Scarburg Meadhall

[Durelin]

Coen shook his head as his men bantered, and waited for Hilderinc to finish as he tried to answer the captain's question in between all the interruptions. Coen nodded at the man's conclusion that the barracks would be fine. He was sure they would be, and that the complainers like Scyrr had become too accustomed to his position in Edoras. This Scarburg was a far cry from the Golden Hall and the barracks attached to the hall and in the surrounding area.

"You should be happier to be building than riding at the head of a charge," he said pointedly to Scyrr before answering Hilderinc's question. He glanced around the group of soldiers, letting his eyes linger a moment on the young Baldwic. "And I hope none of you will lose your wits over any kitchen maids," he all but muttered before turning back to Hilderinc.

"Thornden?" he said as he thought. "I expect so. He was the man the soldiers here answered to, and of course he's going to continue managing some things around here, at least for the time being." He stroked his beard momentarily, something he did not do often. This Thornden was quite a young man, not that he seemed incapable. "You men are still under my command, and the few soldiers under Eodwine will be under my command as well -- and remember that even though I talk of you separately, by tomorrow you will all just be soldiers of Scarburg."

Coen looked at Hilderinc thoughtfully, but not accusatorily. "Why do you ask? Did you have any problems with him when he showed you the barracks?" He glanced around at the other men now, as well.

[Groin Redbeard]

"Sir, it is not a question of truthfulness, it is a question of character." Lithor spoke in a low tone to Thornden. Lithor was wary of Wynflaed standing amongst them. So far he disliked her children, had no cause to love her husband, but how would she fair? Her eyes seemed gentle and understanding as Thornden's. They seemed to command for Lithor to continue.

"Madam," he said bowing low. "Sir," he turned again to Thornden. "I have been in squabbles like this before and I know that it is the person with the best character who is believed. Let my past actions be my witness, whether it be a good or an ill one." Lithor turned to Wynflaed and bowed again.

"I crave your pardon, madam, if I seem rude. Today has been a strenuous day for us all and I feel quite out of myself. I trust your sons to be truthful men and I trust that their telling will be accurate. I, therefore, yield to your graces and will speak no more tonight."

[Folwren]

Thornden pressed his lips together. If Lithor would not speak to defend himself, then so be it. "You are retiring, then?" he asked. Lithor nodded. "I bid you goodnight," Thornden said. "I will see you in the morning."

Lithor turned and departed and Thornden turned back towards the hall. Wynflaed walked beside him and Crabannan came a step or so behind. Thornden turned to look at him. "I am sorry I leaped to conclusions just now. I should have known that you weren't looking for trouble."

[Thinlómien]

The two brothers walked to the hall in silence. Wulfric was too aggravated to start about the treachery at hand or about his mother's nannying; he feared that if he let himself start, there would be no end to his rant. Wilheard, on the other hand, was trying to come up with the most painful yet lawful enough ways to revenge on the rascal who had beaten his sister.

They entered the hall, full of warmth and merry chattering of people. They looked with despisal on the unknown faces. Traitors, though Wulfric. Beaters of kids, thought Wilheard.

They found their father deep in conversation with Lady Saeryn and her brother.
"Excuse me my lord, there's something that cannot wait," Wulfric cut in formally, hardly letting Saeryn finish her sentence.

Athanar's blue eyes flashed with annoyance, but also with interest. "I have an important discussion here, Wulfric."
"Not to disrespect, but this could be even more important," said Wulfric. Wilheard nodded in agreement.

For a while, Athanar studied their serious faces and the anger behind their eyes, and rose up then. "Excuse me, Lord Degas, Lady Saeryn..." he said and lead his sons to the corridor next to the hall.

"Now what is it?" he asked with an edge of impatience to his voice.

"The locals act with utmost disrespect towards us," Wilheard said.
"But we can handle that, of course, we are grown up men and we can earn the respect that belongs to us," Wulfric amended quickly, stepping on Wilheard's foot. Why was his brother such an idiot?
"Well what is it then?" Athanar asked, now the impatience clearer in his voice.
"Treachery," said Wulfric. "We heard Thornden discuss with a soldier named Lithor, and Lithor was talking of how Thornden must earn your trust so that the folk that lived here under Eodwine can use it to their advantage."
"And what did Thornden say?"
"He didn't say yes or no."

