Scarburg Meadhall

[Folwren]

Quin heaved a sigh of intense frustration. He turned from the target and clenched his hands. He had thrown a straight spear hundreds of times before. Why now, when there were dozens of people around, could he not do it right? As he passed the captain on his way to stand in rank, he shot him a furtive look. Coenred did not even glance his way. The second in command did look at him, however. Quin looked swiftly away and found his place behind the other soldiers who had already thrown their spears.

The young man did not have the presence of mind to compare himself with others. Perhaps it was wisdom not to compare, for one should not think only of how others do, but how well one does oneself, detached and alone. In such a case, however, it was discouraging. Quin only looked at himself, and he had done poorly, and that was all he knew. He did not realize that others as well were not performing up to their usual standards that day.

Their next object was to practice their abilities on horseback. Quin looked disappointed. His horse had lamed himself on the last stretch of rode the previous day. In order not to be left out completely, he offered his help to the captain and helped set up the obstacles for the horsemen. He stood by and watched as the soldiers put their horses through their paces, practiced their archery and casting the spear again. The men were finally warmed up, it seemed, for most did fairly well.

“We will do the hand-to-hand combats next,” he heard Coenred tell a man to his right. “I want to see how they do at close quarters.”

Quin swallowed nervously. His talent had never run in that direction. He did not like the idea of seeing his enemy die so close, and he had never liked the sword practices. It was different than practicing with the sword or spear. With those weapons, one had a target one threw at. If you hit the target, you did well, and no one was hurt. But while practicing with a sword, even with the blunted weapons they used, people got hurt. Not seriously, no, but the bruises could be gloriously nasty. It was not as though Quin feared pain, it was merely that he did not glory in it, like some young men, and even older men, did. He would much rather have stayed home and learned a craft, or an art, perhaps a form of instrument. But it was not to be.

The soldiers completed their rounds on horseback, and the horses trotted back towards the captain and waited for the next orders.

[Thinlómien]

"This is insufferable!" Wulfric shouted. He and his brother were on a ride again, and they had ridden for an hour without saying anything. Wulfric's face had been as dark as a storm cloud ever since the hearing, and now he had seemed to decide to let it all out. Fine, Wilheard shrugged. Let him rant if helped him. He too was annoyed at many things, but he thought his big brother was being overtly dramatic, as so often.

"Will, what have I done wrong? What have we done wrong? What have I done to deserve to be disinherited like some disgraceful vagrant?"

Wilheard could think of many witty replies, but for once he kept his mouth shut. He didn't truly understand why his father had done what he had, and he was angry for his brother too. But truth be told, it didn't really concern him. He was born the second son, and he had always known he would have to make his own life, earn his own place in the military and not inherit land or holdings. Undoubtedly, it was different from Wulfric's perspective.

"What is my crime, Will?" Wulfric's eyes were full of anguish, and Wilheard could feel his brother's pain. But there was nothing he could say to help him, he understood the situation even less than his brother did. Wulfric had always been the politician, the one who understood the twists and turns, the chances and ways of power. If he was at loss, Wilheard was even more so.

"I don't understand. I did everything they wanted me to! I worked hard to become a soldier, and I was the best in my class. No other son of an Eorlinga ever bested me in a fight.

I learned first how to take care of my horse, and as I grew older I was given the unofficial responsibility to look after you, my little brother. In my training, I was appointed to lead and tutor younger boys and show them what it is to be an Eorling soldier. I strived to be a good leader. I never failed Blackmane or Northwind, nor you, nor any of the lads.

I always did my duties. Maybe not always without grumbling, but I did them. I broke some rules too, that I know, but if somebody says I didn't suffer my punishments like a man, he is a liar and deserves to be flogged.

What is a man that doesn't make mistakes? Am I to suffer a lifetime shame because played pranks on the shepherd when I was but a boy? Am I deemed unworthy because I wooed the miller's or the innkeeper's daughter or because I drank on duty?

