Scarburg Meadhall

[Groin Redbeard]

His feet were comfortably perched on the table. Never had he had the chance to eat such magnificent food! Such cooks were angels! Girth’s left hand was filled with mutton joint and his right hand dutifully scratched the ears of Dog. His eyes darted around the hall and settled on a couple standing close to the fire. Girth watched them for a while, finding comfort in their obvious affection for each other, but the scene did not last long. The man gave the woman a slight peck on the cheek and departed. The rings of the man’s fiddle soon echoed throughout the hall once again.

“You see, Hamrod, they are not such an unsophisticated people as you think. Though I don’t know why you think of such things. People like us should be satisfied with what is currently ours. After all, most of the people here are simple folk like ourselves.”

“Nay, it was not that the people are un-so-phi-sti-cat-ed, as you say. I have no clue what that means.”

“I hang around my betters too much. But go on…”

“These people are too independent. Why look take that old soldier. Such disrespect! It would do these people good to feel the lash.”

“What? What is this I hear from your lips?! I have never known you to be such an unfeeling man.”

“Aye, and I have never known men such as these.”

“You condemn these people too fast. They are a different people; therefore, it holds that they have different customs. I hold reserved opinions of all men involved in the squabble, but I forgive them. Why just look with what they have provided us with: a magnificent hall and an abounding feast. Tell me Hamrod, when was the last time that you supped at your lord’s table? Have you ever been invited in your lord’s home.”

“It is not our place to sup at lord Athanar’s table or to be invited in his house.”

“True, true, therefore, I am grateful that I am allowed to sup where I have the better sense to stay away from.”

“That didn’t make a lick of sense.”

“Maybe, but that is how I feel and nothing you say is going to make me miserable tonight. Let your opinion ferment for a while longer. The more it sits the more it will stink, in your case.”

“Spoken like a true swine herder!” Hamrod shook his head causing his straight curly hair shaking like ruffled bush. Girth grabbed his belly and laughed heartily.

“Aye, I’ll drink to that. May the dirt of Scarburg bring forth a great many piglets!”

[Folwren]

Saeryn stared at Athanar, not comprehending quite what he meant. “The king has given you lands and a title, what more do you really expect? Eomer may not realize that you are hoping for some larger grant from him. What if you don’t ever leave this place, after all? What then? Your sons will not simply step aside for my child, if your family is still here when the time for an inheritance comes. I cannot see that they would let anyone outside of your family take something that they would rightfully think is theirs. I don’t blame you, lord Athanar. Don’t think I do. It is a difficult situation that all of us have been thrown into. I wish there was some simple way of solving this problem, but so far as I can see, I cannot say what the answer is.”

----
Thornden

Thornden watched Lady Wynflaed walk away, followed by their sons. He was struck with the authority she held over them. It was very different from the authority that Saeryn exercised, being much colder and aloof. She let her orders leave no room for argument, and even if they did, she didn’t, for she left without waiting for any questions to be asked. Twice she had done it to him now in less than two minutes, first ordering him to come, and now ordering him to stay.

He turned his head to Lithor and Crabannan who both stood waiting.

“Well?” he asked. “What’s happening now, Lithor? And what are you doing here, Crabbanan? I hope you weren’t looking for a fight?”

[Thinlómien]

The two young men followed their mother in silence. Wilheard was thinking of other matters, and Wulfric knew better than to start arguing with his mother while the three old Scarburgians were still within earshot.

"Now," said Wynflaed once they were far enough, "both of you had better have a perfectly reasonable explanation for what you were doing here and why--especially you, Wilheard. Unfortunately, I myself cannot think of any excuse you could give me that would hold water, so I must needs conclude that neither of you are particularly reasonable and are in fact lacking in mental faculties altogether. Do I make myself clear? Why were you not in the Hall setting a good example for the people?"

"You might ask that same of Master Thornden," Wulfric replied. "We two just went out for a short walk. He, on the other hand, was plotting treason with that old soldier called Lithor. Lord Athanar needs to know about this."

"I was not asking for an explanation of Master Thornden's behavior. I was asking for an explanation of yours.

Be that as it may, you know full well that we of the Eorlingas do not deal with anyone, traitor or otherwise, by striking at them in private as if we were ashamed for others to see our deeds. If indeed Thornden and Lithor were planning treason, why did you not run and fetch your father as anyone respecting the rule of law ought?"

Wulfric and Wilheard exchanged glances. Again Wulfric spoke: "The accusation of treason should not be spoken lightly. We followed Lithor to ask him what were he and Thornden up to."

"And we also wanted to know what he had done to upset Father, since we weren't present when that happened," Wilheard added quickly. Wulfric gave him a dark look.

"And if indeed the accusation of treason should not be spoken lightly, why are you so quick to accuse Thornden?" Wynflaed held up a hand to quiet her sons.

"I am not saying that your accusations are groundless; however, thus far Thornden has proven himself a reliable ally in this transition of power. If what you say is true there must be stronger evidence at hand than a mere conversation, overheard at the wrong times. Such things have been expanded and exaggerated in the past, to the grief of all. And this still does not explain, Wilheard, why you leveled the baseless accusation at Lithor that he hit your sister, nor why you were so eager to strike him."

"How can you say the accusation is baseless!" Wilheard burst out. "That man hates our family! He obviously disrespected our father, and he insulted me and Wulfric too. Who else would dare offend Aedre?"

