Scarburg Meadhall

[Durelin]

The end of the early part of the morning could not have come more quickly as far as Coenred was concerned. He had recommended punishment for the soldier to the Lord Athanar the night before, and voiced his concerns on the matter -- namely the tone Lithor set for the rest of the soldiers, and how he might be quieted -- and he had hoped he would avoid being at the trial at all. Instead Athanar had asked him to be at both. Of course Coen had witnessed part of the scuffle between this Javan and the lord's daughter, but the Captain felt only concern and anger on behalf of Aedre. He had no reason to be there except to be another man to stare the boy down, which -- even with his anger -- he did not enjoy.

As soon as he was free, he again recruited Hilderinc's help to round up the men he had brought with him, and Thornden to round up the rest. Coen much preferred removing them from their barracks immediately to drills and work, and grumbled inwardly at the fact that they had managed to have some free time this morning thanks to the trials. Their heads were not going to be into this as they would be on a better day. All of the past day's events did not help: a brawl, the harm done to Lady Aedre, countless rumors, the feast...and then the two trials this morning which surely they were all aware of. Likely they already knew half of what was said at them.

Coenred waited for the men to gather in the open field on his chestnut courser. He was in full gear: mail and leather hauberk, his helm sitting in front of him on his saddle, a sword at his belt, and a spear in the ground by his side. He expected all the soldiers to arrive in full equipment as well. When Thornden arrived, he gave him what he considered a friendly nod. He realized he would have to speak to the young man, particularly because of how closely they would be working together, but Coen was determined to do so only after the morning drills. It was no good to make the men wait and watch their superiors talk. He was sure their minds were already in many places besides the field under their horses' hooves.

First Coen did a brief inspection of the soldiers, and noted at least one missing face: Lithor. Hopefully the Lord Athanar had kept him for some reason, and there was nothing new afoot that involved that man. Then he moved immediately into formation drills. There would be no divide between the men he had brought under his and Lord Athanar's command and those who had previously been under Thornden and Lord Eodwine's command, no matter how hard they tried to create one.

The formations were indeed sloppy -- the men were not used to working together. But they were all skilled horsemen, naturally, so the results at least were not disastrous. Each man kept control of his mount, even in the tight quarters with a number of men and horses out of place. Coen had been a part of much, much larger formations than the small group before him. But what else should he expect, out here in the Mid-emnet? It was a testament to the recent time of war that they had even this many soldiers to be garrisoned here.

After the formation drills, Coen prepared to move onto some other riding drills. He recruited the help of Hilderinc and a few others, and began setting up poles, some with simple sack dummies, others with small rings hanging from them. He mostly ignored Thornden, though only because he was not sure how to deal with him, much less how to have him be involved. As far as Coen was concerned, he was in command, and it would do no good having two men sharing that command if they meant to accomplish anything.

[Folwren]

Thornden knew what to expect as much, or as little, as Coenred himself. He respected the new leader, although he found it difficult to get to know him. He hoped that this morning would be an opportunity to learn more about him, but he was disappointed with the results thus far. True, he found out a great deal about his form of leadership. Coenred was efficient with his orders, speaking little and to the point. He watched in silence as the men went through their maneuvers. Thornden also noted Coenred making care that the old and the new Scarburgians did not separate into individual groups or bands. They were mixed and forced to work side by side, and in many cases together.

Thornden, however, did not learn how he himself was to interact with Coenred. He felt out of place, and it quickly occurred to him that Coenred didn’t really know what to do with him. This was not surprising, and Thornden was not offended. Instead of pushing for attention or for a position, he watched and waited. He did as asked, but no more, for Coenred saw that everything that needed doing was done, and Thornden felt no need to go out of his way to gain attention or special recommendation. He positioned his horse to the right and a little behind Coenred, and there he remained. He could learn a lot from observation.

What he saw in the men was not encouraging. It made him realize that he and Eodwine had both been slack with the men-at-arms. They had been so busy building the hall and just living that drills of any sort were completely abandoned. Although what had been done instead of exercises had been necessary and unavoidable, Thornden did feel embarrassed for his men.

