Scarburg Meadhall

[Nienna]

“Lord Eodwine is the eorl, and almost everybody is descendent of Aldor the Old,” Javan replied. “Now you mind your own business and quit yelling at Cnebba.”

Ædre was in shock that this boy, who seemed no older than herself, would even dare to speak to her that way. Now she was furious.

“You vile rascal you! I’ll yell at who ever I want! My father is the Eorl around here now; appointed by King Eomer himself. Look around. Whose belongings are being unloaded from the wagons? Is it Eodwine’s? No! It is my father’s belongings, my belongings. Eodwine is not here. We are, and we are here to stay so you better get used to it.”

Javan looked like he was about to reply but Ædre cut him off.

“You have no right to come over here and yell at me and disrespect my family. At least I know who my ancestors are; you probably don’t even know your own father,” she said scathingly.

[Mnemosyne]

Brawling? Already? This was no good news indeed. Soldiers especially should know to obey orders and changes in command seamlessly. She hoped that few of her husband's men were involved, and filed the thought away for future thought.

"You flatter me, Lilige," she said. "I am all too aware of age's encroachment. But thank you, nonetheless. I fear it shall be my duty to outshine all others at the banquet tonight." She thought a moment. "Green, I think, to stress the common bond shared by those of the Riddermark. Perhaps the dark one, with the slits in the sleeves? I think that will be fine enough."

Again she opened the wooden box and drew forth a single pendant with a dark green stone. She had only been to the Glittering Caves once, when business had called them to Helm's Deep, but she had been entranced with the strange beauty of the caves and the stranger folk who delved them. Athanar had bought it for her right there, "on a whim," as he had said. She smiled at the memory. "Yes, I think that will do quite well."

[Durelin]

Coenred made his escape and looked for Hilderinc in the courtyard, soon finding him speaking to one of his men. The soldier walked away quickly, and Coen raised an eyebrow to himself. He said nothing when he approached Hilderinc. The man showed great promise, naturally taking leadership among the soldiers and demonstrating great responsibility. Coen hoped that he did not seem as if he did not trust the man, but he was not about to give any of his men too much freedom without supervision - especially not yet.

"Sir, 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."

Coen nodded to the soldier. "Thank you, Hilderinc. When the supplies are unloaded -- " Coen cut off as he saw the man from the council, Thornden, approaching him purposefully.

“I can show the men where they’ll be staying so that they can finish the unloading.”

"Thank you, sir," Coen responded, turning back to Hilderinc with a crooked grin. "Well, have the men report to me."

When all the soldiers had saluted and formed up in front of Coenred - including Hilderinc, whom he thanked - he scanned them briefly. "Where is Áforglæd?" he asked, observing their faces again.

[Folwren]

Javan's quick temper rose swiftly as Aedre made her scathing, false remarks about Eodwine's loss of eorldom. It hurt to hear her speaking about him as though he were dead and her father had taken his place. A reply rose instantly to his lips, but this girl spoke before he could even utter a word.

"You have no right to come over here and yell at me and disrespect my family" ("I wasn't yelling at you!" Javan interjected, ignored.) "At least I know who my ancestors are; you probably don't even know your own father."

He looked at her and blinked, and then the meaning of what she had said struck him.

"Why you filthy little wretch!" he cried, his face turning pale with anger, and then red with fury. His hands clenched hard by his side. "You take that back!"

"You apologize for calling me a filthy wretch!" she screamed at him. She stepped closer to make her demand more demanding.

"You insulted my father!" Javan yelled back, using his right hand to push her away. She stumbled back, and then came forward again, swinging her fists. Javan jerked to avoid getting hit, but her left hand caught him beneath the jaw, and without thinking, he swung in return.

--

The commotion at the edge of the courtyard caught Thornden's eye. Shrill, angry voices rose above the general hubbub of work. Children's voices, no less. He turned and looked sharply in their direction. The boys had not had a quarrel since Eodwine's marriage day. What would make them fight now?

He caught sight of them the instant that Javan struck out. To his horror, the one his foolish little brother hit this time wasn't Cnebba or Garmund. It was a girl, and he sent her toppling straight to the ground.

The child looked no older than Javan, and she was a pretty thing, all told, though now she was covered with dirt, her hair was tousled, and her nose was bleeding.

Thornden heaved a silent sigh of frustration. Coenred had called the men to attention and they were all standing there, and he was not free to move. He suddenly realized how unused to strict discipline he had become when it occurred to him that under Eodwine's rule, he could have left immediately and dealt with it. He looked at Coenred and waited.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

As Coenred called him to assemble all men, Hilderinc briefly wondered what is the commander going to say to Áforglæd's visage. It was possible, though, that he might not notice – but that option became highly improbable after Áforglæd was not found.

"Where is Áforglæd?" Coenred asked.

Hilderinc was wondering about it himself. It was improbable that the soldier went to hiding, it would make no sense to hide away completely, mainly, there was really nowhere to hide in an unfamiliar place. Hilderinc initially expected Áforglæd to be by the well or in the stables, but since all the men from the stables came, it seemed illogical that Áforglæd would have remained there, especially as the order to assemble was clear.

Hilderinc opened his mouth to reply to the captain when he caught Scyrr's eye. The guard's expression was the one Hilderinc knew, Scyrr looked like this always when somebody did something he disapproved of. Right now, his gaze piercing Hilderinc seemed to suggest something like "if you cause trouble to Áforglæd, you will have me to answer to". Hilderinc shrugged. He would not cause any more trouble than what Áforglæd already did to himself. And if Scyrr was worried that Hilderinc would report Áforglæd's brawl now, he was foolish. Why would he? The commander was not asking about it, and Hilderinc had no reason to mention it, as it would not help finding the place where missing soldier was now in any way.

"I don't know, sir," Hilderinc said to Coenred. Nobody else seemed to know either. "He hasn't been in the courtyard nor in the stables. Should I look for him?"

At the same moment, he noticed that one of the soldiers, the local who has joined them a few minutes ago, turned his head, looking at something back in the courtyard. Hilderinc did not turn, but heard raised voices. Áforglæd, again? No, these were children fighting. The commander must have spotted them as well.

[Folwren]

“No, Degas,” Saeryn tried to say, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. “No, Degas,” she said, her voice stronger. “We must not have an uprising, of all things. That would be treason against the crown, if the nobles rose up for the reason you have said. Too many men would die. It would be better for Eodwine and I to step down.”

“It won’t to come to that,” Degas said. “And you and Eodwine should never have to step down!”

“I know.” She swiped at her tears and drew a shaking breath. “I know. But what am I to do, Degas? He has more men-at-arms than I do, not to mention that he has brought some of the guards from Edoras. I couldn’t fight him, even if I wanted to. And I can’t argue with him! He’s so. . .he’s so. . .commanding.”

She slipped down from the back of the horse and walked a few feet away. Degas dismounted and followed her, holding Gleowyn’s reins.

“There’s more, immediate concerns, though, and we can’t stay out here much longer. There is to be a banquet tonight and Athanar plans on presenting himself to the people. He said Thornden or I may speak then, too. And he said that if we had any concerns to speak to him about, we can beforehand. But, Degas, I don’t think it would do any good. He says he’s just acting for the king and that Eodwine himself would have it this way. Don’t get angry, Degas, but don’t you think it would be better if we all agreed and worked the same way, together?”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Perhaps 'rise' was the wrong word to use," Degas murmured, pulling his sister into his arms. He hated how weakly she allowed herself to be moved. "I would not dream of an uprising. However we live in a civilized place, ruled by a just king. Surely if the troubles at Scarburg were brought to his attention, he would realize the error of the situation and rectify it."

He smoothed her hair back behind her ear, and kissed her forehead. "Saery, while none would rise in arms, many would raise their voices. You do not stand alone, and I will not hear of you stepping down. This a matter to be handled diplomatically. And while our family is not the greatest of noble families, we are allied with many who would support your rights.

"Saer, the cornerstone of a successful kingship is to respect the rights and properties of nobles and peasants.

"I am not saying that we should rise against anyone in arms. I am saying that we should seek counsel, and that we should not merely let this matter rest.

"Sister, this is not about you alone. Think of your husband, who, if you gave up your lands and nobility, might return, healthy but weak, to a loss of everything he owns and deserves. Think of the child in your belly that was conceived as the heir to title, lands, and alliances. You cannot let this matter drop, for the sake of the stability of Rohan's hierarchy, and for the sake of the babe that grows inside you."

[Loslote]

Lilige smiled. "A good choice," she said, retrieving the gown. "My Lady, you look as stunning now as when I first came to your service."

Now admittedly, she had only entered Lady Wynflaed's service five months ago, but the remark sounded flattering anyway.

"My Lady, you will certainly outshine all the other ladies at the banquet. You always do," she added, not without a certain trace of humor in her voice as she remembered one night in particular at Edoras.

"Have you anything more for me to do?" Lilige asked. The trunks were unloaded, and she did not wish to be idling while there was so much to do.

[Nienna]

Ædre didn’t know what she was doing. She had never been in a fight before. She only knew that this boy infuriated her and that she just wanted to make him stop. She started swinging her fists without remembering that she was fighting a stranger. She usually only had these sorts of outbursts with her brothers and they were much older and bigger than her. They usually laughed at her and picked up which would make her more mad.

Finding herself on the ground in the dirt was a surprise. Her jaw hurt and she realized that this boy must have hit her. She got up, not wanting to seem the weak one, and lunged for Javan a second time.

“You hit me!” Ædre screamed.

Javan quickly tried to back up after he realized that she was coming after him again. He didn’t want to lose control of himself and hit her again.

[Groin Redbeard]

After Coenrad had generally dismissed the soldiers for now, Lithor and the soldiers of Scarburg huddled around each other (Wilcred, Osmund, Matrim, Balvir). “We are not going to let them punish Matrim, are we?” Osmund asked hotly. The instinct of the group was protect their own. Both had been wrong in the fight and it seemed unfair that any one of them should be punished again.

“It’s not that simple,” Lithor responded. “Your actions Matrim were unacceptable for a soldier and Athanar might want to make an example of you and Áforglæd.”

“I won’t shirk from reproach, if it comes, but you heard Áforglæd, his words called for someone to correct them!”

Lithor frowned and then turned to see what had become of the fight between the children. Thankfully some adults were on hand. “As they say, one ill turn deserves another.” Lithor pointed angrily at the scene between Coenrad and the locals. “How are we to reprimand our own children (by our Lithor meant Scarburg. Everyone claimed responsibility for the three boys) when we act little better?”

“Arrogance is fitting for a fool,” Wilcred said. “And much less fitting for those who claim to be our betters.”

“Let it pass. How are we ever to get along with Athanar if both parties act like they are above justice? It is our first day together with these newcomers and I don’t want any more brawls!”

Lithor was piping mad. He seldom got mad, but he could not stand the stupidity that had led to these circumstances. The Scarburgians needed to learn how to accept this new lord graciously. Likewise, the newcomers needed to respect the rights of Scarburgians and stop looking upon them as peasants to man-handle. Nothing was worse for a group of people than to be considered collateral for the success of an ambitious lord. Lithor did not hold any special rank now that Coenrad had arrived, stripping him of his second in command for the soldiers, but he was oldest soldier. More than once Lithor acted like he was in command and asserted his experience.