Wynflaed laughed--a slow, quiet, rueful chuckle. "Ah, the innocence of youth," she said. "You must have taken the tales of Orcs and Riders too much to heart when you were young. We are not fighting a single Shadowed enemy as we were when you were children, my sons, and we are not fighting for land or even people, but for their hearts. I can think of many good people who, if goaded the wrong way, would do something they previously thought dishonorable in the heat of a moment--even something as dishonorable as striking a defenseless girl.

The one who hit Aedre, as it turns out, was not a man but a child her age. But since you were ready to jump to conclusions based on a few scanty actions of this man, you very nearly made our already tenuous position worse. If you will continue to so dishonor our house that the hearts of these people are set against us--whether you think you are in the right or not--you will hurt me, your father, and yourselves even more than if you had let small slanders lie. If you cannot learn to deal with people and these situations properly and respectfully, I am not above placing you in the service of the stablemaster for a day or two. And I doubt, when he hears of this, that Lord Athanar will be above it either.

I am ashamed of both of you, my sons, but even more ashamed of myself that I should have borne and raised such sons as this. Leave the ruling of this hall to the adults until you have proven yourself fit for their company."

Wynflaed took a deep breath. "Now, as for the matter of Thornden--I wish you to tell me, word for word, what you heard him and Lithor say. I do not approve of your snooping about like this, but we may as well make use of such information."

"As for the matter of Thornden, I'm going to report that to Father, not you, since I know you will undoubtedly present the matter in a way that suits you and not true to what I say," Wulfric replied.

"And as for being ashamed, that you should indeed be." There was a flash of anger in his eyes and although he knew he was on dangerous waters, he could not help but continue: "What kind of woman are you? You hardly care that your daughter was beaten, and you join the insulting choir against your sons without first bothering to find out what happened. You refuse to act on treachery against your lord and husband, undoubtedly you will do nothing until he lies dead at your feet!"

Wynflaed's eyes smoldered. "I very much do care that Aedre was hurt, and rest assured that the one who laid hands on her will receive justice." Her lips spread into a thin, feline smile.

"If you truly think that Athanar and I will do nothing in defense of this treachery and treason, then you have forgotten--we both of us grew up and lived--and survived--under the court of Grima Wormtongue. I assure you, compared to those dark years, these intrigues are child's play. And as for you, Wulfric--how can you expect anyone to treat you as your status merits if you cannot even keep a civil tongue when talking to your own mother?

Make your report to your father, son. It is, in fact, probably better that you do so than I, since these matters are strictly military. I shall learn as much about this situation as I may, and if it turns out that you were blameless in all your words and deeds here, I will apologize to you. You are correct--I should not be ready to assume you are wholly in the wrong.

But if you think Lord Athanar will trust your account of these events over anyone else's simply because you have spoken to him first, you are mistaken. If I learn that you have left anything out--including your fist, Wilheard--it shall go worse for you in the end.

Go, with my blessing, to share your intelligence, and in the meantime I shall try to glean as much more from this situation as I may."

Wilheard gave his mother a morose look. Wulfric wanted to reply his mother's words, but he knew it would end up in another sermon - such was the way of aging women - so he merely nodded.

"Come, Will," he said to his brother. They turned to go.

"I may be unable to keep a civil tongue when talking to my mother but she is surely unable to keep her tongue when talking to her children..." Wulfric muttered as they started towards the Hall where they would find their father.

[Groin Redbeard]

Thornden seemed annoyed in his voice. Lithor was very surprised to see that Wynflaed had acted so promptly on the situation, she had startled him far more than the young man’s oncoming fist (Lithor still had not caught the young men’s names). Lithor watched for a moment as the men obediently trotted after their mother and then turned his attention to Thornden and addressed him formally.

“Certainly not, Master Thornden. Crabannan is in no way responsible for my actions. Indeed, he came here to prevent a fight but arrived too late. I am to blame for this fight.”

“Tell me what happened.” Thornden asked. Lithor was quiet and stood straight at attention as if to expect an order or rather a judgment.

It may seem strange to hear Lithor, who had almost been in rage and indignation with his two unknown opponents, suddenly turn and defend them by remaining silent. The answer is simple: being now twice accused of treason in one night he had better start acting like a soldier. The consequence of his actions had finally begun to sink in. Decades of training, long forgotten under Eodwine’s rule, were beginning take hold. Lithor had been more like a guard than an actual soldier under Eodwine. Now that Lithor had come into contact with a lord who was true soldier, his mind began to draw its nourishment not from everyday working life, but from training and years of unquestionable obedience.

However, Lithor was troubled that if he took the better part of the blame the accusation that the men will bring against Thornden might be believable. Lithor was not optimistic with two of his lord’s sons about to testify to their father, he hardly expected Athanar to be a fair judge in this case. What mattered was keeping Crabannan’s (who had already been in hot water with Lithor) and Thornden’s reputations clean.

“I will not defend my actions, sir, but I think that you should know that these young men are out to slander your good name. They are accusing you of treason as well, sir.” Lithor was still standing at attention but he noticed that Wynflaed had joined them.

He hated to be gawked at and examined like some horse at a fair. Athanar’s words rang in his ears: court jest, start acting like a soldier, should know better. This is precisely why Lithor liked Eodwine’s rule: everyone was their own man adhering to a common law—that was a working man’s life, a peace time life. All that had vanished so fast today. Still, Lithor would do his duty and start being more obedient. Lithor swore allegiance to his lord; however, his conscience would remain his own.

[Folwren]

"I don't know what your actions were, Lithor," Thornden replied. "It might be defence enough if I were to just learn what happened." He glanced at Wynflaed, standing silent just out of the ring created by Crabannan, Lithor and himself. "As for their report to their father, I know not how they could slander my name, for I have done nothing to be ashamed of.

