Scarburg Meadhall

[Groin Redbeard]

Indeed, one could hardly hope for a more fair hearing. Lithor thought to himself with a grin. It was obvious that this trial was no longer about treason—humiliation rather for questioning Athanar. The move to put the guards the Golden Hall under Athanar’s command was not only a sign of how far the new lord was willing to go to keep an iron grip on his rule, it was also blatant disrespect for King Eomer. Those guards were not Athanar’s, but King Eomer’s. What had Athanar been lecturing and scolding Lithor for? Words, words, just empty words.

However, the trial was not a total shamble. Quartermaster was not a bad job for an elderly soldier to have and Lithor was content with it. Thornden had been spared and for the most part Athanar’s sons had been spared, apart from being assigned job and a momentary scolding. Balvir and Matrim immediately came to join Lithor and offer their condolences. Let us be thankful, the misunderstanding was not worse. Quartermaster is not such a bad job really. At least the younger newcomers will not have to answer to him. Balvir was now his superior. Was it fair? It did not matter. Few things in this life are.

“Quit whining and accept it.” Lithor said his eyes fixed on Wulfric and Wulheard, lost in thought. “The one constellation is that I will be able to keep an eye on his sons.”

“Yes,” a familiar voice. Erbrand had been watching events unfold quietly from the background. “But don’t forget they will be watching you. Keep on your best behavior, greybeard. They might look for an excuse to report you to their father.”

“Truly, you speak wisely, Erbrand. I will consider what you say.” Lithor smiled comfortingly at his friend.

“Young knaves,” Erbrand said in a whisper, shooting a dark glare at the brothers. “Athanar did not even ask them to apologize to you for trying to strike you for a crime you did not commit. I say he even commended them for their ‘good intentions.’ Bah! It makes me sick the way my home is being run.”

“Hush, not so angry. Do not scold. A true man of character never scolds. Courteous words and brave deeds are the rule that he must live by.” Lithor smiled and slapped Erbrand on the back as if to knock the glum from his friends head. Erbrand chuckled a little after Lithor's laughter broke through.

"I expected you to fall in with my thinking. You are the man who is being wronged. Age changes people, I hope I can be as peaceful as you in old age."

"I thank you, but I am afraid that you are wrong: age does not change people. The only way that a man can be good when he is old is if he is not rotten to begin with. The only difference between me and you is that my joints are achier, brain thinks a littler slower, and the old ticker does not tick like it use to. I still dream the same dreams and feel the same sense of confusion that everyone else in Scarburg is feeling."

Both watched Athanar as he left the judgment table.

"I don't like to see things change, Lithor. Especially when it is for the worse."

"Whether it is for the worse, time will tell. I must be getting to the drill square soon. I might be accused of treason again I don't." He winked and raced off to join the other soldiers.

[Groin Redbeard]

Girth & Hamrod

The stakes fell with that familiar clattering. Hamrod stood standing with open mouth.
“We’re what?” He asked in disbelief.

“You heard me.” Girth responded crossly. He had just come back from the hall with news of where to build the pig sty. However, there would be no pig sty.

“The lord says we’re to go back with the soldier’s to keep his house in Edoras with other servants.” Girth seated himself falling squarely on his bottom and threw his hat in frustration. Hamrod looked as if he was going to cry.

“Now don’t start bawling! This was too good to be true anyways.”

“But I made the stakes for the fence and everything. I was even getting friendly with some of the locals; they are not such bad people.”

Hamrod moaned and sat down next to Girth in the mud. The dog noticed something was wrong and started to whine, placed one paw on Hamrod’s chest and tried to give him a wet kiss. Things were beginning to look better after the travesty of the night before. Now this news destroyed everything. Hamrod buried his face in Dog’s neck.

“Did he give a reason?”

“Something about a military expedition and not wanting ‘peasants’ to get hurt. From what I can tell, the lord does not want us getting in his way. Understandable, we are expendable after all. Lord can always find new help here.”

“But why bring us all that way? I was beginning to like it here. Why tell us now?”

“Cause, that’s why! Because he can!” said Girth angrily. Hamrod started crying now and held Dog tighter.

When Girth saw Hamrod crying he regretted speaking so bitterly. Hamrod might be a simpleton sometimes but he was the only man that Girth could call a friend.

“Don’t cry lad.” Girth said as he put his arm around the boys shoulder. “At least we are going back together. Athanar could have split us up, did you ever think of that?”

“No.” Hamrod wiped his nose and rubbed his eyes.

“Well then, we have something to be thankful for.”

The two pig farmers sat gazing up at the sky for a long while. Hamrod broke the silence.
“Do you think we’ll ever be free, Girth?”

“How mean you?”

“You know, it’s what our parents dreamed about, and their parents and their parents.” Hamrod’s eyes went misty. “Think about it Girth: no lord to order you around as if you were his cattle. Maybe even a place of your own.”

“Sounds all good in words, but a free life is harder than a servant’s life and that’s the truth.”
“Aye, but you’d be your own master and that’s worth everything. Oh promise me one thing Girth!”

“What’s that?”

“Before ten years is out, we pinch and save enough money to buy both our services from lord Athanar and if he refuses us, we run away.”

“What?” Girth yelled in surprise. “But where would go? How would we eat? We’ll be hunted you know. Athanar will cut out our bowels while we are still breathing.”

“Is life so dear with your lord that you would purchase it at the price of your freedom?”

The question rocked Girth for a moment. He paused to think before answering.

“No, I guess not.”

“Give me your word, Girth! In ten years time freedom will be ours.”

“I’m with you Hamrod. You have my word. And if Dog is still kicking we’ll take him with us!”

