Scarburg Meadhall

[Folwren]

Thornden paused in his stride and looked at Coenred. This man sounded almost as though he felt he were cornered. Thornden did not like misunderstandings. He had spent too long with Eodwine who always addressed things head on to beat about the bush. “I am not resentful of your position, Captain,” he said. “Nor do I envy you. I won’t try to take charge. However,” he shot a glance forward to the last of the soldiers returning back to the stables. They had fallen behind some way and could talk without being heard. “I have something to impart to you that affects the watches, which is why I mentioned it.” He stopped altogether and Coenred stopped beside him.

“You may have met the healer, Æðel. She is not what she seems, and she is not safe. In the past, I have had the responsibility of seeing that was protected at all times, which made the setting of the watch very important, for I had to be careful that the entire guard did not realize who she was. It is a delicate matter, and I only tell you because you are now in charge of it. Lord Athanar will know of what I speak, for he will have been informed of it when he was asked to take Eodwine’s place. I will tell you what I can, if you ask it of me, but I do not know everything, and if you wish to know everything, you will have to ask him, or the Lady Æðelhild.”

He looked at Coenred a moment and then started forward again, leading his horse. He waited for Coenred to speak, and at the same time hoped he had made the right choice in telling the new Captain about Æðel. He had been ordered to keep it secret, but things had changed so much that he thought this course best. Coenred must know his duty in protecting her lest the protection be taken away.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

The day had already started quite badly. As if anything better could have been expected in Scyrr's opinion. This forsaken place, which he was forced to accept as his temporary home, or Valar forbid, as a place of longer stay, has this far done only its worst to show its quality and it was getting worse and worse. The barracks were small and soldiers were literally lying on top of each other. Scyrr remembered having to push away somebody's boot which was too close to his face in the morning. When he came outside, he realised that it was a disgusting cold morning with an unhealthy smell of wet air, no doubt coming from nearby marshes, which surely had to be full of midges. He also felt he had not had enough sleep, and his head felt a bit heavy - he'd maybe had a few drinks too much yesterday evening.

In any case, maybe if he had known which way the morning's events were going to unfold, he would not have decided to go down to the stream. Not that he was too happy to share this trip with the two women either. The old cow from the kitchen was not his favourite company, and even the pretty young blonde did not seem to respond very keenly to his, albeit not very complex, attempts for conversation.

But then the fool appeared with his stinking business - and Scyrr just could not ignore him. Maybe there was a bit of a wish to show himself in front of the young woman (and the old cow), but there was also the annoyance and the wish to just kick some of those fools responsible for his current situation - as he saw it - in other words, one of the builders of this thatched barn calling itself a Hall, one of these simpletons living in the middle of nowhere and looking at him, a soldier from Edoras, as if he was the stupid one. They surely could not even count up to ten. And when Erbrand dared to lecture him with his clever speech, Scyrr just had to teach him proper respect. What happened after that he somehow lost the track of - too late he had realised that things have gotten out of hand.

Blackness seemed to be appearing in front of Scyrr's eyes as he was half-dragged by Ginna and Frodides back to the Mead Hall. He was in a weird state, somehow only half-aware of what was happening. His breathing was still irregular and only when they have laid him down on an empty cart in front of one of the buildings, he started to properly acknowledge his surroundings.

He could see some people moving closer to him from across the courtyard, but the two women have disappeared somewhere, probably to bring help or to call some officer - maybe even Coen or Athanar. That thought made Scyrr's mind clear for a moment. Really they'd better bring somebody of authority - whatever it was that the plaguy stinking fool has done to me, he will pay for this, he thought.

Scyrr would not let himself think that it was in any way his fault that the fight had started. He was also convinced that the two women will see it similarly and prove that in their testimony, if needed - after all, it was Erbrand who had attacked first, not Scyrr.

He would not think about it much, however. A start of pain shot through him. Suddenly he felt sick in the stomach. Whether it was just another reaction of his body to the fight, some false projection of the pain or a late outcome of yesterday's drinking, Scyrr could not know. Again his sight seemed to darken at times. Where did all this terrible pain come from? He managed to concentrate so that his sight got cleared for a while and he looked down at his own body. It took some time to realise that it was his left leg which lay somehow strangely on the cart. Did... did the fool actually break my leg? Scyrr thought with horror. Did he make a cripple out of me?

If it is so, I am going to beat the living breath out of him!