"Come, sir," he said, only half sternly. "You must tell me what has happened here, or I cannot possibly judge fairly."

[Durelin]

Coen shook his head as his men bantered, and waited for Hilderinc to finish as he tried to answer the captain's question in between all the interruptions. Coen nodded at the man's conclusion that the barracks would be fine. He was sure they would be, and that the complainers like Scyrr had become too accustomed to his position in Edoras. This Scarburg was a far cry from the Golden Hall and the barracks attached to the hall and in the surrounding area.

"You should be happier to be building than riding at the head of a charge," he said pointedly to Scyrr before answering Hilderinc's question. He glanced around the group of soldiers, letting his eyes linger a moment on the young Baldwic. "And I hope none of you will lose your wits over any kitchen maids," he all but muttered before turning back to Hilderinc.

"Thornden?" he said as he thought. "I expect so. He was the man the soldiers here answered to, and of course he's going to continue managing some things around here, at least for the time being." He stroked his beard momentarily, something he did not do often. This Thornden was quite a young man, not that he seemed incapable. "You men are still under my command, and the few soldiers under Eodwine will be under my command as well -- and remember that even though I talk of you separately, by tomorrow you will all just be soldiers of Scarburg."

Coen looked at Hilderinc thoughtfully, but not accusatorily. "Why do you ask? Did you have any problems with him when he showed you the barracks?" He glanced around at the other men now, as well.

[Groin Redbeard]

"Sir, it is not a question of truthfulness, it is a question of character." Lithor spoke in a low tone to Thornden. Lithor was wary of Wynflaed standing amongst them. So far he disliked her children, had no cause to love her husband, but how would she fair? Her eyes seemed gentle and understanding as Thornden's. They seemed to command for Lithor to continue.

"Madam," he said bowing low. "Sir," he turned again to Thornden. "I have been in squabbles like this before and I know that it is the person with the best character who is believed. Let my past actions be my witness, whether it be a good or an ill one." Lithor turned to Wynflaed and bowed again.

"I crave your pardon, madam, if I seem rude. Today has been a strenuous day for us all and I feel quite out of myself. I trust your sons to be truthful men and I trust that their telling will be accurate. I, therefore, yield to your graces and will speak no more tonight."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas rose before dawn. He scrubbed his face with cold water to wake up better, and found himself vainly wondering why no one had noticed he had recently taken to sporting a short beard. He cleaned his teeth and, shivering, pulled on a sapphire blue shirt over his gray breeches. Boots on, he fastened a dagger to his belt and tied his hair back with a thin strip of hide.

And then he went in search of Rowenna.

She was in the kitchen, sipping tea with a look on her face that suggested total displeasure.

"A word?" said Degas quietly. "Outside?"

She rose and followed him, wondering what in the world her lord could possibly want from her this early in the morning, unless perhaps it was to commiserate about the way the Mead Hall had fallen to ruin so quickly. Not, she reminded herself, that it was the lady Saeryn's fault, but things would never have been this ridiculous if Eodwine had been here. He would be ashamed of his men, brawling, and the boy for striking the little girl. Yes, he was over-indulgent, but he would never have tolerated grown men behaving the way the new lord's sons behaved.

She shivered as the full brunt of the morning wind hit her as she rounded the stable corner. It was a miserable, grey sort of day, and the wind was wet and chafing. If she'd known her lord would demand a word with her outside the warmth of the kitchen, she'd have worn a shawl. She would say something to him about his lack of consideration, that she would.

"I shall make this short," he said, leading her into the stables. The sudden transition from the loudly blowing wind and wet air to the warm stable, which smelled of horse must and hay, meant a sudden silence broken by the stamp of hooves and the munching of hay. Leof would be in and out, working, but Degas did not mind his presence. Any others would be noted before they reached earshot.

"My lord," Rowenna interjected irritably, "It is still dark out, and my breakfast is getting cold."

After a month working closely together, she felt comfortable sharing her brusque opinions with him. In private, of course. And, as long as it was in private, Degas was tolerant of her tone. He even smiled.

"Then I shan't keep you from your breakfast. As your lord, I ask a favor of you. No, it is not a command. I understand that there are many reasons why you would desire to say no. And a good lord never makes a command he cannot be sure will be followed. That sort of thing forces followers to question their allegiances. In any case, it has come to my attention that my sister may neglect her own care in favor of coming to the rescue of others, and I fear that of the others that would leap to her defense, most would be punished depending on the nature of the problem."

Rowenna tapped her foot, used to Degas's mannerisms. He'd keep it short, would he? Her eggs would already be cold and rubbery. Pig food, she thought. Perhaps Kara would replace her breakfast, if Frodides was not in a mood. Her hands found her hips and she glared at Degas, clearly insinuating that he should get on with his point.

"I need someone that can play a quiet and unnoticed guard for my sister. Clearly not in terms of physical situations: I do not foresee such a thing occurring, and I believe that Lord Athanar would grievously punish anything of the sort. Still, however, I wish for Saeryn to have a companion whose presence will not draw unwanted attention. A lady's maid," he finished. "As I said, this is a request, not a command. Wenna, I wish for you to attend to my sister. As her maid, you would be privy to much information, and your presence would be excused in places anyone else would be forbidden.

"If I could stay here indefinitely, it would not be an issue, as I could act on my own sister's behalf. However, there are too many matters that call me away. You know how things are at home... I cannot stay away for much longer, and it would give me great peace of mind to know that my sister was not left with no useful allies."

