Scarburg Meadhall

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

As they grew up, Saeryn and Degas were so rarely apart that they rarely had chance to notice what happened when they were not. But on rare occasions when they were apart and something momentous occurred, the other tended to know faster than logic allowed for.

When Degas fell from their father's horse and broke his arm when they were seven, Saeryn began to cry in the middle of her work on a tapestry, and ran from the room. She was followed, and her sister found her on the ground, holding Degas while someone ran for a healer.

When Saeryn found herself in the hayloft of the stable at age sixteen, sharing kisses with the stable boy, Degas knew the exact moment she panicked and fled as the boy grew more insistent. Degas first comforted his sister, and once she was calm and indoors, her fright forgotten, Degas confronted the stable boy, breaking the fingers of the offending hand.

It was harder when Degas was in Gondor, because any unexpected flare of emotion could not be easily investigated. But here, now, Degas felt both his fury and humiliation and his sister's.

Letting his horse guide herself, he sat introspectively and was only half surprised when he found himself at the gate into the courtyard. There she was.

"Sister!" he called.

Saeryn, who had been standing near the well, her face a mask, looked up.

"Ride with me? Gleowyn will gladly carry two."

[Folwren]

She was relieved to see him. Her face brightened visibly when he called to her and she went forward to meet him.

“Ride with me?” he asked. “Gleowyn will gladly carry two.”

“Oh, yes,” Saeryn said, smiling outright. “I would love to.” She hurried to his side and he extended his hand downward. A foot on the stirrup and a heave upward and she was behind him. He turned Gleowyn’s head out and away they trotted.

For a while, there was a silence between the two of them. Finally, Saeryn broke it. “I am sorry how you were treated, Degas. I would Eodwine had been here. He would have stopped it. I would I could have stopped it.” Degas tarried in answering. Saeryn’s hands tightened as she gripped the back of the saddle. “Degas, he makes me so angry!”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened after I left?”

“He asked us to talk about what we needed to accomplish, but I wanted to gain a clear understanding of where we stood. After he had treated you so abominably, I didn’t know what he thought of the rest of us! I never got a clear answer on that question, though. Thank heaven Thornden was there, he kept a cool head on his shoulders, and tried to answer the man. But Athanar did come back to where everyone’s status would be.”

“And...?” Degas pressed when Saeryn paused.

“And the lady Wynflaed is to take my place as lady of the hall, because her husband is taking Eodwine’s place as eorl.”



Javan

The maid, Lilige, kept Javan busy, carting trunks from the wagon to the lady’s room. How many gowns did the new lady have? How many did she think she really needed? Saeryn certainly didn’t have this many. But, of course, Saeryn was a sensible woman, and not even as girly as his own sisters.

He was coming back out for the last trunk he would have to haul when he caught sight of Cnebba being verbally abused by a girl he had never clapped eyes on before. He did not like the looks of this at all. No one should come in and start bossing the boys around. He neglected his errand and went their way.

“Hey, there!” he called as he drew near, but the girl didn’t hear him.

“Sorry, are you? By the stars, I oughta-”

“See here!” Javan said again, coming up right beside her. “What are you doing, talking to him like that? Who do you think you are?”

The girl drew herself up. “I am Ædre, daughter of the Eorl, and descendent of Aldor the Old.”

“Lord Eodwine is the eorl, and almost everybody is descendent of Aldor the Old,” Javan replied. “Now you mind your own business and quit yelling at Cnebba.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas drew Gleowyn to a halt and half turned to look at his sister, concern and fury etched into his features. "Which leaves you with none of the wealth and power you were promised upon marriage to the most powerful lord in the region."

Saeryn was silent, but angry and helpless tears sparkled in her eyes as the wind pulled her hair from its neat coif.

"Perhaps," he growled, "in Harad or in Umbar are the noble ladies relieved of their authority and their belongings when their husbands fall ill, but not in Rohan. In Harad and Umbar, yes, the line of succession has more to do with who has more physical strength than in who has the right to a place. In Harad, yes, usurpers wait for any moment of weakness to claim the land as their own and the ladies as their thralls, but this is not Harad! Your husband is not dead. Upon his return, will Athanar and his people quietly return his authority to him? And will he be pleased to hear that his lady wife was relegated to household staff, there for the convenience of those who are merely stewards?"

Gleowyn pranced at his tension, and Saeryn closed her eyes tight to keep her tears from flowing.

"Saer, if the king desired to strip Eodwine of Eorldom due to illness, he would not also strip him of his lands. He would still be the voice of authority in his own home; you, in his absence, are that voice. The proper course of action if Eodwine was no longer Eorl would be more or less what Eodwine experienced: lands would be bestowed, and the seat of the Eorldom would go to where the new Eorl settled. That the king would gift the lands rightfully belonging to you to a new man while your husband yet lives, instead of gifting uninhabited lands wherein Athanar could establish his own household and rule...

"Would a new king have stepped forward when Theoden King fell to the bile of Grima Wormtongue, casting aside Theoden King as a relic, claiming the rights and responsibilities of king while Theoden still lived? Saeryn, it is a farce. There is something wrong here. Regardless of Athanar's place as Eorl, he has the rights of guest and Eorl over your estates, but not the place of lord. Saeryn, he's not the bloody lord of Scarburg, unless Eomer King has stripped Eodwine and you of your titles and lands, and if this is so, the nobles will rise to defend you."

[Nienna]

“Lord Eodwine is the eorl, and almost everybody is descendent of Aldor the Old,” Javan replied. “Now you mind your own business and quit yelling at Cnebba.”

Ædre was in shock that this boy, who seemed no older than herself, would even dare to speak to her that way. Now she was furious.

“You vile rascal you! I’ll yell at who ever I want! My father is the Eorl around here now; appointed by King Eomer himself. Look around. Whose belongings are being unloaded from the wagons? Is it Eodwine’s? No! It is my father’s belongings, my belongings. Eodwine is not here. We are, and we are here to stay so you better get used to it.”

Javan looked like he was about to reply but Ædre cut him off.

“You have no right to come over here and yell at me and disrespect my family. At least I know who my ancestors are; you probably don’t even know your own father,” she said scathingly.

[Mnemosyne]

Brawling? Already? This was no good news indeed. Soldiers especially should know to obey orders and changes in command seamlessly. She hoped that few of her husband's men were involved, and filed the thought away for future thought.

"You flatter me, Lilige," she said. "I am all too aware of age's encroachment. But thank you, nonetheless. I fear it shall be my duty to outshine all others at the banquet tonight." She thought a moment. "Green, I think, to stress the common bond shared by those of the Riddermark. Perhaps the dark one, with the slits in the sleeves? I think that will be fine enough."

Again she opened the wooden box and drew forth a single pendant with a dark green stone. She had only been to the Glittering Caves once, when business had called them to Helm's Deep, but she had been entranced with the strange beauty of the caves and the stranger folk who delved them. Athanar had bought it for her right there, "on a whim," as he had said. She smiled at the memory. "Yes, I think that will do quite well."

[Durelin]

Coenred made his escape and looked for Hilderinc in the courtyard, soon finding him speaking to one of his men. The soldier walked away quickly, and Coen raised an eyebrow to himself. He said nothing when he approached Hilderinc. The man showed great promise, naturally taking leadership among the soldiers and demonstrating great responsibility. Coen hoped that he did not seem as if he did not trust the man, but he was not about to give any of his men too much freedom without supervision - especially not yet.

"Sir, everything is proceeding well, the horses have been stabled and men are unloading the rest of the supplies. We should be done in no time. There have been no problems."

Coen nodded to the soldier. "Thank you, Hilderinc. When the supplies are unloaded -- " Coen cut off as he saw the man from the council, Thornden, approaching him purposefully.

“I can show the men where they’ll be staying so that they can finish the unloading.”

"Thank you, sir," Coen responded, turning back to Hilderinc with a crooked grin. "Well, have the men report to me."

