sleep without a roof tonight, and go to bed with empty stomachs. Let someone else search the ruins, if they must be explored at once.”

‘Not you,’ he nearly added. He did not like how these tidings affected Eodwine. Something wasn’t right. Sure, it was startling, and yes, perhaps the extra strain added to Eodwine being in the status of lordship had made the shock worse, but even so. . .

He ventured to make a suggestion. “Perhaps today, to keep the rest from becoming too excited, no one should go there.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine blinked, apparenlty for the fist time in a minute or so, for his eyes stung. Thornden spoke sense.

"So it shall be. No one goes to the ruins today. Stigend, you will be needed to oversee the building of the baker. Thornden, you and Garstan and Harreld should aid him, with the help of others. I shall oversee the doings of the rest of us. Go now."

The two bowed their heads slightly and with a quick glance to each other, which communicated volumes of their misgivings nonetheless, they returned to the work.

Eodwine saw the Léof had gotten the rope he needed, and was about to try to do all his work on his own. Eodwine caught up and joined him.

"You will need more hands to help you. How many do you want?"

[Folwren]

Thornden and Stigend turned away from Eodwine together and quietly walked away. “I was on my way to find an axe when I saw you,” Thornden said. “Stigend. . .” he plucked his sleeve lightly as he stopped. The carpenter turned to face him. “Don’t go talking about what you saw back there. Not yet. I don’t think it would be good to spread such news.”

“Yes, I agree,” Stigend said, nodding. “But what if Garstan or Léof, who were nearby when I found them, what if they ask me? I would not lie to them.”

“No,” Thornden replied. “No, I would not have you do so. If that happens, do what you think best. I’m off to find an axe and to hunt for trees to work as beams and poles.”

The two parted company. Thornden soon found an axe and headed off towards the belt of trees. He passed near Javan on his way. The brother’s exchanged brief glances, but nothing else. Soon, Thornden was nearly out of sight from the others, searching for a properly sized tree to fell. The silence of the woods and the country settled about him, and he slowly felt tension leave him. He found a tree about three inches in diameter, glanced up and down the entire trunk. He decided that it would work and set his axe to the base.

[Firefoot]

By the time they had returned with the ridgepole, Cnebba and Garmund seemed to have gotten the rope situation figured out, so Léof left the business of the ridgepole to the others and headed over to them. He counted out the lengths of rope with some help from the boys, but in the meantime he became aware of the discussion Stigend was having with Eodwine some ways away. It only registered vaguely with him until he saw Thornden hurry over, and Léof then realized by their stances and gestures that something was not quite right. Had Stigend noticed something back there at the ruins? Well, it wasn’t any of his business, and hardly his job to interrupt, but maybe he would ask about it later… if it came up.

Now it was his job to secure the horses – and the other livestock. Of course, how had he forgotten? The four cattle would be easy, he could tie them up with the horses. And the pigs could be roped down somewhere… but what did one do with chickens?

As he was pondering this Eodwine approached him. "You will need more hands to help you. How many do you want?"

Help, he had forgotten about finding some help. He would have remembered it shortly enough, once he figured out what he was doing. “Two ought to be enough,” he said. He paused. “Two people, that is, not two hands.” Was that supposed to be a joke?

“Yes, of course,” answered Eodwine, who didn’t quite seem to catch it.

“I was thinking that Lys should be available,” Léof offered.

“Yes, find him. And I will find someone else for you,” said Eodwine.

“Thank you, lord,” said Léof, and they parted ways. He looked around for Lys, spotted him in short order, and headed in that direction, wondering how long it would be before this place found some semblance of order.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine picked out one of his newer men at arms and told him to help the ostler set up things for the animals. That done, he walked around a bit, here and there, to get a sense of everything everyone was doing.

There were Stigend and Garstan busy with the baker. Garmund and Cnebba had gotten all the rope needed and were bringing it to Léof. Frodides was busy giving orders left and right to Kara, Ginna, Rowenna and Modtryth, all of whom were staying at least up with her orders if not running ahead of her. It was impressive to watch. There was Javan sitting where he'd been put, looking miserable.

Where was Thornden? Eodwine looked here and there. Maybe he had headed off scouting out the grounds. Eodwine walked around to the back side of the ruin, but Thornden could not be seen from there. Eodwine peered into the mess, wondering where the dead mother and child were in the midst of it all. He forced down an urge to go look.

He cast his eyes out over the distance, to the borders back out front, and saw a tall sapling quivering amid the dead calm of the other trees. What? He looked closer. Somebody was trying to chop it down! No! Eodwine didn't want any of those trees chopped down! Who was doing it? Eodwine ran; maybe he could stop him.

But no, the tree started to fall before he had gotten halfway there.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" he yelled.

"My lord?"

Eodwine stopped. It was Thornden, of all people. Eodwine started walking toward him.

"Thornden, please don't chop down any more of these trees. Look around you - there are so few here abouts. I want all the rest of these to stay where they are."

[Nogrod]

Building a baker was something Stigend had learned when he was about the same age as Cnebba was now. His father had built one with him back then showing every trick there was to making it good. After that Stigend used to build bakers every youthful summer he had. They were his own hide-outs, the places he could call his, where he could be on his own. But this one had a bit different proportions. It was going to be a huge baker. Stigend had to sit down and make some calculations before he was ready to start dealing instructions.

Finally he stood up and called for everyone around to come closer.

"Okay people. Let's begin with this ridgepole for it's the toughest one." He glanced at the huge log that lay on the grass. "The rest should be quite easy."

He turned to Garstan and Harreld. "How's your climbing?"

Harreld nodded but Garstan seemed a bit insecure. "I'm not a squirrel but... I'll make it."

Stigend gave his friend a short laugh even if he was a bit worried. Fitting a ridgepole of this size high up there was no laughing matter and Stigend knew it. Suddenly he saw Léof and Lys walking past them.

"Léof!" he called him. "Do you climb?"

Léof stopped and turned. "I do, why?"

"Could the lines wait yet a few moments? We'd need someone to take the third tree. And we need confident climbers..."

Léof glanced at Lys. They nodded to each other and came forwards.

"Good. Garstan you should be the overseer down here. That's okay to you?"

"That is fine." Garstan looked openly relieved.

Then Stigend turned towards the two boys standing idly around. "Garmund and Cnebba! You should take the first round though. Take three of the longest ropes, one to each of us and also one shorter for me as well."

As the boys went on picking the ropes Stigend told the others what they would do. "Garmund and Cnebba will take those two where we can use the locks of the lowest branches and will carry the rope over them. I'll take that one where we need to let the pole hang on a rope. Meanwhile you should tie the ridgepole to the loose ends of the ropes we're carrying up so that when the kids are back down here you can pull the pole up. When it's high enough tie the ends somewhere and then you Harreld and Léof should both climb your own trees. We'll fit the pole to it's place up there. Any questions?"

[littlemanpoet]

It was useful being half the size of all these Big Folk, and twice as quiet into the bargain when he chose to be. It was easy to ignore hobbits, especially when they wanted to be ignored.

Falco had put away his pipe and kept out of the way. Once everybody was set to some sort of work or another, none had thought for him, especially with that silly Javan around to draw everyone's attention away.

Hobbits are good climbers as a rule, but this was heavy work these Big Folk were doing up in the trees, and it would have been more than he could manage with his small size.

So he strolled nonchalantly out to the front of the land, this place called Scarburg, and had a look-see. It was quiet. The breeze was mild, blowing from the west across the land. If land you could call it. It reminded Falco of the part of the Shire just west of the Brandywine, the land all swampy and the roads built high so they wouldn't get flooded. Except this land was swampy without the roads being high, and Falco bet that they did get flooded when there was enough rain. Then again, was there enough rain? It seemed a dicey place to try to make a go of farming and what not. He started down the lane with an eye to scouting the perimeter. He would have to be extra careful when he came to where Thornden was chopping down that sappling, as Eodwine had headed that way, and Falco did not want to be seen. Not right now.

[Folwren]

Thornden stayed his axe and looked up. The eorl’s voice was at first almost unrecognizable. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” Thornden turned and rested the axe head on the ground, waiting until the man running towards him came fully into view.

“My lord?” he said, not quite sure of it.

“Thornden,” Eodwine said, slowing his pace and walking forward. “Please don’t chop down any more of these trees. Look around you - there are so few here abouts. I want all the rest of these to stay where they are.”

Thornden looked at him, still confused, and feeling slightly exasperated. Eodwine was acting very oddly today and now his order made no sense. “What do you want me to do, then?” he asked finally. “What would you have us build with? Dead sticks?”

[littlemanpoet]

"With stones. The Scar is filled with stones, large and small. I fear we have no stone hewer by trade, and it would help if we did, but I want the new Hall to be made of stone. We can cut our wood from out of the swamps. I know it will be harder, but I would not have this land be more desolate than it already is."

Thornden looked at him questioningly, almost as if he was not certain his lord was in his right mind.

Eodwine heaved a frustrated sigh. "This is not something I have dreamed up in the last hour. I have given thought to this much since the King first commanded me to come here."

[Folwren]

Thornden was sorry and a little ashamed of his shortness with Eodwine. He finally looked down, away from the eorl’s face and stepped back, relaxing his posture slightly. But he still didn’t know what to say.

“I suppose,” he said slowly, “if you have thought of it for so long, then you must have some plans for how it is to be carried out.” He personally could not see it, though – not with the people they had. To build a house of stone would take masons, men who knew how to carve the rock and lay it. “But we will think on that later. I am cutting this for what Stigend is building now, my lord. To house us until your hall is built. You will forgive me this tree, at least?”

He knew Eodwine would, but in the back of his mind, he was wondering what he would tell Stigend and Garstan when he returned to tell them that he could only get this one tree. Would it be enough? What else would they use for beams across the roof? Would this and the main ridgepole be enough? Well, they would decide. Thornden knew little about building and he was there merely to be told what to do and to put his hands to use when he could.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine

"You will forgive me this tree, at least?”

Eodwine smiled. "I have done so already. I will lend a hand with the carrying, if you wish."

Falco

Falco had overheard the conversation, and now moved on. Once beyond their hearing, he spoke aloud but quietly to himself.

"A house of stone, he wants, not of wood. Better to burrow underground, needing neither stone nor wood overmuch, just good solid earth; but the earth is not solid hereabouts, and I suppose it would not take much digging before one came to soggy ground."

Falco continued walking along the borders of the land, as well as he could make them out.

Rowenna

Rowenna kept busy with Frodides, Kara, Modtryth and Ginna now that the responsibility for Javan had been taken from her. She was very pleased to have received the lord's praise, and her eyes followed him as he walked hither and thither across the grounds. He was turning out to be a more interesting man than she had perhaps credited him with.

She wondered what had been the matter before, when Stigend had brought news of the charred bodies in the ruin? It was as if he had been lost in an evil memory. Had he said that it was something to do with the War? She had been a mere child, running around the farm, missing her pa, who had also been at the War but had returned. She had heard stories, many stories, of the heroic deeds of King Éomer and Lady Éowyn, and of King Elessar and the Wizard Gandalf, now gone over Sea, they said, and of Holbytla, four in number, one of whom had saved them all from the Dark Lord. Rowenna's mind strayed to Falco Boffin, and she found it hard to believe that such a small, silly creature could do such a deed. She wanted to know more about it, especially from Lord Eodwine. He was like her father, but also unlike, and she found him interesting.

There he was, talking to Thornden yonder by the tree he was cutting down. Did he notice her at all? Or did he not think of her unless she did something to draw his notice? She had started to wonder what it might be like to be the Lady of the House of Eodwine.

Harreld Smith

Harreld didn't like heights, but he was not about to seem weak in front of these others; not in front of Ginna, whether she cared for him or not. He kept a vice-grip on the rope for which he was responsible, hanging on to a tree limb with his other hand, trying to wrap his legs against the chafing trunk of the tree. He tried not to look down, and was very ready for this part of the baker building to be over.

[Folwren]

“I will lend a hand with carrying, if you wish,” Eodwine offered.

“Certainly, my lord,” Thornden said. “Thanks. Let me trim away some of the extra branches and leaves that we won’t need and the task will be easier.” He bent again to work, taking off smaller branches and useless twigs and things which would cause discomfort and provide no use. He wanted to ask Eodwine about why he had acted so strangely about the bodies in the ruins. He wanted to ask him how he intended to build a house of stone. He wanted to ask him other things, too, but he kept quiet as he worked. He wished above all else not to encroach upon Eodwine and his personal thoughts and feelings.

“There,” he said finally, standing up. He slipped the axe into his belt. “I think we can drag it now.” He went to where the lowest branches forked away from the trunk and he took one in his hand and lifted up. Eodwine positioned himself directly opposite Thornden and they started off.

The task proved easier than Thornden expected. They progressed quickly out of the belt of trees and across the clearing towards the burned house and the people working about. They passed nearby Javan, tied to his trees. Once more, the brother’s caught eachother’s eye. Thornden turned to Eodwine.

“How long are you going to keep him tied up? Javan, that is.”

[littlemanpoet]

"How long are you going to keep him tied up? Javan, that is."

Eodwine glanced at Thornden to see what expression could be read in his face: he was giving away nothing. But Eodwine understood brotherly concern. The tree trunk dragged between them, not even cutting a ditch in the hard, rocky ground.

"I will talk to him at sundown, after the others have eaten. He needs, I deem, an empty stomach to help his thinking. If he sees sense, and swears to do what he is told, then I will see about untying him.

"Do you wish to be involved in the talk?"

The sound of the tree trunk, and their footsteps, was the only sound for a moment.

[Folwren]

Thornden dragged his burden along in silence for a moment, his eyes skimming along the ground ahead. He wanted to, yes, but on the other hand, he did not. He did not think that it would be entirely appropriate.

“No,” he finally answered. “In such a case as this, the fact that I am his brother should be entirely disregarded.” He felt Eodwine looking at him. “My lord, if he were anyone else, I do not think I would want to, or that I would seek to interfere on his behalf. And I won’t allow myself to act so, simply because he is my brother. He has acted badly.” He glanced up and met Eodwine’s eyes briefly. “Very badly.”

They trudged on again without saying anything. Thornden wanted to ask him if Eodwine thought he would really take anything Javan swore seriously – if he believed that Javan would actually hold to his word - but they were drawing too close to Stigend and Garstan to ask such a question.

[littlemanpoet]

Well that hadn't turned into much. Falco had an urge to assuage his disappointment by having a good smoke on his pipe, but decided that would give him away, so he just continued moving through the brush beneath the line of trees.

He came to marshland, which stretched out before him from the Scar to his left, and to right as far as he could see. What a miserable stretch of land! Behind him and to his right lay the land of the neighbor whom they did not yet know. It was well tilled and therefore seemed prosperous enough, raised a foot or so, and sloping gently up toward the center of the holding where the landholder's home and outbuildings were located.

Falco considered following the border of the neighbor's land, but decided to wait on that until another day. He turned left and discovered a low and somewhat ruined stone wall. It was built of many large stones, uncut and rough; in many places at one or more stones had fallen and lay derelict in the mud of the marsh or as loose rubble just inside the land Eodwine now called his. The stone wall stretched all the way to the Scar, and Falco followed it that far.

The Scar itself was apparently not one ridge of rough and stony hill, but three separate ridges with rough brambly valleys between each one. Not a nice place at all! Falco wondered how it had gotten there, and thought back to a talk he had had with Mayor Samwise Gardener, who had explained to him that Mister Frodo had it from the Elves that a Dark Lord from many ages past had marred all that had been wrought by the Valar; whatever they were, some kind of creatures who were good folk and could put earth and sky and tree and water where they wished. Falco decided that he would not want to meet up with such folk; surely the would be bigger trouble than any Man he had ever met, no matter how 'good'.

He scrabbled up the first low rise, stones and brambles creating a maze every step of the way. He worked his way back down the uneven ground to the stony and uncomely valley beyond, and saw footprints that appeared to be recent. Falco's curiosity was piqued right away. Who could this be? Was it friend or enemy of Eodwine's House? Was it a thief or robber? He followed the footprints, going more quietly and cautiously than ever.

[littlemanpoet]

At long last, the sun was setting. Much had been accomplished. The "baker" was set up and Frodides and her helpers had started preparing a big repast to make up for a cold and sparse luncheon. Eodwine had ordered that two kegs be readied and that folk be encouraged to consider this supper their celebration, for after the baker had been completed and the animals situated to Léofric's satisfaction, two big tents had been erected, one for the women and one for the men with a promise from Eodwine to Stigend and Modtryth that families would be set up with their own tents on the morrow. The only other project Eodwine could think of that could not be delayed past the morrow was to set up Harreld with a temporary smithy. He talked with Harreld about what would be satisfactory for the next couple of days while they worked on a real smithy, and having gotten a good idea from him and an idea how to accomplish it, Eodwine felt that all was about as good as he could hope before sundown. But one thing remained to be done: Javan.

He walked slowly over to where the boy sat, looking sulky and as if he was feeling very sorry for himself. The ropes had been left with enough slack in them so that Javan could pick up a jar of water and drink from it, so he was not thirsty. But he had watched all the others eat while he did not. Eodwine came to a stop and stood before him.

"Javan, can you tell me the wrong that you did?"

Javan looked at him. The angry fire had died hours ago, but hot coals still remained, smoldering. He shook his head. "Not until my lord tells me the wrong that you did."

The boy's response felt like a kick in the face. Eodwine was unable to control a momentary flinch and scowl, but quickly brought his face back to calmness. He crossed his arms in front of him involuntarily. The boy's insolence was astounding. This was going to be a hard battle of wills. Eodwine was tempted to answer him abruptly with a punishment of all night on the ropes to think on his foolishness, and call it done, but held himself from it. Then he thought of the best response he could make.

"You are not in a position to bargain, Javan. As your Eorl and lord of the house you are given to, I may do with you what I deem best. Take thought and answer again, only this time with care."

Javan looked back down away from Eodwine's face. He considered for a long pause, and then he shook his head again. "I don't understand why I should be treated so when the first fault lies with you. I do not mean to be rude, sir, and I am not bargaining, but I am being treated and punished unfairly."

The boy was being serious! Very well. "Tell me what you think would be appropriate punishment for a boy who has proven that he cannot be trusted when out of sight because he burned down my stables and owes me one hundred days of labor, and who knows he is to do as he is told and stay where he can be seen, yet runs away at his first chance?"

Javan felt a slow heat spread up his neck and into his face. He answered with clipped tones. "I would not have gone if you had not so humiliated me by saying before all the others that 'Rowenna, you can take Javan-'" his voice altered slightly, bordering very, very near mockery, to make the quotation "- after naming all the jobs that had to be done. Besides," he grumbled, "you wanted the place explored."

The boy was making poor excuses and needed to be caught out on his own thinking every bit as much as on his misdeeds. "Think less on how you look to others and more on how your misdeeds hurt or harm others." If his words did not sink in with the boy now, and Eodwine was not sure they did, then he would have to speak more plainly yet. "Your duty is to do no more and no less than you are told, to your face. Javan, will you do your duty?"

Another long pause followed. Javan's eyes and face drooped farther until he was looking at the ground just before the eorl's boots. He thought of Leof and how he had been hurt when the stables burned. Slowly, Javan nodded his head. "Yes, lord. I will do my duty. But..." he looked up slowly. Eodwine waited. "Will you be fair to me?"

Just a little while longer, Eodwine, he schooled himself. "You did not answer my earlier question, and I cannot answer your new question until you do. So, again, what would be fair punishment for a boy who has proven that he cannot be trusted when out of sight and who knows he is to do as he is told and stay where he can be seen, yet runs away at his first chance? Answer straightly now."

Javan squirmed slightly, uncomfortable with the question. He wanted to say 'I don't know', but he somehow knew Eodwine would not allow that. His mind cast about for different answers. Almost unwittingly, he thought back on home. He shot a swift glance towards Eodwine. Why must there be any punishment just now? What he wanted was to be let off, but that's not what the eorl had asked.

"At home," Javan began quietly, and then stopped. He shifted on the ground again. "At home, if I disobeyed or ran off instead of doing the chores, father would thrash me," he mumbled. "But you've already punished me!"

His father's punishment did not work, thought Eodwine, for punishment wrought in anger heaps a double revenge back on the punisher. Eodwine had thought the boy spoiled for lack of punishment, but here it turned out that it was for foolish punishment. "I will not and would not thrash you or anyone. I do not punish in anger but toward an end. In your case, one end has been to relieve my men and women from having to run after you again and again. Had I a room to lock you in, I would have done so. Another end has been to get you alone and still long enough in body to make you think. I have also seen fit to make you hungry, which is little pain though no joy, I know. I made you hungry to help you think carefully, for if you still answer poorly, hunger will stay with you.

"So now you know my ends in how I have punished you. Do you still think them unfair? And if so, I ask you yet again what punishment deserving of your misdeeds would suit it better? Or has your punishment been meet?"

Javan did think carefully, for he was very hungry and the thought of going without any supper at all worried him. Besides that, Eodwine's reasoning seemed perfectly solid, there were no holes or cracks to squeaze through and escape. He wanted to think of something, an excuse, a delay, something that proved him not quite so guilty as Eodwine thought. But he reconsidered everything that had just been said and came out with nothing.

Finally, feeling himself defeated and being half resentful therefore, he answered. "No, sir. The punishment was not unfair." Further words lingered on his tongue - 'But you should not have allowed Rowenna to treat me so' or 'But you might have not done it in front of everybody' - and only a twinge from his empty stomach stopped them.

The boy's words were the right ones, but said sullenly, which belied that he thought differently than he spoke, in some unknown way. Eodwine knew that his goal was to conquer the boy's insolence into submission, and the temptation was to allow him to save face; but there was a better goal, which was not only to get the boy to see what was right, but to convince him to want to do what was right.

"I will see that you have supper. You will stay here, though. We are not finished with this." Eodwine walked away toward the makeshift kitchen.

[littlemanpoet]

When Eodwine arrived at the kitchen, he ordered Kara to give Javan something he could eat in his current predicament. Given her nod and "yes lord", he moved on to where the others sat at supper. Falco appeared to be the center of attention, especially of the children. Where had the hobbit been all day? He couldn't remember seeing him anywhere all afternoon. Eodwine began to listen to see if the hobbit would provide an answer himself.

"I got as far as the Scar off northeast away, and there I found tracks, so I followed 'em."

"What kind of tracks were they, Master Falco?" asked Cnebba, full of interest.

"They was human tracks, booted no less."

"Did you find who it was that made them?" asked Garmund.

"Maybe I did an' maybe I didn't," the hobbit answered with a grin, and would say no more, but busied himself with his ham hock, black bread, and ale.

[Folwren]

Thornden saw Eodwine return from speaking with Javan and immediately moved nearer him. When he heard Eodwine’s order to Kara, he waited until the eorl had passed on to listen to Falco and then he went after Kara.

“Can I take it to him?” he asked her as she cut some bread and laid it on a trencher. She looked up over her shoulder at him.

“I didn’t know you had followed me,” she said. She turned back to the food. “You would know better than I if you could take it. Let me cut some ham for him first, so that he can eat it…” She picked up a knife as she spoke and carved generous slices off for him. Then she rose and handed the plate to Thornden.

“Thank you,” he said.

The distance from the baker to where Javan was bound was several yards. Thornden had many seconds to study his brother as he approached, and Javan had just as much time to scowl back at him.

“Here is your supper,” Thornden said, setting it down within reach of Javan’s hands.

“Thanks,” Javan muttered.

Thornden expected the boy to act starved and set swiftly into the meal, but Javan did not seem in a hurry and he picked up the meat and began to eat at a regular pace.

“Aren’t you terribly hungry?” Thornden asked.

“Yes. Or, I was,” Javan replied. “But lord Eodwine is going to come back when I’m through and talk to me again.”

“That is not such a bad thing, is it?” Thornden asked. “He hasn’t yelled at you, nor done anything worse than tie you up, and done it so you can be somewhat comfortable. He could have been harder.” Javan did not answer. Thornden sighed and sat down in front of him and waited.

After a minute of silence, beside the noise of chewing, Javan glanced up. “Can’t you untie me, so I can eat properly?” Thornden shook his head. “You people are ridiculous.”

“Your own foolish childishness got you here.” Javan gave him a black look. “I was ashamed of being your brother today,” Thornden told him.

“And I was not happy to be yours!” Javan burst out. “You didn’t say a word! Didn’t stand up for me at all! I could just as well have been a complete stranger, for all you did about it!”

Thornden got up. “I am not going to interfere with Eodwine’s orders on your behalf. Not when you so obviously deserve it. I hope lord Eodwine knows what he’s doing when he comes back and talks with you again. You obviously haven’t learned any lesson from this.”

“And you’re scolding me does teach me something,” Javan said bitterly.

“I don’t know what will teach you anything,” Thornden replied, his voice quieter this time. “I just hope something will.” He turned and walked away.

[piosenniel]

This thread is now open for play.

All players need to familiarize themselves with the Scarburg Meadhall Discussion Thread (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=14744).

Please get the Abbreviated Character Bio form shown there done for your characters and posted to that thread in a timely manner.

Any NEW players to this continuation of The Eorling Mead Hall game must post their character bio(s) on the Scarburg Discussion Thread prior to posting to this game.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio

will remove this once every one has posted to the game.....

[littlemanpoet]

Having finished his supper, Eodwine walked over to Javan again. The boy looked none the happier for having eaten, but Eodwine did not expect more.

"Did you get food?"

Javan nodded. "Yes. Thornden brought some for me. Are you going to untie me now? He said he could not, I guess you hadn't told him to."

"Not yet. There is still something that has not been dealt with between you and me." Eodwine looked for a comfortable place to sit, but decided that being at eye level with the lad would not be wise at the moment; seeing no rock or branch close by big enough to hold his weight, he remained standing. "You are too full of how you appear before others. Why is that?"

Javan wondered what the eorl was driving at. What did this have anything to do with it? What did he want? Why did he have to stay tied? In the time that it took to ask these questions in his head, he remained in what probably appeared to Eodwine to be obstinate silence. His answer confirmed the assumption. "I don't know what you mean," he said. He saw Eodwine draw a breath and open his mouth, probably to explain more clearly, as quietly and gently as he always did. "I mean," Javan pressed on a little more loudly, "I don't know what you intend me to do - be happy with humiliation?"

"No. I intend to teach you not to get yourself into scrapes that bring about your own humiliation. The problem with you, Javan, is that you think first of yourself, whether to bring yourself pleasure, or to avoid pain and humiliation. You need to stop thinking first of yourself, and start thinking first of others. What if you had thought of others' needs before your own desires when you went running off this morning?"

Javan felt frustrated, and stubborn. He still did not understand how his behavior earlier had harmed anyone. He knew that burning the stables had been wrong, even if it was an accident, and he understood the consequences for that, but this had not hurt anyone, it would never have hurt anyone, and if anything, it would only have freed one person of having to keep an eye on him. He therefore kept his mouth shut - more than shut, he clenched his jaw - and he kept his eyes fixed steadily on the ground in front of him.

Javan was saying nothing. Eodwine was ready for this. "Javan, you must answer or you must remain here for the night. Make your choice."

"You can't leave me tied up all night!" Javan blurted out without thinking, alarmed at the threat. Javan stopped, recoiled and tried to recover his calm. "I mean, I don't know how to answer! Running off wouldn't have caused anyone any harm or inconvenience! Honest, it wouldn't've!"

"Think, Javan! Did not Rowenna have to chase you? She was inconvenienced. Everyone who has been charged to look after you has been inconvenienced. Having to look after an irresponsible boy because he cannot be trusted to look after himself is an inconvenience. Begin to show some responsibility and you will no longer be an inconvenience to others. Do you understand, Javan? Think carefully before you answer, for I most certainly can and will leave you tied up all night if I think it will do you good."

Javan shrank back into himself further. Eodwine meant all that he said entirely, and Javan had no reason in the world to doubt it now. His words were piercing and humbling and Javan hung his head in shame.

When Eodwine was done, Javan answered quietly, almost too quietly to be heard. "Yes, sir," was all he said.

Eodwine got down on his left knee, his right elbow resting on his raised right knee. He brought new intensity to his voice, not with the hard will with which he had been speaking, but with hope in his tone. "Very well. You have a choice now, Javan, whether to become a man or forever be a boy no matter how many years you live. To become a man is to be good for your word, to be the first one to question your own behavior, to seek to do right by all, and thereby to do right by yourself. It is to be a man of honor, an Eorling, like your brother. Like the King in Meduseld. Or-" Eodwine paused for effect. "-or you could choose to remain one who must be looked after and not trusted. Would you rather be a mounted knight of the Eored, or a mere vagabond?"

Of course the answer was obvious, put in those words. "I want to be a man," Javan replied, glancing upwards briefly. "I'll try. I will try." Then doubt confronted him suddenly. "But what if I forget to think first? Like when I lit the fire or ran off? Then you will never trust me, and you will always think I am nothing better than - than a vagabond."

Eodwine smiled. "Mending one's ways takes time. I have time and so do you. I want one vow from you and one only, that you will never give up trying to become a man of honor, and in return I make this vow to you, that I will treat you as if you are my son; for I have begun to do so already. If you will so swear, so will I. Will you?"

Javan finally looked up at him and met his eyes. Although the light of day was almost gone and dim shadow covered lord Eodwine, Javan still saw the earnest gentleness in his face.

"I will swear," Javan said after a long pause.

Eodwine smiled but did not allow his expression to show too much elation. This was serious business, especially for this boy. "Very well. I will untie you. Walk with me, and you and I will swear in sooth before witnesses." Eodwine loosed the boy's bonds and stood up to wait, for the boy to shake loose his limbs and walk with him, or get up, turn tail and flee: this was the first test.

Javan first rubbed his wrists, for although the ropes had not been tied tightly, they had chaffed against his skin all day. Then he rose, wincing as his cramped muscles were stretched. Pressing his lips together in attempt to conceal the discomfort, he nodded to Eodwine, indicating he was ready to go.

Eodwine nodded. "Come, Javan, walk beside me." They walked side by side back to the others.

[Kath]

Kara smiled to see Eodwine finally untie Javan and head back towards them, with the Eorl looking happier and Javan at least less mutinous than he had earlier. Those events had only been on the periphery of her awareness for most of the day however, as helping to build a makeshift kitchen and then getting a meal ready for all the hungry people that had been labouring all day had taken most of her attention. In addition, once she and Ginna had returned from fetching what little free wood there was to find they had been given the extra duty of keeping an eye on Leodern, who was too little to climb the trees and help like the other children but was sure to get in the way and get hurt if she wasn't watched.

Surprisingly though it was Frodides who took over care of the little girl, leaving Kara and Ginna to deal with dinner. It seemed that the older cook had decided to give her two proteges a little more responsibility after their move to Scarburg, something that both girls had taken on happily though they doubted it would last once a real kitchen existed for Frodides to reign over again.

In the meantime they had taken the advantage of a distracted supervisor to have a good old gossip. It was something Frodides would likely have enjoyed, but without the usual soundproofing offered by the thick walls at the old Mead Hall there would have been no way to stop everything she said being heard by those that shouldn't hear it. As well as that, Kara wanted to talk to Ginna about a certain master Harreld, and she knew the girl trusted her to keep anything she heard quiet than she did Frodides. Ginna hadn't known the older woman as long as Kara had, and didn't yet realise that despite Frodides’ love of a good chat, she would take a confidence to the grave.

“So,” Kara started quietly, “have you thought any more about Harreld?”

Ginna gave her friend a startled look, her head then shooting to the side to check that no one else had heard.

“What do you mean?” She replied, hoping this wasn’t going where she thought it might be.

“Well, last I heard you’d given him the brush off.” Kara continued. “I thought perhaps he might be discouraged from coming here because of that and yet here he is, so I was wondering if maybe you’d said anything more to him?”

Ginna shook her head slowly, a slight frown on her face as she concentrating on her work.

“I thought … I doubted that he would come to Scarburg, I thought I had, well, it doesn’t matter.”

Now it was Kara’s turn to frown. She had thought this would be a rather light conversation, having assumed that Harreld’s appearance had been due to words between him and Ginna. She was obviously mistaken, but now wanted more information if only in order to help stop her friend looking so despondent.

“It matters if it’s upsetting you.” She said gently, hoping to draw Ginna out a bit but not wanting to push. She thought that perhaps Ginna felt that she had said enough as she didn’t reply for a long moment, but eventually she put down what she was doing, stared down at her hands and began to speak.

“It does upset me, but it’s my own fault. I led him on Kara, I … I knew how he felt and I knew that my own feelings didn’t stretch as far and yet I let him think that they did. I feel so guilty for that. I just, I was in such a new place with so many new people and it was nice to know that I, well that I had a little bit of power I suppose, and that was just cruel of me. And now I don’t know how to talk to him or even if I should because I know that I’ve hurt him and I want to make it better somehow, but I just don’t know how.”

The words came out in a jumble, she had obviously been holding all of this in for a long time, but the feelings behind them were clear. Kara was saddened to see the glint of tears in Ginna’s eyes and went to comfort her. Putting an arm around Ginna’s shoulders she pulled her friend close and stroked her hair, just as she’d have done with Leodern.

“I’m sorry.” She said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s alright.” Ginna replied, voice tight as she tried to control the desire to cry. “I think maybe I needed to talk about it. I did a horrible thing and I want so much to make it right but I’m scared that I can only make things worse.”

“You haven’t spoken to him at all since …?”

“No. I want to, but every time I imagine what I might say to him there’s just a blank. I have no idea what to do for the best so I decided to just leave it and hope that maybe with time and a new place he might forgive me. I’m not sure I deserve it but I hate that I feel scared every time we pass each other.”

“Scared?” Kara asked, surprised. “But Harreld would never harm you. He might be hurt but – ”

“No!” Ginna cried. “That’s not what I mean at all! It’s just, when you hurt someone and you know that it’s your fault you feel afraid to be near them because, well, because you’re scared that by being near them you’ll just hurt them again. Or because if you try to talk to them that might be the wrong thing for them. It’s, oh it’s impossibly to try and explain Kara, I’m sorry.”

“Oh no it’s alright, I think I understand.” Kara said, shushing Ginna gently for she had become quite agitated as she failed to find the words to explain what she meant. “Though I’m not sure I can help at all. It’s a very sticky situation, but maybe just leaving it isn’t the best idea? I know that you’re worried about how he’ll react but perhaps explaining or even just apologising to Harreld might make things easier? You’re carrying around so much guilt and he so much hurt. A conversation would be very difficult on both of you but it might help afterwards.”

“I don’t know.” Ginna replied, sounding lost. “I just don’t know how to deal with this at all, and that makes me not want to deal with it all the more. Can we just, please let’s just leave it for now? Maybe when everything is more settled here we’ll talk about it again. Until then I think I’d rather we didn’t talk about Harreld anymore.”

Kara was about to agree to that when the conversation was interrupted by a clear little voice piping up from behind them.

“Why wouldn’t you want to talk about Harreld? I think he’s lovely.”

The two girls turned to find Leodern, perched on Frodides’ hip, right behind them. Glancing around quickly Kara was relieved to find that no one else had heard the comment, indeed most people were now concentrated around Eodwine and Javan. She opened her mouth to try and distract the little girl from her line of questioning, but found herself interrupted again by Frodides who had scented gossip and was now determined to have some.

“Yes.” The older cook said, settling herself in next to Kara and Ginna. “Why ever not?”

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand moved across the rolling plains at great speed. The excitement had been building during the last few days away from Arlburg, and finally he was less then a league away from Scarburg. He was not usually this excited over these things, but the days away from his hometown had made his heart anxious to see the roofs of a town. For the first time in in two years he had known true happiness, nothing weighed him down as his horse carried him over mounds and open plains.

The thunder of the horses hooves blotted out the rattle of his possessions, slung across the horses back. He had crossed the river Snowbourne this morning and rode easy ever since, but his horse had proven restless and some of it rubbed off on him. His axe was slung on his back with a leather strap, and it gave him the feeling of a hunter just about to bear down on his prey. He clenched both of the reigns in his hands for a while before he slowly brought the horse to a stop. Just ahead of him was a great camp. Erbrand spurred his horse on, but at a much reduced pace. He dismounted his steed and led it up to the outskirt of the makeshift camp.

Erbrand cupped one hand to his mouth, "Hello in the camp!" he cried, not quite sure what do to. He looked uneasily as some of the faces peared towards him, he wondered if he had done the right thing shouting out instead of just waiting for someone to come.

[Folwren]

Javan went down beside Eodwine towards the others with mixed feelings. He really did want to do was the eorl asked, but he felt terribly embarrassed about going down and speaking to everyone. However, he did not hang back as Eodwine walked straight to the opening of the baker.

Javan stopped when Eodwine did and cast a nervous glance around. Everyone was there. Dinner had been finished long ago. Ginna and Kara were in the makeshift kitchen, apparently cleaning up after the meal. His eyes lingered silently on them a moment, envying they’re relative solitude, away from everyone else.

“Friends,” lord Eodwine said, raising his voice slightly to catch everyone’s attention. “I have something I would like to say.”

The talking ceased and all eyes turned to them. Javan swallowed slowly. An impulse told him to look down, but instead he lifted his head slightly and looked up at lord Eodwine.

But before Eodwine could say anything further, a thumping of hooves on the dry ground outside turned all of their heads and attentions away. Javan turned all the way about as a man’s voice cried out from the darkness.

“Hello, in the camp!” There was a slight pause from within the tent, and then Eodwine went out.

‘Oh, bother,’ Javan said to himself, and then changed his mind. This would at least delay the ordeal of having to stand in front of everyone and say something. Not that he did not wish to swear his promise to lord Eodwine, but he thought he would feel awkward before everyone that he knew so well.

‘But he told you,’ Javan thought, as voices around him began to murmur and speculate about the newcomer outside. ‘You need to stop worrying about what others think, and you must begin thinking about other people instead of yourself.’

[littlemanpoet]

There was a tall man on horseback, dressed as a peasant; which was odd, for peasants did not generally ride horses; that was the way of the Eorlingas, the knights of the King. So either this man had stolen his mount, or had made something of himself. Or, perhaps, he chose to dress poorer than he was. Eodwine doubted that he had stolen his mount; horse and rider seemed too used to each other.

"Hail, friend! I am Eodwine, Eorl of Middle Emnet, lord of Scarburg Meadhall, humble as it now seems no doubt. How are you called?"

[Groin Redbeard]

"Hail lord Eodwine," Erbrand said in response, holding up his hand in friendship.
"My name is Erbrand," he said walking closer. "A herald came to my city of Arlburg and told us about your plight. I have come to offer my help in rebuilding your hall in Scarburg.

"I have a strong back and I'm not afraid to work and when the Meadhall is complete I will make you such products that I can make. I can craft leather well and am renowned for it in my home town of Arlburg." Erbrand now stopped his speech and paused for a minute.

"I am sorry sir for my rambling," he said. "I know this must sound strange to you, and I will understand if you turn me down, seeing how little you know of me. I will be happy to come in the morning, or at a more fitting time to talk about such matter, if you wish."

[littlemanpoet]

"Nay," said Eodwine, "I would not ask you to sleep under the sky another night when we have at least tents here. I can tell by your speech that you are an Eorling, and if you are a leather worker, and strong, we have need of you. Welcome!"

Eodwine offered his hand to Erbrand in welcome. The man had a strong hand, as he expected. All the better.

"Come, there is much going on at the moment, and one more witness to a vow would not be amiss. It will give you a sense of how we do things here. And," he turned and smiled to Erbrand, "we have vittles to spare, for supper was put on the board not long ago."

Eodwine introduced Erbrand to the folk of his house, had Léof take care of his mount, and showed him to a table where food and ale was brought to him. Then he returned to Javan, and bent down to get close to his ear.

"Are you ready still, Javan?"

[Folwren]

Javan stood waiting for Eodwine, standing to one side to be out of the way and not in the center of everyone’s attention. He watched discreetly as Eodwine greeted and welcomed the new comer and invited him in. As soon as food had been seen to, Eodwine came back to Javan.

“Are you ready still, Javan?” Eodwine asked quietly in his ear.

Javan answered quickly, without giving himself to think about it and feel nervous again. “Yes, sir.” He didn’t tell Eodwine, but he wanted to get it done with as quickly as possible.

Once more, Eodwine asked for everyone’s attention and prepared to begin.

[littlemanpoet]

When all had quieted and turned to Eodwine, he began.

"Friends, on this first of many days in Scarburg, Javan and I will swear oaths to each other, and you are witnesses." Without hesitation he turned to Javan and said, "Javan, do you swear by your own life that you will never give up trying to become a man of honor?"

"I swear," the boy replied, his face as serious as ever any there had seen it.

"In return, I Eodwine, Eorl of the Middle Emnet, swear by my life to treat you as if you are my son until you achieve manhood."

Then he turned to those who watched. "You have heard our oaths. All who will be wardens of our oaths, say 'aye'."

One thundrous 'Aye!' was spoken by the crowd. If any refrained from it, it did not matter. The House of Eodwine was united by this vow, drawn closer as a kindred, if not by blood, then by purpose, which oft is stronger in the end. Perhaps it did not seem such a grand purpose, raising the expectations of one boy from vagabond to man of honor, but it was a good purpose nonetheless, and would be a good foundation for other purposes yet unforeseen.

Eodwine smiled. "Then let the mead horn be passed around and let us celebrate this occasion!"

Rowenna was quickest to lay hands on the mead horn, and quickly filling it, offered it first to Eodwine, her eyes shining. She said no words, but the expression on her face was one Eodwine had not seen there before, as if she had for the first time decided to twine her fortunes with his own. He was glad of it, for she had seemed cold and forbidding to all until now. She was fair to look upon, he thought, as he watched her move away to Javan who of course deserved a small sip, and then to each of the others standing near.

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand shook the Eodwine's hand in friendship braking into a large smile, relieved at the friendship of such a mighty lord. Eodwine then led him into camp with some talk about a vow being taken by someone, but what he said about supper sounded more interesting to Erbrand. He had not eaten since breakfast.

Eodwine led him around to shake the hands of his household. Most of them were friendly and had smiles on their faces save for a nervous looking boy in the center of all the attention. He was shorter and much younger than Erbrand; he stood around four feet tall with scruffy brown looking hair, just what Erbrand had looked like when he was a boy.

Erbrand’s horse was then taken from him and food, along with drink, was brought to him at a table. After thanking the lady who had brought the food to him, in a quiet manner, he chewed slowly at the delicious meal, trying not to attract attention, but everyone’s gaze was soon focused on the small boy that he had just met. In a minute Eodwine and the young boy, whose name was Javen, swore oaths to each other. Erbrand smiled and clapped gladly when everyone cheered, glad to have arrived at a moment of such a joyous occasion.

[Thinlómien]

When the women of the house had served food to all, Modtryth managed to find her husband at last. If he had only been talking with Garstan, she would probably would have exploded right away, but seeing the ostler Léof and the smith Harreld in their company, she restrained herself. She greeted the other men politely, then turned to her husband.

"Stigend", she said firmly, "we will talk before nightfall. And this time I'll make sure we'll talk it through properly." Whether his answer would be a protest or an agreement, she did not want to know, but hurried away in the next instant. If he had answered the wrong way, she would not have managed to keep her usual calm.

She was furious with him. The man had obviously no sense at all. She had seen how high he had made Cnebba climb, and of course the boy had been eager to do it. Anything could have happened. And all this only because he has some unsolved issues with himself, she thought darkly, I will...

"Modtryth?" Kara asked. Modtryth had almost run into the young cook. She smiled. "Oh sorry, I was too deep in thought", she replied hastily. Kara returned the smile and did not ask anything. The two women made their way near the makeshift kitchen where the other women were having their meal. The children were also there, eating and chatting. Modtryth cast a long glance to her son, who only returned a half-annoyed smile.

"Modtryth! We were just talking about the leather-worker from Aldburg. What do you think of him?" Frodides asked in greeting.
"I have barely seen him yet. I did not notice anything special", she replied. Then she smiled. "Is there something odd about him that I should have noticed? Or were you merely gossiping?" she asked, looking at all the women assembled there.

[littlemanpoet]

Evening
Supper had been finished and many hands made light work of dirty plates and ale cups, which pleased Frodides as much as it frustrated her to have so many folk underfoot.

With the passing of the sun, most folk were tired enough to ready themselves for a night of well earned rest. But Eodwine and Falco went for a stroll around the rim of Scarburg. The crescent moon shown clear in the night sky, giving off dim light, creating faint shadows here and there.

"This is where I stopped and listened to you and Thornden going on about the tree," said Falco.

"Never heard you."

"Of course not," Falco replied matter of factly.

They moved on, not talking. Falco puffed his pipe while Eodwine was left with his own thoughts. For now he was not interested in thinking much, but looking about and seeing how things looked at night compared to day. They came to the scar.

"It was just after I turned the corner here that I saw those boot prints."

"I would take a look but we've no light. But tomorrow."

They walked farther, leaving the lower land, almost swampy, rising to sand and rock; poor soil for farming.

"Eodwine," Falco broached between puffs, "as you know, I've threatened to go back to the Shire before." He puffed some more on his long stemmed pipe.

"Yes?"

"It's time I was going is all."

Eodwine nodded. He had been sensing a pensiveness in the hobbit, who was more given to idle chatter. It seemed a done thing.

"You will be missed."

"Aye, an' I'll miss the lot of you Big Folk. Almost as much as you'll miss me." Falco grinned.

Eodwine laughed. "No doubt."

"Well, I just wanted you to know. I think I'll turn in now."

"As you will," Eodwine said. "I will walk a bit farther before I find sleep this night."

He stopped to watch the hobbit stroll away, past the ruins, and around to their makeshift camp.

The ruins. Bones. A woman and child. Before he was aware of it, Eodwine's feet began to take him there.

He was quiet as he walked in the midst of the rack and ruin. Though the others had turned in, there was still much sound of talk and bed-setting noises coming from the camp; they did not hear.

He found them, two skulls shining dully in the moonlight, . He knelt down by them and thought of another time and place when he had also knelt, finding three skulls. What man had need of seeing the naked skulls of his own wife and children? The passing years did not stanch such pain. Tears came to his eyes and his belly ached with it. Who were these two, he wondered? Who had done this ill deed to them? Had they even known they were here? What had these two been doing here?

A footstep. He looked up suddenly. The woman's ghost! No, it was Rowenna. Eodwine rose to his feet.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was hoarse.

"I - I saw you, lord and -" She said nothing for a moment. "I thought to see if anything was amiss. I am sorry, I should not have disturbed you." She turned suddenly to leave.

"You need not go."

She turned and faced him again, her hands folded at her waist, fidgeting. "You came to see the corpses?"

"Aye."

"May I see?" Her voice quavered.

"Surely you do not wish to-"

"It is like my father's house after the brigands destroyed it."

Eodwine's breath caught. This young woman had lived through the same tragedy as had he. He lifted a hand to her.

"Yes. Come."

[Lhunardawen]

The work of cleaning up after supper had been finished faster than Ginna and the other women normally managed back in the kitchen of the Mead Hall. Perhaps it was the unfamiliarity of their surroundings that spurned them on, not wanting to spend more time than necessary in the relative inconvenience of their makeshift kitchen. Or perhaps they were all eager for the rest they deserved after a busy day. Whatever the reason was, Ginna was simply glad that she had more time to herself.

Kara was preparing for bed when she noticed Ginna was still up, seemingly in no mood to sleep. She understood, Ginna guessed, that I'm still thinking about what we talked about a while ago. And she smiled inwardly at the concern Kara conveyed through her eyes.

"Do you want to take a walk outside? I'll come with you," Kara offered.

Ginna shook her head. "You're tired. And I won't be long." She quietly crept out of their temporary lodging, careful not to wake those who were already asleep.

Most of the household had turned in for the night. The first few stars had started to appear in the clear dark sky, and a light breeze blew. Ginna wrapped her arms about herself. She walked slowly, silently, taking no stock of her surroundings, preoccupied with her thoughts. Kara had meant well, but contrary to what they both thought, that Ginna needed to talk, it seemed to only aggravate her guilt and shame. Now that she had confessed her wrongs out loud, she realised even more how selfishly she had acted. And Harreld did not deserve any of that. She should have been honest to him, and to herself, from the start.

She had not talked to him for a couple of weeks now, and she missed him terribly. He wondered if he would ever speak to her again - didn't Kara say a conversation would help? She could swallow her shame if only it meant she and Harreld could go back to how they used to be, as friends. It would neither be easy nor instant, she knew, but it was a journey worth taking.

And suddenly she could not suppress a laugh. Ginna, Ginna, you're turning soft. Before she was given to Eodwine's keeping she would not even think back on hurting a man when she got all she wanted from him. Why the sudden change? Did her father actually succeed in his aim for sending her away? Her father, it was all her father's fault. If he had not been so distant, if he had not kept pushing her away when she needed him . . .

All this time Ginna had let her tears flow freely, but at the thought of her father her very eyes seemed to dry up. She looked angrily at her surroundings, as though each rock bore his proud face. Then her anger turned to uncertainty. And then to fear. That was one downside of growing up an only child, sheltered and protected - she could never be allowed to wander alone. She had absolutely no idea where she was, and how she was to go back.

[Eönwë]

Dan carried on walking. It had been two weeks now, since he had slept in a proper bed. He had no mount to speed up his journey, as Drúadain (or Drughu, as they called themselves) were not riders. For one thing, they were completely the wrong shape to ride anything but ponies, which more often than not could not bear their surprisingly large weight.

He had been walking through the wide open plains and navigating through marshland for many days now, and it had unsettled him at first. It was not that Drughu were agorophobic (in the way of open spaces) by nature, but that he was not used to a place with so little trees. He missed the dense forests, full of life, bursting with colours and sounds. The early sea breeze rustling through the tops of the trees and bringing that salty smell to the sharp noses of the Drughu. Now there were the rolling hills in one direction, and festering marshland in the other. But he had grown used to this monotonous grass, and the rare simbelmynë, a stark white speck of light in the green background.

He remembered what his old uncle had told him as he had prepared to leave, "Find Eodwine. He has only become an Eorl recently, and wil be glad of what assistance we can grant him." He looked forward to meeting this Eodwine, and had heard of his kindness, so he was not worried at all when he crossed over the border into the Middle Emnet. He had reached the Mead Hall, when he was told that Eodwine and his group of followers had moved to Scarburg. And now he was there, and the plains before him were lit by a crescent moon, giving them a pallid glow. And now he looked through the few trees he had passed to behold Sacrburg in its full glory... and stopped. Instead of the cheerful abode, lit in the night for the weary traveller, he saw that the whole hall had been burned to the ground. It looked like the work of Dunlendings to him. That evil race of Men that had fallen into the submission of Saruman. He was distraught. Where was Eodwine now? Had he perished in the burning? But as he looked closer he saw a baker built nearbly. He breathed a sigh of relief.

He walked towards it happily, but just out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of white amidst the trees. His curiosity got the better of him. He ran towards it, and he saw a girl, crying. He went closer and realised that it was actually a young blonde-haired woman, and she looked like she had just finished crying. He came up to her to comfort her, or at least find out why she was so far away from anyone else.

[Groin Redbeard]

The festivity’s eventually died down and Erbrand was led away to his tent. However before he lay down to sleep he went to check on his horse, Traveler. After he bade Traveler to rest, he picked up his possessions, two large saddle bags, from a man called Léof.

Erbrand took them back to his tent and withdrew his sleeping roll. He leaned against the pole of his tent and looked up at the sky, it was filled with stars and they shone bright. Today had seemed like a dream to him, lord Eodwine was a strong man and Erbrand had not expected him to be so accepting of a mere stranger. He smiled as he remembered the smile of the lord’s face.

The noise of crickets and frogs were loud in his ears and he gazed at the marsh behind him. Not exactly ideal, but still, he reckoned he could get quite a few stoat pelts from there. His stared again at the stars above him and then his eyes shifted to the wide open plain ahead of him; presently his thoughts traveled back to his home of Aldburg.

Aldburg was a large city in south Rohan, near the roots of the Whit Mountains; there Erbrand dwelt with his mother and father all of his life. However, it never felt like home, not since his beloved friend died on the outskirts of the Firien Woods. Being in the service of lord Eodwine was the best chance that he would have to build a home for himself.

He sighed heavily at his own thoughts and the lights dimmed in his eyes as his expression mellowed. He yawned wide, lay down on his mat, and soon was deep in sleep.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna picked her way through the rubble and reached out a hand to Eodwine's extended one. Just as she grabbed his hand she stumbled and landed against him. She was softer than he expected, and lighter. The smell of her hair got in his nostrils, and he did not mind it.

"I am sorry," she said a little breathlessly, righted herself, and let go of his hand. "Where?"

"Over there." He pointed.

She crouched down and extended a tentative hand to the woman's skull; but drew her hand back before she touched it. She balled her hands into fists and held them fast against her chest, staring at the skulls. Eodwine noted that she shed no tears for all the intensity of her expression.

"What happened that day," Eodwine asked, "the day the brigands came?"

She let out a shuddering sigh. "They waited until dusk when the chores were almost done and none of our neighbors were near to see. They came in the dark and quickly found my father and me. He they killed in cold blood but me they took. I think I was their goal, for we were not rich, having little silver or gold. Once they had me safely away they burned our homestead around the corpse of my father. Then they made me their plaything. I learned that it was their way, and I was one in a long line of young women, except for one thing. They had all died quickly. I guess I do not have it in me to wilt and die. I did what I had to, to survive."

Eodwine watched her and pitied her. The whole time she had not looked at him, staring still at the skulls; but her words had been painfully clear.

"How was it for you?"

Eodwine sat on a bit of stone and let out a deep sigh himself. She faced him now, the sickle moon lighting her face, wide eyed and open, and very serious.