Rowenna sniffed and brushed an imaginary speck of dirt from her apron. "I shall consider your request, my lord." She curtsied. "Now if I may return to my breakfast?"

He dismissed her with a flick of his hand toward the kitchens and she wrapped her arms around herself as she emerged back into the blowing wet.

Degas stopped to cosset his horse, and spotted Leof entering with a bale of hay.

"I will assume you heard some or all of what was just said," he said quietly, meeting the younger boy's eyes. "While I wouldn't presume to forbid you from mentioning anything to your lord if directly questioned, and I believe Athanar would understand my motive, this is a matter in which discretion could mean the difference between more troubles in your home, or fewer. Do I make myself clear?"

Confident Leof would not run off immediately to tell the Hall that Degas worried about his sister enough to solicit the aid of the woman who had wanted Saeryn's husband for herself, he left the stables in search of his own breakfast.

The day would be long, and he preferred to be at Athanar's side before the drama began.

[Groin Redbeard]

The chirping song of a robin awoke Erbrand from his rest. It was early, but he always awoke early. There was only the faintest light coming through the bottom of his door, it was not yet dawn but it was beginning to come. With a great effort he got up off the floor and rolled up his blankets and skin. He slept in his workshop, a small wooden building where he kept his tools and skins for tanning. The hut was just barely large enough for him to lie down in, but it was no more than a place to keep his tools and possessions, a table and space to work were all outside. After rolling up his sack and putting it away he reached for his wool cloak—it was dreadfully cold outside. A chill blast of air met his bearded face as he opened the door. Squinting from the dull light sky and the mild wind he stepped outside. Again the robin which had woken Erbrand from his light sleep greeted him as he stepped outside, cold and wet with dew. Erbrand looked at the pitiful bird that did nothing but make beautiful music. It was too stupid to migrate for the winter. The frozen ground crunched under his boots. Thank goodness the snow had not arrived. Winter had definitely come.

Everything was quiet and empty. Drink and a late night was making it difficult for people to get up. Erbrand thought about going into the hall and see if Kara was up yet but decided against it, knowing how much stress the kitchen staff must be under. No, people were probably still sleeping anyway and he had work to do as well. Leaning back inside the door Erbrand grabbed his bow and quiver full of arrows. Nobody was a better runner or a deadlier shot in Scarburg than Erbrand, and that was a fact. He had beaten everyone in the race and the archery contest, even Thornden, back when Eodwine was lord. Since then, he had put that skill to good use and had turned into a marvelous hunter. It was an uncomfortable thought to bring Athanar, not Eodwine, venison.

So today is truly his first full day as lord. I pray it turns out better than yesterday. I still have not told him about the danger, about Oeric. When am I going to do it man? I do not know, the time is still not right. I must tell someone even if Athanar might not be the right person to tell. Very well, I will tell Saeryn to whose husband I swore allegiance to. This lord has no oath to hold me accountable. I will tell her.

With a quick pace Erbrand began to make for the hall. Smoke was coming out of the chimney, somebody had to be up. He was just about to open the door when a familiar voice said softly: “Good morning, Erbrand.”

“Lithor! I never knew you to be an early riser.”

Lithor rose and rubbed his hands through his hair. Dew trickled down his leather jerkin and he shuddered as some of the cold water absorbed in his clothing. Had he stayed out all night?

“I have a heavy heart and have had a light sleep. For nearly two hours I paced the grounds before you awoke.” Lithor’s voice was calm. He twiddled with a singly straw of hay in his hand.

“Walk with me, friend," He continued. "I would enjoy your company this morning.” Lithor asked with genuine but a nowhere near happy smile. It was a that same tone that Erbrand heard Lithor speak in last night: tired and beaten. He was not about to play on Lithor's sympathies.

“No I will not, Lithor.” Erbrand responded rather hotly. Lithor was surprised. “We are not going to start that sort of talk. You will be fine with Athanar.” Erbrand had rightly assumed what was on Athanar’s mind and he was in no mood to discuss Athanar right now.

“I feel that my trial will begin soon. I will not defend myself for I was in the wrong last night.”

“Lithor, you do not have to tell me anything,” Erbrand was still sounding agitated. “I am convinced of your innocence even if you are not.”

“I cannot ask you to understand such things, Erbrand. You are not my age and therefore have not seen what I have. You are also not a soldier and know very little of discipline. I do not fear any punishment that might bruise me, end me, or humble my pride, but I do fear banishment. Oh joyful spirit that use to keep me like good medicine, where are you now? I am not ashamed to say it to you, my broken spirit is drying up my ancient bones.”

For the first time in his life, Erbrand was frustrated with Lithor. A broken spirit (as Lithor described it) was the exact opposite of what was needed. The old man had given up too easily. Just then the door opened and two familiar figures popped out. It was Balvir and Matrim. Balvir wore his usually grim face but this time Matrim shared in the expression.

“Right glad are we to see you.” Matrim exclaimed seeing Lithor. “We were coming to find you. How do you feel this morning?”

“Like an old piece of clothing: used and subjugated to too many rough conditions.” His face was grim, but he put on a smile. “Friends, I am ashamed of myself. I am just as frightened as a dumb thief, I do not feel like a man at all. I do not mind swords, lances, or arrows, but this makes my very blood run cold.”

“As well it should,” Balvir was the next to speak. “It is only right that you should feel something and it should not be joy or excitement. What did you expect?”

Though nobody but Lithor knew it, Balvir was very near Lithor’s age. Time had been kinder to Balvir, his hair was not yet white as was Lithor’s; therefore, nobody knew that Balvir was near the age of fifty. There was a pause, but soon his words had their affect on Lithor.

