Scarburg Meadhall

[Firefoot]

Conversation had lulled when Athanar quickened their pace into a gallop; it was difficult to talk at such a pace. Léof wondered if they were in a particular hurry or if Athanar simply wanted to arrive in style and make a strong impression upon the first landlord. He was busy thinking this over and so almost did not notice the child riding a pony on the side of the road, but just as the column was passing Léof thought he heard his name. Wait a moment – had there been something familiar about that pony? He did not know why there should be, for he knew very few children, but he glanced over his shoulder to make sure.

It hit him suddenly – no child had that been, but a Hobbit! And a very particular Hobbit, for now Léof recognized the pony – Daisy, who had been in his care many months, was its name. “Hold up!” he cried out, without even the briefest thought for whether it was his place to make such a statement. “Hold up! That’s Master Falco!”

Again without thinking much of it, Léof checked Æthel’s speed and wheeled about, then trotted back towards Falco. “Greetings, Master Falco!” he said. “It’s been some time since we’ve seen you in these parts! What brings you back?”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc had been lost in thought for most of the journey, he barely registered the chatter of the few soldiers and the "stablemaster". It was a good thing to see; the soldiers, or at least some of them, seemed to start getting along together well. Hilderinc's mind, however, was now mostly focused on the upcoming confrontation. The local landholders, at least according to the rumours, seemed to be the kind of people who preferred to keep their own and they could cause trouble unless they were put in their proper place by some supreme authority supported by strong arguments. It was only Hilderinc's conclusion based on what he had heard, but his rich experiences with various masters included also the kind of people he expected the three landlords to be. In fact, now as they rode, he remembered that more than eight years ago, he had been passing through this area as part of a small group of soldiers and he remembered that sometime during the day they have stopped at a farmstead which, to him, back then resembled more a small fortress. It was a vague recollection, though, and things might have changed meanwhile. Still, some rich landholders seemed to have these delusions of grandeur.

A shout of the "stablemaster" suddenly interrupted his thoughts. "Hold up! Hold up!" Trained to immediate response, Hilderinc quickly stopped his chestnut horse and turned him around, hand on the sword's hilt. But he immediately saw that the boy's shout was not anything akin to warning against an ambush, not by the least.

"That's master Falco!"

Hilderinc could not prevent a very distinct expression of surprise from appearing in his face.

"A Holbytla?" he almost shouted. As any Eorlinga, he had heard even stories about this strange folk from time to time appearing in the Mark, but he had never seen a live one before. Here it was, straight from the tales. He did not put his hand away from the hilt, but gripped it even more tightly and frowned.

"And the boy knows him? What is this about?" he muttered, but loud enough for all those around to hear him.

[littlemanpoet]

“Hold up!” one of them shouted. "Hold up! That’s Master Falco!”

"That's more like it," Falco commented, and turned again to look. It was Léof, a clever lad amongst these Big People, which was not necessarily saying much, but Falco liked him. The lad checked his mount's speed and wheeled about, then trotted back towards Falco.

“Greetings, Master Falco! It’s been some time since we’ve seen you in these parts! What brings you back?”

"Greetings to you as well, Master Léof!" Falco bowed as much as sitting astride a pony allowed. He heard one of the men shout a word that sounded like 'hobbit', but gave it no notice. "I reached the Shire and spent a few days there before my wanderlust got the best of me, so back I came! Besides, I can't leave you Big Folk without something going awry! If this group is from Scarburg, how is it that Eodwine is not leading? How is he?"

[Firefoot]

Falco's question momentarily startled Léof, for Eodwine's sickness had become old news at Scarburg and he had forgotten Falco would not have heard. “Eodwine suddenly fell very sick, about a month back,” said Léof somberly. “The last we heard, he’d been taken to Minas Tirith, in hope that the Healers there might have some wisdom or skill that ours do not.” Léof brightened for a moment. “They say that the King Elessar is a mighty healer. Perhaps his arts will bring Lord Eodwine back.” Léof sighed. “If indeed he could be bothered about Eodwine at all. And it has been a whole month, which is a long time to be so ill.”

“He’ll come through,” said Falco. “He’s too stubborn not to. We’ll just have to keep the hall in good stead for his return.”

“But there’s the problem,” said Léof. “Scarburg has begun to move on as if he isn’t coming back. You noticed the large number of new faces in our company.” Léof gestured back towards the now disorganized column of soldiers. “It’s because there’s a new Eorl at Scarburg now, and I think he plans to stay.”