Scarburg Meadhall

[Folwren]

Thornden answered Athanar absently, speaking with little thought and little conviction. He thought instead of what had just happened, what he had said, and how much he now wished he could take back some of the words he had spoken. He was not wont to speak hastily, yet that is what he had just done to Falco. He frowned inwardly and then came out of his own thoughts to hear Athanar tell him that they would be reaching Faramund’s holding in a little while.

“It should be less than two miles, my lord,” Thornden said. It would be twenty minutes, continuing at this same, rocking gait.

The road rolled from beneath their feet. As they drew closer to the landlord’s dwelling, the tracks became clearer, the grass grew less in the dirt of the road, and the land around them changed from the ever bending and blowing golden-brown grass of winter to broken and plowed fields. The smell of bare earth came to their nostrils as they passed between the croplands. All the crops had been taken in, the stalks harvested, and the earth turned and returned before the ground froze.

And then before them opened the scene of lord Faramund’s hall. Smoke issued from the chimneys, and men worked in the courtyard. Soon, they would be seen and word would be sent to Faramund.

[Folwren]

Wynflaed wanted to see everything, so Saeryn showed her all that she could think of. They went from the women’s quarters to the great hall and then into the guard’s room. The place was overcrowded with the guard’s belongings and it was evident on first glance that something would have to be done to provide the men with more room, now that Athanar’s men-at-arms had come. They looked into the armory. The racks and walls were nearly bare of weapons, now that all the men had ridden away. Wynflaed glanced about, took note of the strategic way the room had been built to ensure that the weapons were easily accessible, and then turned and followed Saeryn out again.
They went out into the courtyard and across to the stables. Saeryn saw Javan at the door of one of the stalls, shoveling out the soiled bedding. “Where is Léof, Javan?” Saeryn asked walking towards him.

Javan leaned on his pitch fork. “He went with the men to the lords,” Javan said. “Can I be of service?”

“No, thank you,” Saeryn said. “I am going to show lady Wynflaed the stables.” Javan nodded and returned to work, and Saeryn led the way through the stables. She showed Wynflaed where they planned to build additional stalls and then where the paddocks were and explained what she understood of Léof’s method of rotation.

Next they visited the few animals they had – the swine that came with Athanar, the Mead Hall’s lone cow that soon needed to be bred else she go dry, the chickens – then went to the smithy where Harreld was hard at work at his forge. They stood silently in the door watching, unnoticed for the time being. Afterwards, they went together to where the building materials were stored. They surveyed the piles of lumber and stones and talked some of how long it would take to complete everything they wished to complete. They surveyed the land beyond the settled area of the hall and considered the land, rocky and marshy as it was. Then they turned and went back towards the hall.

[Mnemosyne]

Wynflaed stepped back inside the Mead Hall and walked to her chamber, beckoning Saeryn to follow. She had been most helpful in giving Wynflaed a clearer picture of the Hall itself, and how it ran. She could already imagine the thoughts galloping through her husband's head as he sought ways to improve the Hall--more livestock, certainly, perhaps a weaver and a tailor, and certainly some sort of horse-breeding program! That is, she thought grimly, if we can manage the problems already given to us!

Still, Wynflaed was impressed with what she had seen. The Hall had its own blacksmith, and pigs, and plenty of chickens. It was not Edoras, but of course, Wynflaed had not expected Edoras.

Wynflaed opened the door to the bedchamber and invited Saeryn in. "I do not mean to pry," she said, "but I wonder if your condition is giving you any trouble." She walked to the small bedside table and picked up a stone crock. "When I bore Aedre, the healers of Mundburg gave me this. It is made from a root that grows far to the east, and is meant to settle an upset stomach. I found it most helpful, and have arranged to have a supply of it ever since, but I have not needed it much of late." She handed the crock to Saeryn. "I hope you will find more use in it than I."

"I thank you!" Saeryn said, a little surprised by the gift, so freely and naturally given. "It is a little rough in the morning, I find, but I think I shall get on quite well. Thank you." Wynflaed nodded and then went and sat down, folding her hands in her lap.

"Now," said Wynflaed, for she doubted that anywhere in the Hall would be more private than this room, "since you have been so kind as to show me the place of the Mead Hall, what of its people? I know I have already met most of them, but I should like to know the mind of someone who has lived with them. It is good to know who is dependable." And who is not, she added silently.

"As I told you the day you came, we have no truly bad men here," Saeryn said. Next moment she paused, considering how false that must sound after what had occurred the previous day with Erbrand, and even with Lithor. To fill in the silence and make it less awkward, she set down the crock of tincture by the door and then sat in a chair opposite to Wynflaed. "At least, you will find all of our craftsmen very dependable. Stigend and Garstan are both very skilled workers and are as respectful and considerate as you should like. Harreld likewise is a good man. He is quiet and apt to be shy, and he is therefore perhaps all the more worthy of trust. We hope very much to see an alliance soon between him and Ginna, in fact," Saeryn said, her face brightening into a smile. Wynflaed's face reflected the smile slightly and she nodded her head slightly.

"Leof is yet young, but he has done well as the stable master. Crabbanan is perhaps our only one who does not have one trade to call his own and who is perhaps not quite as...steady? as the others." She tried to cast about for a better way to put it. "He really does try to fit in," she finally said. "But I think he loves traveling and it is possible that settling here is not as easy for him as it has been for some of the others.

"There are the men-at-arms, but I do not know them very well. Besides, they are Captain Coenred's men now. And you have already met the women folk."

"And what of the children?" Wynflaed asked. "I fear that I already know Javan too well, but I have seen others throughout the Hall..."

"Cnebba is Modtryth's and Stigend’s boy. Garmund and Leodern are both Garstan's children. Leodern stays mostly with the women. She has taken especially to Ginna, but I believe Modtryth takes her under her wing when she needs a mother to look after her."

"And the two younger boys?" Wynflaed queried.

"They mean well, I think. Sometimes they let Javan lead them in a course that may be less than advisable, but they really do nothing more than boyish pranks, at worse." There was a slight pause. Wynflaed said nothing, for she saw that Saeryn still wished to speak, but did not know quite how to form her words. "I think, lady, that your daughter will be able to fit in with the children somehow. I heard that when they fought in the courtyard that day, Javan was trying to defend Cnebba, who he felt was being..." she considered her words carefully, "was being intimidated by your daughter's status."

"Then Javan has a trusty spirit in him, and he will go far if he can steel it with discipline. As for Aedre... I do hope that she will find fit companionship here. She had many friends in Edoras and I fear she was most unwilling to move here. I do not wish for her to become lonely."

Wynflaed sighed, caught up for a moment in some distant memory, then returned herself to the matter of business.