“Very true, Balvir.” Lithor said. “Ever the straight talker. But no matter how much today unsettles my blood, I am right glad I have noble friends. I will fret for myself no more, courteous and merry words will be my language, nothing else.” He stood and smiled broadly and took Balvir’s hand first, then Matrim’s, and then Erbrand’s.

“You changed your mind then,” Erbrand asked. “You will defend yourself?”

“I will defend only where I am in the right. There is another matter, which you do not know of, that I will address.”

“What’s this?” Matrim asked disappointedly. “I expected at least an hour’s worth of debate and reasoning for us to cheer you up.”

“What makes you so sure reason would cheer me up?” Lithor chuckled. “I have never met anyone who can be cheered by reason. I will only get more miserable in seeing just how bad my situation is, as reason would prove. If you want to cheer someone up, what you need is understanding. Reason is best left for debates, young Matrim.”

Balvir chuckled and Erbrand began to feel hope. This was the Lithor he knew. Though even if the trial turned out in Lithor's favor (it was doubtless that Athanar would punish Lithor) Erbrand wondered if he would see much more of the soldier. Athanar's job was to bring the locals under his control and that would mean flexing Scarburg's military muscle. He expressed his thoughts to the three soldiers.

"I do not know what you mean by never seeing us." Balvir said.

"No, of course we will see each other, but it might not be as often. I know that the soldiers have a drill this morning you might be so busy training to take on Tancred and the other lords that a permanent rift might appear between soldier, peasant, and lord."

All of them looked grim at the thought. Though they knew of Athanar's talk with Erbrand, a peasant, it was clear that Athanar would not have the common men interfering with anything that was under his rule. The scolding of Lithor had taught them this. They would have to know their place.

"Nay!" Lithor said very energetically and sprang up the steps to where he stood over them. "If you are thinking that Athanar is a iron fisted tyrant then you are indeed wrong. Do not constantly blame him for my sake. I was wrong. Give him half a chance. Learn from my mistakes and be obedient soldiers and workers and today will be better."

"I hope you are right, Lithor." Erbrand nodded grimly.

After this, Balvir and Matrim went in search of a meal with the rest of the soldiers now that they saw that their friend had recovered from last night. Lithor and Erbrand watched them depart until Erbrand finally remembered that he had traps to check and headed off towards the marshes at a brisk walk, shielding his head underneath his hood from the wind. Finally alone, Lithor went inside the hall. Not to find breakfast, food would not agree with him now, but to find Thornden.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

When Hilderinc woke up, he noticed that it was early yet. All of the other soldiers in the room were sleeping, although a few blankets thrown in the corner betrayed that some might have already gone out early... or not returned at all, which would seem inconsiderate at least.

Quietly dressing and wrapping himself in his old worn-out grey cloak, he stepped over snoring Scyrr and opened the door into the Hall. Everything was empty, but the early sounds of the stirring day could have been heard from around the place: a distant neigh of a horse in the stables, hushed voices from somewhere outside the building, quiet chirping of a lonely bird.

He decided not to go towards the kitchens yet, even though he felt a cup of something warm might do him good. Instead, he slipped out of the main door and around the building he strolled into the meadows beyond the Hall. There was frost in the ground and the grass was covered by mild white rime.

The sky was grey yet, but a stripe of rosy-yellow glow could be seen in the East. The forest at the border of Scarburg's neighbourhood breathed gentle streams of early morning mist and the marshlands to the north seemed drowning in milky haze. Hilderinc stopped and took a deep breath. The smell of chilly air, crisp yet scented with the flavor of the trees and the wet ground far away, filled his head. This was a different smell than that of the wide grasslands of Eastemnet, different from the smoke-scented smell of morning Edoras, from that of windswept Wold or even of the western pine-scented, yet dry air mixed with the odour of smelted iron coming from Isengard years back in the times of War.

Hilderinc remembered details of many places where he had been staying during the years, from one end of the country to another. There have been distinctive features of each of these places, and Hilderinc liked many of them, as they gave something of a spirit to the place. The smell of Scarburg's pre-winter morning seemed to have a chance to become one of them - Hilderinc could easily grow fond of it. He wondered how long is he going to stay here? Athanar had just arrived - how long is he going to need as many soldiers as he has now after he deals with the neighbouring lords? Actually, given the circumstances, it did not seem unlikely that the soldiers might stay here infinitely - as much as Athanar could. Except for the ones sent in particular by the King, the men belonged to Athanar's household - and they would stay protecting the small and exposed Mead Hall. It was likely that even with the soldiers of old Scarburg already in place, Athanar would keep everybody around - he could probably afford it and with the circumstances with the local lords being as they were, keeping more soldiers around would be better than less.

Hilderinc wrapped himself tighter in the cloak. Even if Athanar suddenly changed his mind, he probably would not mind. He had changed his masters many times, moving from one to another during the long fifteen years after the War, just as the chance played out. It would not have ever occured to him to become something else than a soldier - he had always been one, and even though after the war ended there was considerably less work for somebody who was not a simple guard with permanent employment, some opportunities always popped up here and there - either a problem with bandits, a brawl between the local nobles or simply a lord looking for expanding the size of his household. Hilderinc's experience and skills usually earned him a temporary place with a lord in need of soldiers - and after the matter at hand has been dealt with or after the lord realised that he cannot afford to keep addittional soldiers any longer, Hilderinc got his payment and then go, look for another place. It has always been like that, sometimes shorter stays, sometimes longer, but never permanent. So, what about this one?