[Durelin]

Maybe I did become too accustomed to the politics and maneuverings in court, Coenred thought, trying to re-assure himself that Thornden spoke the truth. He certainly seemed honest, but any man could be earnest in what he meant to or hoped he could feel about a situation, whether or not that was how he actually felt. Thornden was a young man with himself to look out for, at least, and apparently he felt a certain need to look after the Lady Saeryn, as well. Along with that brother of hers... At least the better of her protectors was heavily involved in Scarburg affairs.

Coen listened with interest and consternation to Thornden as he discussed an individual of the settlement. How could a small, rather backward emnet have such an apparent security concern? And more importantly, how could one woman be such? He supposed he should not be surprised, as to what sort of people might find a new home in this growing Scarburg. But while some said every town had their secrets, he knew that was an exaggeration. Men did not like to keep secrets, in his experience.

This was clearly an important matter to Thornden, and one he did not speak of lightly. It was perhaps another sign that this young man would be a good ally for now and maybe a friend later. "Thank you for informing me of this," Coen said, tucking the name away in his mind. He would not question Thornden here and now. He would speak to Lord Athanar first. "I will look into it further, and carry out appropriate measures according to Lord Athanar's discretion and your advice."

He continued after a moment, letting his guard down a bit, "I know we have not really finished any business here, and I wish to speak with you further on a number of things, but I have a couple concerns to attend to -- namely a couple of missing faces," he finished with a sour twist of his lips. "If you could, I would be interested in seeing a full roster and a list of duties for the guard here. And an inventory of the guardhouse, if you have it, though that can be done easily enough, as long as the men haven't disrupted everything in the move-in. I will make sure I have similar information for you, Master Thornden, on the new men."

Coen knew that this was coming a day late, and should have taken place before all the men were thrown in together for drills, and thrown into the guardhouse together...should have. But he knew that the politics of the move came before procedure. That was clear, and he saw the purpose behind it to a degree, whether he liked it or not. But at least it seemed that he and Thornden could at least separate themselves from the politics, even if they were not beyond it entirely, and would start really accomplishing things. Once something felt well and truly accomplished, Coen would feel a great deal better. Even the successful completion of the drills was soured by the fact that two particular men failed to be present...

[Nerindel]

Balvir

Balvir was one of the last soldiers to leave the training field, his breathing was heavy but not laboured, he had found himself quite enjoying being on the other end of the command structure for a change. Off course the drills were leisurely compared to what he had been used too, but then that had been in a time of war were you learned quickly or you died. His hand drifted unconsciously to the sheath that housed his Ithilien long sword, the names etched on its blade burned in his memory and for a moment his blue eyes appeared to mist over. But an impatient nudge from his black warhorse knocked him instantly from those dark days to the present.

Glancing back he was pleased to see the new commander engaging Thornden in conversation, he had not failed to notice a distance between the two men; as if neither knew quite how to take the other. Though if any of the men had noticed they did not mark it, that at least was some consolation, it meant that they had some level of discipline a plus given the events of the previous day. Balvir had to admit that he had been slightly disappointed when first arriving on the training field, his memory of the horsemen of Rohan was entirely different to that which met him this morning and he had laughed at his own miss-preconceptions. These men were mostly new recruits; men that Ceon could mould into the soldiers he needed to patrol the scar with a scattering of veterans to help keep them in line and show them the ropes, a good bunch Balvir thought as he led his horse Thor back to the stable.

In the stables Balvir kept an open ear as he listened to the conversations of the men around him. Few remarked on the morning’s drills, most were discussing the hearings and the events that had surrounded them. Intent on keeping out of such conversations Balvir busied himself unsaddling Thor.

“Has anyone seen Scyrr this morning?” one man asked searching through those gathered in the stable.

“It’s not like him to miss drills!” he heard another reply as he filled Thor’s water bucket.
“That Lithor was missing too!” another voice put in dryly.

“What are you implying?” someone else retorted heatedly.

Not liking the change of mood Balvir attempted to change the subject, “The Northern reach can be quite treacherous after rain, whoever gets that watch should be careful up there.” He kept his voice nonchalant and did not look up as he closed Thor’s stall door. keeping the impression that he had been oblivious to the current conversation he looked up to see them all staring at him, know he hoped someone would take his lead and defuse this current tension before it got out of hand and landed all of them in trouble with the new commander.