“Sorry,” he said a bit embarrassed. “I, uh… I didn’t mean to preach.”

“That’s a first.” Balvir noted dryly. At this, Lithor smiled again. Balvir’s grim moods always brought him more amusement than the liveliest court jester.

“What do you say to this, Balvir? After all, Matrim has been your friend for longer than mine.”

Erbrand

The bags had all been unloaded. Nothing was left to do now but sit and wait to be ordered what to do, but sitting around was not what Erbrand wanted. He had a lot on his mind. Maybe a walk would clear his mind. As he walked over the scar his mind turned to the pressing matters on his mind.

Oeric. So that was his name. What where his intentions? But Erbrand had already gone over those questions a dozen times over in his head. Now he had to decide what to do with the knowledge that Scarburg was being watched? His pace became a brisk walk as idea became clear in his mind. Erbrand did not like the thought of these strangers coming in and taking over, so he would postpone telling lord Athanar until after the celebration tonight. That is, if Athanar was someone to be trusted. Thornden could be trusted, but, of course, Thornden was a man driven by duty and might tell Athanar anyways.

Around a month ago, on the eve of lord Eodwine and lady Saeryn’s wedding, Erbrand had asked Stigend on how to impress a woman. In short, Stigend had to save his wife to win her heart. Since, then Erbrand had been bent on impressing Kara (his sweetheart), but to little avail. Erbrand was a clumsy man when he tried to be a charmer. He was a working man, not a courtier. As a leather craftsman, Erbrand could bend and cut the leather into the most beautiful decorations, the hardiest of saddles, and the most useful of protection but he could not shape Kara’s heart in the same way. He could bend his bow with great ease and pluck a bird from its perch at a hundred meters but Kara’s heart was a harder target to hit. Nevertheless, Erbrand still had not given up on trying to impress her. Maybe this Oeric fellow was his chance.

Erbrand started back towards the hall. However, upon reaching the top of the scar he came across a soldier. Erbrand did not recognize him and assumed that he was one of the new soldiers.

“Hey there,” Erbrand called to announce his presence. The man turned to look at him without a word. Erbrand walked up to the man and extended his hand.

“I am Erbrand and although I might not be the first to bid you welcome I offer it anyway. Welcome to Scarburg, sir.” The man looked at the extended hand and siezed it with enthusiasm. It was a very strong grip.

“I heard that some of our soldiers got in a brawl with yours. Sorry about that. However, it is only natural that there should be some slight tensions. It will all go away tonight I am sure.” Erbrand casually sat down on a rock. “It is not that you newcomers are unfriendly, that is, but we do not like strangers much around here. Lord Eodwine was a very caring in his rule over us and he will still have many friends even after this new lord takes over.” The man’s eyes showed some interest at this remark.

“What do you mean by that?” The man’s voice contained some curiosity in it. Erbrand had forgotten that this might be someone very important in the administration.

“Oh, of course I did not mean it like that?”

“Then how did you mean it?” The man was becoming more interested.

“Well, you see we are common folk out here in the Emnet, plain spoken, hard working, and down to earth people. Even lord Eodwine and our lady Saeryn are very humble when it comes to asserting authority over us and that might all change with this new lord, Athelwyne or Athelrod, I forget his name. We do not like to change once we have found a good thing and what Eodwine founded here was good. This new lord is from court and will doubtlessly bring his ‘improvements’ but we need no improvements. We are true laborers: we earn that we eat, get that we wear; owe no man hate, envy no man’s happiness; glad of other men’s good, content with our harm; and the greatest of our pride is to know that we are ruled by a just lord. We could say as much about Eodwine. What about Athanar?”

[Nogrod]

"That remains to be seen my friend... for I am lord Athanar indeed" lord Athanar said with a smile backed with authority. He was in his field of expertise now. Studying the man before him he finally continued.

"Do you think we were not looking at the common good at the Pelennor Fields fighting Sauron, or that we are people estranged from reality when we drove the last orcs off from the lands? I was there when those things happened. But where were you, master...?"

"Erbrand" Erbrand answered in confusion of the knowledge of whom he was discussing with.

"Erbrand... a good name... Anyway. Excuse me, but you seem to have a widely shared but crippled view of the nobility in Rohan I must say. In king Eomer's court there are no slackers or "Wormtongue friends" any more... actually lord Tancred is one of the last vermin whom I'm here to root out."

Lord Athanar looked at Erbrand to the eye and continued firmly.

"Now listen, we have a common goal and I hope you guys can see it. What you told about the tensions is understandable and we need to work on it. And forget it not, that I will be plain-speaking as well and will not tolerate any splitting of loyalties." Lord Athanar raised an eyebrow and looked at Erbrand intensively.

With a nod he made his way from Erbrand back towards the Hall. Turning back to Erbrand a few meters away he added: "And by the way, improvements are a relative issue, Erbrand. Oftentimes people do not like changes. But when the old order has crumbled, things just have to change... it's up to you guys how they will change..."

[Groin Redbeard]

His face grew red with embarrassment. Stop running your mouth off! You talk like an old goat bearded cripple! For a second, Erbrand imagined that Athanar’s cool, understanding expression might transform into a glare. The man’s hands were strong, not a worker’s strength but a warrior’s strength. Fortunately, Erbrand was the best runner in Scarburg. He wondered if he would have to use his skill.

It became clear that Athanar was not a bullying man, nor was he the type to be bullied. Indeed he showed some similarities to Eodwine, even fighting in the War of the Ring. Erbrand wanted to explain that he was but a boy of thirteen at the time of the war, not yet strong enough to wield a sword and not rich enough to have a horse. Is he challenging my honor or asking question?

Athanar was certainly as courteous as lord Eodwine had been and was a man of vision. Erbrand could hear the enterprising words spring from Athanar’s lips with a confidence that only experience can give. There was, however, a look in Athanar’s eyes that made Erbrand shudder. This was a man of great vision, that he could tell, but he also sensed the determination behind those words and to Erbrand it did not seem gentle. It would be a new Scarburg within a month, transformed in the image of its new lord. This was a man who would be brutal if given the proper excuse for it. He must be marvelous on the battlefield. Erbrand had been too honest thus far to stay silent at Athanar’s last words.

“Not so my lord,” Erbrand said as he jumped from his position and neared the distance between them. “I admit that you may have better experience on the matter, but it has been my observations that change, when unwanted, comes best slowly. The people of Scarburg have been through a lot together in this settlement’s short existence. Now, we have lost our lord to a sudden illness, we fear for our lives when the sun sets because of hostile neighbors, and soon lady Saeryn will be bed laden because of…” Erbrand stopped himself quickly. It occurred to him that Athanar might not know of Saeryn’s pregnancy. If so, then it was not his place to reveal such information. Erbrand breathed a hard sigh before continuing.

“I am tired, my lord, of all this. I am tired of being pushed around by nobles who think they can bully us and…,” Erbrand almost did not say it but he had to be honest. “And strangers who can come in and bully us around by means of rank and office. I pray you, be slow and patient with us.”

[Nogrod]

“I admit that you may have better experience on the matter, but it has been my observations that change, when unwanted, comes best slowly. The people of Scarburg have been through a lot together in this settlement’s short existence. Now, we have lost our lord to a sudden illness, we fear for our lives when the sun sets because of hostile neighbors, and soon lady Saeryn will be bed laden because of…”

Erbrand followed lord Athanar and what he said really stroke a nerve. So that's the way things are! Well... it explains some things... and changes the situation. Hmm, I need to see Wynflaed... and lady Saeryn before the speech...

“And strangers who can come in and bully us around by means of rank and office. I pray you, be slow and patient with us.” Erbrand went on. Lord Athanar halted and turned to face the man.

"Listen now Erbrand... you may not be of noble birth but you look and feel like an honest man with a stern heart." Athanar studied Erbrand's expression while saying that. "When on a battlefield you suddenly lose your captain and the enemy is pressing... you don't go slow into thinking whether things should be changed or not - and on what speed, even if the change is unwanted..." lord Athanar actually smiled... but then re-focused himself in a wink of an eye.

"King Eomer's plans on Scarburg have not gone as he might have wished them to go and lord Eodwine's sudden illness is an unwelcome surprise to him... but that kind of crisis calls for strong measures and those king Eomer has taken... and I have pledged to him personally to fulfill them. Lord Tancred and all those around him will finally obey the king and I'm here to see for it."

Lord Athanar eyed Erbrand a moment before continuing. "Some changes are abrupt and unwanted by many, but they must be faced head-on, don't you think?"

He let his last words hammer down, not actually waiting for an answer though, before making a last remark. "I know lord Tancred... personally. He's probably the last rotten apple in the whole of Rohan - with his apprentice lord Alboin... and I fear young lord Faramund so much a distortion of his father - put in charge of his lands by that cursed Wormtongue himself. I do appreciate the guts of young master Thornden and lady Saeryn, but with Tancred... you need something more than just a good heart."

With that he turned around, but halted half-way. "But thank you for your words Erbrand... I hope I will be wiser this evening because of them..." Winking an eye to Erbrand he turned around and went towards the Hall...

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand thought for sure that his words would provoke an unfriendly response from Athanar, but to his surprise Athanar stayed civil. It seems that not everyone was as short tempered as Erbrand. Athanar is indeed a lord. However, the response from Athanar was unyieldingly committed to the idea of change. What that change was Erbrand could not guess, but from what Athanar was saying about Tancred and these nobles, it did not sound all positive. Erbrand felt like snapping back: you are not on the battlefield! This is my home! He was not angry, but he was getting a little frustrated.

The conversation had gone on long enough. Erbrand knew that he should be silent and let his lord have the last word. However, something inside of Erbrand was screaming at him to press the matter further, not to let Athanar think that he could simply come in and change things without resistance.

“What of our lady?” Erbrand called after him. It was extremely rude Erbrand knew that and his impotence could be punishable if he continued much more. “You will, of course, respect her position over us as our lady?”

“I will respect her, yes, but you forget Erbrand, Scarburg has a new lord.”

Athanar was solemn. Erbrand was at least thankful that he did not show any signs of glee in what he had just said, but still. Erbrand felt downcast. Poor Saeryn, does this mean that Athanar has ousted her from the hall? No, he cannot be that cruel. If he is, however, Scarburg should stand up against him, but he cannot be that cruel! He will make a good lord.

“My thanks to the king that Scarburg has an honest lord,” Erbrand replied with a bow. “I wish you good faith in your rule.” Athanar smiled and returned the bow before turning and heading back to the hall.

He is honest and humble in his dealings whether cruel or no, I will give him that. Erbrand watched his new lord until he disappeared inside the Meadhall. He will do.

[Thinlómien]

Modtryth

Before Crabannan could answer the stranger's question, Modtryth cut in: "There was one such soldier here just a while ago, but he left. He seemed to be a bit bruised." There was a hint of question to the tone of her voice.

