Scarburg Meadhall

[littlemanpoet]

Things were not going very well. Harreld had never had to deal with such a poor situation before. A temporary smithy! Bah. He and his brother Garreth had apprenticed to a very good smith of good standing and excellent tools in Edoras, and had little by little bought the operation from him as they grew into the trade and he advanced in years; so they had always had very good equipment, connections, and materials. Now he had a firepit made of stones, a heap of turf for the bellows, and a camp chair to sit on. At least he had his own good tools. But he was going to run out of materials quickly at this rate, for he had brought only what he could properly call his own with him when he had left Garreth in Edoras.

But what was the use of all this when everyone was given tasks elsewhere and he had no one to pump the bellows? He might as well go help with the tents are the animals for all he could do on his own. Or he could look in the ruins and see what metals he could find in there.

"Ow!"

Who was that? He turned and saw Ginna. He tried to wipe the scowl off his face; he needn't have bothered, for she did not meet his eyes but walked up quickly and placed the box she carried at his feet.

"Frodides wants those repaired, and told me to wait until you're done."

That made sense. Frodides seemed to understand that he would need someone on the bellows while he worked. He opened up the box and took out the utensils. Frodides could have sent Kara instead of Ginna, he supposed. It probably meant nothing. Kara was a more experienced hand around the kitchen. He looked over the kitchen tools and studied what must be done with them, and what materials he had that could be used to fix them.

"Harreld, can I help you with anything?"

"What?" He looked up. "Oh! Yes! I am sorry. I will need you to pump the bellows. Kneel down behind the handles over there. Yes, that's right. But you need not pump yet. First I must light the fire and then you must pump until we have the right amount of heat so I can bend these knives and whatnot back into shape."

Harreld lit the fire with his flint and tinder and instructed Ginna how to pump the bellows. She learned quickly, but appeared not to be enjoying the labor much. Was it because she did not want to be near him? Or was it too lowly a job for her? Little matter. Clearly it would be best to simply finish the job as deftly and soon as possible to spare her the trouble. Harreld put his attention to the task at hand.

[Gwathagor]

It was early morning, but already hot when Crabannan and his horse crested the hill. Instead of riding, he was walking along on his own two feet, taking shelter from the sun in the shadow cast by his gangly steed. The two companions (for so they seemed, as the horse walked alongside its master without halter or lead) went along at a leisurely pace, with no where to go and in no hurry to get there. Crabannan threw rocks at snakes and wild fowl, and the horse strayed to nibble on heads of wheat – but returned to Crabannan’s side at a whistle and a snap of the latter’s fingers. Then the two would continue to plod along, Crabannan limping slightly in his right leg.

Crabannan was tall and dark, with a nose like an eagle and hair the color of raven’s feathers. His black cloak, which fluttered idly in the breeze, gave him a somber quality which was belied by his lively, sardonic eyes and mouth. At his back were a bow and arrows, and at the back of his sword-belt was strapped a short Eorling sword. On his horse, behind the saddle, were tied two more objects, both carefully wrapped up in cloth. The first was long and clearly a sword, but the second, which was short and broad, was indistinguishable beneath the cloth. Apart from a small saddle-bag containing a blanket and a few odd tools, these were all his possessions.

They first spotted the smoke from the kitchen fires in Scarburg, then the ruined hall itself, and as they drew closer still, they began to be able to make out people moving about between the tents and buildings. “I wasn’t expecting Eorlings out here,” he said softly to himself. “I had rather thought we’d be alone until we got to Edoras.” He stopped to survey the fledgling settlement. His horse stopped and looked at him questioningly.

“Well…shall we stop by or did you have other plans?” Crabannan was talking to his horse now. “Indeed! You never told me you made friends with a mare last time we were in Edoras. Ah well, she hasn’t seen you for two years, and I’m sure she can wait a day or so longer. Besides, I’m hungry. Perhaps, Horse, we can work for our breakfast...or I, at any rate. I see you’ve had yours.”

Crabannan did NOT know how to converse with horses, but he did know that he was, indeed, hungry and had not eaten for at least a day. So he and “Horse”, as he pragmatically called his steed, made their way down the hill and up the lane into the settlement. Crabannan was still limping a little on that stiff right leg.

