Scarburg Meadhall

[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.

[Eönwë]

It would finally be a day of games, when they could rest from all their hard work, and sit back and relax (when they weren't competing). A quick thought about that Oeric fellow flashed through his mind, but he didmissed it. Today he would forget all about the situation. Today he was determined to enjoy himself.

It was later in the morning, and Dan was going towards the grounds where the horse race was going to take place. This would be fun to watch. He saw an unusually happy Erbrand ran straight towards him.

“Dan,” he called, joyfully.

“There you are,” Dan smiled. He hadn't seen Erbrand this happy for ages “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Well you’ve found me now, come we can talk but first I need to warm up Traveller for the races.” He slapped Dan on the shoulder, “come on, I’ll race you to the horses!” And off he ran, leaving Daghan-turi-Dan behind, staring at him. Dan soon followed running up behind him, but as the Scar came into view something stopped him. His carefree mood left him and his faced shaped itself into a scowl. He shouted to Erbrand, telling him that he had some urgent business to attend to.

He ran towards the marshland, to where a month earlier he had found a man, hiding among the bushes, surreptitiously watching the encampment to see if they could offer him everything. The man that had been hiding before Dan had come to Scarburg, and was still hiding now. Oeric.

But something stopped him. This would not do. It was not time to bring back Oeric. Not time to drag back the man who had evaded capture for so long. If he left to find the man, people would wonder where he was, and might even send a search for him. Probably not. Only a few people liked him, and they would be occupied. No-one would miss a half-sized stranger. Still, he said to himself, there was always the risk that they would. If they did, then it would just make the situation worse and they would find Oeric. And that would make Dan look bad. He would be accused of treachery, of being a traitor and jeopardising the welfare of the camp. He could always pretend that he hadn't known Oeric was there, but he was sure he wouldn't be believed. Some knew his skills as a tracker all too well.

He had made up his mind that he would tell Eodwine, so he started off towards the stables again, but then he saw Rowenna bursting out of them, followed by Saeryn on horseback, with Eodwine just standing there with a strange expression on his face. Ah. This was definitely not a good time for him. What was happening he didn't know- and it wasn't his place to wonder. He'd find out soon enough, no doubt. Dan's problems would have to wait.

His internal struggle over, he paced over to the grounds where the horse race would take place and waited for the race to start. He smiled again.

--

After the horse race, there had been the foot race. Dan had never been that good at running, compared to the fellows back home. Even the fasted would have found it hard to compete, as they would have to make to steps for each one a Rohir took. When Erbrand had won the long distance race he went over to try to congratulate him, but was blocked by an impassable croud. He had resolved to talk to him later.

The three-legged race had gone on as planned. He had laughed, along with much of the crowd, at Degas and Little Léoðern. It looked like a fun race. It was a shame he had had no-one to run with. Even Erbrand had someone. But he was just a "wild man", and no-one liked him. He would probably have even less of a chance in the dance later on.

The task-path had been fun. He had almost won! The thought of the race brought a smile to his lips. He was glad it hadn't been too serious, like some events he had seen elsewhere. It was just a chance to have a bit of fun. It was probably, Dan thought, the only time he and Eodwine could run into each other and laugh about it afterwards.

The stone-throwing was notable to watch. He had thought it a mere child's game, and many others seemingly took it less seriously as well, but even if it was, it was true that childre's games were often the most fun. Anyway, Javan wasn't even there and a few men had gotten excited and joined.

Spear throwing had been interesting. He hadn't known how the competition would be run or what would happen. Nevertheless he had given it his best shot, and surprised himself with his score. He had hoped he could win this event, but it was not to be. He would have to wait until later to prove himself.

--

After the spear throwing contest, he resolved to go over and talk to Erbrand about the day so far, and congratulate him on his victories that day. And at the same time, he might find out how the whole Erbrand-Kara thing was going. But even though they were friends, he didn't really expect Erbrand to talk about that. However good he was about running, Erbrand had always seemed shy around women to Dan, and even shyer when talking about them. He knew now that something had changed din his attitude, as he had seen Erbrand and Kara talking happily together. But he would wait until Erbrand brought it up, which would probably be in a few days or even weeks. Dan wasn't impatient, and didn't mind people waiting a while to tell him things. What he didn't like was people purposefully hiding things from him.
Now that was hypocritical! he thought to himself, and his spirits lowered as he remembered about Oeric.

