Scarburg Meadhall

[Gwathagor]

After a short break, the crowd and the final three contestants were summoned once more to the fighting circle by Lithor.

"The final contestants are Crabannan from the North, Degas of the Folde, and our own Eorl Eodwine!"

The last name was met by many cheers and hurrahs - the crowd clearly favored their eorl, who met their applause with a smile and lifted sword. Crabannan was grim and dour as usual as he sized up his opponents and hefted his shield. If he felt jittery or nervous, he showed no sign of it - unlike Degas, who seemed possessed by an anticipatory energy. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and looked tensely from Crabannan to Eodwine to the crowd and back again.

"These three will fight each other at the same time, each for himself and against the other two. Any man hit thrice will be eliminated and the last man in the ring wins!" announced Lithor. "Now, warriors - ready!"

The three combatants moved to pre-marked points in the dirt, forming a kind of triangle, all at equal distances from each other. Crabannan cracked his neck, Degas set his jaw, and Eodwine took a deep breath. The crowd was tense.

"And begin!"

Nothing happened immediately. The fighters made no move and the crowd barely breathed. A cloud shifted overhead, hiding the sun for a brief moment. A eagle shrieked high above and in another part of Scarburg, a horse whinnied. A soft breeze blew the scent of August grass up off the plains. For a moment, all was still. Then Degas made a sudden rush at Crabannan, the reverie passed, and they were away! Crabannan was too crafty to be taken by surprise, and stepped back with his left foot as the younger man came at him. Then with his shield upon Degas' back, Crabannan threw the other past, cutting the backs of his calves as he did so.

"One against Degas!" cried Lithor. The crowd cheered.

Degas stumbled, but was up again and whirled around just in time as Eodwine, seeing the opportunity came on strong from the left, aiming a blow for the shoulder. This Degas easily blocked by raising the rim of his shield - but instead of attempting to cut back at Eodwine, he instead lunged away, at Crabannan again. Crabannan, however was not there. He was attacking Eodwine now, and the two were hammering back and forth like two dwarves at an anvil (or like two Rohirrim at arms, as the case may be) - once, twice, and again.

As Degas leapt at Crabannan again, he noticed that Crabannan used footwork and shield-wards that were almost identical to Eodwine's, which surprised him very much, for Crabannan was known to be from the very far north. He had no time to be bemused, however, for he was immediately forced to negotiate the point of Crabannan's sword which suddenly presented itself before him. He struck down furiously with his shield and swung across his body with his own sword. Crabannan ducked his head to the side, avoiding a blow which would have cost Degas the game, and took a step back, a little surprised at the fellow's tenacity and fire.

Crabannan watched as Degas whirled at Eodwine, who was lunging at Degas' exposed sword-arm, which was pulled back and high and the last moment. Degas aimed a kick at the forward edge of Eodwine's shield, but Eodwine was too much a veteran to be taken in by such an old trick and merely stepped back, putting Degas off-balance. He struck out with his blade and caught Degas on the right shoulder.

"Two against Degas!" cried Lithor enthusiastically. Some in the crowd cheered, some groaned.

But Degas was not done. His shield flew up and dashed against Eodwine's out-stretched sword just as his sword smacked soundly against Eodwine's side.

"One against the eorl," remarked Lithor. The crowd had nothing to say.

But Degas still not done. He shoved Eodwine with his shield, ducked, spun on his right foot and lunged catching Crabannan hard on the right leg. The latter staggered back and winced visibly.

"One against Crabannan!" The crowd roared with delight at Degas' trick.

Crabannan was himself again in a moment. He renewed his guard. Degas, of course, now found himself in between his two opponents and hurriedly stepped out of the way. There was a momentary pause in the action, for Degas was now forced to be more cautious and Eodwine was still recovering from being nearly thrown in the dirt by Degas. Eodwine had noticed Crabannan's momentary stagger, however, and remembered the limp with which the raven-haired man had walked into Scarburg a month ago. He was an honest man and not given to taking advantage, but he was wise enough to play against his opponents' weaknesses. Crabannan, it seemed, had one.

