Scarburg Meadhall

[Groin Redbeard]

Where the marsh ends, a stream in flood had rolled a scattering of stones and trees uprooted. Here, where the rough wintery cold water course had made Erbrand leave the path of sturdy earth and come onto lofty ground above the stream (whose cold waterway he wanted to avoid), he saw a herd of deer perceive his presence and give flight. In that crisis, he had but one recourse—to sting them with hasty shots. Two arrows he let fly in rapid succession, one hitting his mark but not sinking deep enough and the other falling short. Erbrand frowned and hissed with frustration. The snares had been empty and his only hope of finding fresh pelts for work was in the hunt. With eager steps, he strode swiftly along the trail of blood issuing from the strong animal’s chest. With any luck, he would find the poor beast exhausted after its energy giving terror had abated.

The herd had instinctively moved out of the marsh for Erbrand had traveled across the marsh to find quarry. As he reached the rising ground that led out of the marsh he looked back at the Great Hall of Scarburg. Smoke was rising from the chimney in billowing stacks, poor Frodides had several more mouths to feed than she was used to.

The trail was becoming clearer now as Erbrand continued to pursue. He sensed the kill. Quickly, with nimble fingers, he fastened another arrow to his string. The ground was uneven and filled with boulders and annoying rocks to trip over. There it was! His long sought after prize, the noble stag lay dead on the ground. Erbrand let out a great shout of triumph and slowed his pace, but all was not well. His shout startled two figures whose grayish black coats matched that of the rocky terrain. Erbrand halted, his heart skipping a beat with anticipation. Wolves! The cries of the wounded stag doubtlessly drew them near. Erbrand had forgotten the wintery months drew the wolf packs down from the mountains and into the plains, these two were looking for an early start.

The cunning creatures hunched their backs and paced with black noses nearly to the ground. Erbrand first thought turned towards safety, but there were no trees and the marsh was too far behind him. Frozen in fear his next instinct was to run, but experience contested that instinct immediately. With reason again taking hold, Erbrand grasped his bowstring and taking deadly aim drew the bow back full circle. His hands aligned, the left hand felt the point, the right hand holding the string touched his cheek. The arrow whistled to the closest wolf and plunged deep within its chest. The beast yelped and fell dead with the impact. Courage at once led Erbrand with grinning complexion to hasten the other’s death just as quickly. Bird’s eye shot.

Skinned on the spot Erbrand retrieved the two wolf pelts, but left the stag that had already been bitten by the wolves’ cruel fangs. The pelts were of little use to him, being too rich in warmth to be plucked of their fur for his use, so he decided to sell them to some of the guards heading back to Edoras. Furs were a good way to bring some extra money when his leather work was not selling. Already in his stay in Edoras he had not been sell any of his products with trade not yet established between any of the neighboring Halls. It would be a poor life in Scarburg if trade was not established soon, already he was being overworked as a supplier of food, as a workman for the hall, and for his own trade, which required no small amount of his time.

When he arrived back at camp everyone was up and about. Erbrand brought the wolf pelts to his shed for safekeeping. When he returned Kara had brought out what food the kitchen could spare for the folk gathered round. Garstan, Stigend, Crabannan, Harreld Leof, and he were all a part of this lifestyle. Some of them, such as him, would be better off in bigger settlements where their craft would sell, but all of them were satisfied with their temporary lot in life with the hope that all would be better tomorrow.

Erbrand dipped his bowl into the kettle, scolding his fingers in the hot broth and contented himself with at least having something hot to eat. The dog that the fat man fed amused him slightly. What an amazingly loyal creature with no thought other than to serve his master. All that it asks is to be fed and treated with love, sometimes not even getting that and still it serves. He fished around in his bowl, drew out a chunk of meat and held it out. The dog turned and snatched the treat up in an instant only to find his head within both this strange man’s hands and being rubbed vigorously. The dog took a liking to this treatment of being fed and rubbed at the same time and placed himself at Erbrand’s feet. A man, bubbling with energy, jumped over Erbrand’s seat and landed next to the dog.

“Keeping up your appetite, heh dog, but you mustn’t bother strangers. What’s that you say? Oh! he’s a friend then is he.”

"Erbrand." He said grimly. Although the dog was amusing, Erbrand found this man to behave like a fool.

"Erbrand, my name is Hamrod. You talked to my friend last night I believe, Girth."

"You came with him from Edoras?"

"Not that I have a choice," Hamrod said and sat down looking quite glum. "All my duty is to do what I am told. If lord Athanar would listen to me more we would not be in this miserable little hole that you call a home." Hamrod picked up a handful of mud and rubbed it in his palms.

"Aye, not that Athanar would be any the wiser to listen to you." Girth said with a mouthful of bread.

Erbrand soon found out that both men were extremely simple folk, far simpler than he had imagined Athanar's peasants to be. Both looked as if they could do some mischief if given the chance and cracking a good joke at someone's character was not below their status.

"We'll be off for now, friend." Girth asked Erbrand. "My herd has not the proper sty to wallow around in and I think that this kitchen is the proper place to build one."

"Uhh!" Erbrand exclaimed. "Don't you think that you better ask your lord before starting."

"Pigsty is always kept next to kitchen." Hamrod said.

"Besides, we don't bother lord with that stuff we go straight to Coenrad--he's the man to see. But the sty must be built and you can't do that with your mouth. Come Hamrod, come Dog."

With that the two men ambled off. Erbrand let out a long sigh. Getting along with these newcomers is going to be harder than anticipated if all of them are soldiers and dimwitted peasants. Drinking what was left of his broth, Erbrand made for his shed and started working on his leather. It was well into the morning and he would soon be called to work on the hall.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar gave the order to prepare the hall for the hearings. Breakfast was cleared, the tables born away to the edges of the room, and a seat was set for Wynflaed beside lord Athanar's chair. Thordnen and Coenred withdrew to bring together those that were needed, Javan, Lithor, Wulfric, and Wilheard. Once they were all assembled, they and many others of the Mead Hall, both old and new, Athanar called Javan forward.

Javan came in and walked forward to where Athanar and Wynflaed sat. He glanced towards Saeryn and then up at Thornden who stood to the side with Coenred standing beside him.

Javan came forward and stopped in front of Athanar. His mind harped back unwittingly to the only other instance he had stood before such a seat of judgment, in Eodwine's court. Then he had been guilty of burning down the stables. Now, he felt, he was less at fault, and his crime, if it could be called that, was much slighter. He looked Athanar straight in the eye.

Lord Athanar looked at the young boy and the sharp brown eyes that were nailed on him. Whether it was defiance or just trying to make a brave face he couldn't be sure, but he recognized something very familiar in Javan's presence. There was something in him that reminded Athanar of his own sons while they were younger.

Lord Athanar had looked Javan back with a stern face but suddenly it seemed like he relaxed. Leaning a little back in his chair he finally asked him. "So, you are Javan then?"

"Yes, sir," Javan answered.

"Tell me Javan, how old are you?"

"Twelve, sir, almost thirteen winters."

Athanar seemed to think for a moment before he made the next question: "What are you going to be Javan, when you grow up?"

Javan looked surprised, but he answered nevertheless. "I was sent to lord Eodwine to become a guard or some asset to his household. An eorlinga."

Lord Athanar raised his eyebrow and crossed his fingers nodding eventually. "Well, lord Eodwine must have told you what kind of man an eorling is so that you would serve him right and with honour?"

Javan looked somewhat crestfallen, for inside he felt his stomach sink slightly. He did not like to be reminded so shrewdly what Eodwine would have thought. "He did."

"How did he say an eorling should carry himself?" Athanar asked.

Javan pressed his lips together for a moment and glanced away. Then he looked again at Athanar, though less steadily than before. "By doing what was right and obedient, not acting rashly and without thought. . .thinking about others before myself." He tried to remember all that Eodwine had said that night, long ago, when they first came to Scarburg. "Mostly that I should think less of myself and more of others and act honorably in everything. I wasn't thinking of myself yesterday, in all honesty. I was defending Cnebba, not myself."

