Scarburg Meadhall

[Nogrod]

Lord Athar had listened to the sergeant making his show first with curiosity, then with growing disdain and finally he felt his veins were exploding...

And then there was this guy seemingly trying to save the situation... whoever he was. Actually lord Athanar was puzzled as the intruder clearly was not a Rohanian soldier, but he didn't look like a craftsman either, but a soldier from... he was not sure from where. There seemed to be people he would have to learn who they were in this Mead Hall indeed... little had he been told in Edoras...

But enough was enough. Lord Athanar stood up violently, looking stern and dead serious. His commanding voice ran through the Hall.

"Quit disgracing yourself any more sergeant Lithor! And that is right now!"

Everyone held their breath as Lithor turned to face lord Athanar. All the eyes were glued into the two men.

Athanar glanced at Thornden. It was clear what his eyes indicated.

"Tom-foolery is for the jesters. Soldiers have other duties. Looking at your years you should know that Lithor. Now thread yourself carefully sergeant..." He paused and eyed Lithor carefully.

"Me and my soldiers - and my household - are not your quests in here! And I mean especially you sergeant Lithor! You are not in a position to call anyone a quest here! Take your place soldier! The king decides who is the lord, who is the subject and who is a quest. You should understand that, soldier? The order of command and decision making is taught in the boot-camp and you should know it!"

Lord Athanar was clearly enraged. "It's not you, or even me, but the king who decides on these issues!" He let his words to sink in before continuing in a bit softer tone, but firmly showing he would continue, barring Lithor from any explanations.

"And don't think of me as a fool Lithor... that's almost the worst of what you do. I can hear from your tone that you're not liking the way things have gone... Let me bring you some news Lithor, neither am I. Had king Eomer given me a Hall where everything was to be built from scratch to my liking... and without all this stuff of needing to face lord Tancred and his allies... had I loved that? Yes I would have changed this to it any moment, just belive me! Being not forced to hear that lord Eodwine's condition is beyond cure... would I have liked that? Sure. He was a good man, a good leader and a fine soldier - and a great loss to Rohan!"

Lord Athanar paused for a moment to look around, glancing at the table with Saeryn, Thornden and Degas the last and nodding to them in passing.

"But quessing and seeing your feelings - and combining them with the disgrace you uttered them - I am quite sure you were not ready to give away your "treasures" just like that to show goodwill... Your words do contradict themselves. So you had something up to your sleeve, didn't you? As I said, I am no fool people like you may try their luck with..."

The thought was unnerving and quite new to all but Erbrand who decided to look downwards not to meet the eyes of other people.

"I offer you two choices Lithor."

There was a total silence as everyone held their breath with the new turn of events.

"You either make a full confession to master Thornden and he will then suggest me a suitable punishment for you I will either accept or change tomorrow... or you will be taken into custody right now and will face in the worst case a court marshall for treason in Edoras as without other motives for your actions I can only infer you were trying to cause harm to people the king had ordered into their duties..."

Lord Athanar looked at Lithor with a piercing gaze.

"Your choice soldier..."

[Mnemosyne]

Wynflaed pinched the bridge of her nose. So much, she thought grimly, for this being a relaxing evening of song and tale. Although the prospect of that had been ruined as soon as she had seen her daughter stricken! She hoped that soon she would be able to speak with someone who could tell her who had done that bloody deed, so that justice could be done. But now this... that the soldiers of this hall would think to treat them as guests, and take a man's dangerous sport into a household setting was effrontery enough. But treason... At times she did not understand her husband's need to put all actions in the framework of war.

Not that there was not something unsettling about Lithor's speech, insult aside. She knew well the silvered tongue of politics from Edoras. It would be no different out in the Midemnet, and if anything speech and declaration of intent would be rougher. Lithor was under Athanar's command, and a soldier. Let him be dealt with as a soldier ought.

Looking over the array of people in the hall, she was a little astonished to see the array of color in the locks of those present. Some guests, perhaps, or commoner folk whose blood had mingled? Most astonishing of all was one of the women who had refilled her cup at table. Her eyes were not clear the way one of the Eorlingas or the Dunedain should have, but dark, even darker than the brown she had once seen in one of the holbytlan.

Surely a lord like Eodwine would not have had one of the Dunlendings under his employ? She made a note to inquire after the matter when she met with the lady Saeryn--if indeed they ever reached the point of making that meeting. She had heard the mutterings of the people when Athanar had declared her lady of Scarburg. The path that lay ahead of her was steep indeed.

