Scarburg Meadhall

[littlemanpoet]

July 8, Year 15 of the Fourth Age - (see Time Line for play up to this opening post HERE)

(2 weeks later)

It had been a difficult two weeks, and Eodwine was weary. He rode at the front of the procession of his House, made up of an assortment of horses and wagons laden with the possessions of many. Trips would have to be made back to Edoras to reload the wagons with yet more items, for much was deemed unnecessary for the immediate needs of them all. The trusty Thornden rode at the back of the procession where he could keep an eye out for any signs of trouble from this unknown region, as well as an eye on any signs of trouble amongst the travelers; such as Javan.

The boy had not taken his punishment well. Eodwine had finally decided to bring him before the court, even had Thornden stand by his side and the entire House arrayed before them so that the he would get a sense of the seriousness of his misdeed. Eodwine had laid out the charges, giving them the sound of the full weight of the law.

"You have cost this House nearly a hundred Thengels of gold coin in wood, nail, thatch and rope, as well as seven days' labor of five grown men; so runs the estimate of my master carpenter, Stigend. Javan son of Thaldon, you are guilty of the crime of burning down my stables. You shall be under watch of those of my House whom I shall appoint, until such time as I deem that you no longer are a danger to my House. Further, beyond the normal chores of a lad of your age, you shall work each day in my House until you have paid seven days for each day spent in labor by each man rebuilding my stables."

The boy's jaw had dropped and his eyes had widened in astonishment. Then his face had turned sullen and he had mumbled something, which Eodwine had read on his lips: "That's not fair."

"Boy, I could have you flogged instead."

Javan's head snapped up and fear came into his eyes. "Yes, sir," he mumbled. But even then the lad could not hold himself in check. "Why don't you just send me home?"

Eodwine had smirked. "You need punishment, not escape and further spoiling."

The boy had scowled then, and had dragged himself around, under the watchful eyes of different members of the House betimes, doing what he was told, but as reluctantly as one could.

Eodwine looked back at the boy now; he was staring off into the distance looking miserable. Eodwine shook his head. It would be a long, long tutelage.

They rounded the final curve and came at last to the edge of Scarburg, formerly known as the land of Sorn. There was a line of tall trees the trunks of which grew tall, unkempt bushes, blocking the view of the holding itself. So it was not until Eodwine came to the gate, which was leaning off its hinges between two tall oaks, that he saw the buildings and lands within.

"Oh no." Eodwine reined in Flíthaf.

Garstan rode behind. "What is the matter, lord?"

"It's a wreck," Eodwine replied hollowly. Garstan came up beside him and saw for himself. The main house and all the outbuildings had been put to the torch. Their walls leaned in blackened sooty shambles, the roofs collapsed in. The grass all around the ruined buildings had been burned away.

"Who has done this evil deed?" Garstan cried.

"Who can tell? Maybe our neighbors. I doubt we'll ever know for certain."

Harreld drew up beside them. "At least we have canvas with us for tents."

Next came Stigend. He blew a winded sigh. "There is much to be done, no?"

Eodwine hung his head and laughed weakly.