Scarburg Meadhall

[Formendacil]

Náin was being poor company, and he was somewhat aware of it, as he sat in a less-lit corner of the hall, not far from the fireplace, with one hand around a perpetually half-full tankard of ale, and two eyes darting about the Meadhall. Though never particularly unguarded among Men--or even his own race--those who knew Náin better noticed that he was being unusually taciturn.

The Dwarf was not so much feasting as observing the feast, and while the tension seemed to have been eased since the altercation between Athanar and Lithor, Náin was only somewhat relaxed, as the ale worked on his mood. He was still watching the old Scarburgians, as they interacted with the newcomers, and the soldiers of King Éomer--or, rather, as they mostly didn't interact. With very few exceptions, the Old Scarburgians seemed to be keeping to themselves, speaking mostly with their proven friends and avoiding the possibility of another scene.

Náin noted the exit of Athanar's lady, followed closely by Thorden--and he noted too that it was precipitated by the arrival of Stigend and Garstan's sons. This either meant fun or trouble, and Náin did not think it meant much fun this night, but it was not his place to investigate.

One of the very few ongoing interactions between Old Scarburg and New was happening in the person of Scarburg's new Eorl. Athanar was conversing with Degas and Saeryn, and Náin nodded approvingly to himself. Foolish though the Rohirrim were for it, he knew that the Meadhall would remain divided if the memory of Eodwine could not be reconciled with the presence of Athanar. Saeryn could bridge this divide, and he was pleased to see that she was.

It occurred to the Dwarf, for a fleeting moment, to go over and join the nobles. He was, as the grandson of one of Thorin's companions, and distant kin of the Line of Durin, a Dwarf of considerable lineage, and indeed he was the formal ambassador of both Thorin Stonehelm and Gimli of the Glittering Caves. He was not, however, a bold man, and thus he hung back in his corner, deciding Athanar would meet him soon enough, and that he would not presume on Degas or Saeryn's indulgence. Náin had, in any case, no desire to be identified in Athanar's books with "Old Scarburg"; though he knew them and loved them, he was in Scarburg at King Éomer's pleasure, and had more in common with the elite soldiers sent as Athanar's bodyguard than the vassals of Eodwine.

Besides, what had he in common with Lord Athanar? Náin was a formidable warrior at need, as all the Dwarves were, and had fought well in the Battle of Erebor, though he was young, when the Dale was overrun and Dáin Ironfoot slain before the gates of the Mountain. But he was not a soldier. He was a craftsman, indeed a fine artist. He had more in common with the more advanced labourers of Scarburg, common men like Stigend or Garstan, but even they did not understand fully the art of creation. But then, few Men did.

As he continued to observe the nobles of the Hall, however, he noticed that Athanar drew out a pipe and lit a bowl of pipeweed, and his estimation of the soldier rose. Náin smoked a pipe as well, but this was common among his people. His grandfather, Nori, had said that all fifteen of Thorin's legendary company had smoked pipes. But this was not common among Men. Even in Dale, under the influence of the Dwarves, it was a rare habit, often looked upon in askance as a Dwarven, rather than Mannish, trait, and Náin had never seen one of the Rohirrim smoking.

The Dwarf wondered where Athanar had his pipeweed from. He knew that some was traded down the Greenway from the Shire, inheritors of the trade done with Isengard in Saruman's day, but he had thought it was only sold at Helm's Deep, where the Dwarves provided a ready market, or else in Minas Tirith, where it was said King Elessar paid a handsome price for Hobbit pipeweed. Possibly Athanar did more business with Helm's Deep than Náin had guessed, if he had a supply of pipeweed, and in addition to those about Éomer's court, he might know others of Náin's acquaintance.

Náin metaphorically put this in his pipe and began to smoke it, letting the scent of these cogitations seek into the pores of his mind.

[Durelin]

Coen ate quickly, but often scanning the hall, and especially watching the table the near end of which was filled by his men. One sign of someone having a bit too much to drink and acting a fool and he would be ready to drag them out rather than have them embarrass themselves and the lord Athanar. The banquet had settled into private conversations, and so Coen soon excused himself from the lord's table to pay a visit to the soldiers. He did not feel comfortable sitting at the table with the lord and leaders, but mostly because he did not like leaving his men on the hall's benches for too long without him. He was fidgety -- he had been since before even they arrived, and unfortunately the worry and stress had only been heightened with the day's events.