[Thinlómien]

"So, once more," Wulfric said when they approached the Meadhall grounds. "Let's keep in touch with the men, participating in drills or guards wouldn't be a bad idea. That way they will learn to know us and we'll learn to know them. And we'd better start doing with this before father 'comes up' with something 'useful' for us to do. We need to take the initiative."

Wilheard nodded. Good, everything was clear now. "Any questions?" Wulfric ventured to check.

"Aedre," Wilheard said.
"What about her?"
"We need to protect her, right? If we can't be sure father can manage it?"
"There's mother," Wulfric shrugged.
"She's a woman, Wulf. She can't protect her from everything."
"Try telling that to her," Wulfric said darkly. "But I guess you're right. We should make sure the kid is alright."

"So shall we do that next?" Wilheard asked.
"If you wish," said Wulfric. He wasn't too concerned about his little sister, but Wilheard seemed to be. Wilheard had always been closer to their sister than he was, but it was small wonder given that Wilheard and Aedre had only a five years' difference in age compared to Wulfric and Aedre's nine years.

The brothers dismounted and led their horses onwards. "What's that?" Wilheard asked sharply and touched his brother's shoulder.
"What?" Wulfric asked, looking around.
"There. Scyrr. He's not alright." Wulfric's heart skipped a beat. One of his soldiers, hurt? That was intolerable. What was happening?

"Take the horses," Wulfric said and gave Northwind's reins to Wilheard. Without looking back, he strode to the soldier as fast as he could without losing his dignity.

"Scyrr!" he called from a few steps away. The soldier turned his eyes to him. Everything was not as it should be.

Wulfric assesed the situation quickly. The soldier looked slightly pale - except around his neck, where the skin was red - and there was an absent look at his eyes, and on top of that his leg was weirdly crooked. Broken or sprained or just hurt, it was impossible to say.

"What happened?" Wulfric demanded.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Scyrr tried to straighten himself, but suddenly his head started spinning around. With all effort however, he managed to keep himself in almost-sitting position.

"Master Wulfric..." he started, but to make matters worse, the feeling of sickness in his stomach suddenly seized him with unprecedented strength. Not now of all moments.

"It was the stinking tanner Erbrand," Scyrr took a deep breath. "He tried to kill me. I am sorry..." There was no time to get more into details, Scyrr turned himself around and leant over the cart's side, trying to avoid Wulfric's sight. Inside, he felt angry, what will his weakness look like in front of the young masters? And most of all, when will this end? He felt his head spinning around all the time and when he straightened himself, he did not feel any better than before.

[Thinlómien]

Wilheard

Take the horses. Sure, sir.

Wilheard lead the two horses to the stables with care, but anger was sparkling in his countenance. The horses could sense it, and were nervous. This time Wilheard didn't pause even for a second to calm them. He was annoyed.

Yes, Wulfric was the boss. He was bigger, and smarter. And older and more experienced. He was happy enough to be his brother's right hand - too much responsibility didn't suit him well anyway - but he would definitely not be a squire or a page to be ordered around. Wulf would need to learn that, better sooner or later.

"Good morning, sir!" greeted a cheerful voice.
"Morning, Baldwic," Wilheard replied. Baldwic was a few years his senior and they had been training together a few times recently. Wilheard liked him well enough even though he thought the guy was still a bit of a baby.

It was quiet in the stables and most of the soldiers gathered there were now looking at Wilheard. He knew Wulfric would've said something to the assembled soldiers, but he just stuck the reins of the two horses to Baldwic's hand.

"Bald - take care of these for me, or find a stableboy to do it in your stead."
"Sure, sir," the soldier replied but his young master had already turned and was striding out of the stable door.

He spotted Wulfric and Scyrr quickly - they hadn't moved - and ran to them.


Wulfric

"It was the stinking tanner Erbrand... He tried to kill me. I am sorry..."

Wulfric clenched his fists. He had known the locals were up to no good, but he hadn't expected anything like this yet. He rebuked himself; he needed learn out of such naivety if he strived to be a good leader or soldier some day.

Scyrr looked bad, worse than he had first thought. Wulfric's eyes scanned the yard and spotted a woman with a bucket of water.

"Hey! You there! If you have a healer in this place, find him and bring him here now!"

The woman laid her bucket on the ground and hurried off.

