Scarburg Meadhall

[littlemanpoet]

The man left much unexplained, but there was time. It would be best to have a trusted man near this stranger as often as possible, until they knew him better.

"You are welcome to stay with us for a time, Crabannan," Eodwine replied, "and from what I can see here, not much has been done getting the tents readied for use. It would help us greatly if you could lend Garstan the stoneshaper a hand with the tents .... and the boys, including Javan."

Crabannan thanked him and walked off.

As Eodwine and the others made their way back to the fence posts and rope and animals, he wondered how Dan was faring in the swamp. He had been gone all morning. But he was of the Pukel men, so maybe it was their way to take the whole day and come back with an answer in the evening. Eodwine told himself to have patience. He also wondered how the hunting party was doing, and how Stigend and his group was doing with the trees. He did not know whether Frodides had given them food for mid-day or if they were coming back for their food, and had not thought to ask her. There was much to do, and Eodwine decided that the matter was something that neither Stigend nor Frodides was likely to overlook, so he let the matter rest.

The day was getting now and sweat dripped from Eodwine's hairline into his face and down the back of his neck, just walking. Suddenly it hit him: no one had checked the Scarburg well to see if it was good. Much mead and beer and other drink had been drunk, but with weather like this, they would need a well. Did Scarburg even have one? If so, was it any good? He turned to look at his friends.

"Has any one of you seen a well on this land?"

[Groin Redbeard]

Their breathing was heavy and fast as they tugged at reins of they tired horses. Erbrand stumbled as he pulled Traveler after him. He loved his horse but fear had taken hold of him and he constantly was looking over his shoulder expecting to see a large number of armed peasants on horseback pursuing them with speed that would soon overtake him. He glared at his tired wretched animal with impatience and yanked on reins harder. Traveler obeyed and quickened his pace, but soon stumbled and fell on his hind legs.

"Easy there, Erbrand," Balvir barked, showing the same impatience to him as he had just shown to his steed, "The camp is close by." Erbrand stopped pulling on Traveler's reins and this time waited for his mount to get back up.

Soon their heavy breathing turned to laughter as the came within plain view of the camp. They all began to shout and call at different people, some of whose names Erbrand remembered from the groups previous talk. Soon people were swarming around the four hunters asking questions, examining the quarry that they had brought back, and telling them all about the days works. Erbrand looked back across the open plains to catch a glimpse of the peasants. He breathed an uneasy sigh: they had not followed them.

"Erbrand," Erbrand quickly snapped his head at Balvir in surprise, "Unload the deer and take the hides for yourself. Lithor with take the horses back to the stables."

Erbrand nodded his head in agreement, and in thanks, and led the horses away from the group of people with Lithor, while Balvir and Matrim went off by themselves. Erbrand guessed that they went looking for Eodwine.

"Well you've done good work today," Lithor said with a friendly smile as they unloaded the horses of their burdens, "These deer will make some excellent skins for you. Not to mention good stew." Erbrand laughed at the gleam in Lithor's eyes as he mentioned food.

"Thanks, I enjoyed it a lot. I'm looking forward to more hunting trips with you."

"Oh don't you worry there will be plenty more. The Eodwine's people have healthy appetites, they will soon be needing more food." Both of them laughed at the joke as they led the horses to the stables.

Lithor unstrapped the stirrups from the horses while Erbrand gathered the bows, quivers, rope, and what arrows where left. Lithor motioned for him to leave Matrim and Balvir's longbows standing next to his. When Erbrand asked where to put his bow, Lithor laughed and told him to keep it.

"With such shooting as you have demonstrated today, you've earned it."

He thanked him and ran back to the deer, that were left piled on top of each other out of view from the camp so that the people may not see the messy work that was being done. He stared at the carcasses for a minute, wishing to delay the tedious and long task of skinning the hides off of them. Finally he withdrew his long knife from its sheath and grabbed one of the dormant deer by the horns. He had just got himself situated and was about to cut into the animals flesh when a thought struck him. The Sun was sinking fast in the west, it would soon it would be dark! His snares which he had made earlier that morning weren't set in the marsh!

All other thoughts left his mind as he raced back to his tent to retrieve his snares. He flung the tent flap open, grabbed them, and raced back towards the marsh, bumping into several people on the way there. As he neared the marshes edge he tested the patches of grass to see if they would support his weight, remembering the embarrassing act earlier that morning. Suddenly another thought struck him: he desperately wanted to talk to Dan!

"So much to do and so little time," he thought to himself, "Well, nothing can be helped by worrying about it, best get these snares set first."

[Eönwë]

For a while Dan lay there on his front, coughing and spluttering, a soggy, muddy mess. The man beside him, bent over, panting. Dan was much heavier than he looked. It was all that muscle, or so Dan would say to himself.

Then, after some failed attempts, with a squelch, he managed to support himself enough to sit up.