"What's going on?" asked Ginna, suddenly appearing behind Modtryth's shoulder and leaving just the two cooks to prepare the food. She wiped her fingers on her apron and eyed the two men questioningly.

"This man here is looking for his friend, and Crabannan - well I understand he just came to beg for food," Modtryth told Ginna, and threw a quick smile at Crabannan.

"I know, I heard that," Ginna said. "But what's up with bruised and disappeared people?"

~*~

Wilheard

Oh, Wulf would never catch him. He was a better rider, he had a better horse and he had got a head start. Wilheard shook his head. It was almost sad, some more excitement would be in order. There hadn't been any excitement for days, just dull riding across the fields and plains. Willheard didn't mind spending time or horseback or in open air - in fact he enjoyed it a lot - but it was incredibly frustrating with dozens of people and wagons that moved slower than snails.

His steed was breathing heavily, so he let the animal take a slower pace and looked around. The Scar was quite a beautiful place with the rough rocks and cold autumn sunlight reflecting on them. There was marshland on the other side, and forest formed dark green patches here and there. Wilheard could feel the wind in his hair, and he couldn't help urging his horse to gallop again. It felt good to be here.

He grinned. If Wulf had heard him say that! It was true this was uncultivated countryside and away from the inns and barracks of Edoras, but there was something else here, a wild and savage spirit, the feel of earlier times and heroic deeds. Something he could not quite hunt down and catch, but something he could feel even after such a short while on the scar and something he could let take him over.

He started looking for a way down the scar with the horse. There was swamp, true, but not all of the ground was so wet and it definitely merited a look. Maybe, after all, this would be an adventure instead of an all too long sentence in a boring faraway prison.

[Groin Redbeard]

Balvir’s response was uncommitted to praising or condemning Matrim’s action. The discussion went on for another fifteen minutes before the soldiers decided on the “forgive and forget” approach to the matter. After which Lithor promptly left, followed by his usual companions Balvir and Matrim, to change into his good uniform.

“I have not worn this since lord Eodwine’s wedding,” Lithor stated as he strapped his leather tunic on.

“It hasn’t been long enough,” responded Matrim, hopping up and down while trying to pull a boot on.

“I rather like it.” Lithor fastened his prairie green cloak on his shoulders and sarcastically stroked his hair producing a grin from Matrim and Balvir.

“I wish I was rich enough to afford a looking glass.”

“You should have seen the one that I unloaded from the wagon train, Lithor. It must have been three feet high!” Balvir whistled and Lithor raised his brows in surprise. “This Athanar is sure rich. Perhaps you could ask his wife if you could borrow that mirror of hers.”

“Never mind that, just so long as everyone else can see me I am fine.” They laughed and Balvir opened the door leading to the main hall.

The long tables were all joined together to form an unfinished three sided square. The kitchen maids had begun to decorate the tables with the berries and plants that best represented the wintery time of year. The scent from the kitchen suddenly made Lithor realize how hungry he was.

“Frodides!” Lithor called after the old cook. “Are there any samples for a few hungry soldiers?” Frodides simply shook her head knowingly and the three soldiers laughed.

“My my, someone sure looks good!” Erbrand said coming through the hall door, closing it behind him. The light was beginning to fade in the evening sky and the freezing night winds were beginning to pick up. Erbrand was dressed for the occasion in a sheep skin cloak, covering his shoulders, and mostly butternut colored clothing. His clothes were the best that he had, but they were worn by the weather and months of hard work. However, his face was merry and his hands were busy tuning the cords on a fiddle

“Hey there Erbrand.” Matrim said “My! What happened to you? You look worse than I do.”

For a minute Erbrand was confused and hurt. He examined his clothing and brushed at it. Erbrand thought that he had dressed quite well for the occasion. However, when he looked up Matrim was pointing at Erbrand’s forehead, not Erbrand’s clothing.

“That is the longest, nastiest, looking bruise I have ever seen. Where did you get it?”

“Oh that! Never you mind, it does not matter where I got it.”

“Say, Erbrand,” interjected Lithor with a big smile on his face. “I did not know that you could play.” He pointed at the fiddle in Erbrand’s hands.

“Something my grandpa taught me from his experience in Aldburg’s taverns. There has not been the proper occasion to bring it out and I thought now would be a good time. Perhaps Crabannan and I could combine our talents to make some proper music for our guests.”

“Indeed, and speaking of our guests, I am most anxious to hear what Athanar will have to say.”

“He has a good character. I do not think that he will be a bad lord in the least.” Lithor looked at him surprised. Erbrand was the last person in Scarburg, with the exception of Scyld and Crabannan, who Lithor expected to hear this talk from.

“You sound awfully sure of yourself, Erbrand. Is there something you would like to share with the rest of us?” Lithor’s lips curled in a large grin, but Erbrand simply winked and returned the grin.

The hall was beginning to fill up with people. The great fire was lit and filled the great meadhall with a warm, glowing, light. After wishing one another a merry night, Lithor, Balvir and Matrim left to find what their duties would be for the night, leaving Erbrand alone. Erbrand, however, soon left the hall for the moment to the kitchen to see if he could find Kara. But he would have to hurry, the feast was about to begin!

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"There was one such soldier here just a while ago, but he left. He seemed to be a bit bruised."

Hilderinc looked at the cook, forgetting the question he had just asked the man. So Áforglæd was here, after all. Hilderinc felt kind of satisfaction inside once again - so his guess has been correct. Apparently the missing soldier did not stay for long, but there were not many places where he could go - and at least it was clear now that he was not "lost". Well, surely, Hilderinc thought, there won't be many places for Áforglæd to get lost. He might already be in the barracks by now as well.

"What's going on?"

Another woman, considerably younger than the one who spoke to Hilderinc in the first place, came to them. She was very pretty, Hilderinc realised on first sight, with long, very light hair and clear blue eyes. A beauty worthy of a king's daughter, Hilderinc thought, and somehow reminded himself that he should not make his opinions on Scarburg too fast. This girl certainly did not fit the image of the place he formed for himself during the last few hours. Automatically, his eyes flicked to the remaining two women in the kitchen, as to confirm his thoughts. Well, he thought, there is still a lot to learn about this place.

"This man here is looking for his friend, and Crabannan - well I understand he just came to beg for food."

The dark cook's voice made him return back from his thoughts. All right, so this non-Eorling man's name was Crabannan. Another useful thing to remember.

"I know, I heard that." The young woman not only was very beautiful, she had also a pleasant voice. "But what's up with bruised and disappeared people?"

Hilderinc looked at her, shaking his head slightly.

"There is nothing 'up', I think," he said. "It looks like Áforglæd did not really disappear after all, he was just looking for some food - and we could not find him. I was thinking he might be here. He was bruised because - well, men. Sometimes they fight," he added in a kind tone.

"Anyway, thank you for your help," he nodded towards the dark-haired woman. "I won't hinder you from your work anymore, I will go outside and most likely meet our missing man there. And we are probably going to see yet tonight," Hilderinc looked also at Crabannan this time. Then, he walked across the room, past the two other cooks, towards the outer door.

[Groin Redbeard]

*ding* Erbrand plucked at his fiddle string in his hand as he walked towards the kitchen. He plucked at the string again and the then sawed his bow along the chords. It had been awhile since he had played it but it should be like swinging an axe--you never forget. Erbrand would never forget the way that he had learned to play. Listening to his grandpa saw the same fiddle he was holding was as good as it got. The great fire that had been lit in the hall contrasted the quaint fireplace that his parents had in Aldburg. Erbrand's mind swiftly brought him back to that room and he could picture his parents and grandparents sitting together around the fire, while he and his brothers lay on the floor listening... just listening.

Erbrand's thoughts, however, were cut short when he walked right into a soldier coming from the kitchen. Thankfully, his fiddle avoided injury but the impact knocked Erbrand back.

"Whoops, sorry!" Erbrand exclaimed once he saw that it was not someone he knew.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

It was for the second time in a few minutes when somebody ran directly into him. Hilderinc looked at the man as he apologized. He was dressed like a peasant, but he was holding a fiddle. Some local bard, perhaps? But then Hilderinc looked into the man's face and noticed an unmistakeable feature.

Ah, so this one was the brawler, he thought. Áforglæd probably showed him quite a lot, though. The bruise on this man's forehead looked really bad. Somehow, Hilderinc started to think about the fight that took place among the men from a different perspective. Áforglæd in the end escaped with very little consequences. No punishment from the authorities and also the marks of the battle afflicted upon him were not as bad as what he himself had caused to this man. He was luckier than he deserved. And especially taking into account that this man was probably bigger than him, and he looked strong enough too.

"No harm done," Hilderinc forced his gaze away from the man's forehead. For a moment, he looked into his eyes. Then he moved past him. There was still probably some time before the meal, but there were all sorts of minor things to do before it started, surely lord Athanar has prepared something big for tonight and Hilderinc did not want to miss anything.

[Groin Redbeard]

The speech ended. Erbrand and Crabannan gave each other grim stares and slowly applauded. Erbrand did not care too much for the speech. It was as if it was shrouded in a dark mist, very depressing. One step out of line and there will be trouble for Scarburg. Yet, even if Athanar was a bit headstrong, perhaps he could solve the problems with the local lords. This was Erbrand’s primary concern, for the basest duty of a lord is to protect his people. Everything else would be put to right when Eodwine recovers.

Poor Saeryn. Athanar really could be that cruel! Erbrand hated the way that Athanar broke the news to the entire hall. Effective, using Eodwine’s illness as a crutch to lean on. And degrading Saeryn for all of Scarburg to see! Any man who would do such a thing is afraid that his rule will not last, but he forgets that Rohan’s women are strong. Old Scarburg will stand behind her if she were to contend with this “lord.” Erbrand’s anger, however, was soothed by Crabannan, of all people.

“Come, shall we play?” And with that Crabannan strode forth to the center of the hall and struck on his harp a fast and merry tune. Erbrand soon followed and amidst the music and discussion of the hall, laughter began to arise.


Lithor

“No doubt, no doubt!” Lithor laughed as Matrim finished his story.

“But tell me, Matrim, what did the man say after that?”

“Why nothing. He just turned purple and walked away.”

This produced more laughter from the table. They had forgotten their uneasiness from Athanar’s speech. Modryth was coming around serving drinks.

“What this feast needs is a bit of livening up!” Lithor said after the laughter abated.

“What more could we need,” asked Osmund. “This is what we like: good food, good company, and a beautiful woman to flatter.” He winked at Modryth.

“I mean something else.” And with that being said, Lithor got up and strode to the wall were some of the armaments were hanging. After gathering several spears from the wall he strode to the center of the hall.

“Friends, friends!” he exclaimed with outstretched arms in a loud voice that silenced the music. “I would like to welcome our guests tonight for the duration of their stay with us here at Scarburg and to our gracious temporary lord.” Lithor bowed in the direction of the high table.

“First, allow me to introduce myself. My lord, gentlemen, I am Lithor. I am half horse, half lion, and a little kin to a snapping turtle. I have got the fastest horse, the prettiest sister, the surest lance, and the ugliest dog in the Middle-emnet. My father can lick any man in Dunland and I can lick my father. I can hug a bear too close for comfort and eat any man opposed to lord Eodwine.” His boasts produced some laughter from the crowd.