Dog barked and leapt back when he saw Girth laugh and through him a stick. Both friends stayed awake long after midnight discussing on how the money would be raised, where they would live, how they would live, and what the best escape route would be if Athanar refused them. Ten years later, Girth and Hamrod got their freedom; though, nobody knows whether Athanar consented or not. Eager with their new freedom or anxious to escape before anything was suspected, Girth and Hamrod disappeared from Edoras one night and were never heard of again. I suspect that they are probably still living, on the borders of a wood next to a smooth running river—Girth always said those were the best places for raising a pig.

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

Erbrand & Lithor

Nobody called him to work on the hall and Erbrand was glad of it. Athanar was probably still getting adjusted in his new home and would not be situated until the marrow. The hall was almost done. Stigend needed to be on hand of course to make sure things went properly and Erbrand had not seen him all day. Maybe Athanar is discussing with him on how he wants the hall built. Doesn’t matter, there was enough work of his own that needed finishing.

With his thoughts turning away from his work at the hall and back to his present task, Erbrand tossed another animal hide into the boiling cauldron and pushed it under with a pole. Grease splattered his grimy apron, but not enough to burn him badly. Another hide was tossed into a pit filled with water and pushed under the sludgy surface. More hides were hammered down with stakes to dry and stretch in the sun. The whole area stunk. People always complained about how badly he smelled, but he was just doing his job.

Erbrand did not mind the stink, he grew up with it. Dead things stink! It is the will of Eru, and tanners make good money. Erbrand did not mind the work: digging the pits, grinding the oak bark, smearing the hides with dung. All of this was not done in Scarburg itself, next to his hut; rather, down by the marsh where the ground was solid yet wet enough for the earth to yield water when a pit was dug.

Back in Aldeburg, Erbrand and his father would be laughed at for smelling so bad, but they were not scorned. There were many craftsmen in the city and all found someone to their liking. Tanners and leather craftsmen were well respected people and very rich. They were rich because they worked hard and their items were needed for every aspect of day to day life. Even though Erbrand and his father were rich, they did not show it. Father always said that flaunting wealth on comfortable living and extravagant clothes could ruin a man and destroy his respect from the other craftsmen. Erbrand could still remember those witty tavern songs about city life. Suddenly he began to sing:

“Father is the miller
as was his father of old,
and I shall be the miller
when my father’s flesh is cold

“I know the family business,
it’s been drummed into my head
How to cheat the wealthy customer,
and earn my daily bread


“Ohhhh the sky makes the water,
and the water makes the river,
and the river turns the mill wheel,
and the wheel goes on forever

“Every man’s a cheater,
and so every man is fed,
for we feed upon each other,
and seek our daily bread

“My father is a hard man, muscular and stout
He swings a heavy cudgel whenever he walks out

My grandfather was like him, a man of gain and sin
They find him in the mill pond with his skull bashed in

“Ohhhh the sky makes the water,
and the water makes the river,
and the river turns the mill wheel,
and the wheel goes on forever

“I used to wonder why the peasants hated us so strong,
they think we pick their pockets, and they’re not far wrong

Flour in the flour sack, vermin in the flour,
peasants waiting at the mill hour after hour

“They curse us as they stand in line,
enjoy their little talk
One by one my father grinds their flour,
and replaces all with chalk

“Ohhhh the sky makes the water,
and the water makes the river,
and the river turns the mill wheel,
and the wheel goes on forever

“When you think about the matter,
it’s as good as any sermon,
for the vermin feeds the miller,
and the miller feeds the vermin

“When I was only four years old,
still babyish and unsteady,
I tried to play with common folk,
they hated me already

“I am my father’s son,
my father serves the lord,
one day I’ll show them
hating me is a thing they can’t afford

“Ohhhh the sky makes the water,
and the water makes the river,
and the river turns the mill wheel,
and the wheel goes on forever

“There’s no use in looking back,
for here’s the truth I found:
it’s hunger, want, and wickedness,
these make the world go round

“For every man is a sinner
and he wants his neighbor’s grain,
the peasant moves the boundary stone
and steals the lord’s domain

“The miller steals the flower,
and the baker steals the bread,
we are hypocrites and liars
and we all get fed

“And half the world’s thieving
and the other half’s yearning,
there is no way to retrace our steps
the mill wheel keeps on turning

“For the sky makes the water,
and the water makes the river,
and the river turns the mill wheel,
and the wheel goes on forever

Work is work. I like bread in my belly and ale in my cup and I work harder than many to get it. I do mind the sneering of the soldier’s. Sometimes their tongues could scrape the hair off a hide. And I mind the women nattering on; saying that I fowl the waters. Egads! Do they think I can make leather without filth? Lime, cow dung, oak gall, urine, ash, tallow, and stale beer, these are the tools of my trade.

Erbrand noticed some ladies fetching water from the stream that flowed into the marsh. The women were upstream and there was no worry about Erbrand polluting anything other than swamp water; however, it did not take long for Erbrand to find out their opinions of his revolting work. They sniffed the air and covered their noses. He could hear them exchanging some remarks and one of them was laughing. Erbrand could not stand being scorned at and his work being so unappreciated. In a rage he threw down his pole and angrily marched to where they were gathering water. They were not alone—there was a man with them. The two women were Ginna and Frodides and the man was a soldier, apparently ordered to help the two ladies and not enjoying his job.

The soldier looked up, grimaced and gave a snort. “Phhew! I came for drinking water, but looks like you came for a bath. ” Erbrand felt his rage rekindled.

“And who in tarnation are you to scorn me?” Erbrand bellowed. “Would you warm your hands in leather gloves? Saddle or bridle your horse? Do you dance to the sound of the drum or lace the chords of your armor? What about the bellows that heats the forge? It’s leather! Stinking leather. Do you want good shoes or do you not? Shall I create padding for the lord’s chairs? I hunt and trap for animals and I feed Scarburg with their meat and give people tools that make it possible for them to do their jobs. Why then do you scorn me?”