[Lhunardawen]

Pumping the bellows for Harreld was an easy enough job for Ginna, and she immediately got the hang of it; the task kept her hands occupied while leaving her thoughts free to wander. At first she watched the fire, careful to keep it strong enough for the smith's use, but soon she found herself slipping now and again into staring at the heart of it. She would be roused from semi-consciousness every time Harreld's large hands passed into her line of vision, and each of those times she felt the frown on her face ever deepening, as though beaten into place with each strike of hammer against anvil.

Ginna was not surprised that Harreld chose to keep his peace and focus on his work. He had never been the first to speak, even when they still felt free to converse with each other as they wished. Always, it was she who took the initiative. Alone in the kitchen after he rescued her from the outlaw. After the Eorl announced the move to Scarburg. As a matter of fact, they would probably never have got to know each other beyond their names if not for her efforts to reach out to him. Why should this situation be any different?

But Ginna, she reminded herself, you wanted this opportunity. You need this. And she did not deny it. But what could she possibly say to end a fortnight of silence? One thing was for sure, she was not going to do as he did the last time they talked to each other: she would not just spring the issue at him from nowhere. More likely than not that would just lead to an argument, and heaven knew that was the last thing Ginna wanted right now.

She risked a glance at his face. A scowl could still be discerned there. Ginna wondered if this was his usual work expression, or if it was caused by something else. Maybe it wasn't just her?

"It must be a bit tougher for you now, with Garreth not around," she remarked gently.

[Folwren]

Javan’s retaliating blow to Cnebba had not been weak. The spurt of blood from his nose was satisfactory, but not for very long, as Garmund immediately stepped in to defend his companion, shouting and striking out simultaneously.

“You do not hit him like that!” Garmund cried as he hit Javan.

“I’ll hit you like that!” Javan replied. He rushed forward, engaging Garmund in the fight. He had forgotten about his errand, the heat of the moment having wiped it completely from his mind.

The match was a surprisingly fair one. Garmund, although younger, was taller, but not stronger that Javan. Neither of them got the upper hand. After several punches were given and received on both sides, Javan flung himself forward, right into Garmund’s arms, and grappled with him, attempting to wrestle him to the ground. If he could just pin him down and sit on top of him, he would soon get a surrender...

[Groin Redbeard]

Dan had assured Erbrand that he could handle the lone man without his help, and urged Erbrand to follow his original plans of going with the hunting party. Erbrand sped back to camp as fast as he could fearing that he was left behind. He stooped to enter his tent and gathered the materials needed for the journey: a knife, rope, some dry goods for eating; everything that a man needed, except for a bow. He wondered about this for a second and then shrugged it off, there were probably lots of weapons he could choose from Lord Eodwine's armory. The knife was fastened to his belt and the rest was placed into a saddle bag. Erbrand left the tent picking up his axe on the way out, he didn't know who or what dwelt in the lands this far west and he didn't want to be caught unprepared.

Erbrand made his way to the makeshift stables were his horse was kept. Three men were saddling horses when he arrived, one of the men nudged the other two at Erbrand's approach. Erbrand silently placed his goods on the ground and started to saddle his horse, Traveler.

"Are you Erbrand?" one of the men asked him.

"Yes." was his simple reply.

"We were told that you were coming with us. My name is Balvir, captain of the house of Æðel, and this is Matrim my lieutenant." Matrim stepped forward and presented himself when his name was mentioned.

It was plain to see that these two men were not from Rohan. Not only were their names strange and foreign sounding, but their hair was black and had curl to it, unlike his own blond straight hair. They were probably men of Gondor, but what they were doing here in Rohan Erbrand did not know, nor did he want to, it was none of his business.

"It's nice to meet you both," Erbrand said his expression grim while shaking both their hands, "I take it that you are the hunters that I'll be with."

"That's right," Said Balvir, tightening cinch around his horse's waist, "We'll be heading east, traveling along the scar towards the river Entwash, we can expect to find good hunting in that area. Can you handle a bow competently?"

