Scarburg Meadhall

[Nogrod]

Garstan and Stigend were following the competants getting ready from close up. There they were the two proud fathers looking at the same time both hilarious and a bit uneasy. The cause for their confusion was with the relations between the boys, to be exact the relations of all the three boys. They just both hoped the games might do the trick... but it might turn into a disaster as well for even if the archery-practise had kind of turned the relations for better it had also opened new shifting alliances and that was clearly a sign of things not yet being quite settled.

Stigend glanced at Garstan who tried a smile but failed miserably and ended up frowning lightly looking Stigend back into the eye. Stigend was just about to open his mouth when lord Eodwine called for his bet on Osmund.

The two were silent for a moment eyeing each other as if asking whether they should call for a bet in the kid-run. Slowly they both nodded in refusal and turned back to follow the preparation for the run. Stigend realised his heart was pumping hard. He felt the pulse in his forehead.

~*~

Cnebba was drawing breath slowly and filled his lungs feeling how he grew in size and stature with all the air inside him. Then he made a small pause full of air and then let it flow out like a long awaited relief. He eyed every now and then Javan beside him and Garmund behind Javan. They both seemed focused even though it was at least once or twice he caught Garmund glancing towards Javan and him. He would have to show those two... and he realised the two others were thinking exactly the same. At least Garmund was. And Cnebba was sure Javan was too even if he didn't show it.

Cnebba saw his dad and Garstan in the crowd watching him and Garmund getting ready for the race. Stigend smiled to him encouragingly when their eyes met. Cnebba smiled back hastily but felt confused.

Then he saw Leothern standing beside Garstan holding his hand and her gaze going intensively through the line of the runners. Suddenly she was looking at him. Cnebba turned away from her eyes and stared straight forwards to the track in front of him like if he hadn't noticed her looking at him. He pulled in some air and tried to look as confident as he could not daring to glance sideways...

[Groin Redbeard]

"My lord you are confident today," Lithor said merrily as he overheard the eorl's bet, "but you forget that you are racing as well, or is that why you made the bet?" Lithor grinned at his little joke.

The two boys were getting ready for the race. Cnebba, Javan, and Garmund were at the starting line all fidgety and looking nervous. Lithor walked over and said a few private words of encouragement, trying to ease their nerves, and then in a loud clear voice addressed the crowd.

"People, people, settle down, the foot races are about to begin!"

~~~~

Erbrand

He was near when the eorl mad the proposal. At first Erbrand payed no attention to the friendly bet, he never gambled, money was hard to come by for him and he had not made any here in Scarburg. Yet something seemed to wrench at his insides as he walked by, in an indirect manner Eodwine had challenged him, and every other man who was running; his honor was on the line. With a smirk on his face he spun around and headed back to the eorl.

"Lord Eodwine, I'll accept your bet. Which shall it be, the sprint and the distance run?"

[littlemanpoet]

"The sprint this time!" Eodwine grinned. "I don't think I'll bet on Osmund for the longer run."

"We'll see about that!" cried Osmund.

There was a good round of laughter and then they quieted as the runners got into position. Lithor again explained how it would go. The red flag had been moved, and Wilcred had volunteered to stand at the flag to declare the two winners.

"Go!" yelled Lithor. Degas got the best start, and Eodwine did well too. Matrim and Erbrand started a half step behind them, with Osmund in between. Cnebba and Javan got off like two peas in a pod, but Garmund stumbled before he could get going.

They covered the first fifty feet in seconds. Eodwine and Degas were neck and neck, Osmund one foot behind, and Erbrand and Matrim a foot behind them. Six feet back from them ran Javan; a full running stride behind him was Cnebba, and Garmund brought up the rear, but he had been gaining on Cnebba.

Matrim quickened his pace and caught up to Eodwine after another fifty feet. Degas had fallen a foot back, tied with Erbrand. Osmund was now a half stride behind them. Back ten feet ran Javan. A full running stride back was Cnebba, but Garmund was now tied with him.

They neared the flag. Matrim was moving ahead. Degas was pulling even with Eodwine again, and Erbrand stayed just a head behind. Osmund was falling back almost a full stride. Javan was still ahead of the other boys but Garmund had passed Cnebba, who had fallen farther behind.

Matrim crossed the finish line first, almost a full stride ahead of Eodwine and Degas, who finished tied. Erbrand was just a lean behind, and Osmund brought up the rear of the men. Javan crossed the line six feet behind Osmund, Garmund three feet behind him, and Cnebba three feet later yet.

All of the runners were bent over their knees, breathing heavily. "I owe you a copper, Erbrand!" Eodwine said. "Osmund! Were you trying," he puffed, "to lose me my coin?!?"

[Folwren]

It was a strange feeling, to win a race but in reality come in behind all the men. Javan had held some scrap of hope that he might be able to come in somewhere among the older people. No such luck. He was pleased, though, despite that, and he grinned as he panted for breath, his hands on his knees. He glanced sidelong at Garmund and Cnebba and then stood up to go over and speak with them. A pain in his side halted him momentarily and with his hand clasped about it to cinch the pain, he went over to them.

“Man, Garmund, you nearly had me, I swear!” he said cheerfully. He did not speak as though he were boasting or gloating over the fact that Garmund hadn’t beaten him. “You both ran very well. I’ll wager that in the longer race, you may have a chance of winning even against me!” Although he said it, he hoped that neither of them did win. He did not know how he would feel to lose against Garmund who was three years younger than he.

“Do you know if we’re running the next race immediately?” he asked after a slight pause. He glanced around towards the men. They were still panting and laughing at some apparent joke amongst them and no one had heard his question, except the two other boys.

[Groin Redbeard]

His legs, which had been turning like windmills just seconds ago, felt as if they weighed nothing at all. Everyone was heaving, trying to catch their breath, while he stumbled around trying to find his footing and feeling quite dizzy.

"I owe you a copper, Erbrand! Osmund! Were you trying," he puffed, "to lose me my coin?!?" Eodwine said as Erbrand approached him to offer his congratulations.