When all the soldiers had saluted and formed up in front of Coenred - including Hilderinc, whom he thanked - he scanned them briefly. "Where is Áforglæd?" he asked, observing their faces again.

[Folwren]

Javan's quick temper rose swiftly as Aedre made her scathing, false remarks about Eodwine's loss of eorldom. It hurt to hear her speaking about him as though he were dead and her father had taken his place. A reply rose instantly to his lips, but this girl spoke before he could even utter a word.

"You have no right to come over here and yell at me and disrespect my family" ("I wasn't yelling at you!" Javan interjected, ignored.) "At least I know who my ancestors are; you probably don't even know your own father."

He looked at her and blinked, and then the meaning of what she had said struck him.

"Why you filthy little wretch!" he cried, his face turning pale with anger, and then red with fury. His hands clenched hard by his side. "You take that back!"

"You apologize for calling me a filthy wretch!" she screamed at him. She stepped closer to make her demand more demanding.

"You insulted my father!" Javan yelled back, using his right hand to push her away. She stumbled back, and then came forward again, swinging her fists. Javan jerked to avoid getting hit, but her left hand caught him beneath the jaw, and without thinking, he swung in return.

--

The commotion at the edge of the courtyard caught Thornden's eye. Shrill, angry voices rose above the general hubbub of work. Children's voices, no less. He turned and looked sharply in their direction. The boys had not had a quarrel since Eodwine's marriage day. What would make them fight now?

He caught sight of them the instant that Javan struck out. To his horror, the one his foolish little brother hit this time wasn't Cnebba or Garmund. It was a girl, and he sent her toppling straight to the ground.

The child looked no older than Javan, and she was a pretty thing, all told, though now she was covered with dirt, her hair was tousled, and her nose was bleeding.

Thornden heaved a silent sigh of frustration. Coenred had called the men to attention and they were all standing there, and he was not free to move. He suddenly realized how unused to strict discipline he had become when it occurred to him that under Eodwine's rule, he could have left immediately and dealt with it. He looked at Coenred and waited.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

As Coenred called him to assemble all men, Hilderinc briefly wondered what is the commander going to say to Áforglæd's visage. It was possible, though, that he might not notice – but that option became highly improbable after Áforglæd was not found.

"Where is Áforglæd?" Coenred asked.

Hilderinc was wondering about it himself. It was improbable that the soldier went to hiding, it would make no sense to hide away completely, mainly, there was really nowhere to hide in an unfamiliar place. Hilderinc initially expected Áforglæd to be by the well or in the stables, but since all the men from the stables came, it seemed illogical that Áforglæd would have remained there, especially as the order to assemble was clear.

Hilderinc opened his mouth to reply to the captain when he caught Scyrr's eye. The guard's expression was the one Hilderinc knew, Scyrr looked like this always when somebody did something he disapproved of. Right now, his gaze piercing Hilderinc seemed to suggest something like "if you cause trouble to Áforglæd, you will have me to answer to". Hilderinc shrugged. He would not cause any more trouble than what Áforglæd already did to himself. And if Scyrr was worried that Hilderinc would report Áforglæd's brawl now, he was foolish. Why would he? The commander was not asking about it, and Hilderinc had no reason to mention it, as it would not help finding the place where missing soldier was now in any way.

"I don't know, sir," Hilderinc said to Coenred. Nobody else seemed to know either. "He hasn't been in the courtyard nor in the stables. Should I look for him?"

At the same moment, he noticed that one of the soldiers, the local who has joined them a few minutes ago, turned his head, looking at something back in the courtyard. Hilderinc did not turn, but heard raised voices. Áforglæd, again? No, these were children fighting. The commander must have spotted them as well.

[Folwren]

“No, Degas,” Saeryn tried to say, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. “No, Degas,” she said, her voice stronger. “We must not have an uprising, of all things. That would be treason against the crown, if the nobles rose up for the reason you have said. Too many men would die. It would be better for Eodwine and I to step down.”

“It won’t to come to that,” Degas said. “And you and Eodwine should never have to step down!”

“I know.” She swiped at her tears and drew a shaking breath. “I know. But what am I to do, Degas? He has more men-at-arms than I do, not to mention that he has brought some of the guards from Edoras. I couldn’t fight him, even if I wanted to. And I can’t argue with him! He’s so. . .he’s so. . .commanding.”

She slipped down from the back of the horse and walked a few feet away. Degas dismounted and followed her, holding Gleowyn’s reins.

“There’s more, immediate concerns, though, and we can’t stay out here much longer. There is to be a banquet tonight and Athanar plans on presenting himself to the people. He said Thornden or I may speak then, too. And he said that if we had any concerns to speak to him about, we can beforehand. But, Degas, I don’t think it would do any good. He says he’s just acting for the king and that Eodwine himself would have it this way. Don’t get angry, Degas, but don’t you think it would be better if we all agreed and worked the same way, together?”

[Groin Redbeard]

After Coenrad had generally dismissed the soldiers for now, Lithor and the soldiers of Scarburg huddled around each other (Wilcred, Osmund, Matrim, Balvir). “We are not going to let them punish Matrim, are we?” Osmund asked hotly. The instinct of the group was protect their own. Both had been wrong in the fight and it seemed unfair that any one of them should be punished again.

“It’s not that simple,” Lithor responded. “Your actions Matrim were unacceptable for a soldier and Athanar might want to make an example of you and Áforglæd.”

“I won’t shirk from reproach, if it comes, but you heard Áforglæd, his words called for someone to correct them!”

Lithor frowned and then turned to see what had become of the fight between the children. Thankfully some adults were on hand. “As they say, one ill turn deserves another.” Lithor pointed angrily at the scene between Coenrad and the locals. “How are we to reprimand our own children (by our Lithor meant Scarburg. Everyone claimed responsibility for the three boys) when we act little better?”

“Arrogance is fitting for a fool,” Wilcred said. “And much less fitting for those who claim to be our betters.”

“Let it pass. How are we ever to get along with Athanar if both parties act like they are above justice? It is our first day together with these newcomers and I don’t want any more brawls!”

Lithor was piping mad. He seldom got mad, but he could not stand the stupidity that had led to these circumstances. The Scarburgians needed to learn how to accept this new lord graciously. Likewise, the newcomers needed to respect the rights of Scarburgians and stop looking upon them as peasants to man-handle. Nothing was worse for a group of people than to be considered collateral for the success of an ambitious lord. Lithor did not hold any special rank now that Coenrad had arrived, stripping him of his second in command for the soldiers, but he was oldest soldier. More than once Lithor acted like he was in command and asserted his experience.

“Sorry,” he said a bit embarrassed. “I, uh… I didn’t mean to preach.”

“That’s a first.” Balvir noted dryly. At this, Lithor smiled again. Balvir’s grim moods always brought him more amusement than the liveliest court jester.

“What do you say to this, Balvir? After all, Matrim has been your friend for longer than mine.”

Erbrand

The bags had all been unloaded. Nothing was left to do now but sit and wait to be ordered what to do, but sitting around was not what Erbrand wanted. He had a lot on his mind. Maybe a walk would clear his mind. As he walked over the scar his mind turned to the pressing matters on his mind.

Oeric. So that was his name. What where his intentions? But Erbrand had already gone over those questions a dozen times over in his head. Now he had to decide what to do with the knowledge that Scarburg was being watched? His pace became a brisk walk as idea became clear in his mind. Erbrand did not like the thought of these strangers coming in and taking over, so he would postpone telling lord Athanar until after the celebration tonight. That is, if Athanar was someone to be trusted. Thornden could be trusted, but, of course, Thornden was a man driven by duty and might tell Athanar anyways.