However, when it came to riding and archery at once, the men from Scarburg did admirably. Almost every man hit his mark without fail, and those that missed, did not miss by far. The spear throwing went almost as well, and by the end of the exercises on horseback, Thornden felt a little easier with how things were progressing. Next would come the hand-to-hand combat. He wondered how Coenred would do this.

[Nogrod]

“I should not have argued after you made your decision. I realize that it is fair and. . .and merciful. I ask your pardon.”

Lord Athanar was quite taken with the words of Javan. Actually he had to swallow and a keen eye might have caught a slight gleam of a tear on his eye. Javan seemingly didn't quite understand what was going on but slowly lord Athanar's face turned into a smile. And it was not a cold smile but one filled with relief if not even some warmth.

He waved his hand for Javan to come closer to him.

Javan looked at Degas and Saeryn quite confused. They didn't actually nod but he could read it from their eyes it was okay to go. He took the few steps unsteadily as what was to come only to feel lord Athanar's hands on his shoulders again - and suddenly he was staring him to his eyes.

Lord Athanar's grip on his shoulders was firm but not violent. Now there was clearly a tear in his eye and it took some time lord Athanar managed to say anything. He was too involved in his thoughts relating to his own sons, this boy here, the whole situation at the Mead Hall... It was like all the stress and tension had been given a relief and he tried to hold himself steady looking at that young lad in front of him.

"Now there young Javan..." Javan could feel lord Athanar's fingers were shaking a little on his his shoulders. "You don't know how happy I am to hear that son."

Lord Athanar felt the shakiness too and took his other other hand off from Javan's shoulder and gently stroke his hair a few times - still looking at him to the eyes. "Now know this Javan... There are people who are called eorlinga and who have never been brave enough to do what you have just done."

He let go of Javan and glanced at Saeryn before returning his gaze on Javan. "You have many things to learn for you to become a real eorling Javan, and there are blood, sweat and tears for you ahead to achieving the mastery of them, but you have already overcome one hurdle many others never make over with. Being able to admit you were wrong and to apologise, that requires character half of my soldiers don't have... yet... even if they are otherwise eorlinga, the best of men when it comes to fighting."

Lord Athanar leaned back on his chair but did not let his eyes off Javan. Suddenly he remembered Javan's words again and smiled now heartily. "Your pardon is granted young man. I will not bear a grudge on you for what you said during the hearing." Suddenly he leaned forwards towards Javan. "Actually what you did just now coming here with your apology... I will think more highly of you than before we started earlier the morning."

He leaned back and glanced at the siblings again.

"But Raban there..." he said then coming back to Javan. "He might look like a weirdo... and in a way he is one. But remember Javan, he's the most heroic eorlinga you probably have ever met... and that is counting lord Eodwine and me as well... and your brother... He has been in more battles than most of those still living and he has survived them... and not by laying low but by acting like a true eorlinga. So even if the age has quite gotten him there is more from him to learn for you, you could learn from anyone else around. Just look at how he does things, how he focuses on things that are important, what he tells you about being an eorlinga, and paying heed to what he teaches you..."

With the last one lord Athanar thought he could track a slight displeasure in Javan's eyes. But contrary to expectations lord Athanar smiled more freely than for hours now.

"Heh, making a chainmail is not to your liking son? Well just ask me whether I liked the idea when I was told to learn it when I was about your age! What a waste! I thought then. I would have wanted to learn swordplay and riding back then!" Suddenly he felt quiet, like falling into his memories.

Turning his eyes back to Javan he said now more softly. "I still have that first chanmail I did myself with me. I can show it to you one day if you wish. Like I said, I was about your age I made it under his supervision... I used it in the drills that time but I did outgrew of it to be sure. So was it a waste of time?" He looked at Javan like he was trying to see through his eyes to what Javan actually thought. Javan shook with the inspection.

"No. I learned a lot of about patience, of working with hands, or working with metals, of humility and pride, of being an eorlinga. And anyway, it is a treasure for me and I'm not sure if I should either leave it to my first grandson or bury it with Raban when he dies... or just treasure it myself. These are big things Javan. But whatever you think about it now, I'll promise you will treasure those times and the learning from Raban when you're older. And the first chainmail you do yourself will be an object of pride to you to follow you your whole life."