Erbrand laughed at the joke, as did everyone else. "I'm just thankful that we did not make the bet against one another my lord," Erbrand replied, trying to stand up but still bending slightly and breathing heavily. The winner was looking quite pleased with himself after beating his Rohirric brothers and beamed with pride as he accepted the congratulations that were offered to him.

Slowly walking to the boys he marked their eagerness to begin the next race and to prove that Javan wasn't the only one who could run. "Well done, Javan!" Erbrand said looking down at him, "I've never seen a race run so fast, or boys so hasty to begin another after the finish. I'd keep an eye on those two next time Javan. Good luck!"

[Nogrod]

Cnebba's lungs were screaming for mercy. He was so broke he couldn't have imagined before. It felt like all his bones and muscles were aching. He was just panting, struggling to give his lungs even the minimum amount of air they needed to work to begin with.

He was not looking about him but mainly concentrated on not falling down as his exhausted feet suggested. He didn't see anything but everything was black.

"Well done, Javan! ... I've never seen a race run so fast, or boys so hasty to begin another after the finish. I'd keep an eye on those two next time Javan. Good luck!" He heard Erbrand call hilariously - seemingly trying to keep them at a good mood and congratulating Javan. Cnebba couldn't be farther from a good feeling.

He had lost the one race he thought he could have fared well in. That was it, he thought trying to gasp air. A tear appeared into his eye and went slowly down his cheek as he finally dropped down to his knees not able to stand up anymore.

I tried... I'm no good...


Stigend saw his son dropping down and immediately rushed forwards to meet him. He layed down to his knees beside him and took him from the shoulders.

"Now my dear son... what is it?" he whispered into his ear trying to steal a look from Cnebba's eyes.

Cnebba shivered slightly holding out the tears and bit his lip. That was something Stigend did feel and see.

"C'mon lad... you're my champion still and you ran well. No one runs better than the one who has given all he has..." Stigend whispered. He was about to continue with the words his father used to repeat to him time after time... Losing builds character. But suddenly he remembered the humiliation and the shame that went with those words, those times from his childhood that had stuck deep into his mind as moments of disgrace and failure it had taken a long time to grow over. That's not something I'm going to pass to my son..., Stigend thought and embraced Cnebba gently not to embarrass him.

Finally Cnebba looked up to his father.

"I...I lost daddy..." his voice was trembling a little.

"So what about it? They're older than you are my son. And still you will climb any tree faster they could imagine, now couldn't you?" Stigend looked at his son with a comforting smile. "And winning competitions isn't everything you know." Stigend paused for a while and looked at his son.

"Would you like to come and to just follow the longer race with me? I could then teach you some manouvers for the later games?"

Cnebba looked at his father and suddenly his eyes ignited with a fire Stigend had rarely seen. "No dad, I'm going to run."

Stigend stood up and stared intensively at his son. "However it goes Cnebba... I'm proud of you", he finally said and took him by the shoulder and pressed it slightly - feeling that Cnebba was still bit shaking. They looked at each other into the eye for a moment before Stigend nodded to him and let his shoulder go.

Stigend went back to the crowd his heart about to break with pride.

But Cnebba stood alone at the finishing line still trying to catch his breath glancing at the others speaking of the run and how they fared in it.

[Groin Redbeard]

Fresh buckets of water were brought from the camp to the racing grounds. He chuckled to himself as he saw a row of red faced men line up for their turn with the gourd. The day had turned out beautifully, not only was the weather exceptionally good but also the morale of the camp was soaring. Even the older ladies who didn't participate seemed to be having a grand time with commenting on the players performances, and telling tales about when they were young.

Eodwine was taking his turn with the gourd when Lithor approached him. "All is well my lord?" Eodwine didn't say anything, but he nodded and breathed a comforting sigh as he poured water on his face.

"Very good, my lord," Lithor replied with his ever constant grinning, "just say the word and we'll begin with the distance running."

[littlemanpoet]

Lithor looked carefully at each pair to make sure they were properly tied and no one having an undue advantage. When he came to Degas he stopped and rubbed his chin.

“Well now, my lord, I fear that you do not qualify as three legs. The little one is going to have to have at least a leg free, even if it never touches the ground.”

“I'm afraid, my friend,” said Eodwine, standing next to Degas, “that Lithor has a point.”

“What say the rest of you runners?” asked Lithor.

[Folwren]

Javan and Wilcred were bound together at the ankles. Javan was just standing up from finishing the knot, clinging to Wilcred to keep his balance, when his attention was caught by the question rising from the far end of the line.

“What’s wrong - what is it?” he asked. Wilcred shook his head. Thornden, passing them as he walked along down the line to get to the other side of the racing field, explained.

“Degas and Léoðern are not tied to Lithor’s satisfaction.”

Javan leaned forward to peer down the line. His eyes stretched when he caught sight of the odd pair. “Oh for goodness’ sake!” he cried out, loud enough for Eodwine and Lithor both to hear even at their distance. “Let ‘em run like that, if they like!” And in aside to Wilcred, “Not like Degas could beat the lot of us single handedly with someone hanging on his leg...ridiculous, really...and Lithor should quit sticking his nose into all this business that doesn't really belong to him. Who put him in charge anyway?"

"Eodwine agreed with Lithor's protest," Wilcred said, matching Javan's tone of voice. "And I believe it was Eodwine who put him in charge."

[Kath]

His heart began to race and his fingers seemed to twitch with a giddeness that overtakes a man who is greately anticipating something, and in this case it was Kara’s answer. Erbrand’s face still held the look of a man quite at ease though it was anything but that in his heart. Kara and Ginna both turned towards him, slightely startled at this rude interuption of their conversation.

The unusual gaiety in Erbrand's voice made Kara jump when she heard it, but as she turned to face him she couldn't help the smile that spread over her face as she caught sight of him. He looked completely dishevelled from his earlier race, one that she had cheered him on throughout, and yet his win had filled him with such clear confidence that he was carrying off the look very well indeed.

"Are you ready for a race Kara?" He asked her, now looking her in the eyes rather than speaking to the ground as he had done the first time he had asked her this.

"Of course!" Kara replied. "If you still want to that is. Ginna and I were saying that we can't believe you all still have the breath left to run another race after the last one. Especially you with that amazing sprint at the end to win!"