"I had been in the War fighting for my lord and captain off in Gondor. When we had the vcitory, I celebrated with the other soldiers. It was weeks before I returned home. I was eager, more eager the closer I came to our farm. But when I came home, I found that home had left me. It was a burning heap, and my wife and son and daughter were reduced to bones in the fire that had blazed. I had lost everything, I had not the heart to stay and work that land. After burying their bones, I left and have never returned."

"You loved her."

"Yes I did. Very much."

"You never remarried, in fifteen years."

"That is so."

"Why not?"

"For fourteen years I preferred her memory to the company of some other woman. But when I was created Eorl of this small realm, everything changed. I need an heir to rule after me. 'Tis the way of things among our folk, as you know." She nodded. "So I need a wife."

"What do you -" Rowenna hesitated with her next question. She had been bent over, looking at the skulls, and had straightened only a little when she had faced him. Now she drew herself up and regarded him with more vigor. "My lord, what do you seek in a wife?"

"Why?" he smiled. "Would you play matchmaker?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. Then she shook her head. "No, lord! I would not ever do such a thing! 'Tis not in me!" She looked away at the skulls and up at him again. "I have been watching you, lord, since I came among your folk. You are unlike any man I have known, except maybe my father-"

Eodwine chuckled. "You are saying I'm the only man you've known, old enough to be your father?"

"No! No! You make light of me." She frowned. "I should not have said so much. I should leave."

She got up suddenly to go. Eodwine did not want her to leave.

"No, stay. I am sorry. Please say what you wish, I will not make light of it."

She stared at him. "Do you mean it?"

"Of course."

The intensity in her face heightened. "You are a better man, lord, than any other I have known. I would not settle for a mate who was any less than you."

Eodwine suddenly understood; or thought he did. But she was so young! He could be her father. He coughed self-consciously.

"You honor me greatly, Rowenna. Thank you. I - I hope you find such a one."

She stared at him as if stung. Then she turned away suddenly.

"I must go. Good night."

She left quickly. Eodwine watched her go back to the women's tent. He thought her very pretty, and perhaps desirable. But her way had been so direct, so clumsy. It was as if she did not know herself well. Her emotions had seemed at odds with her words at times. Most interesting. Most interesting indeed. With much shaping, he considered, perhaps she could make a good wife.

[Lhunardawen]

From the corner of her eye Ginna noticed a man approaching. She could see that he was short, much shorter than she was, but of strong build. At that distance she could not properly see his face, much less discern if he brought help or harm.

Her first immediate thought recalled memories of Ritun and Lefun. Frightening they seemed at first, but they proved to be kind and gentle. But a mere couple of weeks ago, had she not almost been killed in the hands of strangers? Such an experience was not only difficult, nay, impossible to forget, but it also taught one to be more careful.

Ginna was torn. She wanted to trust the stranger, but could she trust enough to put her life at risk, especially in these unfamiliar lands?

The strange man was coming closer. Ginna felt her whole body tense. She took a deep breath. And then as casually as she could manage, she ran off, unknowingly taking herself farther from the others.

[Eönwë]

The young woman ran. Dan was surprised. He wondered why she hadn't even waited to introduce herself.
"Wait!" he called, "Don't go!"
But it was too late, she was gone. But Dan was curious. IT seemed to him that she had suffered a bad experience, which made her far more cautious than a normal person would be.

But she seemed a bit lost and bewildered, and Dan, owing to his race's extremely good sense of direction, he knew that he could help her. After a quick moment of indecisiveness, he ran after her. Now, contrary to their looks, the Drughu were excellent sprinters. They might not be as good as the dwarves, but they were similarly built, and had the same strengths. But whereas the dwarves were heavy and slightly cumbersome, the Drúedain were far more agile. And anyway, even the least fit Drûg could run for hours on end. They were tireless. He used his extremely good sense of smell to find out which direction she had gone in, and then ran parallel in the silent way of his race. He overtook her and then waited just beyond a clearing, which she ran straight into. He appeared out of nowhere, right in front of her, and said to the panting woman, "Hello. I am Daghan-turi-Dan of the Drúedain of Drúwaith Iaur, and I have come to help the people of Eodwine's house. Why do you run from me as if I was a savage Dunlending? And why are you so far away from anyone else in this inhospitable country?"

[littlemanpoet]

"I hope you find such a one."

The words rang over and over in her head.

"I hope you find such a one."

She lay on her mat, her eyes wide open and stinging. No tears came. They never did. Her breathing was quick and sleep was far from her.

"I hope you find such a one."

She had as much as told him that she wished to be his wife! She winced. You little fool! she said to herself now. For once you thought that it would be good to be completely open and say all your heart; and what does he do with it? "I'm not the one for you. I hope you find such a one." Oh the bitterness of it!"

She decided that it would be the last time she was ever open like that, ever again. Never again!

He had rejected her! That was what it was. The humiliation! Her face burned and she gritted her teeth. Never again!

This was worse than being used by some careless boor of a brigand!

At first she felt ashamed of her latest thought, feeling that it was not so; but she could not bring herself to admit it to herself, and without knowing quite how, came to the defense of her own thought. It was worse because he should be better! He should have understood her more, cared for her more! Bolstered with that thought, her shame turned to wrath. She would show him. She would win him. She would study the ways of these other women and learn how to be womanly and winsome in their Eorlingish cultured way, and she would use her wiles to win him. And once she had one him, then she would rule him. Yes. That would be the way to have vengeance. She would learn to be nice and happy and bright of smile and eye.

She thought about the other women, and their ways. Sleep remained far from her as she thought and planned and rehearsed what she would do, what she would say, how she would act. It would start with the dawn. She would show him.

[Lhunardawen]

"Hello. I am Daghan-turi-Dan of the Drúedain of Drúwaith Iaur, and I have come to help the people of Eodwine's house. Why do you run from me as if I was a savage Dunlending? And why are you so far away from anyone else in this inhospitable country?"

Ginna could not speak at once. She was panting heavily, hands on knees. She had never run at such a pace for such a distance before, and not with danger (or so she imagined) in close pursuit. And now she was to hear - from a deep, guttural, far from comforting voice - that this strange man had come to help?

She felt her heartbeat slow, her breath return, and she stood straight. The man was looking up at her with concern.

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have run, I wasn't supposed to run, I thought you would mean no harm, but you see--" and suddenly tears fell from her eyes. She quickly wiped them away. He came a step closer.

"It's alright, you need not tell me if you wish not to."

Only then did Ginna fully see just how strange the man appeared. He had a wide face, deep-set black eyes, thick brows and a flat nose. His wide mouth was stretched into a reassuring smile. However unlovely he may have looked, he had already shown the kindness that lay within. She smiled back at him.

"Did you say you were looking for Eodwine?"

He nodded. "Are you from his household? Why are you so far away?"

"I could not sleep so I decided to walk around and I . . . " she looked away sheepishly, "I got lost."

"Don't worry, I can help you return. But it's some distance away." He led her out of the clearing, back towards the direction from which they came.

Ginna laughed. "I shouldn't have run," she remarked.

They walked the rest of the way without speaking. Ginna did not know what to say. Her companion, for his part, respected her silence. There were more stars in the sky than when Ginna set out - she had been away for a while. She wondered if anyone had noticed that she had gone, and if they were now looking for her. She felt a surge of guilt. They were tired enough without the task of searching for her adding to their burden.

Soon the ruins of Scarburg were in sight. To Ginna's relief, no one seemed to be up and about. She found her voice.

"Thank you . . . "

"You can call me Dan, but I do not know your name."

"Thank you, Dan. My name is Ginna."

[Thinlómien]

Everything had passed so quickly and she had had to see that Cnebba indeed went to sleep. It had been an exhausting day for the boy and she would not have him running around when she discussed his upbringing with his father. Now he was there, sleeping beside his parents. His light snoring could be heard in the silent night, as well as the voices of the crickets and the lonely owl.

"Stigend?" Modtryth whispered. "Are you still awake?"
There was a silence. "Stigend?" she asked again.
"Yes?" came the answer, at length.
Deaf old dog, she thought. "I want to have a word with you."

He seemed to recognise the tone of voice. He nodded seriously. "About what?"
"Come, let's go a bit further away. I don't want to wake the children, or anyone else."
"Of course."

They stopped when they were still close to the baker, but out of earshot if they talked in low voices. Stigend did not ask anything, he probably knew his wife well enough that he knew she would tell him what was the matter soon enough, he would not need to prompt her.

So, she asked, rather bluntly, "Why did you make Cnebba climb there? What were you thinking?"

[Eönwë]

Dan saw the ruins and felt lower in spirit than he had all day. He had never been here before, but it looked like it would have been such a nice place before its burning. He went towards the old mead hall. As got nearer, he could feel the dust and ash that was being blown by the wind. He could smell in it the fresh straw from the thatched roof, and wood, and... what was that? Human? Someone had been burned alive inside.

Dan entered the hall, a desolate shell of a place, and saw a figure stooped low over something. He went closer to take a look, and the man did not move a muscle. What the man was looking at suddenly became clear. A skeleton. He was filled with horror and dread. He looked closer at the man, and noticed by his posture and clothes that he must be important now, though it was not always so. He looked like a man that had suffered great hurt, or the loss of someone dear and was still recovering.

"Excuse me, sir," he asked, "Are you Lord Eodwine?"

The man rose. "I am." The Lord Eodwine tilted his head as if surprised in some way. "Strange it is that a stranger passes alone by our tents with so many folk and comes to this ruin to greet me, and yet I sense that you are friend rather than foe, so I greet you. How are you called?"

Dan replied as best he could, "Mīn nama is Daghan-Turi-Dan Warg-bana a ic gelaðie þē in hǣtst mec Dan," he said, trying his best to speak the Rohirric language. He had learned a bit on his travels and hoped that he had correctly said, 'My name is Daghan-Turi-Dan, but I invite you to call me Dan.' It wasn't exactly the phrase he would have used, but his knowlede of Rohirric was limited, and he wanted to make a good impression. At this Eodwine looked taken aback, and Dan assumed that this was because he had never heard a Drûg like himself talk at all, let alone in his own language. Indeed, many had thought his people a savage race, no better than the Dunlendings, or even worse. But the Dunlendings feared them, and woulld only attack them if they greatly outnumbered the Drûgs. Like in the case of my father, he thought. But he could not faulter now. He continued, but this time in Westron, "I come from Drúwaith Iaur, or what you folk call Old Púkel land, the homeland of our people. I have come, one of the last from that land, to help you rebuild your eorldom, and claim back all that your people have lost. And to ask for an alliance between our people." There he stopped, waiting for an answer from the Eorl, or at least a comment.

[littlemanpoet]

One of the Druadan! And speaking Eorling! Eodwine was startled all over again. But this Dan appeared to be as he claimed. Still, he had not answered Eodewine's question; but then again, Eodwine had spared him the need. An alliance? That would take some thought.

"Then I welcome you, Dan of the Druadan." Eodwine said. "Let us leave this ruin and find a more friendly place to talk."

Eodwine led the Druadan away from the wreckage, toward the baker where there were tables and seats.

"You speak of alliance, and I honor you for it. However, any alliance with someone outside the borders of Rohan must be made with my king, Eomer, in Edoras. We will talk of that later. For now, I say thank you for your offer to help rebuilt Scarburg. Would you like food and drink?"

With that, Eodwine found himself in conversation over a meager repast, for the Druadan did not ask for much. Presently, Eodwine yawned cavernously.

"I fear I am very weary. Would you like a place among the men to sleep?"

The Druadan demurred, preferring to sleep in the open, in a place he would choose. Eodwine bid Dan a good night and crawled onto a mat in the men's tent, and forgot about everything for a few hours.

BEGIN NEW DAY: JULY 9, YEAR 15, FOURTH AGE

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand woke up to the accidental clanging of pots and pans. He sat upright, scratched his unruly hair and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. The dew was still clinging to everything and only the faintest shred of light was coming from the eastern sky.

As Erbrand stepped out of his tent he flung his short wool cloak around his shoulders to protect him the early morning chill. The others in the camp were beginning to wake as well, he recognized a few faces from last night, mostly women who were getting utensils necessary for breakfast; he did not see the children from last night, probably still in bed at this hour. However, there was one person that he had not yet seen, he was lying a good distance away propped up against a tree. The man looked shorter than Erbrand was and younger, but more worn and weather beaten than himself. The man seemed to be awake, but it was hard to tell from that distance.

Presently Erbrand began to feel silly just standing and staring at everyone. His gaze was again drawn back to the man under the tree and their gazes locked. Seeing how rude it would be for him to simply ignore the fellow, Erbrand approached the fellow. As he drew nearer he could see that the man was not from around there, it was still hazy and dim and the shade of the tree most of the figures features from view.

"Hello sir," said Erbrand "I'm arrived last night so forgive me if I don't know your name, mine is Erbrand." he held out his hand.

The figure stirred from his position so that Erbrand could see his face. The word Dunlending sprang into his mind and already the what comfort he had in meeting him was gone, but Erbrand did not move. His hand was still held out, but his mouth and fell opend and he stood as if dazed, looking rather stupified.

[Eönwë]

"Hello, I am Daghan-Turi-Dan," said Dan, and seeig the look on his face said, "But just call me Dan, like most people do."

The man who was now known to be called Erbrand had looked at Dan strangely before. Even though he had tried to hide it, he looked nervous. It must be because he had never seen a Drúedan before. Or was it something else? Erbrand probably thought that he was a Dunlending, or something of the like, which Drûgs, to their horror, are often mistaken for. Anyway, he was determined to prove that he wasn't a mere savage.
"I am one of the Drúedain." At the blank, open mouthed look, still pasted on the man's face, he assumed that Erbrand had never heard of the Drûgs before. "We are not your enemies. We are, in fact, the ones who saved your folk as they crosssed through our forest in the War, far to the East. Many call us the Wild Men, or Goblin men, but we are far more civilised than some, bear no resemblance, whether physical or mental, to orcs whatsoever. In fact, they are our sworn enemies." Suddenly he snapped to attention.
"Ok, so that is what I am, one of the last of my race still living in ourr homelan. And what about you Erbrand? I can tell you have only ridden here in the last day or two, and what is your business in this place?"

[littlemanpoet]

When Eodwine rose and prepared himself for the day, it seemed to him that the ruin was less ominous somehow in the new day's sunlight.

As he walked about, it seemed to him that his folk (it still seemed strange to call them that) were already busy about their tasks, and seemed to be happy to be in Scarburg. That was a relief to him.

Today Falco would be leaving them, and it was important to make sure that everything went well in that regard; and Harreld's smithy would have to be built today; but there was a more pressing matter. Some unfinished business needed to be taken care of.

Eodwine found Rowenna near the baker, helping with preparations for breakfast.

"Rowenna, a word. Come with me."

She looked up, her eyes widening. Her brow furrowed. "I must tell Frodides."

"Aye. Do that. I will wait."

Rowenna nodded and went to Frodides and explained with gestures toward himself. Frodides' hands went to her hips with a look and roll of the head and set of the body's frame that said, "that man!" Then she nodded and said something brisk and not so cross, which Eodwine took to mean "hurry back when he's done with you."

Soon Rowenna had returned and watched him expectantly.

"Come with me."

Eodwine walked briskly to a point halfway between the baker of and the ruin, where not much was happening. He turned and faced her.

"Rowenna, you asked me a question that I did not answer last night." She said nothing but swallowed, her face all seriousness with not a little worry. "You asked me what I seek in a wife. I will tell you. I seek a woman who can give me an heir, will obey her lord, will rule her maids and servants with justice and mercy, will host my guests with graciousness, and above all-" he paused. "Above all, Rowenna, she must be one who cares for those of my house as if they were her very own kin. Such a woman I seek for a wife. I hope I do not seek in vain. However, I will take no less a wife than that. Are you answered?"

She looked at him and did not flinch from the way he was holding her with his eyes. "Aye, lord, I am answered."

"Good. You may return to your work."

She left him. He wondered what she would do with that news. He had meant it to be daunting. Last night she had named her ambition. Now she knew what it would take to achieve it. He wondered what to expect. Time would tell. And he hoped that she noticed that he had not named a single trait of bodily appearance.

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand was much relieved at Dan's response, he had heard of the Drúedain in his hometown of Aldburg as well as the Dunlendings, who he was taught to fear. Erbrand's face turned from fear to wonder, Dan spoke the common speech with ease, but Erbrand could still catch a slight accent in his voice.

"OK, so that is what I am, one of the last of my race still living in our homeland. And what about you Erbrand?" Dan asked, "I can tell you have only ridden here in the last day or two, and what is your business in this place?"

"I'm a leather craftsman from the town of Aldburg." he responded feeling more at ease, "I hope to work for the lord Eodwine when his hall is rebuilt, but until I can put my craft to use I will first help with rebuilding the hall." Erbrand surveyed the ruins of the building.

"Well, it was nice to meet anyhow, Dan." Erbrand said at length, "I still reckon I'll see you today, and perhaps we can talk more tonight, I have some questions to ask you about your homeland." Erbrand waved farewell and walked back towards his tent.

[Nogrod]

Stigend woke up with the first rays of sunlight reaching the canvas up above. He heard Kara and Frodides being already at work. He was once more awed by their resourcefulness and dedication to their master and the whole community. Where would the world be... where would we men be without women of that kind?

That thought brought one particular woman to his mind as he still laid down in the ground feeling Cnebba's breathing on his neck and the boy's little fingers holding his tunic. He turned carefully as not to wake up the boy and looked for his wife only to see her gone as well.

Last night she had wished to have a discussion. She had asked rather bluntly, "Why did you make Cnebba climb there? What were you thinking?"

Stigend had kind of seen that one coming. He had looked at his wife into her eyes and tried to get the thing over with as smoothly as he could. This hadn't been exactly the first time they had had this kind of discussion and Stigend knew only too well how they normally ended.

“The lad needs confidence... and practise… and I knew he could do that. Let’s not raise an issue about this… All is fine my dear.” He had settled his right hand on her shoulder and pressed it carefully giving a light smile to her.

Modtryth hadn't smiled. "Confidence maybe. But not danger. He seems capable enough to get himself in trouble - you should not put him in more danger or encourage reckeless behaviour in him."

"But he has not been running wild in the scar without our leave or done any other reckless things - like Javan." At that moment Stigend had suddenly stopped. The swearing of oaths was clear in his mind. "I mean... I wouldn't like to see Cnebba facing that kind of situation. And he has done some valuable work under his father's supervision by helping us pull up the baker. Remember he needs confidence not only of himself to what he can do but also the confidence that the others will have a higher regard on him. It's fine I told you." Stiigend still managed a smile but he was clearly more uncomfortable as he had been just a moment ago.

"I would not let my son behave like Javan has. Never." Modtryth had answered him in a most serious manner. Her tone had been firm and proud. "I know, probably better than you do, that he has the need to be respected. But is there no other way to achieve it than by making him do reckless tricks that will, in the worst case, inspire him to do it again, without his father's supervision?"

Stigend had sighed even if he had been trying to pull on a brave face. He had just felt that he was going to lose this one as well. But he had still made a brave effort. "Don't you think we're both thinking of his best? We just see what is reckless differently? I thought I was encouraging him to do work for the community, to the Mead Hall... But maybe you're right... like you always are." At that point Stigend had frowned under the gaze of his wife. "I'll promise no climbing... for a while." Stigend had managed to flash a smile but was only faced with Modtryth's stern eyes. "But I'd like to see him help his dad and Garstan... all of us... with Garmund. They should take some tasks, easier tasks that is... To foster them the right way." He had ended hopefully.

There had been something unreadable in Modtryth's expression. "Maybe he should help you, yes," she had answered at length. "And as for his tasks, promise me you won't make him do anything dangerous that he would consider fun and retry in his free time when no one is looking after him."

Modtryth had been looking tired and Stigend had seen his chance there. He had promised and they had gotten back to their places.

Suddenly Stigend became aware of a strange voice talking somewhere to his left... it was speaking with that new man, Erbrand. He got up quietly as not to wake up Cnebba and walked out from under the baker only to see Erbrand walking away from the stranger leaning to a tree. He was about to approach the strange-looking man when he saw lord Eodwine coming forwards from the other direction nodding to the stranger.

"Good morning my lord!" Stigend called the approaching lord Eodwine. He was about to continue by asking him whether he had slept well but then thought the better of it after remembering the bodies in the burnt down hall and Eodwine's reaction to them. So he just started slowly towards him and the makeshift kitchen where the women were already getting a breakfast ready to be served.

"So some felling of trees today, right?" he asked lord Eodwine as they were close enough for him to speak with a normal voice.

[Eönwë]

Dan looked around him at the green leaves of the trees, rustling in a the gentle breeze. Even though it looked calm, Daghan-turi-Dan had a feeling that today was not an ordinary day. It would take hard work and determination, but if everything went well they'd all be ok. He could see people coming out of their tents and looking at him strangely, and then disappearing again, back into their tents or into the main baker.

He realised that many of these people had hadn't met him, or didn't even know who he was, or what he was doing here. He would need to find a way to introduce himself. By now it was mid-morning, and almost the whole site was awake and getting ready for breakfast. Dan decided that the best thing to do would be to go right to the baker and meet everyone. And besides, he hadn't eaten properly for a long time, and he needed to sate his ravenous appetite.

[littlemanpoet]

"So some felling of trees today, right?" Stigend asked as he came into the baker.

Eodwine looked at him, saying nothing at first. He wondered how many objections he would have to negotiate in order to see clear to getting the new hall built of stone.

"What would you fell trees for? And where would you get them, seeing as I refuse to let these few be felled that line this property?"

[Nogrod]

Stigend was waiting for the accompanying smile or something but it never came. He was stunned by his lord's reaction, indeed he couldn't believe his ears. Now where from is the wind blowing today? The lord he had learned to love and respect as a well-mannered, polite and open had basically scorned him. But what he had just said was clearly no joke as he didn't smile. What have I done to deserve this?

Stigend couldn't answer his lord. The only thing he was able to say was an "erm..., well..., uhh..."

There was something he didn't quite get. Houses were built from wood to be sure. There were exceptions to that like the legendary Minas Tirith he had heard of, or the Great Hall in Edoras but even that had required a host of skilled craftsmen and even more manual labourers to finish. And there had not been any talk of the Mead Hall been made out of anything else than wood. And what about the trees here? "seeing as I refuse to let these few be felled that line this property". Now where did that come from? How could I "see" his refusal as this is the first time I hear of it? Stigend tried to remember everything from the day before but couldn't recall lord Eodwine saying anything of the sort to him or to anyone else around him that day for that matter.

Finally he braved himself to talk.

"Excuse me my lord... but I don't quite understand. My last day went by building the baker so I may not be as knowledgeable of any recent plans. And I don't need be, I admit. I'm sorry to have asked... erm... uhh... I just thought it would be a natural thing to make the Hall from wood... I mean from what would you make it with us... I mean with these people... us, well..." Stigend fell silent for a moment as he found himself babbling and facing a dead end. "Oh, I'm sorry. Please my lord, do not take my words as an offence as that's not what they were meant to be."

Stigend looked at lord Eodwine tentatively as to see what would follow. Or is he just having too much trouble? Those skeletons in the ruins seemed to move him a lot... Oh my, I should be somewhere else right now... The worries of the lords are not for the subjects to muse about...

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine was smiling inside the whole time, but kept his face straight. He hoped that he could hold back a twinkle in the eye just a bit longer as Stigend visibly wrestled with his own curt reply. When Stigend had finished with a difficult apology, Eodwine finally broke into a smile and cuffed Stigend on the shoulder.

"You need not ask fear having given offense, my friend. I have not spoken much of it, but now that the old house is in ruins, it came into my mind that I would rather build a hall of stone, since we have the Scar so nearby. The trees are scarce here and I like them, tall and graceful as they are lining the edge of this land. I've seen the Scar up close and I am sure there are big rocks of great number in those rough half-hills that we could move and fashion as we wish. And once we have done that, we can see to hauling wood from trees that may be felled from the swamps, to make walls and other such woodwork inside. What think you?"

Rowenna

She bit down on the smile that had formed on her lips even as she walked away from Eodwine, back to the baker. She felt like twirling around like a little girl! He had told her what he sought in a wife, and why tell her unless he meant that she might become that one day? She had not felt so happy and light and full of hope since before the brigands!

She busied herself with the various tasks Frodides and Kara set her to, and did notice that they seemed to look at her a little differently, especially Ginna, as if they saw something in her that they usually did not see. She did know that the typically straight face, or even frown, that she normally wore, had been replaced by a smile that she seemed unable to remove from her face. She felt like singing! But she kept herself quiet and did her chores, most happily.

[Nogrod]

"I've seen the Scar up close and I am sure there are big rocks of great number in those rough half-hills that we could move and fashion as we wish. And once we have done that, we can see to hauling wood from trees that may be felled from the swamps, to make walls and other such woodwork inside. What think you?"

Stigend rubbed his thin beard and looked thoughtful. "Hmm... that's quite a task..." He looked at lord Eodwine and then returned the smile. "It seems Garstan needs to do a lot of teaching..."

Stigend kept his reservations inside. They could possibly bring the rocks to the site even if that would be a feat indeed. But to break and shape them with no oher professionals around but Garstan? And did Garstan master that kind of engineering in the first place? How about the stone foundations already at the place? They were made for a wooden building but a stonehall would require much more solid foundations...

Stigend was about to nod towards the makeshift kitchen for a breakfast when he decided to address one of his concerns aloud.

"But if we are going to use wood from the swamps it would be even more important we get the trees to dry early enough. I understand we need all the strong men to carry the rocks but I hope one day soon after we have enough material for Garstan to start working you would assign me a few stout men to go and fell the trees and carry them here... They can dry while we work here but if they wait there they will not dry by themselves."

[Thinlómien]

"What are we doing today, mum?" Cnebba asked.
"Are we starting the construction work?" Garmund guessed.
"Yes, the contsruction, or at least the carrying of the wood or stone or what they're going to build the hall of will begin today.
"Stone?" Garmund asked, "Are they going to the scar?"
"How could I know?" Modtryth replied, smiling wryly.
"Can we go with them if they go?" Cnebba asked.
"No. The men have more important work than looking after you. Besides, there's plenty of work here at the camp and you're needed."

The boys gave each other a grudging look. "It's settled", Modtryth said firmly. She was not going to make amends. However, she was slightly concerned if the boys were going to do as they were told. Better to keep them busy today.

"Now, off you go, unless you wish to help me with hauling water? But don't go anywhere far, for you might be needed soon." The boys ran away quickly. Modtryth couldn't help smiling.

Her smile faded when she remembered the discussion last night. She had not said to Stigend about projecting his own hopes to the boy. It had not felt appropriate at that time, but now she thought she should have mentioned it. Well, the next time there's talk about it...

She was coming back with the water buckets, when she saw something. Cnebba and Garmund were sneaking after a strange, stocky man - a Wose perhaps? she thought, not amused - who was probably pretending not to notice them. "Cnebba!" she said in warning, ruining the game. The boy glared at her, then turned to the odd man he had been shadowing.

He looked at the odd man's face, a little frightened. Garmund backed one step away at the look of the peculiar face. It was difficult for the boys to say if the man was smiling or angry.

"Hello. I'm Cnebba," Cnebba said in a small voice.
"He is son of Stigend, the carpenter", Garmund added in a serious tone of voice, "I am Garmund, son of Garstan the Stoneshaper. What is your name?"
"And what are you?" Cnebba asked quickly, before the stranger could answer the first question.

[shaggydog]

Oeric lay still under the wool byrchan, eyes closed, yet awake to the early morning call of birds in a nearby hedgerow. Sleep had been long in coming the night before, but had quickly deserted him with the new dawn. The thin veils of his eyelids did little to block out the red light which now slanted over the crest of a small rise in the distance. They did nothing to block the pain which burned within him, hotter than any sunrise. The various wounds of his flesh were healing, some well, some not so well. But he took no notice of these at all. No healer, no herbs or salves could relieve the excrutiating pain he felt though, for it was one of the heart, or perhaps of the soul. Falsely, he pretended that if he remained motionless, still and dead like the stump of a felled tree, the pain would subside and the numbness which sometimes washed over him would take its place. He forced himself to think on the events of the day before, the unexpected and unwelcome arrival of the newcomers. The intruders upon his grief.

But were they really unwelcome? Could they not be, in fact, the unlooked for answer to his inner most plea? Could they not relieve him of his burden forever? Would it not take but one word from his mouth to these ignorant trespassers to lift the yoke of knowledge and responsibility from his shoulders? For surely their leader was a man of some status, a lord or eorl. Yes, one word was all that was required.

To let go forever, though – could that thought be endured? Was not the pain all that was left him now? To lose even that was unthinkable. With a grimace, Oeric opened his eyes wide, letting the bright rays of the sun temporarily blind him, refusing to blink away the tears which sprang up and threatened to spill over. No, he knew he could not let go. Not yet.

Throwing off the blanket, he folded it carefully and stowed it away under the pile of rotting straw. He knew if any knowledgeable tracker had given the ruined byre even a cursory glance, it would be more than evident that someone had been making use of it for shelter. Still, the ghosts of his boyhood held sway and he had decided, even after the events of yesterday, to make use of the tumble down structure until developments might require that he take to sleeping under the stars again.

What those developments were to be, he could only guess for the moment. The new arrivals certainly meant to stay; their activities of the day before made that clear. As for the other one, well, Oeric would simply continue to keep a wary eye on him. Oeric assumed he too would be aware by now of the happenings at the hall. What course that one would pursue though, was unknown to Oeric, neither did he care over much. Their brief encounter a short time ago had been enough to establish that neither one wished to share confidences with the other, and Oeric was content to leave it at that. As for today, he would keep his eyes and ears open and make no hasty decisions of what, if any, steps he would take based on yesterday’s invasion. Whatever this lord’s people would make of the discoveries which lay hidden in the ashes, and which were bound to come to light sooner or later, and whatever action the lord might then take, Oeric knew not whether he would laugh in glee or drown in his own tears whenever such time might come that he should enlighten them.

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand knelt over his possessions outside the flap his tent, and spread them on the grass about him. He stood still for a second surveying the objects closely before he brushed some tools aside and withdrew from the pile some thin rope. He thought that he had left it behind in Aldburg in his excitement to leave, but thank goodness he didn't a rope would prove invaluable in the days to come. He wasn't a good shot with the bow and most of the animal hides that he obtained were either from snaring animals or haggling the hides, for a small price, from the herdsman outside the city.

Erbrand placed the metal tools, needles, and such, back into his pouch so not to lose any of them. He tied the pouch shut and tossed it back into the tent. He then turned around and started tying a complicated knot at the end of the rope forming a loop. The Sun was now clearly visible in the eastern sky and the whole camp was aroused. Erbrand had seen lord Eodwine talking to a man, that he heard was called Stigend. Erbrand had picked up a couple names while listening to some of the people speak and gathered that Stigend was married to a women called Modtryth, who worked in the kitchen, and he also gathered that Stigend was a carpenter by trade.

Lord Eodwine and the carpenter were talking a ways off near the runes of the hall. Stigend was constantly glancing at the marshes and seemed very excited when he did so. However, Eodwine kept pointing to the scar, and Erbrand guessed that they were discussing the proper ways of building the new hall.

He saw Dan was walking about and surveying the camp. Their eyes made contact and Erbrand waved in acknowledgement and forced a crooked smile; Dan replied in the same fashion and went along minding his business. Two boys soon were running after the Drûg, as Dan described himself, and soon were talking to the man. Erbrand smiled and gave a quiet chuckle at the fearless curiosity of the boys, so unlike himself when he first saw the man.

The knot was finished and he held it up for him to get a closer look. It was tight, it would be strong enough to trap a small animal such as a stoat, and Erbrand was anxious to find out what lived in the marshes. He hesitated for a minute and then proceeded cut the rope into to two unequal lengths and began making a similar knot on the longer end: one rope to catch small animals one rope for larger animals.

He stopped for a second and hugged his stomach with his left arm. Erbrand was not accustomed to waiting so long for a morning meal and his stomach ached, but he would get use to the procedure within a couple days. He coiled the ropes into two coils and hung them on the door of his tent. There would be little time for setting snares up during the day, nighttime would be the best time for him to set them up.

A delicious aroma was in the wind and he glanced over at the kitchen where the women were hard at work preparing breakfast for the men. He tried to figure out which one would be Modtryth, and who the others might be.

[Folwren]

Javan did not really wake up very late. In fact, it was still early, but most of the others had already gotten up and were beginning their day. He half sat up and craned his neck to look about. Thornden was gone from the tent, as well as the other men-at-arms that they’d shared with. Javan leaped up and hurried into his clothes. He did not want to be the last person up and about and be able of being accused of being lazy and over sleeping.

In a moment, he came blinking out into the sunlight. He stopped to yawn and stretch. As his arms came down, he caught a whiff of breakfast cooking. His stomach reminded him suddenly of how little he had eaten the day before. It still believed it had to make up for his missing the mid-day meal.

Breakfast could wait, he decided. He wanted to make himself useful before eating. He looked around. Not many people were doing any work yet. The women folk were preparing breakfast and Léof was tending to the horses. Javan’s face twisted slightly, mirroring his uncomfortable thoughts. He felt shy about approaching Léof and offering to help. Talking to Léof about helping with horses would have to wait.

He caught sight of Modtryth then. She was carrying two heavy wooden buckets full of water. She paused to call to Cnebba. Javan started towards her immediately, reaching her before she had started forward again.

“Can I help you with those?” he asked.

[Folwren]

It was morning. Horrible, bright, bitter morning. It seemed that so many other mornings had dawned just like this one - unkind, unfriendly, unwanted.

While all the rest of the earth rejoiced in new found strength after a night of peace and rest, Saeryn and her horse went on with weary, stumbling steps. They had not slept. They had not rested. They had only pressed on for mile after mile. The darkness had veiled them from unfriendly eyes and the moon shone kind, cool rays to light their road, opposed to the hot, fierce light of the sun.

But now the sun was back. The day would heat up quickly, and unless they came to water soon, or to the eorl’s new land, Saeryn was sure either her horse or herself would collapse for want of drink.

How was she going to explain herself? Not only her sudden, unexpected arrival, but also her condition, her appearance, and where she had been for the past month. She didn’t know.

The road made a bend up ahead into some trees. Her horse pricked up his ears and lifted his head a little. Extra life came into his step and he quickened the pace. Saeryn lifted her head as they entered the shadow of the first trees and then sat up straighter when she saw the crooked gate. Just as she passed through it, Saeryn drew rein and stopped.

She looked down the incline before her, viewing the burnt ruins of the hall and the tents, baker, and the rest of the camp. Disbelief filled her face. How could this possibly be the Eorl’s new holding? But there they all were. She could see figures walking about, their day already begun.

Her horse caught sight of the other horses before she did. He raised his head and whinnied loudly. Some of the horses below raised their heads from their hay and whinnied back, briefly, before returning to their breakfast.

Saeryn shook her head slowly and allowed her horse to go forward again, starting down the incline towards the encampment.

[Groin Redbeard]

A lone horse and its rider entered the camp. Erbrand stood up and watched as the figure dismounted, it was a girl. She was slim and weather beaten and looked more tired than her horse that had borne her over the plains; by the look of her she had traveled far. Some of the ladies at the kitchen stopped their work and stared at the girl in astonishment, and he saw that she was no stranger to them. Erbrand did not go up to the girl to greet her like he had done with Dan, for he was nervous with strangers and would only talk to them if it was unavoidable.

He left the camp and headed towards the marshes to be alone and wait for breakfast, which would probably be delayed in being ready. The marsh was long, wide, and had many trees scattered across it in clumps. He sat down on the grass and surveyed the long landscape before him. He rubbed his fingers between his hands at the thought of the lady he had just seen, she was beautiful and had an heir of nobility about her. Certainly not like any other girls that he had known, it was strange how much he thought of her from just a glance.

A flock of birds suddenly took flight from the marsh; Erbrand watched them fly away. He was just about to leave when something caught his eye. Right from the place where the birds took flight a young man appeared, stooping as he walked forward. Erbrand watched the man with interest as he began to come closer, the man was tall and garbed like any other farmer in Rohan, but Erbrand could not see his face he was still too far for that. The man had not seen him yet, and tried hard not to be noticed. A terrible thought hit Erbrand: what if this was the man who destroyed the hall? Erbrand glanced back at the burned hall and then back at the young man, who was still trying to get closer.

For better or for worse Erbrand made up his mind to bring the man out of there. He leapt forward into the marsh, trying to find a solid path to run on, but within a few steps he stumbled and lost his footing. A splash was heard when he fell in the water. The figure had heard it and darted away before Erbrand could regain his footing.

“Hey you, stop!” Erbrand shouted, knowing full well that it was futile.

He made his way out of the muddy water and ran back to the camp. His boots sloshed as he ran back and his eyes burned with anger and embarrassment. A man dressed in armor saw him coming and watched him, looking half amused. Erbrand ran up to him and without saying hello began to speak.

“I’ve seen him,” Erbrand began, “Down in the marshes a young man was creeping up to the camp trying hard not to be seen. He fled when I tried to catch him.” Erbrand pointed towards the marshes, and he could just make a figure out at the other end running away fast.

“There!” Erbrand said clutching the guard’s shoulder, “Do you see him?”

[littlemanpoet]

While Stigend and Eodwine discussed the needs for the new Hall, Garstan came up and said, "Lord, we have another guest. Or mayhap I should say a friend returning to us."

"Oh? Who? Garreth Smith?"

"Nay, lord, 'tis the Lady Saeryn."

Before Eodwine could muster any kind of reaction, a man at arms brought Erbrand to Eodwine. The newcomer looked a mess. And he seemed excited.

"What is the matter, Erbrand?"

"I saw a stranger out in the swamp! Could he be the one who burned down the ruin?"

"Stigend, you and Matrim go get Thornden and have him rally the guard!" Eodwine turned back to Erbrand. "Show me where!"

"Aye, lord! This way!"

So it was that Erbrand and Eodwine were beyond the edge of Scarburg proper when Saeryn arrived.

"He was here, lord!"

There were muddy tracks in the swamp, but little to be seen of anyone. They followed the tracks a little way until they were lost in a pond. They searched the muddy perimeter of the water, which was difficult because it was often difficult to determine where water began and land ended. Both of them were muddied almost to their knees before they finally called it off.

"He's escaped for now," Eodwine said. "My thanks for using your good eyes this morn, Erbrand."

Thornden and the others arrived but did not seem too keen on getting as wet and dirty as Erbrand and Eodwine.

"What news, lord?"

"There is someone out here, but we lost his trail in the mire."

"We should post guards," Thornden said.

"Do so, at your discretion. Erbrand and I need a good washing. After which we shall have time to gather our wits and figure out what we will do today. Not to mention learn what brings the Lady Saeryn to us."

Eodwine and Erbrand left Thornden to his work, and headed back to the tents.

[Folwren]

Saeryn allowed her horse to stop when they came to the bottom of the incline. His head was craned about towards the other horses and when she drew rein, he whinnied again. Searyn felt a slight flush slowly rise in her face. People were looking towards her now. Already, curiosity was already shoving its way at her. She pressed her lips hard together and tried to tell herself she didn’t care.

She swung down out of the saddle, trying to look dignified, but when her feet touched the ground, her knees collapsed beneath her halfway. She winced and grabbed hold of the stirrup and used it to help her stand straight. When she looked up, she saw Léof standing at her horse’s head, already holding the reins.

“Léof,” she said, a smile flickering briefly over her face. “Give him some water, please.”

With her horse looked after, Saeryn had no obligation or reason to keep her from going in and meeting all of them. She turned again to face the camp when all of the sudden, she felt a rush and a weight thrown at her legs, and little arms encircled her waist.

“You’re back, you’re back!” cried Lèođern. “Did you go and visit Lady Linduial?”

Saeryn smiled a real, genuine smile and took Lèođern’s hands. She shook her head. “No, I did not see Linduial, although I would have liked to.”

“Oh,” Lèođern’s face fell slightly, but she immediately brightened again. “We’ve had so many adventures while you were away!” The little girl launched immediately into a detailed account of all that had passed, beginning with the very morning of Saeryn’s departure, telling about Rilef, the twins, and what had happened concerning them.

Saeryn listened and nodded at intervals to show that she was listening, but her eyes lifted every now and then to look over Lèođern’s head towards the camp. She noticed anyone insight that she knew, taking stock of their actions and their glances, wondering who first she would talk to, or who would talk to her.

But, to her surprise, it was someone with whom she was not acquainted that first approached her.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine took his time walking back to the tents. Saeryn was back. Why? Had she been with the queen in Edoras, or elsewhere? If she had been with the queen, why had she not sent notice of any kind in two months, unless she had wanted to have nothing more to do with them? But here she was. Did she return for him? He was not sure what to think, and was not in the least certain whether he dared or cared to hope. The irony was not lost on him that just this morning he had as good as told Rowenna that he would consider her for a wife if she became more of what he wanted in one. And now here was Saeryn, to whom he had virtually proposed; and she had refused. He liked to tell himself that it had been a matter of timing, that she might change her mind some day, but he had never been sure he could believe it.

"Lord?"

"Hm? What?"

It was Erbrand. "I said, had anyone seen the prowler before this day?"

"Oh! I am sorry. I was lost in thought. Falco, the hobbit, saw tracks yesterday, but that was the first sign of prowlers. Please excuse me, Erbrand, it seems there is a newcomer to greet."

"Aye, lord."

Eodwine picked up his pace and Erbrand fell behind, but continued to follow him, even as the distance between them grew. The man was probably curious about the maiden with the noble bearing. It was understandable. Who would not be?

There was Rowenna, having stopped in her kitchen duties; she was walking toward Saeryn as well. Eodwine wondered what that might mean, if anything.

Rowenna

Rowenna was still full of smiles and the flush of hope from Eodwine's word to her when she heard of the newcomer. None had spoken to her about this maiden before now, but many of the others seemed to know her. 'Saeryn of the Folde,' they called her. Rowenna had asked Kara quickly about her and had been told that she was of noble birth and had fled from her brother who sought to tame her, and had become hostess of Eodwine's house for a time until she had left, for reasons Kara did not say.

Well, Rowenna decided that she could stand to learn a thing or two from someone of noble birth if she was going to become the wife of an eorl some day, and it would not hurt to make a new friend. She wanted to make a good impression on this Saeryn before anyone else could say anything to dim Saeryn's view of her. She was especially interested in this Saeryn, as someone who refused to be tamed; that gave them something in common, it seemed to her, something on which to build a friendship. A stray thought leapt into her mind that this young woman might be a rival for the eorl's affections, but she banished the thought from her mind in her newfound hope for a friend.

Léof had handed her horse off to another, and was coming toward her. Rowenna passed him by without a word. She could see that the little girl Léoðern had already greeted her and was talking at a gallop while she paid the girl attention but glanced over her head as if looking for someone. Rowenna walked up to them as gaily as she knew how.

"Hello, Saeryn of the Folde, I am Rowenna. Welcome!"

In the moment of silence before Saeryn answered, Rowenna noticed that she was very pretty, and the mizbite of a thought came buzzing back into her head that here was a rival; Rowenna ignored it and gave Saeryn her best smile.

Eodwine

Eodwine saw that Rowenna had hurried out from the baker and walked right by Léof, and had stopped in front of Saeryn. He frowned. What was this? What was the girl up to? He slowed his pace. Léof came near.

"What news, Léof?"

"Saeryn has returned. She asked for water. I am getting it."

Eodwine nodded. Normally that would be something Rowenna would have seen to right away, but she had not waited to be asked. Strange. What was she up to? Would it be best to interrupt their greeting, or to wait until it was done? Right there and then Eodwine decided that he preferred to greet Saeryn with a crowd of others around. So he stopped and waited about fifteen paces from them, and Erbrand stopped by him. Others were coming and halted also, creating a half circle into which it was obvious that Saeryn would be welcomed. Eodwine folded his arms and waited, keeping a smile on his face.

[shaggydog]

Oeric stepped nimbly from tussock to tussock. His childhood years spent on the borders of this marsh had imprinted upon his mind the qualities of land and water which allowed the trained eye to step on semi-solid ground, as opposed to sinking knee or thigh deep in water, or worse, muddy silt. To the unwary or ignorant, these bogs could even spell death, if one should happen to tread unwittingly onto the treacherous, shifting and sucking mix of water and soil beneath. He breathed heavily though, more from nervousness than from haste. The land about lay in fairly flat, rolling plain, making it difficult to come very close to the budding camp without detection. That one of their members should be up and out in the marsh this early in the day was not really a surprise. Oeric assumed they would be sending out scouts, hunters, workers to gather whatever natural materials the marsh could provide for their building and cooking needs. But he had been foolish to have taken a path which exposed him more than was necessary.

He had thought originally to circle around to the far border where clumps of scrubby willow provided good cover for an approach. But the emptiness in his stomach had prompted him to choose a path which would take him past the berry patches. It was still early in the summer for many of the fruit to have ripened, but there might be one or two lingonberry bushes which he might have stripped of their bounty. He was no hunter and these last weeks had left their mark in the pinched lines of his face and the looseness of his clothes. What few bits of food he had managed to scavenge from the ruins of Sorn’s hall had long since been consumed. Even in his grief, Oeric’s body had persistently insisted upon being maintained, and so, he had chosen the path which had led him almost right into the arms of one of the newcomers. If the man hadn’t fallen and alerted Oeric to his presence, any choice of how and when Oeric made contact with the new lord’s people would certainly have been taken from him.

The searchers that came hard on the heels of the lone man had found nothing but air and water and the call of birds. Oeric knew though that he would now have to be much more wary, and his ability to watch the strangers undetected would be seriously hindered. As much as he wished otherwise, he determined to fetch his few belongings from the ruined shed and make his way into the heart of the marsh. There he could be fairly sure he could live, at least for a short while, unmolested. How long was very dependent upon his food situation. But, he thought with a grim smile, with so many near, and wagons of supplies, that might not be such a problem after all.

[Folwren]

“Hello, Searyn of the Folde, I am Rowenna. Welcome!”

Saeryn looked at her as though she didn’t understand. Her weary mind was trying to ask how the stranger knew her name and where she came from. Finally, she shook it off and remembered herself. She returned Rowenna’s welcoming smile with as bright a one as she could muster up.

“Thank you, Rowenna, for your welcome.” She bent her head and her shoulders in a slight bow. She straightened with a troubled look on her face. “I – uh,” she felt herself sway, and the world seemed to turn before her eyes. She shook her head clear and tried to steel herself. Perhaps bowing was a bad idea. But inside she knew anything would be a bad idea. Her legs could barely support her weight and she was thirsty to the core.

How to get past Rowenna, to the friends waiting just a little ways away? How to do it without being obvious?

“I need to see Eodwine,” she blurted out abruptly. There went whatever tack she hoped to retain. And why had she used his name? She knew she had to see him, but she didn’t want to yet.

“He’s over here,” Rowenna replied.

[littlemanpoet]

This Saeryn took her time replying. Then Rowenna realized that she was unwell.

"I need to see Eodwine."

Rowenna took a step closer. "He is near. I will take you to him. Come, let me help you."

Rowenna stood beside her so that Saeryn could put her arm through the crook of Rowenna's elbow.

"Léoðern, dear, go fetch Módtryth, won't you? Bring her to here so she can help the Lady Saeryn."

The girl ran off with her important task, ducking between the legs of the onlookers.

As the Rowenna and Saeryn walked toward the half circle, Saeryn stumbling along half awake, it seemed, Léof came with a cup of water.

"Here, drink." They stopped and Saeryn took the cup in her free hand and brought it to her mouth.

Eodwine

She was unwell. What was she doing on the open road, alone, if she was unwell? Either it was of great urgency or she was running from something again; maybe both. It seemed something was always the matter with her, in one way or another.

It occurred to Eodwine, as he waited for Saeryn to get her bearings, that he was being a little harsh in his musings, and he asked himself why. There was a chagrin about her showing up of a sudden this morning. Surprises had been happening for the last twenty four hours one after another, so it could not be that. So it had to do with Saeryn herself. Why, Eodwine? Because she refused me. Which makes it all the stranger that she turns up again. He tried to muster some sympathy, and stepped from the half circle and drew near.

"I am here, Lady Saeryn. I greet you. What may I do for you?"

[Eönwë]

Dan had been walking around the camp for a while when he could see two boys following him. What were they up to?
"Hello. I'm Cnebba," said a small boy in an even smaller voice.
"He is son of Stigend, the carpenter", the older boy added in a serious tone of voice, "I am Garmund, son of Garstan the Stoneshaper. What is your name?"
He had just moved his mouth to answer, when he heard the first boy, Cnebba apparently, asked another question.
"And what are you?"

My name is Dan, but if you want to be formal then I am Daghan-turi-Dan, son of Mandan of the same, and I am a Drûg, or what yo"u people would call a Púkel-man. I have come from far away to help your Lord Eodwine"

He looked at the two boys' expressions of wonder, and curiosity that only a child can have.
He warmed to them. They reminded him of his own past, that young curious time, when everything was an aventure.
"Perhaps you would like to hear a tale?" he asked.

The two boys nodded their heads vigorously. Dan chuckled quietly to himself.
"Ok, where to begin. Well....." and Dan told the two boys about the exciting "adventures" had had so far in his life, and about the way of the Púkel-men, and how they lived, what they did and so on. And slowly their slight fear of him melted away, and he stoppedd being that odd person in the corner to be avoided, but a living breathing, proper person.

At one point who could see what he assumed was the boys' mother looking sternly at them, but he gave her a reassuring smile and carried on talking. Their mother looked like the worrying sort. But most people were afraid, or at least slightly suspicious of a Drûg, because that sort of ignorance usually leads to fear and prejudice.

------

It was about an hour later, probably more, and Dan had been in the baker for a while now. As he had gone in, people had given him strange looks, and shifted aside as he went past. He assumed that they had never seen a Drûg before. BUt then again, the Drûghu were a dying breed, so to speqak. In the old days, they had covered all the lands of Edain, and some had even gone to Númenor. Now, they were down to the last few families in the Old Land.

He had found himself a corner of the baker in which to sit. He sat there, in the absolutely still, silent, and completely observant yet unthinking way of his people.

He was still waiting for a formal welcome of himself by Eodwine, but that had not yet happened. The new man, (Erbrand, was it?) had suddenly run to Eodwine and in quick speech had told him something. He oculd not hear what it was above all he murmuring, but he could tell that it was bad, because Eodwine had gone off with him towards the marshes, and returned, soaking wet and muddy. He made a note to himself to talk to Erbrand later. He might be able to help.

Then, a newcomer had appeared out of nowhere, sick and tired on her horse. Many seemed to know her from somewhere, but he did not have time to ask. "Saeryn of the Folde" they called her. He wondered which "Folde" it was. As far as her clothes told, she was important, probably some form of nobility. He went out with everyone else to greet her. By Eodwine's reaction, he could tell that there had been some tension between them at some point, but he was trying to hide it. He'd have to talk to her sometime today.

But right now, he really needed that breakfast.

[Folwren]

The water coursed down her thirsty throat in one, long cool stream. She did not lower it from her mouth until it had been completely drained. Then she handed it back to Léof. She turned again to walk forward, leaning on Rowenna’s arm, but she did not need to. Eodwine had come near.

“I am here, Lady Saeryn. I greet you. What may I do for you?”

“My lord.” Saeryn tried to bow again. Only Rowenna kept her from falling. Saeryn struggled to look up at him. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to talk to him without these people acting as witnesses. Or at least find something to say other than what she really needed to say. But her mind did not allow her to think. She struggled with pain and weariness. “I seek your protection again, at least for a time.”

[littlemanpoet]

Protection again. This meant her brother, most likely, had found her and sought - no - hunted her. A reasonable guess. Could the king and queen not give her safeguard from her brother? Or had she not been in Edoras? Had she gone back to the Folde, which would have been the height of folly? These questions and many more flitted through his mind in an instant.

Just then Modtryth jostled her way through the half circle. "Enough of you gawkers!" She cried. "Go find breakfast and leave the Lady Saeryn in peace!" Modtryth joined Rowenna, holding onto Saeryn's other arm. "Come, dear, we shall find you a place to sit."

"Thank you, Modtryth," Eodwine said. "I will clear the closest table. Bring her there."

Eodwine turned and walked quickly in the direction of the baker and found that the semi-circle of gawkers had grown. "You heard the goodwife! Go eat breakfast! I will give you what news is useful for all ears when I have learned it myself."

The crowd dispersed in the general direction of the baker. Eodwine strode to the makeshift kitchen fires and found Kara, Frodides, and Ginna busy in preparation for breakfast. He told them Saeryn had returned and needed food and drink, and to see to her needs first; then he found the table he wanted, sat down, and waited for the three women.

At last Saeryn was situated across from him, leaning on the table with both elbows. Modtryth sat beside her and Rowenna stood behind her apparently ready to be useful; that was good. Eodwine looked up at her and smiled by way of acknowledgement. She returned his smile quickly and looked down at Saeryn again.

After Saeryn had been given food and drink by Ginna, and had a chance to refresh herself, Eodwine broke the silence.

"Does your brother hunt you again?"

[Thinlómien]

"Can I help you with those?" someone had asked. To her surprise, Modtryth had seen Javan. She had felt a bit bad about speaking badly of the lad who now seemed to do his best to help the people of the Hall. She had been about to refuse and maybe give the lad a nicer duty, when her thought had been interrupted by Lèođern's cry.

"Modtryth! Modtryth! Saeryn is back!"
"Lady Saeryn? Here now?"
"Yes, Eodwine wants you to help her!"

She had thought of asking the girl if the Lady was alright, but had decided that it would have only worried the girl. Nothing was terribly unwell, clearly, as the girl seemed so cheery. Modtryth had turned back to Javan.

"Yes, you actually can help me, lad. Take these buckets to kitchen. They're quite heavy, it might be better to take just one at a time and come back for the other later."