The soldier simply stared at him. Frodides and Ginna were doing the same although they were a bit more surprised at the outburst. Erbrand let out a long breath before finishing in a calmer yet sill annoyed voice.

“Now, let me get on with my scraper and dung, you hold your nostrils and hold your tongues.” Erbrand turned to leave when a pebble hit him in the back.

“Hey, tanner, watch your tongue.”

“I’m not in the mood today, soldier.” Erbrand said with particular emphasized scorn on the word soldier.

“Name’s Scyrr. And looks like you need to be taught some manners for your betters.”

That was all the provocation Erbrand needed. He spun round and with a mighty yell ran at the Scyrr. The soldier, however, expected this struck a sidelong blow sending Erbrand spinning but not falling. Frodides and Ginna yelled at the two to stop. Blood was spilt, it was too late as Erbrand made apparent as he untied his leather apron and tossed it aside. There was a wild gleam in Erbrand’s eyes as he rushed again. He leaped, hoping to tackle Scyrr, but the swarthy soldier stepped aside. Scyrr laughed as Erbrand spat tufts of mossy grass from his mouth.

"Hope you learnt your lesson, tanner."

Another exclamation of rage escaped Erbrand’s lips. Again and again Erbrand was struck down until his nose was bleeding and his gums were cut. For the fifth time Erbrand arose, sagging, bleeding and weary. Scyrr had been unhurt, keeping Erbrand at bay with ease.
“Do you still wish to continue?” Scyrr asked, smiling.

Again Erbrand rushed at him in rage. Again the soldier stepped aside, tripping Erbrand.
“Enough! Stop this nonsense!” Frodides exclaimed.

The soldier regarded the woman and turned back to Erbrand giving him a kick on the calf. It was not hard, nor was it gentle, but it was enough to excite an anger that surpassed any that Erbrand had known up to that time. Such was the treatment one gave a disobedient dog.

“I’m done - for today”, Scyrr said.

Whether Scyrr said this to frighten Erbrand or whether he said it because it was true, Erbrand never found out. In a fight anger is as good as courage. With fingers extended like talons, Erbrand’s hands seized Scyrr’s left leg with an iron grip and twisted it. The soldier gave a howl and collapsed next to Erbrand (who lost no time in returning Scyrr’s punishment blow for blow). This time Ginna took up the chorus with Frodides.

“Stop it! Fools. Before somebody gets hurt badly!”

The cry was not heeded. A knife flashed in the sunlight, it was Scyrr’s.

"Get off my leg or I'll sting you with this!" the soldier growled.

Erbrand struck relentlessly and hard. Soon he found his fingers around Scyrr’s neck, pressing harder and tighter.

“I am not some dog you can kick. I am a man! I am a man!”

Soft small hands grasped his and beat his strong shoulders. Erbrand let go of Scyrr’s throat. Ginna and Frodides knelt beside the Scyrr. He was not moving.

“Fools!” Frodides cursed.

Ginna's face was pale when she tried to find his pulse. “If he's dead ... Erbrand, if he's dead, you will hang for this.”

Fear took hold were anger had once been. Erbrand fled back to the camp faster than any stag. He flung the door of his hut open and began digging. The fear had taken hold of his mind. Erbrand was digging for his saddle bag that he had brought with him all the way from Aldeburg. It contained all of his life’s wealth, modest for city life but wealthy for Scarburg. Tanners made good money. A heavy jingle met his ears as he shook the bag and a fleeting smile quickly passed his lips. Then he went for his bow, his arrows, cowl, hood, knife, hatchet—all the necessary items he needed and fled as fast as he could to the stables. Soldiers were everywhere meeting Erbrand’s gaze, turning to peer at his fear stricken face as he paced. They were leading their horses for the drills. Erbrand felt his heart sink there was no way he could hide his secret. Did they know? No, he had been too fast—Erbrand had always been fast. There was his horse, Traveler, the great beast bigger than the other horses: white, young, and eager for a trot. Thank goodness Leof the stable boy had not taken the horses out. Traveler would need the energy.

“Erbrand?” came a familiar voice. It was Lithor. The greybeard was leading his horse last in line. The soldier’s face showed concern.

“Is everything alright?” he asked again.

“Leave me quickly.” Erbrand said. His eyes were wide his mouth was open and releasing quick shaky breaths.

“Your face tells me to do the exact opposite. What happened to it” Lithor slung the reigns of his horse over a paddock and came closer.

“Don’t touch me! I said leave.”

“You are not well Erbrand.”

“I am damned!”

“What mean you by this? What fear prompts such speech?”

“You don’t understand.” Erbrand threw a blanket on Traveler’s back and reached for the saddle.

Lithor put up a hand and motioned for Erbrand to calm himself. “Erbrand, tell me…”

“I have killed Athanar’s guard!” Erbrand shrieked in desperation to get rid of Lithor.

Lithor stared wide eyed and open mouthed. The silence hung heavy in the air. Lithor frantically looked around to see if anyone was in ear shot—nobody was.

“How did this happen? When, where?” Lithor asked.

“I did not mean to hurt him so bad.” Erbrand sounded as if he was going to cry. The realization of his terrible deed rocked him. “I did not kill him, only hurt him. He was still breathing. You see we…I mean I was working and, well…it all happened so fast. He scorned, then I rebuked him, stones thrown, I swung. He kicked me like a dog. I got carried away and nearly choked him to death. I think I sprained his leg badly, maybe even broke it.” The tears now flowed, but Erbrand did not weep.

“I was wrong, Lithor. Athanar will not hesitate to flog or hang me.”

Erbrand crashed to the ground. Lithor kneeled and gently lifted Erbrand back up. The old man’s eyes were patient and friendly.