Erbrand was taken aback by Kara’s response. His heart suddenly began to beat faster, numerous thoughts racing through his head about what she might have meant. Was this her gentle way of saying that she didn’t really want to race with him? Did she suspect foul play from him in the last race? Erbrand’s cheerful face quickly faded into a troubled look. The notion of her words being a completely innocent remark hadn’t accured to him.

Her natural inclination to openness and never to intend harm meant that Kara didn't think that her words could be taken as an insult until she heard Ginna's intake of breath behind her. Confused she turned to her friend.

"I'm sure Erbrand has more than enough breath to run another race." Ginna said, a meaningful look on her face. "After all, his performance in the last one shows that he is clearly very fit."

And suddenly Kara understood.

"Oh!" She cried, immediately remorseful. "I didn't mean that you couldn't do it, of course I didn't, I only meant that perhaps you might not want to! Oh please don't take offence." She faced him again with a worried expression.

The look on Kara’s face soothed his nerves. Erbrand breathed a sigh of relief and stepped back a bit, as if a great load had been lifted from his back making him unbalanced, soon he was laughing, not even bothering to try and contain himself.

“I’m sorry, Kara,” he said at length after catching his breath, “It’s not you I’m laughing at, I thought that you were turning my offer down. The thought shouldn’t even have entered my head, I’ll accept your apology if you’ll accept mine.”

Erbrand was very pleased with the way that he was handling himself, trying to ward off the anxiety as best he could. Without skipping a beat he sprang up the scar to where Kara and Ginna were sitting with as much nimbleness as a deer. He came face to face with her, she looked even more beautiful than she did earlier today. Finding the words stuck in his throat he hesitatingly extending his arm out to her.

“May I help you down, if you please... Kara?” the words were almost a whisper as they came out, and finding his arm shaking he tried to stiffen, but that only enhanced it.

“You’ll be fine,” his mind kept telling him, “just don’t do anything stupid and it will be find. Easy there, don’t rush her.”

Kara's sudden guilt fled as quickly as it had arrived as she received confirmation that Erbrand had not taken her comment to heart. Indeed he seemed too happy and excited to have even considered doing so as he bounced up to her and held out his arm. His new found confidence didn't seem to last long, however, as his voice became hoarse and his movements became uncomfortable again. The way he said her name made her hesitate, there was more to it than the simple friendship there had been before. She looked to Ginna for guidance, but her friend merely raised her eyebrows and said nothing. Giving a slight shrug Kara smiled and placed her hand in Erbrand's.

"Of course." She replied. "I will need to help Frodides with getting some lunch ready for everyone. After that I'm all yours."

“Excellent!” He replied as he gently helped her down from the Scar. They both helped Ginna as he came down after them, being duty bound to helping in the kitchen. Kara and Erbrand lingered behind the main group for a while, choosing to take their time, making small talk and laughing about the games. Erbrand found himself enjoying the conversation, and completely forgot about the time. He even found it hard to cross the Scar, knowing that it meant the end of having such wonderful company.

At every utterance that Kara made Erbrand couldn’t help but smile, the very sound of her voice sent his stomach in a tizzy. He couldn’t shake the feeling of attraction to her, once it even entered his mind to tell her, or at least try to describe how he felt around her. It was how he felt, why not say it? She looked at him with an amused smile, and they both laughed. No, it would be best if he left his babbling words for another time, this was a moment too perfect to be wasted.

By the time that they had gotten to the kitchen everyone else had already arrived. Erbrand walked Kara to the kitchen entrance where Kara promised to meet him later. He smiled and let go of her hand, he had not let go of her hand since she had placed it in his but she didn’t seem to mind. Frodides approached them with a pan in one hand scolding Erbrand for delaying Kara for so long. She quickly shooed him away from the kitchen with one arm raised as if to strike, Erbrand made a quick dart away leaving Kara laughing at the door.

It seemed almost no time from then to now to Kara, as she stood close to Erbrand, her leg tied to his. It had been Kara who had tied them together, as she couldn't bear to watch Erbrand try and figure out a way of wrapping the rope around her leg without actually touching it. The expression on his face as he realised his difficulty had nearly made her burst out laughing and she knew that would only hurt his feelings. Erbrand had laughed while she was busy though, and she looked up to find everyone staring across at Degas who was facing Lithor with unabashed glee.

"What do you think Kara?" Erbrand asked through his laughter. "Should we demand a re-tie?"

"Oh let them run like that." Kara replied, smiling up at him but pitching her voice loud enough so that Lithor could hear the answer to his question. "If they win we can call it a victory for creative thinking!"

[Groin Redbeard]

"Aye, let them race," shouted Erbrand in agreament with Kara, though he knew that it would be a far more difficult thing to do. The weight of little Leodern on Degas' foot would cause him to be greatly imbalanced, but where Degas' lacked in racing he might gain in balance.

It looked as if the crowd was now almost shouting for Lithor to let Leodern race as is so Erbrand payed no more attention, seeing that Lithor would probably let it be. Kara rose from tying the knot and tested it by tugging at it with her foot, to Erbrand's amazement the knot was taut and strong.

"Well done," he said, his voice giving a slight chuckle. They positioned their feet to the starting line and she reached up and put her arm around his shoulders. Slightly stunned Erbrand did the same, and started practicing the beat to which they would run

Lithor

Lithor's face was a frown as the racers urged him to let Degas and Leodern race, this was hardly the response he expected. He cast a hopeful glance at Eodwine half expecting some support from his lord but he didn't get any, Eodwine just stared at him, his hands folded across his chest, with a half amused smile on his face. The child clinging to Degas' leg began to look around alarmingly, and Degas wore a gleeful smile on his face as the crowd began to sway in his favor.

Taking a piece of twine from the rope pile Lithor knelt down to Leodern's level, who was still clinging desperately to Degas' foot. Lithor took the twine and gently tide it around the childs small ankle and then brought in around Degas' foot and tied a half knot, allowing Leodern to stay where she was. Leodern looked puzzled, wondering if this meant that she had to stand, but Lithor just rose and gave Degas a playful wink.

"There you go. Now it is a rope-tie race."

[Thinlómien]

"It should be tighter," Cnebba said flatly.