Athanar listened to Javan closely leaning forwards on his chair. When Javan fell quiet, he laid his arms on the elbow rests of the chair and straightened his back. "It is indeed a mark of an eorling to not think only of oneself but to do what is right. But even granting your words, do you think you have acted in a way that Eodwine would think honorable?"

Javan shook his head mutely.

"Now..." Lord Athanar leaned forwards again. "Do these kinds of things happen to you often, that you seem to end up in quarrels or brawls?" Lord Athanar studied Javan's expression very carefully.

Javan shrugged. "I haven't fought in more than a month, sir. Before that, yes, I guess so."

Lord Athanar's mouth widened into a smile that looked more compassionate than triumphant, but he drew it back almost as soon as it appeared. He glanced at Saeryn and then briefly at Thornden, getting the information he needed to make a fast assesment of the situation.

"Tell me then Javan, how did lord Eodwine manage to keep you away from trouble for a month? Was there a stick or a carrot... or both?"

"I don't know what you mean. After he swore to treat me like his son and I swore to act more nobly rather than a vagabond, I tried my hardest not to. I still fought, but I got better at not fighting quite so quick."

Lord Athanar rose from his chair and walked to face Javan. He laid his hands on the youngster’s shoulders and bent his back forwards to meet the boy’s eyes from almost a level height. Looking closely at Javan, studying every movement on his face he spoke now softer but no less firm.

“Well Javan. Back in time, in Helm’s Deep for instance, lads of your age were treated like eorlingas. Those were dark times. Happily we’re not there now and I don’t need to punish you accordingly, as an eorling.” He straightened his back and stood tall in front of Javan without letting his gaze or his hands off Javan. Javan understood, and trembled at his words, but continued to meet his eye.

“I don’t believe youngsters turn good by flogging them, Javan. I have been flogged by orders of Wormtongue when I was about your age… heh, several times indeed… in front of all people." He paused. Thornden and Lithor exchanged glances. Thornden clenched his jaw tightly, thinking that this was what Lithor had spoken of and now they would know what Athanar would do. Their lord continued. "But if I have become a decent man now, it is rather not because of that beating I thought unjust but disregarding the hate it planted inside me.” It looked like lord Athanar’s eyes were getting moist with memories, but he held his calm.

“So let me offer you a new deal. Let’s see how it will work.” Lord Athanar smiled now but Javan looked even more shaken and confused.

“Obedient, disciplined, patient… I think I have an idea on what you should be spending the next months with… to learn and to gain.” Lord Athanar looked mysteriously hilarious for a moment when searching the crowds with his eyes, like he was looking for someone special. Javan turned his head to look, too, though he knew not what he searched for. Finally, Athanar's face spread into an open smile, almost laughter.

This was a most odd spectacle to people looking at it from outside. Many a confused gaze was exchanged, especially between the original Scarburgians.

“Raban! Raban you old raven, there you are! Step forwards!”

There was movement in the crowds and an old grumpy man emerged from behind the backs of others much taller than him as he walked with a stoop leaning on his stick limping his other leg. Of the old Scarburgians only Lithor and Balvir recognised the gaffer.

“What is it now, my lord?” he wailed as he went. “Do you leave beating the brats to me once again?”

Javan glanced nervously at Lord Athanar, but the eorl only laughed and many of his household laughed as well. The laugh spread among some older Mead Hall people as well as the situation was comical indeed. The old man was a sight in himself and only a few had noticed him before as he had kept to himself the first evening; but also the way he seemed to make fun on Athanar and the lord not getting heated up with it kind of promised something even if the people were unsure of what it was.

“Now Javan, meet Raban. He may look odd and even sound odd…” He winked an eye to Javan clear enough for most other people to see as well: “And he actually is quite a personality…” he added smiling. But as Raban finally reached the two Athanar got more serious. “He’s a veteran of many wars; he lost his eye and ear in wars against Dunledings, his other leg he lost in Helm’s Deep… and he has served me well for as long as I remember.”

Javan looked at the old man with some repulsion. He took a deep, shivering breath and tried not to show how he felt looking at the scarred face before him.

“So you want to be an eorling Javan? For that you need a chainmail coat. Making that yourself requires patience and self-discipline and Raban here is the best if also the grumpiest mailcoat-maker I know… he thaught me to make them as well, but the one I used in the Pelennor Fields and ever since in times of duty, is made by him and envied by many, even of my superiors… and let me quarantee you that he takes care of the obedience part…” Athanar laughed out aloud with others of his houselold – and the laughter spread across the hall.

Suddenly Athanar waved his hand to indicate the fun was over. He looked at Javan carefully and laid his right hand back on Javan’s shoulder. “Let me assure you, Javan. It will not be easy. It will be tough indeed and you will shed many a tear. But you will learn not only obedience, discipline and patience, but if you get in terms with Raban you’ll learn so much more of what it is to be a soldier, of what it is to be an eorling… that I quarantee there is no better teacher that I know.”

“Watch it my lord…” Raban intervened. “If you encourage him to come too close to me I may tell him also stories about you when you were still wetting your pants!”

Athanar’s household and soldiers roared with laughter and Athanar followed them suite. Suddenly all of the Hall was laughing in an odd mixture of relief and confusion.

But Javan was not laughing. He was struck dumb with confusion. He looked at Raban and then at lord Athanar. He did not want to make chainmail, he had no desire to be a mail-smith, and he had no wish to be cooped up day after day with a crippled, half blind, half deaf old man. Athanar's joviality had dismissed the fear from Javan's mind, and as was his wont, he spoke without thought.

"I do not understand, my lord. Why am I to be punished in such a manner when I did not disobey and when I carried myself with a considerable amount of patience, bearing from your daughter insult and abuse before striking out? If either of us needs to know the meaning of patience and discipline-”

“Hold it right there young man!” Lord Athanar’s voice was loud and commanding and the smile had disappeared from his face. For a moment he gathered himself not to unleash his full frustration on the boy. What did he say… being obedient, not acting rashly and without thought… acting honourably in everything…and then punching a girl! Or now this! Where is the consistency of thought with these youngsters? Thornden should fill him in as I’m not going to argue with a boy in public.

He glanced at Thornden who looked apologetic and a little angry and impatient with his brother. Nodding to him lord Athanar turned back to Javan. “From both what you did yesterday and how you behave now it seems that so far you have not learned to not act rashly or without a thought, and you have not learned to be patient or honourable in what you do. And you can’t be an eorling before you learn that.” He studied Javan’s face carefully. “It is not so much a punishment but something for your own good, Javan… Your brother will explain it to you if you do not understand it now.”

Lord Athanar gazed over the public and then addressed it. “Javan will be supervised by master Raban the next months. Those of you who don’t know master Raban may ask of his qualities from those who do know him. I will just say this: in his prime he was one of the best soldiers this country has ever had but due to age and the multiple wounds he got mainly from helping his mates out from danger he’s now crippled and looks odd… But after not being able to serve his king as a soldier anymore he concentrated on the crafts and turned out a master in that trade as well. So even if we who are used to him may laugh not only with him but to him, please understand that we have earned our right to laugh by his consent as he is a jovial man behind the crab's armor, and he knows us. I will personally challenge every evil grin or scorn to this hero of Rohan I hear of. I hope that is understood, loud and clear?”

There was a sudden silence in the Hall that was broken by Raban himself.

“Come, Athanar, you make an old man weep from emotion in front of all that boasted chivalry. How dare you pull those easy tricks on an old man in public? Every man answers the call if they are just called for… if they are eorlinga.”

The old man studied Javan for a moment: "if they are eorlinga..." he continued as if to himself. Raban turned away and started to limp back to the crowd. Passing Thornden he turned to him and half-whispered “Your brother is a promising-looking fellow, but we have lots to do with him… not that it matters, anyway.”

Lowering his voice he added so that only Thornden could hear it: “Had lord Athanar given his boys to me, we would not be in the mess we are now...” Winking an eye to Thornden the gaffer went off through the crowd.

