Scarburg Meadhall

[Lhunardawen]

Pumping the bellows for Harreld was an easy enough job for Ginna, and she immediately got the hang of it; the task kept her hands occupied while leaving her thoughts free to wander. At first she watched the fire, careful to keep it strong enough for the smith's use, but soon she found herself slipping now and again into staring at the heart of it. She would be roused from semi-consciousness every time Harreld's large hands passed into her line of vision, and each of those times she felt the frown on her face ever deepening, as though beaten into place with each strike of hammer against anvil.

Ginna was not surprised that Harreld chose to keep his peace and focus on his work. He had never been the first to speak, even when they still felt free to converse with each other as they wished. Always, it was she who took the initiative. Alone in the kitchen after he rescued her from the outlaw. After the Eorl announced the move to Scarburg. As a matter of fact, they would probably never have got to know each other beyond their names if not for her efforts to reach out to him. Why should this situation be any different?

But Ginna, she reminded herself, you wanted this opportunity. You need this. And she did not deny it. But what could she possibly say to end a fortnight of silence? One thing was for sure, she was not going to do as he did the last time they talked to each other: she would not just spring the issue at him from nowhere. More likely than not that would just lead to an argument, and heaven knew that was the last thing Ginna wanted right now.

She risked a glance at his face. A scowl could still be discerned there. Ginna wondered if this was his usual work expression, or if it was caused by something else. Maybe it wasn't just her?

"It must be a bit tougher for you now, with Garreth not around," she remarked gently.

[Folwren]

Javan’s retaliating blow to Cnebba had not been weak. The spurt of blood from his nose was satisfactory, but not for very long, as Garmund immediately stepped in to defend his companion, shouting and striking out simultaneously.

“You do not hit him like that!” Garmund cried as he hit Javan.

“I’ll hit you like that!” Javan replied. He rushed forward, engaging Garmund in the fight. He had forgotten about his errand, the heat of the moment having wiped it completely from his mind.

The match was a surprisingly fair one. Garmund, although younger, was taller, but not stronger that Javan. Neither of them got the upper hand. After several punches were given and received on both sides, Javan flung himself forward, right into Garmund’s arms, and grappled with him, attempting to wrestle him to the ground. If he could just pin him down and sit on top of him, he would soon get a surrender...

[Groin Redbeard]

Dan had assured Erbrand that he could handle the lone man without his help, and urged Erbrand to follow his original plans of going with the hunting party. Erbrand sped back to camp as fast as he could fearing that he was left behind. He stooped to enter his tent and gathered the materials needed for the journey: a knife, rope, some dry goods for eating; everything that a man needed, except for a bow. He wondered about this for a second and then shrugged it off, there were probably lots of weapons he could choose from Lord Eodwine's armory. The knife was fastened to his belt and the rest was placed into a saddle bag. Erbrand left the tent picking up his axe on the way out, he didn't know who or what dwelt in the lands this far west and he didn't want to be caught unprepared.

Erbrand made his way to the makeshift stables were his horse was kept. Three men were saddling horses when he arrived, one of the men nudged the other two at Erbrand's approach. Erbrand silently placed his goods on the ground and started to saddle his horse, Traveler.

"Are you Erbrand?" one of the men asked him.

"Yes." was his simple reply.

"We were told that you were coming with us. My name is Balvir, captain of the house of Æðel, and this is Matrim my lieutenant." Matrim stepped forward and presented himself when his name was mentioned.

It was plain to see that these two men were not from Rohan. Not only were their names strange and foreign sounding, but their hair was black and had curl to it, unlike his own blond straight hair. They were probably men of Gondor, but what they were doing here in Rohan Erbrand did not know, nor did he want to, it was none of his business.

"It's nice to meet you both," Erbrand said his expression grim while shaking both their hands, "I take it that you are the hunters that I'll be with."

"That's right," Said Balvir, tightening cinch around his horse's waist, "We'll be heading east, traveling along the scar towards the river Entwash, we can expect to find good hunting in that area. Can you handle a bow competently?"

