Scarburg Meadhall

[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.