"There is one more thing," she said. "I could not help but notice the dark-haired cook--Modtryth, I believe was her name? Can you tell me aught of her parentage?"

A troubled and half suspicious look entered Saeyrn's face. "No. No more than I believe she is half Dunlanding. But she is from the Westfold, and she has Rohanian blood in her. Why?"

"Let me tell you a story. I had an elder brother, named Aedric, my father's heir. He was a fine rider, better with the spear than the sword, with a bold, strong voice for singing. My Aedre is named after him." She smiled. "He once... he threatened to geld Athanar should he ever cause ill to befall me. Happily, he never had to make good on his threat."

Wynflaed fixed her eye on Saeryn's, and as she continued to speak her voice grew hard. "Aedric was killed in the defense of the Hornburg, by men from Dunland. When the war was over, Athanar and I journeyed to Helm's Deep, and I stood on the place where he fell while a rider who had been with him told us how cruelly he had been slain. And I would rather lose all my titles, yea, and all my things, than let one of those people serve under me."

Saeryn's reply was instant, and her voice was just as hard as Wynflaed's, although a little more heated. "Modtryth did not kill your brother. Nor did her mother who gave her the Dunlandish blood. Modtryth has served well in this house for more than a year, and I will not see her and her family sent away."

Wynflaed pressed her lips together. Of course--she had married one of the craftsmen, whom they could afford to lose less than a kitchen hand, and they had a son--a quarter Dunlending, that--whom Wynflaed had already half-hoped would serve as a companion to her daughter! It had been years since she had let her feelings so outpace her that she had failed to account for the simple connections of family.

Not that she regretted her words--not yet. "Come," she said. "I spoke over-quickly. One cannot make a Mead Hall overnight, and even the best changes fail when not administered with wisdom and prudence. It would be folly to upset this Hall further while this matter of the lords is unsettled. Modtryth may stay until then.

"But this matter is not closed. I shall wish to discuss it with my husband, of course, and perhaps some others if they can hold their tongues. Her father, after all, was one of our kind, and so there may be some worth in her. But as for her mother--though she may not have killed my brother, yet still she was kin to those that did, and little love can I bear any of that folk for it."

Saeryn was about to answer when their discussion was interrupted by eager voices in the hall, footsteps fast approaching and then a rap upon the door.

[Folwren]

Javan topped off the wheelbarrow with his pitch fork and then placed the fork by the stall door while he pushed the load out of the stables and towards the plot of ground they planned on turning into a garden the next spring. He was coming back towards the stables when he saw riding down the path towards the hall a small rider on a pony. Before the rider, running as fast as their legs could carry them came Cnebba and Garmund, shouting when they saw him, “Javan! Javan! It’s Falco! Falco’s come back!”

Javan waved and then picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow again and pushed it as fast as he could back to the stables. When he came out again, Cnebba and Garmund were in the courtyard. “Falco is back and he’s brought the same pony as before!” Garmund said, fairly dancing with excitement.

“He sent us ahead to tell everyone,” Cnebba added. “He’ll be here in just a minute.”

“Run into the kitchen and tell the ladies there, Garmund,” Javan said. “Cnebba, find your dad. Lady Saeryn is with Lady Wynflaed. I’ll find them.”

The three lads parted ways, each running in their different directions. “Tell Harreld, too!” Javan shouted over his shoulder. He had seen the two ladies going into the hall just as he came out of the stables with his load of dung, so that was where he headed. No one was in the main hall. He knocked shyly on the women’s chambers, but no one answered, and when he peeped in he saw the room was empty. He looked in the kitchen, just in case they were there. They were not. Only Fordides and Kara were there, listening with surprised to Garmund’s news.

“Falco is back, is he?” Fordides said. “He’ll be welcome, I’m sure! Ginna and Modtryth are without, lad. Go and find them to tell them the news.”

Javan withdrew his head back into the hallway and wondered where next to look for the two ladies. He’d pop his head into the armory and the guardroom, though he doubted they would be there. He was right, and the only place was left was lord Athanar’s chamber itself. He hesitated only a moment at the door, and then he heard their voices from within, so he lifted his hand and knocked.

Saeryn and Wynflaed both stood when they heard the knocked. For a moment, they stared at each other, still caught in the emotion of what had just been said. Then Wynflaed stepped to the door and opened it wide.

“If you please, my lady,” Javan said, his face containing something between respectfulness and a broad grin. “Lady Saeryn, Falco is back.”

[littlemanpoet]

His back had been turned to them, and he had been making a fair amount of noise, but he knew they were there. The shift in light when the door had opened had been enough. They stayed for a little while, watching him work, and said nothing. He chose not to stop, and to say nothing as well.

Harreld the smith is like that, they probably said to each other, or to themselves. He is quiet and he works hard. It was true enough as far as it went. They did not need to know why. Were he to stop working, his thoughts of Ginna, lost to him, would be too much to bear. He could not afford to stop and talk light fare with these ladies. They might say something of Ginna, and he would be undone. He would not let them see him shed tears.

He hammered and hammered, sustained by the endurance of years in the smithy, his arms and legs provided the strength of body to prop him up as his heart was wrung with the pain of loss.

One moment he stopped, for a sudden realization had hit him full force. What have I done? Garreth in this smithy with me, his jokes about marrying and the like! His poking will be enough to make me mad!

He sighed. And began hammering some more.

Some time later the door opened again. "Harreld! It is me, Cnebba! Falco has returned!"

Harreld ceased his work and turned. "Falco! The hobbit?"

"On his same pony!"

Should he stop his work to go greet the holbytla?

"Are you coming, sir?"

"Ah, no. I have much to do. I will see him at the mid day meal. Thank you for the news, Cnebba."

"You are welcome, sir!" With that the boy hurried off, slamming the door behind him.

Strange, why was the hobbit back? He would be saddened, no doubt, to learn that his friend Eodwine was ill. Maybe he knew already. Harreld would learn at meal.

[littlemanpoet]

Why did everybody have to look at him that way? Did they not know that he saw their sidelong glances, comparing him to his father? Sometimes the looks held fear, other times disdain; often a mix of both.

"Stedford, bring in Wiglaf."

"Yes, lord." Stedford, his almbudsman, began to walk away.

"And make sure he stands on his own two feet. I don't want him leaning and mewling like he cannot take his stripes."

"Yes, lord."

Maybe he should contrive an accident and do away with the old man once and for all. That way these fools would not have the man alive with all his opinions and mouth-of-the-seer words, to drag in front of him. It was no good. The old man would say his say, and everybody would listen to him. How am I to lord this folk if he won't shut up?

A little voice inside said to him, Mayhap you should be a lord more like your father..