"I'm a fair shot, yes." A quiver was immediately tossed to him, filled with arrows and a short bow. Erbrand examined it before he strapped it around his back.

"Hello there," came a cheery voice on the other side of Traveler, "I guess they forgot to introduce me. My name is Lithor, a guard of the house of Eodwine." Erbrand's head popped under Traveler's neck to get a better look at the man. A smiling face lit up Lithor's face as he stood holding his horse's reins. He looked older than Erbrand, though he could not tell for sure since Lithor wore his helmet.

"Are you finished yet, Erbrand?" Balvir said, more out of impatience than of curiosity, "If we want to catch anything before nightfall you better get a move on." Erbrand pulled down his stirrups, pulled himself onto Traveler's back, and then followed Lither after Balvir and Matrim.

It gave Erbrand a sick lonesome feeling in his stomach, when they left the camp. He had just arrived and already he was leaving. Of course the whole idea was absurd, but when you have your hopes set high on obtaining a particular thing it depresses you to be departed from it, even for a short time.

He followed his three companions rather than riding abreast of them, feeling out of place in the company of total strangers, let alone two foreigners. The heavy beating of his horse's hooves seemed to drown out the light thudding of their lighter, nimbler horses. Soon Scarburg had vanished from sight and Erbrand's anticipation grew as Traveler changed from a canter to a gallop to match the speed of the other horses.

[Gwathagor]

The first thing Crabannan saw as he walked into Scarburg was a tangle of arms and legs flailing about in the middle of the road, about a hundred feet ahead of him. Two boys were going at it like a couple of mountain goats; a third boy sat a yard or two away, bleeding profusely from the nose. As Carbannan watched, the shorter of the two boys leapt at the taller boy with a ferocity that surprised even Crabannan, who had won his fair share of fights. Without a second thought, he sprinted down the road, ignoring the pain in his right leg. Horse plodded along behind.

Just as he reached the fight, the two boys toppled and spun to the ground, landing in a cloud of dust with the shorter boy on top. Instinctively, he began to pummel the tall fellow, from whom all the fight seemed to have fled. Crabannan seized the boy (who was, of course, Javan) and lifted him bodily off his fallen opponent, then dragged him to the side of the road and dropped him, making sure to keep himself between the two fighters.

He shot a wary look at Javan, and then stepped over to the boy who was bleeding. With a deftness born of frequent repetition, he tore off a bit of his threadbare grey tunic and gave it to the boy to stop the bleeding, all the while watching Javan over his shoulder. The boy made no sign of trying to rejoin the battle, and seemed to have calmed down somewhat.

Stepping back, Crabannan surveyed the three boys, trying his best to look stern and NOT to smile. It was hard.

"Ordinarily I would have waited to see who would win, but it was clearly going to be him," he said, stifling a chuckle as he gestured at Javan. "And because I'm now cross that I didn't let you fight a little longer as sport, I think I am owed an explanation in return for the lost merriment. You, tall boy. I saved you from a beating, you tell me why you were fighting. Quickly now, I'm hungry."

He had been mostly joking, but he felt like he really might become seriously peeved in a moment or two. The sudden sprint had left his right leg throbbing and sore, even though that knife wound ought to have healed weeks ago.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld set to work on the knives. This was deceptively tricky work. The cutting edge had to be handled with great care. If he left it too thick for the sharpening, there would be a blemish, a pimple, in every cut the wielder made. If he made it too thin, it would crack under the sharpening stone and come back to him. A smith never wanted a knife to come back to him because it had cracked; it was the sign of mediocre work, as if he were barely out of apprenticeship.

The girl was thankfully quiet. She was doing a good job with the fire. In certain ways she made a better partner than Garreth, who could keep up a constant stream of needless chatter about nothing. And she was far easier on the eye - which at this moment he did not have to spare, but the thought did occur nonetheless.

The ladles were a different problem. If the bowls were crushed, it would take great care to make sure they were as round as could be managed, especially with a temporary smithy. The handles were a simple matter, and thankfully, he was spared the trouble of crushed bowls.

