Scarburg Meadhall

[Nogrod]

"Ahh, well... that is news indeed." Lord Athanar was confused. He tried frantically to think over the sides of the matter as to whether it was good or bad news that Javan was Thornden's brother. But looking at Thornden's expression he couldn't help but to smile.

"You must fill me in with your stories one day Thornden... and about parents who leave their children." Athanar looked suddenly more serious. He was guessing the truth of the matter and wished to push the thoughts away. "One day."

With that he nodded to Thornden indicating he wished to further the discussion no more. Instead he turned to Saeryn and looked at her closely before opening his mouth.

"Lady Saeryn." He opened but was distracted by Wynflaed who turned into the table wishing everyone good morning.

"Oh, good morning my dear." Athanar answered and gave her a courteous kiss to the cheek as she had sat down beside him.

Turning back to look at Saeryn he smiled cautiously. "If you accept the offer lady Saeryn, I myself and my good lady Wynflaed here," he glanced quickly to his wife who nodded to him in assurance. "So we are ready to adopt you as our daughter to inherit this Mead Hall - or to let your child inherit it in due time."

Thornden and Degas dropped their jaws.

[Folwren]

The sight and smell of food had made Saeryn feel increasingly sick throughout the course of breakfast, although she ate nothing and said almost as little. It wasn’t until Athanar made his unexpected and shocking offer that she realized just how ill she actually was. Her mouth went perfectly dry and her stomach became uncomfortably warm. She swallowed with difficulty.

“I don’t know. I have to think. I can not. . .excuse me.” She stood up hastily with no attempt at politeness nor with any disguise of her immediate distress and ran off as quickly as she could with one hand clamped firmly over her mouth. It took more strength of will and stomach than she thought she possessed to reach the door in time.

Her body trembled with the effort of vomiting. Between her gasping efforts, her thoughts came in broken fragments. “Adopting me? The baby can be heir? This would solve. . .that problem. Adopting me? I’m married. It’s ridiculous. It will solve the problem.” Her shivering abated and she regained her composer. She went to the kitchen to drink some water and then walked back to the hall. Everyone at the table ceased speaking as she came near and turned to face her.

“Lord Athanar,” Saeryn said. “From what I understand of your offer, I am inclined to accept, but I should like to speak more in-depth of what it would mean before I agree entirely.

[Nogrod]

Looking after Saeryn running away from the table lord Athanar felt pity and compassion. He glanced at her wife and smiled to her timidly. He remembered how bad a carriage could be. Aedre had been an especially hard one and he remembered the vomiting, the shakes, the moods...

But he was more than happy to see Saeryn return in an instant as it seemed everyone was waiting for her answer to the proposition and thus were not willing to converse on anything else.

“Lord Athanar,” Saeryn said as she came back. “From what I understand of your offer, I am inclined to accept, but I should like to speak more in-depth of what it would mean before I agree entirely."

Lord Athanar nodded and smiled gently to Saeryn. "Of course, that's understandable, and a justified call." He took his goblet and took a sip of the mead before continuing.

"Adopting you would mean the following..." He looked at her to the eye quite intensively before going forwards.

"Now let this stay between us here around this table... I do not think I will live here for the rest of my life. I'm appointed here by king Eomer's decree and I have a mission I'm going to accomplish. Where I will end up in my life is not in my hands. It is my king who decides these matters." He glanced at his wife and laid the goblet from his hand to the table.

"Also, my eldest daughter is happily married and I wish the same for Aedre. My daughters are not contesting any inheritance there might be here." He leaned back on his chair and laid his hands on the table. "My sons then you ask... they will need to show their qualities and earn their future themselves, like I have done. I do not wish to prepare the way for them as they need to earn their place themselves..." He glanced at Degas and Thornden and leaned forwards to pick the goblet.

He was cleraly thinking about how to put his next words as he raised the goblet and took a sip from it.

"Even if king Eomer doesn't reassign me after Mid-Emnet has been pacified under the king's rule we are twice your age lady Saeryn..." He turned his gaze into her. "And we are forty years older than your child... So if we live into the old age in here, then we will retain our eorlship over this Mead Hall until it is time for us to step aside... but I think that is not the most probable scenario." Here Athanar glanced at her wife once again.

