[littlemanpoet]

Falco listened, nursing his ale, as Saeryn spilled a tale of woe. When she was done he set down his tankard and pulled out his pipe and leaf. He let them watch and wait as he prepared the mix, lit, and took a few satisfying puffs as he thought over what he'd heard.

"Well now," he said slowly, "that might explain Thornden's curt manner a bit back on the road. I can't say we always got along, but he seemed more - ah - more tightened up than his usual earnest self."

He took a drag on his pipe and lofted three smoke rings into the atmosphere.

"Puts me in mind of Sharkey back in the bad old days. But maybe this one's not that bad. Of course, Eodwine is - was - is," he emphasized, "unusual as Big People go. Knows how to treat hobbits, he does. I'll admit he learned some of it from me, but he was teachable."

He caught Saeryn smirking in spite of herself. He grinned. Then he got serious.

"If this Athanar's the new lord hereabouts, and is so by rights, you can't stop it unless he breaks the law. Then you have something to bring your king. So the question is, it seems to me, do you like Scarburg more than you dislike the new lord? Then you'll stay. Otherwise, I think you're all free men and women here, are you not? No one has chained you to this place.

"Or do you harbor some hope that Eodwine will return? If he did, would the king give him back his place?"

Falco looked around from one face to the next. Each was more serious than the last; or worse, troubled. He puffed his pipe, filled the air with smoke rings, and relaxed. Before long one of these Big People would speak more of their mind.