"I'm a fair shot, yes." A quiver was immediately tossed to him, filled with arrows and a short bow. Erbrand examined it before he strapped it around his back.

"Hello there," came a cheery voice on the other side of Traveler, "I guess they forgot to introduce me. My name is Lithor, a guard of the house of Eodwine." Erbrand's head popped under Traveler's neck to get a better look at the man. A smiling face lit up Lithor's face as he stood holding his horse's reins. He looked older than Erbrand, though he could not tell for sure since Lithor wore his helmet.

"Are you finished yet, Erbrand?" Balvir said, more out of impatience than of curiosity, "If we want to catch anything before nightfall you better get a move on." Erbrand pulled down his stirrups, pulled himself onto Traveler's back, and then followed Lither after Balvir and Matrim.

It gave Erbrand a sick lonesome feeling in his stomach, when they left the camp. He had just arrived and already he was leaving. Of course the whole idea was absurd, but when you have your hopes set high on obtaining a particular thing it depresses you to be departed from it, even for a short time.

He followed his three companions rather than riding abreast of them, feeling out of place in the company of total strangers, let alone two foreigners. The heavy beating of his horse's hooves seemed to drown out the light thudding of their lighter, nimbler horses. Soon Scarburg had vanished from sight and Erbrand's anticipation grew as Traveler changed from a canter to a gallop to match the speed of the other horses.

[Gwathagor]

The first thing Crabannan saw as he walked into Scarburg was a tangle of arms and legs flailing about in the middle of the road, about a hundred feet ahead of him. Two boys were going at it like a couple of mountain goats; a third boy sat a yard or two away, bleeding profusely from the nose. As Carbannan watched, the shorter of the two boys leapt at the taller boy with a ferocity that surprised even Crabannan, who had won his fair share of fights. Without a second thought, he sprinted down the road, ignoring the pain in his right leg. Horse plodded along behind.

Just as he reached the fight, the two boys toppled and spun to the ground, landing in a cloud of dust with the shorter boy on top. Instinctively, he began to pummel the tall fellow, from whom all the fight seemed to have fled. Crabannan seized the boy (who was, of course, Javan) and lifted him bodily off his fallen opponent, then dragged him to the side of the road and dropped him, making sure to keep himself between the two fighters.

He shot a wary look at Javan, and then stepped over to the boy who was bleeding. With a deftness born of frequent repetition, he tore off a bit of his threadbare grey tunic and gave it to the boy to stop the bleeding, all the while watching Javan over his shoulder. The boy made no sign of trying to rejoin the battle, and seemed to have calmed down somewhat.

Stepping back, Crabannan surveyed the three boys, trying his best to look stern and NOT to smile. It was hard.

"Ordinarily I would have waited to see who would win, but it was clearly going to be him," he said, stifling a chuckle as he gestured at Javan. "And because I'm now cross that I didn't let you fight a little longer as sport, I think I am owed an explanation in return for the lost merriment. You, tall boy. I saved you from a beating, you tell me why you were fighting. Quickly now, I'm hungry."

He had been mostly joking, but he felt like he really might become seriously peeved in a moment or two. The sudden sprint had left his right leg throbbing and sore, even though that knife wound ought to have healed weeks ago.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld set to work on the knives. This was deceptively tricky work. The cutting edge had to be handled with great care. If he left it too thick for the sharpening, there would be a blemish, a pimple, in every cut the wielder made. If he made it too thin, it would crack under the sharpening stone and come back to him. A smith never wanted a knife to come back to him because it had cracked; it was the sign of mediocre work, as if he were barely out of apprenticeship.

The girl was thankfully quiet. She was doing a good job with the fire. In certain ways she made a better partner than Garreth, who could keep up a constant stream of needless chatter about nothing. And she was far easier on the eye - which at this moment he did not have to spare, but the thought did occur nonetheless.