Around a month ago, on the eve of lord Eodwine and lady Saeryn’s wedding, Erbrand had asked Stigend on how to impress a woman. In short, Stigend had to save his wife to win her heart. Since, then Erbrand had been bent on impressing Kara (his sweetheart), but to little avail. Erbrand was a clumsy man when he tried to be a charmer. He was a working man, not a courtier. As a leather craftsman, Erbrand could bend and cut the leather into the most beautiful decorations, the hardiest of saddles, and the most useful of protection but he could not shape Kara’s heart in the same way. He could bend his bow with great ease and pluck a bird from its perch at a hundred meters but Kara’s heart was a harder target to hit. Nevertheless, Erbrand still had not given up on trying to impress her. Maybe this Oeric fellow was his chance.

Erbrand started back towards the hall. However, upon reaching the top of the scar he came across a soldier. Erbrand did not recognize him and assumed that he was one of the new soldiers.

“Hey there,” Erbrand called to announce his presence. The man turned to look at him without a word. Erbrand walked up to the man and extended his hand.

“I am Erbrand and although I might not be the first to bid you welcome I offer it anyway. Welcome to Scarburg, sir.” The man looked at the extended hand and siezed it with enthusiasm. It was a very strong grip.

“I heard that some of our soldiers got in a brawl with yours. Sorry about that. However, it is only natural that there should be some slight tensions. It will all go away tonight I am sure.” Erbrand casually sat down on a rock. “It is not that you newcomers are unfriendly, that is, but we do not like strangers much around here. Lord Eodwine was a very caring in his rule over us and he will still have many friends even after this new lord takes over.” The man’s eyes showed some interest at this remark.

“What do you mean by that?” The man’s voice contained some curiosity in it. Erbrand had forgotten that this might be someone very important in the administration.

“Oh, of course I did not mean it like that?”

“Then how did you mean it?” The man was becoming more interested.

“Well, you see we are common folk out here in the Emnet, plain spoken, hard working, and down to earth people. Even lord Eodwine and our lady Saeryn are very humble when it comes to asserting authority over us and that might all change with this new lord, Athelwyne or Athelrod, I forget his name. We do not like to change once we have found a good thing and what Eodwine founded here was good. This new lord is from court and will doubtlessly bring his ‘improvements’ but we need no improvements. We are true laborers: we earn that we eat, get that we wear; owe no man hate, envy no man’s happiness; glad of other men’s good, content with our harm; and the greatest of our pride is to know that we are ruled by a just lord. We could say as much about Eodwine. What about Athanar?”

[Nogrod]

"That remains to be seen my friend... for I am lord Athanar indeed" lord Athanar said with a smile backed with authority. He was in his field of expertise now. Studying the man before him he finally continued.

"Do you think we were not looking at the common good at the Pelennor Fields fighting Sauron, or that we are people estranged from reality when we drove the last orcs off from the lands? I was there when those things happened. But where were you, master...?"

"Erbrand" Erbrand answered in confusion of the knowledge of whom he was discussing with.

"Erbrand... a good name... Anyway. Excuse me, but you seem to have a widely shared but crippled view of the nobility in Rohan I must say. In king Eomer's court there are no slackers or "Wormtongue friends" any more... actually lord Tancred is one of the last vermin whom I'm here to root out."

Lord Athanar looked at Erbrand to the eye and continued firmly.

"Now listen, we have a common goal and I hope you guys can see it. What you told about the tensions is understandable and we need to work on it. And forget it not, that I will be plain-speaking as well and will not tolerate any splitting of loyalties." Lord Athanar raised an eyebrow and looked at Erbrand intensively.

With a nod he made his way from Erbrand back towards the Hall. Turning back to Erbrand a few meters away he added: "And by the way, improvements are a relative issue, Erbrand. Oftentimes people do not like changes. But when the old order has crumbled, things just have to change... it's up to you guys how they will change..."

[Groin Redbeard]

His face grew red with embarrassment. Stop running your mouth off! You talk like an old goat bearded cripple! For a second, Erbrand imagined that Athanar’s cool, understanding expression might transform into a glare. The man’s hands were strong, not a worker’s strength but a warrior’s strength. Fortunately, Erbrand was the best runner in Scarburg. He wondered if he would have to use his skill.

It became clear that Athanar was not a bullying man, nor was he the type to be bullied. Indeed he showed some similarities to Eodwine, even fighting in the War of the Ring. Erbrand wanted to explain that he was but a boy of thirteen at the time of the war, not yet strong enough to wield a sword and not rich enough to have a horse. Is he challenging my honor or asking question?

Athanar was certainly as courteous as lord Eodwine had been and was a man of vision. Erbrand could hear the enterprising words spring from Athanar’s lips with a confidence that only experience can give. There was, however, a look in Athanar’s eyes that made Erbrand shudder. This was a man of great vision, that he could tell, but he also sensed the determination behind those words and to Erbrand it did not seem gentle. It would be a new Scarburg within a month, transformed in the image of its new lord. This was a man who would be brutal if given the proper excuse for it. He must be marvelous on the battlefield. Erbrand had been too honest thus far to stay silent at Athanar’s last words.

“Not so my lord,” Erbrand said as he jumped from his position and neared the distance between them. “I admit that you may have better experience on the matter, but it has been my observations that change, when unwanted, comes best slowly. The people of Scarburg have been through a lot together in this settlement’s short existence. Now, we have lost our lord to a sudden illness, we fear for our lives when the sun sets because of hostile neighbors, and soon lady Saeryn will be bed laden because of…” Erbrand stopped himself quickly. It occurred to him that Athanar might not know of Saeryn’s pregnancy. If so, then it was not his place to reveal such information. Erbrand breathed a hard sigh before continuing.

“I am tired, my lord, of all this. I am tired of being pushed around by nobles who think they can bully us and…,” Erbrand almost did not say it but he had to be honest. “And strangers who can come in and bully us around by means of rank and office. I pray you, be slow and patient with us.”

[Nogrod]

“I admit that you may have better experience on the matter, but it has been my observations that change, when unwanted, comes best slowly. The people of Scarburg have been through a lot together in this settlement’s short existence. Now, we have lost our lord to a sudden illness, we fear for our lives when the sun sets because of hostile neighbors, and soon lady Saeryn will be bed laden because of…”

Erbrand followed lord Athanar and what he said really stroke a nerve. So that's the way things are! Well... it explains some things... and changes the situation. Hmm, I need to see Wynflaed... and lady Saeryn before the speech...

“And strangers who can come in and bully us around by means of rank and office. I pray you, be slow and patient with us.” Erbrand went on. Lord Athanar halted and turned to face the man.

"Listen now Erbrand... you may not be of noble birth but you look and feel like an honest man with a stern heart." Athanar studied Erbrand's expression while saying that. "When on a battlefield you suddenly lose your captain and the enemy is pressing... you don't go slow into thinking whether things should be changed or not - and on what speed, even if the change is unwanted..." lord Athanar actually smiled... but then re-focused himself in a wink of an eye.

"King Eomer's plans on Scarburg have not gone as he might have wished them to go and lord Eodwine's sudden illness is an unwelcome surprise to him... but that kind of crisis calls for strong measures and those king Eomer has taken... and I have pledged to him personally to fulfill them. Lord Tancred and all those around him will finally obey the king and I'm here to see for it."

Lord Athanar eyed Erbrand a moment before continuing. "Some changes are abrupt and unwanted by many, but they must be faced head-on, don't you think?"

He let his last words hammer down, not actually waiting for an answer though, before making a last remark. "I know lord Tancred... personally. He's probably the last rotten apple in the whole of Rohan - with his apprentice lord Alboin... and I fear young lord Faramund so much a distortion of his father - put in charge of his lands by that cursed Wormtongue himself. I do appreciate the guts of young master Thornden and lady Saeryn, but with Tancred... you need something more than just a good heart."

With that he turned around, but halted half-way. "But thank you for your words Erbrand... I hope I will be wiser this evening because of them..." Winking an eye to Erbrand he turned around and went towards the Hall...

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand thought for sure that his words would provoke an unfriendly response from Athanar, but to his surprise Athanar stayed civil. It seems that not everyone was as short tempered as Erbrand. Athanar is indeed a lord. However, the response from Athanar was unyieldingly committed to the idea of change. What that change was Erbrand could not guess, but from what Athanar was saying about Tancred and these nobles, it did not sound all positive. Erbrand felt like snapping back: you are not on the battlefield! This is my home! He was not angry, but he was getting a little frustrated.

