Scarburg Meadhall

[Formendacil]

Náin's heavy, Dwarven hands tightened into fists as he braced himself against the table, and his typically ruddy face paled behind his beard.

"...eat any man opposed to lord Eodwine... temporary lord... newcomers..."

"Stigend!" he said in low, voice. "Has Lithor sunk so far into his cups? Is he mad? No lord of the Dwarves would tolerate such an attitude!"

Náin grimaced, blinked slowly, and tried to ease the stress out of his fists. He turned to the Eodwiningas around him and said with great deliberation.

"Don't let Lithor turn this into a brawl--whatever he's up to!"

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan looked at Lithor, a little annoyed at being interrupted in the midst of a rather emotional ballad. It was jarring, and he found himself regarding Lithor an amount of dislike at that moment, though he never had any quarrel with the soldier.

"Livening up?" he muttered to Erbrand. "That's what we were doing."

Erbrand frowned and nodded. "Looks like someone hit the ale early today."

"Lithor is aware, isn't he, that there have already been 3 or 4 fights between the Scarburgers and the newcomers? We don't need to provide opportunity for 3 or 4 more." Crabannan paused, and, reflecting, realized that he never would have said that a month or two ago. Who had he become? He looked around the room uncomfortably, suddenly feeling out of place. He glanced at Erbrand. The man was tuning his instrument and pretending to ignore Lithor. There was no response from Athanar's men, and even the sounds of eating died away as they stared at Lithor. A crow croaked madly somewhere outside the Hall, then faded away.

On an impulse, Crabannan leapt up from his chair and covered the distance between himself and Lithor in two swift, ungainly bounds - like a great, ragged raven. Standing tall by Lithor, he raised his voice.

"Come now!" he laughed, gesturing to the crowd, "Are there no men among you? At least do us the courtesy of a swift 'nay' if there are not!"

He clapped Lithor on the shoulder and laughed again, long and loud, a feeling of elation rushing through him and out to his fingertips. He had no idea what he was doing.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athar had listened to the sergeant making his show first with curiosity, then with growing disdain and finally he felt his veins were exploding...

And then there was this guy seemingly trying to save the situation... whoever he was. Actually lord Athanar was puzzled as the intruder clearly was not a Rohanian soldier, but he didn't look like a craftsman either, but a soldier from... he was not sure from where. There seemed to be people he would have to learn who they were in this Mead Hall indeed... little had he been told in Edoras...

But enough was enough. Lord Athanar stood up violently, looking stern and dead serious. His commanding voice ran through the Hall.

"Quit disgracing yourself any more sergeant Lithor! And that is right now!"

Everyone held their breath as Lithor turned to face lord Athanar. All the eyes were glued into the two men.

Athanar glanced at Thornden. It was clear what his eyes indicated.

"Tom-foolery is for the jesters. Soldiers have other duties. Looking at your years you should know that Lithor. Now thread yourself carefully sergeant..." He paused and eyed Lithor carefully.

"Me and my soldiers - and my household - are not your quests in here! And I mean especially you sergeant Lithor! You are not in a position to call anyone a quest here! Take your place soldier! The king decides who is the lord, who is the subject and who is a quest. You should understand that, soldier? The order of command and decision making is taught in the boot-camp and you should know it!"

Lord Athanar was clearly enraged. "It's not you, or even me, but the king who decides on these issues!" He let his words to sink in before continuing in a bit softer tone, but firmly showing he would continue, barring Lithor from any explanations.

"And don't think of me as a fool Lithor... that's almost the worst of what you do. I can hear from your tone that you're not liking the way things have gone... Let me bring you some news Lithor, neither am I. Had king Eomer given me a Hall where everything was to be built from scratch to my liking... and without all this stuff of needing to face lord Tancred and his allies... had I loved that? Yes I would have changed this to it any moment, just belive me! Being not forced to hear that lord Eodwine's condition is beyond cure... would I have liked that? Sure. He was a good man, a good leader and a fine soldier - and a great loss to Rohan!"

Lord Athanar paused for a moment to look around, glancing at the table with Saeryn, Thornden and Degas the last and nodding to them in passing.

"But quessing and seeing your feelings - and combining them with the disgrace you uttered them - I am quite sure you were not ready to give away your "treasures" just like that to show goodwill... Your words do contradict themselves. So you had something up to your sleeve, didn't you? As I said, I am no fool people like you may try their luck with..."

The thought was unnerving and quite new to all but Erbrand who decided to look downwards not to meet the eyes of other people.

"I offer you two choices Lithor."

There was a total silence as everyone held their breath with the new turn of events.

"You either make a full confession to master Thornden and he will then suggest me a suitable punishment for you I will either accept or change tomorrow... or you will be taken into custody right now and will face in the worst case a court marshall for treason in Edoras as without other motives for your actions I can only infer you were trying to cause harm to people the king had ordered into their duties..."

Lord Athanar looked at Lithor with a piercing gaze.

"Your choice soldier..."

[Mnemosyne]

Wynflaed pinched the bridge of her nose. So much, she thought grimly, for this being a relaxing evening of song and tale. Although the prospect of that had been ruined as soon as she had seen her daughter stricken! She hoped that soon she would be able to speak with someone who could tell her who had done that bloody deed, so that justice could be done. But now this... that the soldiers of this hall would think to treat them as guests, and take a man's dangerous sport into a household setting was effrontery enough. But treason... At times she did not understand her husband's need to put all actions in the framework of war.

Not that there was not something unsettling about Lithor's speech, insult aside. She knew well the silvered tongue of politics from Edoras. It would be no different out in the Midemnet, and if anything speech and declaration of intent would be rougher. Lithor was under Athanar's command, and a soldier. Let him be dealt with as a soldier ought.

Looking over the array of people in the hall, she was a little astonished to see the array of color in the locks of those present. Some guests, perhaps, or commoner folk whose blood had mingled? Most astonishing of all was one of the women who had refilled her cup at table. Her eyes were not clear the way one of the Eorlingas or the Dunedain should have, but dark, even darker than the brown she had once seen in one of the holbytlan.

Surely a lord like Eodwine would not have had one of the Dunlendings under his employ? She made a note to inquire after the matter when she met with the lady Saeryn--if indeed they ever reached the point of making that meeting. She had heard the mutterings of the people when Athanar had declared her lady of Scarburg. The path that lay ahead of her was steep indeed.

[Gwathagor]

Athanar finished speaking. Wilcred slouched down at his bench and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. This is ridiculous, he thought. Lithor is acting absurd and here Crabannan has to go and make things worse. The man's been no trouble for months, why'd he have to go and choose this moment to stir things up?

He sighed and concentrated on his plate. Some men just can't escape themselves, their pasts. Wilcred looked up, towards Crabannan, who was standing beside Lithor in the center of the hall. A moment before he had been grinning like a demon, but now his countenance was as dark and impossible to read as he eyed Athanar keenly. There was something strange about the man, an imbalance in his humors, maybe. Is he mad? Wilcred thought, and frowned, realizing that they still knew next to nothing about the stranger. He could fight like a whirlwind and play the harp like a born bard, but beyond that - nothing. He was a grim, dour enigma, taken by spells of strange levity. Almost like he's some mad hill-spirit, raven-like, and yet...he laughed at himself. No, Crabannan was a man. An strange man, but a man.

Wilcred looked from Crabannan to Lithor to Athanar, awaiting the next move. It hurt him to see his fellows cut down so by Lord Athanar, but he honestly hoped they would simply sit down and not embarrass themselves further. A fight was the very last thing they needed, though he began to wonder if Lithor and Crabannan felt the same way...

[Gwathagor]

Crabannan's laugh died the moment Athanar began to speak, for he could sense a sword's edge behind the man's words. And sure enough, there it was: the threat of court marshall. For Lithor. Crabannan's face turned hard and cold, like dark basalt. He gritted his teeth, but showed no emotion.

"Treason?" he said, trying to hold his temper in check. He felt his hands shaking. He knew this feeling, and it did not bode well - mostly for Athanar and his men. "Treason?" he said again. "He meant no harm and spoke no ill. He has not threatened, or murdered, or deserted, or disobeyed. Lithor is not a traitor," he finished quietly - but he found himself instinctively counting the unfriendly faces turned in their direction. "There are traitors and cowards in this room, but he is not one of them."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas heaved a sigh. He'd have much preferred almost anything to attending this feast, yet Saeryn had given him little opportunity to make his escape. And where would he go? He was a notable guest; his absence would be distinctly marked. And so he sat at his sister's side, and tensed with rage that Athanar chose to break the news of Eodwine's decline to Saeryn in public. And for what reason, to weaken her? To show her that she had nothing left that he did not grant her, including dignity?

But at the same time, Degas felt for Athanar, and was disgruntled by it. Yet it was only a month ago that Degas had ridden into a small village to take control over a community that desired no new lord after the loss of their former one.

Granted, the circumstances were different. Eodwine had taken ill, whereas Fenrir had been killed. Degas considered the peasants lucky that they were not all executed. As it was, most of the rebels had died in the fighting, and those who had not had wisely chosen to flee. Degas knew that if he discovered that one of his people now had been amongst those that killed his brother, he would kill that man. It was not a matter of vengeance, it was a matter of duty: if peasants had a problem with their lord, they took that problem to their eorl, or to the King. They did not riot. They did not murder. They did not burn.

