Scarburg Meadhall

[Mnemosyne]

A simple word to one of the locals gave Wynflaed the location of the eorl's bedroom. No doubt Lilige was within, diligently unloading her belongings. Wynflaed let a small smile grace her lips. She was rather fond of her maid, though of course she would not admit such a thing to her face.

The meeting had gone about as well as could be expected. She had hardly thought that she and Athanar would arrive with no challenges to their authority, and it would take time to wear the walls of distrust and hurt down.

At least those two sons of hers had done as they were told and kept their mouths shut! It was hard enough when her husband had momentary lapses of tact--though, of course, she appreciated his ability to utter truths deemed too impolite to come from a lady of the Eorlingas.

At least the Lady Saeryn was not pressing her counterclaim... for now. She was already feeling from the servants' dark looks of curiosity that she pretended not to notice that her household would not be wholly welcome, not for a good while at least. She did not doubt that if--say, that Degas pushed her to some rashness--the will of the people would remain with the old order of things. And that would go ill for all.

She had hoped to speak with her husband before the banquet, to remind him once again to temper his new pronouncements with soft words. He had already done well to release the new provisions from Edoras to the people, as soon as they had arrived. But no matter. He already knew her mind on this, and she knew from long years of experience how effective a lord he made.

She stepped inside the room that was to be theirs for--how long? She had heard much of the healing arts of Gondor; it could be that the Lord Eodwine could still recover...

She pushed the thought from her head. The room was sparse, and from first sight the bed looked much plainer than the one that had graced their house at Edoras. But already most of her things--of those that had arrived, at least--had been put away.

"Thank you, Lilige," she said, without turning to look at her. She bent over to pick up a small, polished, wooden box. It had been carved from a tree whose trunk now upheld the roof of Meduseld. Carefully she set it just so on the corner of the bed and opened it. She would have to decide which of her gems would make the best impression on these new and uncouth people.

"I shall want my hair in a braided crown for the banquet tonight, Lilige," she said. Then she turned to look at her maid; she was emptying whichever trunk must have been brought in most recently. "What think you of the people here, thus far?"

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc once again briefly overlooked the situation, to see if everything goes right, and sent a few soldiers who seemed to have nothing to do to help with unloading and carrying some of the goods inside. For a short moment, looking after two men rolling a keg towards the kitchen, he looked at the stream of smoke coming from there. Meal was being prepared, no doubt. Hilderinc suddenly felt hungry. On the way, he was limited to cold and dry soldier rations, a proper warm meal perhaps with a sip of good ale... agh, horrible! He should not start thinking about that, his mouth watered. He forced his gaze away from the kitchen. There was still work to be done. But there will be time, later, in the evening.

"I hope we are going to have some grub soon," said a voice behind his shoulder. Hilderinc turned to see Áforglæd looking also in the direction he was looking just a moment ago. So he was not the only one to think about food, of course. Hilderinc looked around. All the soldiers, most likely, were starting to think about meal now, and certainly looking forward to the evening. First evening in the new place. A great event. Barrels of ale. Hilderinc already pitied those who would be picked by the lot to stand guard that night.

He turned back to Áforglæd. "Did you take care of lord Athanar's horses?"

"Aye sir, they are properly stabled now."

Hilderinc nodded. "Good." He noticed Coenred heading towards them through the courtyard.

"The Captain's coming," he said calmly. "Wouldn't you prefer to stay out of his sight for the time being?"

The soldier cast a quick look in Coenred's direction. His grimace told Hilderinc exactly what his thought was. If the commander sees him from close-by, he is going to ask where did he come to the fresh bruises.

"Bloody good idea," he said and turning, swiftly hurried away.

Hilderinc met Coenred.

"Sir," he saluted. "Everything is proceeding well, the horses have been stabled and men are unloading the rest of the supplies. We should be done in no time. There have been no problems."

He briefly wondered if Coenred was bringing any news from the inside, if he and lord Athanar and the local people have decided something that they were going to announce, and if things were going well. But it was not by any chance his place to know, unless Coenred himself had told him. For now, maybe there were other orders, or maybe the soldiers could at last go and see the place where they were going to live.

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan held his tongue as Hilderinc headed off to check the unloading of the wains, but he had a healthy variety of belligerent remarks which he would have loved to call after the man. He turned to Lithor.

"You realize we're going to be asked to help if we hang around here?"

Lithor grinned. "The thought had occurred to me, yes."

"Of course," Crabannan continued, "You and Wilcred here are somewhat obligated, being vassals of Rohan, but I, on the other hand - I'm not even supposed to be here. I could leave right now."