The conversation had gone on long enough. Erbrand knew that he should be silent and let his lord have the last word. However, something inside of Erbrand was screaming at him to press the matter further, not to let Athanar think that he could simply come in and change things without resistance.

“What of our lady?” Erbrand called after him. It was extremely rude Erbrand knew that and his impotence could be punishable if he continued much more. “You will, of course, respect her position over us as our lady?”

“I will respect her, yes, but you forget Erbrand, Scarburg has a new lord.”

Athanar was solemn. Erbrand was at least thankful that he did not show any signs of glee in what he had just said, but still. Erbrand felt downcast. Poor Saeryn, does this mean that Athanar has ousted her from the hall? No, he cannot be that cruel. If he is, however, Scarburg should stand up against him, but he cannot be that cruel! He will make a good lord.

“My thanks to the king that Scarburg has an honest lord,” Erbrand replied with a bow. “I wish you good faith in your rule.” Athanar smiled and returned the bow before turning and heading back to the hall.

He is honest and humble in his dealings whether cruel or no, I will give him that. Erbrand watched his new lord until he disappeared inside the Meadhall. He will do.

[Thinlómien]

Modtryth

Before Crabannan could answer the stranger's question, Modtryth cut in: "There was one such soldier here just a while ago, but he left. He seemed to be a bit bruised." There was a hint of question to the tone of her voice.

"What's going on?" asked Ginna, suddenly appearing behind Modtryth's shoulder and leaving just the two cooks to prepare the food. She wiped her fingers on her apron and eyed the two men questioningly.

"This man here is looking for his friend, and Crabannan - well I understand he just came to beg for food," Modtryth told Ginna, and threw a quick smile at Crabannan.

"I know, I heard that," Ginna said. "But what's up with bruised and disappeared people?"

~*~

Wilheard

Oh, Wulf would never catch him. He was a better rider, he had a better horse and he had got a head start. Wilheard shook his head. It was almost sad, some more excitement would be in order. There hadn't been any excitement for days, just dull riding across the fields and plains. Willheard didn't mind spending time or horseback or in open air - in fact he enjoyed it a lot - but it was incredibly frustrating with dozens of people and wagons that moved slower than snails.

His steed was breathing heavily, so he let the animal take a slower pace and looked around. The Scar was quite a beautiful place with the rough rocks and cold autumn sunlight reflecting on them. There was marshland on the other side, and forest formed dark green patches here and there. Wilheard could feel the wind in his hair, and he couldn't help urging his horse to gallop again. It felt good to be here.

He grinned. If Wulf had heard him say that! It was true this was uncultivated countryside and away from the inns and barracks of Edoras, but there was something else here, a wild and savage spirit, the feel of earlier times and heroic deeds. Something he could not quite hunt down and catch, but something he could feel even after such a short while on the scar and something he could let take him over.

He started looking for a way down the scar with the horse. There was swamp, true, but not all of the ground was so wet and it definitely merited a look. Maybe, after all, this would be an adventure instead of an all too long sentence in a boring faraway prison.

[Groin Redbeard]

Balvir’s response was uncommitted to praising or condemning Matrim’s action. The discussion went on for another fifteen minutes before the soldiers decided on the “forgive and forget” approach to the matter. After which Lithor promptly left, followed by his usual companions Balvir and Matrim, to change into his good uniform.

“I have not worn this since lord Eodwine’s wedding,” Lithor stated as he strapped his leather tunic on.

“It hasn’t been long enough,” responded Matrim, hopping up and down while trying to pull a boot on.

“I rather like it.” Lithor fastened his prairie green cloak on his shoulders and sarcastically stroked his hair producing a grin from Matrim and Balvir.

“I wish I was rich enough to afford a looking glass.”

“You should have seen the one that I unloaded from the wagon train, Lithor. It must have been three feet high!” Balvir whistled and Lithor raised his brows in surprise. “This Athanar is sure rich. Perhaps you could ask his wife if you could borrow that mirror of hers.”

“Never mind that, just so long as everyone else can see me I am fine.” They laughed and Balvir opened the door leading to the main hall.

The long tables were all joined together to form an unfinished three sided square. The kitchen maids had begun to decorate the tables with the berries and plants that best represented the wintery time of year. The scent from the kitchen suddenly made Lithor realize how hungry he was.

“Frodides!” Lithor called after the old cook. “Are there any samples for a few hungry soldiers?” Frodides simply shook her head knowingly and the three soldiers laughed.

“My my, someone sure looks good!” Erbrand said coming through the hall door, closing it behind him. The light was beginning to fade in the evening sky and the freezing night winds were beginning to pick up. Erbrand was dressed for the occasion in a sheep skin cloak, covering his shoulders, and mostly butternut colored clothing. His clothes were the best that he had, but they were worn by the weather and months of hard work. However, his face was merry and his hands were busy tuning the cords on a fiddle

“Hey there Erbrand.” Matrim said “My! What happened to you? You look worse than I do.”

For a minute Erbrand was confused and hurt. He examined his clothing and brushed at it. Erbrand thought that he had dressed quite well for the occasion. However, when he looked up Matrim was pointing at Erbrand’s forehead, not Erbrand’s clothing.

“That is the longest, nastiest, looking bruise I have ever seen. Where did you get it?”

“Oh that! Never you mind, it does not matter where I got it.”

“Say, Erbrand,” interjected Lithor with a big smile on his face. “I did not know that you could play.” He pointed at the fiddle in Erbrand’s hands.

“Something my grandpa taught me from his experience in Aldburg’s taverns. There has not been the proper occasion to bring it out and I thought now would be a good time. Perhaps Crabannan and I could combine our talents to make some proper music for our guests.”

“Indeed, and speaking of our guests, I am most anxious to hear what Athanar will have to say.”

“He has a good character. I do not think that he will be a bad lord in the least.” Lithor looked at him surprised. Erbrand was the last person in Scarburg, with the exception of Scyld and Crabannan, who Lithor expected to hear this talk from.

“You sound awfully sure of yourself, Erbrand. Is there something you would like to share with the rest of us?” Lithor’s lips curled in a large grin, but Erbrand simply winked and returned the grin.

The hall was beginning to fill up with people. The great fire was lit and filled the great meadhall with a warm, glowing, light. After wishing one another a merry night, Lithor, Balvir and Matrim left to find what their duties would be for the night, leaving Erbrand alone. Erbrand, however, soon left the hall for the moment to the kitchen to see if he could find Kara. But he would have to hurry, the feast was about to begin!

[Groin Redbeard]

The speech ended. Erbrand and Crabannan gave each other grim stares and slowly applauded. Erbrand did not care too much for the speech. It was as if it was shrouded in a dark mist, very depressing. One step out of line and there will be trouble for Scarburg. Yet, even if Athanar was a bit headstrong, perhaps he could solve the problems with the local lords. This was Erbrand’s primary concern, for the basest duty of a lord is to protect his people. Everything else would be put to right when Eodwine recovers.

Poor Saeryn. Athanar really could be that cruel! Erbrand hated the way that Athanar broke the news to the entire hall. Effective, using Eodwine’s illness as a crutch to lean on. And degrading Saeryn for all of Scarburg to see! Any man who would do such a thing is afraid that his rule will not last, but he forgets that Rohan’s women are strong. Old Scarburg will stand behind her if she were to contend with this “lord.” Erbrand’s anger, however, was soothed by Crabannan, of all people.

“Come, shall we play?” And with that Crabannan strode forth to the center of the hall and struck on his harp a fast and merry tune. Erbrand soon followed and amidst the music and discussion of the hall, laughter began to arise.


Lithor

“No doubt, no doubt!” Lithor laughed as Matrim finished his story.

“But tell me, Matrim, what did the man say after that?”

“Why nothing. He just turned purple and walked away.”