“It was a foolish act.” Lithor said. “I have seen you start fights for less. Yet, I have never seen you start a fight where both parties did not deserve a good beating.” Lithor calmly looked at Traveler and back at Erbrand.

“Where would you head? You can’t go back to your home of Aldeburg. That will be the first place that Athanar will search for you.”

“Then I must leave Rohan,” Erbrand was now composed. His voice was both somber and thoughtful. “Not to the south. Saeryn’s brother Degas has lands there and Athanar ask him to search for me. It will have to be to the north, out of Rohan where no one will search for me. Arnor.” The words escaped Erbrand’s lips as if the name was deserving of reverence.
“It will be a new land and culture to be sure, but getting there is the problem. I’ll probably be hunted down and killed long before I cross the Isen.”

“Have you thought about facing Athanar and accepting the consequences?” Lithor asked.
“There was a time I could do it,” Erbrand said thoughtfully, “when Eodwine ruled. I would not run if Saeryn or Thornden ruled, they are just, but I will not accept punishment from a tyrant. I will not be wronged again.”

“Again?” Lithor asked surprised.

“I spent two years in the gaols of Aldeburg for no other reason than the will of men such as Athanar: impatient and arrogant for their will to be carried out. I will not accept his judgment.” Erbrand was resolute in his speech and his eyes reflected hardness in his heart.

“Then, this is goodbye, my young friend.” Lithor voice was hopeful, but Erbrand felt like crying again.

“I will miss you, dear friend. You have taught me much and have been my closest mentor. Would it be that you could come with me.” Erbrand bowed his head in sorrow. “But I know you cannot: your duties lie here.”

There was nothing left to be said. They clasped each other in a hug of memories and quickly left. Lithor led his horse outside to the drilling grounds and Erbrand raced to the Great Hall—there were still goodbyes to be said. Erbrand dashed into the kitchen nobody was there but Kara. She noticed him and gave a surprised yelp when she saw his face. She hastened to him.
“Erbrand what happened to you?”

“Oh my love!” Erbrand said almost in joy. Kara was startled, he had never called her that before.

Erbrand quickly retold his story to her and of his intention to ride north.

“Oh Erbrand!” Kara said. “Can’t it wait? Can’t you stay to think it over?”

“If I stay, I die. I must flee. I have come to ask if you will come.” His eyes were hopeful and he held her hand when he said this. There was a short pause.

“Oh Erbrand.” Her voice was sad and tears welled up in her eyes. “You came to Scarburg of your own free will and are therefore free to leave at your will. I am bound to the house of Eodwine. I must stay and serve him and his lady.”

“I love you, Kara. You will never have to serve anyone again while you live with me. We will start a new life, a fresh life together.”

“I will not abandon Saeryn, especially when she has a child on the way.”

Kara was not looking at Erbrand anymore. Her eyes were focused in her lap. Erbrand could hear the drip of the tears hitting her dress. He could not say anything to refuter her. It was painful and against both their wills that they should be separated, but their destinies did not go down the same road. Erbrand grasped her in a longing embrace. Both sobbed—Erbrand had never sobbed in his life. The tears flowed in streams and the sobs rocked his body.

“I am weeping.” Erbrand cried. “I could not weep until now. ‘I love you more than life itself’ isn’t that what I said to you the night of Eodwine’s wedding.”

“Yes, yes.” Kara had not yet finished crying.

“Well now at last it’s true. I will stay and face Athanar’s judgment.”

“No!” Kara looked at him frightened. “You must not stay for my sake. What comfort would it be for me to see you beaten when your reason for staying is because of me? My comfort will be in the memories of us.” Again they embraced each other.

“One more day, one more day with you and I would be satisfied.”

“Yes my love, but I know what it would do,” Erbrand held her hands tightly. “Leave me wishing still for one more day, always one more day. There is something I need to give you before I go. Do you remember this? It is the ring that the hermit gave to us on Eodwine’s wedding night. He said I would need it. All I am, all I’ll be, everything in this world is in your eyes. When you smile I can feel all my passions unfolding. Kara, for the rest of my life I will cherish you. I have waited so long to say this to you—if you wonder if I love you this much,” Erbrand slipped the ring on Kara’s index finger, “I do.”

“Stop it!” Kara slapped him. She began crying again. “You are making this difficult. You must go.” Kara composed herself and looked Erbrand in the eye. Erbrand still had to finish his thought.

“Kara, if it is your wish that I should leave…”

“You know the reason why I wish it, Erbrand.”

“Then I shall go, but before I do hear me out. In my world before you I lived outside my emotions, not knowing where I was going until that day I found you. Oh! how you opened my life to a new paradise. Will all my heart until my dying day, I will cherish you and never marry.”

Erbrand kissed her and then tore himself away to her pleas of “I will never forget you. Go, go, quickly!” That parting was the hardest. Erbrand still felt the urge to stay, and would have if Kara had wished it. On his way out, he passed Harreld, Javan, Crabannan, Dan, and lady Saeryn. All these were his friends, but the last two he stopped to say goodbye to. They were confused and questioned him about it, but he did not stay to answer them. When Erbrand exited the hall, he saw Ginna and Frodides helping Scyld back they had just entered camp and people were coming to see what happened. Erbrand ran to the stables where he had left Traveler and his belongings. When he entered, Traveler was standing out of his stall with a blanket over his back and Erbrand’s belongings tightly wrapped in a bedroll that one could sling over one’s shoulder. Lithor was removing the saddle from his horse.

“Lithor, the soldier’s are still drilling outside. You’d better get to them, quick.” Erbrand rushed in and swung the bedroll with his belongings and saddle bag (which contained his money) across his chest.

“Unfortunately my horse has a limp and cannot ride.” Lithor responded in a cool unconcerned manner, paying no head to Erbrand’s urgentness. Erbrand grabbed his saddle and was about to throw it onTraveler when Lithor stopped him.