She had smiled, but the lad's expression had been serious, if not even defiant. He had picked both the buckets, nodded politely and turned to make his way to the kitchen.

She had not said anything, merely shaken her head. She had then turned to Lèođern and smiled. "Go after him," she had told the girl in a low voice, "and help him if he needs help." The girl had nodded gravely and sprung after the boy. Modtryth knew the small girl would be of no assistance to Javan and he would be too proud to accept the help in any case, but at least there was one thing less to worry about when she knew where Lèođern was.

Modtryth had hurried away to see Lady Saeryn. Only then had she remembered that the lads were still with the weird woodman, but she hoped they were sensible enough not to make an enemy of him, and knew there would be other people of the Hall around so the wildman could not harm them.

Then she had caught a glimpse of Saeryn and forgotten about the boys. She seemed so tired, so weak. People had gathered around her, merely gawking at her. Didn't they see that what she needed was definitely not a crowd standing idly and staring at her, not helping her or anything?

"Enough of you gawkers!" Modtryth cried. "Go find breakfast and leave the Lady Saeryn in peace!"

Modtryth then joined Rowenna, who was already there, holding onto Saeryn's other arm. Modtryth wondered how the woman always managed to be where things happened. Then she turned to the young noblewoman she had always respected, and saw the exhausted and lost expression on her face.

"Come, dear, we shall find you a place to sit," she said softly but firmly. Saeryn nodded and smiled faintly, but didn't say a word.

"Thank you, Modtryth," Lord Eodwine said. "I will clear the closest table. Bring her there."

He drove the gawkers away and Modtryth and Rowenna helped Saeryn walk. Lord Eodwine sat down and the serving women helped the young lady to sit opposite to him. Modtryth sat beside her, to support her if needed - both physically and mentally. Everything was not alright.

Soon Ginna came with food and drink for Saeryn. A silence fell.

After a while, Lord Eodwine spoke. "Does your brother hunt you again?"

Modtryth saw the pained expression on Saeryn's face. She bit her tongue lightly. She admired Lord Eowdine's honest manner and she herself was sometimes so straightforward that she could be called brusque, but still the Lord's question didn't seem appropriate. It felt unfair to pose such a question to a young woman in Saeryn's current state.

She rebuked herself for such a thought. Lord Eodwine just did what he had to do, like he always did.

[Folwren]

Javan

Lèođern bounced up to Javan’s side. “Saeryn’s back, did you know?”

Javan nodded, setting his face and trying not to let anyone see how he strained to carry the buckets of water. They were heavy, but he would do it – or bust.

“She’s a real lady, you know?”

Javan didn’t know, so he didn’t nod this time. He had reached the kitchen and he set down the buckets, exhaling a sigh as his muscles relaxed. He rubbed his palms together and looked outward to see Saeryn, between Rowenna and Modtryth. “She looks awfully spent, don’t you think?” he commented to Lèođern.

The girl hadn’t noticed before. She turned around to look, too. “I guess so,” she said slowly.

“Well. Let’s see about breakfast, and then I’m going to see if Stigend needs any help today.”

Saeryn

Saeryn cursed her weakness. She should not be so near collapsing. She was stronger than this. But there could be no denying that her body was thankful for the support on both sides of her as Modtryth and Rowenna escorted her to a table.

The food was wonderful and warm. Saeryn would have been perfectly happy to eat and drink and then lie down and sleep for a week, but…

“Does your brother hunt you again?”

Saeryn looked up from her plate. The way she jumped when he spoke might say many things to those watching her.

“No. My brother does not hunt me. He will never hunt anything again. Fenrir was killed and I barely escaped.” And not without scathing, she almost added, but she held her tongue. She was about to speak again when she realized she had not bitten her tongue soon enough, actually. She cast a wary glance in Eodwine’s direction. He had not known that she had gone back to the Folde, so that would have been news to him.

[Firefoot]

Saeryn back? Now here was some news. And in such a state? There must be a story. As Léof had run to fetch her some water he had been trying to piece together the pieces of her story that he knew that might account for her present state. Something about her brother, he knew, had earlier driven her to the Mead Hall, but he could remember few details – and the situation concerning her later departure seemed even more secretive.

No sooner had he offered her a drink of water than Modtryth came up crying, “Enough of you gawkers! Go find breakfast and leave the Lady Saeryn in peace!" Now, he had hardly been gawking. Not at first. But now as he stood there rather uselessly without further instructions, well, maybe he had been gawking. Sort of.

He didn’t argue the point, though; Modtryth was probably right. One of those motherly sensibilities. Breakfast did sound like a good idea, besides; and then he had work to do. He wanted to at least walk the perimeter of the horse pasture and discover what repairs needed to be made, whether with new wood or if the old would suffice. If new horses kept arriving at this rate, between Erbrand’s last night and now Saeryn’s too, his temporary set up would not hold up for long. And perhaps at breakfast he might find some willing hands to help.

[Lhunardawen]

Breakfast came a bit later than usual, and Ginna was partly at fault: she moved more slowly than she normally did for lack of sleep. Her adventure the night before with Dan had left her restless, tossing and turning in bed for hours, and it seemed only a second after she had finally surrendered consciousness when Kara came over where she lay and roused her. It was a good thing that none of the women had noticed her departure during the night, but her eyes drooped so that she was forced to abandon any task which involved the use of a knife, for fear of losing control of her hand and wounding herself.

The women had been working silently in the kitchen when Eodwine arrived with the news that the Lady Saeryn had arrived and required food and drink. The name vaguely registered with Ginna. She knew Saeryn had left the day she arrived in the former Mead Hall, but she had never thought much about her. Why did she leave, and what brought her back? It was not the time to seek answers for her queries, however; she had been given the honour, as it were, of serving breakfast to the guest - if guest she could be called.

As she placed food and drink before Saeryn, Ginna tried to take in as much of the lady as she could in the few seconds she had. Her face clearly showed weariness almost beyond her threshold - perhaps it was coupled with sadness? But however weak she had appeared, Ginna was certain it was against her will. Saeryn looked a few years younger than she, but here was one from whom Ginna could learn a lot about proper carriage and bearing.

She returned to Kara and Frodides and then began to serve the rest of the household their morning meal, commencing with the strange figure she found sitting apart from the others.

"Good morning, Dan," she greeted as she handed him food and drink. "I hope you slept well?"

[littlemanpoet]

“Does your brother hunt you again?”

Saeryn looked up from her plate. The way she jumped when he spoke might say many things to those watching her.

“No. My brother does not hunt me. He will never hunt anything again. Fenrir was killed and I barely escaped.”

"So you were back home again." Eodwine had had a hunch that she had gone there. "What happened?"

“Well, yes,” Saeryn began slowly. “Yes, I went back home.” Her brow knit slightly, then, as she concentrated on how to answer his second question. ‘What happened? How should she answer that? Her right hand crept about and pressed against her left side almost without her thinking.

“There was an upheaval,” she said at last. “A…that is, one like what happened here, maybe.” She nodded in the direction of the burned ruins.

Eodwine noticed Saeryn's hand stray to her left side. Did she have an injury? She had not yet said what she had come to say, and Eodwine now scolded himself for steering the talk away from her need and toward his own wish to know . . . what he could hope for and trust from her. Inwardly he scowled at himself for the apparent bitterness he harbored over her rejection. Eodwine, do you care about this Eorling lady or do you not? He was sure that he did, and that he still did care for her as well, although he was unsure he wished it to become more than that.

So with his mien softened, he said, "Forgive me. I have sought after news when I should have asked you to say what you came to say. Please say what you need to."

Searyn sat up a little straighter and seemed to draw herself together for a previously planned speech. But what came out was quite simple.

“I have come to ask you if I could stay here again. I have no place else to go.”

Eodwine's brows lowered briefly in confusion. "Of course you may. I wonder that you believe that you need to ask. However, with the passing of your brother, it seems that you no longer need the protection you once required. I am sorry for your loss." There was still unsettled the matter of what she would be to him, and he to her, on more than one level. "What role do you seek here in Scarburg?" There. It was an open ended question, and she could choose to answer it on as many levels as she chose. He schooled himself not to expect or hope for more than was meet. He glanced up a moment at Rowenna, who had quietly listened to everything; he could see in her eyes that her mind was busy at work, whether with implications or questions he could not guess.

Searyn tried to keep all her senses together. She felt weariness creep in again with all these questions being asked all at once. Still, she tried to answer. “What role do I seek?” Then she stopped, realizing suddenly what he might be asking her – what he could be asking her. Her answer likewise could be any number of things.

She felt confused, disoriented, as though her mind were closing like a door with crooked hinges, always prone to shut without being pushed. She tried to rise, and tried to retain control of the situation. “My lord,” she began, but stopped. She had sat back down again, her legs refused to obey. Her hand again went to her side and it didn’t leave. She leaned her forehead on her left hand, murmuring, “I am sorry, my lord, I am so sorry.”

Eodwine was surprised by how unwell Saeryn apparently was. It was time to end talk and take action. "Ladies, it appears that Saeryn is not as well as we thought. Take her to the women's tent and see to her needs. Modtryth, I place her in your care. When you have done all you can, send Rowenna to tell me what you have learned."

Modtryth, who had followed the discussion in silence, brow furrowed, nodded. "Yes, my lord. I'll take care of her. Come, Saeryn. Can you walk if Rowenna and I help you?"

Saeryn nodded and raised her head and with Modtryth and Rowenna once more walking on both sides of her and giving her support, she was led to the women's tent.

[Firefoot]

He was back, come full circle, to the place where he had thought he was never to return. Scyld, traitor to his master, semi-repentant traitor to the crown, homeless, friendless, and without clear purpose, had returned after several months’ wandering to the lands of Sorn.

Except they no longer belonged to Sorn. Sorn was dead, his property mysteriously destroyed by looters and by fire, and his lands gone to the new Eorl. The first two conditions, he rejoiced in. The third, he wished not to accept. Let this unhappy corner of the world remain so, squabbled over by nearby villagers, or simply left as a smoking ruin. The land should fall with the master. To make it a seat of power was hardly to be borne.

But the pull to this place was deeper still. The new Eorl and his household were the friends of which Linduial had spoken so fondly, and in some part of him he wanted to observe these people and discover who they were. He had made his way to Edoras, finally, where he had found the information he desired free for the hearing. Linduial had found her way safely back to Dol Amroth, and it was rumored that she was to become some sort of ambassador to Edoras. He had also learned much about the Eorl, though much of what he heard about the man’s character puzzled him, and had heard the alarming news of the pending move to Sorn’s lands – Scarburg, now they were calling it. A fitting name.

Not, of course, that he had been so foolish to dance into Edoras proclaiming his name and business. He did not fear his face would be recognized, but what of his name? Would Linduial have told that to anyone? He did not trust that she had kept silent on that point, since she seemed to think that he would gain pardon, nor did he trust that he would receive pardon if any discovered his true identity. So he had styled himself as a jack of all trades from the West Emnet seeking honest work closer to the heart of the country, calling himself Nydfara – fugitive, exile. He was both. A presumed fugitive from the law with none to whom he would entrust his own safety, and a self-proclaimed exile from the community surrounding Sorn’s holdings. He was neither loved nor trusted there, as one far too close to Sorn’s interests; people in that community had always kept their heads down and their business amongst themselves whenever possible, fearing Sorn’s retribution. The new Eorl, he thought, would not find them a very tractable group. Wary of authority, whether of Sorn’s meld specifically or the powers higher up who let him run free, they fended for themselves and protected their own. No, Scyld did not wish to return to these people who knew his name and connection to Sorn.

And yet, here he was, encamped in the same stony ridge where Sorn had died while Linduial and he had parted. He did not yet know his purpose, only that he felt a sense of unfinished business, and that with these people and in this place that he might find closure. Whatever that meant.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine stood and called everyone to heed his announcements for the day. As they stayed their speech and looked his way, he took in the assemblage. Except for Modtryth, Rowenna, and Saeryn in the women's tent, all were there. They numbered six and twenty, not including Falco, who would be leaving them that day. Others had come and gone, such as the lad Trystan and the Gondorian sailor - Eodwine could not remember his name - who had apparently helped the condemned brigand escape, whose name started with 'G' - Eodwine couldn't remember his name either. And Nain the Dwarf had gone to see kin in the Glittering Caves of Aglarond. They were a big group nonetheless, and growing at a surprising rate, even since having arrived just the day before at Scarburg!

"Good morning to you all! We have much to do today now that you have all been helped to some fare to break your fast.

"First, we have had three new folk come to join us here at Scarburg. Many of you remember Saeryn of the Folde who has just returned this morning. I have put her in Modtryth's care for now, though Æðel is welcome to join her if more dire healing skills are needed.

"Erbrand also came to us yesterday. Rise and be welcomed!" Erbrand did so to cheers and general welcome.

"And last night, one of the Drúg-men, came to us in good will as an emissary from his folk, to help us settle here using the special skills of his folk. His name is Dan. Welcome!" Again there were cheers and words of welcome, and more staring eyes than there had been for Erbrand who was of course typical of the Eorlings.

Welcomes and introductions out of the way, Eodwine described the tasks for the day. First, Léof would need help constructing proper holding pens for the animals. Second, a hunting party would be formed to provide food for nigh unto thirty. Third, a group let by Stigend would be needed to go into the swamps to find good timber to bring for the new hall. Fourth, two tents would need to be set up for Garstan's and Stigend's families, as Eodwine had promised this to them the day before. Eodwine asked for volunteers to help out with each task. This took longer than he wished, as there was good natured haggling to be done in terms of who would be best suited to which tasks. It reminded Eodwine of his childhood days when boys and girls picked teams for games. Finally that was all decided and most folk seemed happy with their chosen or assigned tasks.

"Finally, my friends, I have one more bit of business. Falco Boffin, our very own Holbytlan, wishes to say a few words."

Falco stood and climbed onto the table nearest Eodwine, and bowed with a flourish.

"My dear friends, it has been an honor these many months to live among you." Falco paused. It seemed he expected a response of some kind. None coming, he frowned, cleared his throat, and continued. "Mind you, it has been somewhat of a trial at times, getting used to the ways of Big Folk who don't seem to understand the finer - - er - the ways of us hobbits. Be that as it may!" he rushed on, "I would like to tell you that I have liked half of you half as well as I ought to have, and have ribbed some of you twice as much as you deserved."

Difficult as this may have been, Eodwine smirked and there were titters and chuckles around the gathering. Falco beamed.

"So it is with some regret that I have made my decision to travel back to the Shire, starting this very morning. I will miss you, and I will bring memory of you with me back to my folk in the north. I will tell them that the folk of the Eorlings, big as they are, are in some way akin to us hobbits, and that is a very good thing. I wish you all well! Good bye!"

And with that he put his hand in his pocket, put on a ring, and did not disappear, but grinned and bowed one more time.

The assemblage broke up with many of the House of Scarburg making a point to wish Falco well on his journey. While they were busy with that, Eodwine sought out Dan of the Drugs.

"I have found you in all these folk! I have a favor to ask of you. Would you use your skills to search for the one who was seen by Erbrand yesterday? We found foot prints in the Scar area and I suppose the prints belong to the same one. What do you say?"

[Eönwë]

The young girl hw had met last night had handed him some food and drink and asked him how he had slept. "Good morning, Ginna. I slept fine, thank you. And what about yourself?" Judging by her answer it seemed that she had, but he could tell otherwise. She went on, back to her duty of helping everyone break the fast.

It was not long after that somewhat brief encounter with Ginna that Eodwine began to speak, laying out the procedures for the day. And afterwards, the Eorl had come up to him and asked him to track down the stranger. His thoughts turned to his pouch. Was it time yet?. He forced his mind back with a jolt. He was sure the Eorl knew full well the tracking capabilities of the Drûgs, and he, Daghan-turi-Dan, was one of those that were talented among the Drûgs at it. He could follow a scennt for says, except through running water, and hear from further away than most men could see.

"Aye! I accept. But I ask if Erbrand can leave his duties for a while to show me where you say this man, and moreover, tell me, what are your plands for this intruder?

[littlemanpoet]

Dan's face was as unreadable as Eodwine had heard about the Drugs, but his willingness to help was evident in his words.

"Erbrand may of course show you. As for plans, I have not made any yet, for I do not know who the man is nor what if anything he has done, except to hide from us. When you find him and if he comes to us willingly, then we will make his acquaintance. If he is unwilling to come, I must know why, for it is my duty to protect my folk."

Dan seemed to consider himself answered with a single nod, and went to Erbrand who stood not far away, preparing himself to join the hunting party. Eodwine watched Dan explain, and when Erbrand looked to Eodwine, he gave a nod of agreement. The two started off toward the edge of Scarburg.

Eodwine saw that preparations ran apace around him. He was going to give his aid to helping Léof with the animal pens, but first he wanted to know how things stood with the latest newcomer. He walked to the women's tent and called.

Rowenna showed up at the entrance.

"How does our newest guest fare?"

"I do not know for sure, lord. I will go ask Modtryth."

"Very well. You will find me among Léof's help."

Rowenna went back into the tent with her question for Modtryth.

[Folwren]

While everyone else decided what job they would like to partake in, Javan stood to the side, wondering what he should do. He did not think that he was at liberty to choose what he wanted to do all day, but no one was telling him to do anything. As the talk went on for minutes, sorting into groups, he finally decided to approach Eodwine.

“My lord?” he said, catching Eodwine’s attention. “What shall I do?”

It did not take Eodwine very long to decide. “You can help those set up the tents.”

Javan nodded and withdrew again. He listened to Falco make his farewell speech, and then, when all the formalities were dealt with, he went in search Garstan, he being in charge of setting up the tents. As he wandered past Stigend and the men grouped around him to go hunting, his eyes lingered on them with longing. He would prefer to go with them, but wit ha sigh, he resigned himself to the job that Eodwine had directed him to take.

“I am going to help you, Mr. Garstan,” Javan said.

“Oh, very good. I would be glad to have your help.” Garstan smiled at him and Javan grinned back. “I think Garmund and Cnebba could help us as well, if they’re anywhere around...”

“I can find them,” Javan offered.

“Yes, that’d be good. I’ll meet you over there, where we’ll set up the tents.”

Javan nodded and set off to find the boys.

[Thinlómien]

Modtryth

Modtryth and Rowenna had brought Saeryn to the women's tent and helped her to rest. Modtryth had sent Rowenna to fetch more water for Saeryn and some extra blankets and the younger woman had obeyed, quickly, silently and expression unreadable, as always.

Saeryn rested on the makeshift bed, looking pale and keeping her eyes closed.
"Saeryn?" Modtryth asked. "You are wounded, aren't you?"
"Yes..." she replied wearily. "My left side."
"I will have a look at it. Breathe calmly and move as little as possible."

Modtryth removed Saeryn's clothes a little, revealing an ugly wound.

"Is it bad?" Saeryn asked quietly.
"It has healed. But it looks like the wound is starting to fester... I would be reluctant to see to it myself, you need a proper healer, or at least someone with more knowledge about these things than me."

Modtryth's face was grave. She wondered who in the camp could have much more than the basic knowledge she had. She did not know where the healer woman Ædhel was.

She tried to smile. "What you need the most is rest, though, and that at least, we can give you immediately. You will be alright."

At that moment, Rowenna came back. She brought the blankets and a big pint full of water and laid both of them close to Saeryn's bed. Then she turned to Modtryth.

"Lord Eodwine enquires how our newest guest fares," she said.
"Tell him that she is not in great danger, but she needs Ædhel to see her. And if it eases his heart, you may tell him most of her weakness is probably due to exhaustion," Modtryth replied.

~*~

Cnebba

"I'm the chief," Garmund declared.
"No, I want to be the chief," Cnebba replied.
Garmund shot him an annoyed glance. "Well you can be the chief of the neighbouring tribe, then."
Cnebba eyed his friend a little suspiciously, but agreed.
"I am Bam-Dam-Bam, the greatest tracker there ever was!" Garmund said.
"I am Gong-Bong-Bong, the Orc-slayer and the greatest droogy warrior of all time," Cnebba decided.
Garmund looked a little annoyed. "I can also make pookeymen," he then said, "I'm the best pookeyman maker in Middle-Earth!"

The two Drûg-chiefs started as friends, but soon started quarreling as Bam-Dam-Bam's pookeyman attacked Gong-Bong-Bong and he killed it. (Although, Garmund claimed that pookeymen can't be killed.)

Then Cnebba saw Javan coming to their direction. "Ooh, an Orc!" he cried. "Let's ambush it!"
"Yes, let's hide in the tree like proper droogies do!"

The boys climbed to the small lone tree growing close to the camp.

"He's coming closer!" Cnebba whispered.
"Shh! Don't be so loud, he can hear us," Garmund replied very quietly.

[Folwren]

Saeryn lay still, taking Modtryth’s advice of moving as little as possible. But it was harder to breathe calmly. At first, she was calm as Modtryth uncovered and inspected the wound, but when Rowenna returned and brought a question from Eodwine, and when Modtryth replied, she could not help the extra beat in her heart. Her eyes opened slowly and then closed again almost at once.

What were these strange thoughts and emotions? She hadn’t come back because she wanted to change her answer and marry him. She told that to herself often. But did Eodwine still want her as wife? Was that what his question had been earlier? She had sensed that before, right as he had asked it, and she had not been able to answer. What if she had had the strength to answer? What then would she have said?

She disliked these thoughts. They were troublesome and confusing. But she knew they had to be faced. Either that, or she must run again.

A groan escaped her lips. She turned her head away from Modtryth to hide the grimace of mental turmoil. She’d done enough running, and she couldn’t run now even if she wanted to.

If she could not face Eodwine and these decisions, why had she come back?

---

Javan

Javan heard voices up ahead. They were young and childish, and quarreling, so they probably belonged to the very people he was searching for. He had to round the tents to come to them, and when he finally came around, no one was there, and all was quiet. He looked back the way he had come, and up between the tents, but the boys were not there.

“H’m,” he thought aloud. “They must be somewhere around here. Cnebba! Garmund! Come on, we’ve got to get to work.”

There was a movement in the tree ahead. He hurried forward and looked up through the leaves. They were both perched on the branch right above his head, and before he could get the first word out of his sentence ‘Garstan’s waiting for us’, they had both jumped, landing right on him.

“‘ere! What’s the meaning of this! Ge’ off me!”

“Don’t let ‘im escape, Dam-Bam!” cried Cnebba.

“Well, you keep your own side under control, and I’ll keep mine!” The boys were grasping at his arms and shoulders, pinning him to the ground. The element of surprise had certainly worked in their favor.

Javan strained to get up, angry at being ambushed like this and pinned by two boys younger than he. He quickly realized he could not escape from Garmund’s grasp - the boy, although three years younger than he, was taller by a head that Javan - so he concentrated his force on his right side, with which Cnebba grappled.

He shook himself loose of Cnebba and twisted about to grab Garmund. With a heave of his body, he rose up, and they rolled over several times on the ground. When they stopped, Javan was on top. He paused, thinking about what he should do, and had decided not to continue fighting and just deliver his message from Garstan and get up and go when Cnebba attacked him from the side, knocking him off Garmund.

“Now, stop!” Javan shouted, his temper snapping. “Quit it! I came to get you two because Garstan wants your help with the tents!”

[littlemanpoet]

If it eases his heart? What if anything would his heart have to do with Lady Saeryn's condition? The moment the question was raised in Rowenna's mind, she knew. She felt a sudden weight drop inside, and she knew its name: dread. This was a noblewoman, wellborn and therefore marriageable to such as Eorl Eodwine. And she was beautiful. Why else would she come back if not to allow herself to be courted?

These thoughts raced through Rowenna's mind as she walked to the tent's entrance to relay Modtryth's message. Such a formidable rival Rowenna knew she could not abide! And here, she had thought to make a friend of her! She would have to give all appearances of friendship, for she would need to have this Saeryn's confidence. That much was certain. It was her only hope. But what to say to the Eorl?

She came to the entrance. He was standing just outside. Her heart raced.

"She is in need of a healer, lord. Is there one here?" Maybe she could suggest that the girl be sent to Edoras for healing. But she kept her tongue in her mouth as to that.

"We have one here," Eodwine replied. "I should have thought of her sooner. Æðel is her name. I will fetch her."

With that, the Eorl was gone on his new errand, and Rowenna had not even needed to pass on the extra tidbit Modtryth had supplied. Ease his heart? Rowenna was determined that she must be the one to ease his heart, and no other.

She returned to Modtryth and Saeryn and smiled as warmly as she knew how.

"Lord Eodwine has gone to fetch the one called Æðel. How are you feeling, Saeryn?"

[Folwren]

“Lord Eodwine has gone to fetch the one called Æðel. How are you feeling, Saeryn?” The voice came from right beside her, but Saeryn did not comprehend for a moment. When she realized that she was being spoken to, her head jerked about and her eyes flew open.

“I am well, I am fine,” she said at first. “No.” She was among friends, she could be honest. “I need to sleep. Please let me sleep.” Rowenna nodded and Saeryn turned her head away again.

Lord Eodwine knew that she was wounded. She had not wanted to worry him. He would be worried enough. Hot tears prickled behind her shut eyelids. Why must she be a burden? Her breath trembled slightly as she drew it, and then it calmed. The tears and remorse and confusion were forgotten as she drifted off into a brief sleep.

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand led Dan to the spot where he was watching the intruder. Dan followed silently, giving Erbrand enough time to describe the intruder’s looks and clothing.

“Which way did he go?” Dan asked at length.

“Straight towards the other end of the marsh,” responded Erbrand pointing with his hand in the direction that he saw the man flee. “I’m sure your search will not be in vain, Dan. That man looked awfully curious about our camp, and I don’t think he’s cured of it just yet. My guess is that he’s hiding somewhere amongst the brambles and bushes on the other side.” Dan’s face looked grim and determined, measuring and scoping the landscape in front of them.

“Do you think that you will need further assistance in this matter Dan? I’ll be happy to travel with you until we catch this man, but if you have no need of me I'll not bother you and I’ll go assign myself to joining the hunting party.” Dan stared ahead for a few moments seeming to take no notice of Erbrand, but he didn’t mind. Whatever Dan’s decision would be Erbrand didn’t care; either job would suit him just fine.

[Lhunardawen]

After everyone had broken their fast, Ginna gathered the soiled utensils and brought them back to the makeshift kitchen. She proceeded to help Kara wash them but Frodides called her away.

"No, girl, leave the dishes to Kara. She can do that on her own. I need you to get those repaired."

The cook pointed to a box in the corner of the kitchen, containing utensils which had become bent and broken before and during the move to Scarburg. They had sorted those out the previous day, but could not have them fixed immediately, with everyone busy getting the household all settled in.

"Bring them to the smith and stay with him until they're all fixed. Make sure he does the task right away or tell him from me he won't get any meals served to him until he's done."

Ginna had to smile at another one of Frodides's wonted affectionate threats, but exchanged a worried look with Kara. They both knew Frodides was aware of how things were between Ginna and Harreld, whether or not she overheard the ladies' conversation the day before. Kara was the first to speak.

"I'll do it."

"I need your help preparing the meals, especially now that there are more mouths to feed. And you'll just get your back broken with the weight; at least I know Ginna can carry heavy things, even if I still can't trust her with cooking."

Kara shrugged apologetically, which Ginna acknowledged with a slight nod. She took a glance at Frodides's face. The older woman looked serious enough, and Ginna realised she meant business, but she could not help wondering if Frodides had something up her sleeve. It was certainly like her to disguise her means of getting things done, one way or another. There was nothing for it, however, but for Ginna to do as she was told, so without another word she went out to look for Harreld, with the box of utensils in her arms.

She found him setting up his temporary smithy some distance from the baker, and took her time walking to scrutinise him. He went about his own work without minding the fuss around him, mainly created by the party about to set out to hunt, and Ginna could see by the way he moved almost automatically that he really knew his work. She could not help admiring his industry. But when she saw his slightly knitted brows and the tightness around his mouth she suddenly felt apprehensive. Is he thinking about me?

"Ow!"

Harreld looked around towards her. Ginna cursed silently; she had hit her foot against a particularly large stone. Without looking up she hurried towards the smith and deposited the box before him.

"Frodides wants those repaired, and told me to wait until you're done."

She saw that it was not necessary to add Frodides's threat as Harreld immediately began taking out the utensils, but her mouth longed to voice out other words: Harreld Smith, could you ever forgive me?

Instead she said aloud, "Harreld, can I help you with anything?"

[Thinlómien]

The Orc was whining something. Brave Gong-Bong-Bong didn't listen to it, but kept hitting the creature's side. The mighty orc blocked the blows easily, keeping an eye on Great Dam-Bam-Dam. It didn't even pay proper attention to Gong! Infuriated, the droogy warrior hit, faster than before, and the Orc didn't manage to parry it. It howled in pain and hit back. Gong was so surprised at his own strength that he didn't realise the retaliatory blow was coming until it was too late. There was a flash of pain and he fell to the ground, holding his nose.

"You do not hit him like that!" Dam shouted at the Orc. He towered over the ghastly creature and hit it, aiming at the head. The Orc ducked, a little too late, and received the blow on its forehead. Uttering words in the vile Orcish tongue, it attacked back. Blows were dealt and parried, there were hits and misses. Both the Orc and the droogy hunter were aching, but neither of them was ready to give up.

[littlemanpoet]

Things were not going very well. Harreld had never had to deal with such a poor situation before. A temporary smithy! Bah. He and his brother Garreth had apprenticed to a very good smith of good standing and excellent tools in Edoras, and had little by little bought the operation from him as they grew into the trade and he advanced in years; so they had always had very good equipment, connections, and materials. Now he had a firepit made of stones, a heap of turf for the bellows, and a camp chair to sit on. At least he had his own good tools. But he was going to run out of materials quickly at this rate, for he had brought only what he could properly call his own with him when he had left Garreth in Edoras.

But what was the use of all this when everyone was given tasks elsewhere and he had no one to pump the bellows? He might as well go help with the tents are the animals for all he could do on his own. Or he could look in the ruins and see what metals he could find in there.

"Ow!"

Who was that? He turned and saw Ginna. He tried to wipe the scowl off his face; he needn't have bothered, for she did not meet his eyes but walked up quickly and placed the box she carried at his feet.

"Frodides wants those repaired, and told me to wait until you're done."

That made sense. Frodides seemed to understand that he would need someone on the bellows while he worked. He opened up the box and took out the utensils. Frodides could have sent Kara instead of Ginna, he supposed. It probably meant nothing. Kara was a more experienced hand around the kitchen. He looked over the kitchen tools and studied what must be done with them, and what materials he had that could be used to fix them.

"Harreld, can I help you with anything?"

"What?" He looked up. "Oh! Yes! I am sorry. I will need you to pump the bellows. Kneel down behind the handles over there. Yes, that's right. But you need not pump yet. First I must light the fire and then you must pump until we have the right amount of heat so I can bend these knives and whatnot back into shape."

Harreld lit the fire with his flint and tinder and instructed Ginna how to pump the bellows. She learned quickly, but appeared not to be enjoying the labor much. Was it because she did not want to be near him? Or was it too lowly a job for her? Little matter. Clearly it would be best to simply finish the job as deftly and soon as possible to spare her the trouble. Harreld put his attention to the task at hand.

[Gwathagor]

It was early morning, but already hot when Crabannan and his horse crested the hill. Instead of riding, he was walking along on his own two feet, taking shelter from the sun in the shadow cast by his gangly steed. The two companions (for so they seemed, as the horse walked alongside its master without halter or lead) went along at a leisurely pace, with no where to go and in no hurry to get there. Crabannan threw rocks at snakes and wild fowl, and the horse strayed to nibble on heads of wheat – but returned to Crabannan’s side at a whistle and a snap of the latter’s fingers. Then the two would continue to plod along, Crabannan limping slightly in his right leg.

Crabannan was tall and dark, with a nose like an eagle and hair the color of raven’s feathers. His black cloak, which fluttered idly in the breeze, gave him a somber quality which was belied by his lively, sardonic eyes and mouth. At his back were a bow and arrows, and at the back of his sword-belt was strapped a short Eorling sword. On his horse, behind the saddle, were tied two more objects, both carefully wrapped up in cloth. The first was long and clearly a sword, but the second, which was short and broad, was indistinguishable beneath the cloth. Apart from a small saddle-bag containing a blanket and a few odd tools, these were all his possessions.

They first spotted the smoke from the kitchen fires in Scarburg, then the ruined hall itself, and as they drew closer still, they began to be able to make out people moving about between the tents and buildings. “I wasn’t expecting Eorlings out here,” he said softly to himself. “I had rather thought we’d be alone until we got to Edoras.” He stopped to survey the fledgling settlement. His horse stopped and looked at him questioningly.

“Well…shall we stop by or did you have other plans?” Crabannan was talking to his horse now. “Indeed! You never told me you made friends with a mare last time we were in Edoras. Ah well, she hasn’t seen you for two years, and I’m sure she can wait a day or so longer. Besides, I’m hungry. Perhaps, Horse, we can work for our breakfast...or I, at any rate. I see you’ve had yours.”

Crabannan did NOT know how to converse with horses, but he did know that he was, indeed, hungry and had not eaten for at least a day. So he and “Horse”, as he pragmatically called his steed, made their way down the hill and up the lane into the settlement. Crabannan was still limping a little on that stiff right leg.

[Lhunardawen]

Pumping the bellows for Harreld was an easy enough job for Ginna, and she immediately got the hang of it; the task kept her hands occupied while leaving her thoughts free to wander. At first she watched the fire, careful to keep it strong enough for the smith's use, but soon she found herself slipping now and again into staring at the heart of it. She would be roused from semi-consciousness every time Harreld's large hands passed into her line of vision, and each of those times she felt the frown on her face ever deepening, as though beaten into place with each strike of hammer against anvil.

Ginna was not surprised that Harreld chose to keep his peace and focus on his work. He had never been the first to speak, even when they still felt free to converse with each other as they wished. Always, it was she who took the initiative. Alone in the kitchen after he rescued her from the outlaw. After the Eorl announced the move to Scarburg. As a matter of fact, they would probably never have got to know each other beyond their names if not for her efforts to reach out to him. Why should this situation be any different?

But Ginna, she reminded herself, you wanted this opportunity. You need this. And she did not deny it. But what could she possibly say to end a fortnight of silence? One thing was for sure, she was not going to do as he did the last time they talked to each other: she would not just spring the issue at him from nowhere. More likely than not that would just lead to an argument, and heaven knew that was the last thing Ginna wanted right now.

She risked a glance at his face. A scowl could still be discerned there. Ginna wondered if this was his usual work expression, or if it was caused by something else. Maybe it wasn't just her?

"It must be a bit tougher for you now, with Garreth not around," she remarked gently.

[Folwren]

Javan’s retaliating blow to Cnebba had not been weak. The spurt of blood from his nose was satisfactory, but not for very long, as Garmund immediately stepped in to defend his companion, shouting and striking out simultaneously.

“You do not hit him like that!” Garmund cried as he hit Javan.

“I’ll hit you like that!” Javan replied. He rushed forward, engaging Garmund in the fight. He had forgotten about his errand, the heat of the moment having wiped it completely from his mind.

The match was a surprisingly fair one. Garmund, although younger, was taller, but not stronger that Javan. Neither of them got the upper hand. After several punches were given and received on both sides, Javan flung himself forward, right into Garmund’s arms, and grappled with him, attempting to wrestle him to the ground. If he could just pin him down and sit on top of him, he would soon get a surrender...

[Groin Redbeard]

Dan had assured Erbrand that he could handle the lone man without his help, and urged Erbrand to follow his original plans of going with the hunting party. Erbrand sped back to camp as fast as he could fearing that he was left behind. He stooped to enter his tent and gathered the materials needed for the journey: a knife, rope, some dry goods for eating; everything that a man needed, except for a bow. He wondered about this for a second and then shrugged it off, there were probably lots of weapons he could choose from Lord Eodwine's armory. The knife was fastened to his belt and the rest was placed into a saddle bag. Erbrand left the tent picking up his axe on the way out, he didn't know who or what dwelt in the lands this far west and he didn't want to be caught unprepared.

Erbrand made his way to the makeshift stables were his horse was kept. Three men were saddling horses when he arrived, one of the men nudged the other two at Erbrand's approach. Erbrand silently placed his goods on the ground and started to saddle his horse, Traveler.

"Are you Erbrand?" one of the men asked him.

"Yes." was his simple reply.

"We were told that you were coming with us. My name is Balvir, captain of the house of Æðel, and this is Matrim my lieutenant." Matrim stepped forward and presented himself when his name was mentioned.

It was plain to see that these two men were not from Rohan. Not only were their names strange and foreign sounding, but their hair was black and had curl to it, unlike his own blond straight hair. They were probably men of Gondor, but what they were doing here in Rohan Erbrand did not know, nor did he want to, it was none of his business.

"It's nice to meet you both," Erbrand said his expression grim while shaking both their hands, "I take it that you are the hunters that I'll be with."

"That's right," Said Balvir, tightening cinch around his horse's waist, "We'll be heading east, traveling along the scar towards the river Entwash, we can expect to find good hunting in that area. Can you handle a bow competently?"

"I'm a fair shot, yes." A quiver was immediately tossed to him, filled with arrows and a short bow. Erbrand examined it before he strapped it around his back.

"Hello there," came a cheery voice on the other side of Traveler, "I guess they forgot to introduce me. My name is Lithor, a guard of the house of Eodwine." Erbrand's head popped under Traveler's neck to get a better look at the man. A smiling face lit up Lithor's face as he stood holding his horse's reins. He looked older than Erbrand, though he could not tell for sure since Lithor wore his helmet.

"Are you finished yet, Erbrand?" Balvir said, more out of impatience than of curiosity, "If we want to catch anything before nightfall you better get a move on." Erbrand pulled down his stirrups, pulled himself onto Traveler's back, and then followed Lither after Balvir and Matrim.

It gave Erbrand a sick lonesome feeling in his stomach, when they left the camp. He had just arrived and already he was leaving. Of course the whole idea was absurd, but when you have your hopes set high on obtaining a particular thing it depresses you to be departed from it, even for a short time.

He followed his three companions rather than riding abreast of them, feeling out of place in the company of total strangers, let alone two foreigners. The heavy beating of his horse's hooves seemed to drown out the light thudding of their lighter, nimbler horses. Soon Scarburg had vanished from sight and Erbrand's anticipation grew as Traveler changed from a canter to a gallop to match the speed of the other horses.

[Gwathagor]

The first thing Crabannan saw as he walked into Scarburg was a tangle of arms and legs flailing about in the middle of the road, about a hundred feet ahead of him. Two boys were going at it like a couple of mountain goats; a third boy sat a yard or two away, bleeding profusely from the nose. As Carbannan watched, the shorter of the two boys leapt at the taller boy with a ferocity that surprised even Crabannan, who had won his fair share of fights. Without a second thought, he sprinted down the road, ignoring the pain in his right leg. Horse plodded along behind.

Just as he reached the fight, the two boys toppled and spun to the ground, landing in a cloud of dust with the shorter boy on top. Instinctively, he began to pummel the tall fellow, from whom all the fight seemed to have fled. Crabannan seized the boy (who was, of course, Javan) and lifted him bodily off his fallen opponent, then dragged him to the side of the road and dropped him, making sure to keep himself between the two fighters.

He shot a wary look at Javan, and then stepped over to the boy who was bleeding. With a deftness born of frequent repetition, he tore off a bit of his threadbare grey tunic and gave it to the boy to stop the bleeding, all the while watching Javan over his shoulder. The boy made no sign of trying to rejoin the battle, and seemed to have calmed down somewhat.

Stepping back, Crabannan surveyed the three boys, trying his best to look stern and NOT to smile. It was hard.

"Ordinarily I would have waited to see who would win, but it was clearly going to be him," he said, stifling a chuckle as he gestured at Javan. "And because I'm now cross that I didn't let you fight a little longer as sport, I think I am owed an explanation in return for the lost merriment. You, tall boy. I saved you from a beating, you tell me why you were fighting. Quickly now, I'm hungry."

He had been mostly joking, but he felt like he really might become seriously peeved in a moment or two. The sudden sprint had left his right leg throbbing and sore, even though that knife wound ought to have healed weeks ago.

[Folwren]

What? Asking for an explanation for a fight? If he were Eodwine, perhaps then Javan could understand being asked what the fight was about. But a stranger? And to tell Garmund to hurry because he was hungry! Did this man believe that the boys carried around food with them and that they would provide breakfast to any random person?

Javan finally had enough wits gathered to stand up and speak. So he did. On his feet again, and with his hands once more in fists, he challenged the stranger’s order.

“Why? What’d we have to explain anything to you for? You’re the one who interrupted without being asked. We should ask for an excuse from you! And if you’re hungry, go find Kara or Frodides - we can’t give you anything to eat! Speak quickly, for we’re impatient.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld set to work on the knives. This was deceptively tricky work. The cutting edge had to be handled with great care. If he left it too thick for the sharpening, there would be a blemish, a pimple, in every cut the wielder made. If he made it too thin, it would crack under the sharpening stone and come back to him. A smith never wanted a knife to come back to him because it had cracked; it was the sign of mediocre work, as if he were barely out of apprenticeship.

The girl was thankfully quiet. She was doing a good job with the fire. In certain ways she made a better partner than Garreth, who could keep up a constant stream of needless chatter about nothing. And she was far easier on the eye - which at this moment he did not have to spare, but the thought did occur nonetheless.

The ladles were a different problem. If the bowls were crushed, it would take great care to make sure they were as round as could be managed, especially with a temporary smithy. The handles were a simple matter, and thankfully, he was spared the trouble of crushed bowls.

The care with which Ginna was working was yet another indication to Harreld that she would have made a very good wife indeed. But it was not to be. She would not have him. She was, of course, born of higher stock than he, and he knew he should have thought of that far sooner than he had; but he had been lovestruck at first, and when the strike bites, all one can think of is the other, and such things as birthright seem small matters easily overcome. Well, he knew better now. Then why, Harreld, he asked himself yet again, did you come to Scarburg?

Suddenly she spoke, interrupting his thought. It took him off guard despite the quietness of her words.

"It must be a bit tougher for you now, with Garreth not around."

He scowled even deeper for he had to make sure of the stem of this ladle before he could say a word. It was taking longer than most ladle stems, it seemed! He knew he was rushing it. Just a little harder tap, just a - NO! It cracked.

"Splinters!" he yelled. She jumped where she was sitting, sudden fear in her eyes. He bit his tongue.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I-"

"No, no, I rushed. It is not your fault." Why did you have to speak in the middle of a job? Why could you not wait until I was between ladles? He did not speak his inner shout, and took a few deep breaths. She was wordless, watching him now, seemingly as if he were a storm front about to bring cold wind and rain. She was a breakable little lady, he suddenly thought, maybe not so much in body, but in heart.

"I am sorry," he said at last, "I should not be hot headed like that. Yes, It is tougher with Garreth not around, in a way. He talks too much, but I'm used to that. I like the quiet of Scarburg, for Garreth and Edoras are loud." And you are quiet, which is a good thing. "But this outdoor hearth and working out of tool cases is something I will very gladly do without as soon as a proper smithy is built for me. I see it will not happen today with all the things that must be done first." He sighed and picked up the now cooled two parts of the ladle. He fished out his packet of metal shards and looked for a good solder piece.

Falco

Falco made his way to the animal grounds and found his pony. Léof, good man that he was, had already gotten him ready. All that needed doing was to load him with bags and a hobbit.

"My thanks, Léofric, for the fine care of my pony."

Léof smiled and wished him well. Bidding each other good-bye, Falco led the pony away. "Back on the road for you and me, pony. Maybe I ought to give you a name after all these travels, seein' as you're no good for eatin' anymore."

The pony ignored him. Here came Eodwine, leaving the women's tents, heading toward the animals.

"So it is time, is it, Falco?" Eodwine said.

"Aye, it is that. I'm ready, and that's no lie. Can you help me with these two bags?"

They were tied tight and a strong piece of rope was tied to each so they could be draped over the pony's back just behind him, with a thick piece of cloth beneath the rope to protect the animal's hide from chafing. Eodwine set it in place. Then Falco climbed onto the pony's back, using a kitchen table to help him get up, as he had no footholders dangling. He did not abide such things as a luxury he didn't need.

"Well, this is it, then. I wish you great success, Eodwine, in making a home out of this rambling ruin."

"My thanks. I think, with all these folk about, so willing and able to help, it will not be overmuch of a task."

"I think you have the rights of it. Mind you," Falco winked, "take good care of that Saeryn lass, as she'd make you a proper wife!"

Eodwine reddened. "Perhaps, if she still has such an interest."

"Why else do you think she came back?"

Eodwine shrugged. "Maybe. At any rate, if she has such an interest, I dare say she's in for a fight from Rowenna, if you understand me."

"Oh ho! So that's how it is! You get to be fought over! Now ain't that lucky! Or it could be trouble you don't need!"

Eodwine laughed. "Time will tell. I bid you farewell, and may the years not be too long before we see each other again."

"Good bye then! Next time you're up to the Shire, stop in! I'll keep a cheery fire in the hearth and good ale and vittles on the board for you." Falco waved and kicked his pony.

Eodwine waved and watched him go before he started off again to help Léofric.

Falco was just out to the road and saw a tall black haired stranger addressing the three boys. Cnebba held a rag to his bleeding nose. Garmund was looking all scowly. Javan was just now standing up, his hands curled into fists, and yelling at the man. Falco couldn't make out what he was saying, but could the man be a ruffian? Might he be so low as to pick on three boys?

Falco kicked his pony to a trot.

"Hey! Hi! What have we got here?" he called.

[Firefoot]

Léof

At Falco’s departure, Léof stood quietly for a moment watching the Hobbit lead the pony off. Léof had never known him well, perhaps, but he would still miss having him around – Falco was a character, he was. The land of Hobbits must be an interesting place, if Falco was any testament to his race, though Léof did not flatter himself to think that he would ever journey so far as to see for himself.

Now, however, he had work to do. From the meeting that morning he knew that Eodwine and Thornden were set to assist him, and sure enough Eodwine was approaching now, with Thornden not much behind. Léof put up a hand in greeting. When they had reached him, he began explaining his plans, feeling a little strange giving directions to the Eorl and his right-hand man. “As much as possible I would like to use the fencing already there and mend it rather than build new fencing. I am hoping that it will be a fairly simple task of reconnecting fallen beams, but if in places the wood is now too broken down to use, it will have to be replaced. Perhaps Stigend will have a small amount to share from his gathering today.”

Here Léof broke off, for a peculiar look had crossed the face of Thornden, which appeared to give Eodwine some amusement. Léof could not imagine why, for the plan had seemed wholly sound to him. “Is something amiss?” he asked. “Is there a better way which I have overlooked?”

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan was seriously considering the notion of picking Javan up and shaking him as a lesson in respect when a voice from down the road called: "Hey Hi! What have we got here!"

He turned to see who was addressing them - and his jaw nearly dropped. Sitting on a pony in the middle of the road was one of the shortest people he had ever seen. His first thought was: that is a VERY fat little boy. In his second thought, he realized that it was none other than a halfling, of whom he had heard much (as had all who lived through the War of the Ring), but never actually seen. The sight of the short, stout fellow on the pony accosting them in such a manner was so comical that all thoughts of throttling Javan disappeared and instead he burst into hysterical, uproarious laughter.

Gasping for breath, he collapsed in the road as great heaves of laughter racked his body. He tried to turn and apologize to the halfling, but the sight of the fat little fellow on the fat little horse, who was by now looking quite cross, simply threw him back into heaving, convulsive laughter. The others looked on astonished as the grim and dark Crabannan rolled about in the road, undignified and nearly suffocated, trying desperately speak, but without luck.

The absurdity of the situation struck him as he lay there: he panting for breath, the halfling looking almost as astonished as he did appalled, the one boy holding his bleeding nose, and the other two staring in bewilderment at the grown-up who had only moments before been telling them off.

With a sigh, Crabannan lifted himself to his feet, still breathing heavily and chuckling quietly to himself. He quickly regained his composure, however. The customary grim look returned to his face as he bowed low.

"Your pardon, sirs. We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. I am Crabannan - and I am still hungry," he said, with an almost imperceptible twinkle in his eye as he looked up at Javan from under his dark brows.

[littlemanpoet]

"More likely, you're Big Trouble," Falco retorted. "Leastways, you're no ruffian as you've got a sense of humor even if it is at my expense. I am Falco Boffin, hobbit of the Shire to you, and these boys are Javan, Garmund, and Cnebba, and their fathers and mothers will be wondering why they're out here in the road instead of at the tents where they ought to be!"

Falco eyed the boys, two of whom looked properly ashamed, but Javan's natural ire only seemed to rise.

"Mr. Falco sir, Mr. Garstan sent me out here to fetch these two but they hid on me and started a fight! It's not my fault! And then this man came and broke up the fight and then he threatened us if we didn't give him food!"

Falco judged quickly that Javan probably was not telling the entire story, but was trying to be honest in general though maybe exaggerating. Which meant the man probably had broken up the fight and mentioned food, as he just had again.

"Well, Master Crabapple, sir, you won't be finding no food on these boys, but if you go into Scarburg here and introduce yourself properly to Lord Eodwine, who will be over by the animals, and if you can hold yourself off from laughing in his face about whatever strikes your funnybone, you might get some vittles. And as to wrong feet, if you think the sight of me and my pony is enough to laugh at, maybe I ought to get off of my pony and teach you a lesson, unless you care to apologize for your disrespect. What say you to that?"

Far from running back to the tents, the three boys got up and moved to one side of the road, eyes wide and eager to watch what happened next. Falco gave them no mind but eyed this Master Crabapple or whatever his name was, with a meaningful glare.

[shaggydog]

Having wound a tortuous trail through the heart of the marsh, Oeric gained the far side and considered his options. The shortest route to the tumble-down byre and his meager possessions would expose him to far too great a risk of being spotted again. Instead, he chose a more circuitous route which would bring him up the far side of the ridge behind the remains of Sorn’s hall. There was one thing which he agonizing over in particular and it would be necessary to remain close to the ruins. He couldn’t bear the thought of the strangers digging about and finding . . . them. Oeric cursed his own ambivalence about taking any sort of action to remove the evidence of the crime. But any time he had tried to persuade himself that it would be for the best, his heart had quailed at confronting the mute accusation of white bone and grey ash. Now, his opportunity to take care of things in his own way was surely gone. Still, he had determined that he would keep watch as closely as he could and if the time came . . . well, he would decide what to do then.

Exercising extreme caution, Oeric managed to gain the ridge as planned, undetected. He could hear the sounds of the newly erected camp and knew it was highly likely the settlers would be investigating their surroundings. There was a declivity he knew of, however, which would allow him , at need, to virtually disappear. A stone’s throw away ran a convenient access to a small rise upon which he could lay on his stomach and spy to his heart’s content. Creeping along the last twenty paces as silently as he could, Oeric was dismayed but not completely surprised to find someone else already had the same idea, and same spot, in mind.

“Still here, I see.” The one who had not offered his name on their prior encounter spoke softly, yet his voice was grim, stony.

Oeric had been far too distracted by his own misery to care overly much about who the stranger was and why he was there, at Sorn’s family homestead. It had been a cold, wet night amongst several days of rain, and the stranger had sought the shelter of the byre as Oeric had. As the figure had appeared, a pale oval of face floating above a dark form, for one wild moment of fancy, Oeric had imagined it was Swain come back. But the stranger had quickly stepped in to the circle of light cast by Oeric’s small fire and dispelled the phantasm. Holding his hands out to the warmth, the stranger had nodded and asked only, “Mind? I haven’t found a dry spot all day.” Oeric in turn had nodded his acceptance of an unlooked for companion, his own thoughts turning back to their own moebic trail. The stranger too had held his own counsel and the two had not passed more than twenty words between them by the time Oeric had wrapped his byrchan around his shoulders and lay down to close his eyes and feign sleep. Whether this one had somehow been sent by providence to dispatch him in the night and thus end the conflict of his heart had seemed to matter very little. But the dawn had brought a cessation to the rain and the stranger was gone when Oeric awoke.

“You too.” Oeric replied. He glanced up in the direction of the ridge. “And now we have visitors as well.”

“Looks as if they are here for more than a visit.” The man replied. He looked directly at Oeric as he asked, “You’re not in a rush to go introduce yourself and bid them welcome?”

Oeric returned the look and replied evenly enough, “No, I’m not. And I take it you’re not either.”

The two eyed each other, each taking the measure of the other in light of their shared desire to remain unknown to the newcomers. Oeric’s interest in why this man had showed up several weeks ago, who he was, and what his business there could possibly be was now piqued. However, it was clear the fellow wasn’t going to be forthcoming of his own volition, and questions posed would only result in questions being asked of himself.

[Gwathagor]

"Maybe you ought to, Master Halfling," said Crabannan, in a half-mocking tone of voice. He hadn't the ability to be angry at this funny little fellow, but he was curious to see if the halfling really would try to "teach him a lesson." He crouched into a fighter's stance and raised his fists. "Come down off your high horse, sir, and make me apologize."

Javan, Garmund, and Cnebba looked dumb-founded from Falco on his pony to Crabannan. They had never seen anything like this strange, dark man, who laughed and fought in the same breath, conducting both activities with equal seriousness.

Crabannan was gambling, of course, that Falco would not suit action to the word and follow through on his threat. If he did, Crabannan knew that he would find himself in a bad situation. He would be forced either to back down and apologize, or to fight the halfling. The latter was out of the question. He knew that he could not possibly justify fighting the halfling - not, at least, if he wanted to be accepted in the settlement, for however short a time. On the other hand, retracting his challenge did not sound very attractive to him either.