This produced more laughter from the table. They had forgotten their uneasiness from Athanar’s speech. Modryth was coming around serving drinks.

“What this feast needs is a bit of livening up!” Lithor said after the laughter abated.

“What more could we need,” asked Osmund. “This is what we like: good food, good company, and a beautiful woman to flatter.” He winked at Modryth.

“I mean something else.” And with that being said, Lithor got up and strode to the wall were some of the armaments were hanging. After gathering several spears from the wall he strode to the center of the hall.

“Friends, friends!” he exclaimed with outstretched arms in a loud voice that silenced the music. “I would like to welcome our guests tonight for the duration of their stay with us here at Scarburg and to our gracious temporary lord.” Lithor bowed in the direction of the high table.

“First, allow me to introduce myself. My lord, gentlemen, I am Lithor. I am half horse, half lion, and a little kin to a snapping turtle. I have got the fastest horse, the prettiest sister, the surest lance, and the ugliest dog in the Middle-emnet. My father can lick any man in Dunland and I can lick my father. I can hug a bear too close for comfort and eat any man opposed to lord Eodwine.” His boasts produced some laughter from the crowd.

“As a challenge to all men here tonight I propose a friendly contest.” Lithor raised his spear and promptly threw it at a horizontal beam at the far end of the hall. The spear hit the beam with a thud that echoed through the hall. Murmurs began to arise.

“Friends!” Lithor cried again with outstretched arms. “As a gift to any of the newcomers who can throw their spear closest to mine, I will give to them my spear; three woolen coats for the oncoming winter; two quivers of arrows for the winter hunts; two swords for which I haggled from our dear smith Harreld; and twelve beaver pelts, which will catch a fair price at our local tanner.” Lithor looked at Erbrand and gave him a friendly wink. Erbrand frowned a little I never should have shown him how to set snares! Oh well, all for the greater good.

“So, in the name of friendly competition and of the honor of the individuals seated here tonight, step forward those who would take up this challenge!”

[Formendacil]

Náin's heavy, Dwarven hands tightened into fists as he braced himself against the table, and his typically ruddy face paled behind his beard.

"...eat any man opposed to lord Eodwine... temporary lord... newcomers..."

"Stigend!" he said in low, voice. "Has Lithor sunk so far into his cups? Is he mad? No lord of the Dwarves would tolerate such an attitude!"

Náin grimaced, blinked slowly, and tried to ease the stress out of his fists. He turned to the Eodwiningas around him and said with great deliberation.

"Don't let Lithor turn this into a brawl--whatever he's up to!"

[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.

[Folwren]

Saeryn looked on in wonder and shock. She had found Lithor’s challenge amusing and she hoped that it would ease the unpleasant feeling in the room a little. At least it would distract her from her thoughts. But it did not amuse Athanar, apparently, and now he charged Lithor with disrespect, and worse. A sharp pain shot up into her head and pierced her skull at her forehead. She winced and looked away from Lithor, standing thus humiliated in the center of the hall, and pressed her hand against her temples.

Every turn of event this day had brought disappointments and strife. Load upon load was set on her heart and feelings, and she felt pressed down beyond endurance. Her eyes burned, but her mood now was such that she couldn’t cry. More than anything she wanted to stand and say that Athanar could not act such in her hall. This was not what he was sent to do, and in Eodwine’s absence he should try to uphold Eodwine’s standards.

Eodwine’s absence? Athanar had been given eorlship. It didn’t matter if Eodwine had been eorl, or even if he ever would be eorl again. She struggled with this reality, and the pain in her head became worse.

As from a distance, she heard Crabannan’s furious, though quiet, protest against the accusation of treason.

Eodwine would never have treated a man – any man – in such a fashion. Not even in his court of law did he speak so to a man. Never before had Thornden had to stand before his eorl and speak as he spoke now, pleading for another man’s life or fair treatment. It was all wrong. All terribly, terribly wrong, and it hurt Saeryn deeply to hear one of her men spoken to in such a manner.

[Thinlómien]

Wulfric

"I need to pee," Wilheard whispered just after their father had finished his speech.
"Did you need to announce that? Are you four years old?" Wulfric replied in a hiss. He was very annoyed at his little brother managing to get him lost and avoiding the beating earlier during the day.
Wilheard rolled his eyes. "Don't you know an excuse when you hear one, dumb?"
Wulfric raised an eyebrow. "An excuse for what? Not drinking? I didn't know Aedre came here after all, quite convincingly dressed up as Wilheard."
"More speeches," Wilheard whispered in an agonised voice. "I know these parties. It's always more speeches."
Wulfric emptied his cup. He didn't really want to hear any nonsense from these peasants either, their father's speech had surely been everything interesting. "I guess no one is watching us..." he muttered and the two slipped away into the night.

"Speaking of Aedre. Why wasn't the tiny one in the party?" Wilheard asked as they sat down on the grass out of earshot of the party area.
Wulfric shrugged. "Nobody told me. Why so interested?"
"Dunno." Wilheard shrugged. "Didn't you notice anything, o brilliant one?"
Wulfric gave him a friendly punch. "Nah, father said she didn't want to come." Then he frowned. "But he said no one should mess up with her."
"You get my drift," Wilheard said darkly.
"Blimey, when did you develop wits?" Wulfric asked.
"I just haven't been drinking as much as you," Wilheard said simply and laid down on the grass.
"I'm going to find out who did what to my sister and see they don't do it again," Wulfric announced.
"I'm with you, bro," Wilheard nodded.

There was a silence, and they could here loud voices from the party area. Wilheard sat up quickly.
"What was that?" he said, eyeing around.
"Nah just some applause for a speech probably," said Wulfric. He scratched his head thoughtfully. "The sad thing is that they get all the drinks. I'll go fetch some ale from the kitchen."
"Sure," Wilheard said, cocking his head. "And it has nothing to do with the pretty kitchen maids, eh?"
"Kitchen maids?" Wulfric asked, his face slightly flushed. It irritated him that the little wimp could always read his mind. "For your information, the hottest wench around is obviously the peasant damsel in charge of this lot."
Enjoying the astonishment on his younger brother's face and the howling laughter that followed it, Wulfric started to make it for the kitchens.

~*~

Modtryth

Although the worry about the current situation and Lord Eodwine was heavy on her heart, she could not help being irritated by the Cnebba issue. What did he mean by "she deserved it"? They'd need to talk, and rather sooner than later. It was definitely no good if Cnebba and the other boys started being hostile with the new Eorl's daughter.

She was relieved when she could leave the table after the speech. As she had guessed, Ginna, Kara and Rowenna were happy to have her help with serving the drinks and the food. She walked to the soldier table and poured for the household soldiers. They were getting into a merry mood. "What more could we need? This is what we like: good food, good company, and a beautiful woman to flatter," Osmund declared and winked at her. She gave him a stern look but her eyes were twinkling with merriment. Osmund was a terrible flirt when drunk.

She moved on to serve to the other soldiers when Lithor started his boast. She winced. The boastful jerk had never had any sense of social appropriety, and announcing such a boast right after the new Eorl's speech was plain foolishness. Nevertheless she was taken aback by the stern response and the argument that followed. She almost felt sorry for Lithor.

With a little hesitation she approached the Eorl's table, seeing that the Lady's cup was empty. So were the sons' cups, but the lads themselves were nowehere to be seen. She filled the Lady's cup but let the two others remain empty for the time being. When she walked away, she could feel the lady's eyes on her back. She couldn't help the uncomfortable feeling that crept up her spine. She was happy to slip away and go back to sit beside her son and husband. They both had their eyes fixed on Lithor, who was now offering apologies. In horror, she watched him make his situation worse and worse.

"Stupid old fool," she muttered in a barely audible voice as the Eorl dismissed Lithor and he sat back to his table.