Faramund threw his knife across the room in a sudden rage. It skittered across the floor and stopped with a clatter against the far wall. He would lord over his land as he saw fit. It did not matter if his way was different than father's. This folk had better learn soon that it was his way or the law would wrest them of what was his by right. I'll show them.

Stedford walked the prisoner in front as they came into the lord's chamber. Wiglaf still had rope tying his ankles to each other; he could not walk a full step. His arms were still tied behind his back. He was a filthy, bloody mess. Serve him right.

"Wiglaf!" Faramund cried. "You owe me a bull and a mare! When will you pay?"

"I - I have naught with which to pay, lord. Please!"

"Find a way, fool!"

Wiglaf winced. "Lord, I c-cannot! I have naught!"

"Then you must pay with your life, mustn't you?"

Wiglaf's eyes went wide in sudden terror. "You cannot-"

"Nay, fool, I will not kill you. But I must be paid. All you have is your own skin and bones. You will be my bondsman until you can pay your debt, even if it takes you until your dying day. So be it! Stedford, take him out of here and clean him up, then put him to work."

"But lord!" cried Wiglaf. "I am a free man! I am an Eorling born and bred!" Now the fool was getting angry.

"It matters not. Pay and you are free. Until then, you are in bond. Stedford, get him out of my sight."

[Mnemosyne]

Falco? Wynflaed looked first at Javan, then at Saeryn. She had told her of no "Falco" among the Hall's men, and the name did not sound entirely like an Eorling's either.

"Who is Master Falco, Javan?" she said, deciding to address the youth first. She could always learn more from Lady Saeryn.

"Oh! He's a hobbit, my lady." The lad's enthusiasm was somewhat contagious. "He lived with us at the Hall, before..." His eyes flicked up to Wynflaed, then over at Saeryn.

"I thank you," said Wynflaed. A hobbit? The word sounded oddly familiar. "One of the holbytlan?" she said. She had seen them riding in Theoden King's funeral procession, and later, one of them weeping alone at his mound. It was only later that she had learned that this was indeed the Holdwine of the Mark, who was indeed a knight of the Riddermark even if his home was far to the north. Yet his name was not Falco, nor were the names of any of those heroes. And even if they had been, she did not see what purpose any of them would have had in coming to Scarburg. She turned to Saeryn. "How did one of that worthy people come to know this Hall?"

[littlemanpoet]

The two lads, Cnebba and Garmund, had been playing near the front gate when Falco and Daisy had trotted up.

"Good day to you both, my lads!" Falco had said.

They looked up, their eyes wide as saucers. Garmund found his tongue first. "Falco! Master Falco Boffin!"

"That's my name, young Master Garmund. You two run on ahead and let somebody know I'm here. I'll bring Daisy to the stables."

Falco had dismounted at the stables. Léof would not be here, so he would have to tend to Daisy himself. He whistled while he worked, getting Daisy hay and water. It was while he brushed the pony down that his whistling stopped and that region between his lugs kicked in.

"New Eorl? Whatever for? Eodwine made a fine Eorl, don't you think, Daisy? There may have been a few ways I'd have been tougher on a body or two, but his folk liked him. Why would they want him replaced?" Then his hands stopped at the brush.

Is he that sick?

He brushed faster, but not too fast, eager now to get the job done, because he had questions on his mind, and he wanted to find someone to answer them. Finished, he bid Daisy a pleasant rest and walked with determined steps toward the Hall. His stomach was growling, and it wouldn't hurt to kill two birds with one stone. He had a first and second breakfast, and a first lunch to catch up on, as well as news.

"Frodides, my dear!" Falco said, bustling into the kitchen. "Master Falco Boffin at your service. Or I should say, I hope you don't mind being at mine!"

She turned and faced him, setting her red-from-dishes-hands on her hips. "A proper hello will do nicely, Master Boffin!"

Falco doffed his hat and bowed deeply. "Please accept my humble and fond apologies, oh kind matron of the kitchens!" He came straight again. "Hello, Missus Frodides! How are you doing this fine day?"

"I am well, and you look like you have eaten well enough while on the road, I dare say!"

"Not so well as I'm sure to here, if you'd be willing to oblige!" Falco grinned.

Frodides laughed. "You haven't lost your silver tongue, thought the stars know you need it as much trouble as you get yourself into! Have a seat here on this stool, and I'll see what I can rummage up!"

"If you don't, mind, Missus Frodides, I could stand a second breakfast to go along with my first."

"Haven't you eaten yet today?"

"Well, I s'pose you could say I did, but it can't compare to food from the kitchen of Missus Frodides."

"Listen to you!" she laughed, and went rummaging with a will. Falco lipped his lips in anticipation.

[Folwren]

Javan’s tidings caused a glad feeling to warm Saeryn’s heart. She turned and picked up her shawl which she had taken off after coming in from the outdoors. Thoughts of Falco preoocupied her while Javan told lady Wynflaed who Falco was.

“One of the holbytlan?” Wynflaed said thoughtfully. Then turning to Saeryn as though for confirmation, she asked, “How did one of that worthy people come to know this Hall?”

“He came long ago, as a guest, and became such close friends with Eodwine that he stayed here for months on end. He left some months ago to go back home. The day I came back here, actually…” she thought for a minute of how that had turned out. The day Falco left was the day she had returned, wounded, after her brother’s death. “Come, let us go and meet him.”

Javan stepped out of the way and the two ladies went out. “If Falco is as I remembered him,” Saeryn said making a straight path towards the kitchen, “he will be in search of food after a morning’s ride. No one ever knew how to beg food out of Frodides better than Falco Boffin.”

She opened the door as she said these words and Frodides and Falco turned towards them at the same moment. Saeryn grinned, more happy at seeing him than the fact that she had been right.

"Welcome back, Falco! What brings you here at this time of year? The ride must have been simply terrible! Have you arranged for some breakfast?"

[littlemanpoet]

"But of course!" He rose and bowed deeply. "I am honored to be in the presence of such a redoubtable personage as yourself, Saeryn!"

He turned to the woman with her, and bowed again. "Master Falco Boffin at your service, ma'am!" He faced Saeryn. "Who is this, Saeryn, that have I the honor to meet this fine day?"

[Folwren]

“This is lady Wynflaed, lord Athanar’s wife. They have just arrived a couple days ago, to, um, ensure that things go smoothly in Eodwine’s absence.” For all her diplomatic attempts at choosing the right words, Saeryn couldn’t keep a troubled look from passing swiftly over her face. She quickly smoothed her features into a smile again and walked forward to invite him to sit down at the table. Frodides set a plate of hot food before him and in a moment it was followed be some steaming brew in a mug.

“You haven’t told me why you came back, Falco,” Saeryn said.

