[Mnemosyne]

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

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

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

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