He renewed his attack against Degas, who was nearest him, determining to finish the young fellow first and then to move upon Crabannan's apparently weak right. Shield forward, Eodwine pressed hard against Degas, aiming blows wherever he could. With a quickness that the older Eodwine could not match, Degas brought his shield across his body and suddenly back again, catching the back rim of Eodwine's shield with the boss of his own shield. Thus locked in a shield bind, Eodwine could do little but attempt to disengage towards Crabannan. It was too late however, and Degas had already cut him on the back and thrown him aside.

"Two against Eodwine," said Lithor. The crowd groaned.

Eodwine recovered quickly though and let the force of the throw carry him towards Crabannan, who was now moving with a definite reticence and even - he fancied - a limp in his right leg. Keeping his shield between himself and Degas, he dashed hard at Crabannan. His first cut at Crabannan's arm was deflected by the other's shield and his second cut, which was aimed at Crabannan's shield-shoulder, missed by an inch. Crabannan retreated half-heartedly beneath the onslaught, doing his best to ward off the blows with his shield and keeping his right leg well out of harm's way. Eodwine cut low this time at Crabannan's now exposed left leg, just beneath the lower edge of Crabannan's shield.

"Two against Crabannan!"

Eodwine flicked his eyes back toward Degas - and not a moment too soon, for Degas was swinging at him with sword and shield combined, apparently in an attempt to over-power him. Eodwine countered with a slash of his sword that came close to Degas' midsection and caused him to halt abruptly. The eorl swung back with his sword, meaning to catch and fling back Crabannan's inner shield-edge, thus presenting the Northerner's midsection as an open target. To his surprise, the shield was not there. He looked up at Crabannan, and, even as he brought his sword around and prepared for a powerful blow that would surely cause the dark fellow to collapse up on his bad leg, he found himself staring into a pair of knowing eyes and a grim smile. His puzzlement increased - and then his mighty blow came up short against the hilt of Crabannan's upraised sword. There was not a stagger, not a flicker of pain or weakness in Crabannan's eyes and then Eodwine realized he'd been fooled.

Eodwine was only permitted a brief instant for surprise, because Crabannan had suddenly whirled to Eodwine's left, out of reach, and headed for Degas. As Crabannan turned, he thrust his own shield hard against Eodwine's. He then lunged at Degas, who dashed the blow aside with his sword as Eodwine slashed at where Crabannan's back had been exposed a second before. Degas' sword flicked around and returned the lunge. Foiled by Crabannan's instinctive side-step, he allowed his momentum to follow though into kick, as he tried again to dislodge his attacker's shield. This time he succeeded and Crabannan's shield-arm was flung up, out, and back, but Crabannan was too quick to let this slow him down. He let the shield go, and it spun away into the dust, at the same time tossing his sword into the air. As Degas slashed violently at Eodwine and then prepared to execute a quick blow back at Crabannan's chest, Crabannan seized Degas' sword-arm with his now free right-hand. Pulling him close, Crabannan caught his own sword in his left hand and struck Degas with great force upon the thigh of his right leg - almost exactly where Degas had hit Crabannan earlier. Then, receiving insult upon injury, Degas found himself sprawling in the dust. Crabannan had tripped him.

"Three! Three against Degas!" hollered Lithor, and the crowd echoed the cry, indeed, they nearly screamed themselves hoarse, for they had never seen anything like this in their lives.

"Degas is out!" cried Lithor.

Degas rolled away and exited the ring, but Eodwine and Crabannan paused not a moment, for the heat of battle (such as it was) was upon them and they were both seasoned warriors. As far as they were concerned, the battle never stopped, and if you asked either of the afterwards, they couldn't remember a thing Lithor had said. Without blinking an eye or taking a breath, Crabannan leapt over Degas, twisting around to face Eodwine as he did so. As he came down, Eodwine flung his own shield at Crabannan's feet and sprang into the attack with a quickness that surprised even him. Crabannan was tripped and fell quite flat - but turned a somersault and came up with his sword at Eodwine's throat.