“Next time, be more careful,” said the man who was sitting next to him. It was not the sort of voice that Dan would have expected for a man that looked so hard and toughened. It was the voice of a young, tender man who had suffered greatly. Nonetheless, for reasons unknown to himself, one of the famous Drúadan grins, the sort that didn't seem to fit, cracked through Dan's face, and the mud covering it parted. It might have been all the recent events, and their sheer preposterity, or something in the way the unfamiliar man spoke to him, but a laugh started deep in his stomach burst forth out of his mouth. It was rich and rolling, like the plains of Rohan, like freshly tilled earth in early spring, like an early sunrise. And before long, the other man was laughing too, strangely in unison with him. After a slightly longer delay, he suddenly heard a muffled chuckle, which turned into laugh, from not nearby. It started off thin and biting, but endied up loud and full of merriment. Probably the first proper laugh that person ahd had in ages. He could tell that someone had not wanted to be seen or heard, but no-one couldd resist the power of a Drûg's laugh. So he was being watched, was he? Were his saviour and whoever it was who had laughed working together? Or were they not aware of each other? Or was one trying to avoid the other? Only time would tell. But at least now he felt better. Laughing always did that to you.

Then, apparently having not heard the other laugh, the man broke into conversation. “So what do they call you?” he asked.

Dan, caught off guard answered his natural response of “Dagan-Turi-Dan, but Dan is probably easier.” And after his mind suddenly being brought back into the present, he added, “And thanks, I owe you my life.” He wondered, should he have told this man his real name? He was in hiding, in the bog. Surely there must have been a reason for this.

At that, the man looked upwards philosophically into the sky. At length, the he replied “I’m glad that I was able to do that for you, Dan.”

Dan looked towards the bog, remembering that just minutes before he was thinking that he would be stuck there forever, and not even his bones would be recovered. Now he was sitting in the sunlight, peacefully, talking to the man that had just saved his life. The sun shone brightly on his face, drying the mud and water that was on his body. He thought he heard birds singing, but would there be birds in a place, or was his mind just playing tricks on him?

Before Dan could say something, the man continued slowly. “Would you be willing to do something in return?” Dan had expected something like this. It was always the way. No act was done purely out of kindness, at least not many were. But the man had seemed slightly hesitant, slightly ashamed to ask the question, so maybe had saved Dan as an act within itself, not caluating the consequences or benefits. Anyway, Dan was indebted to the man. But he had a sneaky suspicion of what it would be. He looked at the man with his dark eyes. I would like to keep my presence here unknown, at least until . . . until I decide the time is right. I don’t know if you have come here with these settlers, but if so, I would ask that you say nothing of me.” He had known it. It was best to tread carefully in these matters.

"I will answer you question if you first tell me your name," said Dan. This seemed reasonable. After all, the man had known his name for the last few minutes, and Dan was feeling left out. At least now he would know the name of who he was addressing.

The man looked thoughtful, and Dan guessed he was wondering whether he ought to tell his real name or make up one. "Oeric," the man said. Judging by the uniqueness of such a name, Dan guessed that it was probably his real name. Or else he may just be very sharp, said Dan to himself.

Then Dan answered the man's question. "As a Drûg of Drúwaith Iaur," he started, then taking a deep breath continued "I must be steadfast with my companions and masters. I must not decieve them or put them in any danger. Those are the rules of my kin, my race, and to forgo these would be to lose my name as a Drûg warrior, and my honour. Therefore I cannot allow the Eorl to be in any danger. But since you do not seem dangerous to me (after all, you saved my life), then I will give you the benfit of a doubt and not tell him of your existence. You saved my life, and a debt like that is hard to repay. I will do what I can, even if it endangers me."

So, he had agreed agreed. But one thing was still worrying him, "But I want you to tell me, how am I going to be able to prove this when you have already been sighted by a member of the camp. Lord Eodwine will suspect me of trickery."

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan found Javan putting up tents. Or, rather, he found where Javan was supposed to be putting up tents, because he was getting very little done. Instead, he was exchanging angry words and angrier glances with the two boys he had fought with earlier. Where was Garstan? Crabannan wondered. He had been in enough fights and arguments to tell that this one was quickly heading in the wrong direction.

He only caught the last few sentences from Javan: "I might not have been perfectly behaved in the past, but at least I’m not a wimp when it comes down to it. Now you two just shut up about the stables – it was an accident and I shouldn’t have to keep explaining myself – and I don’t always disobey Eodwine! Do you understand?"

An accident? There was evidently history here with which Crabannan was unfamailiar. Nonetheless, to his rough sense of justice, it seemed that Javan was being unfairly singled out and picked on. He acted accordingly. Children could be so devilishly cruel sometimes, and this made him angry.

Crabannan quickly stepped to Javan's side and glowered down at the lad's tormentors, Garmund and Cnebba, fixing them both with the darkest, most menacing stare he could conjure up. He looked from one to the other, and back.

"First, tell me what's going on here. Second, where's Garstan? Third, why aren't you putting up tents?"