"I'm trying," Garmund replied, "and it would be easier if you weren't moving your foot."
"It would be easier if you concentrated," Cnebba snapped.
Garmund snorted, but didn't make a reply. Instead, he bowed down to try the knot once again. He was smiling and Cnebba thought he was looking unbearably smug.

Well, Garmund had a reason to smile. He had done well in the short distance and won in the long distance, running almost as well as Lord Eodwine. It was so unfair. Cnebba kicked a pebble, which bounced a few times until it hit a big rock and fell to the ground, rather miserably.

"Hey Cnebba, didn't I tell you not to move?" Garmund asked. He didn't even sound angry this time.
"Yes you did but I don't have to follow your orders. You are not any wiser just because you're older, or better at everything, and besides even if you were, you would have no right to boss me around!" Cnebba said and knelt to untie the rope. He didn't want to do anything with Garmund now.
Gramund gripped his arm: "Don't be stupid, Cnebba!"
Cnebba tried to wrestle his arm free from his friend's grip. "Let go of me!" he shouted.
"It isn't my fault that I'm a better runner! It's unfair that you should be angry with me because of it! It's so unfair!" Garmund replied, giving Cnebba a hard push on the side. The smaller boy fell to the ground. But Garmund had forgotten they were still tied together and Cnebba pulled him with him when he fell.

They heard laughing from all around them. "I think we just got an example what not to do in this race," Lithor said, grinning widely at the boys. Other adults laughed at his joke. Garmund and Cnebba couldn't help laughing too. They knew they were being stupid.

"Now come on boys, I'll help you up," Lithor said, taking a step towards them.
Cnebba and Garmund shot each other a determined glance. They gripped each other's arms, nodded sligthly, and pushed themselves up with one concentrated effort.

Lithor whistled and clapped. "Now that was much better, wasn't it?" He laughed and so did the other adults.

Garmund turned his eyes to Cnebba. He was grinning widely. "We are going to win this game, aren't we?"
"Of course we are," Cnebba answered and grinned back, but his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

[Groin Redbeard]

It took awhile for the thought of him losing to register in his mind. It vexed him to think that he had even come behind, far behind, the women. If only he could have made it over the wall faster. Erbrand didn't dwell on the thought for long, it was over, and it wouldn't do any good to brood over his loss, he was especially thankful for the contestants being so gracious and not gloating over him.

“Well done Harreld,” he said approaching the smith, “You were the toughest opponent that I have had yet.” Harreld thanked him for his praise and clasped his hand in a friendly sportsmanship manner.

Rowenna had proven tougher than Erbrand perceived her to be. She was standing with Eodwine and Saeryn, she looked anxiously at Saeryn who seemed to be hurt. Nevertheless, Erbrand approached them addressed Rowenna in a respectful tone.

“Congratulations, Rowenna, never had I seen such a race. Indeed you are made of stouter stuff than any other women that I have ever met. And you too Saeryn, although I didn’t see you finish, I heard that it was quite a site.” She smiled back but seemed to pained to speak.

“Are you alright,” Erbrand asked after a few seconds of watching her holding her side, “Did you fall and cut yourself?” He couldn’t have known how silly this might have sounded to Rowenna and Eodwine. Erbrand had not been informed of Saeryn’s injuries.

“No, I’ll be fine, I just need to rest.” she responded.

Erbrand nodded his head in agreement. Then he congratulated Eodwine on a close victory and backed away to wait for the next contest.

[Folwren]

Saeryn tried to smile and grimaced instead. How strange, that the old wound should be aching so. It was like a stitch in the side, as one gets when they run after eating, only it was worse. She relinquished her hand to Eodwine and looked back at his concerned face as he asked, “How are you really?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said honestly. “I’m sure it will pass, really. I shouldn’t have done it - it was that climbing that killed me, you know?” Her smile strengthened itself as the sharp pain began to ebb. She lightened the pressure of her arm around her waist and pressed at the scar gingerly with her fingers.

“Don’t let me keep you from the games!” she exclaimed suddenly, looking up and still seeing Eodwine’s and Rowenna’s worried faces hovering above her. “I promise I will be well. And if you keep standing about gawking, you’ll have the whole place about my ears, and then what?” She smiled, a genuine smile this time, and almost winked at Rowenna.

In all truthfulness, she was a little worried. By now, she thought, she should be quite recovered. As soon as she had come to Scarburg, they had begun tending her with the best care anyone could offer, and the wound had healed rapidly. Now it was all but a scar, with a few, superficial scabs. But on chilly nights it ached, and now, with this extra effort, it hurt, sharp and then dull and deep, and then sharp again. Although the pain was now going away and she almost felt entirely well, she could not help but wonder if trouble would continually rise from this old cut.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

As Eodwine and Rowenna moved away from Saeryn, Degas disentangled himself from Léoðern and walked toward his sister, paying little mind to the celebrations and strategizing of those around him.

He knelt beside her inconspicuously. "Are you well, Saery?"

"There is nothing a few moments of rest cannot cure," she responded, patting his arm.

"You are sure?" he asked gently, hesitantly. "The wound healed cleanly? There is no infection?"

[Lhunardawen]

As always, Ginna and Kara took seats beside each other to watch the task-path event. The two ladies cheered wholeheartedly, still bolstered by the excitement of the three-legged race, laughing and screaming themselves hoarse all the while. Every now and then they exchanged meaningful looks, loaded with silent appraisals of the men - two men, in particular.

When Harreld fell down the wall, both of them winced, and Kara automatically reached out a comforting arm to the apparently troubled Ginna. The worry passed in a moment, however, as Harreld quickly rose to his feet, not the least bothered by his fall. Kara and Ginna looked at each other, laughed, and then cheered Harreld on.

In the end, the race was left between Harreld and Erbrand. Ginna and Kara could no longer shake off their anxious amusement and stood, jumping up and down and clapping like little children as they yelled.

"I'll wager Harreld finishes first," remarked Ginna absently in between shrieks.

"No way," countered Kara. "Erbrand's lighter."

"Loser washes all the dishes after supper," Ginna challenged, extending her hand towards Kara. She took it. "You have a deal."