A stunned silence fell abruptly. The horse neighed, the eagle screamed. The crowd dared not breath. Then, as the crowd went suddenly wild, and as Crabannan and Eodwine's eyes met for the second time during the fight, they both smiled. Broad, boyish, irrepressable grins, followed by bursting, side-shaking laughter, as Crabannan leapt nimbly to his feet and Eodwine furiously shook his hand. Lithor's voice was drowned out entirely as the crowd swarmed about the two contestants, caring not a straw that their favorite had been beaten by the melancholy Northerner.

"Three against Eodwine! Crabannan has won!" shouted Lithor, leaping on a log and waving his arms. "He's won! He's won!"

And so he had.

[Groin Redbeard]

As the crowd pressed closer around the duelers, Lithor nudged his way out of the mass. He breathed a sigh of relief as he forced himself between the last couple of people that separated him from the elbowroom that he so desperately wanted. When Lithor was free of the crowd he looked back to see Crabannan lifted upon the shoulders of the people. Lithor chuckled and gave one last cheer for the participants, the duel was by far the most exciting game yet. As he walked to back to the soldier’s encampment Lithor was soon overtaken by Balvir and Matrim.

“What did you think of the fight?” asked Matrim, the young man was bobbing back and forth between Lithor and Balvir as if he meant to box with them. “I though it was very exciting to say the least, but Balvir here begrudges Crabannan his victory.”

“I only said that I didn’t care for the fellow and...”

“And that you suspected foul play.” Said Matrim, finishing Balvir’s sentence. The older guard grunted with disgust.

“It isn’t right, letting an outlander get the best of our lord, it just is not right, Anyway, I suspected that Eodwine let him win, it isn’t like Eodwine to show off in front of a crowd.”

Matrim laughed and skipped ahead of the two until he entered the living quarters fro the soldiers. As Balvir and Lithor entered Matrim was sitting with his feet propped up on the table with a smile on his face, the kind that a cat gets after it has just stolen a gallon of cream.

“Say what you like my friend,” continued Matrim. “I say you’re just upset because you didn’t have the sense to place your three gold pieces on Crabannan, like I did.” Lithor burst into laughter when he heard this and gave Balvir a sympathetic pat on the back before he moved over to the water barrel. The embarrassed, and now slightly red faced, Balvir remained silent while Matrim and Lithor had their laugh.

“Laugh it all up Matrim I voted for Eodwine because I am loyal. I wish I could say as much for you.”

“A fool and his money are soon parted,” said Matrim with an unfading smile. “I guess that makes you the loyal old fool.” Matrim started to laugh.

Balvir threw up his hands and sat down adjacent to Matrim. “Oh, put a lid on it!”

Lithor had been listening to the conversation while bringing out the three’s best clothes, swords, and armor. He then placed them on the table and went to fill a basin with water.

“Oh no!” Matrim said jumping up from his chair. “It isn’t wash day already!”

“No, not yet,” laughed Lithor as he poured the water. “But you could certainly use a bath.” Balvir nodded in agreement and looked at Matrim. “I’d appreciate that.”

“But not today,” interrupted Lithor. “We haven’t the time. Our lord is getting married and he’ll need an honor guard. We can’t go to a wedding looking as we are right now.”

“I would never have guessed that Saeryn would be Eodwine’s choice.” Balvir said thoughtfully. “Strange how things work out.”

“Say!” exclaimed Matrim with a note of glee. Balvir scowled as he saw his companion was about to change the subject.

“Weddings call for feasting and games! Do you think that we’ll get another day off of work on the marrow? Perhaps we will have more games to fight in!”

Lithor laughed gently at the young soldier’s enthusiasm. “I certainly hope not.” And with that said, Lithor began to gently splash his nose with water

[Folwren]

It is impossible to say whether the boys really meant to swear, or if they were actually aware that they were doing so, but when the two fathers and the older brother came tearing about the cropping of rock and heard them, all three of them were rather shocked. While Thornden ran to Javan, Stigend grabbed Cnebba by the ear and jerked him back a few feet so that Cnebba's feet barely touched the ground. Cnebba whined from pain. They were able to stop the fight, but unable to stop the war of words.

“You pig! You liar!” Cnebba shouted furiously as he strained against Stigend’s hands. “You’re no eorling, no matter how hard you try! They don’t break oaths, and you have!”