Or because yesterday I followed a traitor plotting against my lord and tried to make him talk?

Is this my fate? Has another man ever been so wronged in his life, or do I truly deserve all this from my father whom I always strived to obey and respect like a loyal son?"

Wulfric let out a wail and looked to the sky, as if challenging the gods to be his witness. Wilheard could see tears running down his face. It was not a usual sight, and it made Wilheard's heart burn with fury. His brother spoke true - he had always been an ideal Eorling warrior: the biggest, the brutest, the boldest and looking after his underlings with utmost care. He did not deserve this kind of humiliation or questioning his value, not to mention being substituted by a whining peasant girl and her unborn child. Their father must have gone cracked.

Indeed, the more he thought of that, the more it seemed like that. Athanar as Wilheard remembered him had been a gentle father, noble and distant, but definitely full of goodwill, unlike their mother who had had no patience for boyish whims or cheerfulness and who had often scolded them with harsh words. And Athanar had definitely been a lord to be proud of.

But who was this Athanar they had come back to from the military? He was noble, and gentle, but definitely cracked. His gentleness and turned to weakness - how often did Athanar's eyes glimmer with tears when he recalled something from the past, how meek punishments he executed on his subjects? And who in their right mind would disinherit their eldest son, especially if it was someone like Wulfric?

Wilheard thought maybe this would make Wulfric feel better, so he told his brother as much. Wulfric nodded fervently. "It must be the only explanation. It would also explain why he treated us today like he did." Wulfric's face grew dark on the thought of it, and he would have started another rant had Wilheard not been quicker. He was offended by their father's behaviour towards them too.

"First he publicly inherits us without bothering to tell us first. Apparently we are not worth that.

Then, he talks to us as if we were barely away from mother's breasts. He talks to us as if we are idiots, in front of all the people. Good that he didn't call us 'kiddies'!"

"Indeed", Wulfric growled in a low voice. "And then, on top of all that ridicule, he exerts on us a punishment that could be given to some ten-year olds! Go do a little chippadeedoo duty with uncle Lithor. And behave nicely, boys. No poking fingers in each other's noses!"

Despite everything, Wilheard had to laugh. He had always been the witty one out of the two, but Wulfric could have his way with words when he was angry.

"Although, we have to remember he gave the same punishment to Lithor, so he treats him like a baby too," Wulfric added.

"Well that's no surprise, they greybeard has proven himself to be senile. Have we given as bad an impression?" Wilheard asked.

"This is insufferable!" Wulfric replied, tearing his hair. "He must be out of his mind, there is no other logical explanation, is there? If he didn't seem so insane, I would go to him and demand to be punished like a man for whatever crimes he wishes to charge me of. I can't stand being treated like wayward child when I'm a grown-up man, fully aware of the consequences of my actions. I can understand not being so harsh on a man so old he is starting to sink back towards his childhood, but to a young man in his prime, never!"

For a while, there was silence. Wilheard was starting to feel angrier and angrier, and Wulfric was clearly thinking of something.

"Do you know what this means, Wilheard?" Wulfric asked in a shaky voice after a while.

Wilheard shook his head.

"If our esteemed father is truly somehow out of his mind, we must be extra vigilant. No one else should know about this. We should see to that everything seems as normal as possible. We shall act as if this kind of dishonourable treatment towards one's sons is normal. If we don't raise a question about it, maybe it will go unnoticed.

And we need to take the responsibility as his sons. If he flips totally, we need to get help for him. A healer or a... witch, as you would call them, I suppose. But we are the grown-up men of this family now. We need to take control, and take care."

Wulfric paused. It was sort of contradictory. He seemed as appalled at the idea of their father having some strange illness on his mind as Wilheard was, yet there was a spark in his eyes, something very familiar to Wilheard - it was the spark of determination and enthusiasm in face of a difficult challenge, Wulfric's spark of life.

