Scarburg Meadhall

[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.

[Mnemosyne]

Wynflaed tsked to herself as soon as she heard the voices. Her guess had been correct--and her sons were not even bothering to keep their voices quiet. Who knew how many people would know of this fray by the time the night was over?

"Let me handle them," she said quietly to Thornden.

As she reached the scene she heard Wilheard: "Wulf, I think we've found the jerk who did something to our sister." No, no, no... she thought, hurrying forward, as he drew back his arm, ready for a blow. With two swift steps she was there, gripping his other arm with surprisingly strong fingers.

Wilheard whirled around to meet his mother's icy stare.

"Come," she said, in a voice that brooked no disobedience. "You as well, Wulfric. Thornden, speak to these men and learn from them how this happened. I expect an honest report."

At Thornden's nod she continued walking until she found a safe distance from which she could question her sons. She did not turn to see if they had followed until she was there.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc was already in the happy state of having his stomach full of good food and finishing his pot for already... well, he wasn't counting anymore how many times had he seen the bottom of it this evening. Most of the soldiers didn't seem to be counting either. Áforglæd seemed happy enough and cheerfully led a discussion with several others, until Coenred appeared. Hilderinc noticed that few of the soldiers quietly chuckled when Coenred addressed Áforglæd. Scyrr sitting opposite to Hilderinc seemed as if he wanted to say something, most likely something on the address of the old Scarburgians, but Coenred continued.

"I'm glad you all kept your heads about you earlier. 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."

Hilderinc's face once again did not betray any emotion, but inside he approved of Coenred. The commander knew how to work with people and kept soldiers in line without being outwardly harsh. Even now the soldiers, including Scyrr, seemed to be somewhat calmed down. Coen was their commander after all, and he had authority among the men - also authority of the sort that they have been aware that he was a good commander. Hilderinc, who had served under many commanders, including very harsh ones, arrogant ones and some who have been downright mean, was especially grateful for this.

"I'll speak with you tonight in the barracks about tomorrow's exercises." Not all of the soldiers seemed to be happy to be reminded of this, but Hilderinc nodded. He didn't know why, but he actually felt like doing something. More would be seen after a night spent in the new place, though. "How do the barracks look, anyway?"

The commander looked at Hilderinc. The soldier shrugged.

"I think it is fair enough, sir," he said. "I think we might be a bit cramped -"

"A lot," red-faced Scyrr interrupted him.

"But I don't think it will be such a problem," Hilderinc continued without paying attention to him. Scyrr's face turned even more red as he took another gulp from his mug. "After all, we are just sleeping there. I guess there will be enough chance to stretch our bodies after that..."

Scyrr quickly swallowed the ale in his mouth, but still he did not avoid spitting some of it with his next words. "It's small for the lot of us, sir," he said in a deep voice. "And we are going to sleep in it all the time. Back home it was twice as big and there haven't been any other blighters sharing it -"

"...or those who feel it is too uncomfortable may take double shifts and sleep outside," Hilderinc finished calmly. Scyrr's face was now of the color of a ripe cherry.

"It ain't bad," said calmly Feargall who was sitting next to Hilderinc. "To be honest, I was worried that it will be a hole filled with wet hay."

Hilderinc nodded. "Also, sir, wouldn't there be more space after the Hall's construction advances a bit? I assume there is still a lot left to do."

"I hope they do not expect us to build -" Scyrr interrupted once again, but Hilderinc did not let him finish. Somehow, most likely due to the ale consummed, he felt a lot more talkative than he usually was.

"The barracks are in a quite good place, too," he said. "Especially when you want to go to the kitchen... though I have been almost knocked over twice when going there from inside the Hall, so everybody better watch out..."

A few soldiers laughed. It was unusual for Hilderinc to make jokes, or at least not with obvious intention like this time.

"Kitchens," one of the young soldiers, Baldwic, interposed. "Seen any pretty lasses around there, Hilderinc?"

Hilderinc's eyes briefly shot towards the dark woman who has been serving the ale and then the young fair-haired girl whom he encountered in the kitchens.

"I am sure you will have time to look around, Baldwic," he said, turning to the soldier. "You could have asked some of the girls for a dance, you can still do that, even though I don't hear our musicians now anymore." Hilderinc knew very well that Baldwic has been looking around all the evening, obviously being curious as a young man coming to a new place would be, yet he did not dare to move away from the soldiers' table.