Lord Athanar shook his head. "Then you are making hasty conclusions and we will not discuss this matter now. There has been enough talk and trouble for today."
"But..." Wulfric protested and Athanar cut in:
"I will nevertheless expect a full report of the discussion tomorrow. I will also want to hear how did you manage to hear the discussion and what happened outside after Thornden came back in and he and your mother left."
"Sure, my lord," Wulfric said stiffly, inclining his head a little.
"Sure, o most noble and gracious liege-lord to whom I give my loyalty until and after my woeful death in the hands of thy enemies," Wilheard said in a mock serious voice and bowed so low that his hair wiped the floor.

"Good night, boys," Athanar said, his eyes glinting with amusement, and went back to the hall.

"Idiot," said Wulfric, and smacked Wilheard.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"Why do you ask? Did you have any problems with him when he showed you the barracks?"

Hilderinc shook his head firmly. "No, sir. I was just curious. Even though you are now the first in command here, commander Thornden will also be our superior from now on. I think he has not given himself away very much when showing us the barracks, he just lead the way. Of course back then he did not have yet the formal authority."

So, Hilderinc thought, it did not seem that Coenred had any special feelings about Thornden either - not especially positive, but also not especially negative. That was reassuring by itself, although tomorrow and the following days will certainly show more. Hilderinc assumed, given his own experiences with many commanders throughout the years, that he would be able to figure Thornden out quite soon.

And the conditions of this entire stay here - Hilderinc looked over his shoulder at the rest of the soldiers in the hall - will be all the same from the beginning, unless some unexpected things happened. That would mean that accustoming himself to the circumstances will be the most reasonable thing to do in the very beginning, as soon as possible, as it has been always anyway. Many of the young soldiers - and sometimes also old, more experienced ones - made often the mistake of riding against the wind, thinking that the world will change if they fight hard enough. But Hilderinc knew very well that this was not the case. Many soldiers will come complaining about Scarburg, about its other inhabitants, about this and that, while eventually they will get used to Scarburg as it is and succumb to the conditions and the daily rythm of the place. It made one's life a lot easier if he did that earlier than later, though.

Getting accustomed to new commanders and new fellow soldiers was one of the ways to do it. Coen had said it well - "by tomorrow you will all be soldiers of Scarburg". This was exactly the case. They will all be the soldiers of Scarburg, only some would refuse to accept it immediately. But that's how it was. And it was easier to accept it than to learn about it the hard way.

In a way, Hilderinc now pitied that there have not been any more attempts for interaction between the local people and Athanar's folk today - apart from perhaps the very bad and awkward performance from this Lithor, of which Hilderinc still was not sure; the man seemed to be perhaps one of those who, despite their age, seemed to favour riding against the wind. But even apart from that the atmosphere has been possibly just too tense tonight. After some time of drinking and eating Hilderinc now felt more relaxed, even among most of the people the initial unrest seemed to be forgotten, but if they were to be ready to start doing something tomorrow, they would better not start getting acquainted with each other now as that could well last until morning. And Hilderinc at least wanted to have clear head tomorrow of all days, and he would also prefer to feel as little grumpy from having to wake up as possible.

He actually started to think that it might be more reasonable to go to sleep earlier, to return to the barracks before most of the other men do, to claim some good spot for himself. The soldiers would likely make noise while returning, but as a seasoned soldier himself, Hilderinc has learned how to wake up easily and again immediately fall asleep easily and almost anywhere.

He turned back to Coenred. "I think it will be all easier for us to start to work together when you are here in command, sir," he said, thinking now about the soldiers who were familiar with Coenred from Athanar's household. "And it will be easier for those who originate from here that commander Thornden will be there with us, too. You will see us working as one, the soldiers of Scarburg."

Hilderinc intentionally used the word "Scarburg", not "Athanar", and it occured to him that maybe Coen did the same thing before on purpose. Telling the soldiers that they were all soldiers of Scarburg eliminated the gap between those who could - like that Lithor seemed to - still ride against the wind and not accept Athanar's presence, for whatever absurd personal reasons.

Hilderinc was thinking about lifting himself and leaving the table if Coen did not have anything more important to say to his men about tomorrow. Some fresh night air and getting early to bed was just preferrable now.

[Formendacil]

Náin was watching Athanar again. The Dwarf had drawn his own pipe, and was gently tamping a bowl of pipeweed in with his broad, muscular thumb. He had to move briefly towards the fire to find himself a light, since it was more effort to strike tinder and flint than he was interested in exercising, and soon a cloud of sweet-scented smoke was drifting towards the rafters from his corner near the fireplace. Quite possibly, he thought, if it were only Athanar and himself who smoked in Scarburg, the idea might develop that it was some sort of noble past-time.