It was clear to him that he had acted rashly, and he cursed bitterly under his breath. He had a knack for making himself unwelcome wherever he went, and he knew it. Either people didn't share his curious, wry sense of humor, or they found his brooding, stern personality uninviting.

Too late now, he thought.

He took another step forward towards Falco as he clenched his fists tighter and put on his best dastardly ruffian grin. He had had lots of practice.

"Avast...halfling! I'm waiting for you!" he cried.

Avast?! Crabannan groaned inwardly. This couldn't end well.

[Thinlómien]

There was a throbbing pain in Cnebba's nose. He held the rag the stranger had given him to it and saw it turn redder. It was actually quite interesting. Maybe they'd take him to see the healer, like a proper wounded warrior. Although, he admitted, Master Falco had not treated him and Garmund like proper heroes - not like heroes at all. At least he had been just as unfair to the vile Orc who had beaten them in a fight. That was shameful, indeed. They would have won, easily, Cnebba knew, if he had not been so grievously wounded. But still, the Orc had had to use some treacherous trick to beat Garmund...

"Maybe you ought to, Master Halfling, teach him a lesson. Come down off your high horse, sir, and make me apologize", the stranger said and fully grasped Cnebba's attention. What was this weird, rude stranger doing? Was he a highwayman? Was he gong to attack Master Falco?

"Avast...halfling! I'm waiting for you!" the stranger cried. Were they going to fight? It was too exciting.

Before Falco could reply, Cnebba stepped forward. He held the rag carefully to his nose, and said: "If you're going to fight, you must take us with you too. We want to fight too. Garmund and I will defend Master Falco against you Master Highwayman. " He nodded, smiling smugly. For some reason, everybody was satring at him in silence. "Well, if it's unfair, you can have Javan on your side, Master Highwayman", Cnebba amended.

[Eönwë]

"Erbrand may of course show you. As for plans, I have not made any yet, for I do not know who the man is nor what if anything he has done, except to hide from us. When you find him and if he comes to us willingly, then we will make his acquaintance. If he is unwilling to come, I must know why, for it is my duty to protect my folk." Eodwine had replied.

Erbrand fiddled with his pouch. It will be time soon, he said to himself.

He gave a quick nod to Eodwine, and with that Dan went to Erbrand, to whom he explained his mission. Erbrand led him into the marsh, to where he had seen the intruder. He could still see the footprints in thhe boggy mud.

“Which way did he go?” Dan had asked.

“Straight towards the other end of the marsh,” Erbrand said, pointing. “I’m sure your search will not be in vain, Dan. That man looked awfully curious about our camp, and I don’t think he’s cured of it just yet. My guess is that he’s hiding somewhere amongst the brambles and bushes on the other side.”

Dan had looked around at his surroundings, seeing in what sort of terrain he was and judging what he would have to do to find this intruder who had been spying on the camp.

“Do you think that you will need further assistance in this matter Dan?" asked Erbrand. "I’ll be happy to travel with you until we catch this man, but if you have no need of me I'll not bother you and I’ll go assign myself to joining the hunting party.”

Dan had politely refused, as first of all he didn't want to waste Erbrand, who had now become the closest thing he had to a friend here, and secondly, he would just interfere with the scent, which would reduce his chances of finding the man.

So Erbrand went off, back towards the camp, lookng slightly upset at missing an opportunity to find the intruder, Dan thought, but maybe he was just tired. After all, it seemed to Dan that Erbrand had done a lot this day so far.

So Dan started his search. He got to the clearing where Erbrand had seen the man, and had run off. It was all there in the footprints. They each had a story to tell. A man had come here from one direction, and then later on he could see that two more men had come, by the look of it Lord Eodwine and Erbrand, who had come to look for the first man. They had messed up the first man's prints a bit, but Dan could still discern them among the mud.

He followed them through the marshland, over scrub and through mud, ambling precariously over high crags and steep ditches. At last he came to large pool, if it called be called that. It could barely be called a pond. It was like an overgrown puddle, muddy and wet. "The Drûg can track anything, except through running water," he had heard someone say once, and it was true. But thankfully, this was not running water, and the scent of the intruder was still there. And besides, he could see the footprints where he had clambered out. He waded through the oversized puddle, which went up to his waist and at length, carefully avoiding any hidden rocks or sharp stones hidden beneath the water which was not so much cloudy as mud with extra water. As he climbed out, careful to avoid the rocky outcrop which took up most of the bank, he realised just what he had gotten himself into.

But he continued knowing that this was his duty, and that, as a Drûg, he would be letting down Lord Eodwine by not using his full capabilities.

He had been going on for half an hour now, relying on his sense of smell as much, if not more, than his sight, as the ground was becoming increasingly wetter and wetter as he progressed. He could see that he was getting lower and lower, further into a flood plain, which was the reason for this. And finally, blessedly, he saw that the trail was leading him up and out now, and as he looked to his right, he realised that he had never left the ruins of the old Scarburg hall out of sight. He continued on and up the inceasingly steep slope, somewhat nimbly for someone of his stature. You wouldn't catch a Dwarf being able to do this, he thought to himsellf, absentmindedly.

He thought he saww something flash ahead, not more than two hundred metres away, at most. He had gained on him. He continued on, is pace quickening. He was sure the intruder could not see him behind the yet more rocky outcrops and long grasses that obstructed both of their views. He went faster, and just whwn he was within a stone's throw- "Aah!" he shouted, his foot had gone into something wet and sticky, and quickly, his whole body followed, until he was up to his chest in it. As he looked down, he realised that he had fallen into a very deep, yet not wide, puddle. That was the problem with the marshes. You knever knew. Blast these marshes he thought.
Marshes were the work of Melkor, he thought. Only a person as evil as Morgoth could think of something like this. He had always held that they were some of the worst places to be in. Wet, muddy, and riddled with rocks, hills, and holes, a tracker's worst nightmare. You got something that could otherwise be good- fertile soil, water, and so on, and turned it into probably the most miserable sort of place imaginable. Yes, Melkor's work indeed- not firey hot, nor freezing cold, but somewhere in between, and still horrible to be in. Why had he been cursed with such luck? Why had he even volunteered to do this? He had been stupid to think that he could handle this sort of terrain well. He was up to his shoulders in the puddle now, and the he could smell the fetid odour of the fens.

"Help!" he shouted, hoping someone in the world could hear him.

[littlemanpoet]

"Maybe you ought to, Master Halfling," said Master Crabapple, then crouched and raised his fists, read to fight. "Come down off your high horse, sir, and make me apologize."

Falco raised a brow. Here was a bigger fool than himself.

"Avast...halfling! I'm waiting for you!" Master Crabapple cried.

Before Falco could correct the man as to the fact that his horse was actually a pony and so not that high, or ask him what in Middle Earth 'avast' was suppose to mean, Cnebba stepped forward.

"If you're going to fight, you must take us with you too. We want to fight too. Garmund and I will defend Master Falco against you Master Highwayman. " He nodded, grinning, then continued. "Well, if it's unfair, you can have Javan on your side, Master Highwayman."

Falco rolled his eyes. This would not do.

"Surprising as it is," he began, "it seems I'm to be the responsible one of this lot. I can't have these boys interfering or I'll have to answer for it and never get on with my journey to the Shire. Be that as it may, I think my quickness would be more than a match for you and your game leg, Master Crabapple.

"Cnebba, Garmund, and Javan, get on back to the tents or I'll tell your folks and Eodwine everything! And you, Master Crabapple, if you will just allow me and my pony room to get by, I'll take that as your apology and what's more, I'll be merciful and not beat you in a fair fight."

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan saw his chance to get himself out of a ridiculous situation and took it. He relaxed his guard and shook his head. He was not usually this lucky.

"Ah well, Halfling Falco, perhaps you are right. Perhaps you would be more than a match for me, with your two ferocious warriors, and I with my bad leg. Master Javan and I would have surely been overcome."

He stepped aside and presented a clear road for the halfling and his pony. He hoped that he had not seemed weak in his capitulation moments earlier. He cast a sidelong at Javan and the other boys, but from their expressions he could not tell whether they thought so; he grimaced and put the thought aside. It did not bear dwelling on, and he had managed to avoid beginning his brief stay in the camp with a brawl. That was what mattered.

"A wise decision, Master Crabapple. You have avoided the great indignity of being beaten by someone half your height," said Falco.

"We must put it to the test someday, eh Halfling? But not today, I see."

Falco nodded his assent stiffly.

"Someday, perhaps. When you are better prepared. And now, I must be on my way."

"In that case, I wish you farewell and fair travels, Master Halfling, if Crabapple the Highwayman's goodwill is not repulsive to you."

With that Crabannan turned back to the three boys who had been watching the interchange with much interest.

"Now, lads, if one of you could direct me to someone who can give me a meal, I would be in your debt. I'm willing to work for it, but I'll need the meal beforehand. I haven't eaten in a day."

As he spoke, he realized just how hungry and tired he really was. He leaned against Horse, resting his right leg. I wish I could eat grass like you, old boy. Horse licked his ear and nuzzled the shaggy head of black hair.

[Firefoot]

“No, I’m not. And I take it you’re not either,” replied the man.

Scyld neither affirmed nor refuted the statement. True, he was not eager to ingratiate himself with these people. However, the thought had come to him that he might be better off going willingly to the camp than being discovered skulking in the hills. While he had learned a thing or two in the last couple months spent on the run, Scyld was no woodsman. He might evade their notice for a few weeks, but to what end? He would learn far more by being down among them and gaining their trust. He had little to fear, so long as his identity remained hidden.

Scyld could only assume this man had a similar story. It would be fear that kept him up here in the wild, Scyld guessed; had the man committed some crime, and did he simply fear authority? Or was it more personal than that? Did he fear recognition?

And the deeper question – why was he hear at all, and why had he stayed here all this time? Scyld thought he looked dimly familiar, so perhaps he was a native to these parts, but without a name to match the face he might as well never have seen the man before for all he knew about him. Regardless of this, he had been here at least as long as Scyld had been gone, and Scyld needed information. He needed to know what had conspired here since his departure, how the people felt about Sorn’s death, whether he himself had been forgotten or if he was a part of the rumors concerning Linduial’s kidnapping, whether the destruction to Sorn’s holdings had been intentional or incidental.

But to gain information, he must also offer it. “I believe we may be able to help each other,” he said abruptly. “I am called Nydfara.”

The proffer of even a name caught Oeric off guard. He had no reason to fear or suspect this man, but something about his manner reminded Oeric of a dog with a bone, some jealously guarded secret and a bristling if approached too closely. The suggestion that they might be of use to each other, though, intrigued Oeric. Of what assistance could he possibly be to this enigmatic stranger? And more importantly, to what use could Oeric himself put this ‘Nydfara’?

“I’m Oeric.” He replied, deciding there could be no harm in an exchange of names. There were undoubtedly those still around these parts who would remember him from days gone by. He had lived here with his grandmother until his early teens. Whether or not there had come to be associated with his name any taint or stain he knew not, not yet at any rate.

Without wishing to reveal more at this point, Oeric beat directly to the point. “You speak of helping each other. As you guessed, I’m not wishing to make the acquaintance of our new neighbors, not at this point anyway. How would you propose to help me in that? And what will you require of me in return?”

Scyld smiled grimly. Good, the man was open to an exchange; let him think he had found an ally. Scyld had not yet discovered how useful he would be, however. "Any enemy of these neighbors, as you call them, is a friend of mine. You know your own needs best, and perhaps you might tell me how I could best help. My own request is simple: I want information, anything you know or are willing to tell me about these people or this land. I have been away on certain... errands... for some time now and find myself out of touch with recent happenings."

[Lhunardawen]

Ginna let out a gasp of breath she did not realise she had been holding, which she hoped went unnoticed amidst the tinkling sound of metal shards hitting against each other as Harreld searched through them. It took a bit of effort to keep herself from breaking into tears when the smith had shouted. She knew she was in a precarious position here, daring to speak to the smith after everything that had transpired between them, and the thought of Harreld - always so gentle despite his appearance - yelling at her was more than she could bear.

Thankfully she had been mistaken, or so Harreld claimed. But it seemed that if she really desired to make herself an amenable company to him, she would have to keep her tongue in check when she's with him. He liked the quiet of Scarburg, he said. No matter, she could always enjoy a good chat with Kara and Frodides, as well as Modtryth and Léoðern, whenever she desired. There was no need to repress the woman's need to talk completely. It was just that...she thought he enjoyed hearing her speak. Perhaps all that time back in the old Mead Hall, he had simply been patient with her, but in truth every moment spent with her had been trying to him? Was that what had damaged their friendship?

She wanted to be silent altogether, if that was the way he worked best. She could not keep herself from asking one last thing, however.

"Is that why you left Edoras, then, even if you knew you would for some time be working in crude conditions here?" she asked, her voice nearly a whisper. Because I thought you will be choosing Garreth over me, especially after what I did, she added to herself.

[shaggydog]

Out of touch with recent “happenings”? It was clear that this self-styled ‘Nydfara’ was curious to know how Sorn’s hall had burned to the ground. Oeric had no intention of satisfying that curiosity though, not now. Not one given much to dissembling, Oeric merely shook his head slowly, saying, “You know as much as I, I’ll wager. These . . . settlers appeared out of nowhere, and I have no idea what their intentions are, except from the look of it, they are here to stay. The landowner here, Sorn his name was, is gone – I don’t know where or why.” Oeric nodded in the direction of the ridge, and the destruction which lay beyond. “As for that, I was wondering if you could tell me.” Not exactly an untruth, but a careful sidestepping of what he himself knew. Nydfara’s own denial of recent knowledge was in turn an admission that he had been here, at some time or other. Oeric had a suspicion the ‘errands’ the other man referred to were likely to be such that would not bear too close a scrutiny. It lay within the realm of possibility that Nydfara did have some knowledge of what had gone on before Oeric’s own arrival at the already deserted hall.

Not knowing how to proceed with this probing without giving away more than he received, Oeric thought once more upon how this man, or any man, could help him. Still unsure of his own desires, Oeric said simply, “As for myself, I wish only to remain as I have been before yesterday, left alone, until such time as I choose otherwise. In this you can be of help to me merely by making no point of bringing my presence here to anyone’s attention.” Nydfara eyed him shrewdly at this last statement, and Oeric surmised that the man was assessing this request for silence on his part. Whatever Nydfara made of it, however, the man only nodded slightly, neither agreeing to, nor denying, the request.

More than that, if indeed Nydfara had anything to add, was not to be explored, as, at that moment, a cry came to them on the air, causing both men to freeze. The call was close, and they were both alarmed that anyone should have approached so near to them without their realizing it. It was one word only. “Help!”. But it induced completely different reactions in the two.

Nydfara was on his feet in an instant and moving away from the cry, across the stony ground in a wary but rapid half crouch.

Oeric’s first response, born of his innate character, was to hurry down the slope and towards the distress cry. Whatever mishap had befallen the one who had called out, the voice, though strangely accented, was clearly that of one in need. As he made his way forward though, Oeric’s mind at least considered the possibility of whether those on the other side of the ridge would have heard the cry. His feet slowed as he considered his own position. If he made himself known, or was spotted and apprehended, then explanations would be requested, then required of him. He could perhaps play dumb and claim no knowledge of what had happened here. But then again, he himself had no way of knowing who might have heard by now of his own flight, and pursuit. His isolation here was both a cocoon and a prison. If word had gone beyond these lands . . . if Swain had really had time to send word to Edoras . . . Confusion and fear brought his feet to a halt. Then once more, a second cry, much closer, came.

Stiffening, Oeric realized that whoever it was, they could be no more than 30 or 40 paces away. A stand of willow bushes still provided him cover, but he knew their presence signaled the presence of water, and that in turn suggested what might lay beyond.

Still irresolute as to what he would do, Oeric cautiously made his way closer. Dropping to the ground, he wriggled into the bushes and pulled himself forward until he could catch a glimpse of what, and who lay on the other side. Perhaps, he thought hopefully, those beyond the ridge would soon arrive. Having heard the call, their attention would be occupied by aiding their hapless fellow and he could stay secure and unoted in the thicket. Slowly inching forward, Oeric listened for the sounds of both plight and rescue.

[littlemanpoet]

"Is that why you left Edoras, then," Ginna asked, "even if you knew for some time you would be working in crude conditions here?"

"For the quiet?" said Harreld. "No. In truth, I did not know that it would be this quiet out here in the country. I came because I wanted to." Because I hoped I could change your mind. "I needed the change. There, now I'm ready. The fire needs some air again, bellowsmaiden." Harreld smirked at the name. She was far more than that to him, even if he could not have her to wife. He liked her, and liked her talk because she asked interesting questions instead of never ending talk about nothing.

Ginna pumped the bellows while he worked, and this time the ladle went together nicely, as if it had never been broken. And that was what Harreld liked best about smithing. Wounds in metal could be healed as if they were never there; unlike those of heart and flesh.

[Lhunardawen]

Harreld held up the fixed ladle and examined it closely; Ginna, too, looked at it, and smiled proudly. He really was good at his work. The smith turned his eyes toward her just in time to catch her expression, and she quickly turned back to the fire. From the corner of her eye she saw Harreld put aside the ladle and take another misshapen one, but she could not see his face.

Bellowsmaiden. That was what he called her. Ginna turned the word over and over in her head, trying to see how it fit. What did he mean? Was that all she was to him? Did he really think that the daughter of Randvér would be contented with such a job - with such a role? Ginna was surprised to realise that it did not matter much to her. For the here and now, if that was how she could help Harreld, why not?

Ginna saw that Harreld was preparing to fix the ladle in his hand and took her chance; she did not want him to break it again. "If you will have me, I can be your bellowsmaiden so long as you need one."

Harreld looked at her, surprised. Ginna held his gaze.

[Groin Redbeard]

The hunting party slowed their horses to a trot, making it seem unbearably long to make any progress across the never ending stretches of land. Lither was whistling a jovial tune as he swayed in the saddle; the high pitched ringing of the notes began to get on Erbrand's nerves, but it seemed that neither Balvir, nor Matrim, paid any attention to him or Lithor. Lithor, looked to Erbrand, as if he was fifteen years his senior, yet it seemed that he had the enthusiasm of a young boy. Not once when they were riding had Erbrand seen a stern look on the guard’s face, it was always lit up with grin or a smirk.

"Lithor!" came the quick words of Balvir, "Either you sing a song or you ride in peace, that whistleling is getting on my nerves." Lithor responded by shutting his lips. Erbrand couldn't help but smile.

Balvir struck Erbrand as a serious person, the Gondorian's dark bearded face was always stern and his deep blue eyes were always watching something. His hair hung down to just below his shoulders, which were extremely broad. Erbrand remembered him mentioning something about him being a captain in the house of a man called Aeol, or something like that; he never was good with remembering names.

“He’s not as bad as he is,” Erbrand suddenly noticed that Matrim had been riding beside him, “He’ll calm down in a little bit,” Said the Gondorian in a low voice.

Matrim was a calmer sort than Balvir and had a lesser likeness to Balvir. He never seemed to be angry or happy, Erbrand had not seen him smile or frown at all. However, the way that Matrim spoke seemed to sooth Erbrand’s tense feelings, and he could see that Matrim was a calm and gentle sort when it came to handling people.

They rode on in silence for around twenty more minutes until they came to a sloping area of the plain. Balvir motioned for silence and to dismount, they did so as quietly as they could. They left their horses to feed on the grass as they all followed Balvir up a wide hill. When they reached the top Erbrand could see that they were looking over a small basin of land. All around the place the ground rose and then gradually sloped down to where it was once again flat. There were no trees on the hills, but the grass got deeper and greener as the ground sloped down, to a small group of trees near the center of the basin.

“Well, this is certainly an ideal spot for hunting!” Erbrand said smiling. He would never suspect to find something like this in the vast open spaces of the Westemnet.

“Yes,” Matrim replied, “We’ve had luck here before in the past, and we usually find a good quarry here, mostly deer.”

“Let’s hope we have that same kind of luck again,” Balvir said grimly, “Come, let us prepare for the hunt. If there is anything in those trees we’ll flush them out soon enough.”

Erbrand followed Balvir down the hill back to the horses. There they strung their bows and examined their arrows. Erbrand could feel the amount of excitement in Traveler; he loved the hunt as much as his master did. Erbrand patted the horse on the neck and stroked his mane while making adjustments to his stirrups. A familiar procedure that Traveler knew well: “It won’t be long now, old boy,” said Erbrand, “It won’t be long now.”

[littlemanpoet]

"If you will have me, I can be your bellowsmaiden so long as you need one."

Harreld looked at her, surprised. She held his gaze. She looked so serious, as if more hung on her words than the need for someone to handle the bellows while he worked.

If you will have me, she had said. I can be your wife she had not said. But did she mean that? Harreld was not sure that he dared to allow himself to think that. He came back to his senses and closed his mouth, for his jaw had popped open a little bit. She was waiting for an answer.

"I would love you - er -" He flushed. "That is to say, I would like you to be my bellowswife-" His blush deepened. This was going badly. "I mean bellowsmaiden!" He pulled his eyes from hers and fumbled with his hammer and dropped it to the ground. He was glad for the distraction as he picked it up and wiped the grass off. His face began to feel not quite so hot.

"Except that when I have a real smithy it will be hot and close, and I would not have you mar your b-" His blush deepened again. Confound it! Why not say it? His flush deepened even more but he was determined. "I would not have you mar your beauty, dear one." He looked straight in her eyes, glad to have said his thought even while his face felt so hot it could catch fire and he'd have no need of a bellowsmaiden! Harreld, he said to himself, you are hopelessly smitten and you know it. No, worse. You love her. He watched her still to see how she would react, happy to have admitted it to himself, and feeling emboldened to maybe sue for her hand despite her higher place in Eorling society. A smith's wife was if not noble, certainly respectable.

[Groin Redbeard]

Traveler was out of sight down the hill from where he was crouching. Balvir had told him to take a position on this side of the basin where the deer would be driven along. His bow was at his side with an arrow already nocked and ready for shooting, he could see Balvir and Matrim side by side slowly moving towards the clump trees with absolute silence.

The plan was for the most skilled rider to flush the deer out on his horse and kill as many as he could while riding, the person just happened to be Lithor. Lithor would then try to steer the deer to the already waiting Balvir and Matrim, and then it was up to him, to pick up the pieces and shoot as many of the escaping deer as possible. He couldn’t help but feel that he was being excluded from the group, it seemed to him that he had the least out of all the roles that everyone played; he would be lucky if the deer even came in his direction, he might not get any.

Erbrand sat there on the hill watching Balvir and Matrim take their positions, Lithor was out of sight, and he thought about the excitement that they were feeling and how he would like to have his share of it all. He loved this part of his profession, catching the animals for hides that he would later craft into leather; the thought of being a mere spectator in it all was disappointing to him. He dismissed the idea from his head as being extremely selfish, and he cursed himself for pondering the thought for this long.

Just then Lithor appeared from across the basin galloping towards the trees with both of his hands clasping his bow. As he neared the trees, the tall grass within it stirred and nearly two dozen deer sprang from it and out into the open. Lithor drew his arrow back and let it fly, hitting one of the deer in the chest, but he did not stop when the deer fell, he quickly knocked another arrow and fired again, but this time his arrow was accompanied by Balvir’s and Matrim’s. Lithor drove the deer right in the direction of the two Gondorians, and their long bows sang in unison. The animals halted confused by the two figures that stood before them, but their confusion didn’t last long soon they were scrambling in whichever way to get out of the range of the flying death that surrounded them.

Three broke away and ran in the direction of Erbrand; now it was his turn. They were drawing closer to him as he raised his bow in readiness. He drew the string back so that the fletching of the arrow was at his chin, two slow breaths and on the third one he held in and let go of the string. The force of the pull drove the arrow hard into one of the deer’s chest and it fell rolling over in the grass until it lay still on its side. However, Erbrand’s part wasn’t over yet, there were still two deer on his side of the basin, it was his duty to catch them. He jumped to his feet as he saw the dead deer topple downward in the grass, and ran back to where Traveler stood. The horse had been stripped on any unnecessary gear, and he perked his head up as he saw Erbrand running back to him. Without hesitating, the man leapt onto Traveler, swinging himself on the horses back, and gave a loud whistle which the horse responded to by galloping hard in pursuit of the two deer. Erbrand pressed himself close to Traveler’s mane as the wind whistled past his ears, and they soon came close to one of the deer, while the other escaped. He drew himself tall in the saddle as he nocked an arrow for another kill, but when he fired Traveler’ josteling sent his arrow flying high. He drew another shot, and as he rose in the saddle he let go and the arrow went flying into the deer’s flank. The horse halted has Erbrand quickly fired another shot into the deer’s heart.

When he got back to the clump of trees the others were slinging the deer across their horse’s backs. Lithor gave a cry of triumph when he saw the two deer already slung across Traveler’s back.

“Good hunting,” Lithor said, his voice filled with enthusiasm “Well done Erbrand, I was afraid you wouldn’t get any.”

“I believed that myself for awhile,” he replied, smiling as Lithor shook his hand in congratulations.

“Yes,” Matrim said coming up and examining the deer, “Your lord Eodwine will be pleased when we return. His hall will not go hungry for a couple days more. I am anxious to get back and help with the real work around there.”

“Indeed, but our job isn’t done yet,” Balvir led two horses up to them, “Sixteen deer is a fine day of hunting, but it is the horses that will have to carry them back to camp, and they will be tired long before we reach there. Let us get what distance we can before we stop to rest.” And with that Erbrand led Traveler, who had two more deer slung to his back, after the others on their walk back to Scarburg.

Erbrand was also anxious to get back, to Scarburg. The Sun had risen high in the sky and there was no relief from its rays out where he was in the open, but not only for that reason did he want to get back. He wanted to see Dan again, and there were other people in the camp that he wanted to meet before the day had passed.

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan waited with his arm around Horse's neck, waiting for a response from one of the boys. He did not look nearly as threatening as he had a few moments before, but his rough appearance was still enough to keep the two younger boys from answering. Javan, on the other hand, had no such fear of grim strangers, as he had already demonstrated. He stepped forward.

"We've all got work to do. But if you follow us over there, I'll show you where you can get some food."

"Aye, that'll do fine. Lead on, then."

Taking Horse by the reigns, Crabannan followed the three boys down the road into the camp. Javan halted momentarily to point out the kitchen to Crabannan while Cnebba and Garmund continued on.

"My thanks, lad. Though that's surely not your name," said Crabannan with a bit of a crooked, half-smile as Javan turned to go.

Javan faced Crabannan again. "It's Javan."

"Javan then." Crabannan proffered his hand and Javan took it. "I appreciate the help, and I'm sorry for picking you up earlier. I haven't done much to make myself welcome, I fear. Well, now, I've delayed you from your work long enough - you'd better get back. They probably think you ran off."

They parted and Crabannan wandered down to the kitchen, wondering all the while why Javan had flinched at his last words. First you pick a fight, then you insult people with your awful jokes. Well done, Crabannan. Well done.

The smells coming from the kitchen tent had Crabannan's mouth watering by the time he reached. At the time, it seemed to him that he had never smelled anything so good in his life...or at least since his last hot meal following a period without food. This had happened more often than he cared to remember during his soldiering days, but at present, he had no thought but the meal which awaited him. He stepped around to the open side of the tent and looked about.

"Excuse me," he said gently, trying not to scowl, which was hard for him. He tended to scowl without meaning to, and this put people off. "I'm looking for a meal. Who do I ask?"

[Kath]

Kara and Frodides had been largely left alone in the kitchen that day since Saeryn's arrival. Modtryth who often helped out had been volunteered to keep an eye on their old friend and Ginna had long since disappeared from care duties to help Harreld. Both events had kept the two cooks engaged in some serious gossip and they had both enjoyed the quiet that came from only having the two of them there. It had been some time since it had been just them, and Kara found herself happily reminiscing as she washed up. She liked Ginna a great deal and enjoyed passing on what she had learnt from Frodides, but every now and then it was nice to go back to the old days.

Smiling slightly at her nostalgia Kara found herself pulled back to the present by a voice carrying from the entrance to their makeshift kitchen.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for a meal. Who do I ask?"

Turning Kara found herself looking at a dark man who was clearly tall as he was stooping a little in order to see through the rough doorway. The shadows and his own dark clothing made it difficult to see his face but his voice sounded kind, if a litte gruff, and Kara welcomed him accordingly.

"Good morning. You've come to the right place if you are looking for food. If you'd like to sit down just outside I'll bring you something. I would offer you the table in here but as you can see it's a little overcrowded right now." She cast her eyes over the kitchen table, currently covered in anything that could not be considered safe lying on the floor. "Is there anything in particular you would like?"

"No thank you. Anything would be good. I will be outside as you say."

Drying her hands Kara made up a platter of bread fresh cooked earlier in the day along with some cheese and little of the cold meat they still had left before pouring a cup of wine and taking the lot out to the stranger, followed by Frodides' pointed comments about being careful who you break bread with.

She found the man sat outside on the grass in the sun, his pack and cloak slung out on the ground behind him, face turned up to the sky as he rested.

"It is a lovely day isn't it?" She said, not wishing to make him jump by simply putting the food down in front of him.

"It is indeed." He replied, a smile on his lips as he opened his eyes and sat straighter to look at her. "Ah! Is that breakfast?"

Kara nodded and passed him the plate and cup, receiving a grateful thanks in reply. Aware that Eodwine was willing to accept any guest she didn't feel a need to let him know about it straight away, but thought she should gather some information about their visitor first.

"Do you mind if I join you?" She asked.

"Not at all. Please, sit, uh ... I'm sorry I didn't catch your name?"

"Kara. I'm Kara, assistant cook here. And yourself?"

[littlemanpoet]

“Is something amiss?” asked Léof. “Is there a better way which I have overlooked?”

"Nay, Léof," Eodwine smiled, "Thornden fears that I will not allow you to use any wood, for I wish our new hall to be built of stone."

A look of surprise came over Thornden's face, but he kept his peace.

"However," Eodwine continued, "the ruined hall will have to be cleared away at some point, and there is much wood there, though much is beyond use; still, I would like us to see what may be found in there first, to use as makeshift fenceposts or other things we need. What think you, Léof?"

[shaggydog]

Oeric cursed softly as he caught a sight of the cause for the call for help. An extremely odd looking individual was stuck up to his shoulders in a patch of bog! The marsh was riddled with them, and those who were luckless to stumble into one were destined to remain, until and unless rescue came their way. And this man, if man he was, was certainly going nowhere by virtue of his own exertions, except perhaps further down into the hole. For that was the way of these boggy patches, the mixture of water and land gripped the body and sucked you down. Struggling only resulted in sinking deeper and could easily result in bringing about a swifter death.

The strange looking man seemed to have realized this as he was not attempting at this point to extricate himself. His dark face was unusually composed for one in such a predicament, and by this Oeric reasoned the fellow was one used to dealing with crisis. That was a plus. If he stayed calm, the chances were greater that someone would come to the rescue in time. . . if they had heard him call out.

Oeric silently willed the man to call out again, and again if necessary. Casting his mind back to his childhood days, Oeric tried to gage how well sound would travel over the ridge. He also was mentally calculating both the time remaining before the man sank completely and what materials might be at hand to get the fellow out, if it should come to that. As several minutes passed, he could see that the man was also apparently making some calculations of his own. Several more times he did call out, waiting to listen between times for sounds of approaching footsteps. But as the minutes passed, no such sounds came to either man’s ears. This added to Oeric’s growing conviction that, as no sounds of the new settlement to be reached him here on the far side of the ridge, in all probability the man’s cries were not going to reach his companions, assuming he was one of them.

Cursing again, Oeric made up his mind and wriggled as quickly as he could backwards out of the copse of willow scrubs, got to his feet, and ran as swiftly as he could back in the direction from which he had come.

[littlemanpoet]

Excused from the tent by Æðel and Modtryth, Rowenna went first to the latrine before returning to her duties at the baker. To her left Léof, Thorden and Eodwine were working on the animal pens. Rowenna saw Garstan with Lys; Garstan was standing with his hands on his hips, looking toward the front road as if looking for someone. Beyond the ruin was Harreld at his temporary smithy, and there was Ginna sitting opposite him! Rowenna had thought that little flirtation had ended, but perhaps not. So the girl was back at it again, which seemed odd considering how many other men there were to choose between. Maybe there was more to that than had seemed so at first.

The latrine was back in an outlier of the scar, hidden from view on all sides by boulder and dirt and bracken - unless someone scrabbled up to the slope on his stomach on the other side and peeked down. It was quiet back here, maybe too quiet.

On her way back to the kitchen, she came close to one of the outbuildings of the ruin which had escaped destruction. It was hard to tell from the outside what it might be used for, whether as a meat curing shed or tool shed, or a crib for seed or harvested grain. This one smelled odd, which suggested it could have been the meat curing shed. The door was shut. She tested it, and found it unlocked. She opened the door and was struck by a terrible stench. She plugged nose and squinted through suddenly teary eyes into the darkness.

It was a dead body. Her gorge rose but she forced it down. It was half decomposed, half eaten. There was a small hole in one corner of the shed through which animals had apparently had access to ready food. It had been a man. She pushed the door shut and rushed away stumbling, and fell to all fours, panting for good air. The crabgrass growing in patches around her smelled sweet by comparison to what she had confronted.

Eodwine would need to be told. After regaining her composure, she got up and went straight to the animal pens under construction.

[Folwren]

“They probably think you ran off!” the new comer said in parting. Javan frowned as he turned away. What an unlucky thing for the man to have said!

“‘They probably think I ran off,’” Javan grumbled quietly between his teeth. He trudged back towards where Garstand waited, the two boys following him. “Of course I didn’t run off, and it wouldn’t have taken so long if they hadn’t fought.”

He stopped as he came insight of Garstan, waiting with his hands on his hips. Suddenly self-conscious, Javan felt for blood on his face and he glanced sideways at Cnebba. This could look very bad, he realized. Oh well, he shrugged, and walked forward.

“We’re back,” he said to Garstan as they got closer. “Sorry it took so long.”

[Gwathagor]

"I'm Kara, assistant cook here. And yourself?"

And there it was. His name and vocation. Crabannan took a deep breath and looked away briefly, staring up towards where the sky and the Scar met, grey against blue. This question made him uneasy, as his name frequently earned him a quick ride out of town. And then he had done and been so many things, that he hardly knew what to describe himself as anymore.

He considered mentioning that he had been a soldier of Rohan, but decided against it, as the matter of how he had come to leave the ranks of the muster might come up in conversation. No, best avoid that subject for now.. So, after a few seconds' deliberation, he settled on the occupation that he had until recently held and that he deemed would be the quickest way to the heart of this particular villager. It had worked in the East Emnet...for a little while, at any rate.

"Nice to meet you, miss. My name is Crabannan - " and here he cast a quick glance in Kara's direction to see if the name had rung any bells. It hadn't. " - and I'm a kitchen-worker."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized she would never believe him. He knew he looked like a highwayman or a bandit. The arsenal of weaponry helped little. How many kitchen workers carried two swords, a longbow, and a knife? Or a harp?

Kara raised her eyebrows.

"Oh?"

Evidently she was skeptical. Crabannan assumed a look of utmost sincerity.

"Yes, indeed. I was, until recently, a kitchen-worker. "

Kara raised her eyebrows a little higher.

"Mm-hmm," she said, and looked at him a little askance.

Crabannan sighed and looked about him, then back at Kara. He smiled at her a little wryly, and also a little embarrassed. Better to be honest this time, he thought. Maybe these people are different.

"I believe my looks are against me," he said. "To be honest with you, Kara, I'm a bit of a wanderer. I did work in a kitchen, once, but I was, um, very bad at it. A great many dishes were broken while I was there."

He suddenly realized he was quite tense and was fingering the large hunting knife which he carried strapped to his left leg. He pulled his hand away without drawing attention to i and looked down at his plate.

Biting into his bread, he continued: "I've done a great many things - too many to count, sometimes. I have trouble staying one place very long. I've been a soldier, a guide, a farm-hand, a hunter..."

He trailed off. That about exhausted the list of respectable occupations he could muster. There were many others which he wouldn't dare mention around these people, not unless he wanted to be sent on his way as quick as he could pack his bags, which were few. He had been a bard before the War, but he always felt pretentious bringing that up. And that was a long time ago, he reminded himself.

This conversation was making him irritable. Crabannan had learned to deal with his past by accepting it and not dwelling upon it; he did not apologize for it and he did not speak about it. Unfortunately, being around these happy, friendly people was making him thoughtful, something he tried very hard as a rule to avoid. Curse you, Kara, he thought. Why couldn't you have left well enough alone? He changed the subject abruptly, for her good as well as his own.

"Tell me about the settlement," he said, gesturing vaguely towards the tents. "How long have you all been here? Who is the eorl?"

Crabannan chided himself for being even mildly angry with Kara, as he knew her curiosity was natural. Hopefully she won’t pry too deep, he thought, as he drained his wine in one long swig.

[shaggydog]

Oeric made little attempt to avoid detection as he wound his way through the muddy patches and over small hillocks of last year’s dry and matted grass. The byre was but a few minutes away, a one time winter’s shelter for the sheep he had helped tend. He hoped that the fool stuck in the bog had the sense to keep still just a bit longer, and he thought perhaps he should have made himself known before leaving to get the rope he knew to be in the tumble down shed. On the other hand, there was still a chance that one of the dark man’s own would hear him or happen upon him and then Oeric’s help would not be needed, if they knew the proper way to extract one as deeply mired as that one was. If, if, if . . .

Oeric let out a big breath of frustration. Why did these people come here, come now? Why couldn’t he have been left alone in his shame and grief? Why did that fool have to go and get himself stuck? Why had the one called Nydfara used his brain and run the other way, while he, like an idiot, had gone running straight towards discovery and his own undoing? Shaking his head in anger, Oeric none the less kept on his course and soon arrived at the shed.

It was the work of but a few seconds to enter the dim interior of the byre and fish about in the moldy hay of years past, clutching the rope in his hand and setting off once more, back the way he had come. How often since finding it had he not thought long and hard about its possible use, the one remaining cross beam of the ruined roof standing starkly silhouetted against a starlit sky, beckoning. And now it would be used to save a life instead. Even a simple mind such as Oeric’s could grasp the irony of that.

Hurrying back, his mind inventorying the scattered willow boughs he had seen littered about the copse, Oeric paused once more at the edge of the patch of scrubby trees. Straining his ears, he heard neither any sound of approaching rescue from the camp, nor did he hear any further cry from the fellow in the bog. Well, fate had decided this one it seemed. He quickly selected the boughs he would need and with no further thought for secrecy, crashed through the willows to meet that fate.

[Groin Redbeard]

The Sun was high in the sky and progress was slow. Traveler slumped and sagged as he walked behind Erbrand, his mane was damp with sweat and each breath came out in long sighs. The humans were as tired as their animals, not one of them had any rest since they set out that morning.

It was not long before Balvir found a place with shade, under a large oak tree. The hunting party unloaded their game off of their horses and let them roam free to graze, while the men drank from their water flasks. Their spirits were lifted by the needed rest and soon all four of them were laughing at hunting stories. Lithor told them about the time that he learned to shoot from horseback, shot, missed the deer, fell off the horse and broke his arm, Erbrand howled with laughter until tears came from his eyes. Now of course seeing a man fall and brake his arm would be an offal thing to behold, but everything seemed so far away right there and then, plus, Lithor told it in a most amusing way.

Soon Erbrand began asking questions of the three men’s youth and where they grew up. Lithor told him that he grew up on a farm in the West-March near the river Adorn. Matrim told Erbrand that he grew up in the town of Ethring, his father was a noble in the town. Balvir grew up in the southern ends of Gondor in Belfalast, and Erbrand listened as Balvir recounted his days in the city of Linhir looking out each morning on the Bay of Belfalas. All the while Erbrand listened with intrigue at the stories of strange places, he didn’t interrupt their accounts to ask a question, and instead he let his imagination fill in the blanks.

“Tell me,” Erbrand asked when Balvir finished speaking, “I’m new to Scarburg and I’m desperate to make sure I know who everybody is, and I was wondering if you could help me out?”

“Well the first people you’ll want to meet is Harreld,” said Lithor, “He’s a smithy you see, and a darn good one at that, he is shy around strangers, especially the lady folk, but you’ll find that out soon enough.” Lithor laughed at his own joke, and the two Gondorians laughed with him. Erbrand didn’t know what they meant, and he took it for some inside joke.

“Let’s see,” Lithor said, counting with his fingers, “There’s Stigend the carpenter and Leofric, he’s the fellow you saw at the stables this morning, he takes care of our horses back at Edoras, and Garston the stone shaper. Then for the ladies there’s Ginna, Frodides, and Kara, who all work in the kitchen.” Lithor chuckled to himself again. “And then there’s Rowenna, now you better watch yourself with her.”

“Why is that?” Erbrand asked.

“Her past has been a terrible ordeal,” Matrim chimed in, “While she was still a young woman she was abducted from her farm by brigands and has seen death come to her father and two children. Her experiences has made her awfully determined at some things and frequently causes trouble if she is to gain from it, but when you’ve been through what she has been through you can’t really hold it against her, nasty business. You just make sure you never get on her bad side.”

Erbrand solemnly nodded his head. Balvir stirred from his comfortable dormant position, his back against a tree, and got up.

“Well, let’s break it up, we should be getting back Scarburg. We’ll go round up the horses,” Balvir motioned for Matrim to follow him.

Erbrand sat for a little longer pondering the names of the occupants of Eodwine’s household. He knew that the day would be nearly gone by the time he got back to camp, no socializing today. His back was ached as he rose from his spot, Balvir and Matrim returned with the horses and he began slinging the deer over Traveler’s back.

They reached the scar around an hour later; it wasn’t long before they were back at camp. Lithor broke into a fast song that was familiar to the group and they all joined him in singing. Erbrand’s thoughts of the strangers at camp faded from his mind, he was accepted as one of the group by these three and that was all that mattered.

[Firefoot]

“Help!”

Scyld reacted instinctively. Another’s plight was not his problem, unless by helping the person he might help himself. He knew neither the current situation nor identity of the endangered, he had not himself caused the problem, and he could feign ignorance later should it prove necessary. Time to be gone. He snatched his pack and sped off.

Oeric’s actions told another story. Fool. If his utmost desire was to remain unknown to the Eorl and his men, he would not run toward the cry. Oeric, Scyld judged, was conflicted, and conflicted men were the most dangerous sort, because one could never predict what they would do. Sorn had always been straightforward. So had Linduial, though Scyld still did not understand her. This Oeric, though – he did not act as he spoke. Nor had he spoken wisely if Scyld’s help was truly something he wished to gain. He had asked for Scyld to keep his secret and offered nothing in return. Whether by ignorance or unwillingness, he had proved a poor informant. And now he had proved he could not even keep his own skin safe by haring off after a cry for help.

Very soon, however, he slowed his pace as a new thought came to mind. He was ready to enter the newcomers’ camp, was he not? And how better to earn trust than to help one of their own? The plan, somewhat risky in his mind, warred with his instinct. Almost against his will he found himself stopping and turning around. He did not have to make his presence known right away. He could wait and see what Oeric made of the situation. Yes, that would suit. And if helping out seemed unprofitable, they would never need know he was there.

[littlemanpoet]

Léof had given his assent to rummaging through the ruins for makeshift fenceposts, and so the three of them, including Thornden, were busy at it. It was hard, sweaty work, for most of the time such wood was found beneath and behind other more ruinous items such as downed walls, ruined furniture, and the like.

The stables, which had been situated on the western side of the old hall, were worthless, a heap of burnt wood good for nothing but kindling for bonfires. They had greatest success on the east end where there was an upstairs crashed down upon the lower level; it was this lower level that offered the least ruinous scraps of fencepost. After more than an hour of hard, sweaty work, they decided that they had found enough of what they were looking for, and hauled their findings back toward the paddock.

They were met by an urgent and pale Rowenna. "Lord, I have something to tell you that cannot wait."

Eodwine's brow rose. "Is someone in danger?"

"Nay, no longer, though someone was indeed but had the worst of it. I found a dead body of a man in one of the sheds."

"Is every man among us accounted for?" asked Eodwine, looking around.

"This man has been there since before we arrived, I am sure, lord," Rowenna answered.

"Léof, Thornden, I think we have earned ourselves a break. Let us see this."

The three men dropped their wood in a pile and followed Rowenna back to the shed, and Rowenna opened the door wide. They peered in and found it just as she had said. After observing, with nose plugged and eyes watering, Eodwine shook his head and ruminated that they had spent an entire day and more in the place with a half eaten dead body of a man waiting in a meat curing shed. It was unthinkable except that it was so. He wished mightily that it was not.

"Well, what do you think we should do about it?" Eodwine looked around the small group. "Bury it? Burn the thing and its innard to ashes? Or," he grimaced, "I have heard tall tales that the Haradrim have been known to 'examine' such bodies for signs of how and why they died." Eodwine had smirked at his use of the foreign word.

[Firefoot]

It had been with some trepidation that Léof followed Rowenna to the shed, torn as he was between curiosity and trepidation. A brief glance, a passing whiff told him all he wanted or needed to know. Something had to be done with it (he could not think of the body as a “him”), and his first wish was that they might simply burn the entire shed with the body inside of it – but wood was too valuable, it seemed, for such a wasteful process.

Eodwine’s suggestions were far more plausible, until he mentioned the Haradrim practice. “Lord, surely not!” Léof cried out at this. He would be hard pressed to tell which was fouler, the sight or the smell of the corpse, but ‘examining’ the body as Eodwine put it defied his imagining. The thought of touching the body even enough to bury it revolted him. “Let the dead lie in peace!” Then he faltered. “Unless – you really think it might tell us something?” Of course foul play had been involved. People did not just lay down and die in abandoned sheds. “But – would any know what to look for? And who could stand the smell long enough to look? Lord – let the dead lie. Can the way he died truly be important?”

[Folwren]

Thornden stood by with almost as much disgust as Léof. Eodwine’s suggestion seemed to disturb Léof a great deal and in any other circumstances, Thornden would have grinned at his reaction.

“I think Léof may be right, although my reason for thinking so is not because of the smell. Even if we were to try to tell how he had died, what would we look for? And if we found anything more than what we already know (namely, that he was killed by someone and hidden here) what good would it do us? What could we do? We couldn’t find out who did it.

“I say we bury it and have nothing more to do with it.”

[littlemanpoet]

"Rowenna? Have you any thoughts on the matter?"

"Bury it or burn it," she said simply.

Eodwine shrugged. We can use the wood, if it is not ruined by the foulness of the corpse, so we will not burn it. Bury it we shall." But Eodwine wondered what they would find. "We will bury it up in the scar, away from our settlement. Before we begin, we will be wanting cloths for our faces and coverings for our hands. Maybe Harreld or someone has a board of good length we could lay the body on so that we need not touch it without need. Rowenna, go see Harreld and have him come too."

"Aye, lord." Rowenna hurried off while the three men stood upwind of the shed, waiting in rather keen discomfort for the task that lay ahead.

[Groin Redbeard]

Jokes and laughs were exchanged during the last length of the trip. The Sun had begun to set and filled the sky with a dark yellow light that cast shadows everywhere. Erbrand could hear the crickets in the grass and the birds flying home to their nests, it seemed as if all of nature was slowly shutting down for the night. They had left the clumps of trees far behind them and walked their horses through the familiar tall grassy plain that would lead them to Scarburg.

The company slowly quieted down as they started to climb up a hill, Balvir said that they would be able to see the camp from there. Erbrand's horse, Traveler, struggled with every step up the gradual slope; it pained him to see his horse struggle so hard, but there was nothing he could do, all he could do was try to get the horse to move faster. When they reached the top of the hill they scanned the horizon, Lithor was the first to spot it and he yelled and pointed towards the south.

"There it is, can you see it," he said, "We're home at last, there's the camp!"

The others could barely spot the camp, it was about two miles south with a short trail of smoke trailing up into the sky.

"You have got keen eyes Lithor," said Matrim, "I imagine that supper is being prepared."

Erbrand smiled at the sight as he helped Traveler up the hill, but then something else caught his eye. As he turned to checked the deer strung across Traveler's back something caught his eye, a large group of men and women stood on a bluff around a thousand feet behind them. Erbrand's eyes widened with alarm, there were around fifteen men and women with a wagon and three horses standing and just staring at them. He hastily grabbed for his axe, in his saddlebag.

"Balvir, we've got company." Balvir turned, looking a bit confused at Erbrand's shaky voice. When he saw the peasants strung out in a line on the bluff, his eyes widened. Matrim and Lithor grabbed for their bows, but Balvir raised his hand in a silent command of silence, they both stopped.

"What are they?" Erbrand said in a half whisper to Balvir.

We know what they are," Lithor said angrily, "The same people who burnt the Scarburg Meadhall!" he moved forward as if he was going to charge the peasants single handely, Matrim stopped him.

Balvir stood silent for a while longer, both of the companies just stared at each other for a long while. "You may be right, Lithor," Balvir said calmly, not taking his eyes off of the peasants, "but it's best that we don't start a fight without your lord Eodwine's approval. They're probably Nomads, or peasants on an errand" he pointed at the wagon and horses, "The people of the East Emnet are a scattered people, it would be best if we made ourselves known to them and of our intentions." Erbrand tried to see if the peasants had any weapons with them, but he couldn't tell from this distance. The idea of walking towards an unknown group of people that are a potential enemy of theirs was not a comforting idea to him.

"Lithor," said Balvir, "You will stay here with the horses, if anything goes wrong you ride back to the camp and get Thornden and his men." Lithor didn't say a word, he just nodded and looked down at the ground, Erbrand knew that the horseman did not like being left out of the picture. "You two will come with me," said Balvir, "Let's get it over with." Balvir stepped forward, followed closely by Matrim and Erbrand. Matrim was fingering a longsword strapped to his side, and Erbrand nervously grasped his axe, Balvir was unarmed as far as he could see.

When the group was halfway to the peasants they stopped and waited to see if they would make a move. There was a uncomfortable moments of silence, the peasants stood like statues in the sunset. Suddenly someone yelled and the peasants sprang to life. Erbrand raised his axe in readiness and expected a shower of arrows to come down on them at any moment, but it was something different entirely. The peasants disappeared behind the bluff and left.

"What was that all about?" Matrim said in disgust.

"They're not ready yet," said Balvir.

Erbrand looked uneasily from side to side. "I'm not sure I like the idea of lingering here much longer," he said, "this might not be the last of them."

The three of them ran back up the hill to the horses where Lithor was waiting. Without a word being spoken they each grabbed their horses reins and urged them on with all possible speed.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna came up to Harreld's makeshift smithy and found Ginna sitting across from him, pumping the bellows as Harreld worked on kitchen utensils. Rowenna kept a straight face but smirked inwardly. The girl can't stay away from him, she said to herself. The two were not speaking much. They both had their eyes glued on the work Harreld was doing. owenna stopped a couple of paces off.

"Sorry to stop your work Harreld," she said, glancing briefly at Ginna as well, "but we have found a dead body in one of the sheds and Lord Eodwine wants you to help with the burial."

Harreld mutely put down his tools and stood, stretching his back and legs. Ginna's face registered her alarm at Rowenna's news. She sat there, apparently wondering what to do.

"Ginna, could you send word to Garstan and the others while I help with the body?"

Ginna seemed relieved at not having to go see the dead body, and left without complaint, although maybe there was some reluctance to leave Harreld. It was hard to read her, or him just this moment. Rowenna led Harreld to the shed.

[Thinlómien]

Cnebba – late morning

“We’re back. Sorry it took so long,” Javan said. Cnebba glared at him. He was spoiling this.

Garstan’s eyes travelled from Javan’s bruises to those of his own son, and then to Cnebba’s nose which had started bleeding again.
“And what exactly was it that took you this long?”

Garstan hardly ever scared Cnebba, he was like a kind uncle to him, but now the stoneshaper looked quite stern. Cnebba shrunk smaller, hoping Garstan would not look at him.

Garmund’s face was a little pale, but his eyes were defiant. “We fought.”
“With an orc,” Cnebba added. Garmund scowled at him. Cnebba took a step back. He could not understand why Garmund was angry with him.
“Garmund and Cnebba attacked me”, Javan said.

“You did? Garmund, I’m disappointed with you. Cnebba, I’m sure your father is not very proud either. And Javan, you’re old enough to know better to no to continue a fight.” Garstan was shaking his head. Cnebba didn’t think he was very angry after all. Maybe they would now forget it all.

“Cnebba, you rascal, stop grinning,” Garstan said. He himself was grinning, though, but his eyes were serious. “Don’t expect to get out of this so easily. I want to speak with your parents with this, and with Javan’s brother. Who knows if we should even consult Lord Eodwine.” Cnebba and Garmund cast a look at each other. Surely not Lord Eodwine?

“Anyway, I won’t tolerate behaviour like that and nor will anyone else in this Hall. Here we’re all friends.” Garstan was scratching his head. It occurred to Cnebba that the stoneshaper maybe didn’t know what to say. “Now boys, stop glaring at me. We’ll bury this topic until the evening. We have work to do and it already has been delayed because of you.” The three boys nodded, more or less obediently. “Cnebba and Javan, fetch those poles over there. Garmund, you will help with this rope here.”


Modtryth – a few hours later

Saeryn was still asleep. She had slept lightly, face creased with tension. Modtryth had sat by her side and talked to her like to a child or a sick horse when she had half-woken up, terror in her eyes. Eventually her sleep had eased and now she was sleeping seemingly calmly. The healer Aedhel was with her now. She had told Modtryth that Saeryn’s physical wounds were not bad and most of her weakness was caused by exhaustion and distress. She had also said, more quietly, that there was the danger that Saeryn’s wounds would get infected and she could develop a dangerous fever.