Wilheard could feel the same. He had never been into politics or responsibilities, his dream had been being his brother Eorl Wulfric's right hand man and a war hero, tamer of the greatest of mearas and the swiftest of hawks, but this desolate place and the queer challenges it brought were something he recognised as an adventure. He spoke at length:

"And if his madness is of the terminal kind, it might be you inherit this place after all, at least for a while."

"Do not speak of that," said Wulfric, but the spark flashed in his eyes. "We shall go back now, and act according to the plan."

"But one more thing before we go," said Wilheard. He lowered his voice. "I think this place is cursed."

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

That was a start of the day! After the somewhat sleepy hour of trials, this has been something of a fresh awakening. Soldiers, barely a few dozens of them, riding through the plain, steam rising from their horses' backs. The men and animals getting to know each other, learning. Hilderinc paid close attention to those around him. Fighting alongside troops alien to you, you had to learn fast. If this had happened in the war, good coordination might have been difference between life and death. Even though these were peaceful times, Hilderinc still acted as if the enemy could cross Scar in every moment. Well, after all, they always could. And anyway, for Hilderinc, there have never been times when he would think that there was not a possibility of a new war. No peace was for certain and the world could always change.

The soldiers of Scarburg did not seem very well trained to him, but then, he had not expected much. Sufficient for a border-guard, much worse perhaps for an armed conflict. There were good soldiers among them, ones who seemed that they could become excellent if they got some proper training. Some of them were even worse than a few of the untalented - as Hilderinc knew them well - but properly trained warriors of Athanar's household. Well, perhaps now, with Coenred as their leader, there was an opportunity for them to improve their skills.

Coenred's next order was to dismount and fight on foot. Hilderinc smiled at noticing some of the younger soldiers' expressions. He knew what they were thinking: he could almost read their thoughts, they were all the same. "We are Eorlingas, why do we have to fight on foot? We have our horses." Have your mount slain in the middle of battlefield, Hilderinc thought to himself, and then we may talk about what is important. Also, these youngsters apparently have not been listening properly to the stories of the old about the Battle of Hornburg. It had been lucky for its defenders that even of the boys fighting there many had enough reason to have at least basic practice in hand-to-hand combat. What would all the wonderful riders do, driven into the stone fortress like rats, with no mount by their side? Oh, what a minor difference, and perhaps Helm's Deep would have had fallen on that terrible night, and there will be no dawn to come! But no, that did not happen, because there were men who knew how to fight on foot. And their current King and the King of Mundburg have shown their best there, too, didn't these youngsters ever hear?

Hilderinc has actually always been giving more importance to fight on foot than many of his companions. And as he dismounted, he decided that whomever he was to face now, he would give him the toughest lecturing.

[Nerindel]

Iomhair

Many times since Lord Edowine fell ill did Iomhair consider packing up and moving on? With no Eorl the stories soon grew stale and Iomhair became restless, even more so as she came to realise that more was being spent on the building of the hall than was being brought back in to it. She had no intention of working for free, even if she was only recording those building works. It was curiosity that finally kept her in place, with no news of Lord Edowine’s recovery she knew it wouldn’t be long before the King of Rohan was forced to appoint another in his stead and appoint another he did! Not only was the man of a recognised noble line but he was completely different in character to that of his predecessor.

Iomhair’s interest was again piqued and the new Lord did not disappoint in her expectations, Asserting and exacting his authority from that first day. Her jaw had almost hit the floor as one of the halls soldiers answered back to a Lord of the Mark, but even this shock could not break the excited exhilaration she felt at the thought of witnessing unfolding events.

Already this morning she had scrolled the trials of both Lithor, the soldier from the night before and Javan, a young lad who had seemingly assaulted the new Lords youngest daughter. She had been careful to scribe word for word all that was said with no embellishments of her own, as her appointment by the previous Lord did not assure her appointment by this new lord. It had not been that difficult as the trials had held intently the attention of all those present, especially when Lord Athanar’s sons accused Thorden of playing part in listening to a plot of treason, then again as Lord Athanar announced his intentions of adopting the Lady Saeryn. This had made her look up and study the man intently, it was something definitely not expected and it had brought new thoughts to Iomhair’s mind. Looking at Athanar’s Eldest son, she had wondered how he had taken the news, if it upset him though he had been smart enough not to show it in public.