Javan was dismissed with a nod by lord Athanar. Thornden's face confirmed it to Javan and he backed away from the open.

The hall burst into a buzz of conversations.

[Folwren]

By the time Athanar had dismissed Javan, both Javan and his brother were feeling both discontented and frustrated, but for two entirely different reasons. Thornden grasped his hands behind his back and pressed his lips closed in attempt to cool his anger. How could his brother be so insanely daft at such a moment? The little fool. His eyes flashed a dangerous blue after Javan’s figure as it disappeared out the door.

As for Javan, he was frustrated because he felt that, once more, he had been misunderstood and unfairly treated.

“Make a coat of mail?” he said to himself as he stormed across the courtyard. That in itself was not so bad. It was the man that he was to be stuck with for the next six months, or however long it took. Had Athanar put him under Harreld, well, that would have been different! But Raban was a disfigured, old, decrepit man! Javan shuddered at the mental image of his face. “Make a coat of mail with him? Waste hours of my day on something I will grow out of almost immediately? I’d rather him’ve done something else and had it over with immediately.”

[Nogrod]

Lithor, Wulfric and Wilheard came forwards under the guidance of Hilderinc. The three stood side by side facing Lord Athanar. He glanced at his sons but then turned his eyes towards Lithor. The general stir ceased.

“Lithor, senior guard to lord Eodwine and the Scarburg Mead Hall. That is you?”

Lithor nodded.

“Well Lithor…” lord Athanar looked saddened but firm. He laid his eyes downwards for a moment before looking back at Lithor again.

“Were you a reckless child or a hot-headed youngster I would have the reasons and the heart to look at a lots of things through my fingers and only blame the tensions of the first night, free running emotions, maybe too much ale… whatever it would then be. But you are a veteran of the Pelennor Fields. You must have served as a soldier over twenty years at least.” He made a small pause.

“You should know better how a soldier acts Lithor, especially as a senior soldier who will be looked upon by the younger ones. So as you set the younger ones an example, I will have to make sure that example is disciplined. I do honour all my brothers in arms from the fields of glory but you leave me little choice here Lithor.”

The two looked at each other in the eye. Some people thought they caught a glimpse of a fleeting moment of mutual honour between the two as the battle of the Pelennor Fields was mentioned. They were one of the rare few present who had fought there on that day of sacrifice, blood and honour. That was a memory that would never fade and which united those who shared it.

Lord Athanar broke the silence. “Anyway Lithor, there is a graver issue to be settled than your behaviour here in public last night. There was an incident outside as well, and my sons…” Here he turned his head and nodded as to point them out to everyone who was not yet familiar with them and their relationship.

“Wulfric and Wilheard have told me you have also been planning a treason behind my back, not only mocking my authority into my face in here. And you know full well that is plotting against the king himself. And if that is true, it will be a much graver matter indeed.” Lord Athanar let his words hammer in before he let Lithor off the hook of silence.

“So what have you to say for yourself?”

“It is as your lordship says. My words were ill chosen, I have acted as I should not have. Therefore, for last night’s actions, as the soldier I am, I will accept the punishment of your disappointment.”

He paused for a moment, unsure of how to continue. Saying what he felt will prove dangerous amidst his accusers. His complexion was unchanging, but his thoughts were ever working out a plan of discourse. Lithor eyed Wulfric and Wilheard and then Athanar.

“However, my lord if I am cause for disappointment and trial because of ill words, instead of actions, then you will also have cause for disappointment in your sons for bringing this false accusation of treason forward.” Lithor lifted his hand towards the boys and glared at them.

“My lord, you know me as one you suspect of treachery because of last night, but is last night the only night that counts in my life?” Lithor spoke loud and fast when he saw a hint of annoyance in the listeners’ eyes. “Both your sons’ honor and quality are known to you, my lord. You have known them for all their lives so you can best judge how their actions truly were, but my lord you know me not. I have served faithfully for over thirty years and have fought in the War of the Ring and have helped quell the Dunlendings. I have been taught lessons that only my age of experience can bring. I am sorry that reverence for your lordships hall was not one of them. My accusers, however, are barely men. They are still intemperate in their youth and assume a false truth from a conversation they heard in pieces. Thornded, the good commander he is, came to comfort me after I left the hall and I never spoke of treason to him.”

Thornden took a small step forward, preparing to speak, but Lord Athanar waved him back. "We will hear your view of this, seneschal Thornden... but let us hear Wulfric and Wilheard first."

He glanced at his sons and some people caught signs of sorrow in his eyes, but that was only passing... He turned to Lithor once more before giving them a possibility to speak.

"I'm not questioning your past deeds Lithor... I'm questioning your behaviour yesterday. And I know my sons in good and bad..." He glanced at his sons again. "But even immature ears can hear correctly whilst veteran's tongue might fail. So let us hear what you have to say, Wulfric and Wilheard? Was there a talk of treason yesterday out there or not?"

As the question echoed in the air, Wulfric suddenly realised the weakness of their position. If Lithor and Thornden denied everything, would their father take his sons's word for it? Wulfric was not so stupid as to think his father would grossly favour his own kin to those he sought to get to his side. He gritted his teeth.

"Yes." He said in a clear voice. That sounded impressive, but in truth there was doubt nagging inside. He and Wilheard had quizzed one of the soldiers, Áforglaed, for what had happened in the hall while they had been away, but he would've felt more comfortable if he had been there himself.

"This soldier, Lithor, clearly tried to talk Commander Thornden into some kind of rebellion. He said..."

Wilheard, who had a better memory, cut in: "He said that if Lord Eodwine does not return Thornden 'must lead Scarburg to renew the seat to its rightful heir: Saeryn, and later her son.' He spoke many words implying that Thornden should keep friendly with you, my lord, so that the people who lived here under Lord Eodwine could plot behind your back and yet keep a friendly face."

Wulfric gritted his teeth again. Wilheard spoke right, but perhaps too straightforwardly - this would lead to another confrontation, and those should be resolved in privacy, not under the lord's watchful eye. "These words, combined from his earlier disrespect and lack of loyalty to you, my lord, led us to believe there indeed is some treasonous plot forming in this man's head."

Lord Athanar looked stupefied. He was stupefied.

One could have almost touched the silence in the hall as it wrapped everyone around it. It felt like people were not braving to even breathe.

Lord Athanar rose up and eyed his sons with a sharp gaze.

“Is that what you say Wulfric… Wilheard?”

The boys glanced at each other and then turned to face their father. “Yes”, they both said in unison. If possible, the Hall was even quieter it had been before.

Lord Athanar turned towards Thornden and Lithor. He felt like he was beaten from inside; for whichever party was right here, it would be at least a minor catastrophy for him. He didn’t let it show but retained his composure.

“What do you say Thornden?” He paused for a second, “What do you say Lithor?”

”Do not speak for me, master Thornden!” Lithor cried stepping forward when he saw Thornden about to explain. It would look bad for Thornden to speak first. “My lord,” he said turning to Athanar. “What treason is there in honest words that speak the truth? I encouraged Thornden to follow your lordship for the sake of unity. I encouraged him not to make my mistake. I encouraged him to fight for lady Saeryn and her son, the rightful heir of Scarburg.” Lithor declared this loudly so that the entire hall could hear him.

“My lord, you command Scarburg until lord Eodwine returns and you must help us rid the land of Tancred and his friends. The king’s decree stated no more than that. I would be a traitor indeed if I did not defend Eodwine and his heirs, to whom I swore allegiance.”

The words hung heavy over the hall. Lithor did not know if he had condemned himself or not.

Lord Athanar had been listening to Lithor in a calm and collected fashion despite the anguish the situation aroused in him, even nodding a few times when he started, but little by little he started looking more vexed. If Lithor had not paused there it was clear to all the onlookers that lord Athanar would have done that himself. Bad situation or not, but that was plain outrageous!

“Stop it right there!”