"Language!" Stigend shouted to Cnebba while Thornden was chiding Javan. "Watch your language, young man! You're not one in a position to say such things to Javan!" It was clear Stigend was furious. Stigend was just about to slap Cnebba when Garstan intervened and took hold of Stigend's free hand.

Thornden and Garstan immediately recognized where the pain came from - Stigend, used to hearing his son and his wife talked down all the time, was shocked to hear such words from his own son. They both paused, unsure of what to say. Javan had no such delicacy.

“What would you know?” Javan answered Cnebba, spitting blood and a tooth out of his mouth. “You’re nothing but a half-bred Easterling!”

Thornden boxed his ear and shook him sharply. “Stop that!” he hissed in Javan’s ear, furiously. “Don’t you dare say such a thing!”

"Calm down, everyone!" Garstan shouted and looked at Thornden and Stigend. They both loosened their grips on the boys and straightened their backs. The tension eased slightly.

"They said something about an oath-breaking. Now that is a serious thing. Maybe you, Garmund, could tell us more about that?" Garstan said, turning towards Garmund. Suddenly the focus changed and all the eyes were fixed on Garmund.

Garmund instinctively took a few steps backwards, away from the gazes, and mumbled something no one could hear.

"Let us hear it, Garmund," Thornden said, now quite calmly.

Garmund backed a step more and then paused. "It was just a bet, nothing important... really," he managed to say and immediately frowned looking clearly as one who had revealed something too much. Cnebba and Javan looked at him, their eyes flashing.

"No it was not... or..." Garmund tried but then fell silent.

The adults exchanged looks.

"Most people who mess around making bets lose all they have with it. Now, you three should not get used to that. You should earn what you have. Chance may be a nice lover but she's a terrible mistress when she turns her back to you." Stigend sounded dead-serious and all the boys looked downwards.

Garstan took Garmund by the shoulder firmly letting him understand there was no way off from it this time.

"What was the bet you had? Answer me!" Garstan's voice, which was rarely raised, was loud and clear right now. "What was the bet? Answer!"

Garmund tried to pull a brave face but he soon lost his calm and started to tremble and cry.

Cnebba broke free of Stigend's grip as his father was paying more attention the reactions of others than to him, and took the few steps to be in the center.

Cnebba bit his lip before opening his mouth.

"Javan boasted that Thornden would win the fight and that no other would stand a chance against him. And we made a bet if Thornden was winning or not. And as..." there Cnebba took a pause gathering his courage. "... As master Thornden was called out in the middle of the final..." Cnebba finally breathed in, "...he lost... And Javan here refuses to admit it." Cnebba swallowed hard trying to keep his calm and everyone saw he was having hard time trying it. "Thornden was called out from the final and so he did not win the game. But Javan refused to admit that and so we won him with the bet!"

The adults glanced at each other once again. Winking at Thornden and receiving an accepting nod from him, Garstan addressed Javan this time.

"Now what was that bet about, Javan? And is Cnebba right in saying you denied your bet?"

“No. He is not right. I would call him a liar, if that were allowed.”

“It’s not,” Thornden warned quietly.

“I have not refused my bet, but I do disagree that Thornden lost.”

Thornden settled all doubts. “I lost - at least in the sense you were speaking of. Crabannan defeated me in the ring, and you had boasted that I was the best. You were proved wrong. So, now that that’s settled - what was the bet?”

The boys all paused. Garstan glanced about, looking impatient. “Speak quickly - Stigend and I are in the next games.”

Javan adopted his old, sullen and stubborn look. Now that it came to it, he didn’t want anyone to know. “It wasn’t for money or for anything else like that. Since you all think Thornden lost, we can settle it from here.”

“I think perhaps the boys should come back with us,” Thornden said, addressing Stigend and Garstan. “We don’t want any more trouble today, what with the wedding and all this evening.”

The two fathers agreed, and mostly against their will, the three boys were escorted back to everyone else. The sword contest was about to begin and Stigend and Garstan made off through the people to join the contestants.