“If chase if given, you will need to ride light.”

There was a tone in Lithor’s voice that made Erbrand wonder. Then Lithor gave that familiar smile and Erbrand knew.

“You are coming with me.” Erbrand said with joy.

“I am too old to be a soldier, Athanar proved that for me. There is nothing to keep me here; I would be much happier with you in Arnor, my friend.” With that said Lithor sprang onto his horse with all the spryness of an elf.

“What of your horse’s limp?” Erbrand asked.

Lithor laughed and held up a small pebble. “I placed this in his hoof so I could bring my horse to the stables without being noticed. Now," Lithor grabbed the reigns and held them tightly. "We must ride hard all day and well into the night if we are to be safe from a chase. The soldiers will be still drilling so there will be some confusion if they are to give chase. After you good, Erbrand, let's ride! For the the north."

Erbrand mounted Traveler and both men sped out of the stables. As they left, Lithor paused for a moment to see the soldier’s in drill. Erbrand looked back and saw that Thornden was looking at Lithor. The old man looked sad, but only for a moment. Lithor drew himself up in the saddle and saluted his commander for the last time; then, he drew his sword and tossed it to the ground—Lithor would have no more use for it. With light hearts, the riders sped across the scar and into the open plain, heading north with all possible speed. Who can say what sudden impulse got into their hearts. What adventures that await them none can say, nor can it be said that they even lived to see their desired destination. My guess is that they did succeed in reaching the far north; though, I cannot say for certain, for I know nothing of their actions after their leaving of Scarburg. But theirs were souls that thrived on adventure and sought strength from each other and such men find ways when all paths seemed blocked. However, if they did make it to Arnor, I suspect that you will find them roaming about the shores of Midgewater, living contently among the Breelanders. Who knows, perhaps they might pay a call on onetime residence of Scarburg, Falco Boffin. Both will probably spend much time over the ale cup with him.

Of Scarburg and its inhabitants I can speak no more of. I suspect, however, that life continued much as it had before with its unexpected revelries and gaiety, troubles and predicaments. Those days will forever be a source of blissful memories for the two friends. For all who lived there, one can only hope that Lithor and Erbrand will be remembered. Their part in this tale is finished.

[Folwren]

Saeryn felt relieved at the end of the hearings. She allowed herself to relax back into her chair as Athanar called the meeting to a close. The people were dismissed and she stood up. Now that her fear of Athanar’s judgements were proven hollow, the lingering nausea dissipated, and she felt well and strong again. She turned with a smile to Thornden, but the words were checked on her lips. He did not look pleased at all. He and Coenred were discussing something swiftly together and in a moment, Coenred turned and walked away. Thornden turned to Saeryn.

“We are going to go out to do the exercises now,” he said.

“Are you displeased with how things have turned out?” Saeryn asked.

“No, not exactly.” He turned his head and looked at Lithor, now speaking with Erbrand, Matrim, and Balvir. He considered again what had passed and then turned and glanced towards Wulfric and Wilheard. “No, I am not totally displeased. I was surprised to be accused of treason, but I am not displeased with how Athanar handled it. I still think Lithor is not completely as guilty as he imagines, but still. . .his punishment is not ridiculous, by any stretch of the imagination. It is almost as satisfying as Javan’s. To be quite honest with you, I am thinking of Javan.”

Saeryn nodded. She knew he had been beating about the bush somehow. She also knew exactly what he was talking about: that protest he had made to Athanar after Athanar had stated his decision. “You should not be angry with Javan. He is but a boy, and you can not take his words as seriously as you would a man’s. Athanar did not.”

“No, he didn’t, thank heaven. But Javan’s been let off a lot for just being a boy, and I think his words do need redressing. He will not be let off many more years with the excuse ‘he is just a boy’ and the sooner he learns that, the better.”

“You’re very hard on your brother.”

“I know your opinion on it, lady Saeryn,” Thornden said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and help Coenred prepare for the soldiers’ exercises.” He bowed and strode away. He went out first to seek for Javan. He knew where he would be and he found him in the stables, hauling water.

“Javan,” he said. Javan looked at him, still sullen, and unlatched one of the stall doors. “I need to talk to you.”

“I’m busy,” Javan answered and disappeared inside the stall. Thornden frowned.

“You’re already in enough trouble for speaking disrespectfully to Athanar without adding to your fault by answering so to me.” Javan reappeared, the bucket empty, and looked again at him. He pressed his lips together and didn’t say anything. “Would you have answered Eodwine so, if he had given you such an assignment?” Javan’s scowl deepened, and he didn’t answer. “It’s shameful, the way you refuse to take correction.”

“That sort of correction is ridiculous!” Javan finally burst out. “Thornden, she pushed me to it, and what does he do about her? Nothing! She gets off completely clean and I’m stuck making a piece of mail for months, cooped up with an old man!”

“That’s enough, Javan,” Thornden said quietly. “It could be infinitely worse, and you almost made it so, by answering him the way you did. I know you would not have spoken so to Eodwine. You knew better.”

Javan looked away. “Maybe I did.”

“I think you should apologize.”

“I don’t think I will apologize!” Javan said fiercely.

“And you will also apologize to the girl.”

“I will not!”

Thornden was in no mood for argument. Javan was acting childish in a way he had not since Eodwine was married. He knew well that Javan knew better and was merely being stubborn. To argue would be a waste of time and breath and would only harden the resolved will of his little brother. So instead of holding a debate with him, he took him by the arm and escorted him, despite his struggles, to a more private place, and there thrashed him well with his belt and told him quietly that he would apologize to both lord Athanar and his daughter, and if he had not by the time Thornden returned from the exercises, they would go through similar actions again. Javan nodded, to indicate that he understood, and Thornden nodded in return and left him.