The hobbit had no chance to reply before the door opened and Cnebba, Garmund, and Leodern all tumbled into the kitchen together. They swarmed about Falco’s chair, Leodern hugged him excitedly, and they all talked together in a jumble of high, childish voices. Javan came in from the hall, but he stood back by the door.

[littlemanpoet]

"Whoa now! Don't hug me so tight you knock my breakfast about!" He put down his spoon, turned, and pulled Léoðern up to his lap. "How's my big girl?"

He got back a big smile, but her attention quickly wandered to his plate of food. "Now now, only Hobbits needs second breakfasts, my little one!" Falco could say 'little one' in regard to the young lady because she was one of the few Big People actually of smaller size than he.

Léoðern tried to pout but couldn't keep the grin off her face.

"As to why I'm back," Falco turned to Saeryn, "to see all of you! And that gave me an excuse to go a-wandering. Now, I heard Eodwine was sick and at Minas Tirith. What's all that about?"

[Nogrod]

As they got Faramund's hall into their sight lord Athanar immediately made the obvious observation. It was a lordly dwelling, starkly in contrast to how the more ordinary people lived and whose houses and fields they had passed - and also much more lavish than the Mead Hall itself was. Well, that is, how the Mead Hall is as yet... Lord Athanar thought to himself. But this sure is a rich place... I wonder how have they gotten this rich...

There were some people on the courtyard and they clearly noticed the approaching party. Just as one of them reached the doors of the hall they opened before him and a man was being thrown out from the hall by two henchmen. The man rolled down the few steps and something was yelled at him. Athanar couldn't quite make out what it was but the tone was in line with the way the man was handled. That is most curious indeed...

From the distance Athanar could see the man who had been rushing in in the first place pointing his hand towards the party and all three disappearing inside.

"Take your places! Straight lines! Let's show them some quality!" lord Athanar yelled and clearly straightened his own posture. They were reaching the sideroad that branched from the mainroad and went up the low hill on top of which Faramund's hall was located.

While they started climbing the narrower path towards the courtyard he glanced to his both sides nodding to Thornden and Coenred in turn.

"Cool now..." he said, as much to himself as to his two commanders.

They reached the courtyard where many of the men and women working outside had already gathered to see what the strangers were about. Although they kept their distance, standing around the barnhouses and the stables like they were ready to run away if needed be. They looked both curious and nervous. But it was not everyday a host of two dozens of armed eorlinga rode into their yard.

Lord Athanar halted the party about thirty yards from the hall's main entrance.

[littlemanpoet]

"Lord Faramund!" Stedford came walking hurriedly.

"Yes, Stedford," said Faramund with forced patience, "What is so urgent?"

"A small army of Eorlingas has arrived!"

Faramund sat upright. "How small?"

"Mayhap three dozen."

"Can you tell me any more than a number, Stedford?"

"They bear the livery of Lord Athanar."

"Ah. The new Eorl of the newly fashioned Middle Emnet is out for the day," he said disparagingly. "Hmm..." This was news. What were they doing here? Were they hostile? "Stedford," he asked, his tone more urgent now, "how did they seem? Do they seem on patrol, or do they mean ... worse?"

"They have set themselves in ordered ranks, lord, and they seem to be waiting."

Faramund put his hand to his unshaven chin. "Have they said aught?"

"Nay, lord."

"Gather the men. I want an armed guard at my back when I go out to meet them. Do it now! Get them here double quick!"

Yes, lord!"

Faramund paced while he waited. Soon his men started running into the room from the neighboring armory. Stedford called for ordered columns. Sometimes Faramund disdained Stedford. The man was the son of his father's best loved steward, who had since been laid in the ground. Stedford was as responsible and dutiful as could be hoped, and therefore useless for plotting strategem. He had stopped asking him for counsel long since, having grown used to the typical response, "I would do the right thing, lord." It irritated him. At least the man was competent. Soon the two dozen men at arms were rounded up and in columns.

"Stedford, march the men out ahead of me and order them up in rows of six, four deep. Make a space between three to right and left. I'll walk up the middle, and you will announce me. I want to make an impression on this new Eorl of ours."

"Aye, lord."

[Mnemosyne]

"What you have heard, alas, is true, Master Falco," said Wynflaed. "Lord Eodwine is gravely ill, ill enough that Eomer King has seen fit to lay plans in the event that he should never return. That is why Lord Athanar and I are here, and while we both truly hope that he may recover, we must act as if the worst has come to pass."

She glanced over at Saeryn, hoping that her bald statement had not wounded her too badly.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco followed the Lady Wynflaed's eyes to Saeryn, whose eyes were not exactly dry.

"This is serious, then. Léof sounded more hopeful, leastways about King Elessar's healing ability. What manner of illness has he got?"

Not even Falco had interest in second breakfast with his friend's illness unknown. Maybe he would have to hie himself to Minas Tirith. His heart sank. Wanderlust or no wanderlust, he had expected to end his journey at Scarburg. Minas Tirith was five days to a week away.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar waited patiently for a short while, but as it was obvious their entrance had been noticed he thought Faramund could not pretend he didn't know they were here.

He turned towards Coen and nodded.

Coen took his ride a few steps closer and then called for Faramund: "Lord Faramund! Come out! It is lord Athanar, your eorl, requesting you to come forwards!"

Just as the sound of his cry had died in the air the doors opened and men started pouring out organising themselves into columns as Stedford guided them. While they poured out Coen backtracked to the level of his lord.

Finally Faramund came from the doorway and started descending the stairs to the space the men had left him to descend.

Lord Athanar looked at the pomp and circumstance half amused and half puzzled. That kid has not seen real danger or valour, I bet that kid has never needed to face his strengths and fears in the first place, all this parade... for what? But he has manpower... even if not too sharp-looking... hmm... let's see what he says...

Suddenly lord Athanar picked a figure from among the people standing around the two parties from the corner of his eye. It was the man he had seen kicked out from the hall, there was no mistaking as rather few men had reddish tunics around. He was distracted for a short moment until lord Faramund settled to the first step of the stairs.

Athanar turned to face the young lord and looked at him in the eyes, curiously but also steadfast.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc had not been paying too much attention to the rest of the journey to the first of the landholders. His thoughts have been mostly dark on the way, as if somehow the sighting of the holbytla was an ill omen to him. His face was stern, but if anyone had looked closely, they could have seen that he was troubled. He was angry at himself that he had acted so foolishly and could not restrain himself. He, a veteran amidst all the younger and less experienced soldiers, should have been the one to call the others to keep order; and not to cause that Thornden himself had to come back and what more, to rebuke Hilderinc himself. Hilderinc had very well noted the look Thornden gave him and he felt ashamed, it now looked as if he was but one of the youngsters who could not maintain discipline.