"Who's the eorl of Scarburg is in the end something king Eomer decides, not something anyone here decides... But we can do our part insisting you or your child will be the inheritor of this place here - but the inheritance would not apply to any other belongings we might have in the future. Does that sound reasonable to you? What do you say Degas as her brother?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Of all possible scenarios, this was not one Degas had envisioned. Yes, he had fast earned a respect and liking of the man he had so quickly disliked the day before. Yes, he found him to be a good conversationalist, and he trusted him to be a good and honest man, insomuch as any man can be good and honest at all times.

But to adopt his sister? To name her his heir? The child would inherit the title and estate he was conceived into, if not the eorldom. But that had never been the problem. The problem now, from Degas's point of view, was Athanar's sons.

Degas, as a younger son, had known the lands he lived on were not his to inherit. And when his parents died, he had resigned himself to no inheritance at all, as the papers had emerged - falsified though they must be - that left everything to Fenrir. Still, he had not contested this, as he had desire - he chuckled in his mind - to be a minstrel. A traveling, title-less minstrel. A singer at campfires, a lute-strummer earning his keep by spinning yarns and passing news from one place to another.

He had been raised to know his worth, of course, but the reality of his life... He and his sisters were far too pragmatic to deny the new reality of their brother as their lord. They would have nothing he did not wish them to have. They were his underlings, no longer his siblings.

Yet... somehow they did not rebel. Thinking back, Degas could only think he'd held his piece out of fear for his sisters. He thought himself a coward for this, and moved his thoughts quickly onward, aware the table was waiting for his comment.

Athanar's sons were young. It was not that they were younger than him physically, it was that they had not experienced life they way he had. Degas had been orphaned. He had traveled alone, taken up a craft. He had relied on his skills and his diplomacy, not his name, to earn any accolades allowed to him. He had taken up another craft after music: sailing. His callused hands showed it. He had taken to slathering his fingertips in ladies' salves before bed to soften the calluses that made his fingers fumble on the lute and harp. But the point was, he had lived on his own, without the crutch of a title or an inheritance. He had learned to confront life as a man, not as a son, not as a lordling.

And these boys, though they were his peers in the eyes of his elders, had not.

And he could not envision them, these boys that oozed entitlement from every pore, happily giving up wealth or status, no matter how insignificant and undeserved that wealth and status may be. Scarburg was no Edoras, no Aldburg, but it was a holding, and these boys, Degas believed, would not take kindly to their parents adopting a new heir, surpassing their claims to their parents' titles, possessions, and lands.

Degas decided on bluntness. "I believe that it is a fair arrangement that well suits all parties, however I worry that your sons will take umbrage over something they may feel they are entitled to being passed to my sister. I would dislike to learn later that my sister is the object of any resentment they or others may feel."

[Nogrod]

"There are many reasons for resentment and it may be one is not able to avoid them all." lord Athanar said calmly looking at Degas. "It's a rare occasion when this kind of arrangement can be done with all the parties equally contented about it."

Degas nodded.

"And anyway... I don't see the future of Wulfric and Wilheard in here. They have been serving in the military in the west for the last one and half years and only got back from there a while before I was appointed here by the king. So we wished them to see this side of life for a while untill they will go and search for the continuation of their careers in the military." Lord Athanar paused like he was thinking. "Though I hope in a different place from the last one as it clearly hasn't been only for their good." He sighed and glanced at his wife. "Let's hope this will turn out a learning experience for them..."

He shrugged and shook his head slightly. "Well, what am I babbling here? We should start the proceedings so that the soldiers can take to their exercising and everyone gets to their duties," glancing at the gathered crowd in the Hall he continued now slightly amused: "It seems no one will do anything before we're done here... so let's see it done then."

[Groin Redbeard]

Where the marsh ends, a stream in flood had rolled a scattering of stones and trees uprooted. Here, where the rough wintery cold water course had made Erbrand leave the path of sturdy earth and come onto lofty ground above the stream (whose cold waterway he wanted to avoid), he saw a herd of deer perceive his presence and give flight. In that crisis, he had but one recourse—to sting them with hasty shots. Two arrows he let fly in rapid succession, one hitting his mark but not sinking deep enough and the other falling short. Erbrand frowned and hissed with frustration. The snares had been empty and his only hope of finding fresh pelts for work was in the hunt. With eager steps, he strode swiftly along the trail of blood issuing from the strong animal’s chest. With any luck, he would find the poor beast exhausted after its energy giving terror had abated.