The courtyard was busy again with soldiers saddling their horses, preparing to go out. Thornden led his own horse out and soon had him ready. Before ten minutes were passed, the entire company rode out of the courtyard together, towards the field behind the scar where the games had taken place three months ago.

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan kicked at the dirt as he leaned against a wall outside the Hall. Lithor's trial had gone as well as might be expected, he reflected, especially he, Crabannan, had done very little to help the situation by jumping in like that. I should have kept my mouth shut. Always keep your mouth shut, he thought. Have I forgotten everything? He spat in the dirt and pulled his cloak tighter around him.

A few moments earlier, Javan had walked up the stone steps into the hall, slowly but doggedly, barely looking at Crabannan. The tall dark-haired man acknowledged Javan with a nod. It irked Crabannan to see a lad like Javan getting into trouble. He liked Javan and would have been likely to strike up a friendship with him, if he had not always felt some disapproval from Thornden. Maybe he sees what I see, thought Crabannan. Maybe he sees a boy who very easily turn into a vagrant, a mercenary, a scoundrel. Like me. He shook his long dark hair. Thinking again. I need something to do, quick.

He sat on the steps and produced his harp. It wouldn't be the first time that idleness had become restlessness, that restlessness had driven him to do something stupid. As he plucked the strings slowly, aimlessly, he ran over the past few years in his mind.

He enjoyed playing the harp for various squires and nobles in Rhovanion, but those positions invariably ended in brawls and knife fights. By the time he had been thrown out of every village in a 60 miles radius, a lord's son had taken a violent dislike to him and he decided to move on.

Of course, he had not meant to fall in with the bandits in Ithilien - but one thing led to another, as things tend to do. All told, though, it had been better than working as soldier for hire in Rhun. That had been an ugly year, which had culminated in a ugly showdown. Fun, but ugly.

Minas Tirith had been good to him until he started walking the streets at night with a cudgel. The way he saw it, the city was better off without the ne'er-do-wells and thugs that he was incapacitating. The owner of the tavern where he sat as house bard caught wind of it, though, and Crabannan was forced to fight his way out. The irony of course was that he, who could be considered simply another ruffian, had taken such a keen interest in justice. He had moved on quickly.

Then there had been the knife in the leg early that summer, before Scarburg - which, he thought, was hardly worth it, for the girl involved now seemed to him to have been not even particularly friendly, let alone attractive. But he took comfort in the fact that it would be several months before the other fellow would recover enough to spread his name about.

Crabannan shook his head again. That was as far back as he liked to remember. But which was worse? Forgetting or remembering?

[Durelin]

The end of the early part of the morning could not have come more quickly as far as Coenred was concerned. He had recommended punishment for the soldier to the Lord Athanar the night before, and voiced his concerns on the matter -- namely the tone Lithor set for the rest of the soldiers, and how he might be quieted -- and he had hoped he would avoid being at the trial at all. Instead Athanar had asked him to be at both. Of course Coen had witnessed part of the scuffle between this Javan and the lord's daughter, but the Captain felt only concern and anger on behalf of Aedre. He had no reason to be there except to be another man to stare the boy down, which -- even with his anger -- he did not enjoy.

As soon as he was free, he again recruited Hilderinc's help to round up the men he had brought with him, and Thornden to round up the rest. Coen much preferred removing them from their barracks immediately to drills and work, and grumbled inwardly at the fact that they had managed to have some free time this morning thanks to the trials. Their heads were not going to be into this as they would be on a better day. All of the past day's events did not help: a brawl, the harm done to Lady Aedre, countless rumors, the feast...and then the two trials this morning which surely they were all aware of. Likely they already knew half of what was said at them.

Coenred waited for the men to gather in the open field on his chestnut courser. He was in full gear: mail and leather hauberk, his helm sitting in front of him on his saddle, a sword at his belt, and a spear in the ground by his side. He expected all the soldiers to arrive in full equipment as well. When Thornden arrived, he gave him what he considered a friendly nod. He realized he would have to speak to the young man, particularly because of how closely they would be working together, but Coen was determined to do so only after the morning drills. It was no good to make the men wait and watch their superiors talk. He was sure their minds were already in many places besides the field under their horses' hooves.

First Coen did a brief inspection of the soldiers, and noted at least one missing face: Lithor. Hopefully the Lord Athanar had kept him for some reason, and there was nothing new afoot that involved that man. Then he moved immediately into formation drills. There would be no divide between the men he had brought under his and Lord Athanar's command and those who had previously been under Thornden and Lord Eodwine's command, no matter how hard they tried to create one.

The formations were indeed sloppy -- the men were not used to working together. But they were all skilled horsemen, naturally, so the results at least were not disastrous. Each man kept control of his mount, even in the tight quarters with a number of men and horses out of place. Coen had been a part of much, much larger formations than the small group before him. But what else should he expect, out here in the Mid-emnet? It was a testament to the recent time of war that they had even this many soldiers to be garrisoned here.

After the formation drills, Coen prepared to move onto some other riding drills. He recruited the help of Hilderinc and a few others, and began setting up poles, some with simple sack dummies, others with small rings hanging from them. He mostly ignored Thornden, though only because he was not sure how to deal with him, much less how to have him be involved. As far as Coen was concerned, he was in command, and it would do no good having two men sharing that command if they meant to accomplish anything.

[Folwren]

Thornden knew what to expect as much, or as little, as Coenred himself. He respected the new leader, although he found it difficult to get to know him. He hoped that this morning would be an opportunity to learn more about him, but he was disappointed with the results thus far. True, he found out a great deal about his form of leadership. Coenred was efficient with his orders, speaking little and to the point. He watched in silence as the men went through their maneuvers. Thornden also noted Coenred making care that the old and the new Scarburgians did not separate into individual groups or bands. They were mixed and forced to work side by side, and in many cases together.