In that sense, though, Degas knew that he had gotten off luckier than Athanar: the people of his lands had loathed their former lord. They did not want a new lord, but they could be shown that their ruler - who they had no choice over - could be a good man.

Athanar, however, replaced a man that was good, and that was not dead.

Degas was the natural heir, being the oldest male of the line. There was no one but Saeryn with any claim to the lands, and his twin had no desire at all to return to their childhood home again. Nightmarish memories lay heavily on both of them, but especially on her. At least Degas had not been confined or beaten.

Athanar, though, rode onto lands he did not inherit. Though Eomer King had granted him these lands and this title, there was a lady of the lands still in residence.

Degas shuddered to think that it would be easier for Athanar and for Rohan if Saeryn simply died. He reached for her hand and squeezed it so tight that she flinched, and looked hard at him.

In his mind, he promised he would look after her so much more carefully. She might fall from a horse. She might take ill. There could be an accident in the stables, or in the kitchens. She could step too close to walls being raised, and something could fall.

Degas did not doubt that Athanar was a good man, in his own way, but he wondered if any man could resist the opportunity to simplify his own life so easily. He never once thought Athanar might seek to kill his sister, but he squeezed her hand again, thinking that with tempers running this high - he looked around - she could be desperately injured in any number of ways, and would the newcomers rush to her aid as quickly as they would for a lady that did not complicate their lord's position in the household?

Saeryn was that which was left of Eodwine's rule, her and the child in her womb.

She would need a guard. One that would go unnoticed in the general bustle. A guard that could tend to her, and watch her, and see to it that no accidents befell her. Degas made a mental note to tend to this later.

For now, he watched Athanar with a mix between pity and disdain.

Yes, Athanar had been handed a mess. If he did not show a firmness of rule, the commoners would not take to him as their lord, and the lords certainly would not accept his authority. There were those born with authority, and those who developed it, and those who shouted it from the rooftops to no avail. Thus far, Athanar seemed the type of leader that had learned it, and he was unbending in his ways.

Degas sipped from his mug of ale, watching almost boredly. Athanar would rule more effectively if he stopped shoving his power down the people's throats.

And as Crabannan said, "There are traitors and cowards in this room, but he is not one of them," and Athanar's entire body tensed, Degas hoped he had been taught the old saw: a man is only as good as a sword. Once he loses his temper, the battle is lost.

[Folwren]

The events of the evening turned with such speed and ferocity that Thornden’s head spun. He was as surprised as the next man when Lithor stood up and interrupted the two players with his absurd introduction and challenge. Such mirth, such humor, might have been accepted in Eodwine’s day, when heart’s were lighter, all was well, and everyone was in a position they knew and understand. Now it seemed out of place, ridiculous, and irreverent. Thornden knew Lithor well enough that he meant no harm in the least. As he had ever done before, Lithor only tried to lighten the mood, make everyone laugh and enjoy themselves. He didn’t mind being the center of attention, and he didn’t mind being the cause of laughter. But now he had gone to far.

Athanar rose from his place. His expression could not be misunderstood. Anger emanated from him like lightning from a thundercloud. The hall became deathly still and silent as he spoke. It was not the polite silence that he had enjoyed while making his polite speech. It was a silence so loud it throbbed in Thornden’s ears along with Athanar’s voice, quivering with anger.

In passing, Athanar’s eyes locked briefly with Thornden’s. It was a sharp, accusing look, and obviously Athanar passed some of the blame onto Thornden himself. It was almost like a physical blow, and Thornden winced inwardly as he took it. ‘This is your man, Thornden – is this how you allow them to behave?’

“Tom-foolery is for jesters. Soldiers have other duties.” It was addressed to Thornden and Lithor both, and Thornden understood it. Then all the wrath of Athanar’s words were bent solely upon Lithor.

“I offer you two choices, Lithor,” he said in closing. “You either make a full confession to master Thornden and then he will suggest me at suitable punishment for you which I will either accept or change tomorrow...” Thornden shot a brief glance at Lithor at the same instant that Lithor glanced towards him. Their eyes flickered briefly together and then both looked back at Athanar. “Or, you will be taken into custody right now and will face the worst case a court martial for treason in Edoras was without other motives for your actions I can only infer you were trying to cause harm to people the king had ordered into their duties. Your choice, soldier.”

Thornden felt his blood run cold. Neither choice seemed enviable. On the one hand lay punishment by the hand of this man, who none of them knew, and no one could predict how harsh he would actually be. Yet in this choice, there lay a glimmer of hope. Thornden was the one to suggest the punishment. (This did not seem very pleasant to Thornden, but if it saved Lithor from execution, which, if he faced a court marshal and he was found guilty, would be his fate, then Thornden would find passing punishment easier.) On the other hand lay imprisonment until his trial could be heard, and when it came time for that, he would be judged by biased judges and possibly sentenced to death. Thornden looked at Lithor.

“Treason?” The voice was not Lithor’s. Lithor had no time to speak. Crabannan instead broke the silence after the eorl’s question. “Treason? He meant no harm and spoke no ill. He has not threatened, or murdered, or deserted, or disobeyed. Lithor is no a traitor. There are traitors and cowards in this room, but he is not one of them.”

Thornden glanced about sharply. Dangerous, dangerous words, for Crabannan clearly meant to incriminate none of Eodwine’s old followers. Tensions were rising. Crabbanan had taken sides against the eorl, and now it would be easier for others to join. The lines were being drawn, and soon blows would begin to fall, and in the end, blood might be shed.

Thornden leaped to his feet. He held up his hand, palm forward, towards Athanar, a signal pleading of peace and restraint on Athanar’s part. “My lord, please hear me!” Athanar’s eyes riveted to him at once. “Please hear me,” he said again in a quieter voice, but no less urgent. “Do not take the men’s words amiss. Crabbanan only speaks for his comrade and friend. He is right: Lithor did indeed mean no harm. He spoke foolishly, my lord, I agree, but he meant in no way to cause unrest among the people, and least of all did he intend to commit treason. He will submit himself to your judgement, but a court martial?” Thornden shook his head. He tried to gain some idea of Athanar’s fury diminishing, but no such expression changed or even glimmered momentarily in Athanar’s eyes. He moved to put himself between Lithor and Crabannan and lord Athanar. He now stood directly in front of Athanar, looking up at him as Athanar stood upon the raised platform.

“I ask that you just dismiss him now and look again on this in the morning.”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc almost spilled his ale upon hearing the words "temporary lord". He quickly glanced to the lords' table and saw Athanar slowly turning colors. Around him, the other soldiers were also raising their voices. Hilderinc looked again at the person in the middle of the hall. It was Lithor, he remembered even before the soldier introduced himself. The smooth-talking man from the courtyard. But gone was all his smooth-talk. What was the fool thinking? He must have been completely and utterly drunk.

Still, it probably took an arrogant fool to say things like that in front of the new eorl and his household. Hilderinc would not have minded the "guests" part, after all, part of the soldiers were only "guests", but "temporary lord" was a clear offense to Athanar and it was clear that he won't leave it unpunished.

And he didn't. Now it was obvious that this wasn't a diplomat's, but a soldier's speech. Hilderinc had to once again acknowledge lord Athanar's talent to settle matters. Although Hilderinc knew from experience that diplomatic speech can be far more useful to settle disputes among men, he also knew that for most of the leaders, soldier's attitude was good enough. Athanar was not being nice, but Lithor, in Hilderinc's opinion, hardly deserved otherwise.

Then Crabannan came in. His words puzzled Hilderinc for a while. What was that the man had said? "There are traitors and cowards in this room, but he is not one of them." What did he mean? Hilderinc scanned the faces of the other Scarburgians to see any trace of reaction. Has there been already any unrest among the people themselves before Athanar's men have arrived? Did they come into an already divided Hall? Was there somebody who deserved to be called a traitor and coward? That started to worry Hilderinc. This far, the Hall seemed easy-going enough to him, and the brawls among the newcomers and the original denizens nothing out of the ordinary (how many times he had seen things like that!). But the tense atmosphere and now Crabannan's words gnawed inside him. Was there something more going on?

Scyrr, sitting opposite to him, was of a different opinion.

"What does that scraper mean?" he said loudly enough for all at the soldiers' table to hear him. "Is he making fun of us again? That's for leaving that brawler of theirs unpunished, Hilderinc," he turned around. Hilderinc understood that he had interpreted Crabannan's words as pointed against Áforglaed.

"And he was there too," Scyrr continued, pointing at Crabannan. "He's one of that guy's friends. It was his, not our man, who ran away like a coward to hide himself from punishment. I still say we should've reported him."

Hilderinc wasn't listening anymore. Thornden was now speaking. Hilderinc felt some sympathy to that man, after all, he was probably trying to save one of his fellow soldiers. But he was perhaps too soft, or unsure of himself. A good potential for a leader, but he did not have enough courage to put all of his authority into his voice. But maybe, Hilderinc thought, maybe his manner will calm also Athanar down. He glanced at the lords' table. What will Athanar's response be?