The two then doubled their efforts at cheering, screaming at ear-splitting levels. It seemed as if Harreld and Erbrand would reach the finish line at the same time, but Harreld suddenly pulled ahead of Erbrand to the finish. Ginna turned to Kara, took her hand and squeezed it, and gave her a mischievous wink, before running off towards Harreld.

“You were the toughest opponent that I have had yet,” she heard Erbrand say as she approached. Harreld thanked him, and saw her approach as the other man left. Upon reaching him, Ginna shook his hand.

"You may not have won, but I congratulate you still."

Harreld grinned bashfully. "My thanks, Ginna."

The girl noticed the commotion around Saeryn, who was obviously in pain. "What's the matter with Saeryn? She seemed fine when I had raced with her..."

"Perhaps she had been in pain even then, only you were both laughing too hard for her to notice."

Ginna looked up towards Harreld's face; was it just her imagination, or had she discerned a touch of envy in the blacksmith's voice? His eyes betrayed nothing. It was probably her own emotions playing a trick on her. From the corner of her eye she saw Degas walk towards Saeryn, and decided to stop worrying and let her brother tend to her. With a small, absentminded movement of her arm, Ginna realised that Harreld had not released her hand - neither had she his.

"I apologise for never having thought of asking you if you wanted to join the three-legged race with me. But even with that over, you can still be my partner in one event this day."

Ginna smiled shyly yet expectantly, hoping he took her meaning.

[Thinlómien]

Modtryth

Modtryth had been watching the task path race with the boys. They had been enthusiastic and cheering for their favourites: Javan and Dan. Modtryth wasn't still quite comfortable with their fascination with the weird woodman, but she decided rather to keep an eye on the situation than act or judge too rashly.

"Garmund! Garmund! Cnebba! I found a bug!"

Léoðern dashed towards the boys, grinning and carefully shielding something in her hands. The boys exchanged glances and rolled their eyes, but went to see her bug. In a few moments they were at least as excited about it as Léoðern was. Modtryth couldn't help smiling.

She let her eyes travel from the children to other people. Everybody seemed happy or enthusiastic, except that there was a slightly pained expression on Saeryn's face. Her brother was talking to her and she was smiling to him in response, but Modtryth thought not everything was quite right. She wanted to go to see Saeryn's wound and ask her about it. She thought Saeryn would not lie to her about it just to comfort her, like she could do to her brother, not to mention Lord Eodwine and Rowenna whom she had just been talking with. She could not decide whether to go to see her, or not. The next event would be starting at any minute, probably.

Léoðern made the decision for her by coming to her. "See, Modtryth, I found a beautiful bug!" If Léoðern is with me, there is no chance of having a serious word with Saeryn, Modtryth thought. That will have to wait, then. She stooped to have a luck at Léoðern's bug. The girl was sheltering it so carefully that she could not see but a hint of radiant emerald green. "It is very beautiful," she said. "But now, the next game is about to start, so stay here with me. We can watch it together." Léoðern nodded and was about to sit down on the ground. "But first, let's go wish good luck to the boys - it's stone throwing that's next!"

Léoðern's eyes widened and she turned to the boys' direction with a beaming smile. Still sheltering the bug, she ran to them, Modtryth in her wake. The boys were standing together where Léoðern and her bug had left them, talking about something in low voices. They fell silent when Léoðern and Modtryth arrived. "Good luck!" the girl said and gave both of the boys a kiss on the cheek. The boys exchanged glances and Modtryth could see they were nervous. She patted their shoulders and ruffled Cnebba's hair.

"Mum!" Cnebba exclaimed, fingering his messy hair.
"Good luck, darling," Modtryth said and smiled. "Good luck to you too, Garmund. I'm sure it will go fine with both of you. Now, off you go, the other contestants are waiting for you!"


~*~


Stone throwing

Harreld, Erbrand, Balvir, Wilcred, Garmund and Cnebba were standing in the clearing. Harreld and Erbrand were stretching the muscles in their arms and shoulders after the heavy task-path race. Balvir and Wilcred were talking in low voices. Garmund was looking around, trying to catch a glimpse of his father. Cnebba was plucking grass.

Lithor arrived with a wooden bucket filled with small but heavy stones.
"Are we ready to start?" he asked.
"Matrim is missing," Balvir pointed out.
"I'm coming!" the liutenant called from distance, wiping ale from his moustache with a self-ironic smile on his face. There was general laughter as he took his place among the other contestants.

"Now that everybody is finally here," Lithor (who had arrived just a moment ago himself) said, grinning at Matrim, "we may start. The rules are simple. Here are the stones," Lithor said, pouring them all on the grass, "and here's the bucket."

He waited that all the contestants had nodded in approval before he continued. "I will take this bucket here. Each of you has two tries to get a stone in the bucket - youngest first, oldest last. If you can't get one in, you're out of the game. After each round, I will move the bucket farther. The one who drops out of the game last, wins. Questions?"

There were none, so the game began. Cnebba was clearly nervous, but the first distance was short and he had a good aim, so he got the stone in at his first try. Grinning rather smugly, he made way for Garmund. He did not succeed at his first try, and was seemingly displeased with that. "Who's next?" grey-bearded Wilcred asked. "Not me by any means," he added with a wry smile. Matrim and Erbrand exchanged glances. "You may go first, good master," the Gondorian said. Erbrand hesitated a little, then nodded and picked a stone. Balvir cast an unreadable glance at his liutenant, who returned it with a smile.

Erbrand's stone hit the target beautifully, and so did Matrim's after him. Harreld was weighing the small stone in his hand and cast it, accurately but with too much strength. The pebble hit the inside of the bucket and knocked it down, spilling all the stones around. Everybody was laughing, even Harreld. "Is that acceptable?" Balvir asked Lithor. The Eorling shrugged and smiled. "The aim is to get the stone inside the bucket. It wasn't forbidden to knock the bucket down." There was more laughter, and Lithor went to pick the bucket up for Balvir and Wilcred. The two soldiers succeeded easily, and so did Garmund at his second try.

"That was seemingly all too easy for the brave men of the hall!" Lithor announced when he took the bucket and moved it some five feet further away. "Now you may try this."