That remained to be seen. There was still a long way, nevertheless. What was the matter at hand now was that Hilderinc's fingers started to freeze and he forgot to take his gloves. He turned his back to the marshlands and marched back to the Hall. Before he could reach the warmth of the house, he spotted somebody heading right towards him over the white-speckled grass. Hilderinc stopped when he saw the man, trying to recognise his face, and the man stopped too. Then Hilderinc realised who it was: the young bard who has been playing the fiddle yesterday. And also the one with the bruise on his face - the one who was fighting with Áforglaed. What was he doing here so early? Perhaps also taking a stroll in the frosty morning?

Hilderinc started to walk towards the man again. He remembered his yesterday's idea about getting to know the locals as well as possible. This was as good opportunity to make acquaintances as any.

"Good morning," Hilderinc addressed the man when he was close enough.

"Good morning," the man replied. He probably also did not expect to meet somebody here in such an early hour.

"Out for a morning stroll?" Hilderinc asked. "By the way, you have played nicely in the evening. I really liked it. I think you are a good musician - maybe you'd better not involve yourself in situations where you can get your fingers hurt, though. Whatever the case, it is not worth losing the opportunity to practice such a good skill with the fiddle," he added, hinting at the brawl the man had with Áforglaed yesterday.

"I am Hilderinc, by the way, one of the new soldiers here."

[Loslote]

Lilige closed her eyes tightly against the morning light. She stretched, yawning. Her sleep last night was the worst she'd gotten in weeks. She was sure there'd been a piece of straw or something poking into her back, but she hadn't been able to find it.

Lilige staggered into the kitchen, still blinking sleep from her eyes. She paused in the doorway, looking at the people there. Her brief stop there to request a meal to be sent up to her and Lady Aedre had been rushed, and she had not been able to make much sense of the bustling confusion. This morning she had much more time.

Her eyes narrowed, not in hostility, but in confusion as she saw a dark-haired woman. They were uncommon to say the least among the Rohirrim. Giving her head a tiny shake, Lilige forced herself not to stare. Averting her eyes, she walked over to one of the other women.

"Good morning," she said, voice still slightly rough from sleep. "How was the banquet last night? I wasn't able to attend, but my Lady seemed wearied. I hope nothing disturbing happened?"

[Folwren]

Thornden had no slept well that night. He tossed and turn a great deal and woke frequently, half starting and looking about to try to ascertain what time it was. As he lay back for the fifth time, he muttered to himself, “One would think it was you who was in trouble.” Despite the fact that he personally was not to be called before Athanar to receive judgement, he still felt dreadful. He rose, therefore, early, and went out to the hall to see to it that the fire was large and healthy.

He was still standing by the fire, watching the flames, when his brother entered the hall. He glanced up when he saw the movement by the wall and stopped Javan’s silent passage towards the front door. “Come here, Javan,” he said. Javan gave a longing glance towards the door and came. Saeryn’s words from the previous evening nagged at Thornden cruelly, and he still didn’t even know the full story. “What happened yesterday, exactly? Between you and Athanar’s daughter.”

“You don’t know?” Javan asked.

“Well, I heard you two yelling and then when I turned about to look, you’d already hit her and she was lying on the ground. I want to know why.”

Javan shrugged and then gave a short account of what had occurred. Thornden nodded when he had finished, and then said quietly, “Very well. Go and help Léof, if that’s what you were intending on doing.”

The boy hurried off and Thornden was left alone again. He sighed and rested his hand against the mantle. He stood thus, wrapped in silent thought, ignorant of the few and scattered people who came, passed through, and exited the hall again. Most were searching for breakfast or for someone else, their morning hardly begun, and no one addressed him.

Then suddenly he was aware of someone who had not ignored him and passed by. He lifted his head and saw Lithor standing nearby. Thornden lowered his hand and stood upright.

"Good morning, Lithor," he said.

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand

Seems friendly enough. Erbrand thought to himself as he hoisted his bow on his shoulder holding it in place with one hand and extending the other. “I remembered you from the hall. Remember, the kitchen, I bumped in to you.”

“Of course.” Hildernic replied sounding pleasant.

“I thank you for your compliment and no I am not on taking a stroll. I am a tanner.” Hildernic gave him a quizzical look. Erbrand realized that he sounded snobbish to the stranger. His answer only gave Hildernic another question: what was a tanner doing out here near the marsh?

“Oh…sorry.” Erbrand said awkwardly. “Being a tanner in these remote reaches I am forced to find my own hides to work with, see.” He held up his bow. “Though I suppose that playing a fiddle would be an easier job and not damage my fingers, as you say, I would far rather have my fingers pluck this string.” Erbrand pulled his bow string and let it twang. He chuckled slightly.

“Did you really think that I was a bard?” Erbrand asked amused. He examined his rough hands and looked over his low, dirty, clothing. “I must say that I don’t look like one today, but I am not sure I would like to look like one any day. I saw one once in Aldeburg, all prim and woman like in his thin figure dressed in rich clothes. No, there is work for these hands to do.” Erbrand lifted his fingers up and wiggled them.

“Ow! That was a nasty hit I took.” Erbrand examined several bruised knuckles. “Fights are no fun unless you win them I guess. I am luck that he did not break my fist. Did you brawl much, master Hildernic, in your youth?”