[Folwren]

Saeryn looked on in wonder and shock. She had found Lithor’s challenge amusing and she hoped that it would ease the unpleasant feeling in the room a little. At least it would distract her from her thoughts. But it did not amuse Athanar, apparently, and now he charged Lithor with disrespect, and worse. A sharp pain shot up into her head and pierced her skull at her forehead. She winced and looked away from Lithor, standing thus humiliated in the center of the hall, and pressed her hand against her temples.

Every turn of event this day had brought disappointments and strife. Load upon load was set on her heart and feelings, and she felt pressed down beyond endurance. Her eyes burned, but her mood now was such that she couldn’t cry. More than anything she wanted to stand and say that Athanar could not act such in her hall. This was not what he was sent to do, and in Eodwine’s absence he should try to uphold Eodwine’s standards.

Eodwine’s absence? Athanar had been given eorlship. It didn’t matter if Eodwine had been eorl, or even if he ever would be eorl again. She struggled with this reality, and the pain in her head became worse.

As from a distance, she heard Crabannan’s furious, though quiet, protest against the accusation of treason.

Eodwine would never have treated a man – any man – in such a fashion. Not even in his court of law did he speak so to a man. Never before had Thornden had to stand before his eorl and speak as he spoke now, pleading for another man’s life or fair treatment. It was all wrong. All terribly, terribly wrong, and it hurt Saeryn deeply to hear one of her men spoken to in such a manner.

[Groin Redbeard]

The silence was unnerving. Lithor had expected immediate responses from the lord’s two sons, but all just stared at him wide eyed. Lithor was about to say something when Crabannan sprang forward like an energetic doe in the springtime. His words were as merry as his movements and clarified what Lithor meant. “I could not have said it better myself,” whispered Lithor to Crabannan. Lithor smiled once again to see if his challenge would be taken up.

His challenge was indeed answered, but by Athanar. "Quit disgracing yourself any more sergeant Lithor! And that is right now!" The lord’s first words sounded angry, but Lithor did not detect any hostility at himself directly, only at his challenge. Lithor picked up a spear and readied it to be accepted. So this lord is not such a stick in the mud, as I thought! This will be grand! Thought Lithor. Another of his smiles curled to its extent. His smile, however, died quickly as Athanar shot damaging accusations at him.

Lithor was stunned wide mouthed eyed. It was the only time that Lithor could remember that he was entirely unable to speak. Lithor had uttered some insults in his time but Athanar’s was the worst that he had ever heard. Treason! What had he done? He was not contending with the rule of Athanar. In the opening of his boast, Lithor had actually acknowledged him as “my lord”. Thankfully others spoke in Lithor’s defense. Crabannan was the first and then Thornden, but as Lithor’s senses returned it was his turn to speak.

“Commander,” Lithor called to Thornden, “I thank you for your defense and for yours, Crabannan, but I will speak for myself.” Lithor stepped past Crabannan.

Lord Athanar was about to call Lithor back to his place before he would even open his mouth, but looking at his determination and sensing the feeling in the Mead Hall he decided otherwise and just waited silently, not giving any response whatsoever.

“My lord, I have no ill feelings for you, your family, or your rule. I am a soldier by profession but a jester in spirit when a soldier’s duties are done.” Lithor suddenly began to feel very old. His hand was shaking and his voice was obviously quieter than it had ever been before and sounded very confused. Even his mannerisms were less confident than was normal, like a dog after it had been kicked in the gut.

“Tonight was meant to be a night for merry making."

Lord Athanar would have none more.

“Do you call offending your eorl and his family “merry making”? Or throwing spears in a fully-packed hall? I think master Thornden speaks wisely. Sit back to your seat, sergeant. This will be decided tomorrow. Do not make your situation any worse."

"What is my crime?" Lithor questioned, standing proud and defiant. "I am not accustomed being accused of something so dire as treason without knowing the reasons. Is it not enough that I have offered the better part of my livelihood away as a gift to any member of your house?"

"That's enough soldier!" Lord Athanar was getting angry again. "Do you really need me to tell you what you have done?" He looked at Lithor, but he clearly wasn't going to blink.

Lord Athanar sighed as he really didn't like to spell the thing out in public himself, but Lithor's defiance gave him no other choice.

"You have not only publicly disrespected your lord and his household but actually publicly questioned his rule... well, you have actually questioned your King's decree!"

Lord Athanar draw breath while still looking at Lithor to the eye, but then turned his head to face Thornden.

"Where I come from, questioning the rule of your superiors is called treason... Maybe you have another vocabulary here..."

Lithor was genuinely confused. He had not meant anything as defiance to Athanar's rule; in fact, he considered himself to be rather complacent in the changing of lords.

"My lord, I have not questioned the King's decree! I have addressed you as my lord as the King demands and I have welcomed the King's guests. I was not referring to you, my lord, when I said this. If I have offended you by describing your rule as temporary then I apologize for it," here Lithor paused and bowed apologetically. "But is that not the truth? Lord Eodwine will recover, despite your thuggish usage of the news of this illness! Such behavior becomes lord Tancred."

Lithor for the first time in his life had acted completely out of character and had insulted a lord. He hated the fact that his good will was being twisted so that this new lord could show how tough he is. What Athanar had won in reputation was soon lost in Lithor’s mind as he saw how the lord really was. Lithor did not mind boldness, but he hated Athanar's arrogance. Athanar had nothing to fear from him.

"Enough!" lord Athanar yelled cutting in over Lithor's last words. But then suddenly he calmed down as fast as he had ignited. There was a total silence in the Hall.

"Oh you wormtongue you..." lord Athanar almost whispered the words. "So you said something but then again you didn't. And you both apologise and call me a thug in a same sentence... and lord Tancred, eh? You would have been beaten already if I were him..." He still didn't raise his voice. He was about to make a remark of no one yet having survived a "dead man's life" - condition, but then thought the better of it. That would have been bad politics right there.

"This discussion is over for today." He said in his commanding voice and turned to Thornden.

"Thornden, see sergeant Lithor to his table." Turning to face Lithor yet again, he continued: "Let me not hear anymore from you this evening so that I don't have to arrest you. We'll settle this... tomorrow."

He sat back down and grabbed his goblet. He was clearly thinking.

Lithor bowed as Athanar took his seat. As he looked from Thornden to Saeryn’s eyes, Lithor could sense the deep resentment. Where they disappointed in him? He could not tell, they just stared at him with blank expressions. It was a very foolish move to talk back to his superior, but it could have been worse.

Lithor put a hand on Crabannan’s shoulder and said in a hushed voice. “I have doomed our chances of an early transition. Thank you for your defense, I was not worthy of it.”

Athanar’s orders were to return to his table and Lithor obeyed. He sat down very slowly and watched as the hall began to erupt with a cacophony of angry discussions praising and condemning him. This was not what Lithor wanted, he could not stand it. So slowly, without being noticed, Lithor rose from his chair and made his way from the main hall. He had been thoroughly ashamed of his actions. Some time alone was what he needed.

[Thinlómien]

Wulfric

"I need to pee," Wilheard whispered just after their father had finished his speech.
"Did you need to announce that? Are you four years old?" Wulfric replied in a hiss. He was very annoyed at his little brother managing to get him lost and avoiding the beating earlier during the day.
Wilheard rolled his eyes. "Don't you know an excuse when you hear one, dumb?"
Wulfric raised an eyebrow. "An excuse for what? Not drinking? I didn't know Aedre came here after all, quite convincingly dressed up as Wilheard."
"More speeches," Wilheard whispered in an agonised voice. "I know these parties. It's always more speeches."
Wulfric emptied his cup. He didn't really want to hear any nonsense from these peasants either, their father's speech had surely been everything interesting. "I guess no one is watching us..." he muttered and the two slipped away into the night.

"Speaking of Aedre. Why wasn't the tiny one in the party?" Wilheard asked as they sat down on the grass out of earshot of the party area.
Wulfric shrugged. "Nobody told me. Why so interested?"
"Dunno." Wilheard shrugged. "Didn't you notice anything, o brilliant one?"
Wulfric gave him a friendly punch. "Nah, father said she didn't want to come." Then he frowned. "But he said no one should mess up with her."
"You get my drift," Wilheard said darkly.
"Blimey, when did you develop wits?" Wulfric asked.
"I just haven't been drinking as much as you," Wilheard said simply and laid down on the grass.
"I'm going to find out who did what to my sister and see they don't do it again," Wulfric announced.
"I'm with you, bro," Wilheard nodded.

There was a silence, and they could here loud voices from the party area. Wilheard sat up quickly.
"What was that?" he said, eyeing around.
"Nah just some applause for a speech probably," said Wulfric. He scratched his head thoughtfully. "The sad thing is that they get all the drinks. I'll go fetch some ale from the kitchen."
"Sure," Wilheard said, cocking his head. "And it has nothing to do with the pretty kitchen maids, eh?"
"Kitchen maids?" Wulfric asked, his face slightly flushed. It irritated him that the little wimp could always read his mind. "For your information, the hottest wench around is obviously the peasant damsel in charge of this lot."
Enjoying the astonishment on his younger brother's face and the howling laughter that followed it, Wulfric started to make it for the kitchens.