Suddenly he turned to Degas, smiling at him. "Have you being taught to learn to make a chainmail for yourself Degas?"

[Nerindel]

As Matrim followed Balvir to the kitchens he brooded over the past couple of days and in particular on his own behaviour. His soft grey eyes had watched the Momentary tension of the previous evening eased but not altogether fade. A good portion of this hall was in mourning and as he thought on the new Eorl he wonder if the man could see as well as he the confused feelings and frustrations such grief could bring. Unlike Athanar or even himself Eodwine had not been born into nobility, it had found him and as such he had not been raised with the knowledge or prepared for the weight that such responsibility and high expectation brought. He was a Farmer, then a soldier (or so he had heard in many a fireside tale) more content with hard graft and comradary than the more onerous tasks of eorldom. It had always seemed to Matrim that he struggled most with the class derision nobility deemed necessary, perhaps even yearning for that simpler life, but It was for these reasons that his people held such loyalty, he never look down on them and they loved and respected him for it. A trust earned not demanded! Matrim thought pensively.

Just then a horrible thought came to him, that perhaps it would have been better for Lord Athanar if Lord Eodwine had died. As the man who had publicly reprimanded Lithor and asserted his authority did not strike him as one who would abide such split loyalties much less the thought of living under the shadow of another. These first few days would be difficult for both old and new to these halls. But the politics of Rohan were not his concern, he was a Ranger and a lord of Ithilien he reminded himself and as such should be careful not to overstep his position as precarious as that had now become.

As if in affirmation to his thoughts a pain ran from his left eye to his jaw, reminding him of his own frustrations. Athanar’s man had a good right punch to him and whiles all who had heard what went on believed him to be honouring the good lady Searyn’s name it was not completely true. For with Eodwine’s illness had come a new set of problems for him and his company, the worst of which was the arrival in Edoras of King Elessar himself a complication that could not have been foreseen, he had made Balvir recite many times what the king had questioned him about and had been surprised when he was not summoned himself.

The arrival of the new eorl had brought with it news that he had been dreading, sent with one of King Eomers guards who had be attached to Athanar’s train. He looked down for what must have been the hundredth time at the fine lettering adoring the folded parchment in his left hand and read.

I King Elessar of Gondor
Hearby Exile Lady Æðelhild unto Scarburgh
With agreement of King Eomer of Rohan
Until such time as Court can be called and Summons are sent.

Lord Matrim of Aren and Captain Balvir of Ithilien
Are hereby commanded to ensure that Lady Æðelhild does not break with the terms of this decree.
They are also charged with the continued safety of the lady until her return to Gondor.

This had been fresh in his mind when Athanar’s man had made the unfortunate mistake of disrespecting the lady Searyn and her position, the man’s ignorance had hit hard at something deep within Matrim’s mind, doubts he had been loathed to give thought to.... What if his father fails? What if no proof could be found to disprove Cild’s ridiculous claims? What if Æðelhild stripped only from land and title by her uncle’s misdeeds was found guilty? Would others like this soldier in their ignorance mock and sneer insults at a woman they did not truly know? And there it was he had snapped at the thought of knowing they would. Before he even knew what had happened he had assaulted the man. He looked down at his hands still clutching the parchment, even now he could not believe his own actions... diplomacy, disciple the principles he had been raised on forgotten with one thought....

“It doesn’t matter how much you look at it, it is not going to change.” Stirred from his thoughts Matrim looked up to see Balvir studying him, his brow creased with a hint of concern in his grey eyes. “I know” he sighed heavily now aware that he had stopped.

“How did Æðelhild take the news?” Balvir asked, again throwing him off guard as with all the drama of the following night he had not yet had the opportunity to get the young woman alone.

“Is your head full of sawdust soldier?” Balvir scolded reading the look on Matrim’s face, “Where you somewhere else last night!” Matrim knew exactly to what Balvir was referring and he was under no illusions that Athanor would not have been apprised of their situation, the man would certainly have orders of his own and it would not do to have Æðelhild hear her fate from any but her own Kin. “I will speak to her,” he promised.