[Gwathagor]

Athanar finished speaking. Wilcred slouched down at his bench and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. This is ridiculous, he thought. Lithor is acting absurd and here Crabannan has to go and make things worse. The man's been no trouble for months, why'd he have to go and choose this moment to stir things up?

He sighed and concentrated on his plate. Some men just can't escape themselves, their pasts. Wilcred looked up, towards Crabannan, who was standing beside Lithor in the center of the hall. A moment before he had been grinning like a demon, but now his countenance was as dark and impossible to read as he eyed Athanar keenly. There was something strange about the man, an imbalance in his humors, maybe. Is he mad? Wilcred thought, and frowned, realizing that they still knew next to nothing about the stranger. He could fight like a whirlwind and play the harp like a born bard, but beyond that - nothing. He was a grim, dour enigma, taken by spells of strange levity. Almost like he's some mad hill-spirit, raven-like, and yet...he laughed at himself. No, Crabannan was a man. An strange man, but a man.

Wilcred looked from Crabannan to Lithor to Athanar, awaiting the next move. It hurt him to see his fellows cut down so by Lord Athanar, but he honestly hoped they would simply sit down and not embarrass themselves further. A fight was the very last thing they needed, though he began to wonder if Lithor and Crabannan felt the same way...

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan's laugh died the moment Athanar began to speak, for he could sense a sword's edge behind the man's words. And sure enough, there it was: the threat of court marshall. For Lithor. Crabannan's face turned hard and cold, like dark basalt. He gritted his teeth, but showed no emotion.

"Treason?" he said, trying to hold his temper in check. He felt his hands shaking. He knew this feeling, and it did not bode well - mostly for Athanar and his men. "Treason?" he said again. "He meant no harm and spoke no ill. He has not threatened, or murdered, or deserted, or disobeyed. Lithor is not a traitor," he finished quietly - but he found himself instinctively counting the unfriendly faces turned in their direction. "There are traitors and cowards in this room, but he is not one of them."

[Folwren]

The events of the evening turned with such speed and ferocity that Thornden’s head spun. He was as surprised as the next man when Lithor stood up and interrupted the two players with his absurd introduction and challenge. Such mirth, such humor, might have been accepted in Eodwine’s day, when heart’s were lighter, all was well, and everyone was in a position they knew and understand. Now it seemed out of place, ridiculous, and irreverent. Thornden knew Lithor well enough that he meant no harm in the least. As he had ever done before, Lithor only tried to lighten the mood, make everyone laugh and enjoy themselves. He didn’t mind being the center of attention, and he didn’t mind being the cause of laughter. But now he had gone to far.

Athanar rose from his place. His expression could not be misunderstood. Anger emanated from him like lightning from a thundercloud. The hall became deathly still and silent as he spoke. It was not the polite silence that he had enjoyed while making his polite speech. It was a silence so loud it throbbed in Thornden’s ears along with Athanar’s voice, quivering with anger.

In passing, Athanar’s eyes locked briefly with Thornden’s. It was a sharp, accusing look, and obviously Athanar passed some of the blame onto Thornden himself. It was almost like a physical blow, and Thornden winced inwardly as he took it. ‘This is your man, Thornden – is this how you allow them to behave?’

“Tom-foolery is for jesters. Soldiers have other duties.” It was addressed to Thornden and Lithor both, and Thornden understood it. Then all the wrath of Athanar’s words were bent solely upon Lithor.

“I offer you two choices, Lithor,” he said in closing. “You either make a full confession to master Thornden and then he will suggest me at suitable punishment for you which I will either accept or change tomorrow...” Thornden shot a brief glance at Lithor at the same instant that Lithor glanced towards him. Their eyes flickered briefly together and then both looked back at Athanar. “Or, you will be taken into custody right now and will face the worst case a court martial for treason in Edoras was without other motives for your actions I can only infer you were trying to cause harm to people the king had ordered into their duties. Your choice, soldier.”

Thornden felt his blood run cold. Neither choice seemed enviable. On the one hand lay punishment by the hand of this man, who none of them knew, and no one could predict how harsh he would actually be. Yet in this choice, there lay a glimmer of hope. Thornden was the one to suggest the punishment. (This did not seem very pleasant to Thornden, but if it saved Lithor from execution, which, if he faced a court marshal and he was found guilty, would be his fate, then Thornden would find passing punishment easier.) On the other hand lay imprisonment until his trial could be heard, and when it came time for that, he would be judged by biased judges and possibly sentenced to death. Thornden looked at Lithor.