Lord Athanar was more than annoyed; he was torn between willing to end this tom foolery once and for all, but afraid of being too rude to the original dwellers of the Hall and thus making it even harder to reconcile matters.

He had to talk even if his thoughts were unfinished.

“Have you read the king’s decree Lithor? I showed it to you all yesterday evening but you didn’t care to read it now did you?” He drew breath to cool himself off. He knew he should not get really angry even if every word he spoke made him more so.

Suddenly Athanar raised his head and looked around. “Excuse me…” He scanned the Hall looking at the people gathered there. His mind was feverishly going through possibilities of how to address the issue Lithor had brought forwards once again. Were these people still believing in their former lord this heavily, that he could rise from the dead? What kind of god was he to them? He would have to cut that thinking off if that was the cause of all this… but how to do it without actually calling lord Eodwine a dead man?

“Now listen Lithor, and listen good.” He gazed around to bring home the point that he meant everyone should listen and not only Lithor.

“A Mead Hall is the king’s domain. The king exerts his rule via Mead Halls into the lands not straight under his nose. And to run these Halls he appoints eorls to represent him in these vicinities and we are personally liable to him to run them.”

He had talked to the overall public thus far, but now he turned to face Lithor again. “As an eorling serving in a Mead Hall of your king your allegiance is to the king, to Rohan, Lithor. Not to any individual eorl.” He paused just for a moment before continuing.

“And had you read the king’s decree you’d know better. The king’s decree didn’t say I will be here to perform a duty until lord Eodwine – bless him – is back, but that I’m the eorl of the Scarburg Mead Hall… Valar be praised if lord Eodwine comes back among the living, and it will be the task of the king to decide then what will follow… not you… or me, Lithor. And as the king who loved him decided this way, it’s not for you Lithor, or me, to question that decision. And if you continue questioning the king’s decree I will see it you will face the king himself under a charge of questioning his decrees… and the question of you being a traitor will look quite a different one from the perspective of king Eomer.”

“Enough of that...” he said after a few heavy breaths. “What do you have to say against the accusations raised by Wulfric and Wilheard, that they overheard you planning a treason?”

What a sickening sight. Indeed, it would be in Athanar’s favor if Lithor would not question anything, only obey. Lithor felt another great throb of pain in his side. It all became clear to Lithor in the twinkling of an eye. Athanar does not wish for Eodwine to return! Athanar intends to keep the earldom for himself and have Saeryn settle for second best. Why interrupt Lithor if he was mad? Athanar would have enough sense to let Lithor finish before he addressed the matter. There was truth in Lithor’s words. A lord would have addressed it calmly. To Lithor it felt as if all his traveling with his lord had been for naught: all the battles, the Great War, the sickness, the encouragement, and the excitement, the friendship— all for nothing.

“Wulfric, Wilheard, why do you lie?" He said, turning the trial back to its purpose. "You speak of hearing my words in the hall and then overhearing my conversation with Thornden. You were not there to hear my words to Athanar and of my conversation with Thornden you make it sound like a plot. You have left out his magnanimity to me and of our private talk about how to avoid future conflicts. Well chosen, twisted, words. Men can easily twist meanings when telling half the truth. There…was…no crime…last night.”

Lithor glanced at Thornden. The attention must not turn to him. Whatever the costs, Thornden must stay out of the debate while Wulfric and Wilheard were talking about treason. Keep your mouth shut. Don't say a word! Their attacks are on me, keep it that way.

Thornden stepped forward. No longer would his silence benefit Lithor or enlighten lord Athanar. He did not feel that he need hide anything, or be vague in any form whatsoever. He looked towards Lithor and met his eye briefly. Lithor shook his head, almost imperceptibly, but Thornden waved him quiet. “My lord, as Lithor said, they overheard us in the midst of a private conversation, and it would have been simple to misunderstand. I was merely discussing with Lithor what had occurred in this hall last night and I told him I would stand in his defense if the need arose. He asked me that I would not, for he did not wish you to think less of me. He honors the position you have given me, and does not want me to risk losing it for his sake. That is all.

“What he said concerning Saeryn’s child and lord Eodwine was exactly what any of us would wish to hear from a loyal man. Lithor is not treasonous, nor a troublemaker, nor a disobedient member of this household. He is merely a loyal man who wishes everything to happen in an orderly and appropriate manner, which I believe you to be, also. It just so happens that you two do not see eye to eye on just what is the orderly and appropriate thing to do. But I trust that nothing shall occur hastily, you will consider what is best for everyone involved, including Lithor, and in the end, everyone will feel that you have acted justly.”

Lord Athanar thought for a moment. What a waste of talent it was Thornden was here in the middle of nowhere… he could star in the courts of Edoras, as soon as he got his logic fixed. But that lighter thought aside, lord Athanar was on the verge of cancelling all he had said that morning. Now what is this? Was there no limit to the arrogance and self-righteousness of these people? Where did these people think they lived in; a kind of community of the poor where all negotiated the decisions together? Did they really think that if he showed consideration he could be milked into anything they wished? How had lord Eodwine managed to spoil them? Some discipline would be needed indeed!

But his wife’s desperate look brought him back to his senses. She knew him well enough to lay her hand on his arm. And he knew she was right. Glancing at her he nodded in assurance before rising up from his chair.

“So on what happened outside we have here words against words. And I must say I’m actually bent in believing in what my seneschal Thornden here reports on what happened…” He waited for the mild unrest that ensued to settle.

“One major factor here is that my sons reported yesterday that Thornden didn’t answer the call for treason they said Lithor here had suggested to him, and I have no reason to believe they would have a special liking to twist what they heard to save master Thornden from harm. So therefore I have no reason to believe Thornden was plotting something behind my back.” He gazed at the mostly satisfied crowds before turning to his sons.

“Now you two… am I wrong in thinking you acted hastily yesterday and tried to pull a brave face with what you got today?”

Wulfric and Wilheard looked uncomfortable but they didn’t confess on anything.

“Be as it may, I also think you acted in good faith, because of the beating of your sister and all the inhospitality we had been welcomed with thus far yesterday. In any other circumstances I would blame you mightily for attacking a veteran soldier, but now I must confess I’m not too sure about the blame as I sensed the general ill-will yesterday myself as well. So I would compare your case with the one with Javan… possibly feeling a righteous anger but overacting on it. And your punishment will be similar to Javan’s. I’ll come to that in a moment.”

He looked at his sons firmly and then glanced at his wife. She smiled to him encouraging him to go on with that tone.

“But then Lithor. What should I do with you? You clearly have a problem with authorities and that needs to be fixed. Haven’t your years with the military taught you anything? You’re not entitled to question the king’s rulings Lithor! Or to say they are one thing when you don't clearly know what they are! And you’re not entitled to question your eorl’s rulings!! You’re not entitled to question even your closest officer’s rulings!!!” Lord Athanar draw breath to calm down and then continued in a more composed manner.

“You are entitled to your view of things as everyone is. And you have the right to call your closest officer in private if you think something is wrong and needs fixing. Then it is the task of that officer to report your worries forwards if he thinks it a reasonable thing to do. But you never lecture to your immediate officer in public or try to tell him how he should do his job… not to talk of the higher officers, or your eorl… not to talk of the king himself!” Lord Athanar needed to breathe before he was able to settle down again.

“Let me tell you something Lithor… no, let me tell you all something.” With that Athanar raised his gaze to sweep over the hall.

“I have made a suggestion just here at the breakfast-table before these hearings begun – and we had a discussion over it last night my wife and I – and we have asked from lady Saeryn here,” at this point he glanced to lady Saeryn who still didn’t look like she was feeling too well. “that we could adopt her as our daughter to inherit this Mead Hall, or to have her child to inherit it.”

He was about to continue straight ahead but a rushed buzz emerged from all around the hall and he had to wait for a moment. But it didn’t seem the restlessness was going by.

“It’s not finished yet!” The hassle settled slowly and lord Athanar could continue.