He pushed those thoughts aside, and went towards Erbrand who had just finished talking to Crabannan, disdainfully he thought.

"Hello there Erbrand!" he called.

[Groin Redbeard]

To Erbrand's satisfaction Crabannan accepted his offer under a facade of curtious talking. The sword fight was the most likely place for them to meet and have a chance to really get at each other, Erbrand wanted more than anything to beat the brawler at a fight, to beat him at his own game. Though he wasn't quite sure why he wanted to do this. The the seeds of resentment towards Crabanna had been sown almost since they had met a month ago but never before had the urge to clobber the brute been as strong as it was today. Erbrand pondered on this a moment, thinking it stupid and unprincipled of himself to want to fight a man without a proper reason. Then he remembered where the feelings of hatred at been the strongest: that morning outside his tent when Crabannan asked him about Kara.

Kara, he looked to where she was sitting gleefully with Ginna at her side. At that moment he felt ashamed of himself, ashamed that he had sunken as low as to want to strike a man who wanted the same thing that he did. It was her choice who she would spend her time with not his, so why should clobbering Crabannan change her mind, or is it even Kara that he was trying to prove himself to?

His conscience had unleashed its attacks of logic against his thinking and in a split second Erbrand was confused. Confused at what he was feeling, what the purpose of those feelings are, and what to do about it. He stood for a second thinking about what to do. He still disliked Crabanna and a fight would do him good, but was it all for the right reasons? Erbrand ran his rigid fingers through his hair and gritted his teeth. In the end all of his feelings came down to asking himself one question: what are my feeling towards Kara?

"Hello there Erbrand." came a familiar voice that rocked him out of his thoughtful trancelike state.

"Dan! I'm sorry my thoughts were else-where." his mood changed at his friends approach and soon he was smiling. "I missed you at the beginning of the games, where were you?"

"Oh, I had some business to attend to." came Dan's response, sounding as if he was caught off guard.

"Well wherever you were you must have learned a thing or two about racing. I've never seen a man move as fast as you did on the task-path." Dan laughed pure and carefree laugh.

"A hardened warrior and hunter must overcome many obstacles, though it was not as great as all that." Erbrand chuckled at Dan's attempt at humility.

"What were you preoccupied with?" asked Dan as they began walking to the wrestling location, Erbrand had told Dan that a copper of his will be riding on the outcome of Dan's performance.

Erbrand was slightly startled at Dan's inquisitiveness, it was not in his nature to ask even the most innocent of questions for fear that it might be taken as prying into another man's business. Erbrand looked away and sighed, he stopped walking and then turned as faced Dan, his arms folded across his chest.

"I'm troubled Dan," said Erbrand, trying to be as open as possible, "I've kept this thing to myself for far too long and I feel as if I will explode is I don't let it out." Dan listened patiently, his face not changing in expression. "I'm afraid of what I've become Dan, I eat less, I stay up late and when I do sleep I'm dreaming of the object of my thoughts, the very thing that I wish to avoid for fear of confusing myself with my feelings. I've gone over and over in my head on what to do, but it has come to no avail. She still haunts me wherever I go, I can't escape it."

Dan was surprised at Erbrand's openness, and to tell the truth Erbrand was surprised too.

"Ahh, I'm sorry Dan," said Erbrand, "you did not ask to hear my troubles, I have no right troubling you with them. We'll talk about this alter if you wish, but for now I think it's best if I let it be." Dan nodded in response.

[littlemanpoet]

After the archery contests were done, Eodwine went to Degas and called him aside.

"Will you take a stroll with me, my friend?"

Degas agreed and excused himself from his sister with a bow and a smile; Eodwine did likewise. They were seen to begin a circuit of the current borders of Scarburg. Once they were beyond earshot and the eyes of the others, Eodwine opened up his mind to Degas.

"As you no doubt recall, Degas, about three months ago I made Saeryn the lady and host of my house, an arrangement that was both very unusual and done without your permission."

"Yes," Degas replied, "although my permission though useful to you then, was not legally binding as my brother was yet the head of our house."

"And that is now changed. You asked me what it was that I was doing, and I had the cheek to call it a betrothal." Degas allowed a half smile. "Which," continued Eodwine, "went against all custom of our folk, and it is no wonder that Saeryn fled in the end. In truth, the fault was mine, for I allowed myself to be blinded and deafened by the workings of my own heart."