~*~

Modtryth

Although the worry about the current situation and Lord Eodwine was heavy on her heart, she could not help being irritated by the Cnebba issue. What did he mean by "she deserved it"? They'd need to talk, and rather sooner than later. It was definitely no good if Cnebba and the other boys started being hostile with the new Eorl's daughter.

She was relieved when she could leave the table after the speech. As she had guessed, Ginna, Kara and Rowenna were happy to have her help with serving the drinks and the food. She walked to the soldier table and poured for the household soldiers. They were getting into a merry mood. "What more could we need? This is what we like: good food, good company, and a beautiful woman to flatter," Osmund declared and winked at her. She gave him a stern look but her eyes were twinkling with merriment. Osmund was a terrible flirt when drunk.

She moved on to serve to the other soldiers when Lithor started his boast. She winced. The boastful jerk had never had any sense of social appropriety, and announcing such a boast right after the new Eorl's speech was plain foolishness. Nevertheless she was taken aback by the stern response and the argument that followed. She almost felt sorry for Lithor.

With a little hesitation she approached the Eorl's table, seeing that the Lady's cup was empty. So were the sons' cups, but the lads themselves were nowehere to be seen. She filled the Lady's cup but let the two others remain empty for the time being. When she walked away, she could feel the lady's eyes on her back. She couldn't help the uncomfortable feeling that crept up her spine. She was happy to slip away and go back to sit beside her son and husband. They both had their eyes fixed on Lithor, who was now offering apologies. In horror, she watched him make his situation worse and worse.

"Stupid old fool," she muttered in a barely audible voice as the Eorl dismissed Lithor and he sat back to his table.

[Durelin]

Already unrest among even his own soldiers (what exactly Coen still hadn't been able to discover, he had been kept so busy with what he saw as trivial matters), Lord Athanar's daughter with a bloodied nose, and now a man shouting a challenge to Athanar's men, while insulting the lord and contradicting what he had just stated about his position. They were not guests. Even if they were, Coen was hardly pleased with their hospitality. The folks were civil in his hometown, and they were some hardheaded people, and deeply rooted.

Coen had tensed at the words "guest" and "temporary lord," and he had started to rise at the words "opposed to lord Eodwine." But he remained in his seat when he saw his lord about to stand himself. This was not well for him at all. Coen trusted Athanar's judgment, and knew that something must be done in this situation. He respected Athanar greatly because he was not a man to sweet-talk his followers; he sought to gain their respect, not simply their attention and silver-lined affection.

He knew this type of man, the challenger. He obviously enjoyed his ability to draw all eyes upon him. And with his baited words, he insured that there would be nothing pleasant about this day. He sowed further seeds of conflict, all for his own delight. Coen shook his head, and watched his lord with concern. This lot was going to do their best to string up a good man, and bring down the entire Hall with him.

"There are traitors and cowards in this room, but he is not one of them."

Coen's fists clenched, and he brought his gaze around to all of his men that had ridden with him from Edoras, making sure his eyes met each one. They were to remain in their seats and demonstrate their discipline, and that they did not wish to start anything.

And these men who could not hold their ale or at least their lips...were they both soldiers? Had they no discipline? There was a time for challenges, and a mode for initiating them. The days of hot-blooded warriors and living and dying by men's strength of arms were gone -- the rule of the king and the lords beneath him made sure of that. And these soldiers were meant to enforce that.

Coen wished with every ounce of him that Athanar had not received this position. The man deserved better than this. And truth be told Coen feared he would fail his lord here; he feared he would not be able to control these men, to keep the peace even in the Hall itself. And what of protecting his lord and his family? He looked over to Wynflaed, her face set grimly but betraying no emotion.

He laughed inwardly when Thornden defended the soldier. In no way meant to cause unrest? Coen agreed that deliberation was necessary before a court martial, and he doubted the lord Athanar would resort to such a punishment unless the man continued to demonstrate that he wished to...cause unrest. The new Captain of Scarburg feared he might. They at least had to keep him from gathering other men around him as hot-blooded, such as that Crabannan.

The man -- Lithor was his name; Coen noted it deep in his memory -- attempted to defend himself, as well. So he was referring to some as guests, and not others, and of course only being optimistic about his lord's condition...Coen felt himself being draw in, but then the man commented on Athanar's "thuggish usage" of the news of the man's illness. He had announced to the Hall the condition of the lord, giving them the truth and even telling them that the King Elessar himself might have seen to the man's care. Was that not something to be proud of? They acted as if Athanar had brought the illness to Eodwine, as if he would have planned such a situation as this.

Coen focused his attention and energy on keeping an eye on his soldiers. He would not tolerate a word from them. He would leave all the talking and bringing of order to Athanar, even if he felt sorry for his lord to have to deal with so much. Perhaps, had tensions not been so high from the start, this man's boastful words would have been largely ignored. But with harm already done to his daughter, if not seriously... The lord had reason to be disturbed, and Coen was as well. He both dreaded and looked forward to tomorrow's drills. He would have a better gauge for things then. Today they were all maneuvering blindly.

[Groin Redbeard]

Of all the idiotic things Erbrand had ever heard this had to be the worst. Coming from people who were suppose to lead people like himself. People who scorn him as a peasant and then act like a peasant when they think their pride is challenged. What was worse is that no one spoke up to put an end to the matter. Where is the high proud Thornden? Why did lady Saeryn stay quiet? I know why: because it is best to make an example of one man instead of risking their own necks. One man who had done nothing but cause laughter and promote good friendship amongst Scarburg since its founding and now suddenly charged with treason. Treason, of all things! Why? I know why: because Athanar misunderstood Lithor that is why. So Athanar accuses Lithor of challenging the King’s authority, heh. So Athanar accuses Lithor of contending with Athanar’s rule, heh. Well perhaps if this lily livered lord would start acting like a lord, instead of being paranoid with his precious earldom from the king, then perhaps things can get back to normal! Athanar calls Lithor a traitor for his words and Lithor calls Athanar a thug for his tactics to suppress us. Athanar’s defense will be that he is speaking the truth of Eodwine. Sure he direly sick, but why did he have to cudgel us with it! Then that parchment from the king, producing it from his sleeve as if Eodwine had no hope to live and he were Scarburg’s only hope. I swear that the look on lady Saeryn’s face is enough to make my heart burst with pity. But Athanar’s defense will be that he was simply being honest. You can’t condemn honesty and good intentions can you? Lithor is being called a traitor for being generous and honest!

Erbrand’s thoughts raced through his head so fast he could not see straight. Even if his logic was not correct, something in his gut told him that there was something very unjust in all of this. There was nothing but silence when Lithor took his seat. Lithor should have kept his big mouth shut! It was not like him to pick an argument. Also, Thornden will be unjustly punished for this. That little phrase that Athanar spoke to Thornden was full of contempt. Crabannan might have a hard time ahead of him as well. It was no secret that Crabannan had never been to Erbrand’s liking, but this quick show of courage changed all of that. If the nobles would not speak for our rights, then perhaps it is people like Crabannan who will start speaking up.

The hall slowly livened up but nowhere near the extent that it would have before the outburst. Lithor’s spear still hung at the end of the hall as a ghastly reminder of the terrible argument. Erbrand slowly started to play on his fiddle, but the hall did not seem in the mood for it. He saw that Lithor left his chair and was leaving the hall.

“Carry on Crabannan.” Erbrand placed his fiddle on the stool and started after Lithor. The old soldier opened the great door (nobody seemed to notice the noise) and wrapped himself in a warm woolen cloak before stepping out into the frosty night air.

“Lithor,” Erbrand whispered after him once he was outside himself. The old soldier recognized the voice and smiled faintly.

“I guess I am not as stealthy as I thought. Does the whole hall know of my absence?”

“You will get in more trouble if you leave the table, Lithor. Come back inside.” Lithor looked at Erbrand with surprise. There was a silence and then Lithor began to laugh. Not a half hearted, forced, laugh but a deep throated laugh that one gives when genuinely amused—Lithor’s typical laugh.

“Shhh! You will draw more attention to you!”

“Have you not heard Erbrand, I am a traitor. There is nothing more they can charge me with; unless, of course, Athanar has outlawed laughter.”

“You should have stayed silent Lithor. Athanar would never have gone through with it.”

The smile slowly faded from Lithor’s face and was now staring at nothing. It looked to Erbrand as if Lithor was recalling some past event that was similar to this. Painful memories. “Tonight I took Athanar’s words all I could and tomorrow I will take Athanar’s sentence like a man. I did not argue because he called me a traitor, although that would give any man ample reason to argue, it was why he called me a traitor. Athanar was trying to dictate my actions, acceptable as they were. I am not his horse he can use when needed; I am not his dog to give him comfort and security; I am not some chicken he can spook; I am a man. To allow someone to dictate your conscience for you, Erbrand, is a terrible thing; it sticks in your gut until the day you die. I am too old to start changing.

“I acted like a fool tonight for arguing and tomorrow I will accept the consequences. Go back inside, have some fun before the evening ends. I just need time by myself.” Erbrand watched Lithor walk away without a word. It was scary to watch his best friend sound so defeated, entirely out of character.

