Scarburg Meadhall

[Folwren]

Thornden had no slept well that night. He tossed and turn a great deal and woke frequently, half starting and looking about to try to ascertain what time it was. As he lay back for the fifth time, he muttered to himself, “One would think it was you who was in trouble.” Despite the fact that he personally was not to be called before Athanar to receive judgement, he still felt dreadful. He rose, therefore, early, and went out to the hall to see to it that the fire was large and healthy.

He was still standing by the fire, watching the flames, when his brother entered the hall. He glanced up when he saw the movement by the wall and stopped Javan’s silent passage towards the front door. “Come here, Javan,” he said. Javan gave a longing glance towards the door and came. Saeryn’s words from the previous evening nagged at Thornden cruelly, and he still didn’t even know the full story. “What happened yesterday, exactly? Between you and Athanar’s daughter.”

“You don’t know?” Javan asked.

“Well, I heard you two yelling and then when I turned about to look, you’d already hit her and she was lying on the ground. I want to know why.”

Javan shrugged and then gave a short account of what had occurred. Thornden nodded when he had finished, and then said quietly, “Very well. Go and help Léof, if that’s what you were intending on doing.”

The boy hurried off and Thornden was left alone again. He sighed and rested his hand against the mantle. He stood thus, wrapped in silent thought, ignorant of the few and scattered people who came, passed through, and exited the hall again. Most were searching for breakfast or for someone else, their morning hardly begun, and no one addressed him.

Then suddenly he was aware of someone who had not ignored him and passed by. He lifted his head and saw Lithor standing nearby. Thornden lowered his hand and stood upright.

"Good morning, Lithor," he said.

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand

Seems friendly enough. Erbrand thought to himself as he hoisted his bow on his shoulder holding it in place with one hand and extending the other. “I remembered you from the hall. Remember, the kitchen, I bumped in to you.”

“Of course.” Hildernic replied sounding pleasant.

“I thank you for your compliment and no I am not on taking a stroll. I am a tanner.” Hildernic gave him a quizzical look. Erbrand realized that he sounded snobbish to the stranger. His answer only gave Hildernic another question: what was a tanner doing out here near the marsh?

“Oh…sorry.” Erbrand said awkwardly. “Being a tanner in these remote reaches I am forced to find my own hides to work with, see.” He held up his bow. “Though I suppose that playing a fiddle would be an easier job and not damage my fingers, as you say, I would far rather have my fingers pluck this string.” Erbrand pulled his bow string and let it twang. He chuckled slightly.

“Did you really think that I was a bard?” Erbrand asked amused. He examined his rough hands and looked over his low, dirty, clothing. “I must say that I don’t look like one today, but I am not sure I would like to look like one any day. I saw one once in Aldeburg, all prim and woman like in his thin figure dressed in rich clothes. No, there is work for these hands to do.” Erbrand lifted his fingers up and wiggled them.

“Ow! That was a nasty hit I took.” Erbrand examined several bruised knuckles. “Fights are no fun unless you win them I guess. I am luck that he did not break my fist. Did you brawl much, master Hildernic, in your youth?”

It was an odd question. The answer to which Erbrand wanted to hear, for when he knew it, he would also know if Hildernic was a man of impulse and adventure. Erbrand had practically given the brawl away and was planning on telling Hildernic if he was reliable. Already a plan was forming in his mind if this man could be relied on to help him bring Oeric in. Thoughts of glory flashed in Erbrand’s head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lithor

The hall was beginning to bustle with people. It always seemed that whenever a few people woke the rest of the hall was not far behind them. Some of the faces were familiar but most were people were soldiers and therefore Lithor did not know the majority of people. Someone brushed by him not too gently, striking Lithor with his shoulder. Lithor did not turn and kept walking. Attention was what the person wanted from him. However, Lithor’s attention was on Thornden. Perhaps he wanted company and comfort, Lithor had no clear objective in seeing Thornden this morning, other than where Thornden was the council would soon be. The master’s head was bowed in thought on the mantle, but Lithor still wanted to stay.

