Scarburg Meadhall

[Thinlómien]

Modtryth finished her story the same time she finished chopping the rolls. She looked around in the kitchen and saw that one of the water barrells was almost empty. "I'll fetch some water from the well," she said. Frodides nodded and continued working on the foods.

When Modtryth stepped out of the kitchen tent, she could see Lèoðern playing with her bug outside.
"Hello there, Lèoðern. Are you sure you wouldn't like to go and see the quarterstaff fights?"

The girl gave her a quick glance, then shook her head quickly. Modtryth suspected the girl was a little afraid of all the noise and the aggression.

"You don't have to, of course. How is Master Bug?"

Lèoðern looked at her, slight criticism in her eyes. "It's a she. It is Princess Bug."

Modtryth could not help smiling. "Beg your pardon. I hope Her Highness will then excuse me for I am to fetch water now."
Lèoðern exchanged glkances with the bug. "You may go. She excuses you."

As Modtryth approached the well, she could hear shouting from the fighting grounds. She did not have to listen for long before she found out it was Lithor and Belvir and Dan and Crabannan that were fighting. She shrugged. Truth be told, she liked little any of the men - Balvir, she guessed, was a good man though, but rather too serious - and secretly hoped they would bruise some more sense into each other.

The water in the well was sufficiently cold, Modtryth discovered, when she splashed it on herself - such silly carelessness. It amused her mostly, though, and she hurried back to the kitchen. When she reached the kitchen tent, she saw an odd hooded man leaving with a plate full of food.

"Who was that?" she asked as she stepped in. She looked out again. "And where's Lèoðern? Surely not watching the fights?"
"The girl must have run off somewhere, she was there just a while ago. You know, children are like that..."
"Yes, and she would not run away anywhere too far, but I'd still be happier if I knew where she was. But who was that stranger?"
"The stranger?"
"The man you just gave food to."
"Oh I thought it was... wait, I don't know who it was." Frodides furrowed her brow.
Modtryth inclined her head. She wondered why was Frodides being so uncharacteristically inattentive. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

[Groin Redbeard]

The eorl shouldn't have called it! This was my fight! The match had been going the way he wanted it, eventually one of them would slip and make a mistake, like he just did, and though Thornden's superior skill showed in the way he fought it would have been better for him to rain a dozen blows down on him than to have the match end to pitifully.

Thornden seemed pleased that he had at least won the fight and offered his congratulations on a good fight; Thornden's hand was offered to him who still lay on the ground. Erbrand instinctively reached to accept the help, but hesitated when he saw Thornden looking down at him. It reminded him of what would be thought of him now that the fight was lost, perfection might be sought for in craftsmanship but fighting was something different, yet Erbrand still couldn't come to the fact that he had lost. Ignoring the help, Erbrand lifted himself to his feet.

"You bested me today Thornden," Erbrand whispered, "but that doesn't mean that this is over."

He searched the scar with his eyes trying to find Kara but there was no trace of her. The thought of joining Kara was driven from his mind by a sense of loss, he needed to be alone for the moment, away from Thornden, away from women, just somewhere that he could be by himself and brood over his wounded pride. He had recognized the look in Thornden's eyes when he made contact with Kara's that first time: it was want of something that was not his, and Erbrand hadn't stopped him. He walked aimlessly across the scar and back into camp. There would be a next fight someday, it might be awhile but it would come. Next time he would not lose.