“As a challenge to all men here tonight I propose a friendly contest.” Lithor raised his spear and promptly threw it at a horizontal beam at the far end of the hall. The spear hit the beam with a thud that echoed through the hall. Murmurs began to arise.

“Friends!” Lithor cried again with outstretched arms. “As a gift to any of the newcomers who can throw their spear closest to mine, I will give to them my spear; three woolen coats for the oncoming winter; two quivers of arrows for the winter hunts; two swords for which I haggled from our dear smith Harreld; and twelve beaver pelts, which will catch a fair price at our local tanner.” Lithor looked at Erbrand and gave him a friendly wink. Erbrand frowned a little I never should have shown him how to set snares! Oh well, all for the greater good.

“So, in the name of friendly competition and of the honor of the individuals seated here tonight, step forward those who would take up this challenge!”

[Formendacil]

Náin's heavy, Dwarven hands tightened into fists as he braced himself against the table, and his typically ruddy face paled behind his beard.

"...eat any man opposed to lord Eodwine... temporary lord... newcomers..."

"Stigend!" he said in low, voice. "Has Lithor sunk so far into his cups? Is he mad? No lord of the Dwarves would tolerate such an attitude!"

Náin grimaced, blinked slowly, and tried to ease the stress out of his fists. He turned to the Eodwiningas around him and said with great deliberation.

"Don't let Lithor turn this into a brawl--whatever he's up to!"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas heaved a sigh. He'd have much preferred almost anything to attending this feast, yet Saeryn had given him little opportunity to make his escape. And where would he go? He was a notable guest; his absence would be distinctly marked. And so he sat at his sister's side, and tensed with rage that Athanar chose to break the news of Eodwine's decline to Saeryn in public. And for what reason, to weaken her? To show her that she had nothing left that he did not grant her, including dignity?

But at the same time, Degas felt for Athanar, and was disgruntled by it. Yet it was only a month ago that Degas had ridden into a small village to take control over a community that desired no new lord after the loss of their former one.

Granted, the circumstances were different. Eodwine had taken ill, whereas Fenrir had been killed. Degas considered the peasants lucky that they were not all executed. As it was, most of the rebels had died in the fighting, and those who had not had wisely chosen to flee. Degas knew that if he discovered that one of his people now had been amongst those that killed his brother, he would kill that man. It was not a matter of vengeance, it was a matter of duty: if peasants had a problem with their lord, they took that problem to their eorl, or to the King. They did not riot. They did not murder. They did not burn.

In that sense, though, Degas knew that he had gotten off luckier than Athanar: the people of his lands had loathed their former lord. They did not want a new lord, but they could be shown that their ruler - who they had no choice over - could be a good man.

Athanar, however, replaced a man that was good, and that was not dead.

Degas was the natural heir, being the oldest male of the line. There was no one but Saeryn with any claim to the lands, and his twin had no desire at all to return to their childhood home again. Nightmarish memories lay heavily on both of them, but especially on her. At least Degas had not been confined or beaten.

Athanar, though, rode onto lands he did not inherit. Though Eomer King had granted him these lands and this title, there was a lady of the lands still in residence.

Degas shuddered to think that it would be easier for Athanar and for Rohan if Saeryn simply died. He reached for her hand and squeezed it so tight that she flinched, and looked hard at him.

In his mind, he promised he would look after her so much more carefully. She might fall from a horse. She might take ill. There could be an accident in the stables, or in the kitchens. She could step too close to walls being raised, and something could fall.

Degas did not doubt that Athanar was a good man, in his own way, but he wondered if any man could resist the opportunity to simplify his own life so easily. He never once thought Athanar might seek to kill his sister, but he squeezed her hand again, thinking that with tempers running this high - he looked around - she could be desperately injured in any number of ways, and would the newcomers rush to her aid as quickly as they would for a lady that did not complicate their lord's position in the household?

Saeryn was that which was left of Eodwine's rule, her and the child in her womb.

She would need a guard. One that would go unnoticed in the general bustle. A guard that could tend to her, and watch her, and see to it that no accidents befell her. Degas made a mental note to tend to this later.

For now, he watched Athanar with a mix between pity and disdain.

Yes, Athanar had been handed a mess. If he did not show a firmness of rule, the commoners would not take to him as their lord, and the lords certainly would not accept his authority. There were those born with authority, and those who developed it, and those who shouted it from the rooftops to no avail. Thus far, Athanar seemed the type of leader that had learned it, and he was unbending in his ways.

Degas sipped from his mug of ale, watching almost boredly. Athanar would rule more effectively if he stopped shoving his power down the people's throats.

And as Crabannan said, "There are traitors and cowards in this room, but he is not one of them," and Athanar's entire body tensed, Degas hoped he had been taught the old saw: a man is only as good as a sword. Once he loses his temper, the battle is lost.

[Folwren]

Saeryn looked on in wonder and shock. She had found Lithor’s challenge amusing and she hoped that it would ease the unpleasant feeling in the room a little. At least it would distract her from her thoughts. But it did not amuse Athanar, apparently, and now he charged Lithor with disrespect, and worse. A sharp pain shot up into her head and pierced her skull at her forehead. She winced and looked away from Lithor, standing thus humiliated in the center of the hall, and pressed her hand against her temples.

Every turn of event this day had brought disappointments and strife. Load upon load was set on her heart and feelings, and she felt pressed down beyond endurance. Her eyes burned, but her mood now was such that she couldn’t cry. More than anything she wanted to stand and say that Athanar could not act such in her hall. This was not what he was sent to do, and in Eodwine’s absence he should try to uphold Eodwine’s standards.

Eodwine’s absence? Athanar had been given eorlship. It didn’t matter if Eodwine had been eorl, or even if he ever would be eorl again. She struggled with this reality, and the pain in her head became worse.

As from a distance, she heard Crabannan’s furious, though quiet, protest against the accusation of treason.

Eodwine would never have treated a man – any man – in such a fashion. Not even in his court of law did he speak so to a man. Never before had Thornden had to stand before his eorl and speak as he spoke now, pleading for another man’s life or fair treatment. It was all wrong. All terribly, terribly wrong, and it hurt Saeryn deeply to hear one of her men spoken to in such a manner.

[Groin Redbeard]

The silence was unnerving. Lithor had expected immediate responses from the lord’s two sons, but all just stared at him wide eyed. Lithor was about to say something when Crabannan sprang forward like an energetic doe in the springtime. His words were as merry as his movements and clarified what Lithor meant. “I could not have said it better myself,” whispered Lithor to Crabannan. Lithor smiled once again to see if his challenge would be taken up.

His challenge was indeed answered, but by Athanar. "Quit disgracing yourself any more sergeant Lithor! And that is right now!" The lord’s first words sounded angry, but Lithor did not detect any hostility at himself directly, only at his challenge. Lithor picked up a spear and readied it to be accepted. So this lord is not such a stick in the mud, as I thought! This will be grand! Thought Lithor. Another of his smiles curled to its extent. His smile, however, died quickly as Athanar shot damaging accusations at him.

Lithor was stunned wide mouthed eyed. It was the only time that Lithor could remember that he was entirely unable to speak. Lithor had uttered some insults in his time but Athanar’s was the worst that he had ever heard. Treason! What had he done? He was not contending with the rule of Athanar. In the opening of his boast, Lithor had actually acknowledged him as “my lord”. Thankfully others spoke in Lithor’s defense. Crabannan was the first and then Thornden, but as Lithor’s senses returned it was his turn to speak.

“Commander,” Lithor called to Thornden, “I thank you for your defense and for yours, Crabannan, but I will speak for myself.” Lithor stepped past Crabannan.

Lord Athanar was about to call Lithor back to his place before he would even open his mouth, but looking at his determination and sensing the feeling in the Mead Hall he decided otherwise and just waited silently, not giving any response whatsoever.

“My lord, I have no ill feelings for you, your family, or your rule. I am a soldier by profession but a jester in spirit when a soldier’s duties are done.” Lithor suddenly began to feel very old. His hand was shaking and his voice was obviously quieter than it had ever been before and sounded very confused. Even his mannerisms were less confident than was normal, like a dog after it had been kicked in the gut.

“Tonight was meant to be a night for merry making."

Lord Athanar would have none more.

“Do you call offending your eorl and his family “merry making”? Or throwing spears in a fully-packed hall? I think master Thornden speaks wisely. Sit back to your seat, sergeant. This will be decided tomorrow. Do not make your situation any worse."

"What is my crime?" Lithor questioned, standing proud and defiant. "I am not accustomed being accused of something so dire as treason without knowing the reasons. Is it not enough that I have offered the better part of my livelihood away as a gift to any member of your house?"

"That's enough soldier!" Lord Athanar was getting angry again. "Do you really need me to tell you what you have done?" He looked at Lithor, but he clearly wasn't going to blink.

Lord Athanar sighed as he really didn't like to spell the thing out in public himself, but Lithor's defiance gave him no other choice.

"You have not only publicly disrespected your lord and his household but actually publicly questioned his rule... well, you have actually questioned your King's decree!"

Lord Athanar draw breath while still looking at Lithor to the eye, but then turned his head to face Thornden.

"Where I come from, questioning the rule of your superiors is called treason... Maybe you have another vocabulary here..."

Lithor was genuinely confused. He had not meant anything as defiance to Athanar's rule; in fact, he considered himself to be rather complacent in the changing of lords.

"My lord, I have not questioned the King's decree! I have addressed you as my lord as the King demands and I have welcomed the King's guests. I was not referring to you, my lord, when I said this. If I have offended you by describing your rule as temporary then I apologize for it," here Lithor paused and bowed apologetically. "But is that not the truth? Lord Eodwine will recover, despite your thuggish usage of the news of this illness! Such behavior becomes lord Tancred."

Lithor for the first time in his life had acted completely out of character and had insulted a lord. He hated the fact that his good will was being twisted so that this new lord could show how tough he is. What Athanar had won in reputation was soon lost in Lithor’s mind as he saw how the lord really was. Lithor did not mind boldness, but he hated Athanar's arrogance. Athanar had nothing to fear from him.

"Enough!" lord Athanar yelled cutting in over Lithor's last words. But then suddenly he calmed down as fast as he had ignited. There was a total silence in the Hall.

"Oh you wormtongue you..." lord Athanar almost whispered the words. "So you said something but then again you didn't. And you both apologise and call me a thug in a same sentence... and lord Tancred, eh? You would have been beaten already if I were him..." He still didn't raise his voice. He was about to make a remark of no one yet having survived a "dead man's life" - condition, but then thought the better of it. That would have been bad politics right there.

"This discussion is over for today." He said in his commanding voice and turned to Thornden.

"Thornden, see sergeant Lithor to his table." Turning to face Lithor yet again, he continued: "Let me not hear anymore from you this evening so that I don't have to arrest you. We'll settle this... tomorrow."

He sat back down and grabbed his goblet. He was clearly thinking.