Cnebba and Garmund both failed at their first try. Erbrand, Matrim, Harreld and Balvir all got their stones in easily, but the veteran warrior Wilcred missed. Bad luck was the common conclusion, but Wilcred didn't seem to mind. The boys were far more nervous. However, when Cnebba's turn came, he was calm, if not a little pale, and with a beautiful throw, he got the pebble to the bucket. The crowd applauded and Cnebba flashed a grin to his friend. Garmund's face was stern, he had failed both his first tries now and he didn't want to be the first one to drop out of the game. He bit his lip, picked a pebble and threw it. The was a loud clop when the pebble hit the bottom of the bucket. The cheers he got were wilder than those that ensued after Wilcred too had hit the target.

On the third round, Cnebba succeeded at his first try. His relief was clearly seen in his grin. Garmund was not so lucky, and missed again. His frustration showed as clearly as Cnebba's delight. But he wasn't the only one who missed on the first round: Erbrand and Harreld both missed as well. There was tension in the air as the three competitors eyed each other. They all had a nagging feeling that they wouldn't all make it to the next round. And so it was. Garmund missed the bucket by inches. Erbrand got his pebble in. Harreld's pebble flew over the bucket and landed some two feet further away than it should have. Accepting their shared last place calmly, Garmund and Harreld joined the audience.

On the next round, Erbrand, Balvir and Wilcred all succeeded at their first try, while Cnebba and Matrim had to try again. "I'm sure you'll beat me," Matrim whispered to Cnebba when the boy was picking his next pebble. Cnebba offered the soldier a faint smile, but did not trust his words. He weighed the stone and hesitantly threw it, only to miss the bucket. He let out a disappointed sigh and made way to Matrim, who hit the target easily. "You'll beat me next time," Matrim promised easily and winked.

Next round, everyone succeeded: Matrim and Balvir at their first try, Erbrand and Wilcred at their second. Lithor moved the bucket once again. Wilcred shook his head at the distance. "I tell you, I'm not going to hit that," he said, smiling wryly. "I'm a swordsman, not a pebble-thrower!" "Nonsense, it's still very close," Erbrand said, returning the older man's smile. The veteran had been right, however - he missed the bucket both times, while Matrim missed only once and Erbrand and the seemingly undefeatable Balvir succeeded at their first try.

But even Balvir wasn't so undefeatable. On the following round, he missed at his first try, unlike the younger men. The competition was getting pretty tense, few were those who dared to bet what would happen.

Lithor moved the bucket. Erbrand picked a pebble and threw it. It missed. He gave way to Matrim. He too picked a pebble and threw it. It missed as well. Everybody was looking at Balvir. He chose his pebble carefully, weighed it and threw it. It looked as if it would go too far, but it hit the inside of the bucket and dropped in. The usually so calm soldier flashed a wolvish grin when the cheers and the applause burst out. "See you next round, boys... if you make it that far," he said. "I'll throw my pebble in the bucket and follow you to next round, for sure," said Matrim. "It's just Erbrand's turn first." Erbrand said nothing, just picked the stone that seemed best to him and threw it. It landed in the bucket and a smile lit Erbrand's face. "Outrageous," Matrim commented with a smile, but stooped and picked a stone. He stood there for a long time with the pebble in his hand, but finally, he raised his hand, aimed and let go of the pebble. There was the soft thud of a stone hitting grass.

When Matrim had left, only Erbrand, Balvir and the bucket at the distance remained. "Younger one first," Balvir said. "I know," replied Erbrand and picked a stone. He threw it, but it didn't go inside the bucket. Balvir nodded grimly and picked a stone too. It missed as well. Erbrand picked a new stone. "Your last chance," Balvir said solemnly. Erbrand nodded, giving the older man a gruff smile. "So is yours." He closed his eyes just for a while, raised his hand, aimed and threw. The pebble landed a mere inch away from the bucket. Balvir's face was expressionless. "I only win if I get the stone inside the bucket, otherwise it's a shared victory," he said as he stooped to pick a pebble. He didn't hesitate; he picked the stone and threw it in one concentrated movement. It made a beautiful arch in the air and landed, with a loud clop, in the bucket.

"We have a winner!" Lithor boomed as applause and cheers filled the air. Balvir grinned. "Truly, it was a great honour to compete with such a skilled man as you, Erbrand," he said, patting the younger man's shoulder. "It was a great honour to compete with you too, and no one else would have deserved the victory like you did," Erbrand replied, now smiling too.

"That was indeed a worthy victory," Matrim said as he joined in the congratulations. There was an amused glint in his dark eyes. "And now, people of Scarburg, you know you may always turn to valiant and skillful Captain Balvir of Gondor, if you're ever in need of a pebble-thrower."

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld

"...you can still be my partner in one event this day."

Ginna looked both expectant and shy at once, but her hand remained in his. He lifted it and bowed and placed a Gondorian kiss thereon, his eyes not leaving hers. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed an O, and she looked more shy yet, but pleased, biting her lip in a most winsome way. Harreld's face did not feel even the slightest hint of heat. He was enjoying this.

"I would be delighted," he said simply, and let her hand slip from his. She smiled and turned back to Kara, but gave him another bright eyed glance, as if the dance she had offered him had turned to a promise.

He straightened and made his way with a little bit of a swagger to the stone throwing competition. He cared not if he came in last or first, for he was in the lead in a race of far greater import.

Eodwine

He had moved from Saeryn to make room for Degas. He was getting restless for the day when others would have to make way for him coming by her side to take her arm in his. He was watching her now. She was smiling, talking to Degas; but she glanced at him; did she notice the fire in his eyes that went with the smile on his face? Almost, he was ready to throw caution to the wind and make good on his plan this minute, but no, he would wait until later.

He went to the baker and found a few more chairs and placed them near the one on which Saeyrn sat. He set one on Saeryn's right and directed Rowenna to sit there. He placed the other two seats to Saeryn's left.

"Degas, please choose your seat," he said. His eyes caught and held those of Saeryn again. He put all his feeling for her in his eyes, for any other display was not yet appropriate. He willed her to understand, yes feel what he meant to convey.

[littlemanpoet]

"Degas", said Eodwine.

Degas, his legs crossed, his right ar resting on the back of Saeryn's chair, looked at Eodwine wtih a pleasant, absent smile on his face. "Yes, my friend?"

