Scarburg Meadhall

[Folwren]

Thornden stood by with almost as much disgust as Léof. Eodwine’s suggestion seemed to disturb Léof a great deal and in any other circumstances, Thornden would have grinned at his reaction.

“I think Léof may be right, although my reason for thinking so is not because of the smell. Even if we were to try to tell how he had died, what would we look for? And if we found anything more than what we already know (namely, that he was killed by someone and hidden here) what good would it do us? What could we do? We couldn’t find out who did it.

“I say we bury it and have nothing more to do with it.”

[littlemanpoet]

"Rowenna? Have you any thoughts on the matter?"

"Bury it or burn it," she said simply.

Eodwine shrugged. We can use the wood, if it is not ruined by the foulness of the corpse, so we will not burn it. Bury it we shall." But Eodwine wondered what they would find. "We will bury it up in the scar, away from our settlement. Before we begin, we will be wanting cloths for our faces and coverings for our hands. Maybe Harreld or someone has a board of good length we could lay the body on so that we need not touch it without need. Rowenna, go see Harreld and have him come too."

"Aye, lord." Rowenna hurried off while the three men stood upwind of the shed, waiting in rather keen discomfort for the task that lay ahead.

[Groin Redbeard]

Jokes and laughs were exchanged during the last length of the trip. The Sun had begun to set and filled the sky with a dark yellow light that cast shadows everywhere. Erbrand could hear the crickets in the grass and the birds flying home to their nests, it seemed as if all of nature was slowly shutting down for the night. They had left the clumps of trees far behind them and walked their horses through the familiar tall grassy plain that would lead them to Scarburg.

The company slowly quieted down as they started to climb up a hill, Balvir said that they would be able to see the camp from there. Erbrand's horse, Traveler, struggled with every step up the gradual slope; it pained him to see his horse struggle so hard, but there was nothing he could do, all he could do was try to get the horse to move faster. When they reached the top of the hill they scanned the horizon, Lithor was the first to spot it and he yelled and pointed towards the south.

"There it is, can you see it," he said, "We're home at last, there's the camp!"

The others could barely spot the camp, it was about two miles south with a short trail of smoke trailing up into the sky.

"You have got keen eyes Lithor," said Matrim, "I imagine that supper is being prepared."

Erbrand smiled at the sight as he helped Traveler up the hill, but then something else caught his eye. As he turned to checked the deer strung across Traveler's back something caught his eye, a large group of men and women stood on a bluff around a thousand feet behind them. Erbrand's eyes widened with alarm, there were around fifteen men and women with a wagon and three horses standing and just staring at them. He hastily grabbed for his axe, in his saddlebag.

"Balvir, we've got company." Balvir turned, looking a bit confused at Erbrand's shaky voice. When he saw the peasants strung out in a line on the bluff, his eyes widened. Matrim and Lithor grabbed for their bows, but Balvir raised his hand in a silent command of silence, they both stopped.

"What are they?" Erbrand said in a half whisper to Balvir.

We know what they are," Lithor said angrily, "The same people who burnt the Scarburg Meadhall!" he moved forward as if he was going to charge the peasants single handely, Matrim stopped him.

Balvir stood silent for a while longer, both of the companies just stared at each other for a long while. "You may be right, Lithor," Balvir said calmly, not taking his eyes off of the peasants, "but it's best that we don't start a fight without your lord Eodwine's approval. They're probably Nomads, or peasants on an errand" he pointed at the wagon and horses, "The people of the East Emnet are a scattered people, it would be best if we made ourselves known to them and of our intentions." Erbrand tried to see if the peasants had any weapons with them, but he couldn't tell from this distance. The idea of walking towards an unknown group of people that are a potential enemy of theirs was not a comforting idea to him.

"Lithor," said Balvir, "You will stay here with the horses, if anything goes wrong you ride back to the camp and get Thornden and his men." Lithor didn't say a word, he just nodded and looked down at the ground, Erbrand knew that the horseman did not like being left out of the picture. "You two will come with me," said Balvir, "Let's get it over with." Balvir stepped forward, followed closely by Matrim and Erbrand. Matrim was fingering a longsword strapped to his side, and Erbrand nervously grasped his axe, Balvir was unarmed as far as he could see.

When the group was halfway to the peasants they stopped and waited to see if they would make a move. There was a uncomfortable moments of silence, the peasants stood like statues in the sunset. Suddenly someone yelled and the peasants sprang to life. Erbrand raised his axe in readiness and expected a shower of arrows to come down on them at any moment, but it was something different entirely. The peasants disappeared behind the bluff and left.