And as Hilderinc had been mulling over this inside his head, in some way, his anger with himself had also turned towards the holbytla, as he was the one initially responsible for everything. What was he even doing here? And once again Hilderinc was lost in thoughts, so much that he almost had not noticed that they were arriving towards first of the landlords' household until they arrived at the gates.

Hilderinc blinked, seeing the large hall and several other buildings. He heard young Quin by his side gasp, obviously surprised by the richness of the place in comparison to Scarburg. Hilderinc himself had not anticipated this much; his expectations have been that he might see something akin to it, but this place looked a lot... better than Scarburg. Maybe it is good that Scyrr is not here, he thought. He would have had one more reason to complain about the state of the Mead Hall. Hilderinc could well imagine that even some of the other men around him felt envy towards the inhabitants of this hall, even though Hilderinc thought such an envy was misplaced. The lavishness of the place did not certainly simply equal better conditions for living.

Athanar had called them to order and Hilderinc now did his best to straighten himself up in the saddle and to bear the banner of his lord raised loftily - just like he did on the day of their arrival to Scarburg. Each of the men tried to bear himself proudly, magnifying the appearance of their lord, as if they wanted to remedy for the bit of disorder during the encounter with Falco. Even the "stablemaster" seemed to try to fit into the ranks with the soldiers, as if he were one of them.

Occupied with observing whether the order is being kept and whether he holds the banner correctly, Hilderinc had not paid much attention to the folk in the courtyard until the moment when men began walking out of the hall. He kept his face inexpressive, but inside, he was surprised at the pomp which easily matched that of Athanar's arrival. What a showoff, he thought. I would not have expected this from some local land-owner, not by the least. Quickly, he looked at the expressions of his companions, and realised that some of them have been doing the same, but in a bit less unsuspicious manner. In some of the faces he could see uncertainity, in some eagerness and expectation. Like small children, he thought. They look forward to confrontation. Hilderinc knew very well, though, that the role of the soldiers will be most likely - or hopefully - to just stand by their lord's side and look menacing enough while Athanar will speak to the local landholder. Hilderinc trusted Athanar to be more than fit for any kind of diplomacy, and after all, his mere status dictated the landlord to submit. Later, of course, the soldiers will all take pride in his victory on the matter and merrily celebrate "their" victory in the evening. Hopefully.

[Folwren]

Thornden was displeased. He was displeased in more than one way. At first, he had been inclined to think well of the place they now stood. All had seemed in order, the courtyard clean, and the workings of the hall apparently going on in an efficient manner. But the sight of the elderly greybeard being thrown from the hall’s doors and left in the dust had stirred a distrust and deep disgust in Thornden. Then there was the expression on the face of the man who had seen to the ejection of the old man. He disappeared in the hall again, looking like a frightened dog with its tale between its legs.

As lord Athanar stopped and the men formed their columns behind and on either side of him, Thornden watched the old man crawl and scramble away. Then they had waited. Too long, they waited. And when Faramund finally decided to come out, it was with a show of force and arms.

This was not how anyone should greet their lord. He should be made welcome, not greeted with men-at-arms. In a time of peace, no known friend should be greeted so. His mind harped back on how he and Saeryn had greeted lord Faramund and the other lords and their soldiers when they had come to the Mead Hall two months ago. They had not tried to impress them with strength. They had attempted to make them welcome and deal with the business as diplomatically as they could. Much thanks they had received for it. When he thought of how they had treated lady Saeryn and her claim to levy the taxes in Eodwine's absence, his blood heated within him, and he looked with calculated distain on this young upstart who presumed to set his men opposite Athanar, as though against him, and who dared to show his face in such a proud and haughty manner.

[Folwren]

Saeryn mastered here trembling breath and answered Falco evenly. “It started as any sickness might when one is out in the cold often and working past one’s strength. Then he became consumed in a fever and very quickly it worsened until he fell into a sleep. He woke only once or twice before he left Edoras and was taken to Minas Tirith.” Her voice sank as she added, “Some say it is a sleeping death, and he will never wake again.”

“They that said that weren’t counting on King Elessar,” Javan said from the doorway. His face was set in a defiant expression and he glanced briefly at Lady Wynflaed as though blaming her for the rumors sent around that Eodwine was going to die. “I think he will be fine.”

Saeryn looked at him and smiled a little. Eodwine had been a great man to Javan, and she knew this. She knew well that Javan did not want to face the fact that Eodwine might die, and that was why he spoke so boldly in defiance of it. “We all hope he lives,” she said quietly. “But I fear we have spoiled your appetite,” she said, trying to brighten the mood. “Don’t push Fordide’s food away, Falco! You might offend the poor woman, and we wouldn’t like that. Besides, your fasting won’t make Eodwine well. We are glad you have returned. You will make the people happy and bring back glad remembrances of old times.”

[littlemanpoet]

Pushed himself too hard, was it? Sleeping death? Falco shuddered. That sounded like something out of the War of the Ring!

Saeryn spoke more brightly after young Javan put in his bit. It seemed the lad liked Eodwine well enough.

"Oh, don't you worry about my food! I was just paying my respects. After all, it's unnatural to both talk and eat at the same time, at least for sensible Hobbits! Not meaning to offend any Big People, mind you! But if I'm talking I'm not eating, and if I'm eating I'm paying full attention to my victuals! And so!"

With that, Falco set Léoðern back on her own two feet and laid into it again, letting them gawk all they liked.

But while he ate, he wondered about moving on to Minas Tirith. He stopped between mouthfuls, which was odd for even him.

"Say, have any of you a notion how long Eodwine is likely to last? I'd rather get to Minas Tirith with him still around, if you take my meaning. I'm not too keen on arriving just in time to watch a body-" his voice trailed off as Saeryn's eyes moistened and she put her hand to her mouth. "Um, that is, watch a body stay sick and not quite on the mend."

[Nogrod]

It was quiet for a moment. The two lords were looking at each other.

"Welcome to my hall, lord Athanar", Faramund finally said. He was clearly collecting himself to be relaxed and self-assured. "What brings you here on this fine autumn day?"

Lord Athanar studied the young lord a moment before answering.

"You should know it very well, Faramund, son of Friduhelm. You know the king has decided to build a Mead Hall to this part of the country to re-establish order and the rule of law around here. I don't know why he thought it that important, but I guess he had his reasons... and I'm here to find it out." He made a pause just to follow Faramund's reactions.

Athanar watched a smirk form on Faramund's mouth as he opened it to begin some retort. He chose to cut him off before he began.

"And I think you also know what happened to lord Eodwine who was to take the eorlship... and that you know I was appointed by king Eomer on his stead to be the eorl of Mid Emnet. At least you seem to know my name already?" He looked at Faramund to the eye with a thin smile.

"So, what do you think I'm here for?" he asked finally.