Scyrr tried to talk. "They... they already..."
"Don't speak," Wulfric cut off the soldier's talk. "You need to make a distiguishable report to your Eorl, so save your words."

Wulfric didn't exactly enjoy saying those words, but there was enough soldier in him to put practical matters before pride in such minor things and to respect a commander even if there were doubts on his sanity.

Where was Will when he was needed? He needed someone to stay with Scyrr and take care of the matters for a second.

"I'm here," said a voice behind his back and Wulfric turned quickly just to see his brother standing next to him.
"Need to practice your hearing, soldier, you should've hear me running here had you been concentrating at all," Wilheard remarked.
"Now's no time for idle banter," Wulfric retorted. "I'll go find Father, you stay here with Scyrr. A healer's coming for him - that is if the locals can be trusted."

Without further ceremonies, Wulfric hurried away to find his father. It wasn't very difficult - Athanar walked out of the door of the great hall just when Wulfric was at the doorstep and they literally bumped into each other.

"Sir," Wulfric said quickly. "Scyrr is wounded. He says he was attacked by the local tanner, named Erbrand. Will is now with him - they're in the far end of the yard there, by the trees. I have sent for a healer."

[Folwren]

Saeryn had left Athanar in the great hall soon after the rest of the people had left. She had stood by while Javan made his apology and then she and Athanar had finished their discussion and she retired for a brief time to her room. She could not rest long, for much pressed on her mind. So she rose and went out, leaving soon after Æðelhild and Matrim had finished speaking with Athanar, but she knew not of their meeting with him.

As she came out into the courtyard, she spotted Erbrand coming out from the kitchen. At first, she paid little mind to him, it was normal enough to see him there during the day, but something caused her to take a second glance, and this time she noted the drawn expression about his mouth, and his lowered eyebrows. He did not appear as he normally did. He hastened towards the stables, but she called him back. He stopped and turned and then came towards her several steps.

“My lady,” he said. “I am taking my leave.”

“So suddenly, Erbrand?” she asked. “Why?”

“Something has come up. I cannot explain, but you will find out soon enough.”

“I hope you do not feel that because Eodwine has left and Athanar is taking his place that you are no longer wanted here.”

“No, lady,” he said, a wistful look passing over his face. But he did not explain himself. “I must go. I bid you farewell, and I hope that justice is done here, and you are treated as you should be, and nothing that is yours is taken from you.”

Saeryn shook her head, confused, but he turned and hurried away. She stood, staring after him, wondering what brought this on and what she should do about it. The morning had already been confusing enough, what with Athanar’s offer to her of adoption and her child, if it were male, taking the place of heir of Scarburg. She did not feel she needed this extra burden laid on her. But Erbrand was one of Eodwine’s men. What was happening here? Would the place disintegrate, despite Athanar’s careful attempts to keep the people together?

She was still wondering this when she saw not only Erbrand exit on horseback, but coming behind him on his own horse, Lithor rode also. She stood stock still in the courtyard, incapable of calling after them. She did not believe it. She could not believe it. This action was entirely against both their characters, but there they were, both leaving.

It was not so much for Erbrand to go. He had the right to stay or leave as he pleased, but Lithor was part of the eorl’s guard. He was bound, by his word and by the expectations laid upon a man-at-arms, to not abandon his lord and his companions. But it was clear enough that he had every intention of going and not returning.

Saeryn watched them until they were out of sight and then she turned and hurried to the kitchen. If Erbrand had told anyone what had happened to make him leave in such a manner, it would have been Kara.

She found her seated on the hearth, with her hands clasped between her knees, doing nothing. Her eyes were red, and her face pale, but she was not crying.

“Kara,” Saeryn said, coming inside. “What has happened? Why has Erbrand left?”

Kara did not look towards her. “He has. . .he killed. . .” she shot a wavering glance towards Saeryn and her eyes swam with tears. “It cannot be hidden, you will find out soon enough!” She covered her face with her hands and rocked back and forth, silently weeping.

Saeryn stood as though struck by lightning on the doorstep. She wondered if this numb feeling that she felt was because so much had already happened that day, or because for some reason she did not really care. She felt she did not fully understand. Of course, Kara had not spoken plainly, so how could she understand? What had he killed? Rather, who had he killed? For it must be a man for him to run, and for Kara to be incapable of telling her.