Lithor bowed as Athanar took his seat. As he looked from Thornden to Saeryn’s eyes, Lithor could sense the deep resentment. Where they disappointed in him? He could not tell, they just stared at him with blank expressions. It was a very foolish move to talk back to his superior, but it could have been worse.

Lithor put a hand on Crabannan’s shoulder and said in a hushed voice. “I have doomed our chances of an early transition. Thank you for your defense, I was not worthy of it.”

Athanar’s orders were to return to his table and Lithor obeyed. He sat down very slowly and watched as the hall began to erupt with a cacophony of angry discussions praising and condemning him. This was not what Lithor wanted, he could not stand it. So slowly, without being noticed, Lithor rose from his chair and made his way from the main hall. He had been thoroughly ashamed of his actions. Some time alone was what he needed.

[Thinlómien]

Wulfric

"I need to pee," Wilheard whispered just after their father had finished his speech.
"Did you need to announce that? Are you four years old?" Wulfric replied in a hiss. He was very annoyed at his little brother managing to get him lost and avoiding the beating earlier during the day.
Wilheard rolled his eyes. "Don't you know an excuse when you hear one, dumb?"
Wulfric raised an eyebrow. "An excuse for what? Not drinking? I didn't know Aedre came here after all, quite convincingly dressed up as Wilheard."
"More speeches," Wilheard whispered in an agonised voice. "I know these parties. It's always more speeches."
Wulfric emptied his cup. He didn't really want to hear any nonsense from these peasants either, their father's speech had surely been everything interesting. "I guess no one is watching us..." he muttered and the two slipped away into the night.

"Speaking of Aedre. Why wasn't the tiny one in the party?" Wilheard asked as they sat down on the grass out of earshot of the party area.
Wulfric shrugged. "Nobody told me. Why so interested?"
"Dunno." Wilheard shrugged. "Didn't you notice anything, o brilliant one?"
Wulfric gave him a friendly punch. "Nah, father said she didn't want to come." Then he frowned. "But he said no one should mess up with her."
"You get my drift," Wilheard said darkly.
"Blimey, when did you develop wits?" Wulfric asked.
"I just haven't been drinking as much as you," Wilheard said simply and laid down on the grass.
"I'm going to find out who did what to my sister and see they don't do it again," Wulfric announced.
"I'm with you, bro," Wilheard nodded.

There was a silence, and they could here loud voices from the party area. Wilheard sat up quickly.
"What was that?" he said, eyeing around.
"Nah just some applause for a speech probably," said Wulfric. He scratched his head thoughtfully. "The sad thing is that they get all the drinks. I'll go fetch some ale from the kitchen."
"Sure," Wilheard said, cocking his head. "And it has nothing to do with the pretty kitchen maids, eh?"
"Kitchen maids?" Wulfric asked, his face slightly flushed. It irritated him that the little wimp could always read his mind. "For your information, the hottest wench around is obviously the peasant damsel in charge of this lot."
Enjoying the astonishment on his younger brother's face and the howling laughter that followed it, Wulfric started to make it for the kitchens.

~*~

Modtryth

Although the worry about the current situation and Lord Eodwine was heavy on her heart, she could not help being irritated by the Cnebba issue. What did he mean by "she deserved it"? They'd need to talk, and rather sooner than later. It was definitely no good if Cnebba and the other boys started being hostile with the new Eorl's daughter.

She was relieved when she could leave the table after the speech. As she had guessed, Ginna, Kara and Rowenna were happy to have her help with serving the drinks and the food. She walked to the soldier table and poured for the household soldiers. They were getting into a merry mood. "What more could we need? This is what we like: good food, good company, and a beautiful woman to flatter," Osmund declared and winked at her. She gave him a stern look but her eyes were twinkling with merriment. Osmund was a terrible flirt when drunk.

She moved on to serve to the other soldiers when Lithor started his boast. She winced. The boastful jerk had never had any sense of social appropriety, and announcing such a boast right after the new Eorl's speech was plain foolishness. Nevertheless she was taken aback by the stern response and the argument that followed. She almost felt sorry for Lithor.

With a little hesitation she approached the Eorl's table, seeing that the Lady's cup was empty. So were the sons' cups, but the lads themselves were nowehere to be seen. She filled the Lady's cup but let the two others remain empty for the time being. When she walked away, she could feel the lady's eyes on her back. She couldn't help the uncomfortable feeling that crept up her spine. She was happy to slip away and go back to sit beside her son and husband. They both had their eyes fixed on Lithor, who was now offering apologies. In horror, she watched him make his situation worse and worse.

"Stupid old fool," she muttered in a barely audible voice as the Eorl dismissed Lithor and he sat back to his table.

[Durelin]

Already unrest among even his own soldiers (what exactly Coen still hadn't been able to discover, he had been kept so busy with what he saw as trivial matters), Lord Athanar's daughter with a bloodied nose, and now a man shouting a challenge to Athanar's men, while insulting the lord and contradicting what he had just stated about his position. They were not guests. Even if they were, Coen was hardly pleased with their hospitality. The folks were civil in his hometown, and they were some hardheaded people, and deeply rooted.

Coen had tensed at the words "guest" and "temporary lord," and he had started to rise at the words "opposed to lord Eodwine." But he remained in his seat when he saw his lord about to stand himself. This was not well for him at all. Coen trusted Athanar's judgment, and knew that something must be done in this situation. He respected Athanar greatly because he was not a man to sweet-talk his followers; he sought to gain their respect, not simply their attention and silver-lined affection.

He knew this type of man, the challenger. He obviously enjoyed his ability to draw all eyes upon him. And with his baited words, he insured that there would be nothing pleasant about this day. He sowed further seeds of conflict, all for his own delight. Coen shook his head, and watched his lord with concern. This lot was going to do their best to string up a good man, and bring down the entire Hall with him.

"There are traitors and cowards in this room, but he is not one of them."

Coen's fists clenched, and he brought his gaze around to all of his men that had ridden with him from Edoras, making sure his eyes met each one. They were to remain in their seats and demonstrate their discipline, and that they did not wish to start anything.

And these men who could not hold their ale or at least their lips...were they both soldiers? Had they no discipline? There was a time for challenges, and a mode for initiating them. The days of hot-blooded warriors and living and dying by men's strength of arms were gone -- the rule of the king and the lords beneath him made sure of that. And these soldiers were meant to enforce that.

Coen wished with every ounce of him that Athanar had not received this position. The man deserved better than this. And truth be told Coen feared he would fail his lord here; he feared he would not be able to control these men, to keep the peace even in the Hall itself. And what of protecting his lord and his family? He looked over to Wynflaed, her face set grimly but betraying no emotion.

He laughed inwardly when Thornden defended the soldier. In no way meant to cause unrest? Coen agreed that deliberation was necessary before a court martial, and he doubted the lord Athanar would resort to such a punishment unless the man continued to demonstrate that he wished to...cause unrest. The new Captain of Scarburg feared he might. They at least had to keep him from gathering other men around him as hot-blooded, such as that Crabannan.

The man -- Lithor was his name; Coen noted it deep in his memory -- attempted to defend himself, as well. So he was referring to some as guests, and not others, and of course only being optimistic about his lord's condition...Coen felt himself being draw in, but then the man commented on Athanar's "thuggish usage" of the news of the man's illness. He had announced to the Hall the condition of the lord, giving them the truth and even telling them that the King Elessar himself might have seen to the man's care. Was that not something to be proud of? They acted as if Athanar had brought the illness to Eodwine, as if he would have planned such a situation as this.

Coen focused his attention and energy on keeping an eye on his soldiers. He would not tolerate a word from them. He would leave all the talking and bringing of order to Athanar, even if he felt sorry for his lord to have to deal with so much. Perhaps, had tensions not been so high from the start, this man's boastful words would have been largely ignored. But with harm already done to his daughter, if not seriously... The lord had reason to be disturbed, and Coen was as well. He both dreaded and looked forward to tomorrow's drills. He would have a better gauge for things then. Today they were all maneuvering blindly.

[Groin Redbeard]

Of all the idiotic things Erbrand had ever heard this had to be the worst. Coming from people who were suppose to lead people like himself. People who scorn him as a peasant and then act like a peasant when they think their pride is challenged. What was worse is that no one spoke up to put an end to the matter. Where is the high proud Thornden? Why did lady Saeryn stay quiet? I know why: because it is best to make an example of one man instead of risking their own necks. One man who had done nothing but cause laughter and promote good friendship amongst Scarburg since its founding and now suddenly charged with treason. Treason, of all things! Why? I know why: because Athanar misunderstood Lithor that is why. So Athanar accuses Lithor of challenging the King’s authority, heh. So Athanar accuses Lithor of contending with Athanar’s rule, heh. Well perhaps if this lily livered lord would start acting like a lord, instead of being paranoid with his precious earldom from the king, then perhaps things can get back to normal! Athanar calls Lithor a traitor for his words and Lithor calls Athanar a thug for his tactics to suppress us. Athanar’s defense will be that he is speaking the truth of Eodwine. Sure he direly sick, but why did he have to cudgel us with it! Then that parchment from the king, producing it from his sleeve as if Eodwine had no hope to live and he were Scarburg’s only hope. I swear that the look on lady Saeryn’s face is enough to make my heart burst with pity. But Athanar’s defense will be that he was simply being honest. You can’t condemn honesty and good intentions can you? Lithor is being called a traitor for being generous and honest!

Erbrand’s thoughts raced through his head so fast he could not see straight. Even if his logic was not correct, something in his gut told him that there was something very unjust in all of this. There was nothing but silence when Lithor took his seat. Lithor should have kept his big mouth shut! It was not like him to pick an argument. Also, Thornden will be unjustly punished for this. That little phrase that Athanar spoke to Thornden was full of contempt. Crabannan might have a hard time ahead of him as well. It was no secret that Crabannan had never been to Erbrand’s liking, but this quick show of courage changed all of that. If the nobles would not speak for our rights, then perhaps it is people like Crabannan who will start speaking up.

The hall slowly livened up but nowhere near the extent that it would have before the outburst. Lithor’s spear still hung at the end of the hall as a ghastly reminder of the terrible argument. Erbrand slowly started to play on his fiddle, but the hall did not seem in the mood for it. He saw that Lithor left his chair and was leaving the hall.

“Carry on Crabannan.” Erbrand placed his fiddle on the stool and started after Lithor. The old soldier opened the great door (nobody seemed to notice the noise) and wrapped himself in a warm woolen cloak before stepping out into the frosty night air.

“Lithor,” Erbrand whispered after him once he was outside himself. The old soldier recognized the voice and smiled faintly.

“I guess I am not as stealthy as I thought. Does the whole hall know of my absence?”

“You will get in more trouble if you leave the table, Lithor. Come back inside.” Lithor looked at Erbrand with surprise. There was a silence and then Lithor began to laugh. Not a half hearted, forced, laugh but a deep throated laugh that one gives when genuinely amused—Lithor’s typical laugh.

“Shhh! You will draw more attention to you!”