Degas and Saeryn were left alone as Athanar's sons approached him, and drew him aside to the corridor. Náin watched their interaction through the thickening film of smoke, and shook his head slightly. Young noblemen, it seemed, came all too often in the spoiled model--or, at least, the immature. Wulfric and Wilheard were too old to be acting like children--though they were, in Náin's opinion. It was the curse of the nobility--and of Mannish nobility specifically. Granted, it was years longer before a Dwarf was full-grown, but no nearly-grown adolescents would have acted so obviously puffed up around the Lord of their house, especially if he were their father.

Not that Náin had any idea what the young nobles were cornering their father for. It didn't matter. They had the excited, self-consciously proud bounce to them that said they had something to say that made them important. In an adult, it would be called toadyness, but in children--which they belatedly were--it was simply immaturity.

Here the Dwarf's sympathies were decidedly with the common folk, who had no time for nonsense. In Rohan, as in Dale or Bree or Gondor, if your father was not wealthy, you started labouring with him form a young age--younger than Wilheard, certainly. But when your father was a noble? Náin thought a touch more Dwarvenness would serve Men better, by apprenticing their noble sons to a craftsman, but no noble among Men would ever consider such a thing. So while Náin was both a lord of moderately high standing among his people and a master craftsman, the sons of Athanar would probably never be more than nobles--maybe, if they were lucky, Athanar would send them for soldiering, and they'd learn discipline thus.

Not that it seemed likely. Wulfric, at least, should have been sent off already if he were to serve with the Riders, and Wilheard would ride as well if Éomer had to summon the Muster of the Mark.

As usual, thought Náin, Men do things well up to a point--and then cease being practical because of some unfathomably large blind-spot. So often it was their children.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc's gaze was wandering about the room and for the first time he properly noticed the Dwarf sitting near the fireplace. Now he remembered that he had spotted him before, but his mind was probably occupied by other things at that moment - like Athanar's or Saeryn's speech - and he didn't pay much attention to the short man back then.

Hilderinc had no experience with Dwarves, he had never encountered one face to face, even though he knew many of them were now working at Helm's Deep. This Dwarf was just as Hilderinc had expected Dwarves to be: short, rather square-shaped and with ridiculously long beard. Hilderinc's eyes stopped at him for a while and he also noticed that the Dwarf was smoking a pipe. That only contributed to the alien feeling the Dwarf was giving to Hilderinc. Of course, the habit of smoking was not completely unfamiliar to him, but he had never tried it himself (he did not even expect to have a chance to try it) and it still seemed like a novelty to him. Lord Athanar also had a pipe, Hilderinc has learned about that fact already back in Edoras, shortly after entering into his service. It seemed like an odd habit for an old man like Athanar, but perhaps for the nobles it was an interesting curiosity to occupy themselves with. Actually Athanar might not have been the first of Hilderinc's superiors who had been smoking, Hilderinc was thinking that possibly one of his earlier masters had been smoking as well. If rumours were to be believed, this habit came from one of the strange peoples beyond the Mountains, the holbytlan - in whose land, if rumours were to be believed once again, Saruman of Isengard and Wormtongue have met their end. Folk from the legends and bedtime stories - as Hilderinc kept hearing them since his childhood - yet according to what Hilderinc once heard from one old traveler from the North, they have killed that slippery snake. Too much real for the creatures from children's stories anyway. A bit like these Dwarves.

What was the Dwarf doing here anyway? The Dwarves were rumoured to be good craftsmen, perhaps that was why this one was in Scarburg. But couldn't the former eorl's men have built the Hall by themselves? Hilderinc was wondering about that. The Hall certainly did not seem to be in any better condition than if it was being built by Men only, as far as he could see. Now was this the Mark or some sort of Dwarfland? Maybe it was just the previous lord's whim to have a "special" worksman here. Great lords indeed seemed to have these weird habits. Hilderinc wondered if Athanar was of the same mind, though. But once the Dwarf was here, Athanar would probably leave him in his place. Especially if they shared the pipeweed-smoking habit. But what exactly was this Dwarf's position in Scarburg anyway?

Hilderinc interrupted his thoughts at that point. His mug seemed empty and he was not sure if he wanted to stay around much longer. Maybe a last one, then, and after that it was the time to go.