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Falco? Wynflaed looked first at Javan, then at Saeryn. She had told her of no "Falco" among the Hall's men, and the name did not sound entirely like an Eorling's either.
"Who is Master Falco, Javan?" she said, deciding to address the youth first. She could always learn more from Lady Saeryn.
"Oh! He's a hobbit, my lady." The lad's enthusiasm was somewhat contagious. "He lived with us at the Hall, before..." His eyes flicked up to Wynflaed, then over at Saeryn.
"I thank you," said Wynflaed. A hobbit? The word sounded oddly familiar. "One of the holbytlan?" she said. She had seen them riding in Theoden King's funeral procession, and later, one of them weeping alone at his mound. It was only later that she had learned that this was indeed the Holdwine of the Mark, who was indeed a knight of the Riddermark even if his home was far to the north. Yet his name was not Falco, nor were the names of any of those heroes. And even if they had been, she did not see what purpose any of them would have had in coming to Scarburg. She turned to Saeryn. "How did one of that worthy people come to know this Hall?"
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