"We did make a deal with that woman already... what was her name... Saerin, something." Faramund seemed to be stalling, trying to find a way to save face. "So please tell me why do you call us again? Everything should be settled."

"We?" Athanar asked, like he was making a casual remark... and he did not continue, but stared at the young lord.

There was a silence at the courtyard. After a considerable pause lord Athanar broke it.

"What do you mean by "we"? Or "that woman"? Do I have to remind you that you are talking about the king's Mead Hall and your personal responsibility as a lord to the law and to your king? Or do you have some other structures around here to wield power?"

[littlemanpoet]

"What do you mean by "we"? Or "that woman"? Do I have to remind you that you are talking about the king's Mead Hall and your personal responsibility as a lord to the law and to your king? Or do you have some other structures around here to wield power?"

Lord Athanar was being curt with him, Faramund thought. It reminded him of his father; somehow the old man always put him in a posture of defense. This new lord was doing the same thing. Very annoying! But he was the king's appointed man, and therefore Faramund had better placate him or he might become a gnat in his ear like dear old pop.

"Forgive me, lord Athanar," he wheedled, "your Gondorian laden speech is lost on me. I do not know who struck what nor what that has to do with wielding power." He glanced to his side with a half-smile for his men, hoping they appreciated his half-respecting dig at this man's expense. He glowered: the fools were too afraid of him.

"In any case, "we" lords who visited Scarburg are the "we", of course, and I think you know the woman better than I. I mean no offense for forgetting her name. Far be it from me to stand in the way of the king's business. How can I be of-" he paused, half bowing with an ingratiating smirk, "-service?"

[Nogrod]

Garmund and Cnebba had been listening to the adults' discussion in a remarkable feat of quietness for them. But now they just couldn't hold their horses.

"Master Falco, can we come to Minas Tirith with you?" Garmund asked excited, pulling the hobbit from the sleeve.

"We needn't bother our parents about it!" Cnebba begged, looking at Falco with his dashingly bright young boy's eyes. "Pleeease?"

At the same time the door opened. Stigend and Garstan came in to have something hot to drink as they had been working outside for hours in the cold.

"Well this is news!" Garstan yelled immediately seeing Falco.

"If that is our good old Falco..." Stigend stated, smiling warmly as they both went to greet the hobbit.

"Now, have you been teasing Mr. Falco again boys?" Garstan asked heartily after shaking hands with the hobbit. But something in the reservedness of the boys countenance told them both there was something the kids were hiding.

Stigend stopped on his feet. "I know that face Cnebba... what is it?" He raised his eyes to meet Falco's with curiosity. "Might you be the key to this mystery, Falco?"

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar looked at the foolery and felt his blood pressure rising. He was pressing the reins so hard his knuckles turned white. But he managed to keep himself more or less calm.

"Let's start with you behaving like a lord should!" He said in a commanding voice.

"Get my men something to eat and drink, like a lord should honour any guests, not to speak their eorl. And we Faramund... we should talk." He made a short pause.

"Speaking of which... I'd like to see your father Friduhelm as well. I'd like to meet that old war-horse. It's been a while our paths have crossed." With that he unmounted his horse and set his helmet on the knob of the saddle. "And something for the horses..."

Thornden had followed lord Athanar and had unmounted too.

Coen looked at his lord questioningly, but Athanar just wawed to him to stay mounted with the men until it was settled.

[littlemanpoet]

"It seems, Master Stigend, that these boys wish to stow themselves in my luggage should I be on my way to Minas Tirith."

He looked at the two youngsters whose countenances registered frank betrayal. He could almost read their minds: he's nothing but another adult!

"Now now, boys, don't look at me like that!" he grinned. "Who says I'm even going to Minas Tirith? And even if I do, I'm not altogether sure you'd be so pleased when I put you to work making my six meals a day while I take care of all our other needs. Do you like to do kitchen work, boys? The care and feeding of a hobbit is a demanding task!"

[littlemanpoet]

Faramund was enraged. This old chunk of coal was being offensive. He felt his face darken.

"Such as keeping a civil tongue in one's mouth, my lord," he shot back. "I will do my very best. Let us hope all here will do the same. We must be an example to those in our service."

He bowed, keeping his eyes locked on Athanar's.

"As to my father, he is unwell and cannot leave his bed. I shall see that he is asked whether he is willing to have company."

"Stedford! Show Lord Athanar and his retainers into my chambers, and see that his men and their horses are cared for. Then seek out Lord Friduhelm and ask him if he will take visitors this day."

With that he turned on his heel, gave his back to Athanar, passed back between his men, and without another look back, entered his hall.

[Nogrod]

When Faramund turned his back to him and went his way, lord Athanar was near explosion. His right hand went for the hilt of his sword. But he calmed down, barely touching the knob of his sword's handle. Had someone noticed? He was worried but pulled a fair face.

"Coen! At ease..." He turned around to say and waved with his hand for him to take care of the men and their needs as lord Farmund had said.

"Thornden?" he asked turning to him.

Thornden nodded and took the few steps to stand by his side while two local men at arms took care of his and lord Athanar's horses.

Suddenly lord Athanar turned back to the riders of Scarburg.

"Hilderinc!"

Hilderinc was surprised of the call. But he managed to answer controlledly: "Yes sir!"

"Come Hilderinc! I want you with us."

Athanar glanced at Coen and nodded sharply. Coen had unmounted and answered with a nod. Then Athanar turned towards Thornden.

"I wish Coen to stay with the men" he half whispered to Thornden, "but looking at this lord's behaviour I do think it better there are three of us rather than two..."

He turned towards the hall and followed lord Faramund who had now already vanished inside. Thornden and soon Hilderinc as well followed his steps.

A man ran after them.

"Please lord, follow me." He took a few steps but then suddenly turned to the yard and yelled "Crowhair! You're responsible for the horses! And Mallorhan, see to the wine for the men!"

He turned to lord Athanar and apologised. "I'm sorry lord, just too many things depending on one head..."

Before Stedford could turn back to lead them, lord Athanar nodded and smiled, halting him: "Steadford you are? Not all heads are able to do what you do."

There was a moment of silence betwee the two.

"Now, please show us to lord Faramund's chambers... and if you will yourself check with lord Friduhelm... Well, we'd be happy to meet him at his place if he is unable to meet us at lord Friduhelm's quarters. Just for you to know..."

Stedford looked back at lord Athanar, nodded and then turned to lead them inside the great Hall.

[Nogrod]

Stigend and Garstan laughed merrily.

Stigend took Cnebba by the hair, gently but firmly. "Now you boys, take Leodthern with you, and go outside to play. You'll have time to mess with master Falco for days to come... as he's going nowhere for a while!" He glanced at Falco to get a confirmation for the kids.