"Face the facts, Crabannan. You're happy here. You'll never leave," said Wilcred, who had finally begun to cool down, though he was still following Hilderinc with his eyes.

Crabannan fell silent. You might be right, Wilcred. You might be right. The same notion had been growing on his mind recently. Why had he never left? Crabannan knew himself to be a wanderer by nature, shiftless, always trying to stay a step ahead of his past. If he stayed anywhere too long, all the dark things he had done would catch up with him he felt. And yet he stayed on in Rohan - despite the fact that everywhere he looked, he saw familiar faces from the War, faces he deserted. Did they remember him? He hoped not. And desertion wasn't the worst of his crimes...

"Well, here I am," Crabannan said. "I have nothing against helping my friends - but if this new eorl, whats-his-title, tries to give me any responsibilities, Horse and I will be on our swift way. Let's see what can be done."

[Loslote]

Lilige closed the lid to the now empty trunk and moved to stand behind Lady Wynflaed. She gently began pulling her hair back into the braided crown her Lady had specified.

"The soldiers are already brawling," she said. "I don't know why, or what happened, but it was quite startling. I do hope it does not continue. The servants who unloaded the wagon could have been more gentle, but what can you expect? The children here seem helpful and polite, as far as I could tell. I've not had a chance to meet many other people," she admitted, "but so far they seem to be good sorts, if a bit rustic. They are all anxious to meet you and Lord Athanar, and eagerly await the banquet."

Lilige wished she had something more helpful to tell Lady Wynflaed, but she truly couldn't think of anything more to say. Her experiences among the people so far had not been overly enlightening. She hoped to learn more during the banquet.

"Which gown will you wear tonight, my Lady?" she asked, nudging a stray hair into place. "This banquet is sure to be a grander affair than any these people have seen in a long while. You look splendid," she added, stepping away.

[Thinlómien]

“Go bring me my trunk, because who knows where it has landed, and then run to the kitchen and bring me something to eat. I am hungry.”

Cnebba had absolutely no idea what to do. His eyes scanned the surroundings for Garmund, but his friend had disappeared. He saw his mother carrying a heavy package and following two soldiers rolling a wine keg to the kitchens with it. She caught his eye, but he looked away quickly - the last thing he wanted was that his mum would come and interfere.

"Are you deaf? I said bring me my trunk and then bring me something to eat."

The girl's tone was full of authority and she was both older and bigger than he was. And his mother had told him to be nice to the newcomers.

"What does your trunk look like?" Cnebba asked, his ears red. He didn't like to be ordered around, especially not by girls.

"It's light brown and there's a blue flower embroidered to it."

Cnebba would have wanted to ask where was he supposed to find the trunk, but the girl's eyes were so commanding that he fled without any further questions.

He walked around the yard looking for a light brown trunk with a blue flower embroidery, but he didn't see anything like that, not even in the hall. The trunk could've been anywhere, in the worst case in some private women's chambers where he would never ever go - he'd rather die. So, he decided to sneak away to the kitchens to find the food instead.

"Cnebba! What are you doing here? Weren't you supposed to be helping with the unloading?"

Cnebba jumped when his mother addressed him. She seemed busy with putting fresh meat to dry, though.

"The new eorl's daughter asked me to bring her something to eat."

Cnebba saw Kara, the younger and prettier cook, give his mother a quick grin and say something about young gentlemen. Cnebba's ears grew even redder. He wondered if there could be any worse humiliation than this. Fortunately Kara relieved him quickly by giving him a piece of fresh bread with meat and a mug full of blackcurrant juice. He muttered a half-hearted thanks and hurried away.

He could see already from afar that the new girl wasn't happy at all. Still, he steeled himself and called as he approached:

"I couldn't find your trunk but I brought you something to eat."

[Folwren]

Thornden went out and found the courtyard full of people and activity. Wagons were still being unloaded, but he was not surprised to see that many people did not know where to take their belongings. He walked forward, intending to begin directing the men, but then he paused, and his eyes swept about for Coenred. It would be best to speak to the man accustomed to directing them, he decided.

He found Coenred speaking with a soldier who had been directing the work during Coenred’s absence in the council.

“Coenred,” Thornden said, stopping just to his right. “I can show the men where they’ll be staying so that they can finish the unloading.”


Saeryn

Saeryn left the hall by the side door, hoping to avoid all the people out front. She sighed a breath of relief when she saw no one. For so long she had been bogged down with the responsibility of overseeing. Questions were always being asked her. Now everyone was busy, others were in charge, and she had a moment to be alone. A moment to go and ask someone else what she was to do. She only to find Degas.