Hilderinc turned back to Coenred.

"As I said, sir, I think the barracks should be fine for the time being..." The interest in the conversation of most of the soldiers, except for those who were sitting close by, seemed to decline. Many were turning back to their own talks. Hilderinc leaned across the table, pulling his mug closer, but also leaning closer to Coenred.

"Sir, I wanted to ask, is commander Thornden going to be with us tomorrow too?" This was perhaps somewhat unnecessary question, but Hilderinc kept an unspoken question behind it too: what does Coen think about his new second-in-command? Hilderinc wondered whether his words would betray anything about the opinion he had formed about the local commander. Despite not being overtly curious, Hilderinc preferred to know what to expect, it helped him to make easier judgements later on. Coenred's opinion on the new commander might give him a better notion of the man he had seen only casually.

[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!”

[Folwren]

Saeryn stared at Athanar, not comprehending quite what he meant. “The king has given you lands and a title, what more do you really expect? Eomer may not realize that you are hoping for some larger grant from him. What if you don’t ever leave this place, after all? What then? Your sons will not simply step aside for my child, if your family is still here when the time for an inheritance comes. I cannot see that they would let anyone outside of your family take something that they would rightfully think is theirs. I don’t blame you, lord Athanar. Don’t think I do. It is a difficult situation that all of us have been thrown into. I wish there was some simple way of solving this problem, but so far as I can see, I cannot say what the answer is.”

----
Thornden

Thornden watched Lady Wynflaed walk away, followed by their sons. He was struck with the authority she held over them. It was very different from the authority that Saeryn exercised, being much colder and aloof. She let her orders leave no room for argument, and even if they did, she didn’t, for she left without waiting for any questions to be asked. Twice she had done it to him now in less than two minutes, first ordering him to come, and now ordering him to stay.

He turned his head to Lithor and Crabannan who both stood waiting.

“Well?” he asked. “What’s happening now, Lithor? And what are you doing here, Crabbanan? I hope you weren’t looking for a fight?”

[Thinlómien]

The two young men followed their mother in silence. Wilheard was thinking of other matters, and Wulfric knew better than to start arguing with his mother while the three old Scarburgians were still within earshot.

"Now," said Wynflaed once they were far enough, "both of you had better have a perfectly reasonable explanation for what you were doing here and why--especially you, Wilheard. Unfortunately, I myself cannot think of any excuse you could give me that would hold water, so I must needs conclude that neither of you are particularly reasonable and are in fact lacking in mental faculties altogether. Do I make myself clear? Why were you not in the Hall setting a good example for the people?"

"You might ask that same of Master Thornden," Wulfric replied. "We two just went out for a short walk. He, on the other hand, was plotting treason with that old soldier called Lithor. Lord Athanar needs to know about this."

"I was not asking for an explanation of Master Thornden's behavior. I was asking for an explanation of yours.

Be that as it may, you know full well that we of the Eorlingas do not deal with anyone, traitor or otherwise, by striking at them in private as if we were ashamed for others to see our deeds. If indeed Thornden and Lithor were planning treason, why did you not run and fetch your father as anyone respecting the rule of law ought?"

Wulfric and Wilheard exchanged glances. Again Wulfric spoke: "The accusation of treason should not be spoken lightly. We followed Lithor to ask him what were he and Thornden up to."

"And we also wanted to know what he had done to upset Father, since we weren't present when that happened," Wilheard added quickly. Wulfric gave him a dark look.

"And if indeed the accusation of treason should not be spoken lightly, why are you so quick to accuse Thornden?" Wynflaed held up a hand to quiet her sons.

"I am not saying that your accusations are groundless; however, thus far Thornden has proven himself a reliable ally in this transition of power. If what you say is true there must be stronger evidence at hand than a mere conversation, overheard at the wrong times. Such things have been expanded and exaggerated in the past, to the grief of all. And this still does not explain, Wilheard, why you leveled the baseless accusation at Lithor that he hit your sister, nor why you were so eager to strike him."

"How can you say the accusation is baseless!" Wilheard burst out. "That man hates our family! He obviously disrespected our father, and he insulted me and Wulfric too. Who else would dare offend Aedre?"