Modtryth tried to ward off those thoughts. It was pointless to worry before anything had happened. She headed to the kitchen, both to see what was happening and ask if the children had been seen. On her way she met Garstan. The stoneshaper looked a little worried. “What is it?” Modtryth asked. “The boys. Garmund and Cnebba fought with Javan today. Fought to the point of a fist fight.” Modtryth’s eyes narrowed. There was a certain young man whom she’d have a word with. “I of course scolded them. I also told them we’d have a proper discussion in the evening, you and Stigend, I, Thornden and the boys themselves.” Modtryth nodded. That made sense. “We’ll see to it when the day’s work is done, then. Where are they now?” “They’re helping me with the tents. They’re all doing good work.” Modtryth smiled thinly and nodded. “Till later, then.”

After exchanging words with Garstan, Modtryth decided to go to the kitchen as she had planned. Cnebba was in good hands for now. Modtryth was curious to hear the latest gossip and see how little Leothern was faring before returning back to Saeryn.

[Folwren]

Javan took the scolding as mildly as he could. He thought it was unnecessary and unfair, at least to be directed at him. What did Garstan expect him to do? Stand by and let them clobber him? He had not continued the fight, he had merely defended himself, he believed.

He brooded on it for sometime while worked on erecting the tents. His mood remained black as they worked, and he said very little, except when it was absolutely necessary, and then it was sharp.

The job seemed to be taking a very long time. All that was needed were some small tents, and yet here they were, still working, over an hour later, on the first one. The frame was almost completed and Javan was tying together the last stakes.

“I’m going to go get us some water,” Garstan said. “You three wait here for me. Javan, you can finish lashing this pole to that and then, when I get back, we’ll put up the canopy.”

Javan nodded and Garstan went off. Javan finished tying his knot. “Bring me the knife so I can cut it.” He looked over his shoulder to see Garmund slowly move to obey. “Hurry up, will you?” he snapped.

Garmund gave him a rather sullen look and handed the knife up. Javan cut the rope and stepped down. He put the knife back in its place and then glanced around. “Let’s start getting the canopy ready.”

“Father said to wait till he got back,” Garmund said immediately.

“He won’t care,” Javan replied. “Besides, we’ve been taking so long to do this job, we may as well hurry. I don’t want to be stuck here all day. You two are so slow. C’mon and help me with the canopy.”

The boys looked at him. “I’m not disobeying, I’m just going to unfold it!”

“You always get in trouble,” Garmund said. “I don’t want to be in trouble with you by disobeying. We already are in trouble for fighting.”

“I do not always get in trouble!” Javan replied fiercely, whipping around to face him. “Take it back!”

[Eönwë]

"Help!" shouted Dan, a fourth time. Why him? He had always hated marshland, and now he hated it even more.

Marshes made it hard to track animals, and to walk. The Drûghu were especially short, and this made it even harder for them to traverse this sort of land. They could get trapped in puddles that normal men could get out of simply because of that fact. Why? He thought again, cursing his ill-fate.

He thought he could hear rustling in front of him, and he thought he could make out a shape (or the movements of the plants, in a way that suggested a shape) coming towards him. Who or what it was he did not know. Was it a friend or foe? Or just a confused animal, blundering into a natural trap.

But just as it had come, whatever it was quickly disappeared back the way it came.

"Help!" he tried to shout, but already the mud was reaching up to his chin, muffling his voice slighly. He grasped upwards with his hands, trying to grab onto something- anything- that would allow him to pull himself upwards. But his hands caught nothing.

All his attempts at rescuing himself were futile, he thought, so he migt as well just relax. His body stopped thrashing about, and a sense of calm took hold of him. Now he would find out what the Gift of Men really was. He welcomed death. It would be better than what he was about to suffer.

His head went deeper under the mud, he lifted it back, so only his face was above the murky surface of the fetid swamp. He thought he heard another rustling, but was probably just his imagination.

"Help!" he tried once more to shout, already his head had sunk under, and all that exuded from his mouth was a bubble, going slowly upward through the congealed mud-water. His hands thrashed up and down, left and right, above his head. But this time he caught something. It really had been a person. He pulled on it with all his strength, but suddenly, he felt it give a little, and he was sinking again. But soon, it was tight again, and this time it was being pulled by someone from outside the puddle. A sense of utter relief entered his body. He went limp, except for his arms, hich grasped onto the rope with all the strength Dan could muster. He knew that if he slipped or let go, it would be just as bad as if the person who had come to save him had not pulled. It require both of their efforts to save Dan.

Finally, from out the puddle, the top his head appeared, crested with mud, his hair matted and brown. But his hair was almost totally covered by the congealed mass that could be called mud, for want of a better word, but was more like water. When his face broke the surface, he almost opened his, eyes, but then stopped himself before he did, otherwise the liquid would fill his eyes, causing him a temporary blindness. when his mouth came into open air, he opened in wide, gasping for air. He swallowed at least two mouthfulls of mud before the air finally came in. But when it did, it was a relief beyond anything he had ever felt in his life. He was alive! He had been sure that his fate was sealed, that he would die alone in a foreign part of the world, away from his family and friends. But luckily, he had been proven wrong. The had been someonw willing to lend a helping hand, more than that, they had saved his life!

Slowly but surely he emerged, soaked, dripping with mud, onto the bank, if it could be called that. It was after all, only a puddle.

He tried to wipe the mud away from his face with his sleeve, but all he accomplished was smudging it further.
Finally, he got the mud out of his eyes, and looked straight into the strained face of his saviour.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna came back with Harreld, who wrinkled his nose.

"It is in there?" he asked.

"Aye," Eodwine said. "We must take it out of there and bury it."

They found spades and climbed a little way into the scar. Finding a likely spot with not so much rock and gravel, Eodwine and Harreld were the first pair to set to, taking a turn digging while the other three watched. Then Léof and Thornden took a turn. When all four men had had a turn, Rowenna jumped down into the growing hole before Eodwine and Harreld stopped stretching their aching muscles in preparation for taking another turn. The girl did not mind getting her hands dirty, and no matter what she did, it seemed she could not help looking fetching doing it. As she dug, the four men discussed how they would go about removing the body and burying it. They would need gloves, which Harreld had pairs of and to spare, for it would not do to touch the fetid flesh.

Rowenna stopped and looked up. "Have you never been curious what lies beneath the skin?"

Léof pulled a face.

"Not beneath skin ready to fall off the bone," Eodwine remarked. Rowenna shrugged and kept digging.

At last they had the hold dug, about six feet long, three feet wide, and three feet deep. Eodwine had heard of six feet under, but this harsh land was unforgiving, and he decided that three feet was enough to ward off wolves and the like. They found a strong plank of wood and returned to the shed. Eodwine told Rowenna to wait outside, but he could not stop her from peering with great fascination into the gloom.

Even in the dim light, they could see that the man had been a big burly fellow, muscle running to fat, perhaps an indication of middle years, and the luxury of having more than enough to eat. His clothes, torn and eaten through as they were, also told of a good life; good quality homespun befitting a man of importance, no lord but maybe a well off farmer or craftsman. Through half closed eyes, the men approached the body with caution. The visible presence of death was no stranger to them. Even violent death was not so rare, whether from the war, or the time leading up to it, or from the multitude of accidents that could strike a man, woman, or child down at the least expected moment. Yet this gruesome reminder of the frailty of life had settled a thick mantle of respect and dread over them.

Thick leather boots encased the feet, which lay closest the door. The legs and torso stretched inwards, diagonally, towards a heavy table by the wall, which had no doubt been used for a cutting surface, hundreds of shallow slices streaking its surface. The head, or what was left of it, lay close to one of the table legs, face downwards. The back of the skull appeared to be intact. Raggedly chewed patches of scalp remained, from which trailed long tufts of rusty hair mixed with an abundance of grey . The entire back of the corpse showed signs of decomposition and having been gnawed upon. But a close but brief inspection did not reveal any significant wounds or signs of the cause of the fellow’s demise.

If only they could have stopped there. Laying the plank down beside the body, it seemed most appropriate and easy to roll it onto the wooden slab by grasping the shoulders and giving a good push. The corpse turned belly up most obligingly and to a man they all jumped to their feet, gasping for breath and standing clear as best they could. The face was a ruin of decomposed mush, at first glance perhaps attributable to the rodent activity on the soft fleshy parts of the face. Eodwine, however, steeled his nerve, and his stomach, and bent down for a closer look. The gaping maw that had once been the right side of the man’s lower face was smashed in, the upper jaw shattered, broken teeth sticking out at odd angles. His gaze travelled downwards to the mess that was the chest and stomach and that at least was a tale any idiot could have read. Although the flesh was almost non-existent, a long rent of splintered bone was easily discerned, tracing a path from the left clavicle to the middle of the right ribcage. The instrument of this destruction, it would appear, was to be found lower down, nestled half in, half out of the cavity where the man’s innards had lain, and where now a mucky pool of black decay coalesced. The meat hook, used for hanging heavy sides of mutton, venison, or pork was embedded tip in and even the wrenching of the body as they had rolled it over had not caused it to drop free from its tomb. Fascinated, Eodwine saw the point had pierced the back bone and thus the hook lay securely anchored in place.

The dull gleam of metal affixed to antler provided the final revelation to the onlookers. Under the dead man’s body, twixt hip and groin, a formidable dagger had lain concealed. Naked to the air once more, its role in this drama was unclear. Had it belonged to the killer, or was it some counter-point to the silent but eloquent accusation of death by another’s hand? Eodwine reached out and carefully plucked the dagger up, noting the smear of dried rusty colored blood along its edge. He set it on the table and called his fellows to the nasty business.

Soon the body was covered with dirt and rock and the five of them were tamping at the soft mound with shovels.

All five agreed that a strong drink and a thorough washing were quite in order.

[Firefoot]

A strong drink… at any other time, Léof would have bowed out. He had watched his father become drunk and violent far too many times to count, and Léof had vowed never to become that man. Nor did the taste recommend itself to him; he had tried it once, a few years back and on a dare, and that had been enough. Never mind that it had been exceedingly poor quality; Léof hadn’t anything to compare it to.

But to forget the dead man’s face – Léof thought that he should not mind getting a little bit drunk. Nausea had threatened all afternoon, and he thought that if the sordid affair had continued any longer he really would have been sick. Perhaps he ought not rule out the possibility just yet either, for his stomach churned just thinking of the matter. Just don’t think about it, he told himself. So great was his detachment that he hardly realized when they arrived back at camp and a round of drinks was called for.

He eyed the drink before him warily for just a moment. Then, with only the slightest flicker of trepidation in the back of his mind, he took a large swig. The taste was somewhat better than he recalled, but the burning as he swallowed remained just the same. He took another gulp, then a third. He soon began to feel pleasantly light-headed. No wonder people drank this stuff; nothing seemed so bad under the drink’s influence. Not even dead bodies in the shed. Léof shuddered involuntarily. Perhaps a few more swallows.

[Gwathagor]

After finishing his much needed breakfast, Crabannan had wandered through the camp at an leisurely pace. Skirting the work parties and tents, he slipped through the camp unnoticed, but observant, gnawing on the remnants of the bread (which Kara had given him at breakfast) as he took in the sights and sounds of Scarburg. Like a young tree, the settlement was alive and growing fast, sending out branches and putting down roots in this hard, rocky land.

Crabannan could not help but be impressed by the tenacity of these Rohirrim, carving out their living where was so little to be had. Seldom had he met a people as tough as they - save perhaps in the hot south.

After he grew bored of eavesdropping and shirking work, Crabannan wandered his way towards the eastern end of the camp, and thence up onto the Scar. He scrambled and clambered up the rocky slope, through jagged rocks and scrawny pines until he suddenly found himself looking out and down across a vast region of reeds and mud and little pools; and beyond that, in the distance, green fields. Turning back towards the west, he saw the settlement of Scarburg nestled at the foot of the Scar. He sat down atop a large flat rock in the sun and, there, for an hour or more, he watched the bustle of the fledgling tent-village: women carrying baskets, boys raking stones out of garden plots, men repairing tents, smoke drifting up from scattered fires.

Without Horse to converse with, and surrounded by solitude and silence, Crabannan grew thoughtful. He cursed himself for acting like such a fool that morning, and wondered gloomily what reports those three boys were spreading about him. The thought dashed his hitherto good mood. Impressed by the hospitality he had been shown, he had begun to consider staying on for a few more days, but he doubted he would be welcome once Lord Eodwine (whom Kara had told him about during breakfast) found out what kind of man he was - an apparent troublemaker and a ruffian. But perhaps these Middle Emnet folk were more gracious than their East Emnet cousins. All the same - Crabannan had no intention of introducing himself to the eorl. There was no need to. He would lay low and quiet for a day or two, then continue on to Edoras.

Below, a knot of folk carrying something towards him caught his glance, and a practiced eye told him it was a corpse. He slipped down from his perch and moved down through the boulders for a closer look. He saw them bury it without ceremony in the rocky soil, and then head off back towards the encampment.

"Curious," he said aloud to himself. "I would have thrown it in the bog and saved the trouble of digging."

Who could the dead man have been? It seemed unlikely that it could have been someone the villagers knew well, given the indifferent burial. Perhaps it was connected somehow with the burning of the hall...? After all, Kara had not been able to tell him how the hall had burned. Perhaps...perhaps friendly and hospitable Scarburg had its skeletons after all.

Crabannan chuckled wryly to himself, for he suddenly found himself very badly wanting to stay. Scarburg was steadily becoming a rather interesting place.

Upon reflection, he reckoned that with a little effort he could find himself some legitimate work and a friend or two. Perhaps he'd seek out Javan, who he had rather taken a liking to, and see if the lad could help him settle in. He swung down over a final boulder and began to move back towards camp. He was hungry again.

[shaggydog]

Light eyes stared back into dark, the bond of humanity now welded securely, linking these two in the way only death so close to life can approach. The ache of muscle and sting of raw, abraded skin went unacknowledged by the simple shepherd. Together, they had accomplished that most exhilarating, and yet humbling, of feats – snatching a life back from the edge of that abyss into which all men must ultimately fall.

The sight which had met Oeric’s eyes when he first rushed back into the copse and then through it ti the boggy patch of ground beyond had almost convinced him that such a feat was beyond possibility. The strange, dark man had sunk up to his ears, his face turned desperately upwards, his mouth and nose still clear of the muddy ooze, yet barely so. Oeric had not hesitated then, his actions becoming those of instinct tempered by experience, haste mixed with calm. Panic and a wrong move could spell disaster for them both. He had called out in a low voice, so as not to startle or alarm, brief reassurances that, though it might take a while, freedom was within sight now. Oeric wasn’t sure if the fellow spoke the same tongue as he, or if his ears were so full of mud as to render him deaf. But a slight relaxation and continued lack of struggling, as Oeric had advised, led him to believe the man might have heard and understood.

Meticulously, Oeric had chosen his path until it was no longer feasible to actually place a foot down in safety. With utmost care, he began laying out his pattern of willow boughs, stretching out his length on them, spreading his weight over the treacherously shifting mud. A head long rush to aid without the needed forethought was usually the cause of multiple deaths and a failed rescue from these bogs. The would-be benefactor, if unwise enough to try to reach the one trapped directly, merely ended up mired in the same predicament.

Oeric crept forward as quickly as he could, testing each move, each shift of his own weight. Finally, with one last wiggle, he was within a body’s length of the dark one. He dared move no closer. Coiling the rope, he cast and succeeded the first time in lassoing it over the man’s shoulders and arms, which, mercifully, were still above the mud, although Oeric could only guess at the suffocating press of such a position on the fellow’s lungs and windpipe. Slowly, Oeric pulled at the noose. The man’s hands flailed about, grasping at it and it seemed he had it. But as Oeric tried to pull steadily enough for it to tighten about the other, it slipped and lay impotently on the mud. Grimacing, Oeric tried once more, and with a brief smile of triumph, he managed once more to cast well and this time pull it tight enough to hold firmly. The far end he had already knotted around a sturdy willow root back on the edge of the bog. Now at least there was a functioning counter-point to the suction of the bog which would keep the man from sinking in further.

Oeric wriggled backwards until he was on firm ground then, wishing for a horse, or better yet, a team of oxen, he grimly untied the rope from the willow and looked about. The closest overhanging limb wasn’t that close to the man, nor was it overly sturdy looking, but it would have to do. Circling about, he threw the end of the rope up and over the limb, gave it a preliminary test pull, and then, wrapping the rope several times about his fists, he put his back into it and started to pull steadily. His body leaned at a sharp angle to the ground as he silently pulled with all his might. For many long moments nothing happened. Sweat trickled into his eyes, but he dared not slacken up to wipe it away. After what seemed an entire lifetime, he felt the smallest of movements. Redoubling his efforts, he grunted loudly, gratified to feel the rope move an inch. He risked a glance at the man, only a head and arms visible, the hands gripping the rope determinedly. Oeric called out again for him to stay quiet and not try to push or kick with his legs. The man stayed quiescent, and inch by inch, Oeric’s efforts fought the bog’s grip. Finally, the man’s upper body was free. He was stretched out, bent at the waist and half laying on the surface of the mud. Although Oeric could imagine the fatigue of body and mind that the ordeal was putting the fellow through, he still on grimly to the rope, which no doubt was sawing through the skin of his back and ribs as surely as it was Oeric’s hands. With renewed determination, Oeric pulled steadily, leaning almost horizontally to the ground. With a terrific squelching sound, the bog at last relinquished its hold and surrendered the man, who skimmed across the surface as Oeric fell to one knee and almost onto his face.

Jumping up, Oeric hurried back to the mud encrusted fellow, grasping his wrists and pulling him the last few feet to solid ground. Oeric had the fleeting impulse to run then, knowing he had done what he could. But exhaustion and ambivalence both overcame this urge, and he flopped down beside his new acquaintance. The man was laying on his back, breathing noisily, and staring up at him.

“Next time, be more careful.” was all Oeric could think to say. For some strange reason, the stocky, dark man grinned, then chuckled, then laughed outright at this. And for no reason he could think of, Oeric tilted his heads back and laughed along with him.

[Lhunardawen]

It was back to the kitchen for Ginna, back to the work she knew best in this place: helping Kara and Frodides prepare the meals; serving them to the hungry household; washing the dishes. She was not meant to do anything else while she was here; a serving wench was all Eodwine and Randvér had agreed for her to be. Whatever had she been thinking?

As she worked quietly, she was vaguely aware but heedless of the questioning looks Kara kept tossing at her. She would tell Kara whatever she cared for her to know in time, but right now Ginna wanted to keep her thoughts to herself. She needed to think things over, to stop herself from committing more actions before she realised their consequences.

Except that when I have a real smithy it will be hot and close, and . . . I would not have you mar your beauty, dear one.

Harreld's words echoed in her mind. They brought her relief for a few reasons. For one, she remembered now that this was her niche. Kara and Frodides needed her more than Harreld did, especially now that Modtryth had Saeryn to take care of, at least until the lady was completely healed. And who would look after Léoðern when everyone else was busy? No, Harreld would have asked Garreth to come to Scarburg with him if he could not work alone.

Second, and more importantly, so far as she was concerned, his response proved that he did not despise her as she had feared. Perhaps it was really for the purpose of finding that out that she had offered to help him. And though he refused her, his first words - slips would be more appropriate - told her what she needed to know, and partly what she had already known, or guessed at.

I understand, she had replied, looking down at her hands as she felt a blush creeping to her cheeks. And thank you, she had added in a whisper, but Harreld missed it as he had already begun mending the ladle in his hand. They had spent the rest of the time in silence, until Rowenna came to call him away. Ginna had been reluctant to be parted from him when she felt there were still some things left to discuss; but as he had not pressed on with what seemed to be his intentions, she had not seen it fit to question him further at that time. She had done as Rowenna asked, telling Garstan and the others of the dead body found in the ruins and the planned burial, and then returned to the kitchen. She thought Harreld would probably let her know if he still needed her.

But what if Harreld did speak plainer at some point? Ginna couldn't help wondering. How, then, would she respond? If Ginna knew her father at all, she was certain he would be arriving in Scarburg soon to help his friend Eodwine rebuild his home. If Harreld came to that point, perhaps the man who had always made her life difficult could make that decision easier for her, one way or another.

[Firefoot]

Was watching someone drown and doing nothing the same as killing him? Scyld wondered idly. Oddly enough, Oeric seemed to have disappeared, though he had to have come past this man struggling in the bog. Scyld had hidden himself some distance away to watch the drama unfold. He had seen men die before. Not many, only a couple, but to interfere would have meant his own death. Now, however, helping would come at no cost to himself. In fact, he may even be rewarded. Wasn’t he on the point of entering the Eorl’s camp anyway? Assuming, of course, that this one was from the Eorl’s camp.

Fortunately, he was saved from making up his mind by Oeric’s return. The rescue itself was unremarkable, but the man who emerged from the bog certainly was. If man he could be called – so stumpy were his limbs and strange his proportions that he must be one of the Wild Men. Scyld could scarcely believe it; he had always more than half thought that they were only a figment of legend. What strange company the Eorl kept! Then, just to further his shock, Oeric and the Wild Man began to laugh, for no apparent reason at all. It was not a familiar sound to Scyld. He himself rarely laughed, and at those times it was a biting sound that contained little merriment. If there was anything amusing about this situation, it was the sheer irony; Oeric who had no desire to be discovered had willingly risked his safety, while he who was ready to make himself known hid. A slight but grim smile crossed Scyld’s face. Yes, that was ironic, and Scyld had a good eye for irony.

The only way to make the situation more ironic that it already was, Scyld mused, would be if the stumpy little man refused to simply let Oeric go. He knew nothing of Wild Man customs – would he feel that Oeric needed some sort of honor for the act? Or might the Eorl have a mandate against wanderers on his land? Ha! Teach Oeric some sense, that might. Would the two fight? Somehow, Scyld had a feeling that the Wild Man would win, despite the difference in their heights. But this was all still idle speculation. How might he play a role? Might there be an opportunity here for him? He would soon know; their voices ought to carry easily over the short distance. He need only wait.

[littlemanpoet]

"Whoa there Léofric," Eodwine grinned. "I've not seen you drink anything beside water for months, and now you're cup is half empty! Eat some food or you'll be sleeping the afternoon away! We still have some of the animal pens yet to finish."

Eodwine gave a strong pull on his own mug of mead and was pleased himself with the effect.

"I don't think Frodides, Kara and Ginna need a fourth pair of hands," said Rowenna over her smaller cup of strong drink. "Maybe I could help you speed the work."

Eodwine considered as he tore a chunk of black bread from the loaf before him. "What think you, Léof? Could we use an extra pair of hands?"

"Um, yes I guess. Maybe I'll have another o' these firs'."

Eodwine grinned. "I think we'll be needing that help, Rowenna. Go make sure Frodides can spare you."

[shaggydog]

Oeric Late morning

“So what do they call you?” Oeric asked, still grinning at some unnamable feeling nestled in his chest.

“Dagan-Turi_Dan, but Dan is probably easier.” The swarthy, stocky man replied. “And thanks, I owe you my life.”

Oeric tilted his head to look up to the skies and thought about the saving of a life, when it might happen and when it could not happen. After a long moment, he said, “I’m glad that I was able to do that for you, Dan.”

The other, whether through natural reticence, or more probably due to his ordeal, said no more, merely looking away towards the boggy spot that had almost been his tomb. Oeric wondered at this strange looking man, but was reluctant to ask him about his origins. That he was alive and well at this particular moment seemed enough.

Considering the possible outcomes of his question, Oeric asked hesitantly, “Would you be willing to do something in return?”

Dan looked at him, his expression unreadable. Oeric looked back, their eyes meeting. “I would like to keep my presence here unknown, at least until . . . until I decide the time is right. I don’t know if you have come here with these settlers, but if so, I would ask that you say nothing of me.”

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld smiled at Léof's bout with the beer, but his mind was elsewhere. He had never been around a corpse before, but for some reason it did not sour him much. Death comes to all. No, his mind was on another who was not far from where they sat eating their noon meal. He thought about all the words that had passed between he and Ginna; he had memorized them all. He also had memorized the turn of her face and the movement of her arms as she plied the bellows, how a strand of her blonde hair fell into her face as she worked, and how she let it hang and did not shirk from the bellows until he told her to rest; then he would watch furtively as she pushed the rebellious strand of silky hair out of her face. He had memorized that motion too.

For a long while as they worked together, he had been happy with all that had been said, and enjoyed the quiet of the work. But then he had begun to think that maybe more ought to be said, and while he concentrated his skill on his work, he focused his mind on the question of what to say next. He had not been sure. At least, he had not been sure if he dared to speak his mind more clearly than his blundering words already had. "Ginna, I know you are of higher birth than I, and so I almost fear to ask." No. That would not do. "Ginna, I would have you to wife. Are you willing to think on it?" Or, "Ginna, will you be my wife?" That last had seemed all the wrong timing, to be said over a smithy's fire. But then, why not? Would that not be the most appropriate place, as it was so much a part of him? So he had been getting up his nerve to say those risky words when Rowenna had come by and ruined the moment, no fault of hers.

So now he sat with his back to the baker and could not see Ginna, and did not wish to call attention to himself by turning to look. Why, he wondered, had he sat on this side of the table? He could not say; he had not given it thought when they had come for food. Maybe that was indication that he did not want her to wife as much as he thought. Don't be a fool, Harreld Smith! he said to himself.

"Harreld, you're quieter than usual, and that's saying something," Eodwine ventured.

"Oh, just thinking on this and that."

"What this and what that?" Eodwine asked.

"Oh, about smithing. Some of the finer points," he said, and smiled, pleased with his own personal joke in regard to Ginna at the bellows.

"I'll leave such things in your good keeping, Harreld!"

Just then Rowenna came from the kitchen. "Frodides can spare me for the afternoon," she said.

Eodwine rose. "I suppose we ought to get back to the animal pens, then, if we can get Léof out of his ale cup!"

[Gwathagor]

As Eodwine and the others were rising from their noontime ale-bench, Crabannan appeared nearby, walking slowly amongst the scattered tents. His face wore its customary solemn expression, dark eyes shadowed by dark brows and mouth forming a slight frown. It took him a moment to notice the group, as he craned his head this way that, evidently looking for someone or something. However, when he realized that they were looking at him, he came to an abrupt halt.

In fact, he had been looking for Javan, but without success, and so had proceeded to follow the trailing wisps of smoke back to the kitchen; he was hungry again. He wondered how long he would be able to come and go as he pleased, unnoticed and free of responsibility. The longer the better, he thought. No sense in binding yourself down; it'll only make it all the harder when you have to move again. And that would doubtless be sooner, rather than later, he felt sure, though the thought dampened his spirits. This surprised him.

They had noticed him first, and they now stood about the table with surprise, all staring at this stranger. He was too tall for a Dunlending, but too dark for a man of Rohan. He was clad in worn garments and tall boots, and was very grave of expression - apart from a glint in his dark eyes. It could have been anything, but it struck some of those standing there as dangerous.

Crabannan stepped forward and lifted his hand in greeting, trying to look more confident and at ease than he felt. He made an effort not to glower.

"Good day...I was looking for the lad Javan. He's a friend of mine. Do you know him?"

Perhaps they would just point him in the right direction and assume that he was one of the settlers. No, he thought. I couldn't pass for a Rohir with any amount of luck.

In the ensuing several seconds, as he awaited a response, he surveyed the group. They were all strangers to him, though he felt he might have noticed one or two about the camp earlier that day. One fellow was still sitting at the bench, head on the table, hand on his mug. Crabannan smiled. Of the others, none stood out to him immediately - save one, the first to rise, who was taller than the rest and had an air of authority in his glance, which Crabannan caught for a moment. Then it dawned on him in a flash of realization. Eodwine, Crabannan thought. I'll wager that's him.

[Firefoot]

The animal pens seemed terribly unimportant at the moment. Why did Eodwine keep going on about them now? There would be plenty of time tomorrow for the animal pens. What time of day was it getting to be anyhow? Surely dinnertime must be drawing near by now - except Léof wasn’t hungry, now that he thought of it. Thirsty, though. Or not so thirsty… the ale just felt good. He took another long gulp.

Rowenna was approaching the table. When had she left in the first place? Eodwine was standing. They had just sat down! Now he was talking: "I suppose we ought to get back to the animal pens, then, if we can get Léof out of his ale cup!" So soon? Best to finish quickly then. He threw back what was left in the cup – surprisingly little, only a couple mouthfuls, and pushed himself to his feet. Or tried to. How had his legs gotten so shaky? And why was his head swimming so? He gripped the table until the world steadied out. “I’m comin’,” he said. “Though I don’t see what’s the big hurry… Good stuff, this. Woulda had some long before now if I’d known that.” Were they listening? It was suddenly very important to him that they understood this. “M’ pa drank something awful. Never thought anything he liked could be good. ’Specially not ale, made him terrible. Worse to m’ sister, though.”

[Gwathagor]

The fellow who had just stood up looked as if he was about to pitch over onto the ground, and Crabannan nearly rushed over to hold him up, when the drunk man caught himself on the table, and held on for dear life. Crabannan smirked. The Rohirrim certainly liked their ale...though, from the look and sound of things, this man was unfamiliar with the drink. He shook his head. Eorling ale was as potent as any he had ever tasted.

Crabannan looked from the drunk man to the others and back again. Ah, awkward, he thought. Fate must have a sense of humor. He smiled a crooked grin and wondered if he would be acknowledged. Perhaps this wasn't a good time. Perhaps they hadn't even heard him...and then he could just slip away unnoticed.

Besides the drunk fellow and the man who he though must be the eorl, there were three others about the table, standing and sitting. With nothing better to do, he now took the time to look them over.

One (Harreld) was very tall - taller than all the others. He wore a smith's apron and though he seemed reserved, his size and obvious strength gave him an intimidating appearance. Crabannan chuckled. He looks like the big cook I fought in East Emnet, he thought, remembering the kitchen knife in his leg and the cook unconscious on the floor.

There was another, lesser in height than the smith, but with broader shoulders - and this fellow, Crabannan realized, bore a remarkable resemblance Javan. This, of course, was Thornden, and Crabannan correctly surmised that he was Javan's brother.

The third was a woman. He found himself staring a bit, for she was beautiful. Indeed, extraordinarily so. A trifle showy, Crabannan mused. Still, she must have a very happy husband - perhaps even one of these fellows here. The thought made him glance about to make sure he was not receiving any glares.

This all passed through his mind in a matter of seconds, as he absently shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to make up his mind whether to stay and see this meeting through, or to stroll off while he still had the chance.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine was about to answer the newcomer when Léof struggled up and started trying to make words come out of his shambling lips. Poor boy was babbling, he'd quaffed so quickly from his ale cup.

"Javan?" Eodwine replied. "He is with Garstan and the boys making more tents. But I do not know you, nor do these others. I am Eodwine, Eorl of the Middle Emnet and lord of Scarburg, ruin that it is. This is Harreld our smith, this is Léof our ostler, and this is Rowenna, one of our serving wenches. How are you called and where do you come from?"

[Thinlómien]

“You always get in trouble. I don’t want to be in trouble with you by disobeying. We already are in trouble for fighting.”
“I do not always get in trouble! Take it back!”

Javan was eyeing Garmund fiercely. Cnebba stepped to stand side by side with his friend.

"Yes you do!" he interrupted. "Garmund was right to say that. You burned the stables."
Cnebba's tone was accusing, and there was a dark edge to it. He had noticed that his family's old horse, Snowstreak, had been grumpier and more easily scared after the fire. (His mother would have been surprised and proud had she known her son had noticed such thing. Cnebba, however, had kept the notion to himself.)

"And you always disobey Lord Eodwine. Like that when we arrived," Garmund added.
His tone was rather dark too. He and Cnebba had always been behaving themselves, if not well, then at least not badly either. Javan always caused trouble but he was never punished seriously, or so it seemed to the younger boys. They had talked about it with each other, and both of them thought it was quite unfair.

"And you broke my nose," Cnebba finished defiantly.
He was sure it was broken as there was blood coming out of it. (Only a little now, though, he had to admit.) Where was the healer, anyway?

[Folwren]

"And you always disobey Lord Eodwine. Like that day when we arrived."

They were taking a set against him. That much was clear. Both of them disliked him and believed he was good for nothing. The accusations stung, and he needed badly to protect himself. He saw only two options: retreat or fight. Retreating seemed out of the question. That would seem as though he agreed with them, that he was giving up, defeated.

“And you broke my nose.”

Cnebba added this as an extra proof that Javan was not a good boy. It was merely annoying and childish and it gave Javan possibly another option of escape.

“I did not almost break your nose. You’re just a big baby. I might not have been perfectly behaved in the past, but at least I’m not a wimp when it comes down to it. Now you two just shut up about the stables – it was an accident and I shouldn’t have to keep explaining myself – and I don’t always disobey Eodwine! Do you understand?” Those words seemed very grown up and mature to Javan and he was rather proud of himself of having been able to use the phrase to some younger than himself.

[Gwathagor]

So this was the eorl after all. Crabannan stood taller and narrowed his eyes a bit as he examined the man Eodwine more closely. He seemed fair and good, but Crabannan had suffered too much at the hands of first impressions as a to say more than:

"My name is Crabannan. I am a traveler from the north, and I happened upon your village early this morning."

The rest he held back: whence he came, whither he went, what he had done. All the things that made him truly himself he kept hidden as a rule. His naivety and credulity as a young man had earned him, among other things, a term of service in the Gondorian Long Guard, the misunderstanding of a variety of legal magistrates, and the enmity of an assortment of jealous, burly husbands whose existence had taken him rather by surprise. As a result, he had learned caution, even distrust, always keeping the world at arm's length, and relying on his wits and fists to keep himself alive.

Crabannan nodded to Harreld, glanced at Rowenna, and smirked at Leof. Then he turned back to Eodwine, and paused.

"I may stay some time. Just to rest, before I continue on to Edoras. But I'd like to work for my meals, if I could. I'm master of no trade - unless you count soldiering - but I've worked at many since I left home, and could likely lend a hand here and there."

Afraid of babbling, he promptly closed his mouth, and stood waiting for a response - tall, dark, and aloof, and more than a little enigmatic.

[littlemanpoet]

The man left much unexplained, but there was time. It would be best to have a trusted man near this stranger as often as possible, until they knew him better.

"You are welcome to stay with us for a time, Crabannan," Eodwine replied, "and from what I can see here, not much has been done getting the tents readied for use. It would help us greatly if you could lend Garstan the stoneshaper a hand with the tents .... and the boys, including Javan."

Crabannan thanked him and walked off.

As Eodwine and the others made their way back to the fence posts and rope and animals, he wondered how Dan was faring in the swamp. He had been gone all morning. But he was of the Pukel men, so maybe it was their way to take the whole day and come back with an answer in the evening. Eodwine told himself to have patience. He also wondered how the hunting party was doing, and how Stigend and his group was doing with the trees. He did not know whether Frodides had given them food for mid-day or if they were coming back for their food, and had not thought to ask her. There was much to do, and Eodwine decided that the matter was something that neither Stigend nor Frodides was likely to overlook, so he let the matter rest.

The day was getting now and sweat dripped from Eodwine's hairline into his face and down the back of his neck, just walking. Suddenly it hit him: no one had checked the Scarburg well to see if it was good. Much mead and beer and other drink had been drunk, but with weather like this, they would need a well. Did Scarburg even have one? If so, was it any good? He turned to look at his friends.

"Has any one of you seen a well on this land?"

[Groin Redbeard]

Their breathing was heavy and fast as they tugged at reins of they tired horses. Erbrand stumbled as he pulled Traveler after him. He loved his horse but fear had taken hold of him and he constantly was looking over his shoulder expecting to see a large number of armed peasants on horseback pursuing them with speed that would soon overtake him. He glared at his tired wretched animal with impatience and yanked on reins harder. Traveler obeyed and quickened his pace, but soon stumbled and fell on his hind legs.

"Easy there, Erbrand," Balvir barked, showing the same impatience to him as he had just shown to his steed, "The camp is close by." Erbrand stopped pulling on Traveler's reins and this time waited for his mount to get back up.

Soon their heavy breathing turned to laughter as the came within plain view of the camp. They all began to shout and call at different people, some of whose names Erbrand remembered from the groups previous talk. Soon people were swarming around the four hunters asking questions, examining the quarry that they had brought back, and telling them all about the days works. Erbrand looked back across the open plains to catch a glimpse of the peasants. He breathed an uneasy sigh: they had not followed them.

"Erbrand," Erbrand quickly snapped his head at Balvir in surprise, "Unload the deer and take the hides for yourself. Lithor with take the horses back to the stables."

Erbrand nodded his head in agreement, and in thanks, and led the horses away from the group of people with Lithor, while Balvir and Matrim went off by themselves. Erbrand guessed that they went looking for Eodwine.

"Well you've done good work today," Lithor said with a friendly smile as they unloaded the horses of their burdens, "These deer will make some excellent skins for you. Not to mention good stew." Erbrand laughed at the gleam in Lithor's eyes as he mentioned food.

"Thanks, I enjoyed it a lot. I'm looking forward to more hunting trips with you."

"Oh don't you worry there will be plenty more. The Eodwine's people have healthy appetites, they will soon be needing more food." Both of them laughed at the joke as they led the horses to the stables.

Lithor unstrapped the stirrups from the horses while Erbrand gathered the bows, quivers, rope, and what arrows where left. Lithor motioned for him to leave Matrim and Balvir's longbows standing next to his. When Erbrand asked where to put his bow, Lithor laughed and told him to keep it.

"With such shooting as you have demonstrated today, you've earned it."

He thanked him and ran back to the deer, that were left piled on top of each other out of view from the camp so that the people may not see the messy work that was being done. He stared at the carcasses for a minute, wishing to delay the tedious and long task of skinning the hides off of them. Finally he withdrew his long knife from its sheath and grabbed one of the dormant deer by the horns. He had just got himself situated and was about to cut into the animals flesh when a thought struck him. The Sun was sinking fast in the west, it would soon it would be dark! His snares which he had made earlier that morning weren't set in the marsh!

All other thoughts left his mind as he raced back to his tent to retrieve his snares. He flung the tent flap open, grabbed them, and raced back towards the marsh, bumping into several people on the way there. As he neared the marshes edge he tested the patches of grass to see if they would support his weight, remembering the embarrassing act earlier that morning. Suddenly another thought struck him: he desperately wanted to talk to Dan!

"So much to do and so little time," he thought to himself, "Well, nothing can be helped by worrying about it, best get these snares set first."

[Eönwë]

For a while Dan lay there on his front, coughing and spluttering, a soggy, muddy mess. The man beside him, bent over, panting. Dan was much heavier than he looked. It was all that muscle, or so Dan would say to himself.

Then, after some failed attempts, with a squelch, he managed to support himself enough to sit up.

“Next time, be more careful,” said the man who was sitting next to him. It was not the sort of voice that Dan would have expected for a man that looked so hard and toughened. It was the voice of a young, tender man who had suffered greatly. Nonetheless, for reasons unknown to himself, one of the famous Drúadan grins, the sort that didn't seem to fit, cracked through Dan's face, and the mud covering it parted. It might have been all the recent events, and their sheer preposterity, or something in the way the unfamiliar man spoke to him, but a laugh started deep in his stomach burst forth out of his mouth. It was rich and rolling, like the plains of Rohan, like freshly tilled earth in early spring, like an early sunrise. And before long, the other man was laughing too, strangely in unison with him. After a slightly longer delay, he suddenly heard a muffled chuckle, which turned into laugh, from not nearby. It started off thin and biting, but endied up loud and full of merriment. Probably the first proper laugh that person ahd had in ages. He could tell that someone had not wanted to be seen or heard, but no-one couldd resist the power of a Drûg's laugh. So he was being watched, was he? Were his saviour and whoever it was who had laughed working together? Or were they not aware of each other? Or was one trying to avoid the other? Only time would tell. But at least now he felt better. Laughing always did that to you.

Then, apparently having not heard the other laugh, the man broke into conversation. “So what do they call you?” he asked.

Dan, caught off guard answered his natural response of “Dagan-Turi-Dan, but Dan is probably easier.” And after his mind suddenly being brought back into the present, he added, “And thanks, I owe you my life.” He wondered, should he have told this man his real name? He was in hiding, in the bog. Surely there must have been a reason for this.

At that, the man looked upwards philosophically into the sky. At length, the he replied “I’m glad that I was able to do that for you, Dan.”

Dan looked towards the bog, remembering that just minutes before he was thinking that he would be stuck there forever, and not even his bones would be recovered. Now he was sitting in the sunlight, peacefully, talking to the man that had just saved his life. The sun shone brightly on his face, drying the mud and water that was on his body. He thought he heard birds singing, but would there be birds in a place, or was his mind just playing tricks on him?

Before Dan could say something, the man continued slowly. “Would you be willing to do something in return?” Dan had expected something like this. It was always the way. No act was done purely out of kindness, at least not many were. But the man had seemed slightly hesitant, slightly ashamed to ask the question, so maybe had saved Dan as an act within itself, not caluating the consequences or benefits. Anyway, Dan was indebted to the man. But he had a sneaky suspicion of what it would be. He looked at the man with his dark eyes. I would like to keep my presence here unknown, at least until . . . until I decide the time is right. I don’t know if you have come here with these settlers, but if so, I would ask that you say nothing of me.” He had known it. It was best to tread carefully in these matters.

"I will answer you question if you first tell me your name," said Dan. This seemed reasonable. After all, the man had known his name for the last few minutes, and Dan was feeling left out. At least now he would know the name of who he was addressing.

The man looked thoughtful, and Dan guessed he was wondering whether he ought to tell his real name or make up one. "Oeric," the man said. Judging by the uniqueness of such a name, Dan guessed that it was probably his real name. Or else he may just be very sharp, said Dan to himself.

Then Dan answered the man's question. "As a Drûg of Drúwaith Iaur," he started, then taking a deep breath continued "I must be steadfast with my companions and masters. I must not decieve them or put them in any danger. Those are the rules of my kin, my race, and to forgo these would be to lose my name as a Drûg warrior, and my honour. Therefore I cannot allow the Eorl to be in any danger. But since you do not seem dangerous to me (after all, you saved my life), then I will give you the benfit of a doubt and not tell him of your existence. You saved my life, and a debt like that is hard to repay. I will do what I can, even if it endangers me."

So, he had agreed agreed. But one thing was still worrying him, "But I want you to tell me, how am I going to be able to prove this when you have already been sighted by a member of the camp. Lord Eodwine will suspect me of trickery."

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan found Javan putting up tents. Or, rather, he found where Javan was supposed to be putting up tents, because he was getting very little done. Instead, he was exchanging angry words and angrier glances with the two boys he had fought with earlier. Where was Garstan? Crabannan wondered. He had been in enough fights and arguments to tell that this one was quickly heading in the wrong direction.

He only caught the last few sentences from Javan: "I might not have been perfectly behaved in the past, but at least I’m not a wimp when it comes down to it. Now you two just shut up about the stables – it was an accident and I shouldn’t have to keep explaining myself – and I don’t always disobey Eodwine! Do you understand?"

An accident? There was evidently history here with which Crabannan was unfamailiar. Nonetheless, to his rough sense of justice, it seemed that Javan was being unfairly singled out and picked on. He acted accordingly. Children could be so devilishly cruel sometimes, and this made him angry.

Crabannan quickly stepped to Javan's side and glowered down at the lad's tormentors, Garmund and Cnebba, fixing them both with the darkest, most menacing stare he could conjure up. He looked from one to the other, and back.

"First, tell me what's going on here. Second, where's Garstan? Third, why aren't you putting up tents?"

[Firefoot]

With this last statement, Scyld stood and strode towards the two men. They were in a pickle, alright, and here was the opportunity he had waited for: the chance to put both of them in his debt. He would give this Dan fellow someone to take back to his Eorl, and Oeric would remain uncaught and unknown. “I shall go with you,” he declared to Dan as he drew closer. “You may act as though it was I you were searching for and I who rescued you from the mire.” Oeric looked stunned, but it was difficult to read the Wild Man’s emotions from his face.

When no one immediately responded, Scyld took it as an affirmative answer and continued. “Now, you say that Oeric has already been spotted by those of the camp?” Oeric nodded slowly. Well, this could be problematic – Scyld did not want to be known as one who had evaded capture. “What happened?” And between the two of them, Scyld got what he figured was basically the full story. Upon its conclusion Scyld smiled slightly. “That is well,” he said, for I shall simply say that I was unaware of the Eorl’s arrival and thought the man a mere brigand. Coupled with my willing arrival, I think the story should suffice.” He looked from one to the other. “Well? What say you?”

“You are serious, aren’t you?” asked Oeric. When Scyld nodded once, curtly (for he had little patience for such inane comments that progressed the conversation not at all), Oeric smiled. “Then I thank you. You have done me a great service.”

Dan, too, slowly nodded. “It will do. I would first ask your name, however, since you already seem familiar with ours, and our business as well.”

“Your pardon,” said Scyld, bowing slightly and with some irony, though that could not be detected save by one who knew him well – and no one knew Scyld well. “Nydfara at your service, wanderer and jack of many trades. I should be happy to offer my services to your Eorl.”

[Thinlómien]

The highwayman came and stepped to Javan's side. He stared at Garmund and Cnebba so darkly that they both had to take a step backwards. In truth, Cnebba might have taken two.

"First, tell me what's going on here. Second, where's Garstan? Third, why aren't you putting up tents?"

There was a silence. As Crabannan was so clearly looking at the younger boys, Javan didn't answer. Cnebba figured he was enjoying the situation mightily.

"My father went to fetch water," Garmund replied, staring boldly at the man.
"And he told us to wait," Cnebba added. Then he glanced at Javan. "Except that he wanted to start getting the canopy ready, although Garstan told us to wait." He too stared at the stranger defiantly.

"And what's going on here?" two voices said in unison.

The three boys looked from one man to other. Garstan, just arrived with two heavy buckets of water in his hands, was looking at the younger man politely but questioningly. Crabannan was looking at the stoneshaper, looking a little surprised by his sudden appearance. Cnebba wondered if the glint in his dark eyes meant he was amused.

"You must be Garstan," Crabannan said.
"Yes, I am," the man addressed replied before Crabannan could continue. His tone was friendly yet firm. "Who are you? I don't think I've ever seen you before. And why are you scowling at my son, and at Cnebba?"

[Gwathagor]

"Well, Garstan, there appears to be something of a disagreement between these boys. It seems to me that Javan is being attacked unjustly by your son, and this other boy - you, what's your name? - Cnebba, that's right. I'd as soon have them fight it out..."

Crabannan trailed off. He rightly read Garstan's expression as one of disapproval. "But maybe you know just as well as I that Javan would whip both of them." Crabannan smiled. "And Garmund is your son. I reckon you'd best deal with the three of them. If it makes any difference, though, I'm on Javan's side." He glanced over at Javan, who was looking at him appreciatively. Garstan got his attention again.

"You still haven't told me who you are." Garstan still felt unsure of this fellow; he was just a little too...

"Apologies, Garstan. I'm Crabannan. Eodwine sent me to help you and these tusslers set up the tents. Though...it's looking as if we won't get the job done. We've got quite a few tents to go yet, and we can hardly look after the little boys and work at the same time."

"I'll deal with them, Crabannan, if you don't mind."

"That would be best. I can be a bad influence."

Crabannan turned to face the job at hand - but not before giving Cnebba and Garmund one last dark glare, just for good measure. They quailed. Then, with his back to Garstan and the boys, he seized a coil of rope and a hammer, and set to his task with a will. He would eat well tonight, and he would earn it, too.

Pounding the stakes felt good. It had been a few weeks since he had done any proper work, and he found that he almost missed it. As he worked, he fell into a rhythm which was interrupted only by the occasional pain in his right leg - the old knife wound, and the only thing which had prevented him from feeling entirely at ease and at home in the fledgling Scarburg, which, over the next weeks, began to rise about him, phoenix-like, from the ashes.

He could have let this unease propel him onwards, wandering again, but Scarburg felt restorative to him, almost idyllic. And he had begun, already, to make friends here: Javan, Kara, maybe even Garstan. But then he would recall the hastily buried corpse at the foot of the Scar and the ruined hall, images staining his idyllic first impression of Scarburg with mystery and suspicion. And, ironically, this held him even more. He could not leave. There was adventure here, perhaps even danger, and he found himself fascinated, riveted.

[Nogrod]

Stigend looked disappointed gazing at the swamp in bright daylight. The trees standing were scarce and most of them were thin, growing warped and twisted. On the ground there were some thicker and straighter trees that had fallen down who knew when.

“It seems the swamp has been drier earlier… decades ago, I’m afraid.” Wilcred said thoughtfully.

“Right… And that means the fallen trees probably are of no use…” Stigend added. “And from those still standing one might make decorations but not planks or boards…”

“Definitively no baulks or beams…” Wilcred continued.

“We’ll still have to give them a chance.” Stigend said now a bit louder turning to look at Aethelstan and Osmund. “Knock them with the back of your axe a few times from different spots and listen to the sound. Those that sound soft or dampened or dull and hollow are of no use. A firm and sharp sound means it’s good. Mark the good ones with your knives… Okay?”

The two nodded and went on for their work. Stigend frowned looking at the marshland opening before their eyes. Wilcred patted him on the shoulder encouragingly. “Let’s not lose hope Stigend. I’m sure we’ll find at least a few good ones. Some of them must have fallen on hammocks or other drier spots...”

Stigend nodded slowly pulling his axe from his belt. “Let’s join the two and get this over with.”


Stigend had asked for lord Eodwine to let Wilcred accompany him. It had been only a few months ago he had learned that this calm and somewhat quiet elder soldier knew a thing or two about trees. It had come as a surprise to lord Eodwine himself as well. Wilcred surely was not one of those who liked to open their lifestories to any passers by. But Stigend had learned that his uncle had been a landowner and the lands had consisted mainly of forests from which he had made his main living by selling wood. During his youth Wilcred had spent whole summers at his uncle’s place and thence the familiarity. But Stigend also appreciated his calm presence. Nearing his forties he was no longer a hotheaded rascal but more a considerate professional soldier: reliable and firm.

The two younger soldiers Stigend knew less about. Aethelstan seemed to be a bit quick-tempered and enthusiastic about things he found interesting – and this mission clearly wasn’t one he appreciated. Stigend thought he would have much more preferred to join the hunting party. About Osmund he knew even less but that he was quick to laugh. Both were young guys, at their twenties Stigend would guess.


After they had gone checking for the fallen trees for a few hours Stigend finally called for a break. After they counted everyone’s tally they learned that they had found eleven stems that could be used. After Stigend had checked those marked by Aethelstan and Osmund he had to bring the number down to eight.

“How much is that in real terms?” Wilcred asked as they sat eating their provisions Kara and Frodides had given them.

Stigend thought it for it a while. “Prime floor-planks, maybe five… for tables or benches, well… that’s not the best stuff for that. I mean a Mead Hall needs to have quality in those things as everyone notices them. But a good pile of second rate board for where it’s needed; cupboards, lockers, sideboards, shelves, beds… maybe two or three pieces of them, like three beds or a cupboard and a sideboard.”

“That’s not bad…” Wilcred half pointed out half asked.

“It’s not as bad as I feared after seeing this place in daylight… but not promising us to get even near to what we need…” Stigend said and shook his head.

“Shall we go back then?” Osmund asked suddenly. The two younger soldiers had been looking bored to what they clearly thought was just empty chatter of the two elder men. That was easy to read from their faces. Stigend felt he would take none of it anymore.

“If we can’t find the wood here we need to find it from farther away. But if you two have nothing to do why don’t you go and start dragging those we’ve found to the solid ground from there?” Stigend almost snapped his last sentence. He was stressed and disappointed, and anguished of the problem they faced.

The two soldiers looked at each other. It looked like Aethelstan was about to jump up offended when Osmund pressed him back down. “Let’s go Aeth, let’s get it done while the oldies take a rest and chatter...” He glanced at Stigend to see if his comment had the intended outcome.

Wilcred broke in before Stigend had time to jump on Osmund’s words and the open scorn behind them. “Cool down everyone! And you two, lord Eodwine named Stigend to lead this party and you’ll do what he says you’ll do… Just drag the logs there to the firm ground and you’ve earned yourself a good break. We’ll go searching westwards for more as the ground feels drier there.”

Stigend cooled down as soon as he had gotten angry. But he was wondering about his own behaviour. It had been a long time he had gotten angry the last time. Maybe he was just stressing too much.

“Wilcred talks wisely. Feel free to have a break until we come back. It may take several hours.”

Aethelstan and Osmund grumbled lightly for principle’s sake but went to their duties looking somewhat relieved. The promise of a long break without the older men had clearly cheered them up.

[Nogrod]

Folwren's Post

Saeryn woke again finally in the late afternoon. She felt calmer and collected, strong and able to rise. She lifted her head and looked about. The tent was empty, the flap fastened shut. She gently lifted the light cover off of herself and strained to see her wounded side. The dressing and wrap was fresh and it felt cool and soothing.

She drew a deep breath and then let it out slowly again as she sat up. With only a little difficulty, she rose and dressed herself and then headed out of the tent.

She wanted to see the new holding before darkness fell and she wanted to do it without being hindered. Everyone was at work and no one noticed as she exited the tent. She would explore the place quietly and unobtrusively as possible and then seek the company of the ladies.

Soon, she told herself, she would be one of the inhabitants again. Then no one would ask questions, or wonder about her. This, at least, was her hope. Her past was behind her, and with no one left to come stir it up and to find her, she thought she could be happy and content to stay.



--------------------------


The wood-party...


Nearer the center of the swamp and the Mead Hall the ground had been in part dangerously wet full of puddles and treacherous ditches but walking westwards Stigend and Wilcred found the ground becoming drier and firmer. What first had been mostly ponds and puddles dotted with some hummocks changed into drier ground only spotted with clearly visible drains and ditches. The smile in Stigend’s face grew wider as he spotted the first straight trees standing tall here and there.

