Scarburg Meadhall

[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.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

When Hilderinc woke up, he noticed that it was early yet. All of the other soldiers in the room were sleeping, although a few blankets thrown in the corner betrayed that some might have already gone out early... or not returned at all, which would seem inconsiderate at least.

Quietly dressing and wrapping himself in his old worn-out grey cloak, he stepped over snoring Scyrr and opened the door into the Hall. Everything was empty, but the early sounds of the stirring day could have been heard from around the place: a distant neigh of a horse in the stables, hushed voices from somewhere outside the building, quiet chirping of a lonely bird.

He decided not to go towards the kitchens yet, even though he felt a cup of something warm might do him good. Instead, he slipped out of the main door and around the building he strolled into the meadows beyond the Hall. There was frost in the ground and the grass was covered by mild white rime.

The sky was grey yet, but a stripe of rosy-yellow glow could be seen in the East. The forest at the border of Scarburg's neighbourhood breathed gentle streams of early morning mist and the marshlands to the north seemed drowning in milky haze. Hilderinc stopped and took a deep breath. The smell of chilly air, crisp yet scented with the flavor of the trees and the wet ground far away, filled his head. This was a different smell than that of the wide grasslands of Eastemnet, different from the smoke-scented smell of morning Edoras, from that of windswept Wold or even of the western pine-scented, yet dry air mixed with the odour of smelted iron coming from Isengard years back in the times of War.

Hilderinc remembered details of many places where he had been staying during the years, from one end of the country to another. There have been distinctive features of each of these places, and Hilderinc liked many of them, as they gave something of a spirit to the place. The smell of Scarburg's pre-winter morning seemed to have a chance to become one of them - Hilderinc could easily grow fond of it. He wondered how long is he going to stay here? Athanar had just arrived - how long is he going to need as many soldiers as he has now after he deals with the neighbouring lords? Actually, given the circumstances, it did not seem unlikely that the soldiers might stay here infinitely - as much as Athanar could. Except for the ones sent in particular by the King, the men belonged to Athanar's household - and they would stay protecting the small and exposed Mead Hall. It was likely that even with the soldiers of old Scarburg already in place, Athanar would keep everybody around - he could probably afford it and with the circumstances with the local lords being as they were, keeping more soldiers around would be better than less.

Hilderinc wrapped himself tighter in the cloak. Even if Athanar suddenly changed his mind, he probably would not mind. He had changed his masters many times, moving from one to another during the long fifteen years after the War, just as the chance played out. It would not have ever occured to him to become something else than a soldier - he had always been one, and even though after the war ended there was considerably less work for somebody who was not a simple guard with permanent employment, some opportunities always popped up here and there - either a problem with bandits, a brawl between the local nobles or simply a lord looking for expanding the size of his household. Hilderinc's experience and skills usually earned him a temporary place with a lord in need of soldiers - and after the matter at hand has been dealt with or after the lord realised that he cannot afford to keep addittional soldiers any longer, Hilderinc got his payment and then go, look for another place. It has always been like that, sometimes shorter stays, sometimes longer, but never permanent. So, what about this one?

That remained to be seen. There was still a long way, nevertheless. What was the matter at hand now was that Hilderinc's fingers started to freeze and he forgot to take his gloves. He turned his back to the marshlands and marched back to the Hall. Before he could reach the warmth of the house, he spotted somebody heading right towards him over the white-speckled grass. Hilderinc stopped when he saw the man, trying to recognise his face, and the man stopped too. Then Hilderinc realised who it was: the young bard who has been playing the fiddle yesterday. And also the one with the bruise on his face - the one who was fighting with Áforglaed. What was he doing here so early? Perhaps also taking a stroll in the frosty morning?

Hilderinc started to walk towards the man again. He remembered his yesterday's idea about getting to know the locals as well as possible. This was as good opportunity to make acquaintances as any.

"Good morning," Hilderinc addressed the man when he was close enough.

"Good morning," the man replied. He probably also did not expect to meet somebody here in such an early hour.

"Out for a morning stroll?" Hilderinc asked. "By the way, you have played nicely in the evening. I really liked it. I think you are a good musician - maybe you'd better not involve yourself in situations where you can get your fingers hurt, though. Whatever the case, it is not worth losing the opportunity to practice such a good skill with the fiddle," he added, hinting at the brawl the man had with Áforglaed yesterday.

"I am Hilderinc, by the way, one of the new soldiers here."

[Loslote]

Lilige closed her eyes tightly against the morning light. She stretched, yawning. Her sleep last night was the worst she'd gotten in weeks. She was sure there'd been a piece of straw or something poking into her back, but she hadn't been able to find it.

Lilige staggered into the kitchen, still blinking sleep from her eyes. She paused in the doorway, looking at the people there. Her brief stop there to request a meal to be sent up to her and Lady Aedre had been rushed, and she had not been able to make much sense of the bustling confusion. This morning she had much more time.

Her eyes narrowed, not in hostility, but in confusion as she saw a dark-haired woman. They were uncommon to say the least among the Rohirrim. Giving her head a tiny shake, Lilige forced herself not to stare. Averting her eyes, she walked over to one of the other women.

"Good morning," she said, voice still slightly rough from sleep. "How was the banquet last night? I wasn't able to attend, but my Lady seemed wearied. I hope nothing disturbing happened?"

[Folwren]

Thornden had no slept well that night. He tossed and turn a great deal and woke frequently, half starting and looking about to try to ascertain what time it was. As he lay back for the fifth time, he muttered to himself, “One would think it was you who was in trouble.” Despite the fact that he personally was not to be called before Athanar to receive judgement, he still felt dreadful. He rose, therefore, early, and went out to the hall to see to it that the fire was large and healthy.