It was an odd question. The answer to which Erbrand wanted to hear, for when he knew it, he would also know if Hildernic was a man of impulse and adventure. Erbrand had practically given the brawl away and was planning on telling Hildernic if he was reliable. Already a plan was forming in his mind if this man could be relied on to help him bring Oeric in. Thoughts of glory flashed in Erbrand’s head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lithor

The hall was beginning to bustle with people. It always seemed that whenever a few people woke the rest of the hall was not far behind them. Some of the faces were familiar but most were people were soldiers and therefore Lithor did not know the majority of people. Someone brushed by him not too gently, striking Lithor with his shoulder. Lithor did not turn and kept walking. Attention was what the person wanted from him. However, Lithor’s attention was on Thornden. Perhaps he wanted company and comfort, Lithor had no clear objective in seeing Thornden this morning, other than where Thornden was the council would soon be. The master’s head was bowed in thought on the mantle, but Lithor still wanted to stay.

”Good morning.” Thornden sounded tired and Lithor wondered if he slept at all. I have gone ahead and caused my troubles to worry him. Poor master Thornden and there is so much else he needs to do. But despite this thought Lithor could not help but see the humor in Thornden’s statement. He let out one loud “HA” and folded his arms.

“Is that a joke, master Thornden. It was not a good one.” Lithor smiled even wider. “But yes it is a good morning, if you take me out of it. Any news on when my trial begins? I am very anxious to get it over with.”

[Groin Redbeard]

“Indeed this is more serious than even you think, master Thornden. I do not know if Athanar will bring Javan before those assembled for my trial or not, but it certainly looks as that is what is planned; then, Javan will have gained two pitiless enemies.” Lithor sounded grave and worried. Lithor continued cautiously, slowly.

“The lord’s daughter is a child. Javan is a child. Being children, both cannot be expected to bear the titles of their kin as they should. Therefore, I do not see Aedre as a lord’s daughter any more than I see Javan as the son of Scarburg’s second man. They are children.”

Lithor had forgotten that Thornden had been replaced. Is Javan one to go striking children, even girls, unprovoked? Certainly not and Thornden can see that. However, that is not the question here. If only the children saw the fuss that was being made over them.

“Master Thornden, you must not confuse your loyalties. Your duty is to your brother. That boy is going to go through enough. He is to be punished, but do not let Athanar make a public display of him—Javan is not an adult. If Athanar makes Javan’s offence public, you will have to make perfectly clear that Javan is your responsibility or Javan will be in grave danger.”

Again, was worried. Wulfric and Wulheard were bullies with titles to protect them. Thornden must avoid fights with them if he is not to be charged with treason as well.

“Both of Wulfric and Wulheard tried to strike me, ‘an old greybeard who cannot defend himself’, for the same crime. They will have less respect for a boy.”

Lithor paused for a moment to think of something else to say, but realized that he had been rambling long enough. People did not liked to be talked to for long, it made them look stupid. However, Lithor knew that Thornden would not ignore his words.

“Your responsibility, my friend. Cheerful prospect is it not?”

[Thinlómien]

Saeryn's face looked more than ill, she looked half dead.

"You had better sit down for a minute, otherwise you will undoubtedly just drop unconscious on the floor."

Modtryth's words were brusque, but her tone was warm, and she smiled at the Lady when she helped her sit down.

"Cnebba!" she called across the hall. The boy was with little Léothern; they were examining something on the floor in a corner of the hall, heads bent low to see it better. Modtryth's son lifted his head reluctantly. "Go to Aedhel and ask her to make Lady Saeryn a cup of raspberry leaf tea. Now."

Cnebba cast his mother a slightly grudging look, but obeyed quickly. Léothern remained in the corner, now probing the floor with her small, plump finger.

Modtryth gave Saeryn an empathic shrug. "I know it doesn't help, but it passes. It won't last for ever. And the tea will help now. It's an old trick of the folk of Westfold." She bit her tongue before adding "they say it comes from Dunland". That didn't seem the best of topics for now.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar woke up early as he was used to, but today he decided not to rise up and show himself before due time. And he had a lot to think even if he had stayed up late thinking already.

It was a mess and he felt ashamed. The worst beginning he had ever had anywhere he had been commanded to take the lead he thought he knew how to do.

Wynflaed was still sleeping and for a while he just looked at her leaning on his raised elbow lying beside her. Their shared quilt only covered her body from the mid-waist downwards as he had raised himself up enough to make it roll down that much. She was so beautiful! In the midst of all this, how lucky a man he was to have a wife like that... not only a pleasure to the eyes and the body, but also sensible and wise to actually carry part of the responsibilities... and a soulmate... that was probably the most important thing there was. His life was filled with duties, work and responsibilities... what would it be if there was not Wynflaed who always understood him and his worries? He stroked her hair gently until Wynflaed started murmuring and turned around towards him, still sleeping. Carefully he kissed her on the forehead... he touched her lips lightly with his own not willing to wake her up. Then quiet like a thief in the night he withdraw from the bed and dressed up.

He didn't pick the formal dress but not any of the everyday ones either. It was to be an important day and he had to show his stature with his choice of clothes as well, but not look like overdoing it. After some to and fro he finally ended up with a simple but beautiful finest wool eorling-green robes tied up with his family-belt, the large buckle of which represented an eagle on crossed staves in the background and two spears right beside them. The emblem of who he was.

There was a beautifully carved great knife he had inherited as the head of the family from hundreds of years of tradition hanging on the belt. He discarded it and laid it carefully on the top of his chest of other valuables. Instad of it he took the hammer-necklage of his grandfather and pulled it over his head. That should do he thought looking at his mirror-image from the polished copper-plate that was hung on the wall.


Coming to the Hall he saw Thornden and Lithor discussing. He nodded to them while passing and went out of the door.