“It is of course if she will accept the offer, and I’m not willing to press her on that looking at her condition. I’d be delighted to hear her answer right away, but it’s up to her.” He glanced at Saeryn and the wide open mouths in the audience. But then he remembered where he was going to and turned back to Lithor.

“So how should I read you Lithor? Either you think you understand things better than your eorl and are self-important enough not to only suggest it to your officer which is kind of within the limits, but you also feel the need of making it public in front of everyone, or then you use the hard issues as vehicles for a mutiny trying to capitalise on any possible resentments there could be using downright lies about the king's decree as your base.” There was suddenly a gloomy silence in the hall. “It was that close…” Athanar raised his left hand and put his thumb and index finger just an inch apart from each other: “… I didn’t decide to cancel my offer to lady Saeryn just because of your arrogance... or rebellion…”

Lithor made a gesture to speak but lord Athanar silenced him: “Hush, Lithor. You will now start learning your place. I will hear none of it.” He looked around, checking especially Thornden and Coenred.

“So Lithor… either you were both wrong and a fool or then you have bad intentions. I hope to believe the former and I can’t prove the latter… It’ll be no surprise I’m very disappointed with you even with the better case. So the verdict then…”

He took his time and people waited in silence. One could feel the tension in the air.

“On the issue of treason outside the hall yesterday I will order that you Lithor and my sons, Wulfric and Wilheard, will form a party of three to a few suitable missions we’ll face. I’m thinking of cutting any messengers from the local lord’s houses as we others visit them, or something like that. That should teach you three coming along. There I’m calling for obedience and top-execution from Wulfric and Wilheard and I’m waiting for results from you Lithor – and no brawls, that will be on your shoulders. But on the matter of un-soldiery, out-of-place behaviour…”

Athanar took a small pause before continuing as if to formulate what he was saying clear enough.

“I don’t believe in discarding one of his rank as good soldiers are always needed in places they do their best, and I just can’t think of an idea of a physical punishment with a veteran of the Pelennor… There are limits to disgrace, like flogging children.” Suddenly he stopped like if he remembered something.

“That doesn’t mean I’d not be ready to flog anyone of you soldiers if you’re caught in brawls around here! All that will end now! You are all soldiers of the Scarburg Mead Hall from now on and I will tolerate no factious attitudes… And that means also you from the king’s hall. As long as you serve here you serve under the Scarburg Mead Hall. I’m not going to look past any arrogance on your side either.”

Turning back to Lithor Athanar concluded his verdict. “So, you Lithor will be, on top of your normal status, the one in charge of general maintenance of the gear, leading with your example. When both Thornden and Coenred here testify you have been the model of a soldier for younger ones to look upon for a month or two, I will revisit that order and consider releasing you from these added duties. But if I hear a talk of treachery by you I'm quite ready to send you to be heard by the king himself, and trust me, the court in Eodras is not the gentlest one... The hearing is dismissed.”

He nodded to Lithor and his sons, and then to Coenred and Thornden. “You can take the soldiers to the drill.”

He was exhausted and needed a drink.

[Groin Redbeard]

Indeed, one could hardly hope for a more fair hearing. Lithor thought to himself with a grin. It was obvious that this trial was no longer about treason—humiliation rather for questioning Athanar. The move to put the guards the Golden Hall under Athanar’s command was not only a sign of how far the new lord was willing to go to keep an iron grip on his rule, it was also blatant disrespect for King Eomer. Those guards were not Athanar’s, but King Eomer’s. What had Athanar been lecturing and scolding Lithor for? Words, words, just empty words.

However, the trial was not a total shamble. Quartermaster was not a bad job for an elderly soldier to have and Lithor was content with it. Thornden had been spared and for the most part Athanar’s sons had been spared, apart from being assigned job and a momentary scolding. Balvir and Matrim immediately came to join Lithor and offer their condolences. Let us be thankful, the misunderstanding was not worse. Quartermaster is not such a bad job really. At least the younger newcomers will not have to answer to him. Balvir was now his superior. Was it fair? It did not matter. Few things in this life are.

“Quit whining and accept it.” Lithor said his eyes fixed on Wulfric and Wulheard, lost in thought. “The one constellation is that I will be able to keep an eye on his sons.”

“Yes,” a familiar voice. Erbrand had been watching events unfold quietly from the background. “But don’t forget they will be watching you. Keep on your best behavior, greybeard. They might look for an excuse to report you to their father.”

“Truly, you speak wisely, Erbrand. I will consider what you say.” Lithor smiled comfortingly at his friend.

“Young knaves,” Erbrand said in a whisper, shooting a dark glare at the brothers. “Athanar did not even ask them to apologize to you for trying to strike you for a crime you did not commit. I say he even commended them for their ‘good intentions.’ Bah! It makes me sick the way my home is being run.”

“Hush, not so angry. Do not scold. A true man of character never scolds. Courteous words and brave deeds are the rule that he must live by.” Lithor smiled and slapped Erbrand on the back as if to knock the glum from his friends head. Erbrand chuckled a little after Lithor's laughter broke through.

"I expected you to fall in with my thinking. You are the man who is being wronged. Age changes people, I hope I can be as peaceful as you in old age."

"I thank you, but I am afraid that you are wrong: age does not change people. The only way that a man can be good when he is old is if he is not rotten to begin with. The only difference between me and you is that my joints are achier, brain thinks a littler slower, and the old ticker does not tick like it use to. I still dream the same dreams and feel the same sense of confusion that everyone else in Scarburg is feeling."

Both watched Athanar as he left the judgment table.

"I don't like to see things change, Lithor. Especially when it is for the worse."

"Whether it is for the worse, time will tell. I must be getting to the drill square soon. I might be accused of treason again I don't." He winked and raced off to join the other soldiers.

[Groin Redbeard]

Girth & Hamrod

The stakes fell with that familiar clattering. Hamrod stood standing with open mouth.
“We’re what?” He asked in disbelief.

“You heard me.” Girth responded crossly. He had just come back from the hall with news of where to build the pig sty. However, there would be no pig sty.

“The lord says we’re to go back with the soldier’s to keep his house in Edoras with other servants.” Girth seated himself falling squarely on his bottom and threw his hat in frustration. Hamrod looked as if he was going to cry.

“Now don’t start bawling! This was too good to be true anyways.”

“But I made the stakes for the fence and everything. I was even getting friendly with some of the locals; they are not such bad people.”

Hamrod moaned and sat down next to Girth in the mud. The dog noticed something was wrong and started to whine, placed one paw on Hamrod’s chest and tried to give him a wet kiss. Things were beginning to look better after the travesty of the night before. Now this news destroyed everything. Hamrod buried his face in Dog’s neck.

“Did he give a reason?”

“Something about a military expedition and not wanting ‘peasants’ to get hurt. From what I can tell, the lord does not want us getting in his way. Understandable, we are expendable after all. Lord can always find new help here.”

“But why bring us all that way? I was beginning to like it here. Why tell us now?”

“Cause, that’s why! Because he can!” said Girth angrily. Hamrod started crying now and held Dog tighter.

When Girth saw Hamrod crying he regretted speaking so bitterly. Hamrod might be a simpleton sometimes but he was the only man that Girth could call a friend.

“Don’t cry lad.” Girth said as he put his arm around the boys shoulder. “At least we are going back together. Athanar could have split us up, did you ever think of that?”

“No.” Hamrod wiped his nose and rubbed his eyes.

“Well then, we have something to be thankful for.”

The two pig farmers sat gazing up at the sky for a long while. Hamrod broke the silence.
“Do you think we’ll ever be free, Girth?”

“How mean you?”

“You know, it’s what our parents dreamed about, and their parents and their parents.” Hamrod’s eyes went misty. “Think about it Girth: no lord to order you around as if you were his cattle. Maybe even a place of your own.”

“Sounds all good in words, but a free life is harder than a servant’s life and that’s the truth.”
“Aye, but you’d be your own master and that’s worth everything. Oh promise me one thing Girth!”

“What’s that?”