But her questions were answered in a brief moment. While she still stood in uncertainty just inside the kitchen, Fordides and Ginna both suddenly entered behind her. She turned slowly, as though in a dream, and saw them both, observing instantly Fordides flushed face and Ginna’s pale one.

“Oh, lady Saeyrn!” Ginna said, reaching forward and grasping her hand. “Thank goodness you are here. I don’t know what to do. We brought him back as best we could, but he’s badly hurt.”

“Who is?” Saeryn asked.

“It’s that Scyrr fellow,” Fordides answered. She seemed a little tamer than usual, and her eyes were abnormally wide. “Erbrand ‘most killed him, he did, and it was all Ginna and I could do to get him off ‘im.”

Although she knew that Scyrr was one of Athanar’s men and this would mean further trouble with Athanar, she no longer had anything with which to react. Her face did not change, nor did her feelings. She felt cold and unmoved. “Where is Scyrr now?” Saeryn asked.

“Outside. We set him in the wagon. We don’t know what to do. What will happen to Erbrand? Should we tell lord Athanar what we saw?”

Saeryn stepped past them and looked out. Only when she saw Scyrr, looking sick and badly hurt, and Athanar’s oldest son standing by and talking to him did the full realization of the situation come to her. She felt scared again. Almost as badly scared as she had been the previous night when she thought Athanar was going to be a tyrannical ruler who ran Scarburg like a military outpost. Lithor had been punished mercifully, but he had run from it. Then Erbrand, despite seeing how Athanar behaved similarly to Eodwine, and hearing that the two people must become one, had almost killed one of Athanar’s men and then fled. What would Athanar feel necessary to do? How would he react?

“Fordides,” Saeryn whispered. “Fordides, I feel I am going to faint.”

[Folwren]

“I wish we could find out what’s happening,” Cnebba said ruefully. Javan and Garmund followed his gaze into the courtyard. A sudden thought occurred to Javan.

“Your mum said the soldiers were in the woods - but look! They’re not, yet. They’re still getting ready. They won’t be out for a few more minutes. If we hurry, we can get to the top of the lane and hide before they come through, then we can see what is going on!”

The two boys looked at him doubtfully. He stared at them, changing his eyes from one to the other, before throwing up his hands and saying, “Well, it’s better than staying around here and rotting, isn’t it?”

Cnebba looked at Garmund, but Garmund suddenly agreed with Javan and wheeled about, heading off at a run. “Come on!” he shouted over his shoulder. “We won’t have much time!”

“But, boys!” Leodern called, straggling along behind. “But, Modtryth said to stay in sight of the house and - and - and you shouldn’t be doing this! You’ll get in trouble!”

“Shut up, ninny,” Javan threw over his shoulder, “and don’t give us away, whatever you do! Stay here, if you want to!”

Leodern slowed to a walk and watched as the boys disappeared around the corner of Harreld’s smithy. A sad, dejected frown etched itself into her face and then she dropped to the ground, herl legs folded tailor fashion, and her chin sank into her hands.

The boys ran on, unmindful of Leodern. They sped up the hill towards the main road and then darted off into the woods on the left of the road. Behind them, they could hear the stamp of horses and the jingle of the bits and harnesses. Then a shout was given and trotting hooves came up the path.

“Quick!” Javan gasped. A strange sort of fear wrapped about his chest, as though he were being the one hunted. Something told him they must not be seen. “Up into the tree, just as quick as you can!”

[Folwren]

Javan stood glowering after Coenred. He hardly minded a word that Fearghall said to them. He finally turned back to the man as he finished speaking.

“Look, sir,” Javan said, trying to sound like the men did when they bargained. “All we wanted to do was amuse ourselves a bit. We weren’t causing no harm. If you take us back, we’ll probably be seen by Cnebba’s mum, here, and be given chores of some sort. Worse yet, we might be in trouble for slipping off in the first place. Why don’t you just go back to Captain Coenred and tell him you took care of us, we’ll meander back towards the hall and just stay out of sight?”

He looked hopefully up at the soldier. If the man fell for it, the boys would be left to their own devices again, and they’d decide what to do after he had left.

[Folwren]

“I think you’re right there, Falco,” Saeryn said, taking a seat to his left at the table. “All is not right here,” she said in a low and serious voice. “There are moments when I hope that all will be well, but then things happen and the place is thrown into an uproar.”

“Like what things?” Falco asked.