“Hah, we should have come here in the first place… Now this looks more like it.” Stigend said delightedly.

“Yes, if not for any other reason, then for the number of mosquitoes…” Wilcred grinned slapping himself to the cheek and watching the three dead insects in his palm. “You need help with yours?” he offered raising his hand ready to a swing.

“You just try…” Stigend said laughing and backed a step only to tumble into a hummock. He fell backwards and rolled over it. Unfortunately behind the hummock there was a small but deep puddle into which Stigend fell head on. Wilcred jumped after and helped Stigend to his feet and out from the puddle. Stigend’s hair and face were dripping muddy water and his shirt was soaked full of half-decayed leaves.

“I’ve heard the fine ladies in Gondor take mud-baths to make their skin more beautiful… I must say I do doubt the effects…” Wilcred grinned. Neither of them was able to keep up the poker and they went on roaring with laughter.


In a few hours the two fell six pine-trees and three firs. And they marked fourteen fallen ones as good for use. In the end it was less Stigend had hoped for but much better he had anticipated after their first effort nearer the Mead Hall.

They took a break sitting on a biggest fir they had fell and sipped some wine from their skins. They were both sweating and their faces and cloths were covered with mud. They had been panting heavily as they had sat down but slowly their breath started to settle down.

“Should we go and see if the guys have rested enough to give us a hand here?” Wilcred finally asked with a grin.

“You go. I’ll start lopping the branches from these fresh ones. We’ll get home earlier…”

Wilcred nodded patting Stigend to the shoulder as he rose up.

Wilcred left and Stigend sat alone for a while. He was in his thoughts. Did I just say “home”? Home? Stigend was confused. They had wandered around for years making their living here and there. There had been no home for him after he had left his parents – and the way it happened wasn’t encouraging any too positive associations to the word home. Home was something belonging to the childhood and past; to the village he had learned to scorn because of the attitudes of the people - especially that of his father - towards his wife and child.

But here he was in a swamp buzzing with insects all soaked and sweating calling a burnt down ruins they had moved in just yesterday his home. No it’s not the ruins… they can’t be it… it’s these people that are my home now. They are? Can people be one’s home? I’ll talk with Modryth about this…


Wilcred found Aethelstan and Osmund wrestling for fun beside a neat pile of logs. They followed him a bit reluctantly but were not arguing or scorning anymore. The feelings had clearly mellowed down and in the end Wilcred outranked them anyway and thence was indeed their superior.

It took them two more hours to drag the trees to the nearest place at the edge of the swamp dry enough for a horse to come and collect them. It was hard work dragging the heavy tree-trunks over the marshland scattered with puddles, ditches and drains. Stigend and Wilcred worked as a pair and Aethelstan and Osmund as another for there was no chance anyone could have dragged one alone. Looking at the robustness of the elder men dragging the trunks with no breaks or moaning first astonished the younger soldiers but then led to them trying to show they were no less tough in the work. Had there not been this “competition” on the part of the younger guys the job would have taken a lot longer.

After the last trunk had been dragged to dry land they all fell down to the grass panting. It was late afternoon already but no one made a move to head back to the Mead Hall.

They had lied down for a few moments when Wilcred broke the silence. “Good job lads, good job…”

“We dragged ten and then the eight back there.” Aethelstan said some pride in his voice.

“And those eight were even harder ones” Osmund added.

Stigend smiled at the bragging. “Yeah, you did a man’s work today. I’ll let Thornden learn about your actions today…”

Stigend could sense the tension his words had caused. Immediately he realised where it came from. He felt he needed to correct the misunderstanding. “Don’t get me wrong guys… Let’s make a deal we somehow just can’t remember anything about the noontime. I’ll promise I will only remember this afternoon when talking to Thornden… I mean I was a bit uptight myself back then as well. I’m sorry about that incident. It was partly my fault as well.”

“Maybe I’m to blame as well. I hope you forgive me my stupid words – I mean you two are tough guys even if you’re older. I know it now.” Osmund pleaded sounding honestly repentant.

“Consider it done Osmund.” Stigend answered. “As I said I’ve forgotten all about it…”

For Aethelstan it was clearly hard to join the general apologies and he remained silent. All four were just lying down in their own thoughts still breathing heavily after the effort.

“Does anyone have any wine left? My skin seems empty.” Wilcred asked after a while.

“Here, catch!” Aethelstan called and threw his skin to Wilcred. “Pass it to Stigend as well.”


It was early evening when the four dead-tired and dirty but good-spirited men finally reached the Mead Hall. Only Stigend was still a bit worried about their wood supply, both it’s quantity and quality. But he would talk about that with lord Eodwine later. Now he was just happy to be back after a good day’s work.

[Gwathagor]

After the evening meal, Crabannan wandered off towards the edge of camp where, rather than spend the night in one of the tents he had helped set up, he threw down his bed-roll a little apart from everyone else. Picketing his horse nearby, he sat down on his blanket and leaned back against the creature's warm side. The trees were to their back and from where he sat he could see both the camp and the high Scar by turning his head this way and that. Lamps flickered within and among the tents, casting distorted shadows against the canvas walls as the inhabitants of Scarburg prepared for sleep. But beyond the perimeter of the encampment, all was dark and silent, save for the clustered burning stars and the silver moon.

Pensive, Crabannan pulled from beneath its heavy cloth wrapping an old harp, and began, almost absent-mindedly, to play it. At first he plucked the strings slowly and somewhat aimlessly, but soon a melody began to take shape, as if he had followed his wandering thoughts through all the old songs he had learned in Dale in his youth until they led him to one of their choosing - and then the tune began to flow through his fingers apparently without effort or thought. The song took shape as its notes drifted out into the brisk night air: sad and sweet and gentle (nearly everything that Crabannan was not, in fact). It was a haunting lament for young soldiers lost at war, and as Crabannan played with the light of memory in his staring eyes, his expression softened somewhat. Even after he had finished playing, the expression remained for a few moments, before he silently bound the cloth back about the harp and put it away.

Turning back, he saw in surprise a flickering fire away up on the Scar, as if of a torch or small fire. He could not know how long it had been there, for he had been paying little heed as he played, for which he cursed himself. He jumped up, and as quickly as he had seen it, the flame vanished again without a trace or a sound. Crabannan remained standing, stock-still. He listened hard, but there was nothing, and he found himself wondering, despite his certainty of a moment before, if he had not merely imagined it, and the fire on the Scar drifted into hazy uncertain memory.

Crabannan lay back down and though he waited and watched for nearly an hour, sword and longbow near at hand, the fire did not return. Finally, long after the last light had been extinguished in the camp, he fell asleep, entirely exhausted, but happier than he had been in months.

[Groin Redbeard]

The sun had set and the moon was high in the clear cloudless sky. Tired and exhausted from the days work, Erbrand slowly walked back to his tent with a bucket of water in his right hand and a towel slung over his shoulder. The snares had been set and the deer had been skinned, the dry blood still clinging to his hands. He had gone without dinner in order to get the skinning process done before dusk, the meat was then put into salt water until the blood had all drained out. He then put them all in large sacks and tied them up on a branch in a tree; the carcasses will stay there until the morning and then the cooks will treat them. Erbrand dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a handful of the dried meat that he packed for the hunting venture and munched on them greedily.

All of the tents surrounding his were silent. A few were lit up with candles and he could see the still shadows inside, but for the most part everyone had gone to bed. He knelt on one knee as he let down bucket beside him, and then plunged his hands into the cold water and scrubbed his hands and face until it was rid of grime. A long, slow, deliberate sigh protruded from his lips as he leaned back against his tent pole, and rubbed his fingers through his wet hair. It was a day well spent.

Erbrand began to feel sleepy and his eyelids began to slowly close. However, he perked up again, listening intently to what he thought was harp music . He looked up and down the row of tents and discovered that he wasn't the only one awake. Around six tents from where he was sleeping a long legged man clad in grey was plucking on a small harp. The man's song was beautifully played and Erbrand couldn't help but smile as he watched the mans fingers float from string to string. If this were at any other time Erbrand would have taken out his Fiddle and struck up a tune in harmony with the man, but consideration for the other sleepy members of Scarburg stopped him from doing anything that might awaken them. Erbrand guessed that the man who was playing might be lord Eodwine's bard, and a pretty darn good one at that. It puzzled him for awhile, he had not seen the man that morning before he left with Lithor, but he did remember seeing him when he got back. After a long moment of gazing at the man Erbrand shook his head in dismissal of the thought and made himself comfortable.

Erbrand didn't bother getting into his makeshift bed, which was little more than a blanket placed on straw. Instead he pulled his wool cloak over himself and got into a comfortable position right where he was. His head soon sagged and his body finally gave into his exhaustion, falling into a deep sleep.

[littlemanpoet]

A cock crowed. Birds of many voices began to sing. Eodwine opened his eyes. He wiped the sleep-dew out of them with the edge of his sleeve. He used his tunic to wipe the sweat off his forehead and face. It was hot, for it had never cooled all night. But he had slept, for the exhaustion of hard work makes sleep come easily no matter the heat.

He sat up and looked about in his tent. The others had prevailed upon Eodwine that as lord of Scarburg he ought to have his own tent, and better than ground with root and rock beneath to sleep on. He had been hard to convince, but when the entire assemblage took up the same cry and would not let it go, he finally relented, glad of such friends.

He got to his feet and struggled into trousers and a fresh tunic with his back bent from the low roof of his tent, and bending over, walked out of the tent and onto the wet grass and sunshine. He stretched and looked around. There was Harreld's smithy, a proper one now, to the right of the ruin, or what was left of it. Just beyond the ruin was a very large pile of shaped stones, and to the left of that were, protected by canvas, the logs and cut wood, prepared by Stigend and his men. The meat curing shed still stood where the corpse had been found, but it was now cleaned and being used as it was meant to be, much thanks to Rowenna and Saeryn, between whom the beginnings of a friendship seemed to have formed. They tried to outdo each other in finding the hardest work to do, it seemed. When Rowenna wasn't looking (at least Eodwine thought she didn't notice), he marked that she was purposely mimicking Saeryn's ways, seeming to think that they were those of someone of noble birth.

But the hardest work of all had fallen to the strongest men. The result of their efforts was a deep well, back toward the Scar, amid the dryer ground. It had been a hard dig, but worth it, especially as they found good clean water that seemed to have no end at perhaps three fathoms down.

Today they would be celebrating the end of the first part of their endeavor. They had cleared away the ruin (which was now nought but bare earth except where the stairway led to the basement and the cage). They had moved many stones from the Scar which had undergone the careful surgery of Garstan's skill. On the morrow they would begin to build.

[Formendacil]

Náin son of Narin son of Nóri, had walked most of the night, the legendary resilience of the Dwarves not so much legendary as factual. He had rested for a couple hours just after midnight, but knowing how close he was to Scarburg, the Dwarf had not rested long. By waking early, he would be able to reach the new settlement in time to put in a full day's labour.

It would be good, Náin thought, to see some of his old friends from the Mead Hall. Though he had been pleased when King Éomer had seen fit to allow him to depart Edoras and join his kin in the Glittering Caves, he had missed the Eorlings that had befriended him during his stay at the Mead Hall, and was pleased that they could use his services again. With the departure of Eodwine from Edoras, the grander plans for the expansion of the Mead Hall had been terminated, and with it the need for Náin's services.

It had not been long, however, before Eodwine had sent word back to Edoras that he planned to rebuild Scarburg as his seat, and since the Eorl had grand plans for the inclusion of stonework in his new hall, the Dwarves of the Glittering Caves had been sent to. As one both proficient in stonework and specifically mandated by King Thorin to act as ambassador to the Eorlings, Náin had been delegated with the task.

As he walked across the grounds toward Eodwine's camp, Náin was keeping a sharp eye open for good locations to quarry. If the Eorl wanted to use much stone in the construction of his hall, a local source would be necessary, firstly because of the cost of hauling in stone from elsewhere and secondly because of the lack of good roads to haul it over. Other than the Gondorian-constructed great road that ran from Minas Anor past Edoras and through the Gap of Rohan on towards Bree and Fornost, there were few roads in the Riddermark suitable for the passage of heavily laden, stone bearing, carts.

Still, Náin was not concerned, for as close to the White Mountains as Scarburg was, there was plenty of stone available, and Náin had seen a few suitable sites for quarrying thus far, though he hoped he might find one even closer to the house itself; the less distance the stone had to be hauled, the easier it would be for all concerned.

As Náin came into the encampment of the Eorl, most of the Eorlings were just beginning to stir, and a familiar smell wafted on the air, bearing the scent of Frodides' early morning bread, already baking for consumption at breakfast. It was a pleasant smell indeed, for whatever other amenities the Dwarves had in the Glittering Caves, there were no cooks among them and Náin was indeed hungry after his long night's walk.

Deciding that Eodwine could wait, the Dwarf decided to follow his nose to wherever the encampment ate its meals.

[Groin Redbeard]

His eyes slowly became aware of the dawn as the cock crowed and awakened Erbrand’s senses. He groaned slightly as he raised himself up and rubbed his face wearily. The days were long, but not long enough to get all of his jobs done. As well as working for lord Eodwine, Erbrand was responsible for making the saddles that were lost in the fire. He had stayed awake long into the nights tanning and hardening the many layers of leather needed for the saddles and would often be the last to go to bed.

Erbrand got up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His face looked older than it did a month ago due to the thicker beard and longer hair that he grew. The long days of strenuous work had made his body hard and strong, he was no longer the petty specimen of a man that had wondered into camp thirty days before.

He picked up his shirt and stumbled to the flap of his tent, tripping over the four unfinished saddles that he kept inside. The camp was beginning to come alive as he stood upright and breathed in the warm morning air. Yesterday had been the completion of stone shaping for the Meadhall, soon the hall would be rebuilt with the help of Garstan the stone shaper. Garstan was a hard worker; Erbrand liked this about him and admired the perfection that he had accomplished with his it. However, Garstan’s shyness, mixed along with Erbrand’s nerves, had been the cause of several short and uncomfortable conversations that never got beyond the topic of work.

After putting on his shirt, and tucking it in, he quickly walked over to the mess tent to grab an early breakfast, which he often did, before going to look at his snares in the marsh. He soon became acquainted with the kitchen women and took an instant liking to Kara who always greeted him with a quiet “hello” which he would immediately smile and respond with, “Good morning mam.”

Kara and Frodides were there when he arrived at one of the tables.

“Hello, Erbrand.”
“Good morning mam.” He replied with a grin.
Frodides put his breakfast on a platter; usually some leftovers from last night and watered oats. He didn’t want to make the ladies to get up early to cook a bigger and hotter meal for him just because he was in a hurry. In fact he rather enjoyed his morning meals. Not only because the ladies were good cooks, but also because he got all the interesting news that floating around camp. He would sometimes chuckle to himself whenever Rowenna would come by with a bit of news or some sort of prediction about some members of the camp. Matrim’s advice about Rowenna didn’t make sense to him now. She was kind and aloof, not at all what Matrim described as a ruthless turncoat who would play nasty tricks on her friends for a bit of amusement, but he could feel a great amount of bitterness bottled up in her and tried to avoid getting into a personal discussion that might uncork those emotions.

As he munched on last night’s stew and soggy oats, he saw Harreld and Dan talking. Two strong willed and gentle spirited people, he had taken an instant like to Dan since that morning he arrived, and after a couple of odd shallow conversations with Harreld, Erbrand began to find more things to talk about and soon considered Harreld as a close friend. This was very much unlike that new character, Crabannan. Much to Erbrand’s disappointment, he found out that Crabannan was not a bard but a brawler and had gotten into several frivolous, yet intense, arguments with him since his arrival. Erbrand considered him to be nothing more than a trouble maker that would sooner or later rob lord Eodwine blind and hit the road, so for the most part Erbrand kept a close eye on his things.

He hastily shoved the last spoonful of oats in his mouth and got up from the table.

“Much obliged ladies.” He said with a thankful nod and headed towards the marshes for an early look at his snares.

Sometimes if he was lucky he would find a deer, or something similar to that, grazing on the far end of the marsh. Lithor had taught him how to use the bow to the point of perfection and was now able to ride and shoot with it, as well as hit a target from one hundred paces.

As he reached inside his tent for the bow and an arrow he spotted Crabannan emerging from his tent, energetic and filled with new mischievous energy. Erbrand walked towards him, he desperately wanted to avoid a conversation that would lead into a fight but he didn't want to be rude either.

"Good morning, Crabannan," he said dryly, "I hoped that you slept well?"

[Folwren]

Javan had been up before dawn. He crept out when all was still dark and only the faintest sign of morning could be felt in the air. He gathered the arrows and the bow he used while teaching the two younger boys their lessons and went out towards the horse pasture. A twilight lay over the world when he reached the horses. He had a rope halter and with it, he caught his horse and brought him away from the herd and to the fence. There, he clambered up onto the horse's back and rode him away from the other horses.

The sun was just beginning to rise. Javan imagined that over at the camp, people were beginning to stir. He had a little bit of time before breakfast. He strung his bow and set and arrow to the string. Today, he wanted to teach Garmund and Cnebba something new, but he had to find out for certain if he could do it.

It had been a strange and unexpected consequence for fighting...Javan still wondered why they all had decided in making him teach the two boys the skill of archery. He had been told, yes, that it would help draw them together in some sort of friendship bond, but was that really all of it?

“Well,” he said, as he knocked an arrow to the string, “p’raps it has made us friends. Some.”

It hadn’t at first, though. He thought back to the first day they had tried it. The boys had been surly and quiet and Javan himself was unhappy with the situation. Cnebba and Garmund were slow to understand what Javan thought to be the very basics. They had come within inches of fighting several times that first day, and only Thornden’s threat of a thrashing had kept Javan from starting a fight.

But, the archery sessions were short, due to so much work having to be done in Scarburg. They continued day after day and it had not been long before all three of them actually began looking forward to it. The two younger boys loved to learn, and Javan discovered new things as he taught. However, the grown-ups’ plan of them becoming good friends had not as yet seemed to work. Javan seemed only to tolerate the two younger boys, and that was all they seemed to do in return.

The arrow sped from his string. The horse stood perfectly still, not even his ear moved backwards. Javan nodded in satisfaction when the arrow struck the target and he moved his horse forward into a walk.

The boys had learned to shoot on the ground, and then they shot with horses beside them, and eventually they had learned to shoot fairly accurately sitting on their horses. Today, he had decided, they would shoot while moving.

[Gwathagor]

"Good morning, Crabannan," said Erbrand, "I hoped that you slept well?"

Crabannan stretched and flexed his sleepy muscles, and then knelt down beside the bucket of water that he kept outside his tent.

"Well enough, Erbrand. Well enough."

He splashed the still-frigid water over his face and head and, standing up, threw back his dripping black hair and shook it, running his fingers through to keep it off his face. He looked at Erbrand and smiled his peculiar half-smile. In a way, that summed up Crabannan's relationship with many in the camp, Erbrand in particular: Crabanna was pleasant enough when he chose to be, but there was always part of him withdrawn, held back, part of himself that he never comitted. A month in the camp had improved and developed his ability for friendly interaction, but he still retained his tendency to brood, a characteristic which put many off. A little thing would throw him into deep, silent thought at a moment's notice and in that state, Crabannan was easily angered. Generally, his anger was just, but rarely was it merciful.

Crabannan swept up his short sword and began to buckle it on. He would just as soon have walked away from Erbrand without further conversation, which he knew would be forced and ingenuine (as it always was), but his marginal sense of social propriety, which he had somehow retained from his upbringing in Dale (or had the friendly and open Eorlings been rubbing off on him?), made him stay a moment longer.

"Up early today, Erbrand?" Erbrand was always up early. He said it was to check his snares (Erbrand fancied himself a hunter), but Crabannan always felt that he was more interested in spending as much time as possible with the kitchen-ladies, Kara in particular, than in the day's catch. This, at least, was Crabannan's impression, which may not have been as objective and disinterested as he like to believe...

At any rate, the catch was typically slim (a tough old buck-rabbit, a miniscule grouse, etc.), but would always be brought in with great seriousness and business-like modesty, in true Erbrand fashion. Crabannan knew that Erbrand rubbed him the wrong way and though he managed to keep his feelings hidden, he could resist pretending to take Erbrand as seriously as Erbrand took himself. The result was a series of facetious jabs. And, in turn, Crabannan had always felt the polite and proper Erbrand's subtle disapproval and dislike; for what, he couldn't say.

"How is hunting these days? Are the rabbits keeping up with you? They breed quickly, of course, but...I daresay you put a great strain on the poor mothers."

As he began to walk off towards the kitchen, where he guessed Erbrand had just come from - he was ALWAYS hanging around there, behaving obsequiously towards the cooking women - he could not resist asking: "How is Kara?"

As soon as he spoke, he knew he oughtn't to have said anything.

[Formendacil]

Though it was early enough that he was among the first to arrive at breakfast, Náin was late enough to have a properly prepared breakfast, and not to be joining Erbrand in his gruelish repast. Frodides welcomed him back with warmth. As far as the old cook was concerned, Náin was still in her good graces. Kara was elsewhere at the moment, to Náin's disappointment, but to Frodides' assurance that she'd be back any moment with whatever she had slipped out to fetch, Náin simply thanked her, but said not to worry. There would be plenty of time time to see Kara yet in the day, and Náin was firstly concerned with eating; it had been a long night and he expected that he would have much labour yet to do, and he wished to be at it as quickly as he might.

Carrying his food aimlessly towards the tables, Náin took a wrong turn, and ended up going a longer way around, and past one of the tents where too men were standing, talking.

He assumed that the two men were Rohirrim. Certainly, they weren't Gondorian, and if they were in Eodwine's retinue, that would make sense. As he approached, however, Náin had to wonder, however, because the accent of the one asking about the other's trapping didn't sound Rohirric. The Dwarf wasn't sure what it was... more northern, perhaps.

"How is Kara?"

It seemed the stranger-sounding man's question was unwelcome, from the look on the other's face, though Náin did not know why. Before the other man could answer, the Dwarf walked up beside the glowering trapper, and introduced himself.

"Náin at your service," he said, attempting a bow awkwardly, as he was still carrying his food. "In service to King Éomer of this land, at the request of King Thorin of the Lonely Mountain, and--if the Lord Eodwine does not object--the mason-advisor to project of rebuilding Scarburg."

The two men stared at him somewhat blankly, as if not quite sure what to make of him.

"And you are.... ?" Náin prompted.

[Nogrod]

Cnebba didn’t like Javan. He didn’t like him at all. He was noisy and in a way self-assured Cnebba never was. Cnebba had learned to be the underdog all his life, the one who always had to prove himself to be worthy, the one who would have to earn the respect of others. But Javan was something different, “self-assured noble-man”, as Cnebba thought of him; someone who felt like he thought it was self-evident people would grant him special treatment. Like that incident with the stables… Cnebba just knew he and his family would have been thrown away from the Mead Hall if he had been the one to burn the stables, but with Javan it was different… lord Eodwine had gone all along to make a public show for the reconciliation. There would never have been a show like that if he had been the one igniting the stables.

And what had lord Eodwine talked to them the day after! He had pointed to Javan one should not leave a fight... How about him... or Garmund? No... lord Eodwine had only thought of Javan and not Cnebba or Garmund and that was the way the world was... there were the high ones and the low ones and he had been used to his place, but anyway Javan annoyed him.

And he was most bitter about Snowstreak. Snowstreak was his best friend, it had indeed been his only friend - beside his parents - for years, but after the incident he had found it hard to control the horse. It was like the horse was not ready to play with him anymore. Cnebba didn’t understand what it could have been, but it had been already twice that Snowstreak had thrown him off the saddle when they had practised around the campfires. It felt panicky and Cnebba associated that with Javan.

But there had been other emotions as well. When they had began their practises on archery Cnebba had soon realised he had talent for it and he kept beating Garmund day after day. Javan had encouraged him and he had done his best. He had a respect for Javan’s skills with the bow and soon he felt it was him and Javan who knew the trade and Garmund was the loser who couldn’t manage it.

But after they took the horses along, everything changed. Now Garmund was the star Javan appreciated and Cnebba felt himself an outsider. He tried his best but it was never enough as he had trouble keeping Snowstreak still while he aimed. And that was the fault of Javan and his stupid fire that had upset Snowstreak, his friend being robbed from him by that arrogant wanna-be for just toying around with matches…

But today they went riding away from the construction site and the fires and Snowstreak felt like the good old Snowstreak Cnebba knew. He was full of anticipation as Javan finally gave them the instructions.

They had rode west something like a mile to the place where Stigend and his company had dragged the logs out from the swamp for use a long time ago. There were several large rocks around which reminded one of the scar but also a few left-over stumps scattered around. They lifted a few of the smaller stumps on top of the rocks and then Javan told them to ride past them shooting at the stumps as they went.

Both boys went on in at the same time. Javan realised it was not a good idea and tried to call them back but they wouldn’t listen.

“Get off the way you walker!” Garmund shouted to Cnebba who was steering Snowstreak past him.

“No way, sissy! Shoot when you can!” Cnebba yelled back encouraging Snowstreak to an even faster speed.

“You’re spoiling this you moron! Get away or I’ll shoot you!” Garmund cried aiming at the first stump but realising Cnebba was between him and his target..

Cnebba left his first arrow on the way and hit the stump into the middle. “Fore!” he shouted and continued onwards preventing Garmund a decent shot.

“I’ll shoot you in earnest at the next one!” Garmund threathened as the horses galloped forwards.

Cnebba was aiming his bow for the next mark when Snowstreak suddenly got wild and turned around rising in the end to it’s backfeet. Garmund released his arrow and it hit the stump but suddenly he also had a task to hold his horse who went on to a halt as well.

Both boys were still on horseback but they stood silent looking back first at Javan and then gazing around startled.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld

Harreld liked his new smithy. It was well built, had room to spare (with no twin brother to take up the space), and was designed exactly the way he wanted it. All his tools were hung on spikes driven into the south wall just where he wanted them. The furnace was the best shape and the fuel could be easily placed inside. He had brought his anvil with (thankfully there had been carts to haul it for no poor horse should be so burdened), and now it sat in prime center on a good frame of iron.

He worked more quickly than he used, so that he would have time toward late afternoon to see Ginna. He had begun to court her. He had busied his mind with questions he could ask her, and then that he could answer also. Where did you grow up? What did you like best about it? What did you like least, and why? What was your favorite place there, and why? There were many more questions, and each one led to new ores of interest. Ginna liked to talk about such things, and Harreld loved her more with each new thing he learned about her. Her face became animated, and she had begun to laugh with him around. He had not jumbled his words in weeks, and found that once at ease with himself, for interest in her stories, that his mind sometimes turned clever phrases and jokes, and these made her laugh the more, and he loved making her laugh. It made her eyes dance.

The door opened and let in the morning light; the shadow of one of the others at Scarburg, briefly hid the day, then the door was shut.

"Hello! Who is there?"

[Folwren]

The situation deteriorated faster than Javan thought possible. Someone was going to get hurt, or killed - this was no game, and he’d told them that a hundred times before, at least! Now they were riding forward, one in front of the other, and the one behind (Garmund) was still drawing his string back to shoot.

Javan was hollering at them and had been hollering for a long time. Finally, the boys were listening. “What are you trying to do?” he shouted furiously. “Kill each other? Or your horses?” He trotted over to them. “I told you stop, but you didn’t listen, did you? Garmund, you might have killed Cnebba!” He stopped short abruptly. The boys’ look was not because of his anger but because walking towards them out from a stand of bushes and trees came Garstan.

Javan reined in his horse beside his two pupils and together, the three watched as Garmund’s father came near. His face was grave. He stopped and put his hand up on Garmund’s horse’s neck.

“That was interesting, boys,” he said.

“I tried to stop them,” Javan began while Garmund and Cnebba hurried to put in their stories, too - “I was going in first, but Cnebba cut in front of me.” “I was in the fore, Garmund should have waited till I was through! He threatened to shoot me!”

[Groin Redbeard]

Crabannan responded pleasantly enough. That simple answer would have been enough to satisfy him and he would be glad to walk away and get on with his work, but the conversation went on with Crabannan asking the questions.

"Up early today, Erbrand?" Crabannan asked.

"Yes, but no more than usual."

"How is the hunting these days? Are the rabbits keeping up with you? They breed quickly, of course, but... I daresay that you put a great strain on the poor mothers."

Rabbits! Was that all Crabannan thought he did: hunt rabbits! An insult and a complement in the same breath. Already Erbrand's temper was beginning to flare, when he got in these moods his anger was easily kindled.

Crabannan smiled his crooked smirk and began to walk off towards the kitchen. Relieved at the short encounter, Erbrand began to leave, but was stopped when Crabannan turned:"How is Kara?"

Erbrand spun around abruptly. He liked his privacy and got easily offended if someone would start sticking their noses into his own life. Even though he enjoyed listening to the gossiping of the kitchen women, he always dismissed it as just that: gossip. He made it a point to not pay any serious attention to mindless talking, and left it up to himself, not others, to form an opinion. He would have payed no attention to Crabannan's question, respond, and then walk off, but something about the name of Kara caused something to snap inside him.

He was frustrated with himself over his feelings, he had always made it a point to avoid the ladies in his home town and was convinced that he would never marry, making it all the more shocking to find out that he might be wrong. There was something about being around Kara that was different from anyone else, he smiled at the thought of her, and cherished the short conversations that they had. He did not yet know if she liked him in the same way, and he was still unsure about his own feelings. Erbrand didn't like the way that Crabannan asked the question, and all of his feelings blended together to remind him of his anger and sadness over the situation.

The look on his face was that of disgust, for Crabannan's unnecessary prodding in his matters and for him even mentioning Kara's name in such a way. He approached him with long swift strides, but before he could express his contempt for Crabannan's question they were approached by a figure who's height could only be expressed as lacking.

The short man announced himself, talking through his massive beard, as Nain. Erbrand didn't know what he meant by referring to far off places and of King Eomer. It took a moment for the information to register in his head before he realized that this wasn't a short man, it was a Dwarf! Erbrand's mouth dropped in amazement, a legend of folklore and myth was standing in front of him.

After a moment of awkward silence the dwarf asked who they were, prompting Erbrand to grab ahold of his senses.

"Oh, I'm sorry. My name is Erbrand," he extended his hand to the dwarf who firmly shook it, "I have heard the kitchen ladies talk of you, Nain," he paused, glancing over Crabannan, he feared that he had just strengthened the brawlers notion of him and Kara. "Your skills will be of much use here, Nain. I've heard the dwarves are amazing craftsmen when it comes to building things."

[Eönwë]

The last month, his first in the camp of Lord Eowine had gone by like a blur. First there had been that whole businesses with Oeric and Nydfara, and then there had been some of the other strange events that had happened to him. He had never spent so long among people that were not of his own kin, and it had got to him. They had such strange customs, and everything was built on tradition and hierarchy. Back home, life was more free, and no-one had as much authority over people as people like King Eomer. Lord Eodwine though, reminded him of the chief of his clan back home (or what the Rohirrim would no doubt call a "mægþ" in their tongue. You see, Dan had learnt a lot on his travels lately). There, the chief had authority, but he was not some sort of untouchable figure, like some eorls that Dan had met on his way here.

But life was good, on a day-to-day basis. He had become closer to Erbrand lately, them both being new to this area. They also seemed to share similar interests, not least hunting. They would often talk in the evening after a hard days' work, sitting outside under the stars, about things that had befallen them, and about their lives so far. He learned that he had come from a large town called Arlburg nearby, and that he was a reknowned leather-craftsman there. Dan would talk often about his ventures into the dark forests beside his home, and of his carvings which had become somewhat famous among his family. They had bonded, but Dan was not as relaxed as he felt that he should have been.

He still had an uneasy feeling, a queasy feeling in his stomach. He had not told his Eorl about the other man he had met near the camp, Oeric. He wandered what had become of the man, and if he was still okay. He had promised to come, in return for his existence being unknown t anyone but Dan himself and Nydfara. It had been part of the deal once Nydfara had exposed himself. Dan had told them that as a Drûg, he could not allow Eodwine to be in danger. It was part of the Code. But he knew would not be able to keep lying about what had happened. He had felt bad about it, and it was growing on him. If Oeric would not come within the next two weeks, he would tell Eodwine. Every time he looked at Eodwine, the just lord who trusted him, or Erbrand, his friend, or exchanged The Look with Nydfara, he was squirming inside. The bad feeling in his gut would not go away.

He turned the contents of the oilskin pouch in his hand, wondering when the time would come.

[Gwathagor]

"You hail from Erebor, Master Dwarf? Indeed? Then we may have met before, for I am from Dale - though I have not been there in many years," said Crabannan. He shot a brief dark look back at Erbrand, just to ensure that the fool was making ready to clout him over the head. No, he was just standing there, glowering - evidently he was less a fool than Crabannan had thought him. I almost wish he would take a swing at me, thought Crabannan. It'd be the last thing he did for a while. He wasn't sure how he had expected Erbrand to react, or what he had been trying to accomplish by needling him. In fact, he almost began to regret it. He turned back to the dwarf.
"Nain, in the town of Dale, there is - or was - a cooper, an old man with black hair and the disposition of a firecracker. His name is Crabannald. Do you know him?"

Nain hesitated for a moment, seeming unsure. He searched the recesses of his memory.

"Or have you at least heard any news of him?" Crabannan seemed strangely interested in this old barrel-builder, and he wasn't paying the slightest to Erbrand now. Erbrand was taken aback for a moment, catching what seemed to be a note of genuine feeling in the tall man's voice. Not scorn, not anger, not cynicism, but genuine selfless interest in another person.

[Groin Redbeard]

The conversation had cooled down between him and Crabannan. In fact Erbrand was quite startled at the genuine concern in the mans voice, it was not the tone that he would usually take while asking a question. He guessed from the simularity in names that the barrel maker was a relative. For a moment he almost found it pleasant to be with Crabannan, but he quickly forgot about it when he remembered the reason for their encounter.

"If you'll exuse me sirs, I have business to attend to before the day begins, rabbits and all that stuff." He glanced at Crabannan with an offended look. "Good morning Crabannan, and It's good to have you with us, Nain." He conjured up a brief smile that lit up his face for a second, but it was quickly erased by his normal austere expression.

He walked briskly to his snares, which he quickly emptied. Two stoats, and yes one rabbit, was his prize. Seven out of the twelve snares had been chown apart, and two of the snares had their contents already emptied but with no damage done to them. This had been happening to him for the last several weeks, he could not figure out what creature would be that clever[Oeric]. This bothered him less than his problems with the wolves, he worried about the consequence if they were allowed to breed to even larger numbers before winter set in, then the whole camp would have a problem on their hands.

He was walking back into camp, wondering on what to do with this new problem when he noticed a short man emptying the contents of a water pouch, it was Dan. Erbrand's features lit up and his worries left him for the moment.

"Good morning, Dan," he said in a cheerful voice, approaching him. Dan lowered the pouch from his lips and swallowed the water in his mouth. He seemed troubled about something, his brow was sunken and it took a moment for his face to lighten up.

"Are you alright, Dan," Erbrand asked in genuine concern, "Is there anything I could do to help?"

[Folwren]

Saeryn woke from a troubling dream. For a moment, she lay on her back, her arm draped over her forehead, thinking about it. Then she drew a breath and glanced outwards. It was already light outside. She had over slept. Her conscience told her to hurry and get out there and start the day's work, but the dream had stirred something in her memory.

She got up and knelt down beside her bed where her saddle and saddle bags lived. She lifted the blankets and moved the saddle. Lying beneath them was the old scabbard which held her short sword. She picked it up and drew the sword. Although clean, the blade was dull and marred with a couple small nicks. She decided after a moment what to do, and thrust it back into its sheath.

Quickly, she dressed and went out, carrying the sword with her. She hoped no one noticed her as she carried it across camp to Harreld’s smithy. She knocked on the wooden door frame, peering through the open door. The smith turned and came forward to greet her.

“Good morning, Harreld,” she said in reply to him. “I was wondering...I don’t know if you’re able, or if you’ve ever done anything like it, but...” she pulled her sword into view and drew it from the scabbard. “This ol’ thing has seen better days, and last time it was used, it didn’t fair too well. Do you think...” she was almost afraid to ask, in case she would be disappointed. She put the sword forward a little, hilt towards Harrled. “Do you think you can sharpen it again?”

[Formendacil]

Náin's prompt met with a responce. The one who was clearly Rohirric answered.

"Oh, I'm sorry. My name is Erbrand, I have heard the kitchen ladies talk of you, Nain."

From the way Erbrand glanced at his companion, and from what Náin had heard walking up, this seemed to be a theme of the morning. Náin resolved to ask Kara what this was about, if he saw her--and if he could think of a comfortable way to bring it up, though the prospects of that were unlikely. Though he knew Kara was aware he was fond of her, his Dwarven heritage and his own awkwardness were such that he had no intention of stating this outright. As Náin thought this out, he almost failed to notice what Erbrand said next.

"Your skills will be of much use here, Nain. I've heard the Dwarves are amazing craftsmen when it comes to building things."

Indeed, Náin paused just long enough, trying to process what Erbrand had said, that the other man spoke next, obviously taking his silence for modesty or else for not seeing a need to respond to the obvious.

"You hail from Erebor, Master Dwarf? Indeed? Then we may have met before, for I am from Dale - though I have not been there in many years," said the other, now glancing at Erbrand in his turn. Erbrand gave him no reply though, and he looked back at Náin.

The Dwarf was nodding. He had thought the other man sounded more northern.

"Nain, in the town of Dale, there is - or was - a cooper, an old man with black hair and the disposition of a firecracker. His name is Crabannald. Do you know him?"

Nain was not sure. He had not travelled into Dale often, though in his fifty-three years, he had become familiar with the Mannish town. He thought back, trying to recall if he had ever met or heard of a cooper. Nothing was surfacing.

"Or have you at least heard any news of him?"

Alas, thought Náin, if I cannot remember him, how can I have news of him? Crabannald... Crabannald...

"If you'll exuse me sirs, I have business to attend to before the day begins, rabbits and all that stuff. Good morning Crabannan, and it's good to have you with us, Nain." Erbrand gave a brief, becoming smile, and then departed. Náin, who had not caught Crabannan's name previously, seized on it to cover his inability to recall this cooper that seemed to matter to the Man before him.

"I take it from your names, that you and Crabannald the cooper are close kin?" he asked politely.

"Yes, very close," said Crabannan and something about his half-smile triggered Náin's memory. The details stubbornly refused to return to his mind, and Náin was quite sure he had never known Crabannan's name before, but he had seen the Man before, in a tavern in Dale.

Náin had forgotten why he had been in Dale. Probably, he had been working on one of several reconstruction projects that had followed, and still followed, in the wake of the War of the Ring, and he had often stayed in the town rather than returning to the mountain. Having been to many taverns, Náin could not recall the particulars, but he did recall what the proprietor had told him in a low voice when he had caught him glowering at the newcomers arrival.

"That one's trouble," he had said. "Gets into half a dozen brawls a week. Doesn't buy enough either to cover the bad business. Just likes trouble, I guess."

Náin's eyes narrowed for a moment, as this memory blinked across his mind in the moment after Crabannan had replied, and the Dwarf found himself immediately suspicious of the man in front of him, and he remembered the Man's words to Erbrand that had sent the Eorling spluttering as he had approached. "How is Kara?" Perhaps Crabannan had not acquired the same reputation in Rohan he had held with the tavern master in Dale, but Náin was suspicious and Dwarven loyalty overcame Dwarven reticence.

"Perhaps you could answer a question of mine, Master Crabannan," he said. "I could not help but hear you mention Kara as I approached, speaking to Master Erbrand, and I am curious what you meant. I was well acquainted with Kara when I stayed at the Mead Hall in Edoras, and would be pleased to hear of her good fortune--or to commiserate over her ill."

Although his words were fair enough, Náin's hand clasped itself tightly around the shaft of his heavy mason's hammer, just below its ponderous head, and his muscles, hardened as they were by decades of physical labour, clenched tight. If this troublemaker were sullying Kara's name in any way, Náin had no intention of seeing him continue.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

The mind of Degas of the Folde was tumultuous, a maelstrom of duties, of desires. With Farahil's approval of his intentions had come Farlen's, yet between the marriage of Degas and Linduial still stood his status: the exiled younger son, the poet and musician who supported himself as a traveling artist. Lord though he may be, Degas lacked the lands and the purse to wed the niece of Imrahil, the only daughter of distant sons of Mithrellas.

He clenched his fist, letting his mare pick her way across the long road of lands she had never trod. Rohan. His home. Glèowyn, a gift from Farlen, a pretty horse, tall and brown with dark mane and stockings, stepped lightly over the wheel ruts and small washouts of the road. It had obviously rained heavily not so long ago. With Feo safely in the keeping of Adragril – or rather, under the thumb of Adragil’s wife - Degas found he could travel twice as quickly, riding faster and longer, but he had discovered barely out of Dol Amroth that he missed the gap-toothed boy's quick wit and endless questions while traveling.

The trip had taken much longer than before, for then he had ridden in the company of Linduial's brother, and quiet though Farahil was, he was as good a horseman as he was the captain of his fleet, and when they made and broke camp, it was quickly, with competency and with quiet understanding. Degas had remembered quickly Lin's stories of her adventurous older brothers' travels not only to Rohan, but to as far north as Erebor, where they rendezvoused with not only with descendants of Bard the great bowman of Dale, but with Dwarves from both the Lonely Mountain and the Iron Hills. Adragil and Farahil had traveled to Far Harad, returning sun burnished and tattooed with the fierce symbolic narratives of the farthest South. Adragil wore his history proudly, his arms stained with the story - to those who could read it - of his defeat of the merciless Na'man Sufyan, his survival - horseless and without water - of the burning sands, and his stroll into camp with the head of his enemy held by its hair, wrinkled by heat and sun, stinking of blood and rot. He had won the allegiance of at least one tribe that day, delivering them from the terror of Na'man, who had forced obedience through indiscriminate impalement.

Farahil, however, wore loose shirts in which he could conceal many knives, and which had long flowing sleeves, fastened at his wrists, which kept his history from view, and while Adragil was prone to loudly recounting his tales for riveted listeners, Farahil sat quietly in the shadows, listening, and gathered others' stories to himself.

After months of companionship, Farahil and Degas had become as brothers, and Adragil, at Farlen's bequest, had requested - though as a request, the statement lacked the opportunity for negative response - that Degas accompany him on a short fishing trip: a week or two at sea, for Adragil to judge Degas's potential as a seaman.

When they returned, Adragil dark brown and glowing with virility, Degas burned and exhausted, Adragil had announced to Farlen and the silently watching Farahil that Degas "would do."

With no way to support Linduial, the lords of Gondor had chosen to find Degas a respectable way of deepening his purse and building his popularity amongst the people. The folk of Farlen's lands adored their lady, and it was a matter of diplomacy to prove to them that Linduial's northern friend was worthy of her hand.

So it was that when Wulf, an honest farmer of the Folde, had arrived at Dol Amroth with a broken arm carefully set, but healing poorly out of use, with the news that Saeryn had been gravely injured and could not be found, that the fields had burned and much of the town had been destroyed, and that Fenrir was dead, Degas had not been at home. For home, to him, was now Dol Amroth and Farlen's holdings as much as Rohan, for Degas had lived and traveled more in Gondor in his adult life than he had in his native fields.

He smiled bitterly as Glèowyn trotted toward Scarburg from Edoras. News of great import to the world of Men traveled swift as eagles flew, yet the news that Eodwine's household had moved had escaped Degas in his exile to Gondor. Nobody knew where the lady Saeryn was, or if she was alive?

Eodwine would have word, if he did not have Saeryn herself. Degas knew his sister, though they had seen so little of each other in recent years... But with Fenrir dead? Degas would be forced to move home, to care for his people, to be the benevolent Lord his father had been, and Fenrir had failed to be. The younger son, fulfilling his doom. If the news were true - and Wulf was a true hearted man, a true man of Rohan who spoke no lies, and rarely spoke uncertainly - then Degas now held enough lands, enough coin, that even Adragil, heir to Farlen, could not argue his position as a provider to Linduial.

Yet... If it was true, and the lands were burned? A summer's harvest destroyed? Though perhaps it would not be so bad, with early vegetables, and some hayings complete... Yet if the barns had burned as well? If the stock and surplus was ruined? Degas would beggar himself to feed his people and their horses this winter, yet how could Farlen let his child marry the poor Lord of a destroyed set of lands any more than he could let her marry a wandering orphan with impotent nobility?

But then... could he marry Linduial and use her dowry to purchase materials for his people? He loved her, and they were to be wed. Would it be so bad to use what money she would bring to him for such a noble purpose? Would she believe his intentions? Or would she see him grasping for ways to pay?

Degas struggled with himself until Glèowyn pranced jerkily, and he settled. He wished to marry Linduial now. His longing grew, a fire which raced through his blood. He wanted Linduial as his wife, his equal, the mother of his children. He envisioned straw haired toddlers, learning to run; boys he could train as Riders of the Rohirrim, girls who could ride and shoot as well as them, but who could also manage a household. Degas had always been astonished by the unfathomable depths of his mother, his sisters. While he had developed his skills as a Rider, as a Man of Rohan, they had learned all he knew as well as how to weave, how to raise children; they had mastered the art of haggling, something which still left him with what felt like an empty purse and a far smaller purchase than anything with which Saeryn could walk away.

Saeryn. Why had she left Lotheriel? Why had she gone back to Fenrir?

And for all that made sense in the world, what had happened upon her return?

With the Mead Hall of Scarburg in view - but it was tents and raw lumber; what had happened here? - Degas let Glèowyn open her stride. Eodwine would have news of Saeryn. Degas needed his sister. He had skirted his lands on his ride home, needing to know what to expect. Needing to know if his beloved twin was safe... if she was alive.

He dismounted, delighted, even in his dismal mood, to see familiar faces. Under other circumstances, this would be for him somewhat of a homecoming. Yet now, he desired only to see the lord of the hall.

But surely he could not stride in, a familiar face to some but a stranger to most, demanding immediate audience with a man only just eating breakfast. Thornden would greet him, would find Eodwine for him, but would these others who were unknown to Degas? And if they did, would his brusque manner offend them?

He closed his eyes for a moment, blinking back tears of frustration, of anger, of terror. His sister-- but he durst not think of it.

He hitched Glèowyn for now to a post driven deep and near fresh grass, and strode toward the tent from which most voices seemed to emanate. Blinking the early sun from his eyes, he felt glances fall upon him.

Seeing Náin close to him, Degas crossed swiftly to him, barely noticing the Dwarf's hand upon his hammer.

"Master Náin," he began. He stopped, collecting himself. "Who now..."

Again Degas paused. Dignity, he told himself. Dignity, humility, confidence, politeness. "I must speak with Eodwine, as soon as may be. Can you help me?"

[Formendacil]

"Master Náin, who now..."

Náin started, and turned abruptly to see a figure that it took him a moment to recognise. It was true, he admitted, that he had not been close to Degas before his departure to Dol Amroth, but he could see that the young man was changed all the same. There was a greater confidence about him, or at least, there was a greater strength. There might have been confidence, but this seemed to be lost as Degas was struggling somewhat with some inner turmoil.

"I must speak with Eodwine, as soon as may be. Can you help me?"

Something must be afoot if a traveller so early in the morning preferred the eorl to breakfast, Náin thought.

"I..." he glanced at Crabannan, who was looking a bit confused at them, though whether this was because of Náin's question, the arrival of Degas, or both, or perhaps some other thought. The fact that the troublemaker (for so the Dwarf now thought of him) was confused mollified him somewhat, and he relaxed his grip on his hammer, though he did not release it.

"Certainly, Degas," he said, though his eyes still lingered on Crabannan, which Crabannan noticed, though Degas seemed a little too agitated to do likewise. "I need to see Eodwine myself, though I was in no hurry. I have not seen him yet, however, having only just arrived myself. We can seek him together." Náin did not forget Crabannan, though.

"Well, unless you know where we can find the eorl?" he said.

"Thornden will know where he is," said Degas, who was still not paying attention to Náin's odd attitude towards Crabannan. The lad must be troubled, one part of Náin thought, while the part of him that wanted to give Crabannan a fairer chance was hoping this meant that he was still nonchalant in action.

"Aye, but I have seen as much of Thornden as I have of Eodwine," said Náin, looking down at his breakfast. "But we can be off. Would you prefer to eat first, perhaps? You cannot have eaten this morning, but perhaps you would rather wait?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"I broke my fast on the road," Degas answered swiftly, "but I thank you for your consideration. My business with the Eorl truly cannot wait."

Self-consciousness overbore him then, and he wondered at how Adragil could command the attention of a room without effort. Walking in and speaking in as low a rumble as he could produce - for Adragil's voice was like thunder: loud and deep - Adragil still managed to send maids scurrying to do his bidding. Even silent Farahil seemed to have legions of loyal followers at his command: if not the men of his fleet, then the men and women of his household it seemed would fight for the honor of providing the man with what he desired. Degas, with business more urgent, perhaps, than ever had he been entrusted with before, could think of no way to channel either Adragil's brazen strength or Farahil's shadowy certainty.

"Is there any man here who knows where he can be found?" Degas peered around him, his eyes unable to adjust to the darkness through the door of the tent. Even so soon after dawn, the sun was bright to ride toward, and standing in it still, he could not make his eyes see who stood or sat, greeting each other and the day mere steps from him.

This would be another problem for him to deal with: Linduial came from stock of men for whom others would gladly lay down their lives. Degas's people had known little of him during his childhood, for he had been the shier of the twins, and had left home early to learn his art at Elessar's court. He would be hard pressed to win their allegiance after the iron fisted rule of Fenrir.

[littlemanpoet]

He lifted a brow in response to Saeryn's query. He had his pride. She must not know much about smithing.

"Sharpen this sword? Of course! Any smith worth his barter should be able to sharpen a sword properly. I had much such practice during the War. Bit if a young buck I was back then, but I learned plenty. It's like horseback riding you see, once you know how, you know how, the skill just needs a little honing. When would you like it back? See, I have a backlog what with Lord Eodwine's hall buidling project and all. What? What's wrong?"

Saeryn was looking at him as if she was stunned. He wondered why. And he wondered if it was because he'd strung so many words together at once. He'd started doing more of that since he'd begun talking more with Ginna. Females no longer tied his tongue just by being in the same room; he'd picked the one he was after, and the rest were no cause for alarm anymore.

Eodwine

Eodwine had found Thornden first, then Stigend near his tent, and asked them to go for a stroll along the borders of Scarburg. They had talked about the hot weather, about the previous day's work, about other various small things that had gone on in Scarburg over the last month. Stigend and Thornden related how things had been going between Cnebba, Garmund, and Javan since the bow and arrow lessons had begun.

They came to the Scar and climbed up it so they could see the plains to the north, and squinting into the distance they discussed the folk who came with torches lit to spy on them during the night. Eodwine had sent Dan, Erbrand and Lithor to find out what they could about them, and the folk had been found. They lived in a makeshift settlement on the Entwash; it was a poor affair. The folk hunted deer, fished the river, and grew some crops to subsist. It had been the opinion of the three spies that this folk did not like the competition for deer that Scarburg now represented. This made sense.

It also made sense that these folks were subsisting on land that was within the realm of the Middle Emnet, and thus fell under the lordship of Eodwine. He discussed with the two the best ways to bring the land under true lordship rather than that in name alone.

"For today we celebrate all that has been achieved so far," Eodwine said finally. "I know not if it will be on the morrow or a few days hence, but it is time for me to go to Edoras and see the King, to report what has happened here, and to take counsel with him for the furture of Scarburg and the Middle Emnet. While I am gone, you two will have leadership: Thornden over the guards and the protection of Scarburg, Stigend over the daily work. If the two of you cannot agree on something, I give final word to you Thornden, but only after you have had Stigend's counsel.

"Have you any questions for me?"

[Gwathagor]

In aspect, Crabannan seemed to listen to the newcomer and Nain converse, but in reality he was paying them little heed, for his mind was filled with questions and doubts. Why had he provoked Erbrand? He could not lie to himself; he had known exactly what he was doing, but not why he was doing it. He had been intentionally trying to make Erbrand angry - but was the cause merely their casual dislike for one another? The conflict had nearly come to blows just now - why had Erbrand's reaction been so violent? Was there some unconscious point of contention that he had struck upon, something unspoken?

Kara?

Was that it? Surely not, he thought, though he would have been the first to admit that recent history suggested otherwise.

"Is there any man here who knows where he can be found?" said the young stranger, whom Nain had called Degas. Crabannan was paying a little attention to the conversation, but not much. They were talking about Lord Eodwine now, but that was all he gathered.

Crabannan made an effort to pull himself out of his thoughts, which he knew were not leading him anywhere he wanted to go. If I'm not careful, it will be East Emnet all over again. It's curious: women can either bring out the very best, or the very worst in the men around them. And then he directed his attention to Degas, and spoke.

"They passed that way not ten minutes ago," said Crabannan, and pointed northish, beyond the tents. He had seen Eodwine, Thornden, and Stigend at a distance while exchanging pleasantries with Erbrand - before things had turned sour. "Towards the Scar, I think."

Crabannan noted that Degas must have had a hard ride, because he looked tired and hungry, and then wondered what it was that was so urgent.

"Shall I show you the way?" Crabannan was not particularly interested in spending his morning leading Degas around the camp, but if Degas should accept his offer of help, Crabannan would conveniently avoid answering Nain's question for the present - which would be all to the best, because he did not yet know the answer.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"I am Degas of the Folde, friend," he responded, turning to meet the man's eyes and posture, "and I am grateful for the kindness you show me. If it would not inconvenience you, please do show me the way to the Eorl."