The ladles were a different problem. If the bowls were crushed, it would take great care to make sure they were as round as could be managed, especially with a temporary smithy. The handles were a simple matter, and thankfully, he was spared the trouble of crushed bowls.

The care with which Ginna was working was yet another indication to Harreld that she would have made a very good wife indeed. But it was not to be. She would not have him. She was, of course, born of higher stock than he, and he knew he should have thought of that far sooner than he had; but he had been lovestruck at first, and when the strike bites, all one can think of is the other, and such things as birthright seem small matters easily overcome. Well, he knew better now. Then why, Harreld, he asked himself yet again, did you come to Scarburg?

Suddenly she spoke, interrupting his thought. It took him off guard despite the quietness of her words.

"It must be a bit tougher for you now, with Garreth not around."

He scowled even deeper for he had to make sure of the stem of this ladle before he could say a word. It was taking longer than most ladle stems, it seemed! He knew he was rushing it. Just a little harder tap, just a - NO! It cracked.

"Splinters!" he yelled. She jumped where she was sitting, sudden fear in her eyes. He bit his tongue.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I-"

"No, no, I rushed. It is not your fault." Why did you have to speak in the middle of a job? Why could you not wait until I was between ladles? He did not speak his inner shout, and took a few deep breaths. She was wordless, watching him now, seemingly as if he were a storm front about to bring cold wind and rain. She was a breakable little lady, he suddenly thought, maybe not so much in body, but in heart.

"I am sorry," he said at last, "I should not be hot headed like that. Yes, It is tougher with Garreth not around, in a way. He talks too much, but I'm used to that. I like the quiet of Scarburg, for Garreth and Edoras are loud." And you are quiet, which is a good thing. "But this outdoor hearth and working out of tool cases is something I will very gladly do without as soon as a proper smithy is built for me. I see it will not happen today with all the things that must be done first." He sighed and picked up the now cooled two parts of the ladle. He fished out his packet of metal shards and looked for a good solder piece.

Falco

Falco made his way to the animal grounds and found his pony. Léof, good man that he was, had already gotten him ready. All that needed doing was to load him with bags and a hobbit.

"My thanks, Léofric, for the fine care of my pony."

Léof smiled and wished him well. Bidding each other good-bye, Falco led the pony away. "Back on the road for you and me, pony. Maybe I ought to give you a name after all these travels, seein' as you're no good for eatin' anymore."

The pony ignored him. Here came Eodwine, leaving the women's tents, heading toward the animals.

"So it is time, is it, Falco?" Eodwine said.

"Aye, it is that. I'm ready, and that's no lie. Can you help me with these two bags?"

They were tied tight and a strong piece of rope was tied to each so they could be draped over the pony's back just behind him, with a thick piece of cloth beneath the rope to protect the animal's hide from chafing. Eodwine set it in place. Then Falco climbed onto the pony's back, using a kitchen table to help him get up, as he had no footholders dangling. He did not abide such things as a luxury he didn't need.

"Well, this is it, then. I wish you great success, Eodwine, in making a home out of this rambling ruin."

"My thanks. I think, with all these folk about, so willing and able to help, it will not be overmuch of a task."

"I think you have the rights of it. Mind you," Falco winked, "take good care of that Saeryn lass, as she'd make you a proper wife!"

Eodwine reddened. "Perhaps, if she still has such an interest."

"Why else do you think she came back?"

Eodwine shrugged. "Maybe. At any rate, if she has such an interest, I dare say she's in for a fight from Rowenna, if you understand me."

"Oh ho! So that's how it is! You get to be fought over! Now ain't that lucky! Or it could be trouble you don't need!"

Eodwine laughed. "Time will tell. I bid you farewell, and may the years not be too long before we see each other again."

"Good bye then! Next time you're up to the Shire, stop in! I'll keep a cheery fire in the hearth and good ale and vittles on the board for you." Falco waved and kicked his pony.

Eodwine waved and watched him go before he started off again to help Léofric.