[Firefoot]

With this last statement, Scyld stood and strode towards the two men. They were in a pickle, alright, and here was the opportunity he had waited for: the chance to put both of them in his debt. He would give this Dan fellow someone to take back to his Eorl, and Oeric would remain uncaught and unknown. “I shall go with you,” he declared to Dan as he drew closer. “You may act as though it was I you were searching for and I who rescued you from the mire.” Oeric looked stunned, but it was difficult to read the Wild Man’s emotions from his face.

When no one immediately responded, Scyld took it as an affirmative answer and continued. “Now, you say that Oeric has already been spotted by those of the camp?” Oeric nodded slowly. Well, this could be problematic – Scyld did not want to be known as one who had evaded capture. “What happened?” And between the two of them, Scyld got what he figured was basically the full story. Upon its conclusion Scyld smiled slightly. “That is well,” he said, for I shall simply say that I was unaware of the Eorl’s arrival and thought the man a mere brigand. Coupled with my willing arrival, I think the story should suffice.” He looked from one to the other. “Well? What say you?”

“You are serious, aren’t you?” asked Oeric. When Scyld nodded once, curtly (for he had little patience for such inane comments that progressed the conversation not at all), Oeric smiled. “Then I thank you. You have done me a great service.”

Dan, too, slowly nodded. “It will do. I would first ask your name, however, since you already seem familiar with ours, and our business as well.”

“Your pardon,” said Scyld, bowing slightly and with some irony, though that could not be detected save by one who knew him well – and no one knew Scyld well. “Nydfara at your service, wanderer and jack of many trades. I should be happy to offer my services to your Eorl.”

[Thinlómien]

The highwayman came and stepped to Javan's side. He stared at Garmund and Cnebba so darkly that they both had to take a step backwards. In truth, Cnebba might have taken two.

"First, tell me what's going on here. Second, where's Garstan? Third, why aren't you putting up tents?"

There was a silence. As Crabannan was so clearly looking at the younger boys, Javan didn't answer. Cnebba figured he was enjoying the situation mightily.

"My father went to fetch water," Garmund replied, staring boldly at the man.
"And he told us to wait," Cnebba added. Then he glanced at Javan. "Except that he wanted to start getting the canopy ready, although Garstan told us to wait." He too stared at the stranger defiantly.

"And what's going on here?" two voices said in unison.

The three boys looked from one man to other. Garstan, just arrived with two heavy buckets of water in his hands, was looking at the younger man politely but questioningly. Crabannan was looking at the stoneshaper, looking a little surprised by his sudden appearance. Cnebba wondered if the glint in his dark eyes meant he was amused.

"You must be Garstan," Crabannan said.
"Yes, I am," the man addressed replied before Crabannan could continue. His tone was friendly yet firm. "Who are you? I don't think I've ever seen you before. And why are you scowling at my son, and at Cnebba?"

[Gwathagor]

"Well, Garstan, there appears to be something of a disagreement between these boys. It seems to me that Javan is being attacked unjustly by your son, and this other boy - you, what's your name? - Cnebba, that's right. I'd as soon have them fight it out..."

Crabannan trailed off. He rightly read Garstan's expression as one of disapproval. "But maybe you know just as well as I that Javan would whip both of them." Crabannan smiled. "And Garmund is your son. I reckon you'd best deal with the three of them. If it makes any difference, though, I'm on Javan's side." He glanced over at Javan, who was looking at him appreciatively. Garstan got his attention again.

"You still haven't told me who you are." Garstan still felt unsure of this fellow; he was just a little too...

"Apologies, Garstan. I'm Crabannan. Eodwine sent me to help you and these tusslers set up the tents. Though...it's looking as if we won't get the job done. We've got quite a few tents to go yet, and we can hardly look after the little boys and work at the same time."

"I'll deal with them, Crabannan, if you don't mind."

"That would be best. I can be a bad influence."

Crabannan turned to face the job at hand - but not before giving Cnebba and Garmund one last dark glare, just for good measure. They quailed. Then, with his back to Garstan and the boys, he seized a coil of rope and a hammer, and set to his task with a will. He would eat well tonight, and he would earn it, too.

Pounding the stakes felt good. It had been a few weeks since he had done any proper work, and he found that he almost missed it. As he worked, he fell into a rhythm which was interrupted only by the occasional pain in his right leg - the old knife wound, and the only thing which had prevented him from feeling entirely at ease and at home in the fledgling Scarburg, which, over the next weeks, began to rise about him, phoenix-like, from the ashes.

He could have let this unease propel him onwards, wandering again, but Scarburg felt restorative to him, almost idyllic. And he had begun, already, to make friends here: Javan, Kara, maybe even Garstan. But then he would recall the hastily buried corpse at the foot of the Scar and the ruined hall, images staining his idyllic first impression of Scarburg with mystery and suspicion. And, ironically, this held him even more. He could not leave. There was adventure here, perhaps even danger, and he found himself fascinated, riveted.