The 'Captain' approached the soldier's benches, and gestured for them to make room for him. They grew quite a bit quieter, and he smiled slightly. Once he was seated, he looked up and down the benches briefly. His eyes stopped at Áforglæd. "So you decided to show up for the banquet anyway?" he asked the man, not expecting an answer. The soldier's face reddened, adding color to the bruises. Coen would speak to him later, and the look he gave the soldier told him that if he had any doubt.

"I'm glad you all kept your heads about you earlier," he spoke to his men at large, keeping his voice at a level which he hoped would not be heard beyond their part of the table. "If any of you should do anything to embarrass Lord Athanar, and to cause any more problems with the locals, you'll be lucky if I let them keep you on as kitchen staff." Coen spoke calmly and evenly, without malice behind his voice. He was not angry at his men, besides being annoyed about Áforglæd, but he was generally distressed.

"I'll speak with you tonight in the barracks about tomorrow's exercises." Coen changed his tone to a bit more conversational. "How do the barracks look, anyway?" he asked the men, and particularly looked to Hilderinc for information.

He couldn't believe he had not even seen the barracks yet, nor even his own quarters, which he hoped were nearby. His responsibilities had grown beyond what he was used to -- meaning beyond the barracks -- and he was certainly starting to doubt that Athanar had made a wise decision with his appointment. But he had to admit that much of his responsibility was by his own assignation. He never could leave well-enough alone, much less leave someone else to do what he considered his job.

[Thinlómien]

"Now, know that your bullying towards me will be accepted, but I can foresee further acts of cruelty to my friends by your hands. Only then will I fight you! I am willing to let things go as they are. However, if you wish to demand satisfaction for my “insults” then you will have to take it out on my flesh."

Wulfric laughed aloud. This was absurd.

"Bullying? Acts of cruelty? Fight us? Are you mad, crone? I am not bullying you, I am commanding you as a rightful noble of this Hall. I have no interest in harming your insulting scoundrel friend: he seems old and hardly fit. You, on the other hand, are still serving as a soldier despite your years, I understand, and will therefore not avoid my anger if I decide to fight you.

And speaking of fighting... are you seriously thinking of attacking the two of us with that cramped and crippled funny-looking friend of yours? Come on, you're old and aching and so is your friend, we are two young and fit warriors!"

He laughed again, it was so absurd. Wilheard, however, was not laughing. He rolled his sleeves up, glaring at the two friends.

"I think he wouldn't attack us," he said, eyeing Lithor with sheer loathing. "For I see it clearly now. This man, if somebody, wants harm to our family. He has insulted our father and now us, but he has been cowardly enough not to let his fists talk. That is because you only attack the ones who are smaller than you, don't you, soldier?"

"I don't understand what you're talking about," Lithor said coldly.

"Sure you don't," Wilheard said with a bitter laugh. "Wulf, I think we've found the jerk who did something to our sister."

Before Wulfric could react in any way, his little brother aimed a mighty blow at Lithor's head.

[Mnemosyne]

Wynflaed tsked to herself as soon as she heard the voices. Her guess had been correct--and her sons were not even bothering to keep their voices quiet. Who knew how many people would know of this fray by the time the night was over?

"Let me handle them," she said quietly to Thornden.

As she reached the scene she heard Wilheard: "Wulf, I think we've found the jerk who did something to our sister." No, no, no... she thought, hurrying forward, as he drew back his arm, ready for a blow. With two swift steps she was there, gripping his other arm with surprisingly strong fingers.

Wilheard whirled around to meet his mother's icy stare.

"Come," she said, in a voice that brooked no disobedience. "You as well, Wulfric. Thornden, speak to these men and learn from them how this happened. I expect an honest report."

At Thornden's nod she continued walking until she found a safe distance from which she could question her sons. She did not turn to see if they had followed until she was there.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc was already in the happy state of having his stomach full of good food and finishing his pot for already... well, he wasn't counting anymore how many times had he seen the bottom of it this evening. Most of the soldiers didn't seem to be counting either. Áforglæd seemed happy enough and cheerfully led a discussion with several others, until Coenred appeared. Hilderinc noticed that few of the soldiers quietly chuckled when Coenred addressed Áforglæd. Scyrr sitting opposite to Hilderinc seemed as if he wanted to say something, most likely something on the address of the old Scarburgians, but Coenred continued.