Wynflaed laughed--a slow, quiet, rueful chuckle. "Ah, the innocence of youth," she said. "You must have taken the tales of Orcs and Riders too much to heart when you were young. We are not fighting a single Shadowed enemy as we were when you were children, my sons, and we are not fighting for land or even people, but for their hearts. I can think of many good people who, if goaded the wrong way, would do something they previously thought dishonorable in the heat of a moment--even something as dishonorable as striking a defenseless girl.

The one who hit Aedre, as it turns out, was not a man but a child her age. But since you were ready to jump to conclusions based on a few scanty actions of this man, you very nearly made our already tenuous position worse. If you will continue to so dishonor our house that the hearts of these people are set against us--whether you think you are in the right or not--you will hurt me, your father, and yourselves even more than if you had let small slanders lie. If you cannot learn to deal with people and these situations properly and respectfully, I am not above placing you in the service of the stablemaster for a day or two. And I doubt, when he hears of this, that Lord Athanar will be above it either.

I am ashamed of both of you, my sons, but even more ashamed of myself that I should have borne and raised such sons as this. Leave the ruling of this hall to the adults until you have proven yourself fit for their company."

Wynflaed took a deep breath. "Now, as for the matter of Thornden--I wish you to tell me, word for word, what you heard him and Lithor say. I do not approve of your snooping about like this, but we may as well make use of such information."

"As for the matter of Thornden, I'm going to report that to Father, not you, since I know you will undoubtedly present the matter in a way that suits you and not true to what I say," Wulfric replied.

"And as for being ashamed, that you should indeed be." There was a flash of anger in his eyes and although he knew he was on dangerous waters, he could not help but continue: "What kind of woman are you? You hardly care that your daughter was beaten, and you join the insulting choir against your sons without first bothering to find out what happened. You refuse to act on treachery against your lord and husband, undoubtedly you will do nothing until he lies dead at your feet!"

Wynflaed's eyes smoldered. "I very much do care that Aedre was hurt, and rest assured that the one who laid hands on her will receive justice." Her lips spread into a thin, feline smile.

"If you truly think that Athanar and I will do nothing in defense of this treachery and treason, then you have forgotten--we both of us grew up and lived--and survived--under the court of Grima Wormtongue. I assure you, compared to those dark years, these intrigues are child's play. And as for you, Wulfric--how can you expect anyone to treat you as your status merits if you cannot even keep a civil tongue when talking to your own mother?

Make your report to your father, son. It is, in fact, probably better that you do so than I, since these matters are strictly military. I shall learn as much about this situation as I may, and if it turns out that you were blameless in all your words and deeds here, I will apologize to you. You are correct--I should not be ready to assume you are wholly in the wrong.

But if you think Lord Athanar will trust your account of these events over anyone else's simply because you have spoken to him first, you are mistaken. If I learn that you have left anything out--including your fist, Wilheard--it shall go worse for you in the end.

Go, with my blessing, to share your intelligence, and in the meantime I shall try to glean as much more from this situation as I may."

Wilheard gave his mother a morose look. Wulfric wanted to reply his mother's words, but he knew it would end up in another sermon - such was the way of aging women - so he merely nodded.

"Come, Will," he said to his brother. They turned to go.

"I may be unable to keep a civil tongue when talking to my mother but she is surely unable to keep her tongue when talking to her children..." Wulfric muttered as they started towards the Hall where they would find their father.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas rose before dawn. He scrubbed his face with cold water to wake up better, and found himself vainly wondering why no one had noticed he had recently taken to sporting a short beard. He cleaned his teeth and, shivering, pulled on a sapphire blue shirt over his gray breeches. Boots on, he fastened a dagger to his belt and tied his hair back with a thin strip of hide.

And then he went in search of Rowenna.

She was in the kitchen, sipping tea with a look on her face that suggested total displeasure.

"A word?" said Degas quietly. "Outside?"

She rose and followed him, wondering what in the world her lord could possibly want from her this early in the morning, unless perhaps it was to commiserate about the way the Mead Hall had fallen to ruin so quickly. Not, she reminded herself, that it was the lady Saeryn's fault, but things would never have been this ridiculous if Eodwine had been here. He would be ashamed of his men, brawling, and the boy for striking the little girl. Yes, he was over-indulgent, but he would never have tolerated grown men behaving the way the new lord's sons behaved.