Falco was just out to the road and saw a tall black haired stranger addressing the three boys. Cnebba held a rag to his bleeding nose. Garmund was looking all scowly. Javan was just now standing up, his hands curled into fists, and yelling at the man. Falco couldn't make out what he was saying, but could the man be a ruffian? Might he be so low as to pick on three boys?

Falco kicked his pony to a trot.

"Hey! Hi! What have we got here?" he called.

[Firefoot]

Léof

At Falco’s departure, Léof stood quietly for a moment watching the Hobbit lead the pony off. Léof had never known him well, perhaps, but he would still miss having him around – Falco was a character, he was. The land of Hobbits must be an interesting place, if Falco was any testament to his race, though Léof did not flatter himself to think that he would ever journey so far as to see for himself.

Now, however, he had work to do. From the meeting that morning he knew that Eodwine and Thornden were set to assist him, and sure enough Eodwine was approaching now, with Thornden not much behind. Léof put up a hand in greeting. When they had reached him, he began explaining his plans, feeling a little strange giving directions to the Eorl and his right-hand man. “As much as possible I would like to use the fencing already there and mend it rather than build new fencing. I am hoping that it will be a fairly simple task of reconnecting fallen beams, but if in places the wood is now too broken down to use, it will have to be replaced. Perhaps Stigend will have a small amount to share from his gathering today.”

Here Léof broke off, for a peculiar look had crossed the face of Thornden, which appeared to give Eodwine some amusement. Léof could not imagine why, for the plan had seemed wholly sound to him. “Is something amiss?” he asked. “Is there a better way which I have overlooked?”

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan was seriously considering the notion of picking Javan up and shaking him as a lesson in respect when a voice from down the road called: "Hey Hi! What have we got here!"

He turned to see who was addressing them - and his jaw nearly dropped. Sitting on a pony in the middle of the road was one of the shortest people he had ever seen. His first thought was: that is a VERY fat little boy. In his second thought, he realized that it was none other than a halfling, of whom he had heard much (as had all who lived through the War of the Ring), but never actually seen. The sight of the short, stout fellow on the pony accosting them in such a manner was so comical that all thoughts of throttling Javan disappeared and instead he burst into hysterical, uproarious laughter.

Gasping for breath, he collapsed in the road as great heaves of laughter racked his body. He tried to turn and apologize to the halfling, but the sight of the fat little fellow on the fat little horse, who was by now looking quite cross, simply threw him back into heaving, convulsive laughter. The others looked on astonished as the grim and dark Crabannan rolled about in the road, undignified and nearly suffocated, trying desperately speak, but without luck.

The absurdity of the situation struck him as he lay there: he panting for breath, the halfling looking almost as astonished as he did appalled, the one boy holding his bleeding nose, and the other two staring in bewilderment at the grown-up who had only moments before been telling them off.

With a sigh, Crabannan lifted himself to his feet, still breathing heavily and chuckling quietly to himself. He quickly regained his composure, however. The customary grim look returned to his face as he bowed low.

"Your pardon, sirs. We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. I am Crabannan - and I am still hungry," he said, with an almost imperceptible twinkle in his eye as he looked up at Javan from under his dark brows.

[littlemanpoet]

"More likely, you're Big Trouble," Falco retorted. "Leastways, you're no ruffian as you've got a sense of humor even if it is at my expense. I am Falco Boffin, hobbit of the Shire to you, and these boys are Javan, Garmund, and Cnebba, and their fathers and mothers will be wondering why they're out here in the road instead of at the tents where they ought to be!"

Falco eyed the boys, two of whom looked properly ashamed, but Javan's natural ire only seemed to rise.

"Mr. Falco sir, Mr. Garstan sent me out here to fetch these two but they hid on me and started a fight! It's not my fault! And then this man came and broke up the fight and then he threatened us if we didn't give him food!"

Falco judged quickly that Javan probably was not telling the entire story, but was trying to be honest in general though maybe exaggerating. Which meant the man probably had broken up the fight and mentioned food, as he just had again.