“See that you do, my lord!” Balvir whispered with a grin and a slight nod of his head, which made Matrim laugh. Their relationship to those outside would have seemed strange, as a soldier Balvir out ranked him in both experience and wisdom, but as a Lord of Aren Balvir was expected to treat him with the respect that his nobility demanded. Matrim however always believed that respect should be earned regardless of class or circumstance and Balvir was only too happy to respect this wish and remind him of it whenever necessary. As his father’s second in command and his most loyal and trusted friend he already had Matrim’s trust and respect, however Balvir had always been more like an uncle to Matrim and as such they could be more at ease with one another and Matrim always welcomed the older man’s advice or opinions when given.

Still laughing Matrim folded the parchment and tucked it carefully inside his jacket and they both entered the breakfast hall, it was surprisingly empty and as they sat Matrim stopped Kara and enquired to the whereabouts of Miss Æðel, the young serving girl quickly informed him that she was in the herb garden and that she had been keeping much to herself since the arrival of the new eorl. “Though I cannot imagine how with all the scraps everyone seems to be getting into!” she said sternly looking at the bruise on Matrim’s face. Matrim could see Balvir suppressing the urge to laugh as he no doubt knew as well as he that amongst those she was referring was the young Erkbrand, so instead he decided to change the subject entirely.

“It is fairly quiet in here this morning is it not miss Kara?” he said looking around at the empty tables. The young woman nodded then went on to tell them about the trials and the many of the soldier where already off getting ready for drill with the new commander. “Now shouldn’t you two be getting ready too?” she finish giving them both a confused look.

“Aye but we are Miss; one should never drill on an empty stomach.” Balvir informed her jovially and with that the young woman smiled and nodded her agreement before heading off to fetch their breakfast.

The two men looked at each other Matrim had forgotten about the drill but clearly Balvir had not, “What are you thinking?” he asked the older man. Balvir paused for as moment before answering, “I am thinking my lord that our swords where offered to Lord Edowine and not Lord Athanor or orders are clear Lady Æðelhild is our charge...”

“But?” Matrim offered as the older man paused thoughtfully.

“But I think it would do no harm to get to know those who in essence will be the ladies keepers.” Matrim agreed and the two decided that while Matrim spoke with Lady Æðelhild Balvir would attend Drills with the others. If Athanor asked for their swords they would be given under the proviso that it did not interfere with their own orders.

Kara soon returned with breakfast and the two men ate quickly before heading off to their respective tasks. Balvir to drill and Matrim to find Æðelhild, as he walked to the herb garden Æðelhild tended Matrim could not help but think he had drawn the short straw.

[Nerindel]

Æðel looked up from the small patch of sorrel she had been tending to see Matrim coming up the rough dirt path to the little garden, it was nothing much to look at the moment but when finished it would be quiet adequate enough to supply both her needs and that of the kitchen staff. She had just been remembering Frodides excitement when she had first suggested the idea and although she had only thought to planting herbs the cook had plans of her own, she had never seen the woman so animated as she had become at the prospect of planting a few carrots and even some sweet peas, so much so that she could not help but agree. The actual work on the garden had been slow as the more important building works took priority. In fact it had been herself and the cook who had selected the plot a little away from the main kitchen and to the rear of the main building, but it had been Matrim and Balvir who had turned the soil when a break in their main chores allowed, often early in the morning or late at night and as Matrim now came up the path she smiled aware of just how used to his company she had become.

Matrim’s breath caught as Æðelhild looked up her smile radiating her pale features in the midmorning light. The young woman’s smiles where rare but had came more often since the idea of the garden had become reality. It brought a great measure of joy to him to think that in some small way he had played part to her happiness and he found himself enjoying his visits to the garden more often. But not today, today his heart was heavy and as she waved for him to join her guilt tightened in his gut and he felt his mouth go uncharacteristically dry. For before him; smiling and happy was Miss Æðel, the shy but capable healer of Scarburg, a persona the young woman had adopted and used to protect herself from the pain and grief of her past. Matrim knew that the decree in his pocket would change that, he knew that she would need the strength and power the nobility of her birth had given her to deal with the trials ahead. Not only in Gondor when the time came but here also. As Æðel he feared Athanar would dismiss her as a simple annoyance that he had to put up with because his King ordered it so, but as Lady Æðelhild of Gondor he would have no choice but to recognise her nobility and treat her accordingly, but still Matrim hope not too much of Æðel would be lost as she pushed past both the pain and the shame to find the Lady of Gondor her father had raised her to be, a woman he had only witnessed briefly back in Edoras when they had first met.