Eodwine lapsed into silence, considering how his words shifted blame to himself of all those things he had been holding against Saeryn since she had fled.

"Go on," Degas said.

"You have blessed me with knowing your desire that Saeryn become my wife, for which I thank you. But we have not spoken, you and I, of bride price and dowry. Now that you are head of your house, and Saeryn is your sister, what would you have from me in plight for the good of your sister, both while we live, but more to the point, for her security in widowhoood?"

They had reached the southeast corner, overlooking the swamps, and turned the corner, aiming for the scar as Degas screwed up his face in thought.

Eventually he spoke, uncertainly.

"I am not rich," he began. "My family's... my... holdings have always been of modest scale and I still do not know the extent of the damage that has been done in my absence. I do not know what power I hold. I do not know what my lands and my people need with or without my sister, their favorite. Also, rather to the point at the moment: I cannot believe, knowing what I now know of my late brother, that Saeryn's dowry is intact. I do not know what I can give you to help your marriage any more than I know what I should ask of you to help with my lands."

They were approaching the scar, and the area where Dan had apparently gotten stuck, only to be saved by Scyld; or so the story went. Eodwine had doubts about that story, but that must be saved for another time.

"I have a thought," he said. "As you can see, I have little enough to offer in bride price, which drops us both on the same cheap saddle, as it were. What would you say if we three, you, Saeryn and I, swear an oath like that which Gondor and the Eorlingas have sworn to each other, to be friends for life, and come to each other's aid when called? Let that be both bride price and dowry for as long as at least two of the three of us live. What think you?"

"I think well of the idea. It will help neither of us much in the short term, I fear, yet a life long brotherhood is a kingly gift. I fear only that I should die before fathering an heir, and there will be none to hold to my promise in my absence. I will swear to this: as long as I live, you shall have my aid and friendship, and once my own family is settled and growing, you shall have their aid and friendship as well. I only wish I could offer more than the future affections of children not yet born to the wife I have yet to marry."

"My friend, you offer much more than I asked for. I dare not speak for my heirs, and I would not have you speak for yours, if such come to either of us. For now, let it be between the three of us, if Saeryn agrees. If there are heirs on either or both sides, we can consider such things later. What say you?"

Degas laughed, relieved, and clasped Eodwine's hand. "I am much relieved," he grinned. "I say we have a deal."

[Firefoot]

Once the archery targets were cleared away, preparation for the dagger throwing contest began. There were to be two contests of three trials each with the first target to be set at six paces and the second target at twice that. The targets each had four zones: a center yellow circle, surrounded by black, red, then green.

The contestants lined up, and Eodwine opened the competition with a respectable throw to the inside of the red circle. The others followed with Matrim’s dagger going to the green, Wilcred and Harreld to the red, and Saeryn and Rowenna each placing their daggers into the black. No one found the yellow circle. Amongst the spectators there was some good-natured ribbing of the men for letting both ladies outscore them all.

Before the second trial could begin, however, a voice spoke up from the back of the crowd: “I should like to challenge that.” Everyone’s heads turned to see Scyld approaching the front. They regarded him with some surprise, for he had gone largely unnoticed during the day, quietly observing and not putting himself forward to compete.

“Well, this is unusual,” said Lithor, the first to recover his voice, “but I don’t see why not; it is only the first round.” There were some murmurs and nods of general agreement, but more than one eye studied Scyld appraisingly as he stepped up to the line. He took aim, and with a dull thunk his knife found the yellow circle, perhaps a knuckle’s length from the center.

The second trial proceeded with no more interruptions. Eodwine’s dagger struck near his first except now just inside the black circle. Matrim also improved, throwing his dagger to the red circle. Wilcred’s second dagger again found the red circle, but Harreld’s found the black circle, nearly hitting the yellow circle. Saeryn did not fare so well this round, hitting only the outside green ring. Rowenna, however, became the second contestant to hit the yellow, coming even slightly closer than Scyld’s first dagger. Thrown off by this, Scyld’s dagger flew wide and hit the red circle.