“Have you not heard Erbrand, I am a traitor. There is nothing more they can charge me with; unless, of course, Athanar has outlawed laughter.”

“You should have stayed silent Lithor. Athanar would never have gone through with it.”

The smile slowly faded from Lithor’s face and was now staring at nothing. It looked to Erbrand as if Lithor was recalling some past event that was similar to this. Painful memories. “Tonight I took Athanar’s words all I could and tomorrow I will take Athanar’s sentence like a man. I did not argue because he called me a traitor, although that would give any man ample reason to argue, it was why he called me a traitor. Athanar was trying to dictate my actions, acceptable as they were. I am not his horse he can use when needed; I am not his dog to give him comfort and security; I am not some chicken he can spook; I am a man. To allow someone to dictate your conscience for you, Erbrand, is a terrible thing; it sticks in your gut until the day you die. I am too old to start changing.

“I acted like a fool tonight for arguing and tomorrow I will accept the consequences. Go back inside, have some fun before the evening ends. I just need time by myself.” Erbrand watched Lithor walk away without a word. It was scary to watch his best friend sound so defeated, entirely out of character.

The night was a cold one, and Erbrand suddenly realized that he had rushed outside without any heavy clothing. He did not feel like going back into the hall just yet and he door to the kitchen was unlocked. The warmth from the kitchen felt good on his face as Erbrand quickly closed the door.

“What’s this?” A familiar voice asked. Erbrand saw with joy to see Kara come towards him. She grasped Erbrand’s hands in hers and immediately led him to a place in front of the furnace. For a few minutes Erbrand let her fret over his cold condition. Kara’s eagerness to make him comfortable was so refreshing. Usually he was unnecessarily trying to make Kara feel at ease and usually upset a few things in the process. The other kitchen maids were busy waiting on the table for now and for a little while they would be alone.

“What were you doing out there?” She asked.

“Did you hear what Lithor did?” Kara shook her head gravely. Erbrand looked away imagining the whole scene, a flame of rage coming back into his eyes. He wanted to vent his frustration to Kara, she would understand. However, when he began to speak Kara gently placed her hands to his lips. Whether Kara meant that venting would do no good, or whether she thought Lithor’s punishment was just, or whether she simply did not want anyone to hear Erbrand could not guess. This is why he loved her, there was no reason to speak, she knew what he meant. The flame of rage quickly died and for a while he was content to simply just stare into Kara’s understanding eyes. Crabannan’s sweet melodies came to them from hall and suddenly Erbrand had an urge.

“Dance with me!” The excamation caught her off guard. Before she could answer Erbrand had jumped up and pushed back one of the smaller tables. As quickly as Erbrand had cleared the space, he grabbed Kara and lifted her high above his head (he did this only when in his best moods). Crabannan’s song was slow and soft. Erbrand was not a natural dancer when it came to slow songs but Kara soon caught on and took the lead through the song. Erbrand felt as if he was dancing with a daughter of the Eldar. She was too good for him. Kara would never do anything to hurt him and there was nothing she ever needed to hide from him. Erbrand had made a vow on lord Eodwine’s wedding day that he would stop taking everything that Kara gave for granted and be worthy of her love. She had changed his life, but he did not know if he had changed hers as well. He was never the courtier and moments like this almost never happened. For now he was content to forget about Athanar and his troubles and simply hold Kara in his arms until the music ends.

[Folwren]

Saeryn slowly gathered her wits back together. She lowered her hand from her forehead and looked about the room. Talk had spread again among the people at the table, but whatever spirit of good will there had been was almost completely lacking now. Thornden had gone back to his seat. He ate in stolid silence with a face set in an expression of stone. She had to say something now, or else there may remain a permanent split in the inhabitants of Scarburg.

She stood up, using her hands to push herself to her feet. Crabannan wound his song to a quick, but well sounding end, and stepped back to indicate her. She felt cold, and her face was unusually pale. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and she looked in no condition to speak. But speak she did, her voice trembling at first, but growing stronger a she gained boldness.

“Friends of Scarburg,” she said. Her eyes swept across the tables, meeting the eyes of people she knew, and those she didn’t. “Friends, old and new. It is clear that we have all gotten off to a bad start. But this does not have to be so. We are all of us...all of us,” she repeated firmly, “wanting to find how best we can serve the king, and in serving him, serve our new eorl. There can be no rift between us.” She paused as she allowed her and Crabannan’s eyes to meet. Then she continued looking from person to person as she spoke.

“We have taken sides, and this can not be so. We are all Eorlingas. We can all work towards the same goals. I ask you – those of you who have been here in Scarburg for some time – join with lord Athanar for my sake. And I ask you – those who have come just today – join with those people who have been here before for your lordship’s sake. All of us are all the same, if we could only come down to the root of it. Yes, there are tensions, but I am asking you to bring yourselves beyond that. You are men and women of the Mark. Be proud of your brotherhood with the people here. Let us put the strife behind us, and live now together in peace.”

She slowly let her eyes travel about the hall again and then she took her seat once more.

[Groin Redbeard]

The night was a cold one. There was no wind, thankfully, and Lithor could walk around comfortably so long as he was properly dressed. His walk was aimless. There was no place Lithor wanted to go in particular so simply wondered around the stables. His challenge, Athanar’s outburst, and his defiance revealed a lot to him. First off, know your audience, this audience was not ripe for the picking—his pick had been too hasty. Secondly, that deep down he had no stomach for politics. Around and around the stables Lithor walked each time faster than before until he had accelerated to a brisk walk. His mind thought well when his body was at work with it.

What did you accomplish by speaking back to Athanar. The sentiment in the hall did not change, they all still despised you for what they saw as an unnecessary boast and challenge. All I did was make enemies. I believe saying what I believe, but there are some times when it is prudent to stay quiet. Thinking out loud is responsible for much of mankind’s misery as you are about to found out.

“You insulted Athanar. You insulted him in public! It is perfectly acceptable to insult someone in private (sometime they might even thank you for it afterward) but when you do it in public they tend to think you are serious about it. There was no need to go that far. After all, you were never against the change of rule in the hall, only the haste for it.”

Erbrand
Crabannan’s song ended. Erbrand and Kara stood looking into each other’s eyes still embracing one another, not ready to let go (at least, Erbrand was not ready to let go). Then something quite unexpected happened, Saeryn’s delicate voice came echoing through the kitchen door. Erbrand looked at the opened door and then back at Kara.

“I must hear this,” he said as he sprinted to the door followed closely by Kara. Erbrand held her around the shoulder as Saeryn spoke of peace once again. Was it too late? Saeryn was doing what Athanar could not do, which is to unite the old Scarburg with the new Scarburg. There was no mistaking Athanar’s intentions, he was to be in charge of the settlement by whatever means necessary. Erbrand thought that Saeryn was wise to call for unification instead of Athanar.

“Just look at her, Kara.” Erbrand said looking at Saeryn, frail, timid, pregnant, yet rising above all of that and standing amongst strong men. It was good to see someone with a clear head taking control.

“Before she was lady Saeryn she was just Saeryn: an ordinary country girl with no experience in professional diplomacy or commanding a hall. Yet, to see her now rising above all of that to try to bring order out of an impossible situation—no one has even tried! Saeryn has not only inherited lord Eodwine’s respect, she has inherited his strength.” Erbrand looked at Kara. He was obviously proud at what he was hearing.
“But will Athanar accept her good will?” Kara asked with a troubled look on her face. It was a grim thought, the possibilities of which were not certain.

“He will, he must!” Erbrand’s voice was resolute and determined. “How can he not? Look at her face Kara, shining as light coming through a glass window. Oh to finally have someone that we can look to, who we respect—we must support her with words and leadership and swords, if necessary, and most of all faith in what she does. ”

“Do you not hear yourself?” Kara clung to him; he could hear the shock in her voice. “Lady Saeryn is speaking of peace and you are already mentioning swords.”

“If I have to stand and rail until my voice breaks and my legs collapse beneath me, I will not see her wronged.” Erbrand looked at Kara her delicate form showing courage but frailty. He cradled her head in his hands. “I will not see you wronged either Kara, I promise you that.”

Saeryn finished talking. She looked bolder than she had at the beginning of the address, a natural leader. To speak so boldly after someone had been accused of treason was admirable to say the least. There was no longer any doubt that Athanar would do as he wished when it came to the status of those in the old Scarburg. Saeryn had already been placed at a rank lesser than that of lady, Athanar might bring her down another notch for this. However, if enough people rallied around Saeryn, Athanar might be afraid to do anything to her. Erbrand could not stand it any longer. He had to let the newcomers know that at least some of the remnants of Scarburg would unite behind Saeryn.

Crabannan had been the first, now it was his turn. With a loud voice Erbrand boldly proclaimed “Aye, well said!” He could feel Kara tense up as he spoke. It was an innocent remark that betrayed nothing but his opinion. What he hoped for was that it would provoke other members of Scarburg to find their voices.

[Nogrod]

Athanar listened to Saeryn's speech attentively and with growing pleasure as her speech went on.

So she's the good cop and I'm the bad cop... Well if that is what is needed to accomplish the king's orders...

Saeryn's speech ended and there was aloud “Aye, well said!” from somewhere back of the hall - and Athanar recognised the shouter, it was the same man he had met outside an hour ago.

With the instinct of an old fox lord Athanar immediately stood up and raised his goblet.

"Well said indeed! Cheers to lady Saeryn and her wise words!"

With that all of Athanar's men cheered and it seemed the earlier Scarburgians were in no way willing to be left playing the second fiddle in the cheering. So the Hall was thundering with cheers.

Lord Athanar smiled widely as he turned to look at Saeryn while the cheering was still going on. He made an approving nod and raised his goblet just a little to toast with her.

[Folwren]

The hall had quieted. People had returned to their dinners and conversations were flowing freely now among the people at the tables. Good. Perhaps they were somewhat at their ease. Thornden glanced at Saeryn. She and Degas were speaking to each other. She looked more at ease now that she had spoken her piece and gotten a positive reaction from the people.

Athanar had asked Thornden to speak, but now that it came to it, Thornden did not want to. Even if the others had already recovered from Lithor’s humiliation, he had not. Responsibility hung heavy on his shoulders still, and despite the conscious realization that he really had no part in what had happened, he could not rid himself of the feeling of guilt. His plate was cleared and instead of getting seconds as he very likely would have at any other time, he quietly excused himself to his neighbors and departed from the table and hall.

Briefly he stepped into the guardroom to see if Lithor had gone there. He was no where to be seen, so after Thornden snatched up a cloak, he went out into the courtyard to find him.

A hard frost crunched under his boots as he walked out. He drew the neck of the cloak tight about his throat and watched as his breath went up in a cloud of smoke past the torchlight. Before he could begin to form of a plan of how to search for Lithor, the person in question came round the corner of the stables, walking quickly and in agitation. Thornden strode swiftly to intercept his path and stopped him with a word.

“Lithor?”

He stopped wide eyed as Thornden approached. The torchlight lit up his face, showing the depth of his confusion and surprise but kept Thornden's face a dark silhouette. The silence in the air was now pierced by the eery sound of distant howling. Neither could tell if it was the wind or wolves. Which ever it was, it made for an uncomfortable and foreboding feeling inside Lithor's heart.