The night was a cold one, and Erbrand suddenly realized that he had rushed outside without any heavy clothing. He did not feel like going back into the hall just yet and he door to the kitchen was unlocked. The warmth from the kitchen felt good on his face as Erbrand quickly closed the door.

“What’s this?” A familiar voice asked. Erbrand saw with joy to see Kara come towards him. She grasped Erbrand’s hands in hers and immediately led him to a place in front of the furnace. For a few minutes Erbrand let her fret over his cold condition. Kara’s eagerness to make him comfortable was so refreshing. Usually he was unnecessarily trying to make Kara feel at ease and usually upset a few things in the process. The other kitchen maids were busy waiting on the table for now and for a little while they would be alone.

“What were you doing out there?” She asked.

“Did you hear what Lithor did?” Kara shook her head gravely. Erbrand looked away imagining the whole scene, a flame of rage coming back into his eyes. He wanted to vent his frustration to Kara, she would understand. However, when he began to speak Kara gently placed her hands to his lips. Whether Kara meant that venting would do no good, or whether she thought Lithor’s punishment was just, or whether she simply did not want anyone to hear Erbrand could not guess. This is why he loved her, there was no reason to speak, she knew what he meant. The flame of rage quickly died and for a while he was content to simply just stare into Kara’s understanding eyes. Crabannan’s sweet melodies came to them from hall and suddenly Erbrand had an urge.

“Dance with me!” The excamation caught her off guard. Before she could answer Erbrand had jumped up and pushed back one of the smaller tables. As quickly as Erbrand had cleared the space, he grabbed Kara and lifted her high above his head (he did this only when in his best moods). Crabannan’s song was slow and soft. Erbrand was not a natural dancer when it came to slow songs but Kara soon caught on and took the lead through the song. Erbrand felt as if he was dancing with a daughter of the Eldar. She was too good for him. Kara would never do anything to hurt him and there was nothing she ever needed to hide from him. Erbrand had made a vow on lord Eodwine’s wedding day that he would stop taking everything that Kara gave for granted and be worthy of her love. She had changed his life, but he did not know if he had changed hers as well. He was never the courtier and moments like this almost never happened. For now he was content to forget about Athanar and his troubles and simply hold Kara in his arms until the music ends.

[Folwren]

Saeryn slowly gathered her wits back together. She lowered her hand from her forehead and looked about the room. Talk had spread again among the people at the table, but whatever spirit of good will there had been was almost completely lacking now. Thornden had gone back to his seat. He ate in stolid silence with a face set in an expression of stone. She had to say something now, or else there may remain a permanent split in the inhabitants of Scarburg.

She stood up, using her hands to push herself to her feet. Crabannan wound his song to a quick, but well sounding end, and stepped back to indicate her. She felt cold, and her face was unusually pale. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and she looked in no condition to speak. But speak she did, her voice trembling at first, but growing stronger a she gained boldness.

“Friends of Scarburg,” she said. Her eyes swept across the tables, meeting the eyes of people she knew, and those she didn’t. “Friends, old and new. It is clear that we have all gotten off to a bad start. But this does not have to be so. We are all of us...all of us,” she repeated firmly, “wanting to find how best we can serve the king, and in serving him, serve our new eorl. There can be no rift between us.” She paused as she allowed her and Crabannan’s eyes to meet. Then she continued looking from person to person as she spoke.

“We have taken sides, and this can not be so. We are all Eorlingas. We can all work towards the same goals. I ask you – those of you who have been here in Scarburg for some time – join with lord Athanar for my sake. And I ask you – those who have come just today – join with those people who have been here before for your lordship’s sake. All of us are all the same, if we could only come down to the root of it. Yes, there are tensions, but I am asking you to bring yourselves beyond that. You are men and women of the Mark. Be proud of your brotherhood with the people here. Let us put the strife behind us, and live now together in peace.”

She slowly let her eyes travel about the hall again and then she took her seat once more.

[Formendacil]

"You are men and women of the Mark. Be proud of your brotherhood with the people here. Let us put the strife behind us, and live now together in peace."

Saeryn resumed her seat, and Náin raised his goblet slightly and toasted, barely audibly, "Westu, Eodwine, hál"--an ironic toast of health to the far-departed eorl--and drank deeply of the mead. As he lowered the goblet back to the table, his eyes darted about the Hall. Náin didn't quite shake his head, but his nose twitched, and his lips twisted with mild concern. He wasn't even sure that Eodwine's recovery would be positive for the Hall. Though he wished Eodwine well as a friend, he knew that Athanar was now eorl and would remain so as long as the current situation with the other lords held.

Náin, from his unofficial status as the ambassador from Aglarond to the court in Edoras, knew King Éomer somewhat better than most in the Meadhall--perhaps better than Athanar, insofar as he knew Éomer somewhat as a man, while Athanar knew him as a superior--and he did not think Eodwine would be returned to Scarburg even if he recovered that night in full strength and rode back to Edoras. It was the role of the eorl to be the king's agent in the Emnet, and it was clear that quite apart from keeping the king's peace, Eodwine had become associated in minds of his followers with the bringer of Eodwine's peace.

It was unfortunate. If Eodwine recovered, Éomer would either have to return him to Scarburg--taking priority from crushing Lord Tancred and others, which Náin did not think he would do--or settling him on an estate elsewhere in Rohan, which was possible--maybe even in the Angle, across the Isen where there was talk of settlement. In either case, the anomalous situation of having both the new lord Athanar in Scarburg and the old lady, Saeryn, would be resolved. In Náin's mind, the retention of Saeryn was at the heart of the difficulty. Men, like Dwarves, did not have room in their hearts for two fealties.

The fact that Saeryn was a woman, Náin muttered to himself, was also not going to help things. Men were peculiar about their females, and Saeryn was young, pretty, and pregnant--everything Men were taught to protect. Among Dwarves, it would have been a simple matter: the lord is gone, we have a new lord, but among Men it was complicated.

Náin's perspective on this matter may have been somewhat biased by his observations of more intimate social interactions in Men. For example, as he cast his eye over the crowd, he frowned briefly at the sight of Erbrand. The Dwarf wasn't certain he liked the young man, but he was certain that the young man was thrice as dangerous if he thought Kara endangered. Having noted this jealous streak, Náin had mostly avoided Kara during his frequent visits to Scarburg since Eodwine's wedding, so as to provoke no confrontation. He wasn't sure if Kara had noticed, but what Men noted and what they failed to note had always been a mystery.

Draining his goblet completely, and glancing again at the head table, Náin shook his head--visibly, this time--and decided the whole thing was as bad a mess as dividing Smaug's treasure before the Battle of the Five Armies, and over something far less serious. He considered whether he could find an acceptable excuse in the morning to leave for Edoras or Aglarond, but having only returned to Scarburg the week before, there was too much to be done.

Náin sighed, and determined to himself that, if possible, he needed to get across to some of the more level-headed old Eodwiningas that Athanar was here to stay. Hope for Eodwine's recovery was good, but it was Elvishly impractical.

[Groin Redbeard]

The night was a cold one. There was no wind, thankfully, and Lithor could walk around comfortably so long as he was properly dressed. His walk was aimless. There was no place Lithor wanted to go in particular so simply wondered around the stables. His challenge, Athanar’s outburst, and his defiance revealed a lot to him. First off, know your audience, this audience was not ripe for the picking—his pick had been too hasty. Secondly, that deep down he had no stomach for politics. Around and around the stables Lithor walked each time faster than before until he had accelerated to a brisk walk. His mind thought well when his body was at work with it.

What did you accomplish by speaking back to Athanar. The sentiment in the hall did not change, they all still despised you for what they saw as an unnecessary boast and challenge. All I did was make enemies. I believe saying what I believe, but there are some times when it is prudent to stay quiet. Thinking out loud is responsible for much of mankind’s misery as you are about to found out.

“You insulted Athanar. You insulted him in public! It is perfectly acceptable to insult someone in private (sometime they might even thank you for it afterward) but when you do it in public they tend to think you are serious about it. There was no need to go that far. After all, you were never against the change of rule in the hall, only the haste for it.”

Erbrand
Crabannan’s song ended. Erbrand and Kara stood looking into each other’s eyes still embracing one another, not ready to let go (at least, Erbrand was not ready to let go). Then something quite unexpected happened, Saeryn’s delicate voice came echoing through the kitchen door. Erbrand looked at the opened door and then back at Kara.

“I must hear this,” he said as he sprinted to the door followed closely by Kara. Erbrand held her around the shoulder as Saeryn spoke of peace once again. Was it too late? Saeryn was doing what Athanar could not do, which is to unite the old Scarburg with the new Scarburg. There was no mistaking Athanar’s intentions, he was to be in charge of the settlement by whatever means necessary. Erbrand thought that Saeryn was wise to call for unification instead of Athanar.

“Just look at her, Kara.” Erbrand said looking at Saeryn, frail, timid, pregnant, yet rising above all of that and standing amongst strong men. It was good to see someone with a clear head taking control.