[Groin Redbeard]

After exchanging a few words with Dan, Erbrand went off to quickly skin the animals he had caught earlier that morning. Dan had never been like that before, he had never seen him so flustered about anything, but the he kept on insisting that it was nothing. Erbrand had asked him if he would like to go hunting with him later that day, which Dan immediately perked up and responded approvingly at the offer. They had made an excellent team with hunting, Erbrand was by far the better shot of the two with a bow, but Dan, it seemed to Erbrand, had a supernatural ability of tracking their game. He looked forward to tonight with great excitement.

It took him no longer than a few minutes to de-hide the rabbits, it was not a hard job for someone who knew what he was doing. As he finished, he wiped the blood off of his knife and neatly wrapped the meat in some clothe to be brought to the kitchen. He had felt out of place with his profession since moving to Scarburg, his was the only one that dealt with death on a day to day basis. Before, in Aldburg, he had depended on the hunters in the town to supply him with all the animal furs, but now he had to put his hunting skills to good use in catching the hides for himself. Although he was sure that it didn't bother the male population at Scarburg, he was certain that it had bothered some of kind hearted ladies, and especially the young boys. They had caught him several times in the middle of skinning his quarry, it was very messy work and at such a young age the boys reacted to it at being no less than barbarism. This had pained him, for he loved children and he often laughed at the way they would compete with each other.

The kitchen was alive with commotion when he arrived, the girls were running all about getting breakfast ready for the tables of hungry people. He walked up trying not to be noticed, or at least not to be a bother, and placed the wrapped meat in it's usual spot.

Today was not going to be a busy day, everyone was tired from the days of hard labor hauling the rocks from the scar to build Harreld's new smithy. Erbrand walked briskly back to his tent, where his four unfinished saddles awaited him. He pulled the canvas from his tent, before he sat down, to allow him some sufficient light to work and for the cool early morning breeze to cool him from the relentless heat of the sun. He still needed to cut out the stirrups and add another broad piece of leather to hang down, so the horses sides would not go raw from the constant rubbing of the riders garments. Reaching for his carving tools, and a wide piece of leather, he started cutting out the design for the stirrups. He had to be careful not to make a mistake, every bit of material was precious, it would take him a long time to get them cut out but he would do it without complaint or rest. Humming a soft tune to himself, to calm his nerves and prevent him from slipping with his cut, he slowly made his outline. He slowly lost track of time and the sounds of the camp slowly faded as his mind focused on his work.

[littlemanpoet]

There was no scrubbing to do since there was no Hall with no floor. This meant that Rowenna found it hard to find someplace to go where she could be alone with her thoughts, and today was proving to be like most others at Scarburg. So she asked Frodides what needed doing. This time it was go to the curing shed and get venison to be used as strips of bacon as they had no pig.

So she walked toward the curing shed, her mind flitting to this and that, and, as it had over the last month, somehow hovering like a hungry bee over the new honey it had found in the person of Nydfara. They had barely talked at all, spoken mere pleasantries one might expect from an acquaintance, but she could not help thinking about him; and she could not help stealing glimpses of him when he was at table or elsewhere around Scarburg.

He had a good look to him, and was not weak of build. He was always very quiet, keeping to himself most of the time. And he kept his thoughts to himself; but Rowenna could tell that he was always thinking, always ruminating on something, some secret; for she had watched him enough to know that when he pursed his lips and seemed to chew on his right cheek right at the lips, something not good was on his mind, for this always accomanied a frown however slight.

This man had been spying on Scarburg, and been found by Dan and brought to Eodwine. She had asked Eodwine what he thought of Nydfara, and for answer had received first a frown, then a look of rumination, and finally noncommittal words: "Too early to tell. We shall have to see."

And this meant that Eodwine was holding back on trusting the man; she was sure of it. She wanted to find out what his secrets were, but did not know how to go about asking unless it were to make herself desirable to him; how else to interest such a man? One did not just walk up to such a private man and ask him, "so what are you thinking?"

She entered the shed and picked out a well salted stide of venison and started on her way back to the baker.

Just forget about him! she said to herself, for you have an eorl to win. Yes, she knew this was her goal, and when she focused her attention on Eodwine and doing and being those things he had said he sought in a wife, thoughts of Nydfara faded ... until the next time she saw him, which was all too often in this small camp. And then she would try not to stare, and she would wonder, and play with her hair, and she would go about her errands and duties with a little bit more of a saunter than she usually did; at least when Nydfara was within sight.

[Firefoot]

Scyld rose shortly after morning’s light and stretched, much as he had any other day the past month. A whole month – yes, it had been that long now. In commemoration he decided to take a short walk before hunting down some breakfast. Unswervingly his feet took him down to the cleared ruin of Sorn’s hall. Gone, just as it should be. In this he had not minded serving the Eorl. Erasing Sorn’s mark was a worthy purpose, and so he had willingly spent the last month working here. And still he was not entirely sure of his purpose among these people. Just what did he hope to accomplish? And to what end? He had spent nearly his whole life scheming, waiting for something better. With Sorn’s death and Linduial’s escape he had felt some temporary satisfaction, some brief but real deeper feeling. Temporary. Then he had come face to face with the reality that he was adrift in a wide world, with no one knowing of or caring about his existence. So now he was here. Working, and working hard, to help the new Eorl build his hall from the ruins of Sorn’s estate. Was this to be his purpose? Simple work to occupy his days and ensure that at those days’ ends he would have food in his stomach and a place to lay his head?

No, that was for Nydfara. Nydfara might be satisfied with such a simple life, but Scyld could not be. He could not be satisfied, because he could not trust the simple pleasures such a life might afford, nor the people involved in it. This then brought him full circle to the original question: why was he here?

Consciously removing the thoughtful frown from his face and the troubling questions from his mind, he began a circuitous route back to the baker, nodding a cordial good morning to those he saw on the way. This was a remarkable skill of Nydfara’s that Scyld had not previously thought himself capable of. As ideal a servant as he always made himself seem to Sorn, his cynical sarcasm and biting wit had remained fully intact in his dealings with Sorn’s underlings, to a greater or lesser extent depending on the circumstances. Nydfara, however, was far warmer than Scyld ever had been, always ready to lend a hand, polite towards the ladies of the camp and companionable if reserved towards the men. He remained slow to talk and quick to listen, and thereby had learned much. The patterns and undercurrents in the camp were many, but as a boy avidly studying a colony of ants Scyld had come to make sense out of their actions – as much sense as people willing to serve others’ needs above their own and governed by emotion could make, that is.

Take, for example… Rowenna. The corners of Scyld’s mouth twitched upwards at the sight of the serving woman as she emerged from the curing shed with a side of meat. There was a woman with some depth to her! It was common enough knowledge (and therefore easily enough learned) how she had been ‘rescued’ (somehow the term stood out as dubious in Scyld’s mind, though he did not precisely understand why) from the outlaws and brought under Eodwine’s ‘protection’ – again, a dubious term; Scyld doubted such a woman needed much protection. Here was one who knew the ways of the world. Such similarities might have led a different man to seek alliance, but Scyld could trust no equals and would suffer no partners.

As they were headed the same direction, Scyld (or was this Nydfara speaking?) held up a hand in greeting and adjusted his course slightly to meet her. “Good morning to you,” he offered as a greeting. “Busy already, I see?” He asked, indicating her burden. Small talk, how it galled him – but Nydfara was good at small talk, even if Scyld hardly cared for the answer. It did, however, amuse him not to offer help carrying the meat – he was sure she had it well under control.

[littlemanpoet]

She glanced at Nydfara with a grin. "Yes, as always." She looked to the front again and switched the side of meat to her other hand, away from him. "And you dally before setting to your own work." It was a playful jibe.

Why was he suddenly talking to her now? What had she done to earn his notice? Did she really want it? These questions raced through her mind. But they were quickly followed by even more pressing questions: what was on his mind when he was so quiet? Where had he come from? What had he been up to in the past? She would place coin on it, had she any, that his life was not so different than hers.

"But I want to know," she continued, "why have you worked with such a will on the old ruin when most folks here like to vary what they do?"

[Folwren]

Saeryn

Saeryn shook her head. “Nothing,” she replied quickly. “Nothing at all.” And then she grinned, for some reason finding it amusing that Harreld spoke more than usual. She handed the sword to him. “I’m in no rush to have it back. I feel more relieved just knowing that you can do it, is all. You see,” she went on, explaining the other half of why she had looked surprised, “back home, when father was still there, we had a sword smith who would take care of all of our weapons, and the iron smith just did the household things that I have ever seen you work with, so I wasn’t sure if you were able.”

There was a short pause and she hoped she hadn’t offended him by even suggesting that he couldn’t do it. She looked around the tidy smithy as she thought about what he had said. Although she had said she was in no hurry to receive the sword back, she did feel anxious about knowing just when she would get it back. “How long do you think it will be before you can do it, Harreld?” she asked.

--

Thornden

Thornden stood quietly beside Eodwine until he had finished, asking as he ended, “Have you any questions for me?”

“How long will you be gone?” Thornden asked. “You speak as though you thought you would be away from some time."

[Firefoot]

Scyld glanced over at Rowenna sharply, but following this initial reaction he decided he was unsurprised; she would notice such things happening in the camp. The question was, was she only paying such close attention to him, given the rather suspicious circumstances of his arrival, or did she pay attention to everyone?

“Can a man not simply do his work without having his motives questioned? I shall have to watch my step, for the attention you pay!” commented Scyld, making light of the hidden accusation in her words, as was his wont. He glanced over at her again; was that a slight flush to her features? Ah, so perhaps she was giving him closer than normal attention. As service to the Eorl? Or for her own purposes?

“You have noticed rightly, however,” he said after a pause. He lowered his voice slightly, as if taking her into confidence. “I am not wholly a stranger to these parts, for I dwelt here for a time. The lord here, Sorn… was not a good man. Some said he was mad; others that he was simply evil. I did not know him well enough to pass judgment.” His first lie. “Whichever it was, or both, you could not live here without coming to hate the man. I left as soon as I had the means, but recently I heard rumors of his passing and came to see if they were true; thus I stumbled across your camp here. Such a man does not deserve a legacy. The Scar – you probably do not understand how fitting a name it is. Sorn scarred everything he touched. So yes, it is with a will that I work on this old ruin, that what was here might be forgotten.” Had he said too much? No, let her chew on that story. He knew that for her it probably made more questions than it answered, and the concentrated look on her face confirmed it. “So does my tale pass your muster, my lady?” he asked with mock deference, breaking the dark tone their conversation had taken. “Or shall I spin a new one to match the suspicion that I am naught more than a scoundrel?”

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna could feel herself coloring at Nydfara's first reply. He had grinned his reply, but the bite of his words had hit home nonetheless. Had she said anything about his motives other than to ask the innocent question? She had been careful in her wording, and quickly sifted her own question over again to see if there had been anything in it that had caused such an accusing reply. She decided that he had read more into her words than she had placed. She did not answer, choosing to give him time to fill the silence with more if he would; and did.

Rowenna listened intently to his words. Not wholly a stranger. Dwelt here for a time. Sorn was bad or mad. Rowenna noticed that Nydfara looked away while saying he did not know this Sorn; was this a lie? All, including Nydfara, hated him. Rowenna's mind flitted to the leader of the brigands whom she had hated while she behaved as his lover, confidant, and advisor, and wondered if Nydfara had had a similar role with Sorn. The more Nydfara said of the man, the more likely it seemed to Rowenna that he had known him better than he let on. And now he confessed that it was from hatred for Sorn that he worked on the ruin to wipe out the madman's memory.

“So does my tale pass your muster, my lady?” he asked with mock deference. “Or shall I spin a new one to match the suspicion that I am naught more than a scoundrel?”

There was indeed suspicion, but it was in secret. She had eavesdropped on Eodwine speaking with Thornden more than once during he past month, and had overheard Eodwine outline his concerns about Nydfara, that he did not take lightly that this man had been spying on them until Dan had found him and brought him in. That he had saved Dan's life was to his credit, but it did not erase his suspicions, for there had been something in his reply, that he was a wanderer unaware of recent news and unaware of the Eorl's arrival to the area, and that he did not know that the armed man who called after him was more than a brigand, seemed too convenient somehow. This had only served to heighten Rowenna's interest.

"Who suspects that?" Rowenna asked. "No one has used such words about you in my hearing."

~*~

Harreld

“How long do you think it will be before you can do it, Harreld?” Saeryn asked.

"One week," he said. "A sword takes more care than a ladel." He grinned. "How do you like Scarburg, Lady Saeryn?"

~*~

Eodwine

“How long will you be gone?” Thornden asked. “You speak as though you thought you would be away from some time."

"It will take a day to get there, at least a day to be there, and another to return. Three to five days, I wager."

Just then Crabannan came up with a rather lordly young man in tow. "Lord," he said, "this is Degas of the Folde. He wishes to speak to you."

Eodwine recognized him immediately and smiled. "Degas! It is good to see you! Have you found your sister yet? She is here."

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan had done some thinking while he and Degas searched about Scarburg for Lord Eodwine. They eventually found him near the edge of the village with Thornden and Stigend (both of whom Crabannan had labored with often during the past month), by which time Crabannan had been able to clear his mind and arrive at a number of conclusions.

Erbrand was interested in Kara - that much was clear, for Erbrand's sensitivity to Crabannan's remark about the kitchen-wench removed any doubt on that score. What had perplexed Crabannan more had been why he should have been so irritated by Erbrand's obvious interest, irritated enough to provoke the fellow, almost to the point of blows. This, above all, had concerned Crabannan, for it had made him wonder if he himself was not also falling for Kara - an instance which would have led to no good for himself, he knew. He was fond of her, certainly. She had been quick to befriend him - not any easy feat - when he had first arrived in Scarburg, and had been consistently kind to him since that day.

Crabannan had pondered this thoroughly. He was embarrassed to admit it, but it began to dawn on him that perhaps what he felt was a brotherly protectiveness towards Kara, and prickliness towards any who might be interested in her - such as Erbrand.

The notion that he might be forming attachments to these people had surprised him. He had been scared, too, at the thought that he might be going soft. He tried to remind himself: I'm a stranger, a wanderer. People don't like me, so it's no use trying to like them. He shook his head and walked faster. The less I think, the better.

At any rate, Degas and Eodwine turned out to be previously acquainted with each other, and they fell easily into conversation. His duty done, Crabannan turned to go - he hadn't eaten breakfast yet, and there was work to be done, he reckoned. Eodwine's next remark stopped him in his tracks, though.

"Degas' sister? Here? Who is she?" he asked in surprise.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas nearly fell to his knees in relief. "Tell me, please," he whispered, "is she well? I came to find her, but I knew not if I would find her safe or... or if I would find only news of her... The man who rode to find me knew little, and nothing of her. I thought to find you; I know not why she returned to him, but I knew that if she... escaped... she would seek you. She loves you... trusts you... There is no other man she would look to for safety the way she trusts in you to care for her, to respect her and love her. Not even me, her twin, her only living family. Is it true then, that Fenrir is gone, and I am lord now?"

Eodwine's eyes traveled over the boy - or perhaps now it was time to start calling him a man - and saw that in his travels, Degas had indeed grown wiser, kinder, and more compassionate. Linduial and his love for her had shaped him well; her family had strengthened those qualities which made Degas strong, and seemed to have cured him of those parts of him which were lacking. But now, the young man was as a scared child, his voice tense, shaking, as he spoke too quickly.

Eodwine silenced him with a raised hand, dismissing Crabannan with a few words, kindly spoken but firm.

"She arrived here injured, exhausted, and has spoken very little." Eodwine's voice was sure, though troubled somewhat still by Saeryn's unexplained presence. Perhaps now, with her brother here, she would speak more openly. Eodwine raised his hand again to forestall interruption, "I know that Fenrir is dead. This makes your lord. Are you prepared to take your place?"

Degas met Eodwine's eyes, standing taller, shoulders squaring, "They are my people, and I will do my duty by them."

[littlemanpoet]

"I believe you will," Eodwine replied with a serious smile. "Let us go to Saeryn now. She will be glad to see you." He turned to Stigend and Thornden. "I think now that I will be going to Edoras tomorrow instead of today. So let us set aside the work for one day and take joy in what has been accomplished. Go tell the others to prepare games, singing, and dance for the rest of the day."

"Aye, lord!" the two said, and made their way to family and friends. Crabannan had stood a little back from the others, listening, and strolled after the two leaders. Eodwine turned to Degas.

"Tell me of your adventures while we walk, Degas."

As Degas related what had happened during the last months, Eodwine paid heed to his tale, but also thought on Degas' first words once he had known that Saeryn was safe: 'She loves you... trusts you... There is no other man she would look to for safety the way she trusts in you to care for her, to respect her and love her.' Eodwine had been reserved with her, and she with him for the last month. There had remained a barrier that both seemed silently to agree upon. And now with these words, Degas threatened to demolish the barrier at a stroke. But was Degas right? Eodwine was not sure. That Saeryn trusted him for protection, he had no doubt. That she respected him as lord of this folk and place, he accepted. Even to care for her needs was befitting of his role. But love? He had not allowed himself to think on it at all. Now it was thrust upon him by her brother. He was not at all sure that she loved him, and he was less sure that he loved her. There was a subtle change in her and he did not understand it; or, was the change in him? Had he become hardened to her? Was this the barrier? Had she perceived it and dared not test it? He allowed a sigh.

"Do I bore you, Eodwine?"

"Oh, no. The weight of lordship and all that."

"Even on a day of celebration?"

"Yes," Eodwine grinned ruefully, "even on such a day as this."

They had come to the area of the tents and asked for Saeryn. She had been seen going to the smith. They made their way to the smithy; the door was open and Saeryn could be seen standing in the doorway, speaking to Harreld, who was hidden beyond the doorframe. With a glance she noticed them coming toward the smithy before she recognized who it was. Then she looked a second time, her eyes widening.

[Firefoot]

“Have you not?” asked Scyld mildly, his tone and expression belying the rapid pace of his thought. Had he misspoken? Was there indeed no suspicion? All the better for it. If this was so, however, he was a poorer judge of men than he had thought; that first day he arrived, the Eorl had seemed more skeptical of his story than Scyld had hoped. But regardless of whether Eodwine and the others had believed him, they had accepted him into their midst, which is all he wanted. Trust could come later.

But now Rowenna was getting too nosy; she needed to be put on the defensive. What sort of barb, he wondered, would best get under her skin? He continued, a slightly condescending tone in his voice: “Well, nor have I, but most folk would hardly say such a thing to a man’s face. So the question is, is there truly no one who suspects? Or do they simply not deign to share their suspicions with you?”

[Folwren]

“How do you like Scarburg, Lady Saeryn?” Harreld asked.

“I’m surprised you ask: you used to never like talking - much less seek conversation - with me, or any other woman.” Harreld again grinned, this time without looking at her - he was back at work. Saeryn went back to his question. “I like Scarburg very well,” she answered. “I prefer it to Edoras. There seem not to be as many prying eyes, or people watching over lord Eodwine’s shoulder to make sure he does everything right.” Saeryn did not say who she meant. She heard footsteps approaching the smithy. “Anyway,” she continued, absently glancing out to see who it was, “I think as soon as the hall is built, everything will be in excellent...is that -?” She looked again. Her simple glance had caught sight of two familiar figures - one familiar, but not at all expected. The second look confirmed it and she turned fully around. But she didn’t take any steps forward to meet them.

Her mind was bewildered. When Degas hadn’t come earlier she had thought he was dead. She had imagined herself the only one of her family alive, able to do as she decided with no other one to tell her what to do, no one compelling her to leave ever again. On the other hand, it was a good thing he was still alive, and it could conceivably be a good thing he was here now. But she didn’t know what to say or how to feel.

She didn’t notice Eodwine as he came and stepped aside to let Degas come up to his sister. She didn’t hear Eodwine explain that he came that morning searching for her. She just saw Degas, and all she heard were her own questions, two of which finally came out, opposing each other - “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you come sooner?”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas let his hands fall though they had risen to embrace Saeryn. "What am I doing here?" he repeated blankly, "Why didn't I come sooner?"

She stood silently, and it seemed to Degas that she was angry. No, not angry: furious. But why? What in the world had happened in his absence? And surely she knew he had been in Gondor, with Linduial's kin? Surely she understood that after he left her to return to Farlan, he did not stray from his duties there? He had had no obligation to the Folde, with Fenrir's unstoppable might governing the people there, but he had obligation to his betrothed's people. Surely Saeryn knew that he was in Gondor as a matter of duty and love, rather than as an escape from her? Or--

Except nothing made sense.

"Saeryn..." he began, looking over her shoulder to Harreld, who shrugged, and Eodwine who raised an equally baffled eyebrow. "I came to find you. Even the Three Hunters could not travel more quickly than I did when at last I heard of... of whatever transpired here. Saeryn, you must tell me... What has happened to our... land of birth? Why did you go back when you were under the care of Lotheriel? How many are dead? Is everything destroyed as I have heard? Saeryn, you must stop looking at me as though I am all that you fear and more. Do you not know your own brother when you see him? I, Degas, who helped you to abandon our childhood home in the first place? I, Degas, who found you with Eodwine, who wish you only the best? Saeryn, for the sake of all that you hold dear, speak to me!"

[Folwren]

“Speak to you,” Saeryn whispered in reply. She cleared her throat and spoke in a level voice. “What is there to say? Why are you suddenly interested now?” His many questions resounded in her head, along with the thought ‘you should have been there so you wouldn’t have had to ask’. She turned abruptly and walked away. She felt the rigidness in her body, the heat in her mind, and she knew that somehow she was being unreasonable. But then, at the same time, she wasn’t.

Degas followed her, pleading, “Saeryn, please.”

And finally she turned, a torrent of words pouring forth. “Why weren’t you there when we needed you? At least you could have stood where you belonged, for once, instead of running away from a difficult situation! Running after love, were you? Well, I hope you found it. Fenrir and I paid your price for you. I guess now you intend to waltz back in and claim the place, being the only heir left! I hope they burn you like they did Fenrir - though there’s no hall left to do it proper in!” She began crying now - angry, vicious tears that had been impossible to cry ever since the attack.

“I went back because I was tired of being a coward. Tired of running away. I didn’t belong anywhere, except home! That’s why! At least it was home!” She wanted to say more, but she couldn’t. Sobs choked her. Degas tried to approach and comfort her, but Saeryn recoiled and struck out at him. She slapped him.

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan had followed Eodwine and Degas to the smithy, and now watched this exchange with a mixture of fascination, surprise, and distaste as their drama unfolded and Saeryn berated her brother. Family quarrels were always the worst, as he knew all too well, but it seemed to him, as the tone of the meeting began to escalate, that Degas was getting the worst of things.

And then, suddenly and unexpectedly, Saeryn slapped him. She slapped him with a sheer fury that nearly made Crabannan's jaw drop open. He knew at once he had overstayed his welcome but he found himself smiling nonetheless and in spite of the gravity of the situation. My kind of gal, he thought, almost subconsciously - and only half-serious.

There was a stunned silence which quickly began to verge on the awkward. Even Saeryn seemed a little shocked at what she had just done, and Harreld - poor Harreld looked as if he wished the earth would swallow him alive.

"Harreld," he said abruptly, "Would you care to break the fast with me? I was just on my way."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas glared at Crabbanan and Harreld as though daring them to move, though he knew this encounter deserved as few witnesses as he could manage. Still, it infuriated him to think of these two men discussing his personal quarrel with his mad sister at the breakfast table. Who would they tell first? How long would it be before the entire population of Eodwine's household stood in an arc around them, betting on who would be the victor?

He growled.

"Home?" he asked, his voice low, but still even, "Still home, even after our sister died, and you spent - how long, a year? Two? Silent!

"Home, which you left without saying goodbye to seek for our dead parents? Men of Rohan rarely lie, twin," he spat, "Did you disbelieve the messenger who came to bear us news of their death? You must have, or you were seeking an excuse to leave. I had no obligation at home, except perhaps to develop intimate alliances, which I have done! The lords of Gondor know me. Imrahil shall be my uncle. My uncle! You? If you had done your duty and married, there would be an heir besides me! But instead you ran away to become a servant in the house of a stranger! A position which did not at first exist because-" he spat, "-at first the place you stayed was an Inn! And the man you served with doting eyes--"

Degas fell silent, guiltily, eying Eodwine with sudden apology. He took fast breaths, trying to calm his speeding heart, trying to disperse his rage. He saw the expressions on the faces around him, and knew that he had taken one step too far. But was it too late to step back? His heart raced as he tried to remember lessons of diplomacy -- and failed.

[littlemanpoet]

He knew he should have intervened sooner. Why had he let this go on so long? Because you wanted answers and hoped to have some from this conversation which is no business of yours. Nor anybody's else for that matter. And what was Crabannan doing here?

Harreld peeked his head out of the smithy. "Did someone call me?"

"Crabannan, you are dismissed to break your fast. Harreld has work to do. Degas, you will come with me at once. Saeryn, go help Frodides."

Each of them hesitated and stared at him, as if questioning his right to say what he had said.

"Go at once!" All of them startled as if suddenly awakened from a trance, and each of them except for Degas moved away, Crabannan with his shoulders bent in sullenness, Saeryn with her back straight in dignified offense. Eodwine had avoided her eyes for he did not want to see an accusing look; and therefore did not see what look she sent his way if any.

He felt the contortions in his face slowly dissipate as the rage that had poured into his three word command slipped away. He looked at Degas who sat waiting, busy with his own thoughts.

"That did not go well, Degas," Eodwine murmured, saying the obvious to fill the aching silence. "Let us walk along the borders of Scarburg. I would that you speak your mind to me." They began walking in silence, which would do for now, for Eodwine had thoughts of his own with which to wrestle. He was not at all pleased with Saeryn's behavior. He recalled the words he had spoken to Rowenna a month ago as to what he wished for in a wife. At this point, things lay in Rowenna's favor. A shame that he did not have that gut interest in her that drew him to Saeryn.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

After walking many steps in silence, Degas said quietly, "My mind is in turmoil. I know not what to think, and therefore I know not what to say."

Eodwine favored him with silence, but that he was waiting patiently for Degas to speak again was plain.

"You know of my love for Linduial. You know of my mission to her home to inform them of her kidnapping because that was on your order, and was my duty as the one who lost her to that fiend, and you remember my time here under the eye of her brother. And you remember my departure, when I left for the sea to learn to please Lin's people, and to learn what it takes to be a husband worthy of such a wife. With Saeryn's blessing, at the time...

"Lin stayed, as you know, as the voice of the south to our beautiful queen, her cousin, and King Eomer. She was here, and I left for her home, to win the approval of her kinfolk and those who love her as their lady."

Their walk was slow, deliberate, and Degas took in only so much of his surroundings as was natural for him: as a man of Rohan, he knew the sounds of nature as they should be, and no sense alerted him to danger. He let himself speak as the words came, and Eodwine listened. As a friend? A father, almost? An adviser, at least. A man who had never meant to be lord, but upon whom the position was thrust. A man, as it was, much like Degas in that regard. Perhaps the only man in Rohan who could now understand Degas's predicament.

"They taught me to sail." Degas almost grinned. "How long was I there? The weeks blur. Months? Perhaps, but I know not how many. My charge, Feo, was taken into the household of Linduial's oldest brother, Adragil. He works aboard Adragil's favorite ship, and loves every slogging moment of scrubbing decks and keeping bilge rats from the food stores. Perhaps it was as a right of passage into the family that I learned to work aboard a ship. And I returned, no longer sea sick, though with lightened hair and burned skin.

"And there, injured and unhappy, a man of my old home. A man of Rohan, a speaker of truth, a hard worker. A man of my father's household, who had been relegated to who knows what position under my brother's," Degas spat on the ground, "care.

"He was there, waiting for me. To tell me in person of what had transpired."

They walked along the Scar now, and Degas looked at Eodwine, seeing the older man's careworn shoulders. A smile would lighten his face, make him younger, but the frown hurt Degas's heart to see.

"I bade goodbye to Lin's family, taking my leave of them, promising to send word once I had it. And I traveled. Have you taken the road from Dol Amroth to Edoras? It is long, around the mountains, and I rode swiftly. Yet how could I arrive here any sooner? Even if the messenger had taken a ship to find me at sea - and how could that occur? It could not! How could I be here sooner?

"Eodwine, she knew! She knew where I was, she knew where I was going to be, and she kissed me farewell and told me to be happy, and with a laugh she told me to learn to be a man, and I kissed her and told her that all I wished in the world was for her to be in love as I was, and to find a place where she was loved, and needed, and that wheresoever that place was, I would help her as much as was in my power to stay there.

"Friend, I left her with the queen, though I cannot deny I would have prefered to leave her with you as your wife."

Eodwine began to speak, but now Degas hushed him and continued, "I do not know what clouds her thoughts. I do not know what has changed her heart. She has changed, that is apparent. When she left you, I do not think it was because she did not love you. I think, perhaps, that she may have loved you almost too much. I think, perhaps, that love terrified her. She has lost every person she has ever loved. What if she lost you as well? I wonder if she left first for that reason; I wonder if she turned from you to save herself from later pain. But now... now I do not know my own sister. I do not know her heart. I do not know her mind."

[Folwren]

Saeryn left the quarrel feeling wronged and guilty both at once. She wanted to go off alone to sort out her thoughts and her feelings, to figure out what she was to do next, and to cry the rest of these confounded tears. She definitely did not want to go help Frodides, who at this time of breakfast was probably at the center of all the inhabitants’ attention, but she had not made it a habit of disobeying lord Eodwine, even when he did not speak in a tone of voice worth cringing at.

And yet, she did not obey at once. She first went to her tent. She sniffed back her tears as she splashed water over her face, hoping that it would convince some of the redness away from her eyes and nose. Having done what she could, she got up, and went out.

She went to Frodides, and trying to stand so that the fewest people possible could see her face, she asked, “Do you need me to fetch you any water?”

[Formendacil]

Somewhat reeling from the activities of the morning thus far, Náin found himself strangely alone. He had not even eaten a proper breakfast yet, but already he had found deep thoughts to ponder in something completely mysterious involving Kara, that troublemaker Crabannan's memory coming back to mind--and the oddity of him popping up among Eodwine's people, of all places--not to mention Degas' confused arrival in camp. Degas wanted to see Eodwine because of Saeryn, but the Dwarf had not yet been long enough in the camp to know for certain whether she was there. If she was, it was an odd turn of events, since Náin thought she was supposed to be with the royal household, but he had long since given up expecting stability from Men, and those of noble birth had the means to wander.

In a sense, the fact that he was suddenly alone was rather odd in itself. Náin still wanted to see the Eorl, though he wasn't sure if Eodwine would want to see him, since he would probably rather send Thornden, Stigend, Garstan, or all of those three with Náin to assess the situation for building the new hall of stone, rather than attend to it in person. Still, it was the proper thing to approach the eorl first.

To that end, Náin had intended to join Degas in searching for Eodwine, but when Crabannan had become involved, the Dwarf decided he would rather wait. He had no desire to spend all morning in the troublemaker's company, and was afraid that if he found Eodwine with him, Crabannan might end up tagging along on the survey of the lands as well.

Deciding that the bit of breakfast he had had was not enough, Náin decided to head back toward where Frodides and the others were still providing food, only to discover to his chagrin that Crabannan had apparently not remained in Degas' company long. From the sour look on the troublemaker's face, Náin wondered if he might have been sent away.

Though not eager to encourage another chance encounter with Crabannan, Náin decided to risk it and get some more food, but as he approached the table, he noticed that Frodides was talking to a rather distraught looking Rohirric maiden, and he realised that Saeryn was indeed among the Eodwinelings.

The food wasn't worth getting drawn into whatever bad winds were blowing around Saeryn. Náin would have wagered quite a bit that her lack of complete composure and Degas' arrival were not mere coincidence. Very carefully, Náin turned around and decided to creep away from the breakfast table...

[Kath]

Frodides

“Do you need me to fetch you any water?”

The voice behind Frodides was quiet and not entirely steady but the old cook jumped a little nonetheless. She had been deeply engaged in straining an ear toward the conversation underway between a few members of the camp on the far side of the kitchen, which seemed to involve an excessive amount of conjecture and was all the more fascinating for it. It was for this reason that she hadn't heard the light steps behind her and why she turned round irritated at having been caught out.

"Well of course I don't, girl." She snapped, not aware whom she was addressing as she was looking down at her hands as she dried them. "That young trouble maker of Thornden's is in charge of that today as I thought everyone knew."

"I see." The quiet voice replied, and the strange catch in it finally induced Frodides to look up.

"Oh!" She cried, entirely surprised to find Saeryn standing before her. The last time she had seen the young woman Frodides hadn't thought her fit to be standing let alone offering to carry heavy objects and she said as much immediately.

"In fact," she continued as she inspected Saeryn's face a little more closely despite the girl's concerted efforts to hide it, "you look as though you've been having a rough time of it anyway."

Saeryn ducked her head even further.

"I was asked by Lord Eodwine to offer my assistance to you, and so here I am." She said simply.

"Mmhm." Frodides replied. "Well I'm sure that's not the whole tale but it will do for now. Offer your assistance indeed, you'd think he wasn't aware you'd been bedridden these last days and he certainly isn't that. Not a day goes by when he doesn't ask after your health. At any rate, you will not be wearing yourself out even if it is under his orders. I'm sure he'll regret them once he thinks them through and come to make sure you've disobeyed. Which you will." She said firmly as she saw Saeryn open her mouth to argue.

Shepherding the girl toward a chair in a part of the kitchen that was a little more sheltered from passers by she caught sight of a number of interested parties loitering in the doorway.

"Kara!" She called and was gratified to find her young protege materialising by her side in an instant. "I'm going to be busy with this young lady for a little while so you are in charge of dealing with the rest of the camp, and if I were you I'd start with those who are trying to poke their noses in where they shouldn't." She jerked her head toward the doorway and waited til Kara disappeared to do as she'd been asked.

"Now." She said, and pulled a chair for herself and little table up in front of Saeryn. She left space enough that the girl wouldn't feel trapped and would be able to leave if she wished. Given the slightly wild eyed looked of her Frodides didn't want to get in her way if she did decide to go. She placed a generous number of potatoes on the little table and laid out two knives and two little bowls.

"If you want to make yourself useful this is what I'll allow. Peelings into that bowl, potatoes into the other." She spoke simply, gesturing to make her words clear, and began the task. Saeryn followed suit slowly. "And if you'd like to tell me what's going on I'd be very happy to listen."

~ ~ ~

Kara

Having caught the meaningful look that Frodides had directed at the main nose poker at the door Kara made her way over immediately. The old cook had never taken to Crabannan and always watched him closely whenever he came her way, and as her attention was now wholly concentrated on Saeryn for reasons Kara wasn't even going to try to guess at she supposed that job had now fallen to her. It was not a prospect she relished as she rather liked the man. Their first slightly strained meeting had been followed by an apology from Crabannan for his somewhat brusque manner and a comfortable friendship had developed from then on that she was not keen to spoil by looking as though she was suspicious of him. A quick glance behind told her that Frodides was still focused on Saeryn and so she decided that for once she would pretend ignorance as to what her mentor had intended.

"Good morning!" She called cheerfully to Crabannan as she approached him in an attempt to chase away the scowl he was wearing. Pleased when she saw that she had been partially successful she continued in the same manner. "I suppose you're here in search of food like the rest of these bottomless pits?"

Crabannan gave his agreement and Kara turned to fetch him something, casting her eyes at the doorway as she did so in case there was anyone else lurking out there, either a member of the camp hanging around in hope of information about the morning's events or a stranger unsure of his welcome. What she saw made her think that it was perhaps the latter, as the figure she spied was slowly creeping away from the kitchen, yet there was something familiar about it. She thought perhaps that it was one of the boys, Javan or even Garstan, but no they had been heading off in the other direction.

'But who else could it be?' She mused, and then laughed out loud in delight and hope as a suspicion crossed her mind.

"Nain?" She called out, running to the entrance, ignoring the startled look she received from Crabannan. "Nain? Is that you?"

[Groin Redbeard]

It had been quick work cutting out the design for the last bit of the saddle and now his hands were busy sewing the last flap across the the underside of it the saddle. A smile slowly began to appear on his face as his work neared completion. He was very much amazed at the speed of his work, although it had been a small amount of work it was tedious and it pleased him that he coped with it so well.

Erbrand glanced up from his work, the unusual smile still holding, a breeze was in the air and there were just enough clouds in the sky to allow sufficient sunlight and shade for the day. He looked forward to the festivities that would take place later. However, the tranquility was short lived. The silence was broken by what sounded to him to be a snap, like someone grasping a dried stick in their hand and braking it over their knee. Erbrand's head popped up from his work at the unexpected noise, and looked around for what might have caused it. Around twenty paces behind him stood Eodwine with a person he had never seen before. The man's cheek was red and Saeryn, who was facing the stranger, looked as if she was crying. Erbrand's care free smile quickly faded from his face, and a look of concern took it's place, but man's voice was soon raised and Erbrand guessed from what he was saying that he was Saeryn's brother Degas. He had heard about him from Frodides and the kitchen ladies.

"Can't we have one day of peace without people getting in a tizzy." he muttered to himself as he put the final stitch work on the saddle.

It was then that he heard the stern words of Eodwine: "Go at once!" The argument had settled down between the two siblings, but it irritated Erbrand to see such a public display of emotions and feelings that he was subjected to listen to. With a growling sigh he lifted up the saddle upon his shoulders and walked towards the stables. They were not fully built yet, but Stigend had done an admirable job with making some makeshift pens to keep the horses in.

The saddle was complete and he turned it over and examined it from many angles. Yes, it was of good quality and would last a long time. He took pride in the fact that he was and expert in his field, but it was a humble pride that he would keep only to himself. This first saddle would be a gift for Léof, the boy who watched after the horses. The boy had taken great care of the Meadhall's horses and Erbrand admired the unselfish hard working boy. Traveller had never been in better hands and almost obeyed Léof more than Erbrand.

Léof was grooming the horses as Erbrand approached. The boy paid no attention to him as he came closer, softly humming to the horse he was grooming.

"Good morning," said Erbrand, raising his hand in a friendly wave as he came closer and placed the saddle on one of the stalls. "I've brought you something, Léof, I just finished it this morning."

Léof put down his brush and picked up the saddle. "Where should I put it?" he asked in indifference.

Erbrand lowered his head and chuckled, "The saddle is yours," he said, "I thought it was high time that you have a proper saddle after the incident with the fire," he bit his lip and lowered his head as the boy eyed the saddle over, "Do you like it?"

[Firefoot]

A look of amazement and gratitude slowly crossed Léof’s face as he took in what Erbrand was saying. The saddle was not for the Hall’s general purposes – it was for him. Speech temporarily left him, long enough for the other man to ask with some uncertainty, “Do you like it?"

“This is fine work!” Léof exclaimed, now surveying the saddle with greater attention, running his hand over the stitching and appreciating the craftsmanship. “Far nicer than – than the one I lost.” A shadow crossed his face at the words. The one he lost – Herefola would always be “the one he lost.” Léof hurried on, not wanting to dwell on it. “For all the time and work you put into this – it must be worth far more than ever I could pay you–”

“It is a gift, Léof,” broke in Erbrand. “If you prefer, consider it thanks for your care of Traveller.”

And Léof again had no words, unaccustomed as he was to such tokens of kindness. More often than not he kept to himself and went relatively unnoticed by the others of the Hall, and since the fire he had receded even further into himself as a general rule. He did his work, and it was enough; the horses were his companions. “Then I accept your gift,” he said finally, “and I thank you for it. I shall have to try it out soon; it has been a while since I have taken Æthel out riding anyway.”

[Formendacil]

"Nain? Nain? Is that you?"

For a moment, Náin stiffened, caught like a terrified rabbit--albeit a terrified rabbit with enough muscle to carry a grown Man and a hammer as heavy as a small child--just as he had been trying to slink away unnoticed. But within a shaving of a second he had realised that the voice calling him was friendly, and indeed more than just friendly, but quite familiar. Letting the tenseness in his shoulders ease, he turned around and saw Kara running toward him.

Náin's first instinct when the young woman grabbed him in an impulsive hug was to stiffen up again, for Dwarves do not generally hug and Náin had always been rather bashful around human women, but he was glad to see Kara all the same--more than he had thought--and was considerably touched by her warm welcome. So he hugged back, with just enough Dwarven strength to make it precisely a bearhug--or it would have been if Náin had been closer to bear-sized, or at least Man-sized. At his height, it was something a bit more awkward, and Náin did not prolong the hug at all.

"Kara, it is very good to see you," he said, pulling back properly as quickly as he could. As fond as he was of Kara, Dwarven propriety was an overpowering instinct.

Even as he stood back, however, Náin noticed that Kara was not entirely alone, and while this would normally have made him distinctly more awkward, the fact that it was Crabannan standing somewhat away and looking both confused and curious made him cooler than otherwise.

It also reminded him of Erbrand and the trapper's reaction to the troublemaker's questioning earlier. Ignoring Crabannan as completely as he could, Náin turned back to Kara, who was expressing how good it was to see him.

"I see the move from Edoras has not harmed your health," said Náin. "Tell me"--and he unconsciously glanced at Crabannan--"what is the news about you. I mean!" he stammered. "What is new about... here. Around here."

Once again, Náin thanked Mahal that Dwarves have beards to disguise it when they flush.

[Gwathagor]

It had been a curious morning. The free and easy life which Crabannan had been living had been rattled somewhat by the arrival of Nain, whose presence served as a constant reminder of the past, his home by the mountain, and his parents: in short, of everything that he had chosen to forget when he had gone to war. Little had he suspected that only a few months later, while he was fighting alongside the Men of Gondor, the War would come to Dale. Afraid of the reproach he would face for abandoning not only his family, but his homeland, he had never gone back. It had been a long road since then, and only now, from Nain, had he learned that his father at least had indeed survived the War of the Ring.

Crabannan's mind was unsettled when he stopped by the kitchen. Too much had happened that day, too much that he was helpless to fight against. Thus, it was cheering and somewhat calming to him to see Kara for a few moments. She found him some breakfast, chattering on about the festivities that were to take place later that day (which he was happy to learn about; it meant less work and time for the harp), while he leaned outside the door. He knew Frodides was inside, and he was hardly in the mood to make himself a target for her tongue, though he had received nearly everyone else's that day.

No sooner had Crabannan received with thanks the plate offered to him, but Nain was suddenly there with them. The usually wary Crabannan, distracted as he had been by thoughts of the morning, had not noticed his approach and jumped a bit inwardly at the sight of the dwarf. As Kara and Nain exchanged pleasantries, Crabannan sat down on a handy barrel, crossed his legs, and watched them while he ate his breakfast.

And he thought for the first time about how he valued Kara's friendship, constant despite his manner and his reputation as a trouble-monger (which, though only partially deserved, was well-known throughout Scarburg).

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine listened to Degas relate the tale of the last few months. So much had filled such a short time! Eodwine had seen ships in the harbor at Minas Tirith, and so had a small store from which to imagine Degas' adventures. Far more vivid was his thought of a burned ruin and Degas' and Saeryn's dead brother amid the wreck. But then Degas left off with his tale and began his complaint about his sister. As far as Eodwine could tell, Degas was right: Saeryn was being completely unfair. He was about to say so when Degas began again, speaking of how Saeryn had changed. Eodwine's mind briefly wandered to wondering precisely what the change was (for she and he had not spoken beyond the most general things) and what had caused it, but he was brought back to the present by Degas' next words.

"I do not think it was because she did not love you. I think, perhaps, that she may have loved you almost too much. I think, perhaps, that love terrified her. She has lost every person she has ever loved. What if she lost you as well? I wonder if she left first for that reason; I wonder if she turned from you to save herself from later pain. But now... now I do not know my own sister. I do not know her heart. I do not know her mind."

Eodwine slowed his pace and looked down; Degas slowed a moment later and turned to see him let out a pensive sigh. "Love, you say." He tried to find something to do with his hands, which suddenly seemed not to know how to lay at rest at his side, and he finally folded his arms. "I do not know that she loved me. Nor do I know her heart or mind, Degas. I think that she does not know herself. Her mind seems ruled more than ever by what she feels."

"Such is the way of women, my lord," Degas grinned, perhaps hoping to lighten their talk.

"Not all women, Degas. Not women who know themselves. Your sister does not, I deem, and so I must confess to you that though as lord I succor and love her as well as any other in Scarburg, I am both drawn to her and repelled at once. Maybe, Degas, when you have settled yourself as lord in the Folde, you will wish to have your sister by your side, for she and Linduial became great friends. After all, though I may have doting eyes-" he glanced at Degas with a small grin to see the quick wince of guilt on the young man's face at being reminded of his rash words "- but I am twice her age. An old man! She would do well to find a young man her own age with whom to live out many years rather than with someone who will become an old codger to bathe and feed and change while she is yet young.

"But enough of that. Are you prepared to ask forgiveness of your sister, and to accept her apology once she has sense to give it? For you are both in the wrong."

[Folwren]

“And if you want to tell me what’s going on I’d be very happy to listen.”

Saeryn’s head bobbed in a nod, but for a minute or more, she could say nothing. There was a very large, very immoveable lump in her throat. She was thoroughly sorry for her actions by now and stuck in the kitchen as she was, she saw no possible way to rectify them. So, unable to do anything to lessen her regret, and being on the verge of tears (threatening to be almost as violent as her previous ones) she sat peeling potatoes mutely.

But one can only hold their breath so long, and like it or not, she had to breath in. The breath set off a series of short gasps, otherwise known as sobs, and she was hopelessly lost in tears for a moment.

Frodided set down her knife and reached across the table to pat Saeryn gently on the shoulder, murmuring comfortingly, “There, there, it’s alright.”

“I’ve acted such the fool, Frodides!” Saeryn sobbed out. “After he’d been gone so long and come back just for me, I treated him like nothing! I was so angry!” She wept to recall her words, and her blow. The knife was placed on the table and her face buried itself in her hands. She restrained herself suddenly, drawing her dignity back together. Her chest heaved and struggled with contained sobbing, but finally it ceased and she breathed again, hiccuping occasionally. She looked up and wiped her eyes.

“But what’s done can’t be undone, as you’ve told me before, I’m sure,” she said.

“No, certainly, you can’t cry over spilled milk,” Frodides agreed.

“And so I’ll just have to make up to him, ‘s all,” Saeryn went on with a tremble in her voice. “And Eodwine, too.” At the last word, her voice cracked and she pressed her mouth shut to keep her emotions back. She was quiet just a moment, and then, “I should apologize, right, Frodides? And Eodwine will understand, right?” Her dark eyes lifted to Frodides’ face hopefully.

[littlemanpoet]

"Or do they simply not deign to share their suspicions with you?" asked Scyld, a smirk on his face.

Rowenna could not help grinning. He was flirting, in his own way. She was beginning to enjoy herself very much. Not that she meant anything in the least to develop with this man, other than friendship based on commonality. She had her hopes set higher, much higher. But for now she could enjoy this play for what it was. She was sauntering more strongly, her hips swinging easily with the load of meat under her arm.

"Oh, no one needs to share their thought with me. I can read people like a book. You, for example, are full of talk that turns others' attention away from you to them, just as you did to me this moment. And then there's Harreld the smith. He is grievously taken with that tramp of a girl Ginna, but she has no notion what to do about it. Then there's Crabannan who makes as if he is so ready to fight but what he really wants is some companionship, and for fear of other men picks a boy to be his best friend. Well, Master Nydfara, what think you of my skill?"

She looked him full in the face with the biggest smile she had as they approached the baker.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas flushed, thankful for the close cropped beard he had taken to wearing which at least disguised his red face. One of his oldest complaints: fair hair, fair skin, transparent emotions.

"I... er... I rather meant that her eyes were doting, not yours, Eodwine. Though I do hope you will still forgive me for saying it..."

Like a pup who has been caught with the morning's bacon, Eodwine thought. Degas's face was a mask of contrition.

"As for your age, you cannot pretend that it is uncommon for an older man, one whose wanderlust has mellowed, to take a younger bride. And you also cannot pretend that age will deter Saeryn. Or at least it would not have before..."

He sighed heavily. "I only wish she would tell me what transpired while I was away. Yes," he said suddenly, "of course I will ask her forgiveness. And she need not even apologize to me. I am so grateful already that she is alive; more than that I dare not ask for fear of being counted amongst those who are too lucky in life."

[Kath]

Kara

Kara had been more pleased than she had expected when Nain had returned her hug with, if not equal fervour, then at least a few seconds of true warmth. She hadn't meant to make him uncomfortable but her joy at seeing him overrode what she knew of Dwarves and their discomfort with such shows of affection, and it delighted her that he was willing to forgive the action. His words, however, were as proper as they had ever been, and she noticed with a tinge of confusion that his old habit of stammering around her seemed to have returned.

"I see the move from Edoras has not harmed your health, what is the news about you. I mean! What is new about... here. Around here."

He had said, falling over his words and meanings as he went. She wondered whether it was simply that he had been away for such a time and had forgotten his ease with her, but as he had spoken she had seen his eyes flicker to a point behind her. A quick glance over her shoulder while Nain was studying the floor told her that the source of his slight distraction had been Crabannan, who was still eating but was now frowning again. Kara remained confused, but was determined to enjoy her friend's company for now and figure it all out later.

"There is little news about me if you did want to know," she said, tongue in cheek as his eyes flicked up to hers for a moment, "except that I think I may finally have convinced Frodides to stop looking over my shoulder at everything I do. As to what is new around here, well, I think you can see that for yourself! We have a fair amount of work to do yet but much has been done already in rebuilding this place, and there are also a number of new faces. In fact here is one now."

She stood aside slightly so that Nain's view of Crabannan was no longer blocked.

"This is Crabannan who has been with us near a month now I think. Crabannan this is Nain, who was a guest at the old Hall and is a very good friend of mine."

The two males shot glances at both each other and at her, and after a pause Kara gave up. Proper introductions could wait for another time if they were determined not to speak to one another.

"Well, at any rate." She said, interrupting the staring contest. "It is so good to see you Nain, are you to stay with us again?"

~ ~ ~

Frodides

Frodides had not been surprised when the young woman before her had burst into tears, she was only glad that she had given Saeryn the blunted knife considering the number of hurts they had in the kitchen even when her girls weren't sobbing their hearts out. She still had no real idea what had occurred, Saeryn's words had been impassioned rather than informative, but that didn't mean she couldn't offer generic wisdom. The soothing comments had seemed to help, Saeryn was now sitting upright again with a determined look in her eyes, but now the girl was looking for real advice and Frodides had to use her considerable number of years at the centre of all gossip as well as her knowledge of the people involved in order to try and work out something relevant to say.

"And so I’ll just have to make up to him, ‘s all, and Eodwine, too. I should apologize, right, Frodides? And Eodwine will understand, right?”

"I suppose 'him' is Degas is it?" Frodides inquired gently, having come to this conclusion due to the warmth that filled Saeryn's voice even as she cried.

"It is." Saeryn agreed.

"And you've offended him somehow? Eodwine too?"

Saeryn nodded miserably.

"Well then," Frodides said with a sniff, "I think an apology would work wonders. Your brother couldn't stay angry with you however hard he tried, it's not in his nature to take against you, and I think the same is true of Eodwine."

The slight smile that appeared on Saeryn's face as she spoke encouraged Frodides to continue. She was saying only what she thought and wasn't pretending otherwise but she was quite sure of herself all the same.

"You apologise to them when they come to their senses and come to find you," she said, patting Saeryn's hand, "and I'll wager you will find them both very understanding. No don't go looking for them now," she continued as Saeryn made to get up and leave, "if you interrupt them you might find they haven't calmed down quite enough for your apology to be heard. You stay here and let yourself calm a little more, and then it should be smiles all round when the time comes. Alright?"

[Gwathagor]

"It's alright, Kara. Nain and I met this morning," interrupted Crabannan, looking down at his plate. "Glad to meet any friend of Kara's." He concentrated on carefully wiping the last bits of breakfast with a crust of bread as Kara and Nain conversed about Scarburg and memories and old times and times to come.

He felt out of place among these old friends, and he could tell that Nain was less than comfortable with his presence. What has he heard? he wondered. The usual, doubtless: brawler, rogue, ruffian. He sighed and felt suddenly old. I've done all that and more.

Crabannan stood abruptly. Kara and Nain looked at him. Muttering something about being in the way, he strode headlong into the kitchen with his empty plate, Frodides or no Frodides.

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand's face broke into a large smile as Léof examined the newly made saddle, and insisted that Léof should take it as a gift for looking after Traveller.

“Then I accept your gift,” Léof said finally, “and I thank you for it. I shall have to try it out soon; it has been a while since I have taken Æthel out riding anyway.”

"It is a gift well earned," Erbrand responded, "You're so much unlike myself when I was your age. You're compassionate and a hard worker, mature beyond your years, you will make a fine man when you come of age." Here Erbrand stopped himself. He didn't mean to preach and he certainly didn't want to become sentimental, feelings was not something he felt comfortable sharing with people.

"I, uhh... I know that you'll put it to good use," he continued, "but don't work so hard today, it's a day of rest, and I expect to see you in the races today with Æthel."

Léof proudly walked over to his horse, which he was grooming and patted him on the neck.

"We'll do our best. Won't we boy?" The horse affectionatlely nuzzled his against his masters embrace and stomped his foot as if he knew what was just said.

"My best wishes and to you boh then." And with another thanks from Léof Erbrand left them to return to the solitude of his tent, but no sooner had he turned away from Léof he heard a familiar voice.

"I wouldn't mind having me one of those, not bad at all." Erbrand turned startled at first, but relaxing once he saw Lithor a few stalls down from Léof saddling his own horse.

"A good morning to you Lithor," he replied, "But I don't take kindly to those who eavesdrop on my private conversations, you might have to pay extra to get one now." Lithor laughed at his attempted joke.