"You are in the spear throwing competition, are you not?"

Degas' smiled disappeared, replaced by surprise and mild consternation. "By Eorl's beard, I am!" Standing, he turned to his sister and Rowenna and gave a slight bow. "Excuse me, ladies, I go to win fame and glory."

"Are you not in this, Eodwine?" asked Saeryn.

He shook his head with a smile as he took the chair Degas had vacated. "I am sitting this one out. I shall enjoy watching this one."

Wilcred came up and sat in the chair Eodwine had vacated. "Would my lord be interested in a wager?"

"Name it, my friend!" Eodwine said.

"I will wager you two Eorls that Crabannan wins with the longest throw."

"I shall wager against Crabannan. And let it be known that I will put two of my own Eorls behind Harreld to win it!"

"Feeling generous with your gold coins today, my lord?" said Garstan, walking up from behind them, holding a pint of ale in his fist.

"We shall see whether it is generosity or greed," Eodwine laughed. "Will you take my wager, Garstan?"

"I will! And I will wager one Eorl on Dan to win the target round."

"I will take up that wager!" said Eodwine and Wilcred at once.

"I shall put one Eorl on Degas for the targets," Rowenna announced.

The men looked at her, startled. Then Eodwine grinned. "So be it!"

More wagers were set as the competitors readied themselves. They were to throw the spear three times, from the west end of Scarburg as far as they could throw toward the east wall, just inside the Scar. They drew straws. The best throw in three tries would win, plain and simple.

Erbrand was first, commenting that his luck seemed to have run out, being inexperienced with the spear and first to throw into the bargain. Throw he did. It was measured off at 74 strides. The others commented that it was not bad for the first time in yards. Crabannan, next, drew up to the line and showing fine form, threw 104 strides. Stigend threw 97 strides. Dan came next; the Eorling spear seemed heavy and unwieldy in his hand. He gave it his best first try; the spear wobbled as it flew, for 48 strides. Harreld was next. The others expected much from him for his smithiying strength of arm. He blushed and shrugged, but also allowed the praise to go to his head and threw overhard so that the spear flew too low and landed early for 77 strides. Thornden was next and with little comment, threw for 79 strides. Osmund displayed fine form and threw for 100 strides. Æthelstan did well at 103 strides. Experienced Balvir, his face a closed book of concentration, threw his spear for 110 strides. Degas came last. His arm looked a little slim and the others did not expect much from his heft. His throw flew 86 strides, better than they expected but well short of the longest strides.

Lithor marked the spots of the competitors' first throws, and they retrieved their spears for the next round. Erbrand had learned a thing or two from his first throw as well as watching the others and threw for 100 strides. Crabannan raised a brow at that, then threw for 113 strides. Stigend reached back and with a grunt threw 109. Dan, like Erbrand, had been watching the others and had noted how strength alone was only half the equation, the other half being form in throw and followthrough. He had been practicing behind the others, mirroring their throws, and now tossed for 109 strides himself, to the shock and praise of the others. Harreld, humbled by his last throw, shut out the comments of all the others, and with a face of concentration seen mostly in his smithy, gave heft: 91 strides. He shouted in frustration and paced about, paying little heed to the others' throws as he practiced his motion for the duration. Thornden threw 94 strides. Osmund was proving to be almost Crabannan's equal: 110 strides. Æthelstan threw 74, well short of his first throw. Balvir was next and bettered his previous throw by 8 strides: 108. Degas threw 94 strides.

After two rounds Crabannan had the best distance at 113 strides, followed by Osmund at 110, with Stigend and Dan close behind at 109, Balvir at 108. They all agreed that the third round promised to be quite interesting. Wiclred teased Eodwine, who was shifting uncomfortably in his chair at Harreld's difficulties.

The marks were marked and the spears were retrieved, and the third round began. Erbrand threw 80 strides. Crabannan threw 106; his previous throw of 113 would have to hold. Stigend threw 98. Dan's vast improvement from first to second throw had the leaders worried, but his third slipped from his grasp a little and he made only 68. Harreld came next, and taking a running start, tossed with all his might high and long, for 124 strides. A roar went up from the watchers; Eodwine jumped out of his chair and threw his fist in the air.

"Well done, Harreld," Crabannan said."

"My thanks, Crabannan."

Thornden threw next: 74 strides. Osmund tried Harreld's ploy of running to the line, but did not have the skill of it, and threw 98 strides. Æthelstan's throw slipped from his hand and he made 69 strides. Balvir was the picture of consistency and threw 100 strides. Degas had the last throw and tried Harreld's running ploy also, but it did not match his limited strength so well, and he made 63 yards.

"Harreld has the longest throw!" cried Lithor

Next came the accuracy competition. Lithor set up a target with painted circles: a black dot surrounded by red then green then blue then white. It was 20 strides from the line of the throw. Lithor announced that the same order would throw this time, and the man who had the best throw in three tries would again be the winner.

Erbrand threw: he hit the green circle. Crabannan threw and yelled in frustration for his form was off; spear landed in the blue circle, just outside Erbrand's. Stigend threw and hit the white circle, the point of his spear wobbling just at the fringe of the target. Dan threw and hit the black center; a roar of appreciation went up from the watchers. Harreld hit the red just outside the black. Groans at his relative ill-fortune went up from the watchers. Thornden hit the green. Osmund missed the target, hitting the ground well short. Æthelstan hit the red, but not as close as Harreld. Balvir threw and his the black. Detgas threw and his spirit landed in the ground just at the foot of the target.

Lithor said, "Balvir and Dan are tied, so there will be a fourth round between them unless others hit the bull's eye and join for the extra round."

In the second round Erbrand missed wide. Crabannan improved, hitting the red just outside the bull's eye. Stigend also improved, hitting the green. Can hit the bull's eye again. Harreld also hit the bull's eye. Thornden his the white just a little closer than Stigend's wobbly hit from the previous round. Osmund hit the red, just outside the black. A roar went up at his vast improvement. Æthelstan hit the green, so his previous throw was slightly the better yet not good enough. Balvir threw into the green as well, but he had the solace of knowing he would be in it for the fourth round anyway. Degas threw and missed the target again. He frowned.

