Scarburg Meadhall

[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?

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas was delighted to find Athanar well versed in the goings on of the nobles in Gondor. His first thought was that conversing with someone who knew all of the nuance of the City and its inhabitants was like being home again. But then he mentally checked himself, and reminded himself that while Gondor had been his home for several years, and was the home of his wife-to-be, he was born a man of Rohan, and he was now a ruling lord of Rohan, a peer of Athanar, and, as a lord not under Athanar's rule (Degas sent a quick thanks into the West that his own Eorl had nothing to do with his sister), a man capable of calling Athanar by name, and speaking to him as a peer.

While they discussed the impending marriage of the daughter of a man they were surprised to learn they both knew, Degas realized that Athanar was quite an excellent conversationalist, when he was not busy asserting dominance. Degas hid a smile behind his cup, and spotted Athanar's wife leave the hall quietly, followed by Thornden. He cast a glance around the room, noting Athanar and Saeryn doing the same. Even most of the old inhabitants were unfamiliar to Degas, so he was not all together concerned with who and where they were. He shrugged mentally. It was not his problem, and if it was important, someone would come find Athanar.

"Yes," he interjected, "Lady Ivoraen is quite understanding of the matter, but the question remains: will the floods in Edhellond affect the movement of salt cod and pearls to Ethring? After the blight this summer, trade is already much lower than Calembel can handle. If Ethring loses its access to the coast, the King will be looking at a fortnight of negotiations to get enough grain to his people in the west."

[Groin Redbeard]

It was absolute bliss in the hall. No music, no singing, but still Erbrand clung tightly to Kara. Tonight his troubles were ignored and the rivalries between old and new were forgotten as they held each other by the roaring fire in the great hall. Tonight had been waiting a long time to happen. He was at perfect ease around Kara and she seemed to like his company. Oh what a long awaited night indeed! There was a new wind blowing like Erbrand had never known; he was breathing deeper than he had ever done. It felt so natural and fulfilling.

Something small and cold pressed against chest. It was the ring, the same ring that had been given to him by that magician, or mage, or wizard, whatever he was, on Eodwine’s wedding day—the man (if he was man) who performed the wedding vows. Whoever the magician was, he had given Erbrand the same ring that now adorned his neck. It was the same day that Erbrand made the vow to be worthy of Kara’s love. Sometimes it was hard for Erbrand to understand, but he believed Kara was teaching him to be a better man. No longer did he want to take his life and grant it like he used to do. He was undoubtedly in love.

Tonight was another night for a vow. Tonight, Erbrand let go of all his lonely yesterdays and correct the mistakes that he made. With the new people in the hall that meant that there would be new suitors for the women of the hall and Erbrand would have nobody seeking after Kara. Too long had he been deluded in to thinking that Crabannan, or even Thornden, was interested in Kara. He would help her and protect her as much as possible, all the while keeping off potential suitors. The bliss that he felt when Kara was close to him was too dear to be snatched from him, Erbrand would not allow it! From tonight on he would start acting as a man in love should act and openly seek to win Kara as a wife.


Lithor
It was funny to see Crabannan suddenly appear in the doorway. Lithor watched as Crabannan immediately took his side in the manner without even waiting to hear what had happened. Crabannan was always good for an honest brawl.

However, Lithor’s amusement soon turned to dreaded doubt. He did not want this to turn into a brawl. If it was a beating only one man would be marked but to turn it into a brawl with four men would bode ill for himself and mostly Crabannan. Crabannan openly came on the side of Lithor in the hall, it would look like Crabannan came searching for revenge after Lithor had been humiliated. No, there must be none of that!

Lithor had become dull as an unused scythe from his “joy making” tonight. Things were constantly becoming worse and worse because he found everything amusing and what the end result was he did not know. The sight of the two angry boys and a protective Crabannan cut Lithor right in two with sorrow. It made him feel empty and worthless to think that he was the cause of all their unhappiness. If that is how things were going to be then Lithor was going fight it. He would not stand to have these boys bully others like they were attempting to do with him, he would not allow his friends to be rejected by Athanar, and he was going to be the cause of no one’s unhappiness other than those who were scoundrels. How had he become so cold?

Lithor hated that he was jaded and made trouble. This was not him, this is not what he would allow himself to become. His heart was numb, devoid of feeling. Lithor reached within his soul to pull an emotion out. What he ended up with was a mixed feeling of gratitude for Crabannan, anger at the behavior of the two young men, and acceptance for the consequence that might follow.