“Treason?” The voice was not Lithor’s. Lithor had no time to speak. Crabannan instead broke the silence after the eorl’s question. “Treason? He meant no harm and spoke no ill. He has not threatened, or murdered, or deserted, or disobeyed. Lithor is no a traitor. There are traitors and cowards in this room, but he is not one of them.”

Thornden glanced about sharply. Dangerous, dangerous words, for Crabannan clearly meant to incriminate none of Eodwine’s old followers. Tensions were rising. Crabbanan had taken sides against the eorl, and now it would be easier for others to join. The lines were being drawn, and soon blows would begin to fall, and in the end, blood might be shed.

Thornden leaped to his feet. He held up his hand, palm forward, towards Athanar, a signal pleading of peace and restraint on Athanar’s part. “My lord, please hear me!” Athanar’s eyes riveted to him at once. “Please hear me,” he said again in a quieter voice, but no less urgent. “Do not take the men’s words amiss. Crabbanan only speaks for his comrade and friend. He is right: Lithor did indeed mean no harm. He spoke foolishly, my lord, I agree, but he meant in no way to cause unrest among the people, and least of all did he intend to commit treason. He will submit himself to your judgement, but a court martial?” Thornden shook his head. He tried to gain some idea of Athanar’s fury diminishing, but no such expression changed or even glimmered momentarily in Athanar’s eyes. He moved to put himself between Lithor and Crabannan and lord Athanar. He now stood directly in front of Athanar, looking up at him as Athanar stood upon the raised platform.

“I ask that you just dismiss him now and look again on this in the morning.”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc almost spilled his ale upon hearing the words "temporary lord". He quickly glanced to the lords' table and saw Athanar slowly turning colors. Around him, the other soldiers were also raising their voices. Hilderinc looked again at the person in the middle of the hall. It was Lithor, he remembered even before the soldier introduced himself. The smooth-talking man from the courtyard. But gone was all his smooth-talk. What was the fool thinking? He must have been completely and utterly drunk.

Still, it probably took an arrogant fool to say things like that in front of the new eorl and his household. Hilderinc would not have minded the "guests" part, after all, part of the soldiers were only "guests", but "temporary lord" was a clear offense to Athanar and it was clear that he won't leave it unpunished.

And he didn't. Now it was obvious that this wasn't a diplomat's, but a soldier's speech. Hilderinc had to once again acknowledge lord Athanar's talent to settle matters. Although Hilderinc knew from experience that diplomatic speech can be far more useful to settle disputes among men, he also knew that for most of the leaders, soldier's attitude was good enough. Athanar was not being nice, but Lithor, in Hilderinc's opinion, hardly deserved otherwise.

Then Crabannan came in. His words puzzled Hilderinc for a while. What was that the man had said? "There are traitors and cowards in this room, but he is not one of them." What did he mean? Hilderinc scanned the faces of the other Scarburgians to see any trace of reaction. Has there been already any unrest among the people themselves before Athanar's men have arrived? Did they come into an already divided Hall? Was there somebody who deserved to be called a traitor and coward? That started to worry Hilderinc. This far, the Hall seemed easy-going enough to him, and the brawls among the newcomers and the original denizens nothing out of the ordinary (how many times he had seen things like that!). But the tense atmosphere and now Crabannan's words gnawed inside him. Was there something more going on?

Scyrr, sitting opposite to him, was of a different opinion.

"What does that scraper mean?" he said loudly enough for all at the soldiers' table to hear him. "Is he making fun of us again? That's for leaving that brawler of theirs unpunished, Hilderinc," he turned around. Hilderinc understood that he had interpreted Crabannan's words as pointed against Áforglaed.

"And he was there too," Scyrr continued, pointing at Crabannan. "He's one of that guy's friends. It was his, not our man, who ran away like a coward to hide himself from punishment. I still say we should've reported him."

Hilderinc wasn't listening anymore. Thornden was now speaking. Hilderinc felt some sympathy to that man, after all, he was probably trying to save one of his fellow soldiers. But he was perhaps too soft, or unsure of himself. A good potential for a leader, but he did not have enough courage to put all of his authority into his voice. But maybe, Hilderinc thought, maybe his manner will calm also Athanar down. He glanced at the lords' table. What will Athanar's response be?