"I'll tell you if I need any squires to attend me for any perilous adventures!" Falco chuckled.

"And you Javan as well..." Garstan said in a steadfast tone nodding towards the door.

When the kids had reluctantly left the room, both Stigend and Garstan turned to the hobbit.

"So what's the news?" Stigend asked.

"Have you been to Meduseld, or Minas Tirith? Any news with lord Eodwine?" Garstan added.


Saeryn was looking amused for a long time, looking at the kids, their fathers and Falco, but lady Wynflaed just stood there not quite sure of what to make of all that.

[littlemanpoet]

Faramund walked by his seat in the hall where he held court, and passed into the next room. It was a place of meeting with a large oaken table his father had placed there. The room was wider than it was long. There was a big window to the left, a door to his own chambers in the far wall, and a door in the wall to the right leading to the kitchens.

Stout oaken chairs were lined along the walls, decorated just above the chairs in hung pelts of fox, wolf, badger, and mink. These were interspersed with mounted elk, deer, bear, and mountain lion heads. Some were older than his father.

Faramund had a man servant place six of the chairs around the large table, and took his place, standing behind the chair facing the door through which Stedford would lead his unwelcome guests. He ordered the serving man to get from the kitchens the freshest bread they had, honey, wooden mugs, and mead. Best to put forth a show of hospitality. He knew better than to insult these men more than he had already.

[littlemanpoet]

"I passed through Edoras on the way here, of course," Falco replied, "but Minas Tirith I have not seen, now nor never, though that may change soon enough.

"As to news, the king and queen are well and very kind to me. They asked after Master Meriadoc, of course. Funny, I know him no better than I know your royal sires, but everybody I talk to seems to think I hold them all as personal acquaintances.

"I did pass a couple of riders on their way to Edoras, before I saw the new lord and his men. At least one of them looked familiar, I think, though it's hard for me to tell one of you Big People from another, leastways when you're mounted high up on a horse's back. Do you know who they were, and what business they might be about?"

[Folwren]

“Oh!” Saeryn said, “That would be Garwine and Áforglaed! You would have known Garwine, he has been part of Eodwine’s guard since he took up his eorlship. Áforglaed is one of Athanar’s guard. They went to Edoras for a double purpose. They are going to tell Garrath that his brother Harreld has use of him here, so we shall hopefully soon be joined by another old friend.”

Words and looks of general surprise and pleasure from those who had not heard the news, and from Falco. Then after a slight pause, Falco asked what the second bit of business had been.

“Athanar sent a message to the king by the messengers. Do you remember Lithor?” Falco remembered him. “He and Erbrand both left yesterday morning…Lithor without leave, and Erbrand after almost killing one of Athanar’s men. They are outlaws, now.” How much she might say, were Wynflaed not standing there! But instead, she left it at the bare minimum. Later, perhaps, she would be able to tell Falco so much about how she felt about this new lord and what had happened since his arrival. Falco had been so close to her husband. They would sit and talk so comfortably back when they were both there, and Eodwine had often discussed ideas and plans with Falco. She felt as if a part of him had returned in this little hobbit.

[Folwren]

Thornden followed Athanar into lord Faramund’s hall, mulling over what had just passed in the courtyard. This was not going to be easy, and he hoped very much that the other lords would not be as stubborn or foolish as Faramund. He reached back in his memory to that day that they had visited Scarburg. The other two had been more civil. Tancred had been the calmest and most commanding, and he at least would not treat Athanar in this manner. The other, and Thornden could not remember his name, had seemed a more violent type and possibly capable of such indecencies as Faramund had shown. Being older, Thornden doubted he would handle his guests in such a manner when he was faced with a real lord with real power and commanding.

However, they were not dealing with either of the other lords right now. Thornden focused again on the present. They went through the great hall and into a smaller room beyond. Smaller, but well furnished for purposes such as this, it seemed. Faramund stood behind a chair facing them when they entered and he motioned with his hand that they might be seated. Bread and other victuals were being brought and placed upon the table. It seemed Athanar’s rebuke had gone home, Thornden reflected. He waited for Athanr to sit and then had indicated that Thornden should also sit. Hilderinc stood back by the door.

After they had eaten some and the edge of hunger that had come upon them from their ride had been taken away, Athanar set aside food and drink and looked across the table at Faramund. Thornden, too, pushed away his trencher, and then laid both hands on the edge of the table as he waited for Athanar to speak.

[Nogrod]

"Thank you for the plenty, lord Faramund. It was very good indeed. But I think we have things to talk." He looked at the young lord straight to the eye.

"Well, sure. So what might have brought you here?" Faramund answered, keeping his calm now.

"I knew your father before the war. We were not close... but I knew him. He was a wealthy man from a traditional family, but he was also a modest man with modest goals in life. And he was a devout rider of Rohan." Athanar made a pause, not letting his eyes from young lord Faramund.

"So I'm just wondering..." lord Athanar started gazing around to all the adornments, the precious pelts, the valuables on the table. "You are doing pretty well for a lord in Mid Emnet... Would you like to tell me where does all this come from?"

Lord Athanar took the half full goblet and toyed with it. "I failed to see such wealth in the surrounding countryside... I maybe new around here, but I'm not new to life, or stupid!" Lord Athanar hit the goblet to the table so that some of the mead fell over while his voice got louder. But he controlled himself immediately. "An eorl should know the lands and their ways. So, how does this household work? How do you make your fortunes?"

[Mnemosyne]

Wynflaed looked at Saeryn, who seemed to want to say more to the holbytla. Small wonder, she thought, if he knew her husband well.

Yet she did not think that that was the only reason for the Lady Saeryn's reticence--unfortunate that she should be harbouring thoughts about the runagates that she felt did not warrant sharing, but understandable.

For a moment Wynflaed considered staying, but compassion won out over prudence--and besides, she thought she could grow fond of Saeryn over time.

"Master Falco," she said, "it was a pleasure making your acquaintance, and indeed, meeting one of your people in the flesh. I fear I must take your leave, however--though I hope I may speak to you in private at some point, when you are less caught in the bustle of reunion. I hope you will stay here for some time, but should you decide to travel on to Mundburg, let me know and we shall provision you accordingly." She turned to Saeryn. "Lady Saeryn," she said. "Thank you once more for all your help; it was of great help. I will continue to think on what you told me earlier. Good day."

And with that, Wynflaed left the kitchen and returned to her and Athanar's room. She sat down on the bed, indulging in a moment's weakness to massage her temples. Now, would it be wise to ask Lilige to help in the kitchen?