Lithor looked up at Crabannan (who had not gone in), full of his former self. “Thank you, my friend. You have once again proven that you are more than a roguish traveler. You are a loyal friend.” Lithor turned his hateful eyes to the young boys.

“Now, know that your bullying towards me will be accepted, but I can foresee further acts of cruelty to my friends by your hands. Only then will I fight you! I am willing to let things go as they are. However, if you wish to demand satisfaction for my “insults” then you will have to take it out on my flesh.”

[Nogrod]

"... If Ethring loses its access to the coast, the King will be looking at a fortnight of negotiations to get enough grain to his people in the west."

"I see what you're pointing at... so maybe he wants to replenish his granaries from north of Ered Nimrais? That would be only logical. So from Eastfold, East Emnet... maybe even from here? Hmm... That is actually something to consider."

Lord Athanar pulled back in his seat and took a sip of wine thinking about what Degas had just told him.

After the banquet going so bad in the beginning Athanar had now almost forgotten all the ill words and feelings exchanged. This young lord Degas sure was good company; witty, knowledgeable and even more importantly, he was of a stature he could relate to so much more easily than with all the peasants, craftsmen or the rank and file soldiers. It was not that he didn't care about those serving him, on the contrary, he had always fought on behalf of those who were loyal to him with firmness and passion; but there was a difference in going into informal relationships or just chatting around with a person of nobility and education and doing it with people of lower rank.

And it was such a relief to be able to converse on interesting matters like power politics and general affairs of Rohan and Gondor leaving the domestic troubles behind him for a moment.

Speaking of which; he had noticed his wife leave with Thornden following her and he feared there was something he wouldn't like to hear going on outside... But he didn't want to put himself into any new public argument this evening if he was not forced to do it. It could flame the situation once again just as the general feeling was getting a bit more relaxed in the Hall. So if Wynflaed could handle it, the better. He would have a night full of decisions ahead of him but now he just wanted to put them off from his mind and enjoy the conversation.

Leaning towards Degas he put the goblet on the table and looked at the young nobleman to the eye. "And I guess you know what that means. It means remarkable revenues to these areas - and with revenues one gets power... Now most of the Eastfold, the western parts, is right under the governance of king Eomer so most of the added revenue will go to the king's treasury and will thus strengthen Rohan. But East Emnet? That's just a county ruled by wild independent lords - like West Emnet has been. So the revenue will go to those lords and not to Rohan. And if lord Tancred learns the news, which he surely does, it might make him even more bold trying to cling to that extra-wealth for himself... So we might have to act sooner I had thought and force him under the king's rule before he has more money and power to strengthen his position."

Athanar paused, he was thinking.

"That means we just can't afford these brawls here."

He leaned back again picking his pipe from his belt and started stuffing it. There clearly was no way of putting the pressing matters behind. He sighed.

But noticing Degas' and Saeryn's expressions he smiled again. "Heh, a nice northern habit, even if a bit odd around here. I learned it in Minas Tirith actually, during the war...". After lighting his pipe and puffing it to burn evenly he finally made the question he had been thinking of making for a long time - addressing both siblings.

"Now that we're here the three of us; lord Degas, Lady Saeryn; you know the general air of this Mead Hall better than I do. As long as we don't break the decree king Eomer gave me and my wife, I'm pretty much ready to give your ladyship any status here that would make you both feel comfortable and secure the peace within the Mead Hall. Do you have any wishes, any ideas how we could solve this problem that is not our own making?" He looked at both of them with anticipation, more serious he had been the whole evening. It was clear he meant what he said.

[Formendacil]

Náin was being poor company, and he was somewhat aware of it, as he sat in a less-lit corner of the hall, not far from the fireplace, with one hand around a perpetually half-full tankard of ale, and two eyes darting about the Meadhall. Though never particularly unguarded among Men--or even his own race--those who knew Náin better noticed that he was being unusually taciturn.

The Dwarf was not so much feasting as observing the feast, and while the tension seemed to have been eased since the altercation between Athanar and Lithor, Náin was only somewhat relaxed, as the ale worked on his mood. He was still watching the old Scarburgians, as they interacted with the newcomers, and the soldiers of King Éomer--or, rather, as they mostly didn't interact. With very few exceptions, the Old Scarburgians seemed to be keeping to themselves, speaking mostly with their proven friends and avoiding the possibility of another scene.

Náin noted the exit of Athanar's lady, followed closely by Thorden--and he noted too that it was precipitated by the arrival of Stigend and Garstan's sons. This either meant fun or trouble, and Náin did not think it meant much fun this night, but it was not his place to investigate.