The herd had instinctively moved out of the marsh for Erbrand had traveled across the marsh to find quarry. As he reached the rising ground that led out of the marsh he looked back at the Great Hall of Scarburg. Smoke was rising from the chimney in billowing stacks, poor Frodides had several more mouths to feed than she was used to.

The trail was becoming clearer now as Erbrand continued to pursue. He sensed the kill. Quickly, with nimble fingers, he fastened another arrow to his string. The ground was uneven and filled with boulders and annoying rocks to trip over. There it was! His long sought after prize, the noble stag lay dead on the ground. Erbrand let out a great shout of triumph and slowed his pace, but all was not well. His shout startled two figures whose grayish black coats matched that of the rocky terrain. Erbrand halted, his heart skipping a beat with anticipation. Wolves! The cries of the wounded stag doubtlessly drew them near. Erbrand had forgotten the wintery months drew the wolf packs down from the mountains and into the plains, these two were looking for an early start.

The cunning creatures hunched their backs and paced with black noses nearly to the ground. Erbrand first thought turned towards safety, but there were no trees and the marsh was too far behind him. Frozen in fear his next instinct was to run, but experience contested that instinct immediately. With reason again taking hold, Erbrand grasped his bowstring and taking deadly aim drew the bow back full circle. His hands aligned, the left hand felt the point, the right hand holding the string touched his cheek. The arrow whistled to the closest wolf and plunged deep within its chest. The beast yelped and fell dead with the impact. Courage at once led Erbrand with grinning complexion to hasten the other’s death just as quickly. Bird’s eye shot.

Skinned on the spot Erbrand retrieved the two wolf pelts, but left the stag that had already been bitten by the wolves’ cruel fangs. The pelts were of little use to him, being too rich in warmth to be plucked of their fur for his use, so he decided to sell them to some of the guards heading back to Edoras. Furs were a good way to bring some extra money when his leather work was not selling. Already in his stay in Edoras he had not been sell any of his products with trade not yet established between any of the neighboring Halls. It would be a poor life in Scarburg if trade was not established soon, already he was being overworked as a supplier of food, as a workman for the hall, and for his own trade, which required no small amount of his time.

When he arrived back at camp everyone was up and about. Erbrand brought the wolf pelts to his shed for safekeeping. When he returned Kara had brought out what food the kitchen could spare for the folk gathered round. Garstan, Stigend, Crabannan, Harreld Leof, and he were all a part of this lifestyle. Some of them, such as him, would be better off in bigger settlements where their craft would sell, but all of them were satisfied with their temporary lot in life with the hope that all would be better tomorrow.

Erbrand dipped his bowl into the kettle, scolding his fingers in the hot broth and contented himself with at least having something hot to eat. The dog that the fat man fed amused him slightly. What an amazingly loyal creature with no thought other than to serve his master. All that it asks is to be fed and treated with love, sometimes not even getting that and still it serves. He fished around in his bowl, drew out a chunk of meat and held it out. The dog turned and snatched the treat up in an instant only to find his head within both this strange man’s hands and being rubbed vigorously. The dog took a liking to this treatment of being fed and rubbed at the same time and placed himself at Erbrand’s feet. A man, bubbling with energy, jumped over Erbrand’s seat and landed next to the dog.

“Keeping up your appetite, heh dog, but you mustn’t bother strangers. What’s that you say? Oh! he’s a friend then is he.”

"Erbrand." He said grimly. Although the dog was amusing, Erbrand found this man to behave like a fool.

"Erbrand, my name is Hamrod. You talked to my friend last night I believe, Girth."

"You came with him from Edoras?"

"Not that I have a choice," Hamrod said and sat down looking quite glum. "All my duty is to do what I am told. If lord Athanar would listen to me more we would not be in this miserable little hole that you call a home." Hamrod picked up a handful of mud and rubbed it in his palms.

"Aye, not that Athanar would be any the wiser to listen to you." Girth said with a mouthful of bread.

Erbrand soon found out that both men were extremely simple folk, far simpler than he had imagined Athanar's peasants to be. Both looked as if they could do some mischief if given the chance and cracking a good joke at someone's character was not below their status.