As Matrim reached her Æðel could see the pained expression on the young man face, a worry as he was usually annoyingly apt at keeping his emotions hidden when he wanted too. However before she could ask him what was wrong she noted the yellowish blue bruise on his left cheek, “oh, not you too?” she sighed raising her hand to inspect his cheek (the previous day she had treated cut and bruised faces, bruised knuckles and even the bleeding nose of a young girl) Matrim looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled relieving a tension that Æðel had not noticed was there. “A soldier who needed a lesson in respect,” Matrim explained. “That was you!” Æðel exclaimed, her concern look now turned to a frown. Matrim sighed; shaking his head, “I know I should not have resorted to violence and I will apologise for my actions but not the lesson, it did need learning.” Matrim did not wait for her to be satisfied with his reply instead he continued, “But My Lady it is Important that we speak at once, inside if we may.”

The use of title shook Æðel as did the urgency in his voice, so nodding nervously she led the way to the quarters that had been set aside for the healer of Scarburg. “What is it? What is wrong?” she asked as soon as they were both inside. Matrim did not speak instead he reached into his jacket and took out a folded parchment which he then held out to her. Taking it from him she at once recognised the seal of the King of Gondor, her hands shook as she lifted the seal and unfolded the parchment to read. Almost at once her head spun and her legs gave way, Matrim caught her as she fell. “So it is public then!” she whispered uneasily, Matrim nodded knowing that she meant in Gondor. “So what would you have me do now?” she asked looking into his usually comforting grey eyes, but finding again that pained look as he answered, “I would have Lady Æðelhild of Gondor introduce herself to Lord Athanar at once before he thinks we have something to hide.” Æðel nodded having already surmised as much, but needing him to say it anyway to bolster her resolve. “Then I should change.” She said letting Matrim help her to her feet and looking down at her earth stained hands and clothes. “I shall just be outside.” Matrim assured her and with a nod he left her alone to go wash and change.

It took a while for her to scrub the dirt from her nails and comb out her hair, but after that she was soon dressed and ready to go. She wore the dress she wore to Edowine’s wedding, perhaps not what one would expect a lady of Gondor to wear but it was the best she had. Looking round the room she could not help but shed a tear, she had once promised Matrim and Balvir that when the time came she would be ready, but now it was before her she was not sure she was strong enough, but she had to try! With that thought Æðelhild fought back the tears, wiped her eyes and opened the door to find Matrim waiting as he had promised, he offered her his arm which she gratefully accepted, then they both went to introduce themselves to the new Eorl.

[Folwren]

Athanar’s response was not what Javan had expected at all. He looked up at lord Athanar in surprise and a little wonder. Perhaps Thornden was right, after all.

“Your pardon is granted, young man. I will not bear a grudge on you for what you said during the hearing. Actually, what you said just now, coming here with your apology, I will think more highly of you then before we started earlier this morning.”

Javan remained silent and listened, his attention wrapped with expectation as Athanar told him of Raban, and then of his own experience with chain mail making. This man, so unlike lord Eodwine in some ways, was very much like him in others.

Saeryn, standing by and watching the exchange, had much the same thought. He was a good man, after all. Hard, yes, but good.

Athanar turned to Degas. “Have you been taught to make a chainmail for yourself, Degas?”

Degas shook his head. “No, that was nothing I had the opportunity to learn. My apprenticeships bent in other directions.”

Athanar nodded and turned back to Javan, who stood waiting for dismissal. “Go out and find Raban. You may as well get started directly.”

“Yes, sir,” Javan said, and turned to go. On his way out, he passed the healer, Æðel and Matrim. He stepped aside and let them pass. Once outside, he paused. Crabannan sat just a few feet away, idly strumming his harp. Javan stood listening, wondering what he should do. Thornden told him to apologize to both Athanar and Aedre. But Athanar told him to find Raban. If he found Raban, he wouldn’t get a chance to apologize to Aedre until later, but if he went in search of Aedre now, Athanar might spot him not with Raban.