[Groin Redbeard]

The night was a cold one. There was no wind, thankfully, and Lithor could walk around comfortably so long as he was properly dressed. His walk was aimless. There was no place Lithor wanted to go in particular so simply wondered around the stables. His challenge, Athanar’s outburst, and his defiance revealed a lot to him. First off, know your audience, this audience was not ripe for the picking—his pick had been too hasty. Secondly, that deep down he had no stomach for politics. Around and around the stables Lithor walked each time faster than before until he had accelerated to a brisk walk. His mind thought well when his body was at work with it.

What did you accomplish by speaking back to Athanar. The sentiment in the hall did not change, they all still despised you for what they saw as an unnecessary boast and challenge. All I did was make enemies. I believe saying what I believe, but there are some times when it is prudent to stay quiet. Thinking out loud is responsible for much of mankind’s misery as you are about to found out.

“You insulted Athanar. You insulted him in public! It is perfectly acceptable to insult someone in private (sometime they might even thank you for it afterward) but when you do it in public they tend to think you are serious about it. There was no need to go that far. After all, you were never against the change of rule in the hall, only the haste for it.”

Erbrand
Crabannan’s song ended. Erbrand and Kara stood looking into each other’s eyes still embracing one another, not ready to let go (at least, Erbrand was not ready to let go). Then something quite unexpected happened, Saeryn’s delicate voice came echoing through the kitchen door. Erbrand looked at the opened door and then back at Kara.

“I must hear this,” he said as he sprinted to the door followed closely by Kara. Erbrand held her around the shoulder as Saeryn spoke of peace once again. Was it too late? Saeryn was doing what Athanar could not do, which is to unite the old Scarburg with the new Scarburg. There was no mistaking Athanar’s intentions, he was to be in charge of the settlement by whatever means necessary. Erbrand thought that Saeryn was wise to call for unification instead of Athanar.

“Just look at her, Kara.” Erbrand said looking at Saeryn, frail, timid, pregnant, yet rising above all of that and standing amongst strong men. It was good to see someone with a clear head taking control.

“Before she was lady Saeryn she was just Saeryn: an ordinary country girl with no experience in professional diplomacy or commanding a hall. Yet, to see her now rising above all of that to try to bring order out of an impossible situation—no one has even tried! Saeryn has not only inherited lord Eodwine’s respect, she has inherited his strength.” Erbrand looked at Kara. He was obviously proud at what he was hearing.
“But will Athanar accept her good will?” Kara asked with a troubled look on her face. It was a grim thought, the possibilities of which were not certain.

“He will, he must!” Erbrand’s voice was resolute and determined. “How can he not? Look at her face Kara, shining as light coming through a glass window. Oh to finally have someone that we can look to, who we respect—we must support her with words and leadership and swords, if necessary, and most of all faith in what she does. ”

“Do you not hear yourself?” Kara clung to him; he could hear the shock in her voice. “Lady Saeryn is speaking of peace and you are already mentioning swords.”

“If I have to stand and rail until my voice breaks and my legs collapse beneath me, I will not see her wronged.” Erbrand looked at Kara her delicate form showing courage but frailty. He cradled her head in his hands. “I will not see you wronged either Kara, I promise you that.”

Saeryn finished talking. She looked bolder than she had at the beginning of the address, a natural leader. To speak so boldly after someone had been accused of treason was admirable to say the least. There was no longer any doubt that Athanar would do as he wished when it came to the status of those in the old Scarburg. Saeryn had already been placed at a rank lesser than that of lady, Athanar might bring her down another notch for this. However, if enough people rallied around Saeryn, Athanar might be afraid to do anything to her. Erbrand could not stand it any longer. He had to let the newcomers know that at least some of the remnants of Scarburg would unite behind Saeryn.

Crabannan had been the first, now it was his turn. With a loud voice Erbrand boldly proclaimed “Aye, well said!” He could feel Kara tense up as he spoke. It was an innocent remark that betrayed nothing but his opinion. What he hoped for was that it would provoke other members of Scarburg to find their voices.

[Folwren]

The hall had quieted. People had returned to their dinners and conversations were flowing freely now among the people at the tables. Good. Perhaps they were somewhat at their ease. Thornden glanced at Saeryn. She and Degas were speaking to each other. She looked more at ease now that she had spoken her piece and gotten a positive reaction from the people.

Athanar had asked Thornden to speak, but now that it came to it, Thornden did not want to. Even if the others had already recovered from Lithor’s humiliation, he had not. Responsibility hung heavy on his shoulders still, and despite the conscious realization that he really had no part in what had happened, he could not rid himself of the feeling of guilt. His plate was cleared and instead of getting seconds as he very likely would have at any other time, he quietly excused himself to his neighbors and departed from the table and hall.

Briefly he stepped into the guardroom to see if Lithor had gone there. He was no where to be seen, so after Thornden snatched up a cloak, he went out into the courtyard to find him.

A hard frost crunched under his boots as he walked out. He drew the neck of the cloak tight about his throat and watched as his breath went up in a cloud of smoke past the torchlight. Before he could begin to form of a plan of how to search for Lithor, the person in question came round the corner of the stables, walking quickly and in agitation. Thornden strode swiftly to intercept his path and stopped him with a word.

“Lithor?”

He stopped wide eyed as Thornden approached. The torchlight lit up his face, showing the depth of his confusion and surprise but kept Thornden's face a dark silhouette. The silence in the air was now pierced by the eery sound of distant howling. Neither could tell if it was the wind or wolves. Which ever it was, it made for an uncomfortable and foreboding feeling inside Lithor's heart.

"At your service." Lithor bowed as he said this. "Your presence is a surprise," he paused for a moment and took a deep breath. "But it was not entirely unexpected. What is your purpose with me?" It was a dumb question, but one that needed to be asked. Lithor did not know what Thornden thought about his outburst and whether the rebuke that was sure to follow would be soft or hard.

“I wanted to find out where you had gone, to make sure you did yourself no harm, mostly,” Thornden said. He looked at Lithor and regretted that his presence should cause such discomfort in him. “You have nothing to fear from me, Lithor. I have not changed with the coming of lord Athanar. I will guess that I was as surprised as you when he became so angry with you.” His words stalled briefly, for he knew not how to go on.

“However,” he finally said, “what has happened cannot be changed. I expect Athanar to ask of me what should be done to you, and I really have no answer for him. I think you know best where you strayed from propriety, and I wanted to ask you what you think would be the most fair punishment. I do not want you to think that I want you punished, or that I wish to do so unfairly. In truth, Lithor, I believe that were it up to me alone, I would let even your rash words there at the end pass with only a warning. But,” he said, looking back towards the lighted hall, “Athanar felt that he had already been insulted. Those final words were the final straw, I think.”

"Just as the accusation of treason was the last straw for me. I know I have nothing to fear from you, Thornded, so long as I am obedient. And I must say that your offer for me to pass judgement on myself would be like offering the condemned man a choice between a slow or short death-- death will come despite the choice!" Lithor was not angry with Thornden at all, but he was very dissapointed. He thought that Thornden would have known better.

"You are not going to be killed," Thornden said, his voice sharp, not from anger with Lithor, but perhaps with doubt that suddenly attacked him. "I will not back Athanar in such a choice."

"Think with your head, Thornden!" Lithor tapped his temple with vigor. "Learn from what has happened. Lady Saeryn has been ousted from her position by Athanar and he is using me as an example for unquestioning obedience. Did you not see the contempt in his eyes when he looked at you? My action has reflected on your command and right now, to Athanar, it looks very poor. Athanar will do with me what Athanar will do me, your intercedence on my behalf will only make it worse for you and Scarburg." Lithor ended his speech on a grim thought. A silence fell between them.

"I did not mean to sound so forceful, master Thornden." Lithor sounded a bit more timid now, he bowed courteously. "You were right when you said you have not changed, but the fact is that everything has changed. I am old, too old to change and that is one of the reasons why the argument was brought on. But you," Lithor stepped closer to Thornden. The man was more like a boy to Lithor, to think that if Lithor had married his son would be Thornden's age. Lithor had great hope in the younger generation and what he was about to say he could see as clearly as the expression on Thornden's face.

