[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas heaved a sigh. He'd have much preferred almost anything to attending this feast, yet Saeryn had given him little opportunity to make his escape. And where would he go? He was a notable guest; his absence would be distinctly marked. And so he sat at his sister's side, and tensed with rage that Athanar chose to break the news of Eodwine's decline to Saeryn in public. And for what reason, to weaken her? To show her that she had nothing left that he did not grant her, including dignity?

But at the same time, Degas felt for Athanar, and was disgruntled by it. Yet it was only a month ago that Degas had ridden into a small village to take control over a community that desired no new lord after the loss of their former one.

Granted, the circumstances were different. Eodwine had taken ill, whereas Fenrir had been killed. Degas considered the peasants lucky that they were not all executed. As it was, most of the rebels had died in the fighting, and those who had not had wisely chosen to flee. Degas knew that if he discovered that one of his people now had been amongst those that killed his brother, he would kill that man. It was not a matter of vengeance, it was a matter of duty: if peasants had a problem with their lord, they took that problem to their eorl, or to the King. They did not riot. They did not murder. They did not burn.

In that sense, though, Degas knew that he had gotten off luckier than Athanar: the people of his lands had loathed their former lord. They did not want a new lord, but they could be shown that their ruler - who they had no choice over - could be a good man.

Athanar, however, replaced a man that was good, and that was not dead.

Degas was the natural heir, being the oldest male of the line. There was no one but Saeryn with any claim to the lands, and his twin had no desire at all to return to their childhood home again. Nightmarish memories lay heavily on both of them, but especially on her. At least Degas had not been confined or beaten.

Athanar, though, rode onto lands he did not inherit. Though Eomer King had granted him these lands and this title, there was a lady of the lands still in residence.

Degas shuddered to think that it would be easier for Athanar and for Rohan if Saeryn simply died. He reached for her hand and squeezed it so tight that she flinched, and looked hard at him.

In his mind, he promised he would look after her so much more carefully. She might fall from a horse. She might take ill. There could be an accident in the stables, or in the kitchens. She could step too close to walls being raised, and something could fall.

Degas did not doubt that Athanar was a good man, in his own way, but he wondered if any man could resist the opportunity to simplify his own life so easily. He never once thought Athanar might seek to kill his sister, but he squeezed her hand again, thinking that with tempers running this high - he looked around - she could be desperately injured in any number of ways, and would the newcomers rush to her aid as quickly as they would for a lady that did not complicate their lord's position in the household?

Saeryn was that which was left of Eodwine's rule, her and the child in her womb.

She would need a guard. One that would go unnoticed in the general bustle. A guard that could tend to her, and watch her, and see to it that no accidents befell her. Degas made a mental note to tend to this later.

For now, he watched Athanar with a mix between pity and disdain.

Yes, Athanar had been handed a mess. If he did not show a firmness of rule, the commoners would not take to him as their lord, and the lords certainly would not accept his authority. There were those born with authority, and those who developed it, and those who shouted it from the rooftops to no avail. Thus far, Athanar seemed the type of leader that had learned it, and he was unbending in his ways.

Degas sipped from his mug of ale, watching almost boredly. Athanar would rule more effectively if he stopped shoving his power down the people's throats.

And as Crabannan said, "There are traitors and cowards in this room, but he is not one of them," and Athanar's entire body tensed, Degas hoped he had been taught the old saw: a man is only as good as a sword. Once he loses his temper, the battle is lost.