In the third trial, Eodwine’s dagger returned to the red circle. Matrim’s dagger hit the target at a poor angle and did not stick at all. Wilcred for the third time hit the red circle, and Harreld’s came within the border of the yellow center. Saeryn, recovering from the second round, hit the black again. Rowenna, concentrating fiercely, again hit the yellow center, winning her the competition before Scyld even threw. Irritated with himself, Scyld again missed the center target but hit the black this time, tying Harreld for second. Saeryn came in fourth, followed by Eodwine, then Wilcred, and last Matrim.

For the next round, the target was moved to twelve paces away. The distance clearly showed its toll as Eodwine, Matrim, Wilcred, and Saeryn all hit the green and Rowenna hit the red, though Harreld and Scyld both still did well, Harreld placing solidly in the black and Scyld just within the yellow. The second trial was hardly better; Matrim and Saeryn both missed the target altogether, and Eodwine’s knife did not stick. Wilcred hit the green again, though Rowenna improved to the black, and Harreld and Scyld each hit the yellow target.

In the third trial, Eodwine hit the black, while Matrim and Rowenna nailed the red. Wilcred and Saeryn both hit the green. Harreld just missed hitting the yellow target, and Scyld won the competition with his third straight dagger to the yellow. Harreld placed second, with Rowenna behind him. Eodwine took fourth now, followed by Matrim and Wilcred and finally Saeryn.

~*~*~

Scyld did not know what had gotten into him. He had made a fool of himself in the first round, challenging like that and then losing – and no less, to a woman! In fact, he had been rather mortified. He now took no joy in his second round victory; it seemed more as something that was his due, for none of the others could have relied so heavily on such a skill in their lives. Clearly in his mind’s eye he could see the scene just ere Linduial was saved, the scene where knife to knife, he and Sorn had fought. Absently he fingered the scar across his brow.

Just then Harreld approached him with his hand extended. “It was a good competition,” he said. “Well done.”

Scyld nearly replied with some surly, condescending remark, but he recalled the role that he must play here and caught himself, smiling back at Harreld and taking his hand. “I thank you. It was close.”

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand watched the game with keen interest, it was a different type of skill than he was use to, although he was handy with a knife he could never throw one and hit a target. The skill of the players amazed him, but the performance of Scyld disturbed him. One after another of Scyld's dagger found its mark in the target, and from the look on Scyld's face it was a skill he knew well.

Erbrand had always considered a knife to be cruel when used as a weapon. Although he himself carried one, it was used for practical means, he had not twisted the use of a kitchen utensil into a killing tool. A knife was a thing that muggers concealed in under their garments in order to strike at an unsuspecting passer, a coward's weapon that could be easily be taken up and hidden in moment. Erbrand had always thought that Scyld was a shifty mysterious fellow, however, his distrust began to deepen as he saw how easily Scyld had won.

Like others, Erbrand congratulated the players of the hall. Scyld was smiling proudfully at his victory when Erbrand walked up. The handshake that Erbrand recieved from the victor was loose and shifty, ready to be rid of the hand that clasped it (the type of shake that Erbrand had recieved from peddlers who tried to con him of his goods).

"Well done on the victory," Erbrand said, addressing Scyld, "your skills with a knife are remarkable. Forgive me if I am being too bold, but tell me: where would a man obtain such a skill?"

[Firefoot]

Scyld ought to have known that someone would ask questions; he had indeed been foolish to enter the competition in such a way. Yet, what did he have to hide? His association with Sorn was surely lamentable, but if Linduial was to be believed, he had redeemed himself. Redeemed himself from what? Meaningless words! A man did what he must to survive. For some, this meant an ‘honorable’ path; for others, ‘dishonorable’ – but it was only the honorable men who used such terms.

“A man learns what skills he must,” Scyld told Erbrand. Seeing that a doubtful expression lingered in Erbrand’s face, Scyld smirked and something of his old mood entered his voice. “Perhaps you think knife throwing is not the skill of an honest and straightforward man? Perhaps it is not. But there are places, even in this Fourth Age, even in Rohan, where a straightforward man may well be a dead man. Judge me as you will.”

[Groin Redbeard]

The voice of Scyld had changed, instead of speaking in his usual general terms the man was for once being open. Erbrand guessed that he had struck a nerve. Perhaps there was more to this man than met the eye, not all of him seemed that unpleasant.

"Indeed, the knife is not a tool that I would like to wield in a fight, and there is a certain amount of shrewdness, which a man as myself lacks, if he is to wield one." Erbrand spoke frankly, but with a mood not as heavy as before Scyld's answer. The man had been honest with him, and even though Scyld ignored answering his question directly, he confirmed Erbrand's presumptions about the man.