"We'll be off for now, friend." Girth asked Erbrand. "My herd has not the proper sty to wallow around in and I think that this kitchen is the proper place to build one."

"Uhh!" Erbrand exclaimed. "Don't you think that you better ask your lord before starting."

"Pigsty is always kept next to kitchen." Hamrod said.

"Besides, we don't bother lord with that stuff we go straight to Coenrad--he's the man to see. But the sty must be built and you can't do that with your mouth. Come Hamrod, come Dog."

With that the two men ambled off. Erbrand let out a long sigh. Getting along with these newcomers is going to be harder than anticipated if all of them are soldiers and dimwitted peasants. Drinking what was left of his broth, Erbrand made for his shed and started working on his leather. It was well into the morning and he would soon be called to work on the hall.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar gave the order to prepare the hall for the hearings. Breakfast was cleared, the tables born away to the edges of the room, and a seat was set for Wynflaed beside lord Athanar's chair. Thordnen and Coenred withdrew to bring together those that were needed, Javan, Lithor, Wulfric, and Wilheard. Once they were all assembled, they and many others of the Mead Hall, both old and new, Athanar called Javan forward.

Javan came in and walked forward to where Athanar and Wynflaed sat. He glanced towards Saeryn and then up at Thornden who stood to the side with Coenred standing beside him.

Javan came forward and stopped in front of Athanar. His mind harped back unwittingly to the only other instance he had stood before such a seat of judgment, in Eodwine's court. Then he had been guilty of burning down the stables. Now, he felt, he was less at fault, and his crime, if it could be called that, was much slighter. He looked Athanar straight in the eye.

Lord Athanar looked at the young boy and the sharp brown eyes that were nailed on him. Whether it was defiance or just trying to make a brave face he couldn't be sure, but he recognized something very familiar in Javan's presence. There was something in him that reminded Athanar of his own sons while they were younger.

Lord Athanar had looked Javan back with a stern face but suddenly it seemed like he relaxed. Leaning a little back in his chair he finally asked him. "So, you are Javan then?"

"Yes, sir," Javan answered.

"Tell me Javan, how old are you?"

"Twelve, sir, almost thirteen winters."

Athanar seemed to think for a moment before he made the next question: "What are you going to be Javan, when you grow up?"

Javan looked surprised, but he answered nevertheless. "I was sent to lord Eodwine to become a guard or some asset to his household. An eorlinga."

Lord Athanar raised his eyebrow and crossed his fingers nodding eventually. "Well, lord Eodwine must have told you what kind of man an eorling is so that you would serve him right and with honour?"

Javan looked somewhat crestfallen, for inside he felt his stomach sink slightly. He did not like to be reminded so shrewdly what Eodwine would have thought. "He did."

"How did he say an eorling should carry himself?" Athanar asked.

Javan pressed his lips together for a moment and glanced away. Then he looked again at Athanar, though less steadily than before. "By doing what was right and obedient, not acting rashly and without thought. . .thinking about others before myself." He tried to remember all that Eodwine had said that night, long ago, when they first came to Scarburg. "Mostly that I should think less of myself and more of others and act honorably in everything. I wasn't thinking of myself yesterday, in all honesty. I was defending Cnebba, not myself."

Athanar listened to Javan closely leaning forwards on his chair. When Javan fell quiet, he laid his arms on the elbow rests of the chair and straightened his back. "It is indeed a mark of an eorling to not think only of oneself but to do what is right. But even granting your words, do you think you have acted in a way that Eodwine would think honorable?"

Javan shook his head mutely.

"Now..." Lord Athanar leaned forwards again. "Do these kinds of things happen to you often, that you seem to end up in quarrels or brawls?" Lord Athanar studied Javan's expression very carefully.

Javan shrugged. "I haven't fought in more than a month, sir. Before that, yes, I guess so."

Lord Athanar's mouth widened into a smile that looked more compassionate than triumphant, but he drew it back almost as soon as it appeared. He glanced at Saeryn and then briefly at Thornden, getting the information he needed to make a fast assesment of the situation.

"Tell me then Javan, how did lord Eodwine manage to keep you away from trouble for a month? Was there a stick or a carrot... or both?"