One of the very few ongoing interactions between Old Scarburg and New was happening in the person of Scarburg's new Eorl. Athanar was conversing with Degas and Saeryn, and Náin nodded approvingly to himself. Foolish though the Rohirrim were for it, he knew that the Meadhall would remain divided if the memory of Eodwine could not be reconciled with the presence of Athanar. Saeryn could bridge this divide, and he was pleased to see that she was.

It occurred to the Dwarf, for a fleeting moment, to go over and join the nobles. He was, as the grandson of one of Thorin's companions, and distant kin of the Line of Durin, a Dwarf of considerable lineage, and indeed he was the formal ambassador of both Thorin Stonehelm and Gimli of the Glittering Caves. He was not, however, a bold man, and thus he hung back in his corner, deciding Athanar would meet him soon enough, and that he would not presume on Degas or Saeryn's indulgence. Náin had, in any case, no desire to be identified in Athanar's books with "Old Scarburg"; though he knew them and loved them, he was in Scarburg at King Éomer's pleasure, and had more in common with the elite soldiers sent as Athanar's bodyguard than the vassals of Eodwine.

Besides, what had he in common with Lord Athanar? Náin was a formidable warrior at need, as all the Dwarves were, and had fought well in the Battle of Erebor, though he was young, when the Dale was overrun and Dáin Ironfoot slain before the gates of the Mountain. But he was not a soldier. He was a craftsman, indeed a fine artist. He had more in common with the more advanced labourers of Scarburg, common men like Stigend or Garstan, but even they did not understand fully the art of creation. But then, few Men did.

As he continued to observe the nobles of the Hall, however, he noticed that Athanar drew out a pipe and lit a bowl of pipeweed, and his estimation of the soldier rose. Náin smoked a pipe as well, but this was common among his people. His grandfather, Nori, had said that all fifteen of Thorin's legendary company had smoked pipes. But this was not common among Men. Even in Dale, under the influence of the Dwarves, it was a rare habit, often looked upon in askance as a Dwarven, rather than Mannish, trait, and Náin had never seen one of the Rohirrim smoking.

The Dwarf wondered where Athanar had his pipeweed from. He knew that some was traded down the Greenway from the Shire, inheritors of the trade done with Isengard in Saruman's day, but he had thought it was only sold at Helm's Deep, where the Dwarves provided a ready market, or else in Minas Tirith, where it was said King Elessar paid a handsome price for Hobbit pipeweed. Possibly Athanar did more business with Helm's Deep than Náin had guessed, if he had a supply of pipeweed, and in addition to those about Éomer's court, he might know others of Náin's acquaintance.

Náin metaphorically put this in his pipe and began to smoke it, letting the scent of these cogitations seek into the pores of his mind.

[Durelin]

Coen ate quickly, but often scanning the hall, and especially watching the table the near end of which was filled by his men. One sign of someone having a bit too much to drink and acting a fool and he would be ready to drag them out rather than have them embarrass themselves and the lord Athanar. The banquet had settled into private conversations, and so Coen soon excused himself from the lord's table to pay a visit to the soldiers. He did not feel comfortable sitting at the table with the lord and leaders, but mostly because he did not like leaving his men on the hall's benches for too long without him. He was fidgety -- he had been since before even they arrived, and unfortunately the worry and stress had only been heightened with the day's events.

The 'Captain' approached the soldier's benches, and gestured for them to make room for him. They grew quite a bit quieter, and he smiled slightly. Once he was seated, he looked up and down the benches briefly. His eyes stopped at Áforglæd. "So you decided to show up for the banquet anyway?" he asked the man, not expecting an answer. The soldier's face reddened, adding color to the bruises. Coen would speak to him later, and the look he gave the soldier told him that if he had any doubt.

"I'm glad you all kept your heads about you earlier," he spoke to his men at large, keeping his voice at a level which he hoped would not be heard beyond their part of the table. "If any of you should do anything to embarrass Lord Athanar, and to cause any more problems with the locals, you'll be lucky if I let them keep you on as kitchen staff." Coen spoke calmly and evenly, without malice behind his voice. He was not angry at his men, besides being annoyed about Áforglæd, but he was generally distressed.

"I'll speak with you tonight in the barracks about tomorrow's exercises." Coen changed his tone to a bit more conversational. "How do the barracks look, anyway?" he asked the men, and particularly looked to Hilderinc for information.

He couldn't believe he had not even seen the barracks yet, nor even his own quarters, which he hoped were nearby. His responsibilities had grown beyond what he was used to -- meaning beyond the barracks -- and he was certainly starting to doubt that Athanar had made a wise decision with his appointment. But he had to admit that much of his responsibility was by his own assignation. He never could leave well-enough alone, much less leave someone else to do what he considered his job.