[Groin Redbeard]

With the termination of his participation in the sword fight, Erbrand was finished with the long day of games. It was actually fun to be beaten by Dan, a man whose skill with the sword was as evident as Erbrand’s skill with the bow. The two parted as friends from the field. No hard feelings, although Erbrand felt a little disappointed at losing his chance to face Crabannan or Thornden, who unexpectedly didn’t fight, but there would be time for all that later.

As Erbrand exited the field, with the victory of Crabannan, his heart was intent on finding Kara. The question he had posed to her was cut short by the beginning of the sword duels and she urged him to go lest he be disqualified. He would not, however, let his question die so easily. There she was!

“Kara!” he exclaimed to her, and his walk turned to a jog. It seemed to Erbrand as if he was always running to her side. “My participation in the games was cut short, it seems, by my inexperience with the sword.” he said in response to Kara’s sympathetic expression. “But I don’t care, I don’t care about anything in the world anymore!” Erbrand’s countenance broke into a smile, and he laughed for the sake of happiness itself.

“Kara, I left you with an unanswered question. I pray for you to please dance with me tonight, I can think of no better ending for today.” Erbrand’s mood suddenly became tame after this. The thought suddenly occurred to him that she might not even want to dance with him. Fool, don’t force yourself on her, give her a choice!

He backed a step or two backwards with the sudden feeling that he was crowding Kara. A smile still lit his face, but it was nowhere as bright as it was.

“That is, of course, if you have not promised your hand to... uh, I mean your first dance to someone else.” Erbrand’s face grew redder by the second. This surely wasn’t the best way to win over Kara for a dance. Why must she delay with this waiting? It’s becoming more unbearable by the second.

[Lhunardawen]

Finally, Scarburg.

It was late, much later than Randvér had planned. He had originally intended to come to his friend Eodwine's new estate when he and his household had first relocated to it. He had planned to help them get settled, but more importantly, he was to find out for himself how her daughter had been. Ginna had been under Eodwine's care for months, and he wanted to know if the arrangement had yielded the effect he desired.

Randvér had not been without news of his daughter's doings. Eodwine had informed him of the near-escape of the outlaws he held captive back in the old mead hall. Ginna had been taken hostage by one of these outlaws while she worked in the kitchen. She had been found by Eodwine and his men held at knife-point, but later managed to returned the captor's favour and held the knife to his throat. Eodwine had to invoke his authority over the girl to stop her from killing the outlaw. Randvér had shaken his head at his daughter's wayward deed when he heard of it, but in truth he felt a bit proud of her courage.

He also knew of the fire that decimated the old mead hall's stables. The accident had no casualties apart from a single horse, but Eodwine had been kind enough all the same to let him know that his daughter was safe.

He felt, however, that the more important things he should be aware of were hidden to him until he saw her face to face. He did not want to think that Eodwine would neglect to tell him anything he ought to know, but he could never be sure of his daughter. May it not be that she had managed to convince Eodwine to leave out significant details about her in his correspondences. Or worse, that she had somehow outwitted the eorl and kept her misbehaviour secret. Now he would find out.

Randvér was aware of the festivities taking place in Scarburg, but he thought his daughter would most likely be confined to her work. And so he made his way to the kitchen, wondering to himself along the way if perhaps she could have been forced to work during such a time as punishment for some misdeed. He tried to shut away the memory of her first day in the eorl's service, but in his mind's eye he could still see her bending over broken dishes, and shuddered to think that it still continued to happen until the present.

It was not, however, the sound of crashing earthenware that greeted him in the kitchen, but of two women chatting together as they worked. Neither of them was Ginna. He inquired of them of his daughter's whereabouts.

"Outside, probably screaming her lungs out while watching the games," said the older woman without looking up at him. He recogised her as the cook, Frodides. "You only need to follow the noise." Frodides then lifted her head towards Randvér. A look of recognition almost immediately appeared in her face.

"Much thanks," Randvér said and quickly stepped out, hearing Frodides exclaim, "That man, that man is Ginna's father!" behind him. He caught the noise of a crowd and followed it to its source. He found his way around people towards the centre of the gathering and searched keenly for Ginna, careful not to be seen by her.