"I don't know what you mean. After he swore to treat me like his son and I swore to act more nobly rather than a vagabond, I tried my hardest not to. I still fought, but I got better at not fighting quite so quick."

Lord Athanar rose from his chair and walked to face Javan. He laid his hands on the youngster’s shoulders and bent his back forwards to meet the boy’s eyes from almost a level height. Looking closely at Javan, studying every movement on his face he spoke now softer but no less firm.

“Well Javan. Back in time, in Helm’s Deep for instance, lads of your age were treated like eorlingas. Those were dark times. Happily we’re not there now and I don’t need to punish you accordingly, as an eorling.” He straightened his back and stood tall in front of Javan without letting his gaze or his hands off Javan. Javan understood, and trembled at his words, but continued to meet his eye.

“I don’t believe youngsters turn good by flogging them, Javan. I have been flogged by orders of Wormtongue when I was about your age… heh, several times indeed… in front of all people." He paused. Thornden and Lithor exchanged glances. Thornden clenched his jaw tightly, thinking that this was what Lithor had spoken of and now they would know what Athanar would do. Their lord continued. "But if I have become a decent man now, it is rather not because of that beating I thought unjust but disregarding the hate it planted inside me.” It looked like lord Athanar’s eyes were getting moist with memories, but he held his calm.

“So let me offer you a new deal. Let’s see how it will work.” Lord Athanar smiled now but Javan looked even more shaken and confused.

“Obedient, disciplined, patient… I think I have an idea on what you should be spending the next months with… to learn and to gain.” Lord Athanar looked mysteriously hilarious for a moment when searching the crowds with his eyes, like he was looking for someone special. Javan turned his head to look, too, though he knew not what he searched for. Finally, Athanar's face spread into an open smile, almost laughter.

This was a most odd spectacle to people looking at it from outside. Many a confused gaze was exchanged, especially between the original Scarburgians.

“Raban! Raban you old raven, there you are! Step forwards!”

There was movement in the crowds and an old grumpy man emerged from behind the backs of others much taller than him as he walked with a stoop leaning on his stick limping his other leg. Of the old Scarburgians only Lithor and Balvir recognised the gaffer.

“What is it now, my lord?” he wailed as he went. “Do you leave beating the brats to me once again?”

Javan glanced nervously at Lord Athanar, but the eorl only laughed and many of his household laughed as well. The laugh spread among some older Mead Hall people as well as the situation was comical indeed. The old man was a sight in himself and only a few had noticed him before as he had kept to himself the first evening; but also the way he seemed to make fun on Athanar and the lord not getting heated up with it kind of promised something even if the people were unsure of what it was.

“Now Javan, meet Raban. He may look odd and even sound odd…” He winked an eye to Javan clear enough for most other people to see as well: “And he actually is quite a personality…” he added smiling. But as Raban finally reached the two Athanar got more serious. “He’s a veteran of many wars; he lost his eye and ear in wars against Dunledings, his other leg he lost in Helm’s Deep… and he has served me well for as long as I remember.”

Javan looked at the old man with some repulsion. He took a deep, shivering breath and tried not to show how he felt looking at the scarred face before him.

“So you want to be an eorling Javan? For that you need a chainmail coat. Making that yourself requires patience and self-discipline and Raban here is the best if also the grumpiest mailcoat-maker I know… he thaught me to make them as well, but the one I used in the Pelennor Fields and ever since in times of duty, is made by him and envied by many, even of my superiors… and let me quarantee you that he takes care of the obedience part…” Athanar laughed out aloud with others of his houselold – and the laughter spread across the hall.

Suddenly Athanar waved his hand to indicate the fun was over. He looked at Javan carefully and laid his right hand back on Javan’s shoulder. “Let me assure you, Javan. It will not be easy. It will be tough indeed and you will shed many a tear. But you will learn not only obedience, discipline and patience, but if you get in terms with Raban you’ll learn so much more of what it is to be a soldier, of what it is to be an eorling… that I quarantee there is no better teacher that I know.”

“Watch it my lord…” Raban intervened. “If you encourage him to come too close to me I may tell him also stories about you when you were still wetting your pants!”

Athanar’s household and soldiers roared with laughter and Athanar followed them suite. Suddenly all of the Hall was laughing in an odd mixture of relief and confusion.