"What was that all about?" Matrim said in disgust.

"They're not ready yet," said Balvir.

Erbrand looked uneasily from side to side. "I'm not sure I like the idea of lingering here much longer," he said, "this might not be the last of them."

The three of them ran back up the hill to the horses where Lithor was waiting. Without a word being spoken they each grabbed their horses reins and urged them on with all possible speed.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna came up to Harreld's makeshift smithy and found Ginna sitting across from him, pumping the bellows as Harreld worked on kitchen utensils. Rowenna kept a straight face but smirked inwardly. The girl can't stay away from him, she said to herself. The two were not speaking much. They both had their eyes glued on the work Harreld was doing. owenna stopped a couple of paces off.

"Sorry to stop your work Harreld," she said, glancing briefly at Ginna as well, "but we have found a dead body in one of the sheds and Lord Eodwine wants you to help with the burial."

Harreld mutely put down his tools and stood, stretching his back and legs. Ginna's face registered her alarm at Rowenna's news. She sat there, apparently wondering what to do.

"Ginna, could you send word to Garstan and the others while I help with the body?"

Ginna seemed relieved at not having to go see the dead body, and left without complaint, although maybe there was some reluctance to leave Harreld. It was hard to read her, or him just this moment. Rowenna led Harreld to the shed.

[Thinlómien]

Cnebba – late morning

“We’re back. Sorry it took so long,” Javan said. Cnebba glared at him. He was spoiling this.

Garstan’s eyes travelled from Javan’s bruises to those of his own son, and then to Cnebba’s nose which had started bleeding again.
“And what exactly was it that took you this long?”

Garstan hardly ever scared Cnebba, he was like a kind uncle to him, but now the stoneshaper looked quite stern. Cnebba shrunk smaller, hoping Garstan would not look at him.

Garmund’s face was a little pale, but his eyes were defiant. “We fought.”
“With an orc,” Cnebba added. Garmund scowled at him. Cnebba took a step back. He could not understand why Garmund was angry with him.
“Garmund and Cnebba attacked me”, Javan said.

“You did? Garmund, I’m disappointed with you. Cnebba, I’m sure your father is not very proud either. And Javan, you’re old enough to know better to no to continue a fight.” Garstan was shaking his head. Cnebba didn’t think he was very angry after all. Maybe they would now forget it all.

“Cnebba, you rascal, stop grinning,” Garstan said. He himself was grinning, though, but his eyes were serious. “Don’t expect to get out of this so easily. I want to speak with your parents with this, and with Javan’s brother. Who knows if we should even consult Lord Eodwine.” Cnebba and Garmund cast a look at each other. Surely not Lord Eodwine?

“Anyway, I won’t tolerate behaviour like that and nor will anyone else in this Hall. Here we’re all friends.” Garstan was scratching his head. It occurred to Cnebba that the stoneshaper maybe didn’t know what to say. “Now boys, stop glaring at me. We’ll bury this topic until the evening. We have work to do and it already has been delayed because of you.” The three boys nodded, more or less obediently. “Cnebba and Javan, fetch those poles over there. Garmund, you will help with this rope here.”


Modtryth – a few hours later

Saeryn was still asleep. She had slept lightly, face creased with tension. Modtryth had sat by her side and talked to her like to a child or a sick horse when she had half-woken up, terror in her eyes. Eventually her sleep had eased and now she was sleeping seemingly calmly. The healer Aedhel was with her now. She had told Modtryth that Saeryn’s physical wounds were not bad and most of her weakness was caused by exhaustion and distress. She had also said, more quietly, that there was the danger that Saeryn’s wounds would get infected and she could develop a dangerous fever.

Modtryth tried to ward off those thoughts. It was pointless to worry before anything had happened. She headed to the kitchen, both to see what was happening and ask if the children had been seen. On her way she met Garstan. The stoneshaper looked a little worried. “What is it?” Modtryth asked. “The boys. Garmund and Cnebba fought with Javan today. Fought to the point of a fist fight.” Modtryth’s eyes narrowed. There was a certain young man whom she’d have a word with. “I of course scolded them. I also told them we’d have a proper discussion in the evening, you and Stigend, I, Thornden and the boys themselves.” Modtryth nodded. That made sense. “We’ll see to it when the day’s work is done, then. Where are they now?” “They’re helping me with the tents. They’re all doing good work.” Modtryth smiled thinly and nodded. “Till later, then.”

After exchanging words with Garstan, Modtryth decided to go to the kitchen as she had planned. Cnebba was in good hands for now. Modtryth was curious to hear the latest gossip and see how little Leothern was faring before returning back to Saeryn.