"But you," he began again, "you are young, master Thornden, and you have a great level of prominence in the old Scarburg, which has now been transported to the new Scarburg. Athanar respects you, even if it is little. Don't give him any reason to betray that trust. When Eodwine returns the shift may be very difficult, we will need people who are respected on both sides. And (the Vala forbid it!) if Eodwine does not return you must lead Scarburg to renew the seat to its rightful heir: Saeryn, and later her son! If I have not made myself clear thus far, then in short I am asking you to change with the times. Do not abandon your principles (which a man like you would never do), but co-operate with Athanar and his men."

Lithor was no longer asking or advising Thornden, he was pleading with him. As sure as the stars in the heavens sometimes fall, he was sure that Thornden would one day rise, but it had to be with the rightful heir of Eodwine. Thornden was dutiful and Lithor was sure that he had said nothing that Thornden had not thought over a hundred times; however, sometimes things are clearer when spoken and easier to do if friends support it.

Thornden felt uneasy. He shifted on his feet, and finally forced himself to break from Lithor's gaze. Of course he would cooperate with Athanar and his men, but to do so at the expense of one of Eodwine's men? Not so! That would be to turn his back on more than his principles. That would be to turn his back on his friends, and in effect on Eodwine and Saeryn, both to whom he had sworn fealty.

“Perhaps you have read my position wrong, Lithor,” he said, quietly. How could he say what he had to say, and appear not to be talking badly behind Athanar’s back? He had no wish to strengthen whatever ill thoughts or feelings Lithor had against the new eorl. “I will follow and obey Athanar as far as I am able, but I will not stand by and watch a man innocent of treason be punished for it. I will stand between him and you, even if it means that he will break me while passing. If I am to be brought down to the level of a common soldier, so be it. I was that not more than a year ago.

“But I feel certain that it will not be necessary. Athanar is not a cruel man. Hasty and hard he may be, but he is not cruel. I ask you again, Lithor, take the help I offer, speak to me, and tell me whatever you can that will aid me while I speak to Athanar. Remember, he offered you the choice to talk to me.”

"Indeed, I would rather say this to him in person, Thornden, you understand, but I know that the sight of me will send him into another rage. To tell the truth, the sight of him would do the same to me." Lithor laughed to himself. He wondered if Thornden caught the insult hidden in his words.

"You may tell Athanar that I am sorry for my hasty words. I am sorry for my insults at my better and will accept the consequences of my actions." Lithor did not know what else to say. He was indeed sorry for those things, but nothing more. However, it seemed a till short for an apology.

"Tell Athanar something else from me as well. Tell him that I am a soldier, and an old one at that. I have seen many winters and have experienced the rule of many lords. Tell him that experience has taught me reverence for my superiors and that prudence has taught me the proper ways in which to serve them. I had no intention of an insult of any kind."

It was a genuine expression of his feelings. Seldom did he betray the gloomy side of his heart and he did not wish to show anymore than he had to.

"I thank you for your consolment, master Thornden. It does my old heart good to know that I have friends who care for me. However, if you understand, I would prefer to be alone with my thoughts. I have a lot to think about."

"Of course," Thornden said, nodding. "I will gladly bear your message to Athanar. I am -” he paused, and looked again at Lithor. The man turned his face upwards, expectantly. “I am sorry. . .for what happened. I wish I could have. . .I wish it could have been avoided, and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you there.”

Lithor nodded. “You did grand job stepping in to save me.” He rubbed his chin in thought. "Traitor." he said trying the word of for size. "All my life, I always wanted to be somebody. Now I see that I should have been more specific." A good humored grin brightened his face. He bowed.

Thornden bent his head in answer and then turned to go back to lighted hall and the feasting.

[Folwren]

Javan cleared his plate once, then twice, and then became restless as people continued sitting about, chatting and eating slowly. He glanced to his right. Cnebba sat leaning his cheek against one hand with his elbow resting on the table, while with his spoon he pushed about some left over potatoes. Beyond him, Stigend and Garwine were talking together. He glanced to his left, at Garmund, who sat with both hands folded in his lap and his eyes staring straight forward with a dull, bored expression on his face.

“Come on, fellows,” he said, tapping the boys on the shoulders. He turned and slipped off the bench. With a glance at each other, the two others followed him.

“What are we going to do?” Garmund asked.

“I don’t know, but we were all three of us bored beyond endurance.”

“I want to check Snowstreak,” Cnebba said, suddenly. “I don’t think she’s in a stall tonight and I want to make sure she is alright. Would you come with me?”

“Sure. Let’s get a scarf or something – it’s cold outside.” They raided their room quickly, searching for warm garments to throw on, and then as swiftly as possible, so as to avoid detection, they passed quietly through the main hall and then out into the courtyard. They were about to enter the stables when the sound of angry voices reached them. The boys crowded into the shadow of the doorway and peered out.

“Who is it?” Garmund whispered. Javan shook his head. From here, he could not even see the shapes of the people arguing. Without a word, he crept out, following the wall of the stable. They hurried down it, crouching in the narrow shadow by the wall, until they came to the corner and finally came into view of where three men stood, two facing one.

“It’s Lithor!” Cnebba whispered, horrified.

“Who are the other two?” Garmund asked.

“I don’t know either of them. They're new,” Javan replied, shaking his head. It didn’t look good. It didn’t look good at all. They knelt on the cold ground, waiting.

[Groin Redbeard]

The shove rocked Lithor on the crate on which he was sitting, nearly upsetting him and the crate. These boys were becoming obnoxious. Base actions for base persons! So simple and puffed up, as if they had been raised instead of born to their current positions.

Lithor jumped to his feet. He thought of reaching for his sword—that would bring a quick end to this—but he remembered that his sword was tucked away under his cot. His uniform was for the feast and he bore no sword while inside the hall. They outrank Lithor but their actions are beneath him. He would show them some wit and if they still insisted on a fight then let them do their worst. He was not going to strike the sons of Athanar. A crooked smile crept on Lithor’s face as an idea formed in his mind. He was still in a relatively good mood and he was going to have fun with this.

“No bowing today, my friends. Eavesdropping knows no distinction of class; therefore, you cannot excuse your rude actions on it.” Lithor was sure to make himself talk loud and fast so as to not be interrupted.

“Such boys! Such shallow wit and knowledge! Know you not that when a boy becomes a man his pride diminishes and his chivalry grows. For a man with great chivalry indicates a great man: genial, courteous, intellectual, selfless, and courageous. While those faces of yours, those blank inglorious concavities, are devoid of pride, of poetry, of soul, of contour, of dignity, of character, in short, of chivalry. You are too simple. Why waste your opportunity on a shove? A dull, stupid and profligate boy, full of drink and low conversation, without dignity of appearance or manner, without sympathy of any kind with your working peasants and their ways and without the slightest knowledge of how to use the common tongue gently. Born into the ranks of the working class, your most likely fate would have been that of a street-corner loafer.

“These my dear sirs are things you might have said if you had some tinge of letters or of wit to color your discourse. But of wit you never had a grain. Therefore, if we are to continue in our delightful banter, I suggest that you cease in choosing from your poor vocabulary and continue in shoving this old greybeard.”

[Folwren]

“Oh, but,” Javan began. He flushed dark red with embarrassment, worry, and fear, mixed altogether. “We didn’t mean to bother you, lady.” Wynflaed was already gone. The three boys stared after her, gaping. Thornden stood up in obedience to her request to follow her, and when Javan protested, Thornden impatiently pushed him down into his chair and then quickly followed Wynflaed out.

Javan stayed where he had been sat, and the two younger boys stood on either side of him. All three pairs of eyes watched as the two grown-ups went out to deal with the problem.

“I hope Lithor doesn’t get in trouble again,” Javan said. “I wish she hadn’t gone out.” He paused and the other two didn’t say anything. He looked at them. “If you two hadn’t been so loud and insisted on interrupting and not letting me tell Thornden, she wouldn’t have overheard.”