”Good morning.” Thornden sounded tired and Lithor wondered if he slept at all. I have gone ahead and caused my troubles to worry him. Poor master Thornden and there is so much else he needs to do. But despite this thought Lithor could not help but see the humor in Thornden’s statement. He let out one loud “HA” and folded his arms.

“Is that a joke, master Thornden. It was not a good one.” Lithor smiled even wider. “But yes it is a good morning, if you take me out of it. Any news on when my trial begins? I am very anxious to get it over with.”

[Folwren]

Thornden did not smile, though the slightest hint of one did stretch his lips slightly in reply to Lithor’s smile. He shook his head in response to Lithor’s question about the joke. He studied Lithor closely while the man spoke. Was he truly as unworried about what was to take place as he looked? He had always been quick to smile and quick to laugh, but today, for him of all people, did not seem like a day for merriment.

“I do not know when your trial begins. I have not seen Athanar yet, nor any of his family. I, too, am anxious to get it over with." He wondered what good he would do in the court. He did not like to tell Lithor that he was uncertain of himself and the outcome. So he remained silent. "How are...how are you?” he asked instead.

[Groin Redbeard]

“How do I feel?” Lithor asked in return. “Why, like any man in this position would feel.” He eyed two men passing by before he leaned closer to Thornden and replied in a voice barely above a whisper. “I feel like a goose waiting to be led to the chop. I do not feel as chipper as I sound, but do not tell anyone that. I will laugh with any punishment Athanar gives me.”

His eyes saddened, but only for a moment. He would not be gloomy as he had promised. Thornden, however, was very grave. There were obviously more matters pressing on his mind. Athanar will rely heavily on him today to complete the transition.

“I see that you have found yourself in good favor with Wynflaed.” Lithor said with a pleasure in his eyes. “That is good. She seems honest and good, though I do not know how such a noble lady could have raised such…” Lithor thought for a proper word. “Such ‘misbehaving’ sons.” He smiled broadly.

“By the way, are we still searching for the person who hit the lord’s daughter? I pity the person, though I think that those two young men suspected me of it (cannot wait to find out what their names are).”

[Folwren]

Thornden grimaced. Of course Lithor felt like a creature being led off to slaughter. That is practically how he should feel, though the more Thornden learned of Athanar the less likely he seemed to actually kill anyone for an insult.

“By the way,” Lithor asked, “are we still searching for the person who hit the lord’s daughter? I pity the person, though I think those two young men suspected me of it (I cannot wait to find out what their names are).”

“Be in suspense no longer, on either account,” Thornden said. “Their names are Wulfric and Wilheard. Wulfric is the older one, I believe. And as for the one who struck their sister...” A look of annoyance that he couldn’t quite keep contained passed over his face. “That was my brother, and I knew it from the very beginning, though I did not know who the girl was when I first saw her lying on the ground. Yes, I, too, pity him, for it seems to me that of all the things that happened, Athanar has been made most angry by the fact that his daughter was beaten – he mentioned it more than once, and I have a feeling that had this not happened, he would not have been half so inclined to put such a heavy hand on things last night.” He paused and kicked at a log in the fire. Then his mind grasped on what Lithor had said before asking for the two young men’s names.

“What do you mean, you think Wulfric and Wilheard thought you were the one who’d hit their sister? Why do you think that?”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"Ow! That was a nasty hit I took." Erbrand examined several bruised knuckles. "Fights are no fun unless you win them I guess. I am luck that he did not break my fist. Did you brawl much, master Hildernic, in your youth?"

Hilderinc's eyebrows rose slightly at the question, but it was only a very small change in his expression, otherwise, his face betrayed nothing of the emotional response inside him. So this man really seems like a brawler, after all, he thought to himself. So much for a quiet bard.

But then, the guy was not an obvious ruffian-type person. In the worst case, he could be one of these unpredictable types - as Hilderinc was sort of suspecting from the beginning - kind and mild with his fiddle-playing and tanning, but with a bit of a hidden violent nature which sometimes erupted and made him join the nearest brawl, or start one himself.