[Thinlómien]

"Now, know that your bullying towards me will be accepted, but I can foresee further acts of cruelty to my friends by your hands. Only then will I fight you! I am willing to let things go as they are. However, if you wish to demand satisfaction for my “insults” then you will have to take it out on my flesh."

Wulfric laughed aloud. This was absurd.

"Bullying? Acts of cruelty? Fight us? Are you mad, crone? I am not bullying you, I am commanding you as a rightful noble of this Hall. I have no interest in harming your insulting scoundrel friend: he seems old and hardly fit. You, on the other hand, are still serving as a soldier despite your years, I understand, and will therefore not avoid my anger if I decide to fight you.

And speaking of fighting... are you seriously thinking of attacking the two of us with that cramped and crippled funny-looking friend of yours? Come on, you're old and aching and so is your friend, we are two young and fit warriors!"

He laughed again, it was so absurd. Wilheard, however, was not laughing. He rolled his sleeves up, glaring at the two friends.

"I think he wouldn't attack us," he said, eyeing Lithor with sheer loathing. "For I see it clearly now. This man, if somebody, wants harm to our family. He has insulted our father and now us, but he has been cowardly enough not to let his fists talk. That is because you only attack the ones who are smaller than you, don't you, soldier?"

"I don't understand what you're talking about," Lithor said coldly.

"Sure you don't," Wilheard said with a bitter laugh. "Wulf, I think we've found the jerk who did something to our sister."

Before Wulfric could react in any way, his little brother aimed a mighty blow at Lithor's head.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"...Do you have any wishes, any ideas how we could solve this problem that is not our own making?"

Degas leaned forward, looking between Saeryn and Athanar. "May I, sister?"

She nodded, as regal as he had ever seen her.

He set his drink down and addressed Athanar directly. "Saeryn and I have discussed the matter at length, and so I know her mind. The question has never truly been Saeryn's position as the Lady of Scarburg, though that will remain an open wound for some time amongst the people. That is merely a matter of peasant loyalty, as they doubtlessly understand the nuance of their household far better than matters of state. It's in the very nature of peasants to remain loyal to those nobles who have treated them well. With time, they will grow accustomed to their new situation."

Athanar inclined his head, acknowledging Degas's point, and inviting him to continue.

"As I said, it is not Saeryn's title that is of concern to us. You see, my sister is with child, early enough yet that - forgive my indelicacy - her gowns are only just beginning to feel too snug, and being stripped of title and lands also strips her unborn child of the inheritance promised to him by nature of his noble parents. While Saeryn would accept the loss of her own station if it were the will of the King - and I would most certainly invite her back to our family lands, where she would live as sister of the lord, with all the rights and privileges of the immediate family of the ruler - for her to accept that option would be to leave her home and the people who have come to signify family to her, and to forfeit the rightful inheritance of her child."

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar draw his breath with the news. He toyed with his empty goblet for a while thinking but then addressed Saeryn.

"So that is how it is, you bear a child to lord Eodwine? And everyone in the Scarburg Hall knows that?"

Saeryn nodded, not saying a word.

"Well I quessed it was so after speaking with this Erbrand-fellow before the banquet... he kind of slipped it even if not openly... But it is good to know it from your mouths - and that it's not just his knowledge, but everyone's."

Lord Athanar pulled back and took a long puff from his pipe to concentrate.

"King Eomer never told me about this... here you just have to believe me. Had I known that, I would have acted otherwise today... I don't stand the way this Lithor acted - or that someone beat my daughter - but I might have been able to suppress things in time had I known what feelings there were running under the surface..."

He leaned back to the table trying to drink from an empty goblet. Disappointed he looked around finally finding the eyes of Modtryth and raising his goblet to show their table needed more. Modtryth nodded and went to the kitchens to get them more wine.

"I see what you mean, it's most unfortunate." Degas added feeling relieved. Lord Athanar was clearly not jumping off the walls with the news.

"Thank you Degas... Well I have to... well, we have to think about something. The king's mission is the first priority whatever our private fortunes might be..."

He looked at both of the siblings studying their reactions.

"So... it's not only your status right now lady Saeryn, but the inheritance then?"

They both nodded.

"I have promised to look after my sister's rights and that's why I am here in the first place." Degas added to confirm the negotiating position.

Lord Athanar nodded in acceptance and leaned back again to think puffing his pipe.

Modtryth was just coming to pour them some more wine when lord Athanar suddenly spread his hands with a seemingly bright idea crossing his mind.