[Folwren]

Javan took the scolding as mildly as he could. He thought it was unnecessary and unfair, at least to be directed at him. What did Garstan expect him to do? Stand by and let them clobber him? He had not continued the fight, he had merely defended himself, he believed.

He brooded on it for sometime while worked on erecting the tents. His mood remained black as they worked, and he said very little, except when it was absolutely necessary, and then it was sharp.

The job seemed to be taking a very long time. All that was needed were some small tents, and yet here they were, still working, over an hour later, on the first one. The frame was almost completed and Javan was tying together the last stakes.

“I’m going to go get us some water,” Garstan said. “You three wait here for me. Javan, you can finish lashing this pole to that and then, when I get back, we’ll put up the canopy.”

Javan nodded and Garstan went off. Javan finished tying his knot. “Bring me the knife so I can cut it.” He looked over his shoulder to see Garmund slowly move to obey. “Hurry up, will you?” he snapped.

Garmund gave him a rather sullen look and handed the knife up. Javan cut the rope and stepped down. He put the knife back in its place and then glanced around. “Let’s start getting the canopy ready.”

“Father said to wait till he got back,” Garmund said immediately.

“He won’t care,” Javan replied. “Besides, we’ve been taking so long to do this job, we may as well hurry. I don’t want to be stuck here all day. You two are so slow. C’mon and help me with the canopy.”

The boys looked at him. “I’m not disobeying, I’m just going to unfold it!”

“You always get in trouble,” Garmund said. “I don’t want to be in trouble with you by disobeying. We already are in trouble for fighting.”

“I do not always get in trouble!” Javan replied fiercely, whipping around to face him. “Take it back!”

[Eönwë]

"Help!" shouted Dan, a fourth time. Why him? He had always hated marshland, and now he hated it even more.

Marshes made it hard to track animals, and to walk. The Drûghu were especially short, and this made it even harder for them to traverse this sort of land. They could get trapped in puddles that normal men could get out of simply because of that fact. Why? He thought again, cursing his ill-fate.

He thought he could hear rustling in front of him, and he thought he could make out a shape (or the movements of the plants, in a way that suggested a shape) coming towards him. Who or what it was he did not know. Was it a friend or foe? Or just a confused animal, blundering into a natural trap.

But just as it had come, whatever it was quickly disappeared back the way it came.

"Help!" he tried to shout, but already the mud was reaching up to his chin, muffling his voice slighly. He grasped upwards with his hands, trying to grab onto something- anything- that would allow him to pull himself upwards. But his hands caught nothing.

All his attempts at rescuing himself were futile, he thought, so he migt as well just relax. His body stopped thrashing about, and a sense of calm took hold of him. Now he would find out what the Gift of Men really was. He welcomed death. It would be better than what he was about to suffer.

His head went deeper under the mud, he lifted it back, so only his face was above the murky surface of the fetid swamp. He thought he heard another rustling, but was probably just his imagination.

"Help!" he tried once more to shout, already his head had sunk under, and all that exuded from his mouth was a bubble, going slowly upward through the congealed mud-water. His hands thrashed up and down, left and right, above his head. But this time he caught something. It really had been a person. He pulled on it with all his strength, but suddenly, he felt it give a little, and he was sinking again. But soon, it was tight again, and this time it was being pulled by someone from outside the puddle. A sense of utter relief entered his body. He went limp, except for his arms, hich grasped onto the rope with all the strength Dan could muster. He knew that if he slipped or let go, it would be just as bad as if the person who had come to save him had not pulled. It require both of their efforts to save Dan.

Finally, from out the puddle, the top his head appeared, crested with mud, his hair matted and brown. But his hair was almost totally covered by the congealed mass that could be called mud, for want of a better word, but was more like water. When his face broke the surface, he almost opened his, eyes, but then stopped himself before he did, otherwise the liquid would fill his eyes, causing him a temporary blindness. when his mouth came into open air, he opened in wide, gasping for air. He swallowed at least two mouthfulls of mud before the air finally came in. But when it did, it was a relief beyond anything he had ever felt in his life. He was alive! He had been sure that his fate was sealed, that he would die alone in a foreign part of the world, away from his family and friends. But luckily, he had been proven wrong. The had been someonw willing to lend a helping hand, more than that, they had saved his life!

Slowly but surely he emerged, soaked, dripping with mud, onto the bank, if it could be called that. It was after all, only a puddle.

He tried to wipe the mud away from his face with his sleeve, but all he accomplished was smudging it further.
Finally, he got the mud out of his eyes, and looked straight into the strained face of his saviour.