“Before ten years is out, we pinch and save enough money to buy both our services from lord Athanar and if he refuses us, we run away.”

“What?” Girth yelled in surprise. “But where would go? How would we eat? We’ll be hunted you know. Athanar will cut out our bowels while we are still breathing.”

“Is life so dear with your lord that you would purchase it at the price of your freedom?”

The question rocked Girth for a moment. He paused to think before answering.

“No, I guess not.”

“Give me your word, Girth! In ten years time freedom will be ours.”

“I’m with you Hamrod. You have my word. And if Dog is still kicking we’ll take him with us!”

Dog barked and leapt back when he saw Girth laugh and through him a stick. Both friends stayed awake long after midnight discussing on how the money would be raised, where they would live, how they would live, and what the best escape route would be if Athanar refused them. Ten years later, Girth and Hamrod got their freedom; though, nobody knows whether Athanar consented or not. Eager with their new freedom or anxious to escape before anything was suspected, Girth and Hamrod disappeared from Edoras one night and were never heard of again. I suspect that they are probably still living, on the borders of a wood next to a smooth running river—Girth always said those were the best places for raising a pig.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erbrand & Lithor

Nobody called him to work on the hall and Erbrand was glad of it. Athanar was probably still getting adjusted in his new home and would not be situated until the marrow. The hall was almost done. Stigend needed to be on hand of course to make sure things went properly and Erbrand had not seen him all day. Maybe Athanar is discussing with him on how he wants the hall built. Doesn’t matter, there was enough work of his own that needed finishing.

With his thoughts turning away from his work at the hall and back to his present task, Erbrand tossed another animal hide into the boiling cauldron and pushed it under with a pole. Grease splattered his grimy apron, but not enough to burn him badly. Another hide was tossed into a pit filled with water and pushed under the sludgy surface. More hides were hammered down with stakes to dry and stretch in the sun. The whole area stunk. People always complained about how badly he smelled, but he was just doing his job.

Erbrand did not mind the stink, he grew up with it. Dead things stink! It is the will of Eru, and tanners make good money. Erbrand did not mind the work: digging the pits, grinding the oak bark, smearing the hides with dung. All of this was not done in Scarburg itself, next to his hut; rather, down by the marsh where the ground was solid yet wet enough for the earth to yield water when a pit was dug.

Back in Aldeburg, Erbrand and his father would be laughed at for smelling so bad, but they were not scorned. There were many craftsmen in the city and all found someone to their liking. Tanners and leather craftsmen were well respected people and very rich. They were rich because they worked hard and their items were needed for every aspect of day to day life. Even though Erbrand and his father were rich, they did not show it. Father always said that flaunting wealth on comfortable living and extravagant clothes could ruin a man and destroy his respect from the other craftsmen. Erbrand could still remember those witty tavern songs about city life. Suddenly he began to sing:

“Father is the miller
as was his father of old,
and I shall be the miller
when my father’s flesh is cold

“I know the family business,
it’s been drummed into my head
How to cheat the wealthy customer,
and earn my daily bread


“Ohhhh the sky makes the water,
and the water makes the river,
and the river turns the mill wheel,
and the wheel goes on forever

“Every man’s a cheater,
and so every man is fed,
for we feed upon each other,
and seek our daily bread

“My father is a hard man, muscular and stout
He swings a heavy cudgel whenever he walks out

My grandfather was like him, a man of gain and sin
They find him in the mill pond with his skull bashed in

“Ohhhh the sky makes the water,
and the water makes the river,
and the river turns the mill wheel,
and the wheel goes on forever

“I used to wonder why the peasants hated us so strong,
they think we pick their pockets, and they’re not far wrong

Flour in the flour sack, vermin in the flour,
peasants waiting at the mill hour after hour

“They curse us as they stand in line,
enjoy their little talk
One by one my father grinds their flour,
and replaces all with chalk

“Ohhhh the sky makes the water,
and the water makes the river,
and the river turns the mill wheel,
and the wheel goes on forever

“When you think about the matter,
it’s as good as any sermon,
for the vermin feeds the miller,
and the miller feeds the vermin

“When I was only four years old,
still babyish and unsteady,
I tried to play with common folk,
they hated me already

“I am my father’s son,
my father serves the lord,
one day I’ll show them
hating me is a thing they can’t afford

“Ohhhh the sky makes the water,
and the water makes the river,
and the river turns the mill wheel,
and the wheel goes on forever

“There’s no use in looking back,
for here’s the truth I found:
it’s hunger, want, and wickedness,
these make the world go round

“For every man is a sinner
and he wants his neighbor’s grain,
the peasant moves the boundary stone
and steals the lord’s domain

“The miller steals the flower,
and the baker steals the bread,
we are hypocrites and liars
and we all get fed

“And half the world’s thieving
and the other half’s yearning,
there is no way to retrace our steps
the mill wheel keeps on turning

“For the sky makes the water,
and the water makes the river,
and the river turns the mill wheel,
and the wheel goes on forever

Work is work. I like bread in my belly and ale in my cup and I work harder than many to get it. I do mind the sneering of the soldier’s. Sometimes their tongues could scrape the hair off a hide. And I mind the women nattering on; saying that I fowl the waters. Egads! Do they think I can make leather without filth? Lime, cow dung, oak gall, urine, ash, tallow, and stale beer, these are the tools of my trade.

Erbrand noticed some ladies fetching water from the stream that flowed into the marsh. The women were upstream and there was no worry about Erbrand polluting anything other than swamp water; however, it did not take long for Erbrand to find out their opinions of his revolting work. They sniffed the air and covered their noses. He could hear them exchanging some remarks and one of them was laughing. Erbrand could not stand being scorned at and his work being so unappreciated. In a rage he threw down his pole and angrily marched to where they were gathering water. They were not alone—there was a man with them. The two women were Ginna and Frodides and the man was a soldier, apparently ordered to help the two ladies and not enjoying his job.

The soldier looked up, grimaced and gave a snort. “Phhew! I came for drinking water, but looks like you came for a bath. ” Erbrand felt his rage rekindled.

“And who in tarnation are you to scorn me?” Erbrand bellowed. “Would you warm your hands in leather gloves? Saddle or bridle your horse? Do you dance to the sound of the drum or lace the chords of your armor? What about the bellows that heats the forge? It’s leather! Stinking leather. Do you want good shoes or do you not? Shall I create padding for the lord’s chairs? I hunt and trap for animals and I feed Scarburg with their meat and give people tools that make it possible for them to do their jobs. Why then do you scorn me?”

The soldier simply stared at him. Frodides and Ginna were doing the same although they were a bit more surprised at the outburst. Erbrand let out a long breath before finishing in a calmer yet sill annoyed voice.

“Now, let me get on with my scraper and dung, you hold your nostrils and hold your tongues.” Erbrand turned to leave when a pebble hit him in the back.

“Hey, tanner, watch your tongue.”

“I’m not in the mood today, soldier.” Erbrand said with particular emphasized scorn on the word soldier.

“Name’s Scyrr. And looks like you need to be taught some manners for your betters.”

That was all the provocation Erbrand needed. He spun round and with a mighty yell ran at the Scyrr. The soldier, however, expected this struck a sidelong blow sending Erbrand spinning but not falling. Frodides and Ginna yelled at the two to stop. Blood was spilt, it was too late as Erbrand made apparent as he untied his leather apron and tossed it aside. There was a wild gleam in Erbrand’s eyes as he rushed again. He leaped, hoping to tackle Scyrr, but the swarthy soldier stepped aside. Scyrr laughed as Erbrand spat tufts of mossy grass from his mouth.

"Hope you learnt your lesson, tanner."

Another exclamation of rage escaped Erbrand’s lips. Again and again Erbrand was struck down until his nose was bleeding and his gums were cut. For the fifth time Erbrand arose, sagging, bleeding and weary. Scyrr had been unhurt, keeping Erbrand at bay with ease.
“Do you still wish to continue?” Scyrr asked, smiling.