“We weren’t interrupting!” Garmund said. “We were being just as quiet as you!”

“You were not, I was whisp-”

“Javan.” He turned his head sharply. Saeryn was looking at him from across the table. She raised an eyebrow warningly and tilted her head in the direction of the door.

“Sorry, lady Saeryn,” Javan said, standing up quickly. “Come on, fellows,” he said, and led the boys away.

Searyn turned back to lord Athanar. He was speaking at some length of a conversation that had at first been concerning Gondor and the lands there, but she had lost the thread of conversation when the boys distracted her. Their behavior worried her, though she had not heard anything that they had said. She noticed Wynflaed’s departure, and Thornden’s, and she also noticed that although Athanar had looked up and watched his wife leave, he did not stop the conversation.

She did not know what the trouble was, and as they had not come to get her, she figured she need not worry about it. She ate in silence, turning things over in her mind. So much would be happening tomorrow, and so much would be new. She really had no idea what to expect. So much had to be resolved – Javan’s actions must be addressed, more details had to be settled about her own position in the hall, and most lately, this issue concerning Lithor must be resolved. She truly dreaded that most of all. She felt he was not guilty of treason, but if Athanar thought it, he would try to punish Lithor accordingly, and she told herself now that she would do everything in her power to keep Lithor from being killed. However, even if he was not guilty of treason, he was guilty of gross disrespect to the lord in the lord’s own hall. Saeryn had no desire to see Lithor punished in any way, but she felt sure that Athanar would not let it go unaddressed.

And that brought her mind back to Javan. She had not seen Ædre even once, and the fact that the girl had not come to the banquet made her fear that Javan had done more than just hit her once. They had not had a chance to speak with Athanar before the feast, and she knew that the following day, it would be her duty to tell him who it was who had so insulted and injured Ædre. She did not look forward to it.

The simple fact was, she found herself saying in her mind, was that she didn’t look forward to tomorrow at all. She wished she did not have any dealing with it in the slightest, and for the first time since marrying Eodwine, she longed for the simple status of serving-maid again with all her heart. She wanted nothing to do with these responsibility issues – not when it all had to do with punishment and harsh order. Everything that happened had gone awry.

And what was happening outside, anyway?

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan looked at Lithor, a little annoyed at being interrupted in the midst of a rather emotional ballad. It was jarring, and he found himself regarding Lithor an amount of dislike at that moment, though he never had any quarrel with the soldier.

"Livening up?" he muttered to Erbrand. "That's what we were doing."

Erbrand frowned and nodded. "Looks like someone hit the ale early today."

"Lithor is aware, isn't he, that there have already been 3 or 4 fights between the Scarburgers and the newcomers? We don't need to provide opportunity for 3 or 4 more." Crabannan paused, and, reflecting, realized that he never would have said that a month or two ago. Who had he become? He looked around the room uncomfortably, suddenly feeling out of place. He glanced at Erbrand. The man was tuning his instrument and pretending to ignore Lithor. There was no response from Athanar's men, and even the sounds of eating died away as they stared at Lithor. A crow croaked madly somewhere outside the Hall, then faded away.

On an impulse, Crabannan leapt up from his chair and covered the distance between himself and Lithor in two swift, ungainly bounds - like a great, ragged raven. Standing tall by Lithor, he raised his voice.

"Come now!" he laughed, gesturing to the crowd, "Are there no men among you? At least do us the courtesy of a swift 'nay' if there are not!"

He clapped Lithor on the shoulder and laughed again, long and loud, a feeling of elation rushing through him and out to his fingertips. He had no idea what he was doing.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athar had listened to the sergeant making his show first with curiosity, then with growing disdain and finally he felt his veins were exploding...

And then there was this guy seemingly trying to save the situation... whoever he was. Actually lord Athanar was puzzled as the intruder clearly was not a Rohanian soldier, but he didn't look like a craftsman either, but a soldier from... he was not sure from where. There seemed to be people he would have to learn who they were in this Mead Hall indeed... little had he been told in Edoras...

But enough was enough. Lord Athanar stood up violently, looking stern and dead serious. His commanding voice ran through the Hall.

"Quit disgracing yourself any more sergeant Lithor! And that is right now!"

Everyone held their breath as Lithor turned to face lord Athanar. All the eyes were glued into the two men.

Athanar glanced at Thornden. It was clear what his eyes indicated.

"Tom-foolery is for the jesters. Soldiers have other duties. Looking at your years you should know that Lithor. Now thread yourself carefully sergeant..." He paused and eyed Lithor carefully.

"Me and my soldiers - and my household - are not your quests in here! And I mean especially you sergeant Lithor! You are not in a position to call anyone a quest here! Take your place soldier! The king decides who is the lord, who is the subject and who is a quest. You should understand that, soldier? The order of command and decision making is taught in the boot-camp and you should know it!"

Lord Athanar was clearly enraged. "It's not you, or even me, but the king who decides on these issues!" He let his words to sink in before continuing in a bit softer tone, but firmly showing he would continue, barring Lithor from any explanations.

"And don't think of me as a fool Lithor... that's almost the worst of what you do. I can hear from your tone that you're not liking the way things have gone... Let me bring you some news Lithor, neither am I. Had king Eomer given me a Hall where everything was to be built from scratch to my liking... and without all this stuff of needing to face lord Tancred and his allies... had I loved that? Yes I would have changed this to it any moment, just belive me! Being not forced to hear that lord Eodwine's condition is beyond cure... would I have liked that? Sure. He was a good man, a good leader and a fine soldier - and a great loss to Rohan!"

Lord Athanar paused for a moment to look around, glancing at the table with Saeryn, Thornden and Degas the last and nodding to them in passing.

"But quessing and seeing your feelings - and combining them with the disgrace you uttered them - I am quite sure you were not ready to give away your "treasures" just like that to show goodwill... Your words do contradict themselves. So you had something up to your sleeve, didn't you? As I said, I am no fool people like you may try their luck with..."

The thought was unnerving and quite new to all but Erbrand who decided to look downwards not to meet the eyes of other people.

"I offer you two choices Lithor."

There was a total silence as everyone held their breath with the new turn of events.

"You either make a full confession to master Thornden and he will then suggest me a suitable punishment for you I will either accept or change tomorrow... or you will be taken into custody right now and will face in the worst case a court marshall for treason in Edoras as without other motives for your actions I can only infer you were trying to cause harm to people the king had ordered into their duties..."

Lord Athanar looked at Lithor with a piercing gaze.

"Your choice soldier..."

[Mnemosyne]

Wynflaed pinched the bridge of her nose. So much, she thought grimly, for this being a relaxing evening of song and tale. Although the prospect of that had been ruined as soon as she had seen her daughter stricken! She hoped that soon she would be able to speak with someone who could tell her who had done that bloody deed, so that justice could be done. But now this... that the soldiers of this hall would think to treat them as guests, and take a man's dangerous sport into a household setting was effrontery enough. But treason... At times she did not understand her husband's need to put all actions in the framework of war.

Not that there was not something unsettling about Lithor's speech, insult aside. She knew well the silvered tongue of politics from Edoras. It would be no different out in the Midemnet, and if anything speech and declaration of intent would be rougher. Lithor was under Athanar's command, and a soldier. Let him be dealt with as a soldier ought.

Looking over the array of people in the hall, she was a little astonished to see the array of color in the locks of those present. Some guests, perhaps, or commoner folk whose blood had mingled? Most astonishing of all was one of the women who had refilled her cup at table. Her eyes were not clear the way one of the Eorlingas or the Dunedain should have, but dark, even darker than the brown she had once seen in one of the holbytlan.

Surely a lord like Eodwine would not have had one of the Dunlendings under his employ? She made a note to inquire after the matter when she met with the lady Saeryn--if indeed they ever reached the point of making that meeting. She had heard the mutterings of the people when Athanar had declared her lady of Scarburg. The path that lay ahead of her was steep indeed.