"At your service." Lithor bowed as he said this. "Your presence is a surprise," he paused for a moment and took a deep breath. "But it was not entirely unexpected. What is your purpose with me?" It was a dumb question, but one that needed to be asked. Lithor did not know what Thornden thought about his outburst and whether the rebuke that was sure to follow would be soft or hard.

“I wanted to find out where you had gone, to make sure you did yourself no harm, mostly,” Thornden said. He looked at Lithor and regretted that his presence should cause such discomfort in him. “You have nothing to fear from me, Lithor. I have not changed with the coming of lord Athanar. I will guess that I was as surprised as you when he became so angry with you.” His words stalled briefly, for he knew not how to go on.

“However,” he finally said, “what has happened cannot be changed. I expect Athanar to ask of me what should be done to you, and I really have no answer for him. I think you know best where you strayed from propriety, and I wanted to ask you what you think would be the most fair punishment. I do not want you to think that I want you punished, or that I wish to do so unfairly. In truth, Lithor, I believe that were it up to me alone, I would let even your rash words there at the end pass with only a warning. But,” he said, looking back towards the lighted hall, “Athanar felt that he had already been insulted. Those final words were the final straw, I think.”

"Just as the accusation of treason was the last straw for me. I know I have nothing to fear from you, Thornded, so long as I am obedient. And I must say that your offer for me to pass judgement on myself would be like offering the condemned man a choice between a slow or short death-- death will come despite the choice!" Lithor was not angry with Thornden at all, but he was very dissapointed. He thought that Thornden would have known better.

"You are not going to be killed," Thornden said, his voice sharp, not from anger with Lithor, but perhaps with doubt that suddenly attacked him. "I will not back Athanar in such a choice."

"Think with your head, Thornden!" Lithor tapped his temple with vigor. "Learn from what has happened. Lady Saeryn has been ousted from her position by Athanar and he is using me as an example for unquestioning obedience. Did you not see the contempt in his eyes when he looked at you? My action has reflected on your command and right now, to Athanar, it looks very poor. Athanar will do with me what Athanar will do me, your intercedence on my behalf will only make it worse for you and Scarburg." Lithor ended his speech on a grim thought. A silence fell between them.

"I did not mean to sound so forceful, master Thornden." Lithor sounded a bit more timid now, he bowed courteously. "You were right when you said you have not changed, but the fact is that everything has changed. I am old, too old to change and that is one of the reasons why the argument was brought on. But you," Lithor stepped closer to Thornden. The man was more like a boy to Lithor, to think that if Lithor had married his son would be Thornden's age. Lithor had great hope in the younger generation and what he was about to say he could see as clearly as the expression on Thornden's face.

"But you," he began again, "you are young, master Thornden, and you have a great level of prominence in the old Scarburg, which has now been transported to the new Scarburg. Athanar respects you, even if it is little. Don't give him any reason to betray that trust. When Eodwine returns the shift may be very difficult, we will need people who are respected on both sides. And (the Vala forbid it!) if Eodwine does not return you must lead Scarburg to renew the seat to its rightful heir: Saeryn, and later her son! If I have not made myself clear thus far, then in short I am asking you to change with the times. Do not abandon your principles (which a man like you would never do), but co-operate with Athanar and his men."

Lithor was no longer asking or advising Thornden, he was pleading with him. As sure as the stars in the heavens sometimes fall, he was sure that Thornden would one day rise, but it had to be with the rightful heir of Eodwine. Thornden was dutiful and Lithor was sure that he had said nothing that Thornden had not thought over a hundred times; however, sometimes things are clearer when spoken and easier to do if friends support it.

Thornden felt uneasy. He shifted on his feet, and finally forced himself to break from Lithor's gaze. Of course he would cooperate with Athanar and his men, but to do so at the expense of one of Eodwine's men? Not so! That would be to turn his back on more than his principles. That would be to turn his back on his friends, and in effect on Eodwine and Saeryn, both to whom he had sworn fealty.

“Perhaps you have read my position wrong, Lithor,” he said, quietly. How could he say what he had to say, and appear not to be talking badly behind Athanar’s back? He had no wish to strengthen whatever ill thoughts or feelings Lithor had against the new eorl. “I will follow and obey Athanar as far as I am able, but I will not stand by and watch a man innocent of treason be punished for it. I will stand between him and you, even if it means that he will break me while passing. If I am to be brought down to the level of a common soldier, so be it. I was that not more than a year ago.

“But I feel certain that it will not be necessary. Athanar is not a cruel man. Hasty and hard he may be, but he is not cruel. I ask you again, Lithor, take the help I offer, speak to me, and tell me whatever you can that will aid me while I speak to Athanar. Remember, he offered you the choice to talk to me.”

"Indeed, I would rather say this to him in person, Thornden, you understand, but I know that the sight of me will send him into another rage. To tell the truth, the sight of him would do the same to me." Lithor laughed to himself. He wondered if Thornden caught the insult hidden in his words.

"You may tell Athanar that I am sorry for my hasty words. I am sorry for my insults at my better and will accept the consequences of my actions." Lithor did not know what else to say. He was indeed sorry for those things, but nothing more. However, it seemed a till short for an apology.

"Tell Athanar something else from me as well. Tell him that I am a soldier, and an old one at that. I have seen many winters and have experienced the rule of many lords. Tell him that experience has taught me reverence for my superiors and that prudence has taught me the proper ways in which to serve them. I had no intention of an insult of any kind."

It was a genuine expression of his feelings. Seldom did he betray the gloomy side of his heart and he did not wish to show anymore than he had to.

"I thank you for your consolment, master Thornden. It does my old heart good to know that I have friends who care for me. However, if you understand, I would prefer to be alone with my thoughts. I have a lot to think about."

"Of course," Thornden said, nodding. "I will gladly bear your message to Athanar. I am -” he paused, and looked again at Lithor. The man turned his face upwards, expectantly. “I am sorry. . .for what happened. I wish I could have. . .I wish it could have been avoided, and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you there.”

Lithor nodded. “You did grand job stepping in to save me.” He rubbed his chin in thought. "Traitor." he said trying the word of for size. "All my life, I always wanted to be somebody. Now I see that I should have been more specific." A good humored grin brightened his face. He bowed.

Thornden bent his head in answer and then turned to go back to lighted hall and the feasting.

[Thinlómien]

Wilheard

It was a while until Wulfric came back, and he didn't look too happy. And he didn't have any beer.

"Where's our beer?" Wilheard asked. He surely hadn't been sitting on the cold ground for nothing for ages when Wulfric took his time harassing kitchen maids.

"I didn't get any! There was just one grumpy old hag present and she told me that the barrells are all brought to the hall and I can go and get some drink there."

Wilheard couldn't help laughing. The image of slightly drunk Wulf wandering to the kitchen looking for beer and pleasant company and finding just an ugly old cow refusing to give him any beer.

Wilheard found himself laying on the ground, his ear was ringing. "Fool!" Wulfric spit. "Don't you dare make fun of me."

"You hit me," Wilheard said.

"Good point, ninny. You deserved it. For earlier, too," Wulfric replied darkly. "I'm going. Speeches or no, I want beer. Besides there's fire there, so it's not so freaking cold." He started walking back towards the fires.

Wilheard clenched his fists. It would be right to hit him back, but he knew his big brother would start a fight and wouldn't stop before he was one punch ahead. And given that he was bigger and stronger, Wilheard would get more hurt in the process. No, he would take his revenge in some other way. He followed his brother quickly and caught up with him.

They walked a few steps before they froze in their tracks. Two people were talking nearby.

"You are young, master Thornden," said a stranger's voice, clearly an older man. "And you have a great level of prominence in the old Scarburg, which has now been transported to the new Scarburg. Athanar respects you, even if it is little. Don't give him any reason to betray that trust. When Eodwine returns..."

"When what?" Wilheard hissed but Wulfric stepped on his toes. He looked suddenly very alert, and not so drunk at all.

"...very difficult, we will need people who are respected on both sides. And (the Vala forbid it!) if Eodwine does not return you must lead Scarburg to renew the seat to its rightful heir: Saeryn, and later her son!"

"Treason," Wulfric whispered darkly. Wilheard nodded. Scarburg was Lord Athanar's place now, and the rightful heir was Wulf, not any unborn baby of the peasant babe.

The rant went on: "Do not abandon your principles (which a man like you would never do), but co-operate with Athanar and his men."

Wulfric and Wilheard exchanged glances. They waited in eager silence what the commander would reply.

The answer came at length: "Perhaps you have read my position wrong, Lithor."

"Coward," Wilheard mumbled. Wulfric shook his head but didn't say anything.

They listened as the talk continued. There was talk of treachery this man, Lithor, had committed. Wilheard was baffled, and angry. Surely the locals wouldn't start acting treacherous on the first evening? Both the brothers clenched their fists when they heard this old fool offend their father.

"We should tell Father that this idiot is planning treason," Wulfric muttered under his breath when the two Scarburgians were exchanging parting words.

"No," Wilheard protested in whisper.

Wulfric raised an eyebrow and gave him a menacing look.

"I simply think that he has enough in his hands at the moment," Wilheard replied with the hint of a grin. "Surely he can trust his precious sons with some of his worries?"

Wulfric suppressed a laugh and swore affectionately at his little brother. "Let's follow the greybeard. I want to know what he's done to upset Father so."

Quiet as two shadows, the two brothers slipped after Lithor as he walked away.

[Groin Redbeard]

The conversation had wiped out all thoughts from Lithor’s mind. Now he was simply walking for the sake of it and turned his thoughts to more agreeable topics. Each rhythmic crunch of the frozen grass under his feet reminded him of the youthful days and the crunch of gravel under his feet in Edoras. His days as a soldier had been many and he had seen many places and he would be content if he never saw the inside of a city again in his life. Lithor’s trip to Edoras with lord Eodwine brought back pleasant memories of his station there, but he was older now and the streets and people seemed to change. Upon thinking of his recent trip to Edoras, Lithor remembered his stay at Athanar’s house and the peculiar old grouch that he had for a head servant. What a fascinating person. Lithor thought to himself. His unhappiness brings nothing but misery to almost everyone who encounters him, but I cannot help but find amusement in his melancholy. Speaking of melancholy, what are you so upset about, old man? It is like you said: “Athanar will do what Athanar will do” so stop fretting about it. It is like you always say: “cheerfulness is the best road no matter where it ends.”

Finally at peace with himself, Lithor started to head back to the hall. A night’s rest will do him well, especially with the training in the morning. Lithor had walked amongst the tents and makeshift buildings where the “commoners” stayed. He decided to stop by Crabannan’s tent and thank him for the meager defense on his behalf. However, the tent was empty—still feasting in the hall. With his first purpose tried, Lithor turned to his second task before heading to his bed.

“Alright, who’s there?” Lithor asked as if giving up on a guessing game with a child. “I know you have been following me whoever you are. Did not your parents teach you that it is rude to spy on people? Come out so that I may know you better.”