He was still standing by the fire, watching the flames, when his brother entered the hall. He glanced up when he saw the movement by the wall and stopped Javan’s silent passage towards the front door. “Come here, Javan,” he said. Javan gave a longing glance towards the door and came. Saeryn’s words from the previous evening nagged at Thornden cruelly, and he still didn’t even know the full story. “What happened yesterday, exactly? Between you and Athanar’s daughter.”

“You don’t know?” Javan asked.

“Well, I heard you two yelling and then when I turned about to look, you’d already hit her and she was lying on the ground. I want to know why.”

Javan shrugged and then gave a short account of what had occurred. Thornden nodded when he had finished, and then said quietly, “Very well. Go and help Léof, if that’s what you were intending on doing.”

The boy hurried off and Thornden was left alone again. He sighed and rested his hand against the mantle. He stood thus, wrapped in silent thought, ignorant of the few and scattered people who came, passed through, and exited the hall again. Most were searching for breakfast or for someone else, their morning hardly begun, and no one addressed him.

Then suddenly he was aware of someone who had not ignored him and passed by. He lifted his head and saw Lithor standing nearby. Thornden lowered his hand and stood upright.

"Good morning, Lithor," he said.

[Groin Redbeard]

Erbrand

Seems friendly enough. Erbrand thought to himself as he hoisted his bow on his shoulder holding it in place with one hand and extending the other. “I remembered you from the hall. Remember, the kitchen, I bumped in to you.”

“Of course.” Hildernic replied sounding pleasant.

“I thank you for your compliment and no I am not on taking a stroll. I am a tanner.” Hildernic gave him a quizzical look. Erbrand realized that he sounded snobbish to the stranger. His answer only gave Hildernic another question: what was a tanner doing out here near the marsh?

“Oh…sorry.” Erbrand said awkwardly. “Being a tanner in these remote reaches I am forced to find my own hides to work with, see.” He held up his bow. “Though I suppose that playing a fiddle would be an easier job and not damage my fingers, as you say, I would far rather have my fingers pluck this string.” Erbrand pulled his bow string and let it twang. He chuckled slightly.

“Did you really think that I was a bard?” Erbrand asked amused. He examined his rough hands and looked over his low, dirty, clothing. “I must say that I don’t look like one today, but I am not sure I would like to look like one any day. I saw one once in Aldeburg, all prim and woman like in his thin figure dressed in rich clothes. No, there is work for these hands to do.” Erbrand lifted his fingers up and wiggled them.

“Ow! That was a nasty hit I took.” Erbrand examined several bruised knuckles. “Fights are no fun unless you win them I guess. I am luck that he did not break my fist. Did you brawl much, master Hildernic, in your youth?”

It was an odd question. The answer to which Erbrand wanted to hear, for when he knew it, he would also know if Hildernic was a man of impulse and adventure. Erbrand had practically given the brawl away and was planning on telling Hildernic if he was reliable. Already a plan was forming in his mind if this man could be relied on to help him bring Oeric in. Thoughts of glory flashed in Erbrand’s head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lithor

The hall was beginning to bustle with people. It always seemed that whenever a few people woke the rest of the hall was not far behind them. Some of the faces were familiar but most were people were soldiers and therefore Lithor did not know the majority of people. Someone brushed by him not too gently, striking Lithor with his shoulder. Lithor did not turn and kept walking. Attention was what the person wanted from him. However, Lithor’s attention was on Thornden. Perhaps he wanted company and comfort, Lithor had no clear objective in seeing Thornden this morning, other than where Thornden was the council would soon be. The master’s head was bowed in thought on the mantle, but Lithor still wanted to stay.

”Good morning.” Thornden sounded tired and Lithor wondered if he slept at all. I have gone ahead and caused my troubles to worry him. Poor master Thornden and there is so much else he needs to do. But despite this thought Lithor could not help but see the humor in Thornden’s statement. He let out one loud “HA” and folded his arms.

“Is that a joke, master Thornden. It was not a good one.” Lithor smiled even wider. “But yes it is a good morning, if you take me out of it. Any news on when my trial begins? I am very anxious to get it over with.”

[Folwren]

Thornden did not smile, though the slightest hint of one did stretch his lips slightly in reply to Lithor’s smile. He shook his head in response to Lithor’s question about the joke. He studied Lithor closely while the man spoke. Was he truly as unworried about what was to take place as he looked? He had always been quick to smile and quick to laugh, but today, for him of all people, did not seem like a day for merriment.

“I do not know when your trial begins. I have not seen Athanar yet, nor any of his family. I, too, am anxious to get it over with." He wondered what good he would do in the court. He did not like to tell Lithor that he was uncertain of himself and the outcome. So he remained silent. "How are...how are you?” he asked instead.

[Groin Redbeard]

“How do I feel?” Lithor asked in return. “Why, like any man in this position would feel.” He eyed two men passing by before he leaned closer to Thornden and replied in a voice barely above a whisper. “I feel like a goose waiting to be led to the chop. I do not feel as chipper as I sound, but do not tell anyone that. I will laugh with any punishment Athanar gives me.”

His eyes saddened, but only for a moment. He would not be gloomy as he had promised. Thornden, however, was very grave. There were obviously more matters pressing on his mind. Athanar will rely heavily on him today to complete the transition.

“I see that you have found yourself in good favor with Wynflaed.” Lithor said with a pleasure in his eyes. “That is good. She seems honest and good, though I do not know how such a noble lady could have raised such…” Lithor thought for a proper word. “Such ‘misbehaving’ sons.” He smiled broadly.

“By the way, are we still searching for the person who hit the lord’s daughter? I pity the person, though I think that those two young men suspected me of it (cannot wait to find out what their names are).”