She shivered as the full brunt of the morning wind hit her as she rounded the stable corner. It was a miserable, grey sort of day, and the wind was wet and chafing. If she'd known her lord would demand a word with her outside the warmth of the kitchen, she'd have worn a shawl. She would say something to him about his lack of consideration, that she would.

"I shall make this short," he said, leading her into the stables. The sudden transition from the loudly blowing wind and wet air to the warm stable, which smelled of horse must and hay, meant a sudden silence broken by the stamp of hooves and the munching of hay. Leof would be in and out, working, but Degas did not mind his presence. Any others would be noted before they reached earshot.

"My lord," Rowenna interjected irritably, "It is still dark out, and my breakfast is getting cold."

After a month working closely together, she felt comfortable sharing her brusque opinions with him. In private, of course. And, as long as it was in private, Degas was tolerant of her tone. He even smiled.

"Then I shan't keep you from your breakfast. As your lord, I ask a favor of you. No, it is not a command. I understand that there are many reasons why you would desire to say no. And a good lord never makes a command he cannot be sure will be followed. That sort of thing forces followers to question their allegiances. In any case, it has come to my attention that my sister may neglect her own care in favor of coming to the rescue of others, and I fear that of the others that would leap to her defense, most would be punished depending on the nature of the problem."

Rowenna tapped her foot, used to Degas's mannerisms. He'd keep it short, would he? Her eggs would already be cold and rubbery. Pig food, she thought. Perhaps Kara would replace her breakfast, if Frodides was not in a mood. Her hands found her hips and she glared at Degas, clearly insinuating that he should get on with his point.

"I need someone that can play a quiet and unnoticed guard for my sister. Clearly not in terms of physical situations: I do not foresee such a thing occurring, and I believe that Lord Athanar would grievously punish anything of the sort. Still, however, I wish for Saeryn to have a companion whose presence will not draw unwanted attention. A lady's maid," he finished. "As I said, this is a request, not a command. Wenna, I wish for you to attend to my sister. As her maid, you would be privy to much information, and your presence would be excused in places anyone else would be forbidden.

"If I could stay here indefinitely, it would not be an issue, as I could act on my own sister's behalf. However, there are too many matters that call me away. You know how things are at home... I cannot stay away for much longer, and it would give me great peace of mind to know that my sister was not left with no useful allies."

Rowenna sniffed and brushed an imaginary speck of dirt from her apron. "I shall consider your request, my lord." She curtsied. "Now if I may return to my breakfast?"

He dismissed her with a flick of his hand toward the kitchens and she wrapped her arms around herself as she emerged back into the blowing wet.

Degas stopped to cosset his horse, and spotted Leof entering with a bale of hay.

"I will assume you heard some or all of what was just said," he said quietly, meeting the younger boy's eyes. "While I wouldn't presume to forbid you from mentioning anything to your lord if directly questioned, and I believe Athanar would understand my motive, this is a matter in which discretion could mean the difference between more troubles in your home, or fewer. Do I make myself clear?"

Confident Leof would not run off immediately to tell the Hall that Degas worried about his sister enough to solicit the aid of the woman who had wanted Saeryn's husband for herself, he left the stables in search of his own breakfast.

The day would be long, and he preferred to be at Athanar's side before the drama began.

[Groin Redbeard]

The chirping song of a robin awoke Erbrand from his rest. It was early, but he always awoke early. There was only the faintest light coming through the bottom of his door, it was not yet dawn but it was beginning to come. With a great effort he got up off the floor and rolled up his blankets and skin. He slept in his workshop, a small wooden building where he kept his tools and skins for tanning. The hut was just barely large enough for him to lie down in, but it was no more than a place to keep his tools and possessions, a table and space to work were all outside. After rolling up his sack and putting it away he reached for his wool cloak—it was dreadfully cold outside. A chill blast of air met his bearded face as he opened the door. Squinting from the dull light sky and the mild wind he stepped outside. Again the robin which had woken Erbrand from his light sleep greeted him as he stepped outside, cold and wet with dew. Erbrand looked at the pitiful bird that did nothing but make beautiful music. It was too stupid to migrate for the winter. The frozen ground crunched under his boots. Thank goodness the snow had not arrived. Winter had definitely come.