The trials were soon over and the hall dismissed, still not sure to whom she should defer she followed the crowds out, returning briefly to her room to lay the scrolls out and let the ink dry. Recalling that the Soldiers were going to drill she grabbed some charcoal and some fresh parchment then set out to capture spirit of those set with the task of protecting this meadhall.

She soon found a spot far enough that she would not be in the way but close enough that she could still make out the beads of sweat on each mans brow. Her hands moved quickly across the page as the men where put through their paces by the new commander.

[Nogrod]

"That was soo groce!" Cnebba exclaimed and pulled a face.

But there was no immediate reaction from Garmund - and Leodthern stood quiet looking at the two boys.

They were outside the Hall after the hearings. Garmund had been looking downwards but now finally raised his head.

"I'm not sure Cnabba..." He eyed at her sister as well. "I'd like to learn to make a chainmail myself... Think how cool it would be!"

Cnebba was fully astounded. He had only thought of the limping figure of that cripple called Raban and Javan needing to spent hours in closed quarters with him, but now he recognised the coolness of what Garmund said... and he blushed (a thing he hated when it happened in front of Leodthern).

"But..." he started.

"I know what you mean Cneb, but he's a war hero, as lord Athanar said. And he's a master-craftsman! My dad always says you should learn from those who know their business and I'd bet a lot that this odd Raban knows things... even if he's a weirdo" With the last remark Garmund offered Cnebba a soothing smile and Cnebba took it laughing in releavment.

The doors opened and Javan got out. He would have looked a bit disoriented to any adult eye, as not quite knowing where to go, but the three kids surrounded him immediately.

"How was it?", "Was it cool?", "Were you afraid?", "What do you think of Raban?", "What do you think of lord Athanar?", "What is that Raban like?", "Will you make a chainmail?", "Is it cool?".

[Folwren]

Javan blinked and put his arms out to ward off the two boys and their flood of questions. “I don’t know – I haven’t – what are you – stop!” he shouted. The three questioners ceased their questioning. Javan drew a deep, deliberate breath. “I don’t know anything about Raban, I haven’t met him, except in there, and from what I saw…” he stopped and didn’t continue. “Yes, I like lord Athanar. (Better than Thornden, at present,)” he muttered under his breath, and then went on. “I will make chainmail, and no it isn’t cool!”

“Why not?” Garmund asked. His eyes studied Javan keenly, and Javan could see he didn’t approve of the contempt with which Javan seemed to consider his task.

“Because I don’t want to. I’d rather stay with you all and continue our practice with the horses and the archery. But I guess I don’t have much choice in the matter, do I?” He sighed. “I’m supposed to find Raban now and start my business.” He dug his hands into his pockets and started forward. The three children silently made way for him. He paused on the lowest step of the porch and turned again. “Do you all know where Aedre is?”

[Nogrod]

“Do you all know where Aedre is?”

"They live in Eodwine's and Saeryn's room!" Leodthern yelled as if to be the smart one. But there weren't any cheers for that remark from the boys. Instead, Garmund stroke his little sister's hair lightly. "Yeah Leo, we know."

Finally Cnebba broke the silence. "Maybe we should ask someone, like Kara or Frodides, or mom?"

"Or some of them strangers if we find them. I'd not dare to go on knocking at their door just like that." Garmund added.

"We? You guys said, we?" Javan looked at the others clearly annoyed. "Now who says you're coming with me?"

"Well, you said you'd rather stay with us..." Cnebba began but shut his mouth with Javan's sharp glance.

"Be fair Javan. We could help you out with it." Garmund tried.

"We wouldn't laugh or anything..." Cnebba added just to receive a hard hit from Garmund's elbow to his side.

"I'd like to see Aedre." said Leodthern.