"Your skills with a knife are far reaching, and no doubt you've learned what you must. I know little of your past, and it is not fair for me to judge you, I did not mean to imply as such, but forgive me if I have."

After another congratulations, Erbrand backed away and went to talke with the players in the next game. He noticed that the sun was descending in the sky it must have been around four hours past midday. This was good thing, the dances would be that night which he had been anxiously awaiting for days.

[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."

[littlemanpoet]

Lithor and Wilcred had set up the circular ring not far from where the spear throwing contest had been held. Lithor described the simple rules. The two wrestlers would stand inside the ring (seven strides across), facing each other; the wrestler either forced his opponent on his back for three seconds, or forced him outside the ring first, would be the winner.

First up were Garstan and Stigend. After trading three feints, Garstan dove and got hold of Stigend's legs while Stigend grabbed him around the chest from atop. Stigend spread his legs out and so did Garstan, and neither could move the other. Garstan dropped to his knees and pushed forward, which compromised Stigend's stability, who found himself sitting on the ground with Garstan on top of him. He was able to turn over onto his stomach. But Garstan, with the advantage of hold and position, was able to move him in two huge shoves, closer to the edge of the ring. Little by little, Garstan nudged Stigend closer to the edge. Finally, despite Stigend's best efforts, he was made to cross the line first, and Garstan was declared the winner.

Next up were Matrim and Crabannan. They feinted grabs for each other five times. Then Crabannan, taking what seemed a huge risk, dove at the feet of Matrim and rolled, grabbing both his ankles in a trip; suddenly Matrim was on his stomach, Crabannan was again on his feet, and just as quickly, on his back holding him down. Matrim forced himself to his hands and knees, spread wide. Crabannan grabbed his left elbow in one hand and wrapped his arm around Matrim's back with his other. Matrim dropped his right shoulder and rolled, Crabannan rolling on his back beneath him, but Matrim was unable to stop the motion because Crabannan rolled through and had Matrim on his side and himself on top again. At this severe disadvantage, it was a matter of Matrim's strength working against leverage and Crabannan's working with, and within seconds Matrim was pinned to the ground on his back. Crabannan had won his first round.

Next up were Dan and Harreld. Dan was compact, his center of gravity naturally low; Harreld was almost all upper body strength and tall. The onlookers watched the oddest pairing possible. Harrreld charged, trying to grab Dan, who ducked and rolled and braced himself against the now righted Harreld, who was dangerously close to the edge of the ring. Neither of them moved though there was much grunting. Harreld tried to get down lower but his foot slipped and came within inches of the edge. He gained purchase and pushed Dan a foot toward the center. Harreld kept himself low and pushed against Dan, using his superior strength to nullify Dan's greater dexterity. He kept pushing. Slowly, the pair moved from one end of the ring to the other. When Harreld had pushed Dan past the center, Dan pivoted away and rolled, and Harreld fell on his stomach. Dan jumped on his back. Harreld pushed with his legs and tipped Dan over his head; Dan landed on his back; Harreld pounced on him and would not let him get purchase with any of his limbs. He shoved him inch by inch closer to the edge, and finally had him out. Harreld had won.

Next up were Aethelstan and Osmund. Aethelstan ran at Osmund, forcing his shoulder into his stomach; this knocked the wind out of Osmund and he crumbled to the ground. Aethelstan made quick work of his weakened opponent and had him on his back in a moment. Aethelstan had won.

[littlemanpoet]

Garstan and Crabannan stepped into the ring. Crabannan crouched and shifted from side to side, eyeing Garstan like a prey to be worsted. Garstan opened his eyes wide and exhaled a puff of air, shaking his head in doubt. Crabannan allowed a grim smile. He pounced like a tiger, grabbing Garstan by the right shoulder, placing his left foot behind Garstan's. Garstan tried to duck out of his sudden disadvantage, but found himself on his back and Crabannan on top of him; the match was over almost before it had begun.