“Before she was lady Saeryn she was just Saeryn: an ordinary country girl with no experience in professional diplomacy or commanding a hall. Yet, to see her now rising above all of that to try to bring order out of an impossible situation—no one has even tried! Saeryn has not only inherited lord Eodwine’s respect, she has inherited his strength.” Erbrand looked at Kara. He was obviously proud at what he was hearing.
“But will Athanar accept her good will?” Kara asked with a troubled look on her face. It was a grim thought, the possibilities of which were not certain.

“He will, he must!” Erbrand’s voice was resolute and determined. “How can he not? Look at her face Kara, shining as light coming through a glass window. Oh to finally have someone that we can look to, who we respect—we must support her with words and leadership and swords, if necessary, and most of all faith in what she does. ”

“Do you not hear yourself?” Kara clung to him; he could hear the shock in her voice. “Lady Saeryn is speaking of peace and you are already mentioning swords.”

“If I have to stand and rail until my voice breaks and my legs collapse beneath me, I will not see her wronged.” Erbrand looked at Kara her delicate form showing courage but frailty. He cradled her head in his hands. “I will not see you wronged either Kara, I promise you that.”

Saeryn finished talking. She looked bolder than she had at the beginning of the address, a natural leader. To speak so boldly after someone had been accused of treason was admirable to say the least. There was no longer any doubt that Athanar would do as he wished when it came to the status of those in the old Scarburg. Saeryn had already been placed at a rank lesser than that of lady, Athanar might bring her down another notch for this. However, if enough people rallied around Saeryn, Athanar might be afraid to do anything to her. Erbrand could not stand it any longer. He had to let the newcomers know that at least some of the remnants of Scarburg would unite behind Saeryn.

Crabannan had been the first, now it was his turn. With a loud voice Erbrand boldly proclaimed “Aye, well said!” He could feel Kara tense up as he spoke. It was an innocent remark that betrayed nothing but his opinion. What he hoped for was that it would provoke other members of Scarburg to find their voices.

[Nogrod]

Athanar listened to Saeryn's speech attentively and with growing pleasure as her speech went on.

So she's the good cop and I'm the bad cop... Well if that is what is needed to accomplish the king's orders...

Saeryn's speech ended and there was aloud “Aye, well said!” from somewhere back of the hall - and Athanar recognised the shouter, it was the same man he had met outside an hour ago.

With the instinct of an old fox lord Athanar immediately stood up and raised his goblet.

"Well said indeed! Cheers to lady Saeryn and her wise words!"

With that all of Athanar's men cheered and it seemed the earlier Scarburgians were in no way willing to be left playing the second fiddle in the cheering. So the Hall was thundering with cheers.

Lord Athanar smiled widely as he turned to look at Saeryn while the cheering was still going on. He made an approving nod and raised his goblet just a little to toast with her.

[Folwren]

The hall had quieted. People had returned to their dinners and conversations were flowing freely now among the people at the tables. Good. Perhaps they were somewhat at their ease. Thornden glanced at Saeryn. She and Degas were speaking to each other. She looked more at ease now that she had spoken her piece and gotten a positive reaction from the people.

Athanar had asked Thornden to speak, but now that it came to it, Thornden did not want to. Even if the others had already recovered from Lithor’s humiliation, he had not. Responsibility hung heavy on his shoulders still, and despite the conscious realization that he really had no part in what had happened, he could not rid himself of the feeling of guilt. His plate was cleared and instead of getting seconds as he very likely would have at any other time, he quietly excused himself to his neighbors and departed from the table and hall.

Briefly he stepped into the guardroom to see if Lithor had gone there. He was no where to be seen, so after Thornden snatched up a cloak, he went out into the courtyard to find him.

A hard frost crunched under his boots as he walked out. He drew the neck of the cloak tight about his throat and watched as his breath went up in a cloud of smoke past the torchlight. Before he could begin to form of a plan of how to search for Lithor, the person in question came round the corner of the stables, walking quickly and in agitation. Thornden strode swiftly to intercept his path and stopped him with a word.

“Lithor?”

He stopped wide eyed as Thornden approached. The torchlight lit up his face, showing the depth of his confusion and surprise but kept Thornden's face a dark silhouette. The silence in the air was now pierced by the eery sound of distant howling. Neither could tell if it was the wind or wolves. Which ever it was, it made for an uncomfortable and foreboding feeling inside Lithor's heart.

"At your service." Lithor bowed as he said this. "Your presence is a surprise," he paused for a moment and took a deep breath. "But it was not entirely unexpected. What is your purpose with me?" It was a dumb question, but one that needed to be asked. Lithor did not know what Thornden thought about his outburst and whether the rebuke that was sure to follow would be soft or hard.

“I wanted to find out where you had gone, to make sure you did yourself no harm, mostly,” Thornden said. He looked at Lithor and regretted that his presence should cause such discomfort in him. “You have nothing to fear from me, Lithor. I have not changed with the coming of lord Athanar. I will guess that I was as surprised as you when he became so angry with you.” His words stalled briefly, for he knew not how to go on.

“However,” he finally said, “what has happened cannot be changed. I expect Athanar to ask of me what should be done to you, and I really have no answer for him. I think you know best where you strayed from propriety, and I wanted to ask you what you think would be the most fair punishment. I do not want you to think that I want you punished, or that I wish to do so unfairly. In truth, Lithor, I believe that were it up to me alone, I would let even your rash words there at the end pass with only a warning. But,” he said, looking back towards the lighted hall, “Athanar felt that he had already been insulted. Those final words were the final straw, I think.”

"Just as the accusation of treason was the last straw for me. I know I have nothing to fear from you, Thornded, so long as I am obedient. And I must say that your offer for me to pass judgement on myself would be like offering the condemned man a choice between a slow or short death-- death will come despite the choice!" Lithor was not angry with Thornden at all, but he was very dissapointed. He thought that Thornden would have known better.

"You are not going to be killed," Thornden said, his voice sharp, not from anger with Lithor, but perhaps with doubt that suddenly attacked him. "I will not back Athanar in such a choice."

"Think with your head, Thornden!" Lithor tapped his temple with vigor. "Learn from what has happened. Lady Saeryn has been ousted from her position by Athanar and he is using me as an example for unquestioning obedience. Did you not see the contempt in his eyes when he looked at you? My action has reflected on your command and right now, to Athanar, it looks very poor. Athanar will do with me what Athanar will do me, your intercedence on my behalf will only make it worse for you and Scarburg." Lithor ended his speech on a grim thought. A silence fell between them.

"I did not mean to sound so forceful, master Thornden." Lithor sounded a bit more timid now, he bowed courteously. "You were right when you said you have not changed, but the fact is that everything has changed. I am old, too old to change and that is one of the reasons why the argument was brought on. But you," Lithor stepped closer to Thornden. The man was more like a boy to Lithor, to think that if Lithor had married his son would be Thornden's age. Lithor had great hope in the younger generation and what he was about to say he could see as clearly as the expression on Thornden's face.

"But you," he began again, "you are young, master Thornden, and you have a great level of prominence in the old Scarburg, which has now been transported to the new Scarburg. Athanar respects you, even if it is little. Don't give him any reason to betray that trust. When Eodwine returns the shift may be very difficult, we will need people who are respected on both sides. And (the Vala forbid it!) if Eodwine does not return you must lead Scarburg to renew the seat to its rightful heir: Saeryn, and later her son! If I have not made myself clear thus far, then in short I am asking you to change with the times. Do not abandon your principles (which a man like you would never do), but co-operate with Athanar and his men."

Lithor was no longer asking or advising Thornden, he was pleading with him. As sure as the stars in the heavens sometimes fall, he was sure that Thornden would one day rise, but it had to be with the rightful heir of Eodwine. Thornden was dutiful and Lithor was sure that he had said nothing that Thornden had not thought over a hundred times; however, sometimes things are clearer when spoken and easier to do if friends support it.

Thornden felt uneasy. He shifted on his feet, and finally forced himself to break from Lithor's gaze. Of course he would cooperate with Athanar and his men, but to do so at the expense of one of Eodwine's men? Not so! That would be to turn his back on more than his principles. That would be to turn his back on his friends, and in effect on Eodwine and Saeryn, both to whom he had sworn fealty.

“Perhaps you have read my position wrong, Lithor,” he said, quietly. How could he say what he had to say, and appear not to be talking badly behind Athanar’s back? He had no wish to strengthen whatever ill thoughts or feelings Lithor had against the new eorl. “I will follow and obey Athanar as far as I am able, but I will not stand by and watch a man innocent of treason be punished for it. I will stand between him and you, even if it means that he will break me while passing. If I am to be brought down to the level of a common soldier, so be it. I was that not more than a year ago.

“But I feel certain that it will not be necessary. Athanar is not a cruel man. Hasty and hard he may be, but he is not cruel. I ask you again, Lithor, take the help I offer, speak to me, and tell me whatever you can that will aid me while I speak to Athanar. Remember, he offered you the choice to talk to me.”

"Indeed, I would rather say this to him in person, Thornden, you understand, but I know that the sight of me will send him into another rage. To tell the truth, the sight of him would do the same to me." Lithor laughed to himself. He wondered if Thornden caught the insult hidden in his words.

"You may tell Athanar that I am sorry for my hasty words. I am sorry for my insults at my better and will accept the consequences of my actions." Lithor did not know what else to say. He was indeed sorry for those things, but nothing more. However, it seemed a till short for an apology.