[Folwren]

Quin heaved a sigh of intense frustration. He turned from the target and clenched his hands. He had thrown a straight spear hundreds of times before. Why now, when there were dozens of people around, could he not do it right? As he passed the captain on his way to stand in rank, he shot him a furtive look. Coenred did not even glance his way. The second in command did look at him, however. Quin looked swiftly away and found his place behind the other soldiers who had already thrown their spears.

The young man did not have the presence of mind to compare himself with others. Perhaps it was wisdom not to compare, for one should not think only of how others do, but how well one does oneself, detached and alone. In such a case, however, it was discouraging. Quin only looked at himself, and he had done poorly, and that was all he knew. He did not realize that others as well were not performing up to their usual standards that day.

Their next object was to practice their abilities on horseback. Quin looked disappointed. His horse had lamed himself on the last stretch of rode the previous day. In order not to be left out completely, he offered his help to the captain and helped set up the obstacles for the horsemen. He stood by and watched as the soldiers put their horses through their paces, practiced their archery and casting the spear again. The men were finally warmed up, it seemed, for most did fairly well.

“We will do the hand-to-hand combats next,” he heard Coenred tell a man to his right. “I want to see how they do at close quarters.”

Quin swallowed nervously. His talent had never run in that direction. He did not like the idea of seeing his enemy die so close, and he had never liked the sword practices. It was different than practicing with the sword or spear. With those weapons, one had a target one threw at. If you hit the target, you did well, and no one was hurt. But while practicing with a sword, even with the blunted weapons they used, people got hurt. Not seriously, no, but the bruises could be gloriously nasty. It was not as though Quin feared pain, it was merely that he did not glory in it, like some young men, and even older men, did. He would much rather have stayed home and learned a craft, or an art, perhaps a form of instrument. But it was not to be.

The soldiers completed their rounds on horseback, and the horses trotted back towards the captain and waited for the next orders.

[Thinlómien]

"This is insufferable!" Wulfric shouted. He and his brother were on a ride again, and they had ridden for an hour without saying anything. Wulfric's face had been as dark as a storm cloud ever since the hearing, and now he had seemed to decide to let it all out. Fine, Wilheard shrugged. Let him rant if helped him. He too was annoyed at many things, but he thought his big brother was being overtly dramatic, as so often.

"Will, what have I done wrong? What have we done wrong? What have I done to deserve to be disinherited like some disgraceful vagrant?"

Wilheard could think of many witty replies, but for once he kept his mouth shut. He didn't truly understand why his father had done what he had, and he was angry for his brother too. But truth be told, it didn't really concern him. He was born the second son, and he had always known he would have to make his own life, earn his own place in the military and not inherit land or holdings. Undoubtedly, it was different from Wulfric's perspective.

"What is my crime, Will?" Wulfric's eyes were full of anguish, and Wilheard could feel his brother's pain. But there was nothing he could say to help him, he understood the situation even less than his brother did. Wulfric had always been the politician, the one who understood the twists and turns, the chances and ways of power. If he was at loss, Wilheard was even more so.

"I don't understand. I did everything they wanted me to! I worked hard to become a soldier, and I was the best in my class. No other son of an Eorlinga ever bested me in a fight.

I learned first how to take care of my horse, and as I grew older I was given the unofficial responsibility to look after you, my little brother. In my training, I was appointed to lead and tutor younger boys and show them what it is to be an Eorling soldier. I strived to be a good leader. I never failed Blackmane or Northwind, nor you, nor any of the lads.

I always did my duties. Maybe not always without grumbling, but I did them. I broke some rules too, that I know, but if somebody says I didn't suffer my punishments like a man, he is a liar and deserves to be flogged.

What is a man that doesn't make mistakes? Am I to suffer a lifetime shame because played pranks on the shepherd when I was but a boy? Am I deemed unworthy because I wooed the miller's or the innkeeper's daughter or because I drank on duty?

Or because yesterday I followed a traitor plotting against my lord and tried to make him talk?

Is this my fate? Has another man ever been so wronged in his life, or do I truly deserve all this from my father whom I always strived to obey and respect like a loyal son?"