Again Erbrand rushed at him in rage. Again the soldier stepped aside, tripping Erbrand.
“Enough! Stop this nonsense!” Frodides exclaimed.

The soldier regarded the woman and turned back to Erbrand giving him a kick on the calf. It was not hard, nor was it gentle, but it was enough to excite an anger that surpassed any that Erbrand had known up to that time. Such was the treatment one gave a disobedient dog.

“I’m done - for today”, Scyrr said.

Whether Scyrr said this to frighten Erbrand or whether he said it because it was true, Erbrand never found out. In a fight anger is as good as courage. With fingers extended like talons, Erbrand’s hands seized Scyrr’s left leg with an iron grip and twisted it. The soldier gave a howl and collapsed next to Erbrand (who lost no time in returning Scyrr’s punishment blow for blow). This time Ginna took up the chorus with Frodides.

“Stop it! Fools. Before somebody gets hurt badly!”

The cry was not heeded. A knife flashed in the sunlight, it was Scyrr’s.

"Get off my leg or I'll sting you with this!" the soldier growled.

Erbrand struck relentlessly and hard. Soon he found his fingers around Scyrr’s neck, pressing harder and tighter.

“I am not some dog you can kick. I am a man! I am a man!”

Soft small hands grasped his and beat his strong shoulders. Erbrand let go of Scyrr’s throat. Ginna and Frodides knelt beside the Scyrr. He was not moving.

“Fools!” Frodides cursed.

Ginna's face was pale when she tried to find his pulse. “If he's dead ... Erbrand, if he's dead, you will hang for this.”

Fear took hold were anger had once been. Erbrand fled back to the camp faster than any stag. He flung the door of his hut open and began digging. The fear had taken hold of his mind. Erbrand was digging for his saddle bag that he had brought with him all the way from Aldeburg. It contained all of his life’s wealth, modest for city life but wealthy for Scarburg. Tanners made good money. A heavy jingle met his ears as he shook the bag and a fleeting smile quickly passed his lips. Then he went for his bow, his arrows, cowl, hood, knife, hatchet—all the necessary items he needed and fled as fast as he could to the stables. Soldiers were everywhere meeting Erbrand’s gaze, turning to peer at his fear stricken face as he paced. They were leading their horses for the drills. Erbrand felt his heart sink there was no way he could hide his secret. Did they know? No, he had been too fast—Erbrand had always been fast. There was his horse, Traveler, the great beast bigger than the other horses: white, young, and eager for a trot. Thank goodness Leof the stable boy had not taken the horses out. Traveler would need the energy.

“Erbrand?” came a familiar voice. It was Lithor. The greybeard was leading his horse last in line. The soldier’s face showed concern.

“Is everything alright?” he asked again.

“Leave me quickly.” Erbrand said. His eyes were wide his mouth was open and releasing quick shaky breaths.

“Your face tells me to do the exact opposite. What happened to it” Lithor slung the reigns of his horse over a paddock and came closer.

“Don’t touch me! I said leave.”

“You are not well Erbrand.”

“I am damned!”

“What mean you by this? What fear prompts such speech?”

“You don’t understand.” Erbrand threw a blanket on Traveler’s back and reached for the saddle.

Lithor put up a hand and motioned for Erbrand to calm himself. “Erbrand, tell me…”

“I have killed Athanar’s guard!” Erbrand shrieked in desperation to get rid of Lithor.

Lithor stared wide eyed and open mouthed. The silence hung heavy in the air. Lithor frantically looked around to see if anyone was in ear shot—nobody was.

“How did this happen? When, where?” Lithor asked.

“I did not mean to hurt him so bad.” Erbrand sounded as if he was going to cry. The realization of his terrible deed rocked him. “I did not kill him, only hurt him. He was still breathing. You see we…I mean I was working and, well…it all happened so fast. He scorned, then I rebuked him, stones thrown, I swung. He kicked me like a dog. I got carried away and nearly choked him to death. I think I sprained his leg badly, maybe even broke it.” The tears now flowed, but Erbrand did not weep.

“I was wrong, Lithor. Athanar will not hesitate to flog or hang me.”

Erbrand crashed to the ground. Lithor kneeled and gently lifted Erbrand back up. The old man’s eyes were patient and friendly.

“It was a foolish act.” Lithor said. “I have seen you start fights for less. Yet, I have never seen you start a fight where both parties did not deserve a good beating.” Lithor calmly looked at Traveler and back at Erbrand.

“Where would you head? You can’t go back to your home of Aldeburg. That will be the first place that Athanar will search for you.”

“Then I must leave Rohan,” Erbrand was now composed. His voice was both somber and thoughtful. “Not to the south. Saeryn’s brother Degas has lands there and Athanar ask him to search for me. It will have to be to the north, out of Rohan where no one will search for me. Arnor.” The words escaped Erbrand’s lips as if the name was deserving of reverence.
“It will be a new land and culture to be sure, but getting there is the problem. I’ll probably be hunted down and killed long before I cross the Isen.”

“Have you thought about facing Athanar and accepting the consequences?” Lithor asked.
“There was a time I could do it,” Erbrand said thoughtfully, “when Eodwine ruled. I would not run if Saeryn or Thornden ruled, they are just, but I will not accept punishment from a tyrant. I will not be wronged again.”

“Again?” Lithor asked surprised.

“I spent two years in the gaols of Aldeburg for no other reason than the will of men such as Athanar: impatient and arrogant for their will to be carried out. I will not accept his judgment.” Erbrand was resolute in his speech and his eyes reflected hardness in his heart.

“Then, this is goodbye, my young friend.” Lithor voice was hopeful, but Erbrand felt like crying again.

“I will miss you, dear friend. You have taught me much and have been my closest mentor. Would it be that you could come with me.” Erbrand bowed his head in sorrow. “But I know you cannot: your duties lie here.”

There was nothing left to be said. They clasped each other in a hug of memories and quickly left. Lithor led his horse outside to the drilling grounds and Erbrand raced to the Great Hall—there were still goodbyes to be said. Erbrand dashed into the kitchen nobody was there but Kara. She noticed him and gave a surprised yelp when she saw his face. She hastened to him.
“Erbrand what happened to you?”

“Oh my love!” Erbrand said almost in joy. Kara was startled, he had never called her that before.

Erbrand quickly retold his story to her and of his intention to ride north.

“Oh Erbrand!” Kara said. “Can’t it wait? Can’t you stay to think it over?”

“If I stay, I die. I must flee. I have come to ask if you will come.” His eyes were hopeful and he held her hand when he said this. There was a short pause.

“Oh Erbrand.” Her voice was sad and tears welled up in her eyes. “You came to Scarburg of your own free will and are therefore free to leave at your will. I am bound to the house of Eodwine. I must stay and serve him and his lady.”

“I love you, Kara. You will never have to serve anyone again while you live with me. We will start a new life, a fresh life together.”

“I will not abandon Saeryn, especially when she has a child on the way.”

Kara was not looking at Erbrand anymore. Her eyes were focused in her lap. Erbrand could hear the drip of the tears hitting her dress. He could not say anything to refuter her. It was painful and against both their wills that they should be separated, but their destinies did not go down the same road. Erbrand grasped her in a longing embrace. Both sobbed—Erbrand had never sobbed in his life. The tears flowed in streams and the sobs rocked his body.

“I am weeping.” Erbrand cried. “I could not weep until now. ‘I love you more than life itself’ isn’t that what I said to you the night of Eodwine’s wedding.”

“Yes, yes.” Kara had not yet finished crying.

“Well now at last it’s true. I will stay and face Athanar’s judgment.”

“No!” Kara looked at him frightened. “You must not stay for my sake. What comfort would it be for me to see you beaten when your reason for staying is because of me? My comfort will be in the memories of us.” Again they embraced each other.

“One more day, one more day with you and I would be satisfied.”