But his question did not sound like a provocation - it was however possible that the fellow was "gathering information" for later to see whether Hilderinc was an easy target. But in a way it sounded more like genuine curiosity - so perhaps the man was trying to look for potential companions among the new soldiers? Maybe someone he could recruit to his "gang"? Maybe something like that has been already existing here, Hilderinc had encountered these things few times on some of his stays: a group of soldier pals formed a sort of bullying squad - and then they were making trouble among the others. Of course, if something like that existed here, this guy might have understandably felt uncertain with the arrival of the new soldiers, not knowing whether his gang is not going to face a similar gang of the newcomers, possibly stronger than the original one. Trying to fish for friends among the new people would be the most clever way to try to cope with the issue.

Nevertheless, Hilderinc never had any intentions in joining any of these internal fights. He preferred to stay out of any groups like that.

"I haven't really been into brawling, if you ask me, mister..."

"It's Erbrand."

"Erbrand, all right... Well, like I said, I have never been much into that kind of things. Or, maybe better said, I have never been much on the good side with troublemakers. Honestly, I think there are better ways for a man to spend his time," Hilderinc said these words with all attentiveness, prepared to dodge if the man became angry at these words and attacked him. "Like tanning or playing fiddle," he added calmly, to sort of soften his response if it has been taken as a provocation - and to possibly encourage Erbrand in focusing more on other things than brawling.

"Maybe this is why I became a soldier," Hilderinc decided to finish his speech after a short pause. "I think fighting needs a cause."

[Groin Redbeard]

So those are their name. Lithor rubbed his chin. Noble names for vagabonds. But Lithor had no time contemplate on the Wulfric and Wiheard as Thornden continued, annoyed Lithor thought. Thornden’s cool gaze and attitude that had topped his conversation last night, and even just moments ago, began to melt under his warm anger. Lithor had never seen Thornden riled, even now Thornden muzzled his anger. It was good to see that Thornden put aside some of the formality that surrounded him.

“Oh nothing,” Lithor said still smiling. “I dealt them an insult for their discourteous behavior and they assumed I was after their whole family. Child play, all of it.” Lithor leaned against the mantle opposite of Thornden and stared into the fire with him. The warm flicker of the flame was surprisingly relaxing to the mind and eyes. Relaxed as Lithor was, he felt Thornden’s hard stare.

“I would not worry about Javan. He’s done worse.” Lithor said, insensitive to the painful images it might evoke in Thornden’s mind. “Besides, Athanar has no more right to punish your brother for striking his daughter than I have to punish Wulfric for trying to strike me. Children will be children and I do not see the point in making such a big deal over something as petty as a fat lip. Now if Athanar and Wynflaed have enough sense about them, which in this case I doubt, they will keep the fact that Javan was the bully quiet; however, if they do not, then dealing with Wulfric and Wilheard is punishment enough. They will break your brother’s hand if they have half the chance.”

The effect of his rambling came to him quickly when Thornden lifted his head sharply to look him in the face. His lips tightened in a hard line and his eyes flashed as he glanced about the hall for either of the eorl's sons. "Wulfric or Wilheard, you mean?" Thornden said, looking back at Lithor.

"It is what they tried to do to me." Lithor said dryly. Thornden shut his mouth and clenched his jaw, reverting his eyes to the fire once again.

“Why did Javan hit the girl anyway?”

“He said she was bossing Cnebba and him.” Thornden answered (Lithor could not tell if he was angry).

“You do not say?” Lithor said with great surprise. He was not surprised at the fact that the girl was bullying two boys (his own sisters did a lot of that in his day) but that it all fit so well into a defense for Javan.

“Well no worries, master Thornden. If you have a moment, I think I have a plan we can weasel Javan out of punishment from Athanar.” Lithor wore one of his cocky grins, the kind that people see on a cat’s face after it has just swiped a gallon of cream.