[Thinlómien]

"Alright, who’s there? I know you have been following me whoever you are. Did not your parents teach you that it is rude to spy on people? Come out so that I may know you better."

"Yes, our father taught us manners. But I wonder if your father ever taught you to how to address your superiors, soldier."

Wulfric wanted to make a dramatic pause to increase the effect as he and Wilheard stepped away from the shadows, but he didn't risk too long a pause because he didn't want the greybeard to interfere with his speech; he was having an inspiration.

"But for now, you are forgiven, you couldn't of course have recognised your lord's rightful heirs in the dark. But if I understand the current situation correctly, our father had to teach you something your father forgot to teach you - what a scandal! A man of your age ought to have manners. You are probably twice our father's age."

Wilheard let out a laugh, and Wulfric grinned, pleased with himself. They were edging closer to the man in the dark and enjoying the feeling that with the two of them they would easily overpower the old soldier.

"But there are things I do not understand. One of them is what you said today to upset my father so. He is a wise man, and not provoked easily. The second one is why are you and commander Thornden plotting treason."

[Folwren]

Javan cleared his plate once, then twice, and then became restless as people continued sitting about, chatting and eating slowly. He glanced to his right. Cnebba sat leaning his cheek against one hand with his elbow resting on the table, while with his spoon he pushed about some left over potatoes. Beyond him, Stigend and Garwine were talking together. He glanced to his left, at Garmund, who sat with both hands folded in his lap and his eyes staring straight forward with a dull, bored expression on his face.

“Come on, fellows,” he said, tapping the boys on the shoulders. He turned and slipped off the bench. With a glance at each other, the two others followed him.

“What are we going to do?” Garmund asked.

“I don’t know, but we were all three of us bored beyond endurance.”

“I want to check Snowstreak,” Cnebba said, suddenly. “I don’t think she’s in a stall tonight and I want to make sure she is alright. Would you come with me?”

“Sure. Let’s get a scarf or something – it’s cold outside.” They raided their room quickly, searching for warm garments to throw on, and then as swiftly as possible, so as to avoid detection, they passed quietly through the main hall and then out into the courtyard. They were about to enter the stables when the sound of angry voices reached them. The boys crowded into the shadow of the doorway and peered out.

“Who is it?” Garmund whispered. Javan shook his head. From here, he could not even see the shapes of the people arguing. Without a word, he crept out, following the wall of the stable. They hurried down it, crouching in the narrow shadow by the wall, until they came to the corner and finally came into view of where three men stood, two facing one.

“It’s Lithor!” Cnebba whispered, horrified.

“Who are the other two?” Garmund asked.

“I don’t know either of them. They're new,” Javan replied, shaking his head. It didn’t look good. It didn’t look good at all. They knelt on the cold ground, waiting.

[Groin Redbeard]

So who exactly are these young rascals who sneak in the dark and reprimand me thus? Lithor eyed them curiously as they emerged from the shadows. They were dressed richly, at least richer than him, and carried themselves with a posture that was unmistakably noble. Lithor thought he had seen them somewhere before, but where?

Somehow, Lithor was amused at these two youngsters. One of them talked while the other listened for support, an amusing pair. This young man’s indignation was in vain, Lithor felt no shame at being corrected by someone barely old enough to have hair on his face. Suddenly it became clear. These were none other than the sons of Athanar! Lithor had seen them in the hall; however, they were not there when Athanar and Lithor argued. Where did they hear it from? All was made clear to him before the young man finished. He did not know why, but this type of conversation sounded familiar to him.

“Thornden? Treason?” The thought was too much for Lithor. He threw back his head and gave an uncontrollable laugh.

“You are right, on one matter young master: there are things you do not understand.” Lithor wiped several tears from his eyes. It felt indescribably good to laugh again after all the pressure he just endured. Lithor regained control of himself, but by now he was feeling too happy to be grumpy with this boy and his sidekick.

“Furthermore,” Lithor said in a groan as he seated himself on a nearby crate. The boys were edging closer. They will get no provocation from me this time. “I will not answer you last question, simply because you do not know what kind of a man Thornden is. But as to you first question, your father…”

“Lord Athanar!” The young man insisted calmly.

“Lord Athanar,” Lithor bowed slightly, “and I spoke our minds to each other and nothing more. Besides, you will likely hear from your father what was said. I will not try to justify my part.” Lithor squinted in the dark to try and see the two young men clearer.

“And for future reference, I would appreciate it if the both of you kind gentlemen would stop eavesdropping on my conversations.” The image of these two young men slinking around in the dark after him like Cnebba or Garmund brought a smile to Lithor’s face. That is where he had heard this type of conversation! This is exactly how Cnebba and Garmund would question Javan after the stables incident. So I am Javan and these two characters are Cnebba and Garmund! Lithor threw back his head and laughed again. This was becoming fun!

[Thinlómien]

"Eavesdropping!" Wilheard burst out. This was ridiculous.
"Eavesdropping?" Wulfric echoed, but Wilheard continued before his elder brother could take the lead again:

"A servant may eavesdrop on his master, but not the other way around. You are a common soldier, we are the sons of your lord. You are showing utmost disrespect, greybeard."

Wulfric stepped forwards. "You heard my brother, soldier. Now kneel and beg for forgiveness for your rude words."

"Show some obedience, now!" said Wilheard and gave the old soldier a harsh shove, making him lose his balance and stumble.

[Folwren]

“No!” the word burst out between Cnebba’s clenched teeth. The boys liked Lithor – he told them stories and made them laugh and he was nice, for a grown up. Now he was being asked to kneel and beg forgiveness. It was ridiculous, and they all knew that Lithor would never stoop to such an action. Cnebba started forward, out of the shadows.

“Stop, Cnebba!” Javan exclaimed, leaping up after him and catching his arm. “We can’t do anything. Not by ourselves.”

“But the just shoved him! They’re going to get worse, ‘cause he won’t kneel!” Cnebba cried, pulling against Javan. But Javan was pulling him away, and waving his hand back at Garmund.

“Come on. We’ve got to go tell somebody.”

“We’ll tell father,” Garmund said, running ahead. Cnebba finally stopped fighting and they were all running back towards the hall.

“No!” Javan said. He didn’t slow his pace to speak. “We can’t. That would only start a big fight because your boys’ fathers would run out and try to stop it and then it would be three against two, and Athanar would be furious that there was another fight, and it would be bad.”

“What are we going to do then?” Garmund asked as he pushed open the door. They stood panting a while in the entrance, panting in the warm glow of the torches and looking at all the people still at the tables. “We’ve got to do something!” Garmund hissed at Javan’s elbow.

“Yes…Yes, I know…” Above all else, Javan wanted to avoid another fight. He felt that once Athanar punished one fight, he would punish all the fights that happened that day, and after what he said to Lithor, he did not want to find out what he would say to Javan when he found out it was he who had hit his daughter. “I know,” he said. “We will tell Thornden. He’s in charge of the men. The two men of Athanar out there will have to listen to him.”

Without another word, they started around the square of tables, skirting the edge of the hall and getting to Thornden in what they thought to be the least way noticeable. He was sitting, unfortunately, at the table at the head of the hall, opposite to Saeryn, Degas, and the new Lady of the hall. He turned his head as the three boys came near.

“Thornden,” Javan said in a strained whisper. He skidded to a stop at Thornden’s chair and grasped the back of it as he bent is his head beside his brother’s. Thornden glanced at him and then at Garmund and Cnebba.

“Lithor is outside,” Javan began.

“And two men are bullying him,” Cnebba went on.

“Asking him to kneel and beg forgiveness,” Garmund said.

“And they shoved him and I don’t think he’ll do as they ask, and they’ll hurt him, Thornden,” Javan finished. “They’ve got to be stopped.”

[Groin Redbeard]

The shove rocked Lithor on the crate on which he was sitting, nearly upsetting him and the crate. These boys were becoming obnoxious. Base actions for base persons! So simple and puffed up, as if they had been raised instead of born to their current positions.

Lithor jumped to his feet. He thought of reaching for his sword—that would bring a quick end to this—but he remembered that his sword was tucked away under his cot. His uniform was for the feast and he bore no sword while inside the hall. They outrank Lithor but their actions are beneath him. He would show them some wit and if they still insisted on a fight then let them do their worst. He was not going to strike the sons of Athanar. A crooked smile crept on Lithor’s face as an idea formed in his mind. He was still in a relatively good mood and he was going to have fun with this.

“No bowing today, my friends. Eavesdropping knows no distinction of class; therefore, you cannot excuse your rude actions on it.” Lithor was sure to make himself talk loud and fast so as to not be interrupted.

“Such boys! Such shallow wit and knowledge! Know you not that when a boy becomes a man his pride diminishes and his chivalry grows. For a man with great chivalry indicates a great man: genial, courteous, intellectual, selfless, and courageous. While those faces of yours, those blank inglorious concavities, are devoid of pride, of poetry, of soul, of contour, of dignity, of character, in short, of chivalry. You are too simple. Why waste your opportunity on a shove? A dull, stupid and profligate boy, full of drink and low conversation, without dignity of appearance or manner, without sympathy of any kind with your working peasants and their ways and without the slightest knowledge of how to use the common tongue gently. Born into the ranks of the working class, your most likely fate would have been that of a street-corner loafer.

“These my dear sirs are things you might have said if you had some tinge of letters or of wit to color your discourse. But of wit you never had a grain. Therefore, if we are to continue in our delightful banter, I suggest that you cease in choosing from your poor vocabulary and continue in shoving this old greybeard.”

[Gwathagor]

Lithor trailed off. What was that? He squinted hard into the dark beyond the two young men, where he thought he could see...

A deep black shadow filled the doorway behind Wilheard and Wulfric silently. Lithor could not quite suppress a grin, for the shadow was tall and had loose, ragged hair the color of raven's feathers. It hovered behind them.

Wulfric scoffed at Lithor's cheer. "Wit, eh? What are you, Eodwine's jester? I hadn't heard he kept one."

Wilheard moved towards Lithor threateningly. "You're a very poor jester, fool. From the moment you opened your giddy mouth, my humor has only gone from bad to worse. And now - "

The shadow behind them spoke.

"And now?" said Crabannan. Wilheard and Wulfric turned about in surprise as Crabanan stepped out of the shadow into the lamplight. Lithor grinned wider. Crabannan crossed his arms and looked at the two fellows. "Forgive my interruption, it seems the play is just beginning. Well, the audience is here. Recommence."

Wilheard and Wulfric looked the newcomer up and down. They recognized him from earlier that evening and eyed him darkly. They said nothing.

"Or off the stage, then!" Crabannan said. "And hurry back inside to hide behind your father's robes - ow!"

Wilheard and Wulfric looked at each other and back at Crabannan. He was doubled over, clutching his side in apparent pain. They smirked. He looked up at them.

"I must do something to relieve these cramps," he said. "This is what comes of lack of exercise - ow! I have been idle too long." He straightened up and began twisting his head from side to side. His neck made a cracking noise. He stretched his arms and flexed his shoulders - all the while keeping his dark eyes on the two young men.