"No time for bribes or work today, I'm just on my way to announce that the festivities are about to begin. We will have races, archery, and feats of strength for the games today. Music and dance with plenty of ale too, you can't beat a day such as this."

"Tell me, I have not seen the children today. I would think that they would be here urging for the day to begin."

"Javan's merry band has gone off to practice archery somewhere, but I expect that they'll return before things get underway."

"Very well, then I shall return to my tent. If there is to be music I wish to get my fiddle in tune."

"Between your fiddle and Crabannan's harp, it will be merry entertainment. Make sure that you reserve a dance with a pretty gal." At this Lithor winked, "well, I best go make the announcement, I'll shall see you later." Lithor waved back to him as he walked towards the kitchens, and he guessed who Lithor meant him to reserve a dance with. Lithor always had that kind subtlety about him that Erbrand liked, always making suggestions that confirmed Erbrand's desires and giving him some extra encouragement at the same time.

As he walked back to his tent Erbrand began to feel uncomfortable at the mentioning of Crabannan. He knew now that he had acted rashly and wrong this morning, and he knew that he would have to apologize for his actions if their were to be any comfortable feelings between them today. Swallowing his pride wouldn't be easy for him, it never was. He picked up his fiddle and pluck the strings to tune it. As he did this he went over in his head what he would say to Crabannan, but this brought back to his mind his feelings about Kara. Soon Crabannan was no longer of his mind, and was the least of his worries.

[Formendacil]

"Well, at any rate. It is so good to see you Nain, are you to stay with us again?"

Náin's glare at Crabannan, which was as unconscious at it was suspicious, was broken, and he turned to Kara, who it seemed either did not know how much trouble Crabannan was, or else had decided to ignore it. That was odd--from what Náin remembered, there wasn't much likelihood that Crabannan was anything other than trouble, and his Dwarven tendency towards harbouring unyielding opinions did not predispose him to change his mind.

Crabannan interrupted before Náin could reply, though.

"It's alright, Kara. Náin and I met this morning. Glad to meet any friend of Kara's."

Náin, in his stubbornness, did not want to admit it, but Crabannan almost sounded contrite about their mutual glaring, and it irked him that the troublemaker should be more considerate to Kara than he was. He decided to ignore the matter--and Crabannan--and respond to the question.

"To answer you, Kara, I do not know how long I will be here. I will be here a few days at least, to assess the situation for building in stone with Eodwine--or more likely with Garstan and Stigend. Then I journey to Edoras to meet Gimli and report to him on the same. If he wishes, and King Eomer agrees, I could be back then, and on that matter, do you know if Garstan or Stigend have passed by for breakfast yet? I expect going over the situation, especially if we set up a quarry, as I propose, will take much of the day, and I would get started."

"I'm not sure," said Kara, "but it doesn't matter, because today is a holiday, so I don't expect you'll be getting much work done at all today."

Náin was about to ask what they were celebrating, and with what events, but Crabannan abruptly stood up and resolutely marched into the makeshift kitchen. Kara blanched, and Náin glanced from the kitchen to her.

"Is he not supposed to be in there?" he asked, not sure if he was hoping for a chance to haul the troublemaker out by his toes or that he was finally rid of him for that day.

[Kath]

Kara was under no illusions about the state of things between Nain and Crabannan. If the revelation that they'd already met hadn't given her pause for thought the way that Nain barely acknowledged Crabannan's words would have for certain. Her Dwarven friend was not a naturally warm person, but nor did he often slight people in that way. Nevertheless she let it be, far more eager to find out Nain's plans than to pick him up on any incivility. And so she listened and chatted happily, until Crabannan stormed his way into the kitchen.

"Is he not supposed to be in there?" Nain asked, clearly surprised by the reaction Kara realised she had given.

"Oh, well," Kara began, backing into the kitchen a little to find out just exactly what the state of things was, "no of course he's allowed to be in there it's just that ..."

"Just that what?" Nain asked, following her.

"Well, it's just that Frodides really doesn't get on with him and he does tend to make it worse for himself." Kara said, finding to her relief that so far Frodides was still involved with Saeryn. "So he usually stays outside. I don't know why he's just gone rushing in there, he knows what she's like."

She glanced at Nain as she spoke and was surprised to see a knowing look pass across his face. She was about to call him on it when she heard voices approaching the kitchen, and found Eodwine and Degas of all people walking toward the doorway.

"Good morning Kara." Eodwine spoke before Kara could ask about this new arrival. "Is Saeryn inside?"

[Groin Redbeard]

Lithor

The tent was full when as he approached it. Good, he thought to himself, saves me the trouble of running after everyone. Borrowing a stool from a nearby table, he placed it in the middle of the tent and fearlessly stood on it raising his arms aloft.

"Your attention please, everyone, your attention for a moment!" he patiently waited for the commotion in the tent to die down before he continued. "Thank you kind people, I will take but a moment of your time. We have been working very hard this last month on building our new settlement here in Scarburg, and I think that it's safe to say that we have long needed a day of rest and recuperation." he was answered with cheers and applause, Lithor raised him arms for everyone to stay silent.

"That day is finally here, our gracious lord Eodwine has proclaimed a day of rest and festivities. There will be races, on horseback and on foot, tests of strength, feats of archery, and dueling." this was met with loud applause, mainly from the men. "But there will also be dancing, with music, singing, and a great fire later tonight along with a marvelous dinner, already prepared, to wrap up the festivities." This was again met with louder applause, this time the women joining in on the excitement.

"Therefore, eat hardy now, for with lord Eodwine's permission the games will begin after breakfast!" Lithor couldn't help himself from cheering along with the people as he began to step down from his stool.

"Oh, and it any of you men want to participate in the games today just tell me and I'll take care of it."

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine and Degas came back to the kitchen where they found Crabannan, Kara, Ginna, and Naín.

"Good morning Kara, is Saeryn inside?" Rowenna and Nydfara walked in as Eodwine asked his question, which was unsettling for at least two reasons: so far these two had stayed far from each other, and here they were walking together apparently exchanging familiar conversation; and Rowenna had come in just in time to hear him ask after Saeryn. Were the two women rivals fying for him as potential husband? He was not even sure that was so; still, he was unsettled.

Before Kara could reply, the irrepressible Lithor bounded in and stood on a stool and began to make an announcement that Eodwine should have made himself, but having been occupied with so much else, was glad that Lithor had taken the initiative. He would have to reward him later. By the time Lithor had finished, Harreld and Erbrand had arrived, and there was much talk about who would best whom in which games.

Kara did manage to inform Eodwine in the midst of the chatter that Saeryn was with Frodides inside. Eodwine motioned for Degas to precede him into the kitchen. Rowenna followed them in and set the side of meat where it was needed, then left.

Frodides looked up (Saeryn's back was to them). "Ah, look who we have here!"

[Groin Redbeard]

There was a loud cheering in the tent and Erbrand guessed that Lithor was giving his speech. He slid the fiddle back into its case for later that day, and started towards the kitchen. Harreld had just come out of his smithy and was standing at the door, wiping his blackened hands in his apron.

“Harreld,” Erbrand called, waving his hands to get the man’s attention, “the festivities are starting.”

At this the blacksmith darted back inside his smithy and then emerged with clean hands and no apron; their was a smile on his face as he joined Erbrand in walking to the kitchen.

They arrived just as Lithor finished his speech, but not before they heard what was going on. Harreld’s face lit up at the mention of the tests of strength, Erbrand knew that Harreld could match and beat anyone in the entire camp, that much had been proven by his hard work in the last month. He didn’t doubt that Harreld was a gentle man, but he was also known to be a bit clumsy with it, too many times had Erbrand been the victim of a crushing handshake that would make any man wince. He intended to stay clear of him when it came to fighting.

Erbrand soon became closed in with the people that swarmed around Lithor with their requests. Separated from Harreld, he stumbled and pushed his way out of the crowd and into the open. His body was teaming with excitement. At last he would be able to prove his worth. It would be a chance for everyone to show their skill and he wanted to excel more than anything. It was not a test to see if he came first in every competition, it was a test against himself. To see if he was tough and callous as his aloof nature portrayed him to be. He swallowed hard the thought of humiliation in front of the entire camp.

No, he thought to himself, No! Not today, focus on the task and you will succeed. This calmed him a bit, but the thought persisted to unease him: how could he face his friends, how would he face Dan if he failed? His pride was everything to him.

It was then that he noticed that Dan was nowhere to be seen, which jogged his memory that the boys were still missing (the boys were often seen near Dan). Puzzled over their absence, even though none of the others seemed to notice it, not even Modtryth: the usually vigilant mother of Cenebba. It was not like the boys to be gone for so long in the morning; convinced that something was wrong he decided to go check on them himself. He did not mean to step out of line and anger Modtryth for being nosey, something he had hoped he was not known for. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little curious about their talent in archery.

He opened the door to the stall that held his horse and hoisted himself on Traveller's bare back. He prodded Traveller along at a nice easy trot before steadily progressing it up to a full gallop. Erbrand felt the same restlessness in his horse that he was feeling as the horse through back his head and whinnied loudly, it would serve them both well in the race today.

Before long Erbrand spotted the boys a ways off, who did not seem to notice him. Garmund and Cnebba were a ways off shooting their arrows at some stumps, while Javan silently, and solemnly, observed the boys. Erbrand spurred his horse forward, watching them with his stern discerning eyes as they practiced. He stopped his horse around a dozen yards behind Javan, and unknown to Javan silently watched Cnebba and Garmund.

Cnebba: the showoff of the three, was always in the front trying to get the best shot, while the more reserved Garmund battled with him for a fair shot. Although to a man such as Stigen or Eodwine this situation might seem dangerous, but Erbrand watched proudly as the boys kept their horses under control and fired decent shots with their bows (he was lost in the moment so much that he did not hear Javan’s shouting in a futile attempt to restrain them). Both the boys, with arrows knocked in their strings, walked their horses alongside each other, waiting for their chance to shoot, but soon their pace quickened in an attempt to outdo the other; before they reached their target the horses had gotten up to a trot. The boys fired simultaneously at the stump, with Cnebba in the lead, and the arrows hit almost perfectly. Whether it happened by luck or by skill Erbrand was amazed. He laughed loudly, which he always did when well satisfied, and clapped his hands in approval.

Javan swung around, startled at the unknown intrusion on their privacy. Javan’s abrupt movement startled Erbrand as well, he had forgotten that he was uninvited and unannounced. He immediately stopped and hung his head in embarrassment, until he looked like a hound that had just been rebuked by it’s master. He nudged Traveller closer to Javan.

“My apologizes, Javan,” he said, looking up into Javan’s eyes as if he were the lesser of the two, “I did not mean to spy on you as you may think.” Erbrand looked at Garmund and Cnebba, who had noticed his arrival. “You have taught them well,” he said again, thinking it wiser to change the subject before brining them back, “skilled hands such as those will prove well in the contest today. It is clear that lord Eodwine was not mistaken in choosing you for this task.” Erbrand's lips began to curl in a genuine smile.

[Thinlómien]

Modtryth was inspecting an ale barrel that was leaking according to Frodides. She could actually agree with that, for there was a narrow ring of spilt ale around the barrel. Modtryth just couldn't see any holes or loose seams. She was used to working in noisy spaces, but the current crowd in the kitchen made her curious. Somehow, half of the people of the Mead Hall had found their way to the kitchen. The boys weren't present, though, as Modtryth noted with a satisfaction of sorts. They were practising like they were supposed to. Modtryth was glad they had turned out to be so hard-working, although she didn't quite approve of what they were learning. But she of course was in no position to criticise the Eorl's decision, especially as it was so staunchly supported by the boys' fathers.

There was movement in the corner of her eye. She turned, and Lèodern rushed to her. "I found more twigs!" the girl exclaimed in delight. The two of them had woken up early this day, eaten breakfast and gone to collect twigs. There never were too many of them, yet they were needed for the fires. They of course got a lot of twigs from the felled trees, but the wood was young and moist while firewood was supposed to be dry. Modtryth smiled at the girl, who had been surprisingly enthusiastic about the task. "Excellent. Do you remember where we put the ones we collected earlier? You could..."

"Your attention please, everyone, your attention for a moment!" a loud voice interrupted. Modtryth fell silent, her lips closed tightly in a disapproving manner. She had no idea what this guardsman called Lithor would say, but she knew he was one of those people she rather intuitively and irrationally disliked. The man was more than a little older than she herself was, but behaved as if he was much younger. If you asked Modtryth, judging by Lithor's behaviour he could be closer to Javan's, or even Cnebba's, age.

The man proceeded with some nonsense about everybody having worked hard to rebuild Scarburg. Sure they had worked hard, but did they need this braggart guardsman to tell it to them? Modtryth tried not to show her irritation.

Finally, Lithor got to the point. Although she had never been enthusiastic about games or excessive eating, Modtryth was delighted by the news of the upcoming happenings. People were usually on good humour during festivities and this was a company where there would be no drunken quarrels or where no talk of filthy Dunlendings would be initiated after a few pints. Or so she hoped. She was looking forward to the evening and was applauding and cheering with the others, but she couldn't help wondering why Lord Eodwine didn't make the announcement himself.

"I want to dance," Lèodern decided, bringing Modtryth's attention back to her. "I'm sure you can dance, and every single man in the Hall will be delighted to dance with such a fine lady." Lèodern giggled, but there was a thoughtful look in her eyes. Modtryth supposed she was thinking about her friend, Lady Linduial, who was now in Gondor.

"Anyway, Lèodern, what I was about to say was that you should take those twigs where we took the ones we collected just a moment ago. Also, I don't think your father knows anything about these festivities yet. You could be the first one to tell him."

Lèodern's face lit up with delight, she took the twigs and ran off. Modtryth was about to turn back to the leaking barrell, when she heard Frodides exclaim: "Ah, look who we have here!" To her surprise, Modtryth saw young lord Degas in the company of Lord Eodwine. She forgot about the barrel. This was far more interesting.

[Folwren]

Searyn had obeyed Frodides when the elderly cook had told her to sit and wait. She remained at the small table, peeling potatoes with half a will. Her tears were finally drying, and she set her mind to how she would word her apology when the time came.

She did not turn her head when she heard Lithor giving his announcement, though her hands paused in their work and she listened to him. She nodded when he was through and the potato lost another strip of skin, when Frodides, looking up beyond Saeryn, said, “Ah, look who we have here!”

Saeryn glanced up at her and saw the bright, expectant light in her eyes and turned sharply around. She froze like a startled deer for half a second and then she shut her mouth, whipped back around, and gathered her courage. The next moment she was on her feet, the potato and knife laid aside, and slowly turned to face Eodwine and Degas.

“My lord,” she said, quietly. Her hands twisted together in front of her. She looked at Degas and met his eye. “Brother.” Vaguely, she was aware of Frodides getting up and quietly slipping away, giving them as much privacy as the corner of the crowded tent could afford. She tried to remember what she had planned to say, but looking now at Degas again, the words didn't come. “I acted badly outside a little while ago,” she faltered. Her eyes fell away from Degas’ face and she looked down at the ground between them. “I am sorry.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas was torn now between reactions. At another time, he would swing Lèodern into his arms and ask her many questions, listening delightedly as she responded at full speed and with many irrelevant details. His first thoughts at her arrival were that -- was it possible she could have grown so much in so short a time? -- he wanted to sing her a song he had written for her; and also his heart ached for Linduial, who had become fast friends with the little girl. Lin, who was with the beautiful queen, who Degas had not yet stopped to see. When, he wondered, could he see her? Before he saw his own lands? Before he measured the damage with his own eyes? Could he in good conscience ride to Edoras before leaving for the Folde, to see his betrothed, to speak his mind to her and seek her advice? Would she ride with him?

And what would her reaction be? Where they would live had been uncertain: as liason to the king and queen, they would need to be in Edoras; Lotherial had made it clear that appropriate lodgings would be available for her dear young cousin. But married, with a small family? Degas wanted to bring Lin home with him, to raise children where he was raised. To teach boys to play in the lofts of the stables, and to show them how to be men the way his father had taught him. Except he wouldn't leave them. He would not die before they were ready to live without him. But would Lin be happy there? The child-bearing wife of the lord of a modest set of lands, with a village at which many strangers stopped between Edoras and Gondor. Would she be content to live at Degas's home, now that he had one?

"Saeryn," he said slowly, his mind returning to the moment, "I would like you to tell me what transpired, so that I may return to the Folde with an understanding of what I must do for our people. I am lothe to return uninformed to meet people who ask me the very questions you did. You were right: I will not be welcomed with open arms, with weeping old women and stiff lipped men. I will be viewed with suspicion, and with, perhaps, anger. I have been distant, and then I have been absent. They do not know me. I do not know what resentment I must placate. The very least I can do is return with the truth of the events clear in my mind, with a plan at least beginning to form."

"Degas, you are not staying?" asked Lèodern sadly, eyes wide.

"No, most beautiful lady," he responded, kneeling, "Do you see how the buildings here have been hurt, and the land is sad, and your father and all others must work very hard to make this place a happy one again?"

She nodded.

"My home is sad too. I must go and help build beds to sleep in, and roofs to keep out rain. I must help cook and clean, and I must make many new friends."

"You have friends here," she said simply.

Degas looked up, and saw Eodwine watching, and Saeryn's sad eyes, and Frodidas listening from across the kitchen. Not far away, he heard Nain's voice, and that of Kara. He was fond of Kara. He would miss her friendly face when he left.

"And I will come to visit my friends here. I hope very much that my friend Eodwine will think someday of me as family, as I do him, and that we shall visit each other as brothers would, and speak as freely."

At that moment, Degas resolved to speak with Garstan. Perhaps it would be possible for Lèodern to be brought under the tutelage and care of Linduial. It was not unheard of for children to be raised amongst others, where they could learn new skills and help to develop friendships where before there was nothing. Lèodern would be well tended, and educated, and Linduial adored her as he did. It would be well to give Lin projects for her minds and her emotions, and perhaps the experience would teach Linduial much about motherhood. It would be a great comfort to Degas to have Lèodern's pretty face smiling amidst the sorrow he expected to find at a home he had not seen in many years.

[Folwren]

He wanted her to tell him what happened. He told her why. That he wanted to go back. She could scarcely believe him. Not that she doubted that he wanted to act honorably - he was always honorable - but it was so dangerous. A shadow of doubt and fear crossed her face, but Degas did not see it as he turned to meet Leoðern’s question.

Saeryn smiled a little as Degas knelt to answer. He had always liked children and he seemed to care especially for this little girl. It may have been for Linduial’s sake that Degas so cherished Leoðern. Now her twin tried to explain to Leoðern why he must go, but that he would come back and there would be visiting between all of them.

“I hope very much that my friend Eodwine will think someday of me as family, as I do him, and that we shall visit each other as brother’s would, and speak as freely.”

A gentle infusion of red colored Saeryn’s pale cheeks. Whether or not Degas meant it, she caught the hint - and she dared not look up at Eodwine standing nearby, hearing everything just as well as she.

Degas was finishing with Leoðern. “You promise to come and visit and not leave for a long time again?” she asked.

Degas nodded, then added, “Unless great need causes me to lea ve. But I will come back.”

The little girl hugged Degas tightly around the neck, drew back with a smile, and hurried away. With her worries put to rest, the preparation of the games appealed strongly to her now. Degas sighed, looking after her, and then stood up again and faced Saeryn.

“Can we talk somewhere else?” she asked.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas longed to embrace his sister, to make her forget her wounds and smile. She had been such a troublesome child, all innocent tricks and laughter. She had delighted the people with her bright eyes and merry smile. How long had it been since Degas had seen that smile? Not since Father had been alive. Perhaps she had smiled thusly since, yet he had been away. He had not seen it.

"Yes, darling, of course we can speak elsewhere." He turned to Eodwine, saying, "Friend, is there a place here we can speak freely without our voices carrying easily to others?"

[Folwren]

Javan didn’t like being snuck up on. Not at all! Especially when whoever it was would have witnessed this complete lack of control and safety. He was disgusted with himself and with Cnebba and Garmund.

But Erbrand did not seem worried at all by what he had just witnessed. He seemed a little disconcerted about Javan’s sharp, accusing look, and even apologized for coming unannounced. But he quickly went on into a new strain of speech. “You have taught them well! Skilled hands such as those will prove well in the contest today. It is clear that lord Eodwine was not mistaken in choosing you for this task.”

“Well,” said Javan, in embarrassed modesty. He didn’t know whether it would be proper to smile while receiving such praise, so instead he tried to keep his face straight, ending only with a comical looking grimace. “Well, they’re not as good yet as they could be.” Nevertheless, his eye sparkled as he looked at Garmund and Cnebba riding slowly up to them. “What’s this about a contest, though?”

Erbrand told them, for by now all three boys were sitting near him. By the time he had finished describing the games to be played, all three of them had bright looks on their faces.

“Go and fetch your arrows, lads!” Javan cried. “We’ve got to go mark our places in the games before all the grown ups fill the lists!”

[Firefoot]

“I think you are showing off,” replied Scyld, feeling at once amused and confused. He had tried several times now this morning to jilt her and had only succeeded in brightening her spirits. More than that, if he was any judge of a woman’s body language, she was even flirting with him. He had noticed, for example, how she had shifted the meat to the hip away from him so as to give him a better view of her swinging hips. So what did she want from him?

“Perhaps,” she replied neutrally, still grinning.

“And I think that your skill is not so much a game as you would have me think,” Scyld continued, “but your purposes are your own.” And with that comment they had reached the baker and the conversation was at its end. Without another word he turned and parted from her company. Quite an interesting woman indeed; it would behoove him to keep closer watch on her.

As he entered the company of the rest of the camp, word was abuzz of a day of celebration and contests. Well, that was very fine, though Scyld did not imagine that he should himself have much part in the games. His mental skills far exceeded his physical. No matter; the day would have other purposes.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine

"Friend," asked Degas, "is there a place here we can speak freely without our voices carrying easily to others?"

"I fear that there is no such place unless you desire the mess of someone's tent. I suggest that you take a walk outside the bounds of Scarburg, out in the open where no one can eavesdrop without being seen first."

Rowenna

“I think," said Nydfara, " that your skill is not so much a game as you would have me think; but your purposes are your own.” She raised her brow, her smile a little lessened, as they came to the kitchen. With that Nydfara moved away, and she placed the side of meat in Frodides' salt bed until it was needed later.

Lithor was talking up the games that would be played this day, and Rowenna, feeling much lighter and more playful than usual, was taken into the excitement. She went up to Lithor and poked him on the shoulder. He turned.

"Yes?"

"I want to be in the task path race, dagger throwing contest, three legged race, and the horse race!"

"Lass," he said with a look of mild scorn, "you have no horse."

She allowed a pout to her lips. "I'll find one!"

"Can you even ride?" he asked.

"I am a daughter of an Eorling land holder. Horses are in my blood! You'll see."

"Then go talk to Léof and see if he has a horse, and we'll see if your riding is as bold as your talk!"

"I'll show you!" she called as she marched away. "And don't forget the other three games I'm in!"

She allowed herself a very brief glance to see if anyone was observing her, such as Nydfara. She did not see him. Where was Eodwine? She wanted him for the three legged race. No matter, she'd find him soon enough. Now to find Léof.

[Firefoot]

“So how do you like that?” Léof asked Æthel as Erbrand left the stable area. “A new saddle just for us, and none too shabby either!” He set it down over a post nearby; he would not saddle her until he was ready to ride later on. “And a race today as well! Up for it?” Walking around her head he tugged her forelock affectionately. “Of course you are.” He led her to one of the few stalls that had been set up; most of the horses stayed in the paddock areas most of the time, but when a horse’s use was requested he would often catch that horse, brush him up, and put him away in a stall so that he would not have to be rounded up later.

Just as he was finishing up, he noticed Rowenna approaching, rather to his surprise. Rowenna had no horse and was therefore an infrequent visitor to the stables. This logically resulted in Léof rarely having need or opportunity to talk to her. “Good morning, Rowenna,” he said. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, actually,” she said. “I wish to ride in the horse race today, and for that I need a horse.”

Léof only halfway managed to constrain a wince. “Well, let me think,” he said. There were a couple of horses that Rowenna could ride that belonged to the Hall rather than to individual riders, but while they were sturdy and stout of heart, neither was particularly fleet of foot. Even if Léof had the coin and inclination to bet, the competition would have to be poor indeed for him to put money on either of them. But how to tell this to Rowenna? Perhaps he could get her to choose for herself. “Well,” he repeated, “most of the horses here are owned by the people in the hall, like Eodwine’s Flíthaf or Erbrand’s Traveller, and you’d need permission I can’t give you to ride them. There are two other horses, though, that anyone could ride because they belong to the Hall. I could point them out to you, and if you like one of them you could ride it in the race.”

[Groin Redbeard]

As Cnebba, Garmund, and Javan’s faces lit up with excitement Erbrand began to feel at ease. His stuttering stopped and he began to describe the games in their full grandeur. When Cnebba and Garmund rushed off for their arrows, Erbrand watched them dutifully do their job, but his gaze soon shifted to Javan

"You boys were gone for a long time today.” he stated, “was anything the wrong?”

“Yes, we had some things that needed to be worked on.”

Erbrand caught the sound of tension in the boys voice when he spoke. He didn’t want to pry into the matter too deeply, the boys should handle their own affairs, but he felt as if he should say something to the kid in the few moments of solitude that they had left.

“Don’t let it get to you, Cnebba and Garmund a still young. Besides, lord Eodwine has thought you fit to train these boys and you have gained back the trust of many in Scarburg.”

Erbrand regretted those last words, as Javan gave him a wounded look that he had seen in animals before they died. Immediately, he remembered the fire that Javan started, and although Erbrand was not there at the time, he had heard the subject repeated by many with a less than favorable opinion of Javan. The mentioning of him losing peoples trust might have caused Javan to remember the cause of it.

They he had not meant it like that he feared that the boy might. Words stuck in Erbrand’s throat as he tried to say something to refute what he had said. Erbrand stayed quite hoping that Javan would speak first.

[littlemanpoet]

"Yes, please show me."

Léof led her down the aisle and pointed out the two Scarburg horses. She could see from where she stood that, whereas they were strong and good beasts in their own right, they would not be of much use in a race. Léof was telling her their names and their virtues, and she was nodding her head, glancing around. And so she saw a beautiful chestnut stallion with strong legs and hocks; and it was looking at her. She could tell at once that this one had spirit.

"Who's mount is he?" Rowenna pointed.

"That is Flíthaf, the steed of Lord Eodwine." Léof identified him in a tone that suggested that it was a foregone conclusion that she could not ride him in a horse race. Rowenna had different ideas.

"I'll go talk to him," she said, giving Flíthaf a pat on his strong thigh on her way out. She did not see Léof's expression, so did not know whether he viewed her with scorn, surprise, or something esle.

It did not take long to find Eodwine; he was still in the kitchen area, looking on as others chose which games they would play. She walked up to him.

"Will you run the three legged race with me?" she grinned.

His brows rose. Then a smile began to grow on his face. "I suppose that could be fun," he allowed.

"Good!" She clapped her hands and jumped up and down as if the matter had been settled. Then she folded her hands and swayed from side to side, looking up at him from pleading eyes. "There is one other favor I would ask, though I know it is much to ask."

"Oh? What would that be?"

"May I ride Flíthaf in the races?"

One brow rose higher and the other lowered in Eodwine's surprise. "But then what steed would I ride?"

She had thought of this and had prepared a ready answer while she walked over. "If there is more than one heat, we could ride him in separate heats; surely I will not win my heat, and at least will have gotten the chance to ride a race."

"I - I suppose that could work, though only if Flíthaf is willing."

"Oh good good good!" Rowenna clapped her hands again, grinning brightly. She flitted away back toward the stables and threw over her shoulder, "I'll go tell Léof!"

Eodwine watched her go, rather stunned. What had happened to the girl? For girl she seemed right now, more than woman, and more fetching than ever in a silly way. All in all, he could imagine himself enjoying such moods in a wife.

"Young lass has got the Eorl wrapped around her finger today, he?" cried Lithor with a big grin on his face. Eodwine scowled. He would have to watch himself around her, he realized.

[shaggydog]

Listlessly, he plucked at the remaining shreds of flesh still adhered to the inside of the shell. Discovered yesterday and mostly consumed, raw, the night before, the turtle had provided a bit of meat in an otherwise root and berry diet. Oeric was vaguely aware of the way in which his clothes flapped about his frame when he walked. The natural impetus to eat was slowly waning as his mind turned ever inward upon itself. The reason for his existence seemed far beyond his capability to ascertain by now; most hours were spent holed up in the little burrow he had crafted. Nothing more than a declivity scraped by some animal into the roots of a tree perched on a relatively dry hump of marshland, it served to keep off some of the rain.

For a week after his encounter with the odd stranger called Dan, Oeric had continued to skirt the ever changing and growing camp. The promises made that day were apparently being upheld, for the while, as no further searches were made with Oeric as their intended quarry. At least, no-one came out to track him and there seemed to be no attempt to flush him from the marsh. Oeric had managed to find vantage points whereby he could somewhat keep an eye on the goings on of the new settlers. Even their forays into the marsh to gather wood held no specific malignant threat to his solitary watch keeping.

One morning, however, he had taken up a crouched position to the northwest, towards the end of the ridge of rock running behind the old ruined hall. Far removed from the camp itself, he could still crane his neck and see the activities of those coming and going towards the south of the settlement. It was the noise that had first alerted him to what was about to occur that day. An unusual murmur of many voices rose through the morning air like a distant flock of herons. It was unlike the newcomers to gather together in number except at meal time or an occasional evening address by their lord. Risking his concealment, Oeric had slipped closer, climbing the rocks until he could just stick his head out and get a glimpse of the camp. There he saw them, almost all the lord’s people it seemed, gathered in small groups, tools in hand, walking slowly towards the burnt out hall. Oeric could not hear the instructions given, but as they fell to it was clear what their assignment was. Armed with rakes, shovels, buckets and brooms the settlers began to attack the lumpy floor of the hall. Strewn with the debris of the conflagration, it was now to be swept clean. The hard earth underneath would be raked and leveled, in preparation for the task of erecting a new hall.

From the weeks spent here truly alone, before the lord and his company’s arrival, Oeric knew the exact placement of the fire scorched bones which lay beneath the ash. With horrified fascination, Oeric watched one small boy who played more than worked with the broom he wielded. Step by step the child had moved until he was standing almost on top of them. Any moment his foot would make contact and he would hear the crunch or feel the unexpected object . . . he would bend down and feel amongst the charred remains and . . .

Oeric blinked. Surely he was not mistaken. The child had been standing in the exact spot, but had raised no cry of surprise or discovery. A few moments later, the ash had been swept away, the floor underneath now exposed, bare and devoid of any object, let alone two entwined skeletons. Feeling light headed, Oeric looked about frantically for some sign that he was mistaken in his memory, that some other settler in some other part of the ruin had stumbled upon what remained of his life. Yet time passed, the floor was slowly but surely revealed, and . . . no bones.

Somehow, for some reason, someone had removed them. After his hours of vigilance, Oeric felt this with a certainty. Was it possible that with no regard for what had happened here, whoever had discovered the remains had gathered up the vestiges of two lives and unceremoniously thrown them on the midden heap? Oeric knew that the other one had been buried, however anonymously. Could it be the two had been given a similar send off? For the one thousandth time since the newcomers’ arrival, Oeric cursed himself for a craven for not having had the courage to retrieve his precious treasure when he had had it all to himself. And now what? What had been done with them?

For the rest of that interminable day, Oeric had waited in agonized impatience. When night had at last fallen, and the camp had drifted off for the most part to slumber, he had painstakingly made his way around to the spot where he knew the other had been laid to rest. Oeric’s heart sank as he crept close enough to see that there was no second grave, no disturbance of any kind in the earth beside the sole mound.

Oeric had silently sent a prayer up as he searched about, hoping against hope that he might yet stumble upon a second grave. As the night hours flew quickly past, no trace had he found of any interment. With unreasoned anger, yet also with a faint flutter of hope in his heart, he concluded that the skeletons must indeed have been cast aside like yesterday’s offal.

For many nights after that, Oeric searched as best he could. The refuse of the ruined hall had been dumped behind the latrine, no doubt as future filler for when a new one was to be dug and the old to be covered. He started there, knowing the impossibility of the bones having gone undetected and unremarked by any of the clean up crew. Yet still he had searched. Fruitlessly, he had risked imminent detection, although waiting until the wee small hours made visitors to the latrine rare. A thorough search of the pile of rubble had however revealed no bones. In desperation, Oeric widened his searching to all the areas around the camp, and beyond, to the point where sanity decreed that there could be no reason for any of the settlers to cast the bones so far afield. Or, with gut wrenching anguish, Oeric realized that if they had so chosen, his chances of finding the remains on his own were slim to none. He slept little and ate less, spending each moment either searching or laying in wait to begin his searching again, once both sun and moon had set and the men posted to keep watch were yawning and less attentive. And as he lay waiting in his lair, his mind turned over and over, and over again, what he should do if he never found them. With each day then, as his hopes diminished, so to did his reason for continuing to exist in this world if they were well and truly gone from him.

The last two nights now, Oeric had not even bothered to search. His mind was as pinched as his belly, one thought only cursing through it. There was at least one who knew where his darlings were. He did not know that person’s name, or age, or whether it be man, woman, or child even. But he did know one thing – where that person, whoever it was, was to be found.

His eyes lifted momentarily in the direction of the camp.

[Groin Redbeard]

Dozens of eager participants swarmed around Lithor shouting which games they wished to be in. Lithor laughed at the commotion and his own confusion as he jotted down everyone’s names on a scroll. He breathed a sigh of relief when the last name was written down, and he rolled the paper back into a scroll, but almost he immediately unfolded it, he had forgot all about Rowenna’s requests. Lithor hesitated a moment to put her name down, it wasn’t a women’s place to compete side by side with grown men, besides he didn’t much like the cocky attitude that she had. However, his quill soon scribbled down her name, but a scowl was on the guard’s face.

Lithor went to find lord Eodwine, the races would be the first games of the day and it wouldn’t be proper to start them without a word from eorl. He was puzzled to find Eodwine talking to Rowenna about Flithaf, the eorl’s horse. He waited quietly behind Eodwine shifting his weight on his feet, and finding himself edging closer and closer to find out Eodwine’s answer. Rowenna acted very excited when he consented and Lithor was both shocked and amused that Eodwine gave in to her demands.

“Young lass has got the Eorl wrapped around her finger today, he?" he cried, perhaps a little too loudly, with a broad grin on his face.

He was met with a scowl from Eodwine, but the grin did not erace itself.

“I’m sorry my lord,” Lithor said apologetically, but still grinning, “but you know what they say: laughter is the corrective force which prevents us from becoming cranks.” he chuckled again at his small joke, not realizing how formal he was being with a superior.

“Everyone, attention please, may I have your attention!” he cried aloud with raised hands, “the morning is spent and the festivities are about to begin, but first our lord has a few words to say.” And with that Lithor stepped aside and let Eodwine speak.

[Folwren]

Saeryn knew where Eodwine spoke of. She turned and led Degas from the tent and away from the teaming camp. For a while, they both walked in complete silence. Saeryn walked with her arms wrapped about her middle. Since the extreme excitement earlier, her wound had seemed to hurt a little more than usual. She had thought it mostly healed, with only a rather nasty looking scab left to witness the misfortune, but clearly it was still more fragile than she thought.

When they had walked out some distance from the encampment, and she knew that no one would hear them, even if they did notice them, she began speaking, while she continued walking.

“Degas,” she said, “Fenrir had not changed, when I went back. You must have guessed that.”

Degas glanced at his sister, but was hesitant to let her see how deeply worried for her he was. The sister he remembered wanted no man's pity. How much had changed? He so desperately missed their childhood, free of so many worries.

"I have guessed as much," he responded, hoping his words would not staunch the flow of hers. He was afraid that if she stopped talking now, she would never again begin.

"Yes," Saeryn said. She was quiet for a long moment, for she didn't know how to put into words the mental agony she had gone through at home. She went back of her own will and had stayed there of her own will, for she had come to realize that so long as she was running and hiding she would never be happy. And perhaps, she had thought, if she stayed where she was supposed to stay, perhaps her brother would change for the better. But he never did. She lived under his ridged, iron rule acting the lady of the house, while Fenrir governed the land however he saw fit. What he saw fit, Saeryn abhorred.

She finally knew where to begin. "Before I had left home almost a year ago, I had only seen my own discomfort. I only realized what wrong Fenrir did towards me, you know?" Degas nodded. "So I didn't notice at all of how he handled our men and serfs. I don't know if he acted wrongly towards them at that time.

"But when I went back my eyes had been opened. I'd been with Eodwine long enough to know what was fair and what was not. I admire Eodwine - I mean, how Eodwine treated his landholders and his household members and servants. And that was, well, still is, how I think any land lord should behave.

"So I went back with this new knowledge, and when I came to Fenrir and he set me back in what he thought was my place, it was not the restrictions he set on me and how he treated me that I was troubled with, it was how he was treating our people." Then her voice changed, becoming suddenly bitter as she spat out the next words.

"I could say nothing. Whenever he came up with an unjust edict or decree, I had to stand by and watch. When I tried to speak, he told me to keep quiet (for that the is the rightful thing for a woman to do in his hall), and the one time I did not comply with his orders, he locked me in my room for three days. I was furious, but he threatened worse, so I didn't test him." It was clear that she still felt furious, for her eyes sparked angrily as she recalled being forcefully put into her chamber and hearing the key turn in the lock.

Then the fire receded and her voice became sad. “I stopped going to his false court. I did not want to see the injustice anymore. But it could not be hidden. But Maggie, a servant I had made friends with, told me of some trouble. She was worried, because Master Fenrir had sent out a decree that unless the serfs brought forward the men or boys guilty of supposedly stealing recent grain gathered into the master’s gathering houses, he would take the oldest son from every family and either hang or have them beaten as he saw fit.”

Degas stirred angrily, his fingernails biting hard into his palms. "His madness has exceeded even what I dared and feared to guess. He was not this cruel when we were young. Or perhaps he had simply not yet found outlet for his predilections. There is a sickness in his mind. Or was," he corrected himself sadly, "There was a sickness in his mind."

He grimaced, and said, "I am afraid to hear the rest, yet I must. Our people would not have borne such a decree lightly. Yet why did they not seek the aid of our overlord? For the Folde is not an island, separated from the Eastemnet entirely... Or did they go to Himræd, who rules over even Fenrir? Or was there no time?"

“They tried,” Saeryn replied. “Two men were sent as soon as Fenrir’s order had been put out, but when Fenrir heard of it, he became passionately angry. At first, I was the only one who heard him, we were at dinner then, and he began yelling and railing on about how they were all treacherous and all wanted to undermine his authority, and then how he wouldn’t have it, that he’d put a stop to it, by heaven. He got a couple men of his household and put them on his finest horses to go after the messengers, but those men never made it out very far. Some of the villagers stopped them and sent them back, tied hand and foot and riding backwards in the saddle.

“I think that’s what pushed Fenrir over the edge. He gathered the rest of what men would follow him, armed them, and sent them out to suppress the rising rebellion he believed was happening. He didn’t realize that he was starting it. Like children, if one boy strikes first, the other will strike back, and our people did. Fenrir didn’t have many who were loyal to him and they were easily killed or at least persuaded to change sides. Then they turned against us, surrounding the house, calling for Fenrir’s blood, swearing they’d burn down the house and kill us like mice trapped inside.

“Fenrir answered them mockingly, and they brought battering rams to take down the door. It didn’t take very long for them to get in, and then...” How could she explain the deepening darkness of the evening? The swirling smoke and flame of the torches they carried? The torn feelings she had endured as she stood beside her brother, prepared to defend herself and the household, even Fenrir, when she knew all along that the people were wronged and deserved justice?

“They rushed in upon us, brandishing pitchforks and shovels, and a couple had knives or short swords. They took Fenrir alive, stripping him of his weapons, and then binding him securely. He shouted horrible oaths at them, threatening them with death and torture when he got free. Degas, he was mad - insane. He must have been to say such things. The people knew it, too, and began murmuring amongst themselves what to do with him. One, a big, dark haired fellow, said he was a murderer, and that he wanted to murder more of them, and that he should be killed himself. He looked as though he were going to do it, too, and he approached Frenrir with his knife. I stepped in his way and told him not to touch Fenrir, that he had no right. He became angry and struck at me with his weapon. I tried to dodge, and almost did, but not quite, and that’s how I got hurt.

“The man standing about were angry with their companion for hurting me. They pushed him back into the crowd and two of them helped me out. As we were leaving, I heard the people back in the hall becoming loud again, a lot of angry shouting. I don’t know how they came to their final decision, or what it was.

“The two men saddled my horse for me, telling me that this wasn’t my fight, I had no business there, and they didn’t want me hurt, and so I should leave. They put me on the horse and escorted me to the edge of our land. When I looked back, I saw the red glow of a fire beginning to rise. In seconds it had leaped up like one of the huge bonfires we used to have at mid-winter day - except much larger - so I knew they must have set the hall on fire. I don’t know if they killed Fenrir first or let him be burned alive.” Here she fell silent, weighed down heavily with the thoughts of her narrative.

Degas turned to look at his sister. The grass blew around them. The day was bright, and the morning had grown late, and the breeze was insistent, but not strong; it moved the grass, and Degas's hair was pulled somewhat from his horsetail, but it would not interrupt today's games, except perhaps to tug at arrows as they flew.

He was silent for a long moment. "The messenger who found me in Gondor said to me that the hall was burnt. So he must have left when you did, or later. He said to me that you were missing. I take this to mean that he did not know where you were, or that you had already gone. He said to me that our brother was slain. I do not know that he witnessed this, or that he was told it. Saeryn," he began, "you did not witness the death of Fenrir. How is it that you know he is not alive? Do you know for certain that I have inherited the lands and responsibilities of our forefathers? Do you know for certain that he did not escape?"

Saeryn looked him straight in the face. "Those men were there to kill. If they had let him survive, he would have been taken somewhere for judgement, and then I would have been found as a witness. No one has come. So he must be dead."

Degas inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly, watching a flock of small birds lift from the fields and take to the air, twittering happily. The ground was full of seeds at this time of year. The grass rustled near his foot and he glanced down. A small grass snake slithered past his foot, and he swore, flinching and stepping backward quickly.

"It is only a snake, Degas." said Saeryn with a bit of her old long-suffering humor.

"Yes," he said, calming himself. "Just-- Yes."

He looked around, pondering. "It seems to me that if our people were so angry and so driven as to burn the hall, they would rid themselves first of the master of it. Unless, of course, they intended mere symbolism. A point well made, to be sure: any wise man can see that a lord has no power without vassals, and it takes only one man willing to sacrifice that which is convenient to him to crumble a stronghold to the ground.

"Still," he continued, digging his booted toe into a patch of bare dirt. "I must of course return to rebuild that which is lost."

"That is your duty," Saeryn said quietly, though her tone sounded a little doubtful. Degas looked at her and Saeryn smiled awkwardly, looking down at her hands. "That's not much of an answer, is it?" She sighed and looked back up at him. "Degas," she began, and stopped. Now that she had told him so much that she had held in close silence, she felt as though she could confide completely in him, like she had used to. But this seemed like such a raw topic now. They had never discussed it openly. She had to. "Degas, if you go back, will you ask me to go?"

He looked at her in surprise, and reached out to touch her. He hesitated, but then meeting her eyes, he smoothed a stray lock of her dark red hair away from her eyes. "Saeryn..."

He fell silent. "I must speak with Linduial. I would have her live there with me after we wed, but before I bring her to our people, I must first earn their allegiance. I do not deserve it, at least not yet. I am honor-bound to them, and I hope that in time they will love me as their lord. Once they approve of me, once they see that I care for them and that I will treat them fairly, and do unto them as I would have done to me, I hope to bring her to them so they can fall in love with her as I have.

"I cannot arrive on the eve after such events with a pretty lady on my arm and tales of sailing ships and tattooed adventurers. I cannot ride into town with a beautiful woman and a song, my lute on my back, and hope for them to have faith in me.

"I must speak with her, and explain to her what has befallen. I must go quickly, before brigands and ruffians take advantage of the chaos this rebellion has left in its wake. People like to be ruled, if they are ruled fairly, as it saves them much thought, and much energy. Even a cruel ruler has loyal subjects. I barely dare think what Fenrir did about which we shall never even know.

"Saeryn... I want you to return with me. To give me advice, and to lighten my mood, and to help me win the hearts of the people. You know that they love you; they have always loved you. Far more than me, the shy little poet who could scarcely stutter a refrain amidst a crowd much less orate to the masses."

She began to speak, yet he silenced her with a soft look.

"Saeryn, I want you to return with me. But I will not ask it of you, and I will never command you.

"What I will ask of you is this: that either your return to the protection of the queen or that you stay here, with Eodwine, either as his wife or his ward, but under his care and watchful eye. I believe that you are safe here, and Eodwine is a man I hold in great regard. Whether you desire him as your husband or no, I trust him to care for you as he would his own wife, or his own daughter. I trust him to care for you as I would, without hindering you or harming you.

"So no. I will not ask you to return with me, unless you desire it. And I will not ask you to marry any man against your will. And I will not ask you to live as a handmaiden to the queen, forever comfortable, yet bored with the duties of a lady with few obligations and fewer pursuits.

"I ask only that you choose a place that is safe for you, where you will be happy, and where you will be free from harm, for much harm has befallen you while I was not here. The blade which injured you, dear sister, should have wounded me instead. Is it possible that you could ever forgive me for what you have suffered? It never should have been..."

They were standing very close to each other now, and looking directly at one another. Saeryn's head tilted slightly to the side as she heard his last words. As he spoke, relieving her of her worry that he would ask her to go back with him, the shadows from the past seemed to slip away. She had been wounded, but she was made well again. She had felt hard feelings against Degas, but here he was, asking for her forgiveness, and she knew that she had no other wish than to grant it. Her heart lightened, and a smile came to her face, as well as a mischievous light into her eye.

"Will I forgive you?" she asked. They had been serious long enough. "Only if you can catch me." She turned and darted away, laughing. Degas stood in shocked surprise a moment and then he ran after her.

He easily caught her, swooping his arm around her waist. Saeryn fell laughing into his embrace. She threw her head back, her eyes sparkling.

"Degas!" she said, catching her breath. "You have said two things which have made me more happy that you can possibly know. I will come visit you in your holding as soon as you have it established, but I do not wish to go with you. I want to stay here, and be Eodwine's wife, if he will still have me, and I am so happy that you have given your approval."

Degas laughed as well, and kept his arm around his sister, and they began to walk back to the tents, and to the sounds of laughter and shouting than swept across the land toward them. "Of course it would only be proper for him to ask me for your hand, as Father can no longer give it to him, but now, darling, you know my heart: your hand is not mine to give, only yours. If he will still have you, you know my answer, and are free to give it to him. I merely ask that I be invited to the wedding."

He crinkled his nose in mirth and she giggled, and with that they were back within the hearing of others, and Degas called loudly, "Where is Eodwine? I should like very much to embarrass myself later today by trying my very best and still losing to him in the races."

[Nogrod]

After lord Eodwine had broken the news Stigend had took to himself and wandered around the encampment finally finding a seat from a stump and setting down just to sit and think.

It was an honour indeed to have been chosen as one responsible for the works while lord Eodwine was gone. But it was also a burden he was a bit afraid to take. It was not that he didn't think he wouldn't be competent. He was assured enough of his skils and ability to supervise the kind of tasks there were to be completed in the next few days. But the fact that he would need to command also those who were not builders themselves, to take authority over the soldiers for example, was something he didn't feel comfortable over. He could always consult Thornden to be sure but it stil bothered him.

Cheers and shouts from the site brought him back to the here and now. The games... He rose up and walked hurriedly to the camp just when Eodwine was about to give a speech.

[Groin Redbeard]

They rode back to the hall at a leisurely pace. Cnebba and Garmund rode behind Javan, who rode behind Erbrand, and chatted excitedly about the games. Javan, however, stayed silent as Erbrand led them back. It was not uncomfortable anymore, Erbrand actually liked the fact that Javan wasn’t talkative, it gave him time for his own thoughts.

The day had turned out marvelously, thin wisps of could covered the bright blue sky and were slowly moved westward by a breeze. The long brown grass, mingled with the wildflowers, waved in the breeze as grasshoppers leapt from blade to blade at the approach of the horses. A rabbit bounded from it’s barrow in their path, Erbrand glanced behind him to see if the boys would try out their new skills in the bow, but the two were still talking and Javan payed no attention to a mere rabbit, he probably wouldn’t have shot if he had seen it.

“Tell me, Javan,” said Erbrand, “What games might you play in today?” Erbrand didn’t turn his head, but he knew that the question prompted Javan to ride beside him.

“I’m not sure yet,” began Javan, “I’m sure that there will be horse racing and archery, I’d like to do both. Perhaps tonight there will be riddles.” Erbrand looked at him in surprise.

“Riddles? You surprise me with your choice.”

“What about you, what games will you be in?”

“As many as I possibly can,” Erbrand turned and smiled at Javan, “I’ll leave the riddles up to you. Wit has never been my strongpoint.” Javan smiled at the compliment.

“Hey you two,” Erbrand turned around and faced Cnebba and Garmund, “What games I witness you being in today?”

The boys urged their horses up to Erbrand and began all at once to express their wishes for the games. The conversation continued enjoyably until they reached the camp. All of the people were gathered around the breakfast tent listening to someone speak. He could hear mumbled words, but couldn’t decipher them. The boys stopped at the stabled and tied their horses to the stakes before they dashed eagerly off to the tent. Erbrand approached the tent, still mounted on Traveller and dismounted when he was close enough to make out the words of the speaker, Eodwine.

[littlemanpoet]

“Everyone, attention please, may I have your attention!” cried Lithor with raised hands. “The morning is spent and the festivities are about to begin, but first our lord has a few words to say.”

I do? Eodwine looked at him, startled, but for only a moment.

"Lithor, maybe you should check your eyes, for the sun is yet two hours away form being above our heads." He grinned. "I am thinking that you are eager to begin the games! Or maybe you want an early lunch! Have you learned a hobbit trick or two from old Falco Boffin?"

"Now that would be telling," Lithor laughed, as did some of the crowd.

Eodwine grinned and looked at each of the people gathered there in turn. They looked at him expectantly, many with happy expressions, as well as the unsmiling faces of Crabannan and Nydfara who did not know him well, and the ever serious face of Naín (or what one could see of it with all that beard). These people were devoted to Scarburg, and most of them to him as their lord. He thought of this frequently, and in private shook his head in wonder that a mere farmer's son should be created Eorl of a realm and given charge over the wellbeing of every man and woman who lived therein. These well rehearsed thoughts passed through his mind in a moment.

"My friends, this day - this hot day-" he grinned, getting sympathetic laughter and groans, "-is a day of celebration. When we arrived here a month ago, expecting an old but well built hall and stables, we found a burned ruin and more than enough work to be done. It seemed a task maybe to great for such a small company to complete before the cold of winter. But our numbers grew thanks to Dan, and Naín, and Erbrand, and Crabannan, and Nydfara, and our will grew with each new willing worker."

Eodwine noticed that Erbrand had arrived just in time to hear his own name, and he nodded toward him.

"In one month we have made a baker-!" he paused, gesturing overhead, "new tents," he paused and gestured between each thing on his list, "a new pen for our beasts ... a new smithy ... a repaired meat shed ... and most important of all we have cleared away the old ruin and brought near the stone and wood we will need to build a new hall. You have done well!" The people cheered. "Yes, there is much yet to be done, but it can wait until the morrow. Today I give you a command that you will play games, feast heartily, take pleasure in the company of these friends around you, and come to the bonfire tonight to enjoy a game of riddles the like of which has perhaps not been heard in these parts in many years." He raised his arms. "Enjoy this day!" The folk cheered.

"And now I turn the games over to trusty Lithor."

Just as he stepped down, he saw Degas and Saeryn coming back from beyond the Scar, apparently having said all that needed to be said. Degas looked happy, but not in the same way as in old times. There was a peace and resolution in his face that boardered on grimness, but not quite - Eodwine doubted that the young man could ever quite get the twinkle out of his eye. But Saeryn was beaming, and positively glowed. Eodwine's breath caught. This was the Saeryn he remembered from a few months ago before things became so strange and difficult. He started to breathe again, and began to walk toward them, eager to learn whatever they might have to tell him.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Friend Eodwine," Degas called with a grin, "there is much to discuss, not least of which is our forthcoming horse race!"

Saeryn laughed brightly and excused herself from the men, seeing Nain and wishing to greet him properly.

"What is this sudden change?" Eodwine asked in wonder, for Saeryn's dark red hair glinted with gold in the sun, and her smile was infectious.

Degas looked after his sister with a fond smile before slinging an arm around Eodwine's shoulders. "We spoke of many serious things, and some not so serious, and she is happier now than she has been in many months. You shall see a clear change in her, I am certain, like a long winter which has at last melted away to birdsong and blossoms, and early shoots of tender green. Perhaps she will speak plainly to you soon of what transpired between us. Her closed heart seems open once more, and for that... For that I am eternally grateful. To return to Rohan and find my sister alive, and to find her hurt, but able to be healed. To leave her presence knowing that she is full of joy once more...

"My thoughts I wish to share with you in full, for I greatly desire your counsel before I leave and I wish to depart as soon as may be, to return to my folk and take my place as their lord and protector. Tomorrow, perhaps, or the next day, I shall ride, if I may be so bold as to take advantage of your hospitality until I have laid my plans. We need not speak today, but when you have a moment to spare? Your people are good people, and they work hard, and they deserve their day of revelry, and I cannot help but believe that you deserve it at least as much."