There before him, to his amazement, was a sight that he could only be imagining. The girl had her back to him, but he could recognise the blonde hair, the deceivingly willowy figure, the proud stance anywhere. He ought to, particularly the last, for she had learned it from him.

The crowd of onlookers were too focused on the odd, unbalanced fight to notice him. Randvér finally chose an unfamiliar face whose eyes seemed to exude frankness. This, he surmised, could be a man who would tell him whatever he needed to know.

"This is an unfair match, wouldn't you think? But the lass seems determined to make it last. Pray tell me, who is she?"


Ginna

"You are every bit as much a shield maiden as our king's sister!"

Ginna said nothing, instead taking a few more deep breaths. "You flatter me, Harreld," she finally gasped, "The way I fought, no one could ever have mistaken me for anything but a woman."

"You speak the truth," replied Harreld, "because you're too beautiful to be mistaken for a man."

Feeling the sweat drip down her flushed cheeks and her long hair in wild disarray, Ginna wondered if Harreld was lightly mocking her. But looking up at him, she saw that his eyes echoed the words he had just uttered. She smiled shyly and suffered to be led by the hand back to the match.

She glanced at Degas, who stood a bit to the side watching Dan and Crabannan fight, with a look of intense interest in his face. Ginna felt very pleased with herself, having been able to stand her ground against such a strong man despite her lack of practice. Yet amidst the satisfaction she felt, she could not help hearing distant echoes of disappointment. Even in his absence, Ginna knew that Randvér would find anything less than victory unacceptable.

[Gwathagor]

"That? That is Ginna. She works in the kitchens and is loved by the smith; that is all I know," replied Crabannan, with his eyes still on the fight. "She fights well, but Degas will beat her. He is too fast and wild."

"You seem very certain," said Randver, with a little indignation in his voice.

Crabannan glanced over at this man who had struck up a conversation with him. He did not want to talk, but he disliked being gainsayed even more. "You doubt me? Wait and watch, fellow. I know what I am talking about."

Randver felt a little annoyed, and somehow vaguely insulted. "Indeed? And you are...?"

Crabannan turned to face Randver and said nothing, but for a moment simply looked him up and down, taking him in, assessing his character and strengths and weaknesses. At first glance, the stranger looked like every other Rohir Crabannan had ever met: tall, yellow hair, blue eyes. It was always possible he had fought alongside the man during the War, but if he had, he could not immediately remember it. Crabannan sometimes wondered if the men he met here were in fact old war-companions of his from when he had fought in Rohan. He hoped not, and he hoped they would not remember him if they were. He frowned and furrowed his brow.

"I am a man who knows the sword, who has spent his whole life on the sword. I've fought for five kingdoms and survived countless battles. I've killed more men than I can count. I know the sword better than a man can know his own child and can tell the end of a fight before it's begun. Watch and wait, fellow. Any moment now, the kitchen-girl will make a mistake."

Crabannan turned away and said no more.

[Lhunardawen]

The man turned and paid no more attention to him, and it took some of Randvér's willpower to keep from arguing. But there was the risk of the argument turning into a noisy fight, and the last thing he wanted was to gain unwanted attention, so he stepped away from the man and focused on the match - at least his eyes did. He could see the fight going on before him, and even agreed eventually to the stranger's assessment of its outcome, but something else was foremost on his mind.

The stranger had mentioned a smith, that Ginna was loved by the smith. The words kept eating at him, and the deep-seated mistrust he had for his daughter was awakened. What did his daughter do this time? How come Eodwine had never mentioned this to him? He was relieved that no other name had come up when he expected more, but . . . there seemed to be an exclusivity in the relationship as the stranger had said it. A smith?

Then came a loud clang of sword on helmet, and the match was over. Ginna ran over to her opponent, who assured her he was fine, then she left the ring and made her way towards a big, burly man. Randvér's instinct told him this was the smith in question. His fear was confirmed when the man had taken her hand in his.

Randvér could not bear to see more, not at this time. He made his way to the back of the crowd where Ginna and the smith would be out of his sight. He would wait rather impatiently for the sword fight matches to be over; he needed a word with the eorl. And, perhaps, with this smith.