Where would he have gone after being so insulted and rebuked in his own sister’s hall? Saeryn’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and shame to think what he had endured, all while he was merely trying to defend and support her. He was so good. And the dear brother had not even lost his calm and flown into the arrogant Athanar’s face. He had grown.

But the question – Where would he be? Her eyes scanned the fields around the hall. She saw the figures of two horsemen galloping in the distance. Neither rode with Degas’ style, but instinctively, she knew that was the answer. Degas had gone riding. How better to escape the people and free himself from the frustration and sting of Athanar’s words?

She turned back into the hall, hurried through to the front door, and went out. She threaded her way through the people (so many people!) and entered the stables. There was less activity there – most of the horses had already been put away. She turned right to find Léof, but a flash of white from withing the first stall caught her eye. She stopped and looked.

“Who’s horse is that?” she demanded out loud.

A man grooming a horse farther down the aisle looked up. He turned to face her and stepped forward. “My lord Athanar’s horse, my lady,” he said. Saeryn looked sharply at him. His polite answer saved him from a sharp reply. She merely nodded curtly and he turned back to his horse.

Saeryn looked about for Léof. A glance showed her he was not in the stables, but before she could begin searching for him, he entered from the end of the stables, carrying two large buckets full of water.

“Where’s Flíthaf?” she asked him.

“Out in one of the paddocks,” he said, setting the water down. He looked tired and harried. The sudden traffic in his stables and extra work seemed to be overwhelming him. Little wonder. And now Saeryn was demanding about his lord’s horse. He looked at her, hoping he had not done wrong. “I turned him out this morning so he could exercise.”

“Of course,” Saeryn said. “Well, someone has presumed to put lord Athanar’s horse in his stall.” She jerked her chin in the general direction.

“It is the best stall,” Léof conceded quietly. Saeryn glared.

“You can put it in another, and Flíthaf will go back there.” Léof nodded slowly. “Thornden is in the courtyard,” Saeryn continued. “Go out and tell him or Coendred, the new chap in charge, that you need help. You can’t be expected to feed and water all these horses on your own. Tell them I said so.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he said.

She strode past him, and then remembered her original purpose. She turned again. “Léof. Have you seen Degas?”

“Yes. He came and took his horse out a while ago. He went that way.” He pointed. “He didn’t say when he’d come back.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you want your horse?”

Saeryn shook her head. “If I change my mind, I’ll get him. Thanks.” She gave Léof a smile, before turning and walking again out of the stables.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar opened the doors and let the autumn wind blow to his cheeks for a while before taking a step forwards and letting the doors shut behind him. It was a brisk and windy afternoon and he loved it. He was so happy the hot days of summer were over...

There was a hustle and bustle all around him. People carrying things this way and that way, people discussing with each other using their hands to bring home the message, people walking around looking for something to do... That was something he really liked; looking at people being busy and getting things done. Like when he still was a captain of the Rohirrim back in the years so long past; seeing people do what they were told to and as a unit being more than the sum of the individuals in it. He somehow loved that sight - and was proud of the people making the miracle true.

He smiled to himself and headed towards the scar behind the Mead Hall.

But as he walked away from the front-yard his spirits did sank a bit... and then a bit more.

Thornden had spoken of some great grievances he had been able to foresee himself as well... but not the wealth and scope of them. He would have to be really careful with his words when addressing the people at the banquet for the first time but he would have to stay firm and steady as well... It was a question of principle, a question of authority, and a question of his allegiance to king Eomer.

And if he was to establish his sovereignity over the landlords he would have to have the people of the Mead Hall behind him... well, especially the soldiers. Coenred would take care of that tomorrow... hopefully with the help of that Thornden fellow. He's a good lad indeed. He may be a bit twisted by the surroundings but he's a man king Eomer would love... and if I can win his trust, he'll be the most valuable officer around...

Lord Athanar finally reached the scar and turned to look back towards the Mead Hall - or what was under construction to be a real Mead Hall on a later date.

It was both smaller and more modest he had thought of it when king Eomer had called him to take it over. But somehow, right now, it didn't bother him. Standing on the top of the cliffs and the autumn wind blowing his yellow-grey hair he just felt good. So free, so much on his own!

And put that against all the trouble and toil he would have in front of him when he would go back... So why not stay a little here, with the wind and the blessed solitude?

Looking at the basic structures in front of his eyes his mind went on planning how the Mead Hall would need to look like to please his eye... to please his hunger for effectiveness. How small parts could be more than just a loose union of them, how a great house would be more than what went into it... how the practicality would turn into beauty... to be beauty itself.

He fell deep into his thoughts and dreams.