[Feanor of the Peredhil]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without Eodwine at Scarburg...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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