The air was so fresh!

In Edoras there was always this stench of burning wood and coal everywhere as people lived so close together. But here! Just a few yards from the main doors Athanar knelt to the ground and grasped a handful of frosted soil with his fingers. He warmed up the lump of earth rubbing his palms together and then smelled it long and deep. So this was the place...

Rising up from his knees he saw a few people discussing together further away... one of them looked like Hilderinc but he couldn't say of the others.

Coming inside he noticed Saeryn... and she was looking really bad. There was this "darkling" - as he thought of her - taking care of her. Athanar took a seat on the opposite side of the table and tried to smile encouragingly. He had seen Wynflaed carrying four chirldren and it didn't look like anything out of order. "It is perfectly normal lady Saeryn, it kind of belongs to the carriage..." He finally said and tried to look as supportive he could. Which was not too much.

Looking around he found Thornden. "Thornden! Could you find lord Degas for me? I'd wish to see you both here before the day begins... I have a few suggestions to make."

[Folwren]

“Your responsibility, my friend. Cheerful prospect is it not?”

Thornden gave a humorless smile and shrugged. He was concerned, deeply, about what Lithor said concerning Wulfric and Wilheard. The more Lithor argued about Athanar, the more Thornden convinced himself that Javan had very little to truly fear from him, but when Lithor mentioned the two sons, Thornden felt undeniable fear for his brother’s sake. He had seen himself what they were about to do to Lithor and despite the fact that Lithor was older, he could have definitely withstood such treatment better than Javan. He hoped that perhaps the two brothers would not treat Javan so. Even if they did have less respect for the boy than Lithor, perhaps they would more understanding and forgiveness, seeing as he was no older than Ædre. All the same, Thornden resolved to keep a watchful eye out.

But, then, too, what Lithor said about Athanar and his potentiality to punish Javan publicly was true. Thornden did not fear that Athanar would be overly harsh or cruel, but a public disgracement would not be appropriate, either. He would ask Athanar when he got the chance.

“I will consider what you say, Lithor. I know what you mean, and I understand you now. But,” he added, as he saw Athanar enter the hall, “I think it is too late for me to discipline him myself.”

As if to confirm his words, Athanar called across to him. “Thornden! Could you find lord Degas for me? I wish to see you both here before the day begins...I have a few suggestions to make.”

Thornden bowed in his direction to confirm that he heard and understood, and then he turned again to Lithor. “Well, this is it. Thank you, Lithor, for your advice. I will see you soon.” Lithor nodded and stepped back, in effect releasing Thornden from the conversation and Thornden turned to find Degas.

He did not have to actually leave the room to find Degas, for just as he approached one of the doors, Degas came into the hall. “Degas, Athanar has asked that we go and speak to him.”

“Good. I meant to talk to him before he held court anyway.” Thornden nodded and they went across the hall to the table. Degas sat down beside Saeryn and turned to her with a smile to bid her good morning. Saeryn’s pale face stopped him, and instead he asked, “Are you feeling alright?”

“No,” Saeryn answered truthfully. “But Modtryth tells me it’s all from carrying a child, so it’s normal and I shouldn’t worry about it.”

[Mnemosyne]

The sunlight streamed in and fell on Wynflaed's eyes. Shifting over, the chill air in the place where Athanar's warmth usually reached out to her woke her fully. She opened her eyes.

Her husband was nowhere to be seen. "Athanar..." she muttered, much less vexed than she sounded. Even on days when there was much work to be done, he "couldn't bear to wake her" even when she specifically asked to be woken near dawn. She rose and looked at the window--almost midmorning already! Sighing, she pulled the quilt back over the bed for neatness' sake--Lilige would make it later.

The mattress smelled different--it was strange how the smallest cues reminded you that you were in a new place. She wondered if it had retained any of the scent of Eodwine and Saeryn, or if they had stuffed it with new straw for their arrival.

She only looked briefly around the room before remembering that Scarburg had no bell to pull (a fine innovation from Gondor) to summon her maid. Well, if Lilige was worth her salt at all (which she was, of course), she would be in shortly. Wynflaed only really needed assistance with her hair, anyhow.

Stepping over to the chest holding her husband's clothes, she fingered through them until she knew for certain what he had chosen. Not everyday, but not too fine... just what my Athanar would do for an occasion such as this. She made sure all was in order before turning to her dresses and looking for something that would match with green...

[Loslote]

Before the other woman could answer, Lilige jumped up from where she had leaned against the wall. She'd kept her ear out for the servant bell, which Lady Wynflaed usually used to tell her she was awake, but knowing the Scarburgians, they probably didn't even have one. "I'm sorry," she said quickly to the other woman, and hurried out of the kitchen and up to her Lady's room.

She quietly opened the door and peered into the room. Lady Wynflaed was searching through her clothes. Lilige winced inwardly at the sight of her hair. She opened the door wider, making it rasp slightly against the floor. "My Lady," she called to alert Wynflaed to her presence.

Wynflaed straightened and turned to face the maid. "Good," she said. "My hair needs to be fixed before the meeting today."

"Of course," Lilige said. What meeting? she thought, but put the matter out of her mind. Either Wynflaed would tell her, or she could try to get someone else to tell her. Or she wasn't supposed to know because it was a meeting of the important people. Either way, Lilige decided not to ask, but focused on easing the knots out of Wynflaed's hair and pulling it back into half-braided loops.

"And...there you are, my Lady," she said as she tucked the last strand into the loop. "Perfect." Smiling, Lilige turned to the bed, tugging at the corners.