"Well, Master Crabapple, sir, you won't be finding no food on these boys, but if you go into Scarburg here and introduce yourself properly to Lord Eodwine, who will be over by the animals, and if you can hold yourself off from laughing in his face about whatever strikes your funnybone, you might get some vittles. And as to wrong feet, if you think the sight of me and my pony is enough to laugh at, maybe I ought to get off of my pony and teach you a lesson, unless you care to apologize for your disrespect. What say you to that?"

Far from running back to the tents, the three boys got up and moved to one side of the road, eyes wide and eager to watch what happened next. Falco gave them no mind but eyed this Master Crabapple or whatever his name was, with a meaningful glare.

[shaggydog]

Having wound a tortuous trail through the heart of the marsh, Oeric gained the far side and considered his options. The shortest route to the tumble-down byre and his meager possessions would expose him to far too great a risk of being spotted again. Instead, he chose a more circuitous route which would bring him up the far side of the ridge behind the remains of Sorn’s hall. There was one thing which he agonizing over in particular and it would be necessary to remain close to the ruins. He couldn’t bear the thought of the strangers digging about and finding . . . them. Oeric cursed his own ambivalence about taking any sort of action to remove the evidence of the crime. But any time he had tried to persuade himself that it would be for the best, his heart had quailed at confronting the mute accusation of white bone and grey ash. Now, his opportunity to take care of things in his own way was surely gone. Still, he had determined that he would keep watch as closely as he could and if the time came . . . well, he would decide what to do then.

Exercising extreme caution, Oeric managed to gain the ridge as planned, undetected. He could hear the sounds of the newly erected camp and knew it was highly likely the settlers would be investigating their surroundings. There was a declivity he knew of, however, which would allow him , at need, to virtually disappear. A stone’s throw away ran a convenient access to a small rise upon which he could lay on his stomach and spy to his heart’s content. Creeping along the last twenty paces as silently as he could, Oeric was dismayed but not completely surprised to find someone else already had the same idea, and same spot, in mind.

“Still here, I see.” The one who had not offered his name on their prior encounter spoke softly, yet his voice was grim, stony.

Oeric had been far too distracted by his own misery to care overly much about who the stranger was and why he was there, at Sorn’s family homestead. It had been a cold, wet night amongst several days of rain, and the stranger had sought the shelter of the byre as Oeric had. As the figure had appeared, a pale oval of face floating above a dark form, for one wild moment of fancy, Oeric had imagined it was Swain come back. But the stranger had quickly stepped in to the circle of light cast by Oeric’s small fire and dispelled the phantasm. Holding his hands out to the warmth, the stranger had nodded and asked only, “Mind? I haven’t found a dry spot all day.” Oeric in turn had nodded his acceptance of an unlooked for companion, his own thoughts turning back to their own moebic trail. The stranger too had held his own counsel and the two had not passed more than twenty words between them by the time Oeric had wrapped his byrchan around his shoulders and lay down to close his eyes and feign sleep. Whether this one had somehow been sent by providence to dispatch him in the night and thus end the conflict of his heart had seemed to matter very little. But the dawn had brought a cessation to the rain and the stranger was gone when Oeric awoke.

“You too.” Oeric replied. He glanced up in the direction of the ridge. “And now we have visitors as well.”

“Looks as if they are here for more than a visit.” The man replied. He looked directly at Oeric as he asked, “You’re not in a rush to go introduce yourself and bid them welcome?”

Oeric returned the look and replied evenly enough, “No, I’m not. And I take it you’re not either.”

The two eyed each other, each taking the measure of the other in light of their shared desire to remain unknown to the newcomers. Oeric’s interest in why this man had showed up several weeks ago, who he was, and what his business there could possibly be was now piqued. However, it was clear the fellow wasn’t going to be forthcoming of his own volition, and questions posed would only result in questions being asked of himself.