The care with which Ginna was working was yet another indication to Harreld that she would have made a very good wife indeed. But it was not to be. She would not have him. She was, of course, born of higher stock than he, and he knew he should have thought of that far sooner than he had; but he had been lovestruck at first, and when the strike bites, all one can think of is the other, and such things as birthright seem small matters easily overcome. Well, he knew better now. Then why, Harreld, he asked himself yet again, did you come to Scarburg?

Suddenly she spoke, interrupting his thought. It took him off guard despite the quietness of her words.

"It must be a bit tougher for you now, with Garreth not around."

He scowled even deeper for he had to make sure of the stem of this ladle before he could say a word. It was taking longer than most ladle stems, it seemed! He knew he was rushing it. Just a little harder tap, just a - NO! It cracked.

"Splinters!" he yelled. She jumped where she was sitting, sudden fear in her eyes. He bit his tongue.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I-"

"No, no, I rushed. It is not your fault." Why did you have to speak in the middle of a job? Why could you not wait until I was between ladles? He did not speak his inner shout, and took a few deep breaths. She was wordless, watching him now, seemingly as if he were a storm front about to bring cold wind and rain. She was a breakable little lady, he suddenly thought, maybe not so much in body, but in heart.

"I am sorry," he said at last, "I should not be hot headed like that. Yes, It is tougher with Garreth not around, in a way. He talks too much, but I'm used to that. I like the quiet of Scarburg, for Garreth and Edoras are loud." And you are quiet, which is a good thing. "But this outdoor hearth and working out of tool cases is something I will very gladly do without as soon as a proper smithy is built for me. I see it will not happen today with all the things that must be done first." He sighed and picked up the now cooled two parts of the ladle. He fished out his packet of metal shards and looked for a good solder piece.

Falco

Falco made his way to the animal grounds and found his pony. Léof, good man that he was, had already gotten him ready. All that needed doing was to load him with bags and a hobbit.

"My thanks, Léofric, for the fine care of my pony."

Léof smiled and wished him well. Bidding each other good-bye, Falco led the pony away. "Back on the road for you and me, pony. Maybe I ought to give you a name after all these travels, seein' as you're no good for eatin' anymore."

The pony ignored him. Here came Eodwine, leaving the women's tents, heading toward the animals.

"So it is time, is it, Falco?" Eodwine said.

"Aye, it is that. I'm ready, and that's no lie. Can you help me with these two bags?"

They were tied tight and a strong piece of rope was tied to each so they could be draped over the pony's back just behind him, with a thick piece of cloth beneath the rope to protect the animal's hide from chafing. Eodwine set it in place. Then Falco climbed onto the pony's back, using a kitchen table to help him get up, as he had no footholders dangling. He did not abide such things as a luxury he didn't need.

"Well, this is it, then. I wish you great success, Eodwine, in making a home out of this rambling ruin."

"My thanks. I think, with all these folk about, so willing and able to help, it will not be overmuch of a task."

"I think you have the rights of it. Mind you," Falco winked, "take good care of that Saeryn lass, as she'd make you a proper wife!"

Eodwine reddened. "Perhaps, if she still has such an interest."

"Why else do you think she came back?"

Eodwine shrugged. "Maybe. At any rate, if she has such an interest, I dare say she's in for a fight from Rowenna, if you understand me."

"Oh ho! So that's how it is! You get to be fought over! Now ain't that lucky! Or it could be trouble you don't need!"

Eodwine laughed. "Time will tell. I bid you farewell, and may the years not be too long before we see each other again."

"Good bye then! Next time you're up to the Shire, stop in! I'll keep a cheery fire in the hearth and good ale and vittles on the board for you." Falco waved and kicked his pony.

Eodwine waved and watched him go before he started off again to help Léofric.

Falco was just out to the road and saw a tall black haired stranger addressing the three boys. Cnebba held a rag to his bleeding nose. Garmund was looking all scowly. Javan was just now standing up, his hands curled into fists, and yelling at the man. Falco couldn't make out what he was saying, but could the man be a ruffian? Might he be so low as to pick on three boys?

Falco kicked his pony to a trot.

"Hey! Hi! What have we got here?" he called.