Wulfric let out a wail and looked to the sky, as if challenging the gods to be his witness. Wilheard could see tears running down his face. It was not a usual sight, and it made Wilheard's heart burn with fury. His brother spoke true - he had always been an ideal Eorling warrior: the biggest, the brutest, the boldest and looking after his underlings with utmost care. He did not deserve this kind of humiliation or questioning his value, not to mention being substituted by a whining peasant girl and her unborn child. Their father must have gone cracked.

Indeed, the more he thought of that, the more it seemed like that. Athanar as Wilheard remembered him had been a gentle father, noble and distant, but definitely full of goodwill, unlike their mother who had had no patience for boyish whims or cheerfulness and who had often scolded them with harsh words. And Athanar had definitely been a lord to be proud of.

But who was this Athanar they had come back to from the military? He was noble, and gentle, but definitely cracked. His gentleness and turned to weakness - how often did Athanar's eyes glimmer with tears when he recalled something from the past, how meek punishments he executed on his subjects? And who in their right mind would disinherit their eldest son, especially if it was someone like Wulfric?

Wilheard thought maybe this would make Wulfric feel better, so he told his brother as much. Wulfric nodded fervently. "It must be the only explanation. It would also explain why he treated us today like he did." Wulfric's face grew dark on the thought of it, and he would have started another rant had Wilheard not been quicker. He was offended by their father's behaviour towards them too.

"First he publicly inherits us without bothering to tell us first. Apparently we are not worth that.

Then, he talks to us as if we were barely away from mother's breasts. He talks to us as if we are idiots, in front of all the people. Good that he didn't call us 'kiddies'!"

"Indeed", Wulfric growled in a low voice. "And then, on top of all that ridicule, he exerts on us a punishment that could be given to some ten-year olds! Go do a little chippadeedoo duty with uncle Lithor. And behave nicely, boys. No poking fingers in each other's noses!"

Despite everything, Wilheard had to laugh. He had always been the witty one out of the two, but Wulfric could have his way with words when he was angry.

"Although, we have to remember he gave the same punishment to Lithor, so he treats him like a baby too," Wulfric added.

"Well that's no surprise, they greybeard has proven himself to be senile. Have we given as bad an impression?" Wilheard asked.

"This is insufferable!" Wulfric replied, tearing his hair. "He must be out of his mind, there is no other logical explanation, is there? If he didn't seem so insane, I would go to him and demand to be punished like a man for whatever crimes he wishes to charge me of. I can't stand being treated like wayward child when I'm a grown-up man, fully aware of the consequences of my actions. I can understand not being so harsh on a man so old he is starting to sink back towards his childhood, but to a young man in his prime, never!"

For a while, there was silence. Wilheard was starting to feel angrier and angrier, and Wulfric was clearly thinking of something.

"Do you know what this means, Wilheard?" Wulfric asked in a shaky voice after a while.

Wilheard shook his head.

"If our esteemed father is truly somehow out of his mind, we must be extra vigilant. No one else should know about this. We should see to that everything seems as normal as possible. We shall act as if this kind of dishonourable treatment towards one's sons is normal. If we don't raise a question about it, maybe it will go unnoticed.

And we need to take the responsibility as his sons. If he flips totally, we need to get help for him. A healer or a... witch, as you would call them, I suppose. But we are the grown-up men of this family now. We need to take control, and take care."

Wulfric paused. It was sort of contradictory. He seemed as appalled at the idea of their father having some strange illness on his mind as Wilheard was, yet there was a spark in his eyes, something very familiar to Wilheard - it was the spark of determination and enthusiasm in face of a difficult challenge, Wulfric's spark of life.

Wilheard could feel the same. He had never been into politics or responsibilities, his dream had been being his brother Eorl Wulfric's right hand man and a war hero, tamer of the greatest of mearas and the swiftest of hawks, but this desolate place and the queer challenges it brought were something he recognised as an adventure. He spoke at length:

"And if his madness is of the terminal kind, it might be you inherit this place after all, at least for a while."

"Do not speak of that," said Wulfric, but the spark flashed in his eyes. "We shall go back now, and act according to the plan."

"But one more thing before we go," said Wilheard. He lowered his voice. "I think this place is cursed."