But Javan was not laughing. He was struck dumb with confusion. He looked at Raban and then at lord Athanar. He did not want to make chainmail, he had no desire to be a mail-smith, and he had no wish to be cooped up day after day with a crippled, half blind, half deaf old man. Athanar's joviality had dismissed the fear from Javan's mind, and as was his wont, he spoke without thought.

"I do not understand, my lord. Why am I to be punished in such a manner when I did not disobey and when I carried myself with a considerable amount of patience, bearing from your daughter insult and abuse before striking out? If either of us needs to know the meaning of patience and discipline-”

“Hold it right there young man!” Lord Athanar’s voice was loud and commanding and the smile had disappeared from his face. For a moment he gathered himself not to unleash his full frustration on the boy. What did he say… being obedient, not acting rashly and without thought… acting honourably in everything…and then punching a girl! Or now this! Where is the consistency of thought with these youngsters? Thornden should fill him in as I’m not going to argue with a boy in public.

He glanced at Thornden who looked apologetic and a little angry and impatient with his brother. Nodding to him lord Athanar turned back to Javan. “From both what you did yesterday and how you behave now it seems that so far you have not learned to not act rashly or without a thought, and you have not learned to be patient or honourable in what you do. And you can’t be an eorling before you learn that.” He studied Javan’s face carefully. “It is not so much a punishment but something for your own good, Javan… Your brother will explain it to you if you do not understand it now.”

Lord Athanar gazed over the public and then addressed it. “Javan will be supervised by master Raban the next months. Those of you who don’t know master Raban may ask of his qualities from those who do know him. I will just say this: in his prime he was one of the best soldiers this country has ever had but due to age and the multiple wounds he got mainly from helping his mates out from danger he’s now crippled and looks odd… But after not being able to serve his king as a soldier anymore he concentrated on the crafts and turned out a master in that trade as well. So even if we who are used to him may laugh not only with him but to him, please understand that we have earned our right to laugh by his consent as he is a jovial man behind the crab's armor, and he knows us. I will personally challenge every evil grin or scorn to this hero of Rohan I hear of. I hope that is understood, loud and clear?”

There was a sudden silence in the Hall that was broken by Raban himself.

“Come, Athanar, you make an old man weep from emotion in front of all that boasted chivalry. How dare you pull those easy tricks on an old man in public? Every man answers the call if they are just called for… if they are eorlinga.”

The old man studied Javan for a moment: "if they are eorlinga..." he continued as if to himself. Raban turned away and started to limp back to the crowd. Passing Thornden he turned to him and half-whispered “Your brother is a promising-looking fellow, but we have lots to do with him… not that it matters, anyway.”

Lowering his voice he added so that only Thornden could hear it: “Had lord Athanar given his boys to me, we would not be in the mess we are now...” Winking an eye to Thornden the gaffer went off through the crowd.

Javan was dismissed with a nod by lord Athanar. Thornden's face confirmed it to Javan and he backed away from the open.

The hall burst into a buzz of conversations.

[Folwren]

Javan was not angry anymore. He was a little cowed and perhaps a little afraid of lord Athanar, but he was not angry. He stayed where he was until he felt that he could present himself to Athanar and then he went out.

It was not difficult to find him. Athanar and Saeryn were speaking in the great hall, and Degas was sitting nearby. Javan approached to a respectful distance and then stopped and waited until he was noticed.

“When will you tell your sons and your daughter?” Saeryn was asking.

“One second,” Athanar said, holding up his hand. He looked at Javan. “Do you wish to speak with me?”

“If you please, m’lord,” Javan said, coming forward a few steps. He paused, looking awkward. He glanced at Degas and Saeryn and then back at Athanar. Saeryn looked closely at him, and noticed the very slight rim of red around his eyes. “I am sorry,” Javan said to Athanar. “For the way I behaved this morning before you.” The words stuck uncomfortably in his throat. He forced them out. “I should not have argued after you made your decision. I realize that it is fair and. . .and merciful. I ask your pardon.”

