Scarburg Meadhall

[Groin Redbeard]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Lhunardawen]

Finally, Scarburg.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Ginna

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

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

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

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

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

[Gwathagor]

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crabannan turned away and said no more.

[Lhunardawen]

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

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

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

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

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine shook Crabannan's hand.

"I am glad that you are one of us, Crabannan! I would not want to face you in war. But now I wish that we had added to the games using our spears while on horse, but the day wanes and I have a handfasting to accomplish!"

With that, Eodwine looked for Saeryn and Degas with the intention of speaking to them of what should be part of their rite. Before he found them he spotted a familiar face in the back of the crowd.

"Randvér! Is that you? Welcome, my friend! You could not have chosen to come on a better day!"

Rand did not appear to be in the best mood, but that did not trouble Eodwine, for his friend was often dour and prone to seeing the dark side of a matter. He was a fast friend and that overbore any flaws. He grabbed Rand by the hand.

"How do you fare?"

[Lhunardawen]

"I am well," replied Randvér as he shook Eodwine's hand firmly. "I apologise for not having come sooner; I had to attend to my own matters for a while."

He thought this was hardly the place or the time to delve into his dealings for the past months, and was thankful that Eodwine did not pursue the topic. Nevertheless he swiftly shifted Eodwine's focus away from him.

"But my friend, you look better than I have seen you in years! I can think of only one way you can explain this, and what you said earlier that I could not have come on a better day."

He looked knowingly at the eorl, who could then no longer stifle a grin.

[littlemanpoet]

"Indeed, this is a day of days for me," Eodwine replied happily. "Come, meet my bride to be. I am to be married today."

Eodwine led Rand to Saeryn and introduced his old friend to his wife to be. Speaking of her thus to his friend suddenly brought the strangeness of it home to Eodwine: this lass who was young enough to be his own daughter, was about to become his wife! He looked past her young face into her smiling eyes and saw in them the spirit that had sparked his interest in the very first week of their aquaintance though he had not allowed himself to see that as love at the time. He turned to Rand.

"Yes, I know I may be accused of robbing the cradle, but she is-" he tried to find the words that expressed the unity he felt between them and found phrase after another to be trite or lacking. "-she is as right as right for me."

He grabbed her hand and lifted it to his smiling lips, and held her eyes with his own.