Everything was quiet and empty. Drink and a late night was making it difficult for people to get up. Erbrand thought about going into the hall and see if Kara was up yet but decided against it, knowing how much stress the kitchen staff must be under. No, people were probably still sleeping anyway and he had work to do as well. Leaning back inside the door Erbrand grabbed his bow and quiver full of arrows. Nobody was a better runner or a deadlier shot in Scarburg than Erbrand, and that was a fact. He had beaten everyone in the race and the archery contest, even Thornden, back when Eodwine was lord. Since then, he had put that skill to good use and had turned into a marvelous hunter. It was an uncomfortable thought to bring Athanar, not Eodwine, venison.

So today is truly his first full day as lord. I pray it turns out better than yesterday. I still have not told him about the danger, about Oeric. When am I going to do it man? I do not know, the time is still not right. I must tell someone even if Athanar might not be the right person to tell. Very well, I will tell Saeryn to whose husband I swore allegiance to. This lord has no oath to hold me accountable. I will tell her.

With a quick pace Erbrand began to make for the hall. Smoke was coming out of the chimney, somebody had to be up. He was just about to open the door when a familiar voice said softly: “Good morning, Erbrand.”

“Lithor! I never knew you to be an early riser.”

Lithor rose and rubbed his hands through his hair. Dew trickled down his leather jerkin and he shuddered as some of the cold water absorbed in his clothing. Had he stayed out all night?

“I have a heavy heart and have had a light sleep. For nearly two hours I paced the grounds before you awoke.” Lithor’s voice was calm. He twiddled with a singly straw of hay in his hand.

“Walk with me, friend," He continued. "I would enjoy your company this morning.” Lithor asked with genuine but a nowhere near happy smile. It was a that same tone that Erbrand heard Lithor speak in last night: tired and beaten. He was not about to play on Lithor's sympathies.

“No I will not, Lithor.” Erbrand responded rather hotly. Lithor was surprised. “We are not going to start that sort of talk. You will be fine with Athanar.” Erbrand had rightly assumed what was on Athanar’s mind and he was in no mood to discuss Athanar right now.

“I feel that my trial will begin soon. I will not defend myself for I was in the wrong last night.”

“Lithor, you do not have to tell me anything,” Erbrand was still sounding agitated. “I am convinced of your innocence even if you are not.”

“I cannot ask you to understand such things, Erbrand. You are not my age and therefore have not seen what I have. You are also not a soldier and know very little of discipline. I do not fear any punishment that might bruise me, end me, or humble my pride, but I do fear banishment. Oh joyful spirit that use to keep me like good medicine, where are you now? I am not ashamed to say it to you, my broken spirit is drying up my ancient bones.”

For the first time in his life, Erbrand was frustrated with Lithor. A broken spirit (as Lithor described it) was the exact opposite of what was needed. The old man had given up too easily. Just then the door opened and two familiar figures popped out. It was Balvir and Matrim. Balvir wore his usually grim face but this time Matrim shared in the expression.

“Right glad are we to see you.” Matrim exclaimed seeing Lithor. “We were coming to find you. How do you feel this morning?”

“Like an old piece of clothing: used and subjugated to too many rough conditions.” His face was grim, but he put on a smile. “Friends, I am ashamed of myself. I am just as frightened as a dumb thief, I do not feel like a man at all. I do not mind swords, lances, or arrows, but this makes my very blood run cold.”

“As well it should,” Balvir was the next to speak. “It is only right that you should feel something and it should not be joy or excitement. What did you expect?”

Though nobody but Lithor knew it, Balvir was very near Lithor’s age. Time had been kinder to Balvir, his hair was not yet white as was Lithor’s; therefore, nobody knew that Balvir was near the age of fifty. There was a pause, but soon his words had their affect on Lithor.

“Very true, Balvir.” Lithor said. “Ever the straight talker. But no matter how much today unsettles my blood, I am right glad I have noble friends. I will fret for myself no more, courteous and merry words will be my language, nothing else.” He stood and smiled broadly and took Balvir’s hand first, then Matrim’s, and then Erbrand’s.

“You changed your mind then,” Erbrand asked. “You will defend yourself?”

“I will defend only where I am in the right. There is another matter, which you do not know of, that I will address.”

“What’s this?” Matrim asked disappointedly. “I expected at least an hour’s worth of debate and reasoning for us to cheer you up.”