[Thinlómien]

Wulfric

Commands were given, action was taken and here they were, him and Will, unnoticed again. Wulfric clenched his fists. A tiny voice in his head said that Lord Athanar just wasn't used to having to full-grown sons in his household, but Wulfric felt like exploding anyway. What were they for in this pitiful distant place if not for dangerous situations like this? Forgotten, they now stood next Scyrr while the healer was tending to his wounds and a suspiciously Dunlendingish-looking woman had appeared out of nowhere to assist her.

"By Oromë!" he swore. "Can't you get a sick man to a bed or do you have to tend him on the grass? Is this how professional folk we have here in Scarburg!"

He didn't care if the women replied or not. "Wilheard! Find anyone to help you and find a bier and take Scyrr in, wherever these women guide you!"

"I'm going," he announced, and strode away. Where, he didn't know yet, but at least he had managed to give out some orders and at least he didn't have to play nanny anymore.

~*~

Wilheard

"Sir, I know where the bier is and I can find it for you," the Dunlending woman said.
"Why then, fair lady, are you still standing there?" Wilheard asked. The woman apparently figured out it was better not to answer and turned to hurry away.
"Good dog," Wilheard muttered and rolled his eyes.

It had been like this for the past several weeks, ever since they returned from the barracks. Their father would do something stupid with would irk Wulfric and he'd give Will a stupid order with the authority of the elder son and march away to protest. Such a wonderful leader that man would make one day, Wilheard thought.

He started scanning the yard lazily for someone to carry the pier with him - or better, two men to carry it so that he could go riding. He really needed a break.

~*~

Modtryth

So there was a search for Erbrand and Lithor. Modtryth had never liked either of them too much - Lithor had downright annoyed her but she had thought Erbrand a good man because of Kara's feelings for him - but now she had a bad feeling. She felt for Kara even though Erbrand's deed was hard to understand, and she would have rather taken the boisterous and conceited greybeard back than all this mess. And the new Eorl and his family - well, to work under them was like working under any smaller or bigger lord in Rohan. The time of noble Eodwine was over, and it was time to go back to reality.

It wasn't difficult to find the pier, it was by far the biggest object in the corner where Aedhel kept her healer's equipment. Last time they had used it to take Lord Eodwine to the carriage to be taken away... but better not to think of that.

Modtryth took the pier and carried it out to the yard.

"Mum! What's happening?"
The kids were standing idly on the yard, following the unfolding events with enthusiasm.
"There has been a fight between two men. Now get out of the way but stay within sight of the house. The soldiers are in the woods." With that, she hurried away to where the wounded man was.

~*~

Cnebba

"Your mother isn't very informative, is she?" Javan asked darkly.
Cnebba glanced at Garmund. He didn't know what to say. Should he defend his mother or agree with the older boy?

"I like her," Leodern said.

Javan ignored the girl. Cnebba knew he was too old to play with babies like Leodern. "Why don't you go away?" he asked the girl. He half expected Garmund to become angry, but he sided with his best friend instead of his sister: "Yeah, go away and play with your dolls, we don't want you here."

Leodern gave the two boys a sulky face and ran to the kitchen where she was always welcome.

Cnebba shrugged. "I wish we could find out what's happening." Ghastly scenes of brutal murder were already going around in his small head and there was a glint in his dark eyes.

[Firefoot]

“He ran? But – oh.” Léof’s brow furrowed as he processed this information. He had not known either man particularly well, though he had liked them well enough. Nor had he forgotten Erbrand’s gift of a saddle to him earlier that summer. But this – this was very bad. And from what he had seen of this new lord, mercy would not be swift in coming to either man were they caught.

He lowered his voice slightly. “You will not likely find them on foot. They took their horses and left some time ago, though I was not paying them much attention then. I don’t want to keep you, but my guess would be that they have already cleared the nearby area and could be heading in any direction, so why only search to the south? Though I doubt they will be easy to catch. They left only lightly burdened.”

[Folwren]

Thornden did not tell Léof that he knew already the two fugitives had taken their horses. He passed over Léof’s statement as though it had not been said.

"We are searching not only to the south, but also up through the marshes, though lord Athanar things it unlikely they went that way. The parties going in there are to be small and will only go out after we have searched the immediate surroundings. It is Athanar's orders that we search here first, to make certain that everyone else is safe," he added, in a hurried way, hoping to banish from Léof’s mind the waste of time searching Scarburg really was.

"Do you want to go out with us?" he asked, on a sudden impulse.