Scarburg Meadhall

[Mnemosyne]

Wynflaed's eyes flicked over to Saeryn, as if reminding herself of all that she had just heard from her. She seemed hesitant--

Ah, yes. Saeryn, at least, knew enough comportment to know when to hold her tongue.

"I only know," she told Athanar, "what I heard from Lilige, from the maids' gossip, and from the lady Saeryn just now--that Scyrr was grievously injured by a local man, who then rode away. Given the madness that seemed to be going on out of doors, I thought a few more stabilizing presences might be necessary. Also, I believe Saeryn has some additional information concerning the man who ran away."

Truth be told, however, much of the madness had tempered itself--or else moved elsewhere, if Athanar had indeed sent out a search party. "How long and how far are your men pursuing the runagate? Is there aught the household should do to make things run more smoothly?"

[Durelin]

Fearghall looked at the boy flatly. "You are a schemer, aren't ya." He looked between the two others. "I'm guessing this was his idea, too?"

He sighed. "Trouble is just what you deserve to get in, boy. And if it's chores you're escapin', well, I can think of plenty more I'd like done myself! The men don't keep the barracks clean enough for my liking, you see..." He laughed a little. They would have to go back home at some point.

The Captain may not have any patience for children, since he had yet to settle down with a good woman even, much less bring anyone into the world -- a shame, too, Faerghall thought -- but he didn't think he had much more patience for these boys either.

Faerghall stretched a little and mounted his horse again with a groan. "Well," he began idly, "I think I'll meander back towards the hall. I've got some chores to attend to myself," he said with a chuckle and a sidelong look to the boys. He had one of their names at least...all he had to do was find a woman looking for her no-good son to get him to go chop some wood or some such...

[Thinlómien]

Unfortunately, all the men seemed to be doing something important. No bier-carriers for Wilheard, it seemed. If you want something to be done, do it yourself. Yes, yes. Uncle Fréathain's immortal piece of advice, something he and Wulf had always laughed at: his serious tone of voice when he kept repeating it and how he, a respected officer, lived by it himself. Will could remember him doing all kinds of funny stuff, like emptying containers in outhouses and fixing his own saddle.

Now it seemed like a useful piece of advice, and definitely not so funny anymore. He assessed the situation quickly: the Dunlending woman had just appeared with the bier. If he wanted to go somewhere to find a man to carry the bier with him, he would have to leave quick. But he should actually have left already. Now the serving woman and the healer - and worst of all, Scyrr - would think him a total idiot, after all he had just stood on the yard lazily for the past few minutes. He cursed in his head. Why didn't he ever learn? He functioned much better with animals than people.

"You, woman, help me lift Scyrr to this bier. Then we carry him to your healer's place. Healerwoman, see that we don't bump him into anything."

Now Wilheard felt even more stupid. That was probably the stupidest order he had even given, it even sounded so silly! He was grateful Wulfric wasn't here to see this - he was supposed to laugh at his brother, not the other way around. But there was no way taking back the order once it was given.

The women obeyed quickly and once Will and the dark woman left the bier Will was surprised - the sturdy woman was much stronger than she looked. Spent too little time with serving women, he thought sourly and then grinned at his own jest. Anyway, he hoped as few people as possible would pay attention to this humiliating operation. "Is it far?" he barked.

~*~

"Just around the corner, sir," Modtryth replied. She was surprised by the straightforward and down-to-earth manner of this young lord, carrying the bier with a womanservant. Not maybe as far from Lord Eodwine as I first thought... she mused.

She had figured the Lord's sons were just like so many other self-important young nobles and she had seen that side of them - all the carelessness and cruelty, but it amused her how much they actually reminded her of her own son and his two friends. Well, they are not that much older! she thought, and then wondered if she was becoming old herself. More a mother than a maid anyway, I should know that...

They arrived at Aedhel's temporary healer's quarters and lay Scyrr on one of the sickbeds.
"I shall look after him now, my lord," Aedhel said in her calm and pleasant voice.
"Good," the young man replied and with a quick glance at the wounded soldier, quit the room abruptly.

Helpless laughter rose in Modtryth and she sat down and let it all pour out. Aedhel gave her an odd look.
"What is it, Modtryth?" she asked quietly.
Modtryth shook her head. "Nothing. I mean... this day has been just absurd, everything is absurd. Everything has changed."
Aedhel nodded. "But hopefully not only for the worst."
"Yes," said Modtryth. She could not think of anything better to say. "Look for me if you need help with him. I will visit every now and then."
"Thank you."
"That's nothing. I'll go now. By the looks of it, there's a lot of stuff going on where I might be needed. And people tend to forget that the household has to be run even on days like this. Ginna and I were supposed to do the laundry today!"

With those words, she hurried off. Ginna would be at the kitchens, by Kara's side. Well, now Kara should be left for Frodides brusque words and warm heart, that would probably be for the best. Modtryth didn't make it to the kitchens yet when her keen eyes spotted Leodern sulking by Harreld's smithy. She had better find out what was going on.

"What's up, little one?" Modtryth asked and picked the girl in her arms. Leodern was no baby anymore, but Modtryth secretly liked treating her like one - she was such a sweet and pretty child.

Leodern his her small face in her hair. "Garmund and Cnebba didn't listen to me. And Javan called me ninny."
"I'll see to Javan hearing of it later. It was wrong of him to say that." Modtryth let out a small sigh - but of course a 13-year-old boy would think a 5-year-old girl a ninny. He just should have enough brains not to say it aloud. Modtryth was more concerned about the second part of Leodern's worries, though. "And what did you say when Garmund and Cnebba didn't listen to you?" she asked, although with a sinking feeling she thought she knew what it was about.
"They didn't listen to me when I said you..." she stopped abruptly.
"Told them to stay in sight of the house and out of trouble, yes," Modtryth finished. Don't the boys ever grow up... at all?