Aethelstan and Harreld faced each other. Harreld had been watching Crabannan, and stole a glance his way, apparently impressed. But he gave his full attention to Aethelstan, who was almost as tall as he, but lanky. A canny look came into the fellow's eye; Harreld remembered what he had seen Aethelstan do to Osmund. Sure enough, Aethelstan lowered himself and aimed toward Harreld's midriff with his shoulder for a battering ram. Harreld was prepared; he sidestepped and used his hammerlike right fist to give Aethelstan a good pound on the back just below the offending shoulder, and Aethelstan found himself on all fours. Harreld dropped atop him and took hold of his left arm and midriff the way he'd seen Crabannan do to Matrim; but he remembered what Matrim had done, and didn't trust a back-roll. He used all the force of his planted knees and shoved Aethelstan onto his stomach. Aethelstan splayed himself to increase his center of gravity, but Harreld reached beneath Aethelstan's left shoulder and hip and, using the leverage of his knees against the ground again, and using the great strength of his smithying upper body, hoisted Aethelstan over onto his back, and planted himself on the man's chest. Harreld had won decisively.

The two finalists were allowed a rest and a drink before resuming the contest.

Harreld faced Crabannan in the ring. Harreld was broader of upper body and new how to use leverage as well as did Crabannan, but Crabannan had quickness in his favor. Both had relatively the same stamina, so it would be strength against quickness. Harreld knew that his best chance was to push Crabannan out of the ring. Crabannan knew that his best chance was to use Harreld's mass against him and by craft of technique, get him on his back or out of the ring, whichever opportunity availed itself.

They crouched and circled each other, and circled each other, making feints that the other did not buy. Both began to reveal a mirthless grin as both knew that the each waited for the other to make the first move. Both were patient men. But Crabannan was less patient than Harreld, and made the first move. It was a canny one, calculated to bring a reaction which needed to be the greater move, one big enough to be taken advantage of.

Crabannan dove for Harreld's left shin as if attempting to push it out from under the smith; Harreld pivoted to his left, ready to pounce on Crabannan's exposed back, but it was not there, for Crabannan had rolled past him, come back to his legs, and kicked backward with his left leg against the back of Harreld's left knee. Harreld lost his balance and went down to his knee. Crabannan's left leg found the ground and his back came down on Harreld's right side, so that Harreld fell to his left; Crabannan splayed his legs and flipped as quick as he could while Harreld righted himself: the result was Harreld on all fours, Crabannan atop him as with Matrim before. Both men knew that this was a position from which either wrestler could take advantage depending on who was quickest, and surprise of surprises, Harreld took initiative.

He immediately grabbed Crabannan's hand which was on his midriff, and rolled to his right, and stopped, with Crabannan partially on his back and Harreld's back on top of him. Crabannan knew that working against momentum was a sure way to lose, so he tried to roll through the spin, but Harreld splayed out and weighed him down so much that he found himself on his back. Lithor came in to count to three, but before he could get past "one", Crabannan got off one shoulder and slid as slippery as a fish onto his stomach beneath Harreld; which could not have happened unless Harreld had been on his back. All of these motions had moved them within two strides of the edge. Harreld saw this and began to shove Crabannan toward the edge. Crabannan was bigger and more lithe than either of Harreld's last two opponents, and would not be moved by sheer force.

Nothing happened for minutes as both men strove to hold their own position and not give any advantage to his foe. As time wore on, the greater strength of Harreld began to tell, and Crabannan found himself moved inch by slow inch toward the edge. He gritted his teeth and decided that he must take a risk.

to be continued.....

[littlemanpoet]

Crabannan took a risk. He had had plenty of time to think about what to do, and had settled on the only thing that he thought might work. There were two feet between his nose and the edge of the ring. It wasn't much space, but it would have to do. He forced himself up to his hands and knees, pushing all of Harreld's weight upward, still on top of him. The risk with this move was that all Harreld needed to do was push Crabannan forward and that much closer to the edge. On the other hand, Crabannan, if he could take the initiative, could from this position, grab Harreld's arm and roll him out of bounds. He grabbed for Harreld's arm. He missed. Harreld pushed. Crabannan was shoved forward, and across the line. Harreld had won.

A shout and a hollar went up and applause for both wrestlers, for the match had been a grueling one and a good one, between the obviously two best wrestlers in Scarburg, and perhaps in the whole Middle Emnet, or at least so said Eodwine proudly.

Harreld pushed himself to his feet, as did Crabannan. Harreld spoke first, smiling. "Well fought, friend. You are the best I have faced, and I deem it was just as much a matter of luck that you had the worst of it in the end." He held out his hand to Crabannan in an offer of sportsmanship.