“What makes you so sure reason would cheer me up?” Lithor chuckled. “I have never met anyone who can be cheered by reason. I will only get more miserable in seeing just how bad my situation is, as reason would prove. If you want to cheer someone up, what you need is understanding. Reason is best left for debates, young Matrim.”

Balvir chuckled and Erbrand began to feel hope. This was the Lithor he knew. Though even if the trial turned out in Lithor's favor (it was doubtless that Athanar would punish Lithor) Erbrand wondered if he would see much more of the soldier. Athanar's job was to bring the locals under his control and that would mean flexing Scarburg's military muscle. He expressed his thoughts to the three soldiers.

"I do not know what you mean by never seeing us." Balvir said.

"No, of course we will see each other, but it might not be as often. I know that the soldiers have a drill this morning you might be so busy training to take on Tancred and the other lords that a permanent rift might appear between soldier, peasant, and lord."

All of them looked grim at the thought. Though they knew of Athanar's talk with Erbrand, a peasant, it was clear that Athanar would not have the common men interfering with anything that was under his rule. The scolding of Lithor had taught them this. They would have to know their place.

"Nay!" Lithor said very energetically and sprang up the steps to where he stood over them. "If you are thinking that Athanar is a iron fisted tyrant then you are indeed wrong. Do not constantly blame him for my sake. I was wrong. Give him half a chance. Learn from my mistakes and be obedient soldiers and workers and today will be better."

"I hope you are right, Lithor." Erbrand nodded grimly.

After this, Balvir and Matrim went in search of a meal with the rest of the soldiers now that they saw that their friend had recovered from last night. Lithor and Erbrand watched them depart until Erbrand finally remembered that he had traps to check and headed off towards the marshes at a brisk walk, shielding his head underneath his hood from the wind. Finally alone, Lithor went inside the hall. Not to find breakfast, food would not agree with him now, but to find Thornden.

[Groin Redbeard]

“Indeed this is more serious than even you think, master Thornden. I do not know if Athanar will bring Javan before those assembled for my trial or not, but it certainly looks as that is what is planned; then, Javan will have gained two pitiless enemies.” Lithor sounded grave and worried. Lithor continued cautiously, slowly.

“The lord’s daughter is a child. Javan is a child. Being children, both cannot be expected to bear the titles of their kin as they should. Therefore, I do not see Aedre as a lord’s daughter any more than I see Javan as the son of Scarburg’s second man. They are children.”

Lithor had forgotten that Thornden had been replaced. Is Javan one to go striking children, even girls, unprovoked? Certainly not and Thornden can see that. However, that is not the question here. If only the children saw the fuss that was being made over them.

“Master Thornden, you must not confuse your loyalties. Your duty is to your brother. That boy is going to go through enough. He is to be punished, but do not let Athanar make a public display of him—Javan is not an adult. If Athanar makes Javan’s offence public, you will have to make perfectly clear that Javan is your responsibility or Javan will be in grave danger.”

Again, was worried. Wulfric and Wulheard were bullies with titles to protect them. Thornden must avoid fights with them if he is not to be charged with treason as well.

“Both of Wulfric and Wulheard tried to strike me, ‘an old greybeard who cannot defend himself’, for the same crime. They will have less respect for a boy.”

Lithor paused for a moment to think of something else to say, but realized that he had been rambling long enough. People did not liked to be talked to for long, it made them look stupid. However, Lithor knew that Thornden would not ignore his words.

“Your responsibility, my friend. Cheerful prospect is it not?”

[Thinlómien]

Saeryn's face looked more than ill, she looked half dead.

"You had better sit down for a minute, otherwise you will undoubtedly just drop unconscious on the floor."

Modtryth's words were brusque, but her tone was warm, and she smiled at the Lady when she helped her sit down.

"Cnebba!" she called across the hall. The boy was with little Léothern; they were examining something on the floor in a corner of the hall, heads bent low to see it better. Modtryth's son lifted his head reluctantly. "Go to Aedhel and ask her to make Lady Saeryn a cup of raspberry leaf tea. Now."

Cnebba cast his mother a slightly grudging look, but obeyed quickly. Léothern remained in the corner, now probing the floor with her small, plump finger.

Modtryth gave Saeryn an empathic shrug. "I know it doesn't help, but it passes. It won't last for ever. And the tea will help now. It's an old trick of the folk of Westfold." She bit her tongue before adding "they say it comes from Dunland". That didn't seem the best of topics for now.