Thornden, however, did not learn how he himself was to interact with Coenred. He felt out of place, and it quickly occurred to him that Coenred didn’t really know what to do with him. This was not surprising, and Thornden was not offended. Instead of pushing for attention or for a position, he watched and waited. He did as asked, but no more, for Coenred saw that everything that needed doing was done, and Thornden felt no need to go out of his way to gain attention or special recommendation. He positioned his horse to the right and a little behind Coenred, and there he remained. He could learn a lot from observation.

What he saw in the men was not encouraging. It made him realize that he and Eodwine had both been slack with the men-at-arms. They had been so busy building the hall and just living that drills of any sort were completely abandoned. Although what had been done instead of exercises had been necessary and unavoidable, Thornden did feel embarrassed for his men.

However, when it came to riding and archery at once, the men from Scarburg did admirably. Almost every man hit his mark without fail, and those that missed, did not miss by far. The spear throwing went almost as well, and by the end of the exercises on horseback, Thornden felt a little easier with how things were progressing. Next would come the hand-to-hand combat. He wondered how Coenred would do this.

[Nogrod]

“I should not have argued after you made your decision. I realize that it is fair and. . .and merciful. I ask your pardon.”

Lord Athanar was quite taken with the words of Javan. Actually he had to swallow and a keen eye might have caught a slight gleam of a tear on his eye. Javan seemingly didn't quite understand what was going on but slowly lord Athanar's face turned into a smile. And it was not a cold smile but one filled with relief if not even some warmth.

He waved his hand for Javan to come closer to him.

Javan looked at Degas and Saeryn quite confused. They didn't actually nod but he could read it from their eyes it was okay to go. He took the few steps unsteadily as what was to come only to feel lord Athanar's hands on his shoulders again - and suddenly he was staring him to his eyes.

Lord Athanar's grip on his shoulders was firm but not violent. Now there was clearly a tear in his eye and it took some time lord Athanar managed to say anything. He was too involved in his thoughts relating to his own sons, this boy here, the whole situation at the Mead Hall... It was like all the stress and tension had been given a relief and he tried to hold himself steady looking at that young lad in front of him.

"Now there young Javan..." Javan could feel lord Athanar's fingers were shaking a little on his his shoulders. "You don't know how happy I am to hear that son."

Lord Athanar felt the shakiness too and took his other other hand off from Javan's shoulder and gently stroke his hair a few times - still looking at him to the eyes. "Now know this Javan... There are people who are called eorlinga and who have never been brave enough to do what you have just done."

He let go of Javan and glanced at Saeryn before returning his gaze on Javan. "You have many things to learn for you to become a real eorling Javan, and there are blood, sweat and tears for you ahead to achieving the mastery of them, but you have already overcome one hurdle many others never make over with. Being able to admit you were wrong and to apologise, that requires character half of my soldiers don't have... yet... even if they are otherwise eorlinga, the best of men when it comes to fighting."

Lord Athanar leaned back on his chair but did not let his eyes off Javan. Suddenly he remembered Javan's words again and smiled now heartily. "Your pardon is granted young man. I will not bear a grudge on you for what you said during the hearing." Suddenly he leaned forwards towards Javan. "Actually what you did just now coming here with your apology... I will think more highly of you than before we started earlier the morning."

He leaned back and glanced at the siblings again.

"But Raban there..." he said then coming back to Javan. "He might look like a weirdo... and in a way he is one. But remember Javan, he's the most heroic eorlinga you probably have ever met... and that is counting lord Eodwine and me as well... and your brother... He has been in more battles than most of those still living and he has survived them... and not by laying low but by acting like a true eorlinga. So even if the age has quite gotten him there is more from him to learn for you, you could learn from anyone else around. Just look at how he does things, how he focuses on things that are important, what he tells you about being an eorlinga, and paying heed to what he teaches you..."

With the last one lord Athanar thought he could track a slight displeasure in Javan's eyes. But contrary to expectations lord Athanar smiled more freely than for hours now.

"Heh, making a chainmail is not to your liking son? Well just ask me whether I liked the idea when I was told to learn it when I was about your age! What a waste! I thought then. I would have wanted to learn swordplay and riding back then!" Suddenly he felt quiet, like falling into his memories.

Turning his eyes back to Javan he said now more softly. "I still have that first chanmail I did myself with me. I can show it to you one day if you wish. Like I said, I was about your age I made it under his supervision... I used it in the drills that time but I did outgrew of it to be sure. So was it a waste of time?" He looked at Javan like he was trying to see through his eyes to what Javan actually thought. Javan shook with the inspection.

"No. I learned a lot of about patience, of working with hands, or working with metals, of humility and pride, of being an eorlinga. And anyway, it is a treasure for me and I'm not sure if I should either leave it to my first grandson or bury it with Raban when he dies... or just treasure it myself. These are big things Javan. But whatever you think about it now, I'll promise you will treasure those times and the learning from Raban when you're older. And the first chainmail you do yourself will be an object of pride to you to follow you your whole life."

Suddenly he turned to Degas, smiling at him. "Have you being taught to learn to make a chainmail for yourself Degas?"

[Nerindel]

As Matrim followed Balvir to the kitchens he brooded over the past couple of days and in particular on his own behaviour. His soft grey eyes had watched the Momentary tension of the previous evening eased but not altogether fade. A good portion of this hall was in mourning and as he thought on the new Eorl he wonder if the man could see as well as he the confused feelings and frustrations such grief could bring. Unlike Athanar or even himself Eodwine had not been born into nobility, it had found him and as such he had not been raised with the knowledge or prepared for the weight that such responsibility and high expectation brought. He was a Farmer, then a soldier (or so he had heard in many a fireside tale) more content with hard graft and comradary than the more onerous tasks of eorldom. It had always seemed to Matrim that he struggled most with the class derision nobility deemed necessary, perhaps even yearning for that simpler life, but It was for these reasons that his people held such loyalty, he never look down on them and they loved and respected him for it. A trust earned not demanded! Matrim thought pensively.