"I'm glad you all kept your heads about you earlier. If any of you should do anything to embarrass Lord Athanar, and to cause any more problems with the locals, you'll be lucky if I let them keep you on as kitchen staff."

Hilderinc's face once again did not betray any emotion, but inside he approved of Coenred. The commander knew how to work with people and kept soldiers in line without being outwardly harsh. Even now the soldiers, including Scyrr, seemed to be somewhat calmed down. Coen was their commander after all, and he had authority among the men - also authority of the sort that they have been aware that he was a good commander. Hilderinc, who had served under many commanders, including very harsh ones, arrogant ones and some who have been downright mean, was especially grateful for this.

"I'll speak with you tonight in the barracks about tomorrow's exercises." Not all of the soldiers seemed to be happy to be reminded of this, but Hilderinc nodded. He didn't know why, but he actually felt like doing something. More would be seen after a night spent in the new place, though. "How do the barracks look, anyway?"

The commander looked at Hilderinc. The soldier shrugged.

"I think it is fair enough, sir," he said. "I think we might be a bit cramped -"

"A lot," red-faced Scyrr interrupted him.

"But I don't think it will be such a problem," Hilderinc continued without paying attention to him. Scyrr's face turned even more red as he took another gulp from his mug. "After all, we are just sleeping there. I guess there will be enough chance to stretch our bodies after that..."

Scyrr quickly swallowed the ale in his mouth, but still he did not avoid spitting some of it with his next words. "It's small for the lot of us, sir," he said in a deep voice. "And we are going to sleep in it all the time. Back home it was twice as big and there haven't been any other blighters sharing it -"

"...or those who feel it is too uncomfortable may take double shifts and sleep outside," Hilderinc finished calmly. Scyrr's face was now of the color of a ripe cherry.

"It ain't bad," said calmly Feargall who was sitting next to Hilderinc. "To be honest, I was worried that it will be a hole filled with wet hay."

Hilderinc nodded. "Also, sir, wouldn't there be more space after the Hall's construction advances a bit? I assume there is still a lot left to do."

"I hope they do not expect us to build -" Scyrr interrupted once again, but Hilderinc did not let him finish. Somehow, most likely due to the ale consummed, he felt a lot more talkative than he usually was.

"The barracks are in a quite good place, too," he said. "Especially when you want to go to the kitchen... though I have been almost knocked over twice when going there from inside the Hall, so everybody better watch out..."

A few soldiers laughed. It was unusual for Hilderinc to make jokes, or at least not with obvious intention like this time.

"Kitchens," one of the young soldiers, Baldwic, interposed. "Seen any pretty lasses around there, Hilderinc?"

Hilderinc's eyes briefly shot towards the dark woman who has been serving the ale and then the young fair-haired girl whom he encountered in the kitchens.

"I am sure you will have time to look around, Baldwic," he said, turning to the soldier. "You could have asked some of the girls for a dance, you can still do that, even though I don't hear our musicians now anymore." Hilderinc knew very well that Baldwic has been looking around all the evening, obviously being curious as a young man coming to a new place would be, yet he did not dare to move away from the soldiers' table.

Hilderinc turned back to Coenred.

"As I said, sir, I think the barracks should be fine for the time being..." The interest in the conversation of most of the soldiers, except for those who were sitting close by, seemed to decline. Many were turning back to their own talks. Hilderinc leaned across the table, pulling his mug closer, but also leaning closer to Coenred.

"Sir, I wanted to ask, is commander Thornden going to be with us tomorrow too?" This was perhaps somewhat unnecessary question, but Hilderinc kept an unspoken question behind it too: what does Coen think about his new second-in-command? Hilderinc wondered whether his words would betray anything about the opinion he had formed about the local commander. Despite not being overtly curious, Hilderinc preferred to know what to expect, it helped him to make easier judgements later on. Coenred's opinion on the new commander might give him a better notion of the man he had seen only casually.