[Gwathagor]

"Maybe you ought to, Master Halfling," said Crabannan, in a half-mocking tone of voice. He hadn't the ability to be angry at this funny little fellow, but he was curious to see if the halfling really would try to "teach him a lesson." He crouched into a fighter's stance and raised his fists. "Come down off your high horse, sir, and make me apologize."

Javan, Garmund, and Cnebba looked dumb-founded from Falco on his pony to Crabannan. They had never seen anything like this strange, dark man, who laughed and fought in the same breath, conducting both activities with equal seriousness.

Crabannan was gambling, of course, that Falco would not suit action to the word and follow through on his threat. If he did, Crabannan knew that he would find himself in a bad situation. He would be forced either to back down and apologize, or to fight the halfling. The latter was out of the question. He knew that he could not possibly justify fighting the halfling - not, at least, if he wanted to be accepted in the settlement, for however short a time. On the other hand, retracting his challenge did not sound very attractive to him either.

It was clear to him that he had acted rashly, and he cursed bitterly under his breath. He had a knack for making himself unwelcome wherever he went, and he knew it. Either people didn't share his curious, wry sense of humor, or they found his brooding, stern personality uninviting.

Too late now, he thought.

He took another step forward towards Falco as he clenched his fists tighter and put on his best dastardly ruffian grin. He had had lots of practice.

"Avast...halfling! I'm waiting for you!" he cried.

Avast?! Crabannan groaned inwardly. This couldn't end well.

[Thinlómien]

There was a throbbing pain in Cnebba's nose. He held the rag the stranger had given him to it and saw it turn redder. It was actually quite interesting. Maybe they'd take him to see the healer, like a proper wounded warrior. Although, he admitted, Master Falco had not treated him and Garmund like proper heroes - not like heroes at all. At least he had been just as unfair to the vile Orc who had beaten them in a fight. That was shameful, indeed. They would have won, easily, Cnebba knew, if he had not been so grievously wounded. But still, the Orc had had to use some treacherous trick to beat Garmund...

"Maybe you ought to, Master Halfling, teach him a lesson. Come down off your high horse, sir, and make me apologize", the stranger said and fully grasped Cnebba's attention. What was this weird, rude stranger doing? Was he a highwayman? Was he gong to attack Master Falco?

"Avast...halfling! I'm waiting for you!" the stranger cried. Were they going to fight? It was too exciting.

Before Falco could reply, Cnebba stepped forward. He held the rag carefully to his nose, and said: "If you're going to fight, you must take us with you too. We want to fight too. Garmund and I will defend Master Falco against you Master Highwayman. " He nodded, smiling smugly. For some reason, everybody was satring at him in silence. "Well, if it's unfair, you can have Javan on your side, Master Highwayman", Cnebba amended.

[littlemanpoet]

"Maybe you ought to, Master Halfling," said Master Crabapple, then crouched and raised his fists, read to fight. "Come down off your high horse, sir, and make me apologize."

Falco raised a brow. Here was a bigger fool than himself.

"Avast...halfling! I'm waiting for you!" Master Crabapple cried.

Before Falco could correct the man as to the fact that his horse was actually a pony and so not that high, or ask him what in Middle Earth 'avast' was suppose to mean, Cnebba stepped forward.

"If you're going to fight, you must take us with you too. We want to fight too. Garmund and I will defend Master Falco against you Master Highwayman. " He nodded, grinning, then continued. "Well, if it's unfair, you can have Javan on your side, Master Highwayman."

Falco rolled his eyes. This would not do.

"Surprising as it is," he began, "it seems I'm to be the responsible one of this lot. I can't have these boys interfering or I'll have to answer for it and never get on with my journey to the Shire. Be that as it may, I think my quickness would be more than a match for you and your game leg, Master Crabapple.

"Cnebba, Garmund, and Javan, get on back to the tents or I'll tell your folks and Eodwine everything! And you, Master Crabapple, if you will just allow me and my pony room to get by, I'll take that as your apology and what's more, I'll be merciful and not beat you in a fair fight."