Just then a horrible thought came to him, that perhaps it would have been better for Lord Athanar if Lord Eodwine had died. As the man who had publicly reprimanded Lithor and asserted his authority did not strike him as one who would abide such split loyalties much less the thought of living under the shadow of another. These first few days would be difficult for both old and new to these halls. But the politics of Rohan were not his concern, he was a Ranger and a lord of Ithilien he reminded himself and as such should be careful not to overstep his position as precarious as that had now become.

As if in affirmation to his thoughts a pain ran from his left eye to his jaw, reminding him of his own frustrations. Athanar’s man had a good right punch to him and whiles all who had heard what went on believed him to be honouring the good lady Searyn’s name it was not completely true. For with Eodwine’s illness had come a new set of problems for him and his company, the worst of which was the arrival in Edoras of King Elessar himself a complication that could not have been foreseen, he had made Balvir recite many times what the king had questioned him about and had been surprised when he was not summoned himself.

The arrival of the new eorl had brought with it news that he had been dreading, sent with one of King Eomers guards who had be attached to Athanar’s train. He looked down for what must have been the hundredth time at the fine lettering adoring the folded parchment in his left hand and read.

I King Elessar of Gondor
Hearby Exile Lady Æðelhild unto Scarburgh
With agreement of King Eomer of Rohan
Until such time as Court can be called and Summons are sent.

Lord Matrim of Aren and Captain Balvir of Ithilien
Are hereby commanded to ensure that Lady Æðelhild does not break with the terms of this decree.
They are also charged with the continued safety of the lady until her return to Gondor.

This had been fresh in his mind when Athanar’s man had made the unfortunate mistake of disrespecting the lady Searyn and her position, the man’s ignorance had hit hard at something deep within Matrim’s mind, doubts he had been loathed to give thought to.... What if his father fails? What if no proof could be found to disprove Cild’s ridiculous claims? What if Æðelhild stripped only from land and title by her uncle’s misdeeds was found guilty? Would others like this soldier in their ignorance mock and sneer insults at a woman they did not truly know? And there it was he had snapped at the thought of knowing they would. Before he even knew what had happened he had assaulted the man. He looked down at his hands still clutching the parchment, even now he could not believe his own actions... diplomacy, disciple the principles he had been raised on forgotten with one thought....

“It doesn’t matter how much you look at it, it is not going to change.” Stirred from his thoughts Matrim looked up to see Balvir studying him, his brow creased with a hint of concern in his grey eyes. “I know” he sighed heavily now aware that he had stopped.

“How did Æðelhild take the news?” Balvir asked, again throwing him off guard as with all the drama of the following night he had not yet had the opportunity to get the young woman alone.

“Is your head full of sawdust soldier?” Balvir scolded reading the look on Matrim’s face, “Where you somewhere else last night!” Matrim knew exactly to what Balvir was referring and he was under no illusions that Athanor would not have been apprised of their situation, the man would certainly have orders of his own and it would not do to have Æðelhild hear her fate from any but her own Kin. “I will speak to her,” he promised.

“See that you do, my lord!” Balvir whispered with a grin and a slight nod of his head, which made Matrim laugh. Their relationship to those outside would have seemed strange, as a soldier Balvir out ranked him in both experience and wisdom, but as a Lord of Aren Balvir was expected to treat him with the respect that his nobility demanded. Matrim however always believed that respect should be earned regardless of class or circumstance and Balvir was only too happy to respect this wish and remind him of it whenever necessary. As his father’s second in command and his most loyal and trusted friend he already had Matrim’s trust and respect, however Balvir had always been more like an uncle to Matrim and as such they could be more at ease with one another and Matrim always welcomed the older man’s advice or opinions when given.

Still laughing Matrim folded the parchment and tucked it carefully inside his jacket and they both entered the breakfast hall, it was surprisingly empty and as they sat Matrim stopped Kara and enquired to the whereabouts of Miss Æðel, the young serving girl quickly informed him that she was in the herb garden and that she had been keeping much to herself since the arrival of the new eorl. “Though I cannot imagine how with all the scraps everyone seems to be getting into!” she said sternly looking at the bruise on Matrim’s face. Matrim could see Balvir suppressing the urge to laugh as he no doubt knew as well as he that amongst those she was referring was the young Erkbrand, so instead he decided to change the subject entirely.

“It is fairly quiet in here this morning is it not miss Kara?” he said looking around at the empty tables. The young woman nodded then went on to tell them about the trials and the many of the soldier where already off getting ready for drill with the new commander. “Now shouldn’t you two be getting ready too?” she finish giving them both a confused look.

“Aye but we are Miss; one should never drill on an empty stomach.” Balvir informed her jovially and with that the young woman smiled and nodded her agreement before heading off to fetch their breakfast.

The two men looked at each other Matrim had forgotten about the drill but clearly Balvir had not, “What are you thinking?” he asked the older man. Balvir paused for as moment before answering, “I am thinking my lord that our swords where offered to Lord Edowine and not Lord Athanor or orders are clear Lady Æðelhild is our charge...”

“But?” Matrim offered as the older man paused thoughtfully.

“But I think it would do no harm to get to know those who in essence will be the ladies keepers.” Matrim agreed and the two decided that while Matrim spoke with Lady Æðelhild Balvir would attend Drills with the others. If Athanor asked for their swords they would be given under the proviso that it did not interfere with their own orders.

Kara soon returned with breakfast and the two men ate quickly before heading off to their respective tasks. Balvir to drill and Matrim to find Æðelhild, as he walked to the herb garden Æðelhild tended Matrim could not help but think he had drawn the short straw.