[Firefoot]

Léof

At Falco’s departure, Léof stood quietly for a moment watching the Hobbit lead the pony off. Léof had never known him well, perhaps, but he would still miss having him around – Falco was a character, he was. The land of Hobbits must be an interesting place, if Falco was any testament to his race, though Léof did not flatter himself to think that he would ever journey so far as to see for himself.

Now, however, he had work to do. From the meeting that morning he knew that Eodwine and Thornden were set to assist him, and sure enough Eodwine was approaching now, with Thornden not much behind. Léof put up a hand in greeting. When they had reached him, he began explaining his plans, feeling a little strange giving directions to the Eorl and his right-hand man. “As much as possible I would like to use the fencing already there and mend it rather than build new fencing. I am hoping that it will be a fairly simple task of reconnecting fallen beams, but if in places the wood is now too broken down to use, it will have to be replaced. Perhaps Stigend will have a small amount to share from his gathering today.”

Here Léof broke off, for a peculiar look had crossed the face of Thornden, which appeared to give Eodwine some amusement. Léof could not imagine why, for the plan had seemed wholly sound to him. “Is something amiss?” he asked. “Is there a better way which I have overlooked?”

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan was seriously considering the notion of picking Javan up and shaking him as a lesson in respect when a voice from down the road called: "Hey Hi! What have we got here!"

He turned to see who was addressing them - and his jaw nearly dropped. Sitting on a pony in the middle of the road was one of the shortest people he had ever seen. His first thought was: that is a VERY fat little boy. In his second thought, he realized that it was none other than a halfling, of whom he had heard much (as had all who lived through the War of the Ring), but never actually seen. The sight of the short, stout fellow on the pony accosting them in such a manner was so comical that all thoughts of throttling Javan disappeared and instead he burst into hysterical, uproarious laughter.

Gasping for breath, he collapsed in the road as great heaves of laughter racked his body. He tried to turn and apologize to the halfling, but the sight of the fat little fellow on the fat little horse, who was by now looking quite cross, simply threw him back into heaving, convulsive laughter. The others looked on astonished as the grim and dark Crabannan rolled about in the road, undignified and nearly suffocated, trying desperately speak, but without luck.

The absurdity of the situation struck him as he lay there: he panting for breath, the halfling looking almost as astonished as he did appalled, the one boy holding his bleeding nose, and the other two staring in bewilderment at the grown-up who had only moments before been telling them off.

With a sigh, Crabannan lifted himself to his feet, still breathing heavily and chuckling quietly to himself. He quickly regained his composure, however. The customary grim look returned to his face as he bowed low.

"Your pardon, sirs. We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. I am Crabannan - and I am still hungry," he said, with an almost imperceptible twinkle in his eye as he looked up at Javan from under his dark brows.

[littlemanpoet]

"More likely, you're Big Trouble," Falco retorted. "Leastways, you're no ruffian as you've got a sense of humor even if it is at my expense. I am Falco Boffin, hobbit of the Shire to you, and these boys are Javan, Garmund, and Cnebba, and their fathers and mothers will be wondering why they're out here in the road instead of at the tents where they ought to be!"

Falco eyed the boys, two of whom looked properly ashamed, but Javan's natural ire only seemed to rise.

"Mr. Falco sir, Mr. Garstan sent me out here to fetch these two but they hid on me and started a fight! It's not my fault! And then this man came and broke up the fight and then he threatened us if we didn't give him food!"

Falco judged quickly that Javan probably was not telling the entire story, but was trying to be honest in general though maybe exaggerating. Which meant the man probably had broken up the fight and mentioned food, as he just had again.

"Well, Master Crabapple, sir, you won't be finding no food on these boys, but if you go into Scarburg here and introduce yourself properly to Lord Eodwine, who will be over by the animals, and if you can hold yourself off from laughing in his face about whatever strikes your funnybone, you might get some vittles. And as to wrong feet, if you think the sight of me and my pony is enough to laugh at, maybe I ought to get off of my pony and teach you a lesson, unless you care to apologize for your disrespect. What say you to that?"

Far from running back to the tents, the three boys got up and moved to one side of the road, eyes wide and eager to watch what happened next. Falco gave them no mind but eyed this Master Crabapple or whatever his name was, with a meaningful glare.