“Well, the very first day lord Athanar and his people came there were two fights in the courtyard. Then that night, Lithor made a toast to Athanar and all the others, and some of the things he said infuriated lord Athanar so that he accused Lithor of treasonous actions, or at least of thoughts and words, I can’t remember now exactly what it was he said, but he was so angry that he decided to bring Lithor before his seat of court the following morning. But before the night was out, Thornden had left to speak with Lithor and Athanar’s sons overheard them speaking and accused them both of treason and plotting against lord Athanar.

“Lord Athanar did handle things well in his court, I admit, but he did not understand Lithor, and that is why he reacted so. Lithor was given extra duties in addition to his duties as a soldier. He made some very serious threats, though, and made it clear that no foolishness would be tolerated. He informed everyone than any more fights or brawls would be punished by flogging. It is not bad in itself..we don’t want fights and the like here, but it is so harsh compared to Eodwine.”

“Is that all that has happened?” Falco asked.

“No. After the trial, the people went about their business, and the soldiers went out to be drilled by the captain, Coenred, and Thornden. By chance, one of Athanar’s soldiers went to the stream, near where Erbrand, the tanner, was working, and somehow it came about that Erbrand and this soldier fought. Erbrand nearly killed him, and came back here before anyone had found out. He spoke to me briefly before he left, but he did not tell me why he was leaving, though I found out soon enough. But before he left, Lithor met him, and together they rode away.

“Fordides and Ginna brought Scyrr, the soldier, back. That was when lord Athanar discovered what had happened. And not long after, when the other soldiers returned for the noon meal, it became plain that Lithor and Erbrand had both left. Athanar immediately had search parties formed, and though they did not catch them, I know his intent as clearly as though he had spoken it – they both would have been judged harshly, possibly both been put to death, had they been found. They were not, thank heaven, but had they been - !" she broke off and said nothing. Her hands clasped each other tightly on the table top where they rested. She calmed her frightened tone and looked at Falco again.

“Falco, I don’t like what has happened. The people are discontent and unhappy, and Athanar’s heavy hand in ruling is not helping them settle under the horrible news that Eodwine may never return. But I don’t know how to stop it.”

[Folwren]

Whilst the soldiers rode away to do their soldiering deeds, and the old Scarburgians hurried about meeting old friends or attending to their regular duties, one person of Athanar’s household roamed the premises mostly unseen and entirely unnoticed. He poked about the empty hall, and then ambled across the courtyard to the stables, peering into the empty stalls and then into the empty paddocks. Nearly every horse had been taken out. Lord Eodwine’s horse remained in his stall, a lonely reminder of his master’s absence.

Old Raban he was – trustworthy, elderly man of Athanar’s. Wounded almost beyond recognition, and maimed to such a degree that he could not walk without a stick and a limp, nor straighten his back, he was a strange figure and a living reminder of the wars not too long ago fought. He was on a mission this morning, and so far, his purpose had remained unfulfilled.

He left the stables and walked towards Harreld’s smithy. He knew it by the smoke that came from the forge’s chimney and the clanging of hammer against steel. Slowly he rounded the doorpost and stood on the doorstep looking in while the young smith worked tirelessly with tong and hammer.

“Have you a moment, young man?” Raban ask. “I have a request to ask of you, and a duty to fulfill for my lord Athanar.”

[littlemanpoet]

The morning dragged on slowly. The pain was not going away. It was worsening. All his hopes had been to share his life with Ginna; all that was gone, in a mere moment. He was determined not to stop his work, not to give into the pain. He set his face, clenched his teeth, and set himself a fierce pace with hammer and tong. It would not keep his thoughts in check - nothing could do that - but it would at least mask his pain from others.

The door opened. Now who? He stopped, his back still to the intruder.

“Have you a moment, young man? I have a request to ask of you, and a duty to fulfill for my lord Athanar.”

Harreld turned at the sound of the elderly voice, which did not quaver, but the years could be heard in it. It was Raban, Athanar's old smith. What Raban saw in his face seemed to startle him for a moment, but the old man collected himself.

"What is your request?" Harreld's voice sounded gruff in his own ears. He imagined that he must look as if he were in an unending rage, his eyes hard, his jaw set, a tightness in his cheeks. It could not be helped.