His right hand hit the winecase and a lot of wine poured down to his lap. He turned his eye to Modtryth only to see her grow pale. "What is your name woman?" He asked in a stern voice while wondering if she was indeed a dunleding... Now what is this... a dunleding in my Hall... I clearly know not half of what is going on down here.

"Modtryth, sir, at your service," she replied curtly, eyes downcast. "I'm the wife of Stigend the carpenter... and the humble servant of the eorl, and lady Saeryn."

"Well Modtryth, it was my fault... you were only carrying out your duties. Fill our goblets and then get a towel for me." He said now quite softly even if determinatedly, looking at the woman beside her.

"Sure my lord," Modtryth said and filled the goblets and thus went away to search for a towel.

Lord Athanar seemed not to care of the wine poured on his lap but leaned forward.

"If the inheritance is the problem, I think we could come up with a solution..."

Looking at the confused faces of Saeryn and Degas lord Athanar almost laughed out aloud.

"Now listen to me... this will be between ourselves and not leaked into the commoners... not even to master Thornden... right?" He looked for the accepting nods from the two.

"I'm here on an assignment from king Eomer but I have no idea of spending my retiring years here... so whoever takes the leadership of the Mead Hall here after my duties are fulfilled, and I get a promotion from the king, it's pretty much same to me... so how if we could come up with an arrangement that you lady Saeryn would be the inheritor of this place? If king Eomer is not knowledgeable of your child or has just not thought of it... then we could act by ourselves, or ask his blessing on our deal?"

Modtryth came with the towels and together the two tried to clean as much they could. After a few minutes lord Athanar asked Modtryth to leave.

"I see you have grown into this place lady Saeryn... well not the place... but the people here. And they have grown to you. But you will not defeat lord Tancred which is what king Eomer is asking from this Mead Hall right now, irrespective of how lord Eodwine is. That thing needs to be settled now. And if anyone can do that, I can do that. I know that scoundrel and know his game... and he beat me in the war for honours... with vile tricks... so I have the motive to fight him back and fight him hard. Hopefully not with weapons... but if it comes to that... then even that way. In a duel he will die..."

Lord Athanar took a sip of his newly filled goblet and fell into his memories for a moment. Hearing the heavy thoughts both Saeryn and Degas decided not to say anything.

And lord Athanar turned back to them at last.

"So let's find out a way to show people that you - or at least your child - will have his rights to this community. I think that at the time of your child reaches adulthood I will be far away in other places fulfilling greater requests for my lord - or then I have failed my lord indeed."

[Groin Redbeard]

His feet were comfortably perched on the table. Never had he had the chance to eat such magnificent food! Such cooks were angels! Girth’s left hand was filled with mutton joint and his right hand dutifully scratched the ears of Dog. His eyes darted around the hall and settled on a couple standing close to the fire. Girth watched them for a while, finding comfort in their obvious affection for each other, but the scene did not last long. The man gave the woman a slight peck on the cheek and departed. The rings of the man’s fiddle soon echoed throughout the hall once again.

“You see, Hamrod, they are not such an unsophisticated people as you think. Though I don’t know why you think of such things. People like us should be satisfied with what is currently ours. After all, most of the people here are simple folk like ourselves.”

“Nay, it was not that the people are un-so-phi-sti-cat-ed, as you say. I have no clue what that means.”

“I hang around my betters too much. But go on…”

“These people are too independent. Why look take that old soldier. Such disrespect! It would do these people good to feel the lash.”

“What? What is this I hear from your lips?! I have never known you to be such an unfeeling man.”

“Aye, and I have never known men such as these.”

“You condemn these people too fast. They are a different people; therefore, it holds that they have different customs. I hold reserved opinions of all men involved in the squabble, but I forgive them. Why just look with what they have provided us with: a magnificent hall and an abounding feast. Tell me Hamrod, when was the last time that you supped at your lord’s table? Have you ever been invited in your lord’s home.”

“It is not our place to sup at lord Athanar’s table or to be invited in his house.”

“True, true, therefore, I am grateful that I am allowed to sup where I have the better sense to stay away from.”

“That didn’t make a lick of sense.”

“Maybe, but that is how I feel and nothing you say is going to make me miserable tonight. Let your opinion ferment for a while longer. The more it sits the more it will stink, in your case.”

“Spoken like a true swine herder!” Hamrod shook his head causing his straight curly hair shaking like ruffled bush. Girth grabbed his belly and laughed heartily.

“Aye, I’ll drink to that. May the dirt of Scarburg bring forth a great many piglets!”