"Tell Athanar something else from me as well. Tell him that I am a soldier, and an old one at that. I have seen many winters and have experienced the rule of many lords. Tell him that experience has taught me reverence for my superiors and that prudence has taught me the proper ways in which to serve them. I had no intention of an insult of any kind."

It was a genuine expression of his feelings. Seldom did he betray the gloomy side of his heart and he did not wish to show anymore than he had to.

"I thank you for your consolment, master Thornden. It does my old heart good to know that I have friends who care for me. However, if you understand, I would prefer to be alone with my thoughts. I have a lot to think about."

"Of course," Thornden said, nodding. "I will gladly bear your message to Athanar. I am -” he paused, and looked again at Lithor. The man turned his face upwards, expectantly. “I am sorry. . .for what happened. I wish I could have. . .I wish it could have been avoided, and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you there.”

Lithor nodded. “You did grand job stepping in to save me.” He rubbed his chin in thought. "Traitor." he said trying the word of for size. "All my life, I always wanted to be somebody. Now I see that I should have been more specific." A good humored grin brightened his face. He bowed.

Thornden bent his head in answer and then turned to go back to lighted hall and the feasting.

[Thinlómien]

Wilheard

It was a while until Wulfric came back, and he didn't look too happy. And he didn't have any beer.

"Where's our beer?" Wilheard asked. He surely hadn't been sitting on the cold ground for nothing for ages when Wulfric took his time harassing kitchen maids.

"I didn't get any! There was just one grumpy old hag present and she told me that the barrells are all brought to the hall and I can go and get some drink there."

Wilheard couldn't help laughing. The image of slightly drunk Wulf wandering to the kitchen looking for beer and pleasant company and finding just an ugly old cow refusing to give him any beer.

Wilheard found himself laying on the ground, his ear was ringing. "Fool!" Wulfric spit. "Don't you dare make fun of me."

"You hit me," Wilheard said.

"Good point, ninny. You deserved it. For earlier, too," Wulfric replied darkly. "I'm going. Speeches or no, I want beer. Besides there's fire there, so it's not so freaking cold." He started walking back towards the fires.

Wilheard clenched his fists. It would be right to hit him back, but he knew his big brother would start a fight and wouldn't stop before he was one punch ahead. And given that he was bigger and stronger, Wilheard would get more hurt in the process. No, he would take his revenge in some other way. He followed his brother quickly and caught up with him.

They walked a few steps before they froze in their tracks. Two people were talking nearby.

"You are young, master Thornden," said a stranger's voice, clearly an older man. "And you have a great level of prominence in the old Scarburg, which has now been transported to the new Scarburg. Athanar respects you, even if it is little. Don't give him any reason to betray that trust. When Eodwine returns..."

"When what?" Wilheard hissed but Wulfric stepped on his toes. He looked suddenly very alert, and not so drunk at all.

"...very difficult, we will need people who are respected on both sides. And (the Vala forbid it!) if Eodwine does not return you must lead Scarburg to renew the seat to its rightful heir: Saeryn, and later her son!"

"Treason," Wulfric whispered darkly. Wilheard nodded. Scarburg was Lord Athanar's place now, and the rightful heir was Wulf, not any unborn baby of the peasant babe.

The rant went on: "Do not abandon your principles (which a man like you would never do), but co-operate with Athanar and his men."

Wulfric and Wilheard exchanged glances. They waited in eager silence what the commander would reply.

The answer came at length: "Perhaps you have read my position wrong, Lithor."

"Coward," Wilheard mumbled. Wulfric shook his head but didn't say anything.

They listened as the talk continued. There was talk of treachery this man, Lithor, had committed. Wilheard was baffled, and angry. Surely the locals wouldn't start acting treacherous on the first evening? Both the brothers clenched their fists when they heard this old fool offend their father.

"We should tell Father that this idiot is planning treason," Wulfric muttered under his breath when the two Scarburgians were exchanging parting words.

"No," Wilheard protested in whisper.

Wulfric raised an eyebrow and gave him a menacing look.

"I simply think that he has enough in his hands at the moment," Wilheard replied with the hint of a grin. "Surely he can trust his precious sons with some of his worries?"

Wulfric suppressed a laugh and swore affectionately at his little brother. "Let's follow the greybeard. I want to know what he's done to upset Father so."

Quiet as two shadows, the two brothers slipped after Lithor as he walked away.

[Groin Redbeard]

The conversation had wiped out all thoughts from Lithor’s mind. Now he was simply walking for the sake of it and turned his thoughts to more agreeable topics. Each rhythmic crunch of the frozen grass under his feet reminded him of the youthful days and the crunch of gravel under his feet in Edoras. His days as a soldier had been many and he had seen many places and he would be content if he never saw the inside of a city again in his life. Lithor’s trip to Edoras with lord Eodwine brought back pleasant memories of his station there, but he was older now and the streets and people seemed to change. Upon thinking of his recent trip to Edoras, Lithor remembered his stay at Athanar’s house and the peculiar old grouch that he had for a head servant. What a fascinating person. Lithor thought to himself. His unhappiness brings nothing but misery to almost everyone who encounters him, but I cannot help but find amusement in his melancholy. Speaking of melancholy, what are you so upset about, old man? It is like you said: “Athanar will do what Athanar will do” so stop fretting about it. It is like you always say: “cheerfulness is the best road no matter where it ends.”

Finally at peace with himself, Lithor started to head back to the hall. A night’s rest will do him well, especially with the training in the morning. Lithor had walked amongst the tents and makeshift buildings where the “commoners” stayed. He decided to stop by Crabannan’s tent and thank him for the meager defense on his behalf. However, the tent was empty—still feasting in the hall. With his first purpose tried, Lithor turned to his second task before heading to his bed.

“Alright, who’s there?” Lithor asked as if giving up on a guessing game with a child. “I know you have been following me whoever you are. Did not your parents teach you that it is rude to spy on people? Come out so that I may know you better.”

[Thinlómien]

"Alright, who’s there? I know you have been following me whoever you are. Did not your parents teach you that it is rude to spy on people? Come out so that I may know you better."

"Yes, our father taught us manners. But I wonder if your father ever taught you to how to address your superiors, soldier."

Wulfric wanted to make a dramatic pause to increase the effect as he and Wilheard stepped away from the shadows, but he didn't risk too long a pause because he didn't want the greybeard to interfere with his speech; he was having an inspiration.

"But for now, you are forgiven, you couldn't of course have recognised your lord's rightful heirs in the dark. But if I understand the current situation correctly, our father had to teach you something your father forgot to teach you - what a scandal! A man of your age ought to have manners. You are probably twice our father's age."

Wilheard let out a laugh, and Wulfric grinned, pleased with himself. They were edging closer to the man in the dark and enjoying the feeling that with the two of them they would easily overpower the old soldier.

"But there are things I do not understand. One of them is what you said today to upset my father so. He is a wise man, and not provoked easily. The second one is why are you and commander Thornden plotting treason."

[Folwren]

Javan cleared his plate once, then twice, and then became restless as people continued sitting about, chatting and eating slowly. He glanced to his right. Cnebba sat leaning his cheek against one hand with his elbow resting on the table, while with his spoon he pushed about some left over potatoes. Beyond him, Stigend and Garwine were talking together. He glanced to his left, at Garmund, who sat with both hands folded in his lap and his eyes staring straight forward with a dull, bored expression on his face.

“Come on, fellows,” he said, tapping the boys on the shoulders. He turned and slipped off the bench. With a glance at each other, the two others followed him.

“What are we going to do?” Garmund asked.

“I don’t know, but we were all three of us bored beyond endurance.”

“I want to check Snowstreak,” Cnebba said, suddenly. “I don’t think she’s in a stall tonight and I want to make sure she is alright. Would you come with me?”

“Sure. Let’s get a scarf or something – it’s cold outside.” They raided their room quickly, searching for warm garments to throw on, and then as swiftly as possible, so as to avoid detection, they passed quietly through the main hall and then out into the courtyard. They were about to enter the stables when the sound of angry voices reached them. The boys crowded into the shadow of the doorway and peered out.

“Who is it?” Garmund whispered. Javan shook his head. From here, he could not even see the shapes of the people arguing. Without a word, he crept out, following the wall of the stable. They hurried down it, crouching in the narrow shadow by the wall, until they came to the corner and finally came into view of where three men stood, two facing one.

“It’s Lithor!” Cnebba whispered, horrified.

“Who are the other two?” Garmund asked.

“I don’t know either of them. They're new,” Javan replied, shaking his head. It didn’t look good. It didn’t look good at all. They knelt on the cold ground, waiting.

[Groin Redbeard]

So who exactly are these young rascals who sneak in the dark and reprimand me thus? Lithor eyed them curiously as they emerged from the shadows. They were dressed richly, at least richer than him, and carried themselves with a posture that was unmistakably noble. Lithor thought he had seen them somewhere before, but where?

Somehow, Lithor was amused at these two youngsters. One of them talked while the other listened for support, an amusing pair. This young man’s indignation was in vain, Lithor felt no shame at being corrected by someone barely old enough to have hair on his face. Suddenly it became clear. These were none other than the sons of Athanar! Lithor had seen them in the hall; however, they were not there when Athanar and Lithor argued. Where did they hear it from? All was made clear to him before the young man finished. He did not know why, but this type of conversation sounded familiar to him.