[littlemanpoet]

Faramund was startled by the sudden violence from Athanar. What had set this man off? Surely not himself! His little demonstration in the yard had not been enough to cause this untoward behavior in the man. Something must be eating him, Faramund conjectured. He eyed Athanar now, picked up his tankard and took a long drink, juggling in his mind the most useful way to reply. He could tell him that how he came into his wealth was none of his business as long as he gave Athanar the fees he had coming. Or he could tell him that his father had been of humble means because the poor wretch had never known how to keep his wealth about him. Or, he could tell him that he had agreed with the other lords nearby that they would charge higher fees for crimes than had been done in the past. All three were pieces of the truth. But he had his self-respect to consider, and this man was abusing it, eorl or not; he had controlled himself too late.

"Eorl you may be, lord Athanar," he said slowly, "which no doubt gives you certain rights and privileges. I daresay I will not find among them treating your landholders as beardless boys. Keep at it and you will not reach your aim here, if I read it rightly."

[littlemanpoet]

An apology of any kind from this arrogant eorl was a step in the right direction, Faramund thought.

"Apology accepted. And my thanks for your compliment on the drink."

He paused to take a sip of his mead and set down his tankard. "As for these trinkets and blandishments, some of them have been in this chamber for generations. My serving maids do a fair job of keeping the spiderwebs off them. However, this region has been subject to a rash of lawlessness of late. I have of course charged fines and fees for them. The more heinous the crime, the higher the fee, as you can well understand, my lord. I do not ask these fools to break the law to increase my wealth, but since they do thieve and flout the king's law, I as landholder to reap a small reward therefrom ... as I'm sure you understand..."

[littlemanpoet]

"Now that's what has me puzzled," Falco replied to Saeryn, using his pipe as a pointer. "You're no longer the Lady of Scarburg; this here Lady Wynflaed is that. And as you're Eodwine's wife, it seems to me your duty is with him, way over yonder in Minas Tirith. Now I could be wrong, and forgive me if there's something I don't see, but that's how it looks the way my eyes see it."

Saeryn looked taken aback a moment, frowning. The others gathered around looked from eye to eye. Falco supposed that they were saying silently between themselves that this seemed to make obvious sense to them; or maybe their looks meant, "this hobbit just does not understand". Fine and well. He hoped they'd make him understand, and maybe he could help them. It was the least he could do for Eodwine as the dear old Big Fool wasn't here to speak for himself.

[Folwren]

Coenred communicated that he had seen the man in question when they first came, but apart from seeing him stumble off to the side and end up in the stables, he could give no other information as to his whereabouts.

“Thank you. See to your men.” Thornden turned and headed towards the stables. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another figure converging on the same path. He turned his head and saw Hilderinc. “Have you not found him yet?” Thornden asked.

“I was told he was in the stable.”

“That was Captain Coenred’s guess, too,” Thornden replied. “Good. Possibly we will find him, then. Did you see him when we rode up? You were in back, I would be surprised if you had.”

“I did not,” Hilderinc replied. Thornden described Wiglaf’s appearance quickly as they approached the stables. “He shouldn’t be too hard to find. I imagine not many people will be in here anyway.”

But when they entered, they found the place half full of men already. Thornden stopped short on the threshold and he darted a quick glance about. “Hilderinc. . .” he paused and frowned in frustrated thought. “Hilderinc, go back and tell lord Athanar that Faramund’s men are getting their horses. . .and they are armed.” Hilderinc nodded and turned to obey. Thornden stood and considered a moment longer before acting. How dangerous were these men? Would he be in danger if he continued in his errand of finding Wiglaf amongst them? Would they try to harm him if he tried to enter the stables further? The fact of the matter was, he no longer wanted to find Wiglaf. He wanted to speak to Faramund, and he needed to do it quickly. Where would the young lord be? If he were in the hall, he would be speaking to Athanar. If he were not in the hall, he would be seen by someone outside. He had gone to speak to his men and sent them in this direction to get their horses. Lord Faramund, probably, would be preparing himself just like his men. He would be here, then. Somewhere.

Thornden made up his mind. He stepped forward boldly, made eye contact with no one, and began threading his way through the men carrying saddles and bridle, around the broad flanks of horses, and towards the end of the stables closest to the hall. Then, as he drew near the outer door, he saw Faramund enter. He went forward quickly and unnoticed and stepped quite close to Faramund before the young lord gave a sign that he knew he was present.

"Lord Faramund," he said, his voice low and quiet in the hubbub of the men and horses. "May I have a word with you?"