"Degas!" cried Rowenna. "I have coin riding on you! Hit the black!" Degas's brows rose and a smirk came to his face. But Saeryn was the one to notice the fire lit in his eyes. She smirked too, but held her peace; except that Eodwine, paying almost as much attention to her as to the spear throwing, had caught her look, and sobered.

The third round came. Erbrand threw and his over-concentration sent his spear into the ground at the base of the target. Crabannan knew that this was his last chance to join the fourth round. He threw and hit the black. He pumped his fist. Stigend threw and missed the target. Dan threw and hit the black a third time. Harreld, having already hit the black, was feeling very good, just the right blend of relaxation and concentration: he hit the black a second time. Thornden, Osmund, Æthelstan, and Balvir missed the target. Degas now had his last chance. Rowenna held her breath and clenched her fists, her knuckles white. He threw and hit the black.

"We have five throwers for the fourth round!" cried Lithor, "Crabannan, Dan, Harreld, Balvir, and Degas. The target will be moved back ten strides."

They lined up and took their turns, those who had not hit the black joining the appreciative crowd. Crabannan threw: at the longer distance he made the outer white circle. Dan was next to throw, and commented that this distance was outside anything he had tried before. He threw and hit the outside of the red; best throw so far. Harreld came next to the line. Ginna cried her encouragement. Harrreld smiled, took a breath, and threw. His spear landed on the very edge of the black. A roar of appreciation went up from the crowd. Next came Balvir. He matched Dan's throw, their spears piercieng the target mere inches apart. Last came Degas. Rowenna cried her encouragement while Saeryn merely smiled. He threw. His spaer landed in the black, just closer than Harrreld's.

Lithor shook his head. "We shall have to go a fifth round between Harreld and Degas." He moved the target back another ten strides.

Harreld came up to the line first and aimed. He threw. He missed the target wide. Degas came to the line. He aimed. He threw. Everybody held their breath as the spear flew. It seemed to be flying toward the target. It hit, on the outside of the red; not the black, but closer than further. Degas had won.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas shook out his arm, walking back to Rowenna, Saeryn, and Eodwine.

He bowed theatrically to Rowenna. Another time he might have hesitated, afraid of the little known woman taking his dramatics for mockery, but the laughter that lit her face made her more lovely than he had ever seen her, and he matched her with a smile.

"What think you, Rowenna?" he asked, "Will that be sufficient for now?"

[Gwathagor]

As mighty Harreld had hauled back and flung the quivering ash spear a staggering 124 strides, Crabannan had made a hasty mental note to never, never get on Harreld's bad side. Crabannan knew that with his superior quickness and endurance, he could probably beat Harreld in a fight, but he had no desire to find out how many bones he would almost certainly break in the process.

After the competition, Wilcred came alongside Crabannan, while the tall man was holding something very like a conversation with Harreld. (There were a great deal of nods, cheerful grunts, and monosyllabics being exchanged.)

Wilcred clapped Crabannan on the shoulder. "Where did you learn to throw a spear, my friend?" he cried in mock disgust. "You just lost me two gold coins!"

Crabannan did not know Wilcred very well, andwas startled for a moment out of his good humor; but when he realized that Wilcred was speaking in jest, he unfurrowed his brows quickly enough. He even smiled a little and cast about for a suitable mock apology.

Wilcred continued. "In truth, though, where did you learn the spear? You nearly matched our Harreld, and there are few Rohirrim who can say the same."

"Wherever it was, it seems it wasn't enough, eh?" Crabannan said, leaving the question unanswered. "Harreld earned that one. But Degas now - I think he surprised all of us. Maybe even his sister."

Wilcred nodded, chuckled, and said, "Aye" several times, but Harreld simply said, "They made a man out of him in Gondor."

"Well, Crabannan. If you handle any other weapons as well as the spear, I'll be wagering on you again in the later games. Don't let me down this time!" said Wilcred, as he turned to go. Walking away, he continued to shake his head in disbelief. Under his breath, he said, "I haven't seen a spear thrown like that in fifteen years."

[littlemanpoet]

"What think you, Rowenna?" he asked, "Will that be sufficient for now?"

"Most sufficient, Lord Degas," she replied, smiling, and turned to Eodwine. "Lord Eodwine, you owe me an Eorl. Pay up, if you please!"

"First I require two Eorls from Garstan for Harreld's win in the distance, and one for Dan's loss in the target."

"Ach, I am going to be a poor man indeed if I bet anymore this night!" Garstan commented, dropping three gold coins in Eodwine's palm. He passed one to Saeryn, indicating that she should give it to Rowenna, who took it and put it between her teeth and bit down.

"What," said Garstan, "do you think my coin false, Rowenna?"

"Not at all," she replied with a grin, "but it always pays to be sure." She turned to Degas. "My lord, you may not know it, but as you are now lord in The Folde, that makes you my liege. Will you be going there soon?"

[Groin Redbeard]

It was a very dissapointing round for Erbrand. He watched with a sense frusteration and dissapointment as his throw sent the spear wide of the mark, his luck had surely run out. Crabannan had thrown quite well in both rounds, showing his consistancy and skill. Erbrand envied a man with that type of skill, especially since, where he was from, a man was measured by the his accuracy of his bow, swiftness of his sword, and the power of his throw. However, he was glad that Crabannan hadn't won, he liked Harreld and Degas better than the hot-headed brawler.

"I see that you have some tricks up your sleeve, Crabannan," said Erbrand as he approached him, "tell me where does a man, such as yourself, learn to handle a spear like that?"

"I've been many places," Crabannan responded coldly, "and I've learned many things from many people."

Erbrand's face grew sterner at Crabannan's shifty response, an outright insult in his opinion. It was no more than a way of refusing to answer a simple question.

"Then good luck with the other games, I hope that we might meet each other later in one of them." Crabannan smiled at Erbrand's disguised challenge. He hoped that he would respond approvingly.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Rowenna turned to Degas. "My lord, you may not know it, but as you are now lord in The Folde, that makes you my liege. Will you be going there soon?"

Degas's merriment seemed to flicker a touch and he glanced at Saeryn before replying, "I will go there tomorrow by way of Edoras."