[Folwren]

Thornden shot a sidelong glance at Athanar. He felt his muscles tense in response to the flash of anger that Athanar showed. Although he had seen it more than once in the last two days, he could not get used to the show of fierceness, however brief, in this new eorl. Thornden hoped that he did not become truly angry and decide to do something more drastic than raise his voice. He thought about the soldiers outside, and lord Faramund’s soldiers. Surely, lord Athanar would not become so furious himself that the men would actually be called to fight…or surely he would not provoke lord Faramund to that point.

Thornden looked again at Faramund. He knew that his fuse was short, and pushed too far he could become violent. He had seen it before. When he and the other two lords had come to Scarburg, Faramund had threatened to draw sword in the hall. Only the presence of lord Tancred had kept Faramund under control. Now it the situation was even more dangerous, and Thornden began to hope that Athanar would not try to lord it over him quite so much, despite his rights as the new Eorl.

[littlemanpoet]

Once lady Wynflaed's back was seen to disappear through the door, and a few more seconds passed, Falco cleared his throat.

"Seeing, my dear Lady Saeryn, as the new Lady is now gone from this dining hall, you can tell me your true mind, eh?" He glanced at the others. "And that goes for the rest of you too, I wager."

He picked up his tankard and took a pull, eyeing one after another over the wide brim. News there was, and he knew he'd have it from them soon.

[Folwren]

“I think you’re right there, Falco,” Saeryn said, taking a seat to his left at the table. “All is not right here,” she said in a low and serious voice. “There are moments when I hope that all will be well, but then things happen and the place is thrown into an uproar.”

“Like what things?” Falco asked.

“Well, the very first day lord Athanar and his people came there were two fights in the courtyard. Then that night, Lithor made a toast to Athanar and all the others, and some of the things he said infuriated lord Athanar so that he accused Lithor of treasonous actions, or at least of thoughts and words, I can’t remember now exactly what it was he said, but he was so angry that he decided to bring Lithor before his seat of court the following morning. But before the night was out, Thornden had left to speak with Lithor and Athanar’s sons overheard them speaking and accused them both of treason and plotting against lord Athanar.

“Lord Athanar did handle things well in his court, I admit, but he did not understand Lithor, and that is why he reacted so. Lithor was given extra duties in addition to his duties as a soldier. He made some very serious threats, though, and made it clear that no foolishness would be tolerated. He informed everyone than any more fights or brawls would be punished by flogging. It is not bad in itself..we don’t want fights and the like here, but it is so harsh compared to Eodwine.”

“Is that all that has happened?” Falco asked.

“No. After the trial, the people went about their business, and the soldiers went out to be drilled by the captain, Coenred, and Thornden. By chance, one of Athanar’s soldiers went to the stream, near where Erbrand, the tanner, was working, and somehow it came about that Erbrand and this soldier fought. Erbrand nearly killed him, and came back here before anyone had found out. He spoke to me briefly before he left, but he did not tell me why he was leaving, though I found out soon enough. But before he left, Lithor met him, and together they rode away.

“Fordides and Ginna brought Scyrr, the soldier, back. That was when lord Athanar discovered what had happened. And not long after, when the other soldiers returned for the noon meal, it became plain that Lithor and Erbrand had both left. Athanar immediately had search parties formed, and though they did not catch them, I know his intent as clearly as though he had spoken it – they both would have been judged harshly, possibly both been put to death, had they been found. They were not, thank heaven, but had they been - !" she broke off and said nothing. Her hands clasped each other tightly on the table top where they rested. She calmed her frightened tone and looked at Falco again.

“Falco, I don’t like what has happened. The people are discontent and unhappy, and Athanar’s heavy hand in ruling is not helping them settle under the horrible news that Eodwine may never return. But I don’t know how to stop it.”

[Firefoot]

Any optimism Léof might have felt about the first visit had dissipated as soon as he saw the old man bodily thrown from the hall. From his position at the back of the column, he had a difficult time seeing and hearing everything that was going on, though he did not think that all the armed men at Faramund’s back were meant to be welcoming. And once Athanar and Faramund started raising their voices, Léof knew for sure the meeting was beginning poorly.

Suddenly the party was breaking up, and Léof heard the commands given to Faramund’s men: "Crowhair! You're responsible for the horses! And Mallorhan, see to the wine for the men!" Well, now he had a choice. Ought he to go with the soldiers? Or make sure the horses were seen to rightly? He chose easily – the horses were his care, and he supposed he fit in better amongst them than with the soldiers. Besides, one man would have difficulty seeing to all of these horses at once – Léof supposed he might appreciate an extra hand.

He spotted Crowhair almost immediately – the man’s distinctive hair color made him hard to miss. He had already taken the horses of Athanar, Thornden, and Hilderinc in hand, for they had already followed Faramund inside. He was directing the rest of the men to tie their horses at the fence of a nearby paddock. Léof could see that some of the men looked uneasy leaving their horses to the care of a man who was so obviously at least part Dundlendish – another good reason to help see to the horses himself.

Léof dismounted and made his way over to Crowhair. “Horses by the paddock, I’ve got my hands full enough already,” Crowhair said as Léof approached.

“Yes, I heard, but I’m Athanar’s stablemaster, and -”

“Then take one of these,” said Crowhair, pushing the reins of Thornden’s horse at him. “Don’t know what I’m supposed to do with three of them.” And he walked off with the other two horses, leaving Léof standing there. He supposed that meant he ought to walk his and Thornden’s horses out, and followed after Crowhair.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco listened, nursing his ale, as Saeryn spilled a tale of woe. When she was done he set down his tankard and pulled out his pipe and leaf. He let them watch and wait as he prepared the mix, lit, and took a few satisfying puffs as he thought over what he'd heard.

"Well now," he said slowly, "that might explain Thornden's curt manner a bit back on the road. I can't say we always got along, but he seemed more - ah - more tightened up than his usual earnest self."

He took a drag on his pipe and lofted three smoke rings into the atmosphere.

"Puts me in mind of Sharkey back in the bad old days. But maybe this one's not that bad. Of course, Eodwine is - was - is," he emphasized, "unusual as Big People go. Knows how to treat hobbits, he does. I'll admit he learned some of it from me, but he was teachable."

He caught Saeryn smirking in spite of herself. He grinned. Then he got serious.

"If this Athanar's the new lord hereabouts, and is so by rights, you can't stop it unless he breaks the law. Then you have something to bring your king. So the question is, it seems to me, do you like Scarburg more than you dislike the new lord? Then you'll stay. Otherwise, I think you're all free men and women here, are you not? No one has chained you to this place.

"Or do you harbor some hope that Eodwine will return? If he did, would the king give him back his place?"

Falco looked around from one face to the next. Each was more serious than the last; or worse, troubled. He puffed his pipe, filled the air with smoke rings, and relaxed. Before long one of these Big People would speak more of their mind.