"Now you, my lady, shall come with me to the kitchen and you shall eat apples with Ginna while I find a few tricksters I'd gladly have a word with. Then later today you may come do laundry with us - but no splashing or dangerous experimenting with the hot water this time!"

Leodern's eyes lit up. If the months in Scarburg had made Modtryth her loving mother, Ginna, whom she still called "princess" every now and then, had become her much admired big sister and Modtryth knew the little girl just loved doing the laundry. She would make such a perfect maid some day, Modtryth thought wryly.

[littlemanpoet]

He opened his eyes. Where am I? It was dark. There were curtains around him, linen? He got up .... no; he had tried. He could not move. What is wrong? He could barely move his head. So weak! Saeryn? He had meant to call her, but his mouth was so dry. He worked some moisture into his mouth.

"Saeryn?" He had meant to call out, but his words came out a whisper. He tried to call her again but could not find the strength. What is wrong with me? Where am I?

Someone came, a balding man, looking care worn. He bent over him.

"Ah, I see you have finally wakened. You have slept long. The king's athelas has done its work again. Shame that he had been away so long journeying across his realms. Here, drink this."

He opened his mouth and let the water pour in, drinking greedily, but coughed most of it away. When the fit had passed he felt weaker than ever. But he was determined to speak.

"Where am I?" His voice was a mere wheeze.

"You are in the Houses of Healing. You have been here some long while, but you will be on the mend now. If you like I will send news to your wife."

He nodded and sighed again. Then he slept.

[Folwren]

The sunlight slanted down in cold, comfortless rays while the wind whipped right through the folds of the riders’ clothing. The marsh was always bleak and barren place, but in the mid-winter, it was even worse. Thornden rode silently on, picking a careful path through the boggy pools and the patches of dry, rattling weed-stalks.

Back at the edge of the marsh, he had split his group into five groups, three men riding together. They had fanned out, spreading across the marshes and heading in as many directions as possible.

Thornden’s eyes scanned the trail listlessly. No one knew better than he that Erbrand and Lithor had not come this way, and yet here he was, putting up a most impressive sham of searching for them. The very nature of it disgusted and sickened him. Yet still he rode on, winding farther and farther in. Soon, Scarburg was out of sight and all that surrounded him were cold, half frozen pools of water, and reeds that whispered in the cold wind.

The sun, already at its zenith when they had set out, was far down in its arc to the west. They had to head back, or risk being lost in the marshes at night.

“This is it,” he said to his two companions. “We have searched as long as we can.” He took the horn that he bore at his hip and blew a blast upon it, to signal to the others that they were to head back. Answering horn calls came from his right and left to indicate they had heard and were spreading the message. He and his companions turned the horses’ heads back towards home.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

The search of the marshlands did not seem to bring any results. Hilderinc was not any master in tracking, and this terrain was completely unknown to him, but when Thornden's horn called all parties back, it seemed that even the local soldiers did not succeed in finding a single trace of the fugitives. By that time Hilderinc was already rather exhausted. Even worse could be said about Áforglaed, whose temper had sort of mingled with the gloomy presence of the marshlands. All the afternoon he seemed to be walking as if in sort of half-dreamy, almost feverish state, with a dark look in his face; but in the most unexpected moments he would burst out with a single angered shout. After trying to remind him several times that he should be quiet and not bring the attention to himself, in case that somebody was around after all, and after realising that it does not lead to any results, Hilderinc gave up. Áforglaed, the sometimes a bit rash, but generally quiet man, suddenly became something else. The man who had always played the second fiddle to Scyrr became something else with the attempt on his friend's life.

There was something mightily disturbing Hilderinc as he watched the young Áforglaed wandering about and hewing the withered reeds. He would not name it consciously, but there was something deep in his mind which made him understand the young soldier's feelings. But he would not think about it and he would focus on his job, as he always did. Áforglaed might be annoyed – but he is not going to accomplish anything if he lets himself to be distracted. He is not going to catch the one who attacked Scyrr if he cannot remain calm. But he is still young and he can learn.

Hilderinc was still thinking about this when they were returning back. Áforglaed seemed gloomy, but at least his anger seemed to drown in the atmosphere of defeat: he was not saying anything. They caught up with Thornden and the other parties joined them soon, but one look into the soliders' faces made it clear that they were no more successful in finding but a single trace of the fugitives. Áforglaed was riding near Thornden, in the front, and Hilderinc caught up with him.

"If we didn't find them, then captain Coenred's party might have caught up with them still," he said aloud. Áforglaed raised his downcast eyes and there seemed to be a glimmer of hope in them.

"It would mean, though, that Erbrand was really attempting to flee from Scarburg for good," Hilderinc continued his thoughts. "If he had left early enough, he would have had more time to get away - or even cross the border before we caught up with him." Suddenly, he remembered the man he had seen riding away from the drills.

"Maybe the scout who was sent out earlier has brought some news to lord Athanar while we were away," he said. "Maybe the captain's party was actually going for a definite trail, unlike us."

The nearby soldiers did not pay any particular attention to his remark, they took it as a part of Hilderinc's silent evaluation. None of them had seen the lonely soldier leaving in the morning and nodding to Thornden, so nobody knew what "scout" Hilderinc was talking about – nobody aside from Thornden. But Áforgled seemed to be at least calmed by the strong possibility of the culprit being caught, and in the vision of at least learning more about the subject, he spurred his mount faster towards the Mead Hall.