“Yes my love, but I know what it would do,” Erbrand held her hands tightly. “Leave me wishing still for one more day, always one more day. There is something I need to give you before I go. Do you remember this? It is the ring that the hermit gave to us on Eodwine’s wedding night. He said I would need it. All I am, all I’ll be, everything in this world is in your eyes. When you smile I can feel all my passions unfolding. Kara, for the rest of my life I will cherish you. I have waited so long to say this to you—if you wonder if I love you this much,” Erbrand slipped the ring on Kara’s index finger, “I do.”

“Stop it!” Kara slapped him. She began crying again. “You are making this difficult. You must go.” Kara composed herself and looked Erbrand in the eye. Erbrand still had to finish his thought.

“Kara, if it is your wish that I should leave…”

“You know the reason why I wish it, Erbrand.”

“Then I shall go, but before I do hear me out. In my world before you I lived outside my emotions, not knowing where I was going until that day I found you. Oh! how you opened my life to a new paradise. Will all my heart until my dying day, I will cherish you and never marry.”

Erbrand kissed her and then tore himself away to her pleas of “I will never forget you. Go, go, quickly!” That parting was the hardest. Erbrand still felt the urge to stay, and would have if Kara had wished it. On his way out, he passed Harreld, Javan, Crabannan, Dan, and lady Saeryn. All these were his friends, but the last two he stopped to say goodbye to. They were confused and questioned him about it, but he did not stay to answer them. When Erbrand exited the hall, he saw Ginna and Frodides helping Scyld back they had just entered camp and people were coming to see what happened. Erbrand ran to the stables where he had left Traveler and his belongings. When he entered, Traveler was standing out of his stall with a blanket over his back and Erbrand’s belongings tightly wrapped in a bedroll that one could sling over one’s shoulder. Lithor was removing the saddle from his horse.

“Lithor, the soldier’s are still drilling outside. You’d better get to them, quick.” Erbrand rushed in and swung the bedroll with his belongings and saddle bag (which contained his money) across his chest.

“Unfortunately my horse has a limp and cannot ride.” Lithor responded in a cool unconcerned manner, paying no head to Erbrand’s urgentness. Erbrand grabbed his saddle and was about to throw it onTraveler when Lithor stopped him.

“If chase if given, you will need to ride light.”

There was a tone in Lithor’s voice that made Erbrand wonder. Then Lithor gave that familiar smile and Erbrand knew.

“You are coming with me.” Erbrand said with joy.

“I am too old to be a soldier, Athanar proved that for me. There is nothing to keep me here; I would be much happier with you in Arnor, my friend.” With that said Lithor sprang onto his horse with all the spryness of an elf.

“What of your horse’s limp?” Erbrand asked.

Lithor laughed and held up a small pebble. “I placed this in his hoof so I could bring my horse to the stables without being noticed. Now," Lithor grabbed the reigns and held them tightly. "We must ride hard all day and well into the night if we are to be safe from a chase. The soldiers will be still drilling so there will be some confusion if they are to give chase. After you good, Erbrand, let's ride! For the the north."

Erbrand mounted Traveler and both men sped out of the stables. As they left, Lithor paused for a moment to see the soldier’s in drill. Erbrand looked back and saw that Thornden was looking at Lithor. The old man looked sad, but only for a moment. Lithor drew himself up in the saddle and saluted his commander for the last time; then, he drew his sword and tossed it to the ground—Lithor would have no more use for it. With light hearts, the riders sped across the scar and into the open plain, heading north with all possible speed. Who can say what sudden impulse got into their hearts. What adventures that await them none can say, nor can it be said that they even lived to see their desired destination. My guess is that they did succeed in reaching the far north; though, I cannot say for certain, for I know nothing of their actions after their leaving of Scarburg. But theirs were souls that thrived on adventure and sought strength from each other and such men find ways when all paths seemed blocked. However, if they did make it to Arnor, I suspect that you will find them roaming about the shores of Midgewater, living contently among the Breelanders. Who knows, perhaps they might pay a call on onetime residence of Scarburg, Falco Boffin. Both will probably spend much time over the ale cup with him.

Of Scarburg and its inhabitants I can speak no more of. I suspect, however, that life continued much as it had before with its unexpected revelries and gaiety, troubles and predicaments. Those days will forever be a source of blissful memories for the two friends. For all who lived there, one can only hope that Lithor and Erbrand will be remembered. Their part in this tale is finished.

[Folwren]

Saeryn felt relieved at the end of the hearings. She allowed herself to relax back into her chair as Athanar called the meeting to a close. The people were dismissed and she stood up. Now that her fear of Athanar’s judgements were proven hollow, the lingering nausea dissipated, and she felt well and strong again. She turned with a smile to Thornden, but the words were checked on her lips. He did not look pleased at all. He and Coenred were discussing something swiftly together and in a moment, Coenred turned and walked away. Thornden turned to Saeryn.

“We are going to go out to do the exercises now,” he said.

“Are you displeased with how things have turned out?” Saeryn asked.

“No, not exactly.” He turned his head and looked at Lithor, now speaking with Erbrand, Matrim, and Balvir. He considered again what had passed and then turned and glanced towards Wulfric and Wilheard. “No, I am not totally displeased. I was surprised to be accused of treason, but I am not displeased with how Athanar handled it. I still think Lithor is not completely as guilty as he imagines, but still. . .his punishment is not ridiculous, by any stretch of the imagination. It is almost as satisfying as Javan’s. To be quite honest with you, I am thinking of Javan.”

Saeryn nodded. She knew he had been beating about the bush somehow. She also knew exactly what he was talking about: that protest he had made to Athanar after Athanar had stated his decision. “You should not be angry with Javan. He is but a boy, and you can not take his words as seriously as you would a man’s. Athanar did not.”

“No, he didn’t, thank heaven. But Javan’s been let off a lot for just being a boy, and I think his words do need redressing. He will not be let off many more years with the excuse ‘he is just a boy’ and the sooner he learns that, the better.”

“You’re very hard on your brother.”

“I know your opinion on it, lady Saeryn,” Thornden said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and help Coenred prepare for the soldiers’ exercises.” He bowed and strode away. He went out first to seek for Javan. He knew where he would be and he found him in the stables, hauling water.

“Javan,” he said. Javan looked at him, still sullen, and unlatched one of the stall doors. “I need to talk to you.”

“I’m busy,” Javan answered and disappeared inside the stall. Thornden frowned.

“You’re already in enough trouble for speaking disrespectfully to Athanar without adding to your fault by answering so to me.” Javan reappeared, the bucket empty, and looked again at him. He pressed his lips together and didn’t say anything. “Would you have answered Eodwine so, if he had given you such an assignment?” Javan’s scowl deepened, and he didn’t answer. “It’s shameful, the way you refuse to take correction.”

“That sort of correction is ridiculous!” Javan finally burst out. “Thornden, she pushed me to it, and what does he do about her? Nothing! She gets off completely clean and I’m stuck making a piece of mail for months, cooped up with an old man!”

“That’s enough, Javan,” Thornden said quietly. “It could be infinitely worse, and you almost made it so, by answering him the way you did. I know you would not have spoken so to Eodwine. You knew better.”

Javan looked away. “Maybe I did.”

“I think you should apologize.”

“I don’t think I will apologize!” Javan said fiercely.

“And you will also apologize to the girl.”

“I will not!”

Thornden was in no mood for argument. Javan was acting childish in a way he had not since Eodwine was married. He knew well that Javan knew better and was merely being stubborn. To argue would be a waste of time and breath and would only harden the resolved will of his little brother. So instead of holding a debate with him, he took him by the arm and escorted him, despite his struggles, to a more private place, and there thrashed him well with his belt and told him quietly that he would apologize to both lord Athanar and his daughter, and if he had not by the time Thornden returned from the exercises, they would go through similar actions again. Javan nodded, to indicate that he understood, and Thornden nodded in return and left him.

The courtyard was busy again with soldiers saddling their horses, preparing to go out. Thornden led his own horse out and soon had him ready. Before ten minutes were passed, the entire company rode out of the courtyard together, towards the field behind the scar where the games had taken place three months ago.