“Thornden? Treason?” The thought was too much for Lithor. He threw back his head and gave an uncontrollable laugh.

“You are right, on one matter young master: there are things you do not understand.” Lithor wiped several tears from his eyes. It felt indescribably good to laugh again after all the pressure he just endured. Lithor regained control of himself, but by now he was feeling too happy to be grumpy with this boy and his sidekick.

“Furthermore,” Lithor said in a groan as he seated himself on a nearby crate. The boys were edging closer. They will get no provocation from me this time. “I will not answer you last question, simply because you do not know what kind of a man Thornden is. But as to you first question, your father…”

“Lord Athanar!” The young man insisted calmly.

“Lord Athanar,” Lithor bowed slightly, “and I spoke our minds to each other and nothing more. Besides, you will likely hear from your father what was said. I will not try to justify my part.” Lithor squinted in the dark to try and see the two young men clearer.

“And for future reference, I would appreciate it if the both of you kind gentlemen would stop eavesdropping on my conversations.” The image of these two young men slinking around in the dark after him like Cnebba or Garmund brought a smile to Lithor’s face. That is where he had heard this type of conversation! This is exactly how Cnebba and Garmund would question Javan after the stables incident. So I am Javan and these two characters are Cnebba and Garmund! Lithor threw back his head and laughed again. This was becoming fun!

[Thinlómien]

"Eavesdropping!" Wilheard burst out. This was ridiculous.
"Eavesdropping?" Wulfric echoed, but Wilheard continued before his elder brother could take the lead again:

"A servant may eavesdrop on his master, but not the other way around. You are a common soldier, we are the sons of your lord. You are showing utmost disrespect, greybeard."

Wulfric stepped forwards. "You heard my brother, soldier. Now kneel and beg for forgiveness for your rude words."

"Show some obedience, now!" said Wilheard and gave the old soldier a harsh shove, making him lose his balance and stumble.

[Folwren]

“No!” the word burst out between Cnebba’s clenched teeth. The boys liked Lithor – he told them stories and made them laugh and he was nice, for a grown up. Now he was being asked to kneel and beg forgiveness. It was ridiculous, and they all knew that Lithor would never stoop to such an action. Cnebba started forward, out of the shadows.

“Stop, Cnebba!” Javan exclaimed, leaping up after him and catching his arm. “We can’t do anything. Not by ourselves.”

“But the just shoved him! They’re going to get worse, ‘cause he won’t kneel!” Cnebba cried, pulling against Javan. But Javan was pulling him away, and waving his hand back at Garmund.

“Come on. We’ve got to go tell somebody.”

“We’ll tell father,” Garmund said, running ahead. Cnebba finally stopped fighting and they were all running back towards the hall.

“No!” Javan said. He didn’t slow his pace to speak. “We can’t. That would only start a big fight because your boys’ fathers would run out and try to stop it and then it would be three against two, and Athanar would be furious that there was another fight, and it would be bad.”

“What are we going to do then?” Garmund asked as he pushed open the door. They stood panting a while in the entrance, panting in the warm glow of the torches and looking at all the people still at the tables. “We’ve got to do something!” Garmund hissed at Javan’s elbow.

“Yes…Yes, I know…” Above all else, Javan wanted to avoid another fight. He felt that once Athanar punished one fight, he would punish all the fights that happened that day, and after what he said to Lithor, he did not want to find out what he would say to Javan when he found out it was he who had hit his daughter. “I know,” he said. “We will tell Thornden. He’s in charge of the men. The two men of Athanar out there will have to listen to him.”

Without another word, they started around the square of tables, skirting the edge of the hall and getting to Thornden in what they thought to be the least way noticeable. He was sitting, unfortunately, at the table at the head of the hall, opposite to Saeryn, Degas, and the new Lady of the hall. He turned his head as the three boys came near.

“Thornden,” Javan said in a strained whisper. He skidded to a stop at Thornden’s chair and grasped the back of it as he bent is his head beside his brother’s. Thornden glanced at him and then at Garmund and Cnebba.

“Lithor is outside,” Javan began.

“And two men are bullying him,” Cnebba went on.

“Asking him to kneel and beg forgiveness,” Garmund said.

“And they shoved him and I don’t think he’ll do as they ask, and they’ll hurt him, Thornden,” Javan finished. “They’ve got to be stopped.”

[Groin Redbeard]

The shove rocked Lithor on the crate on which he was sitting, nearly upsetting him and the crate. These boys were becoming obnoxious. Base actions for base persons! So simple and puffed up, as if they had been raised instead of born to their current positions.

Lithor jumped to his feet. He thought of reaching for his sword—that would bring a quick end to this—but he remembered that his sword was tucked away under his cot. His uniform was for the feast and he bore no sword while inside the hall. They outrank Lithor but their actions are beneath him. He would show them some wit and if they still insisted on a fight then let them do their worst. He was not going to strike the sons of Athanar. A crooked smile crept on Lithor’s face as an idea formed in his mind. He was still in a relatively good mood and he was going to have fun with this.

“No bowing today, my friends. Eavesdropping knows no distinction of class; therefore, you cannot excuse your rude actions on it.” Lithor was sure to make himself talk loud and fast so as to not be interrupted.

“Such boys! Such shallow wit and knowledge! Know you not that when a boy becomes a man his pride diminishes and his chivalry grows. For a man with great chivalry indicates a great man: genial, courteous, intellectual, selfless, and courageous. While those faces of yours, those blank inglorious concavities, are devoid of pride, of poetry, of soul, of contour, of dignity, of character, in short, of chivalry. You are too simple. Why waste your opportunity on a shove? A dull, stupid and profligate boy, full of drink and low conversation, without dignity of appearance or manner, without sympathy of any kind with your working peasants and their ways and without the slightest knowledge of how to use the common tongue gently. Born into the ranks of the working class, your most likely fate would have been that of a street-corner loafer.

“These my dear sirs are things you might have said if you had some tinge of letters or of wit to color your discourse. But of wit you never had a grain. Therefore, if we are to continue in our delightful banter, I suggest that you cease in choosing from your poor vocabulary and continue in shoving this old greybeard.”

[Gwathagor]

Lithor trailed off. What was that? He squinted hard into the dark beyond the two young men, where he thought he could see...

A deep black shadow filled the doorway behind Wilheard and Wulfric silently. Lithor could not quite suppress a grin, for the shadow was tall and had loose, ragged hair the color of raven's feathers. It hovered behind them.

Wulfric scoffed at Lithor's cheer. "Wit, eh? What are you, Eodwine's jester? I hadn't heard he kept one."

Wilheard moved towards Lithor threateningly. "You're a very poor jester, fool. From the moment you opened your giddy mouth, my humor has only gone from bad to worse. And now - "

The shadow behind them spoke.

"And now?" said Crabannan. Wilheard and Wulfric turned about in surprise as Crabanan stepped out of the shadow into the lamplight. Lithor grinned wider. Crabannan crossed his arms and looked at the two fellows. "Forgive my interruption, it seems the play is just beginning. Well, the audience is here. Recommence."

Wilheard and Wulfric looked the newcomer up and down. They recognized him from earlier that evening and eyed him darkly. They said nothing.

"Or off the stage, then!" Crabannan said. "And hurry back inside to hide behind your father's robes - ow!"

Wilheard and Wulfric looked at each other and back at Crabannan. He was doubled over, clutching his side in apparent pain. They smirked. He looked up at them.

"I must do something to relieve these cramps," he said. "This is what comes of lack of exercise - ow! I have been idle too long." He straightened up and began twisting his head from side to side. His neck made a cracking noise. He stretched his arms and flexed his shoulders - all the while keeping his dark eyes on the two young men.

[Mnemosyne]

Even if her ears had not been trained to pick out such things, Wynflaed would not have been able to help overhearing the boys' rushed report. She tutted to herself--dashing in the hall like that, making report to someone who had not the authority to deal with such a situation anymore...

Ah, well. It had, after all, only been a day.

But the words "two men" and "bullying" pricked at her ears, and out of habit more than anything else her eyes scanned the hall for her two sons. Her heart sank as she realized that they were nowhere within sight. It would not do to assume things of them, but she knew Wulfric and Wilheard and how slowly they took to the lessons of diplomacy. Her eyes sought her husband. He was finally beginning to enjoy himself, and somehow she had the feeling that his presence would exacerbate whatever problem was currently unfolding.

Standing up in a single fluid motion, she turned to the boys. "Thank you for your intelligence," she told them, in a voice much louder than the one they had used to speak to Thornden. "I should like to examine this matter further. If you would accompany me, sir?" With no further word she turned and swept out of the hall.

[Folwren]

“Oh, but,” Javan began. He flushed dark red with embarrassment, worry, and fear, mixed altogether. “We didn’t mean to bother you, lady.” Wynflaed was already gone. The three boys stared after her, gaping. Thornden stood up in obedience to her request to follow her, and when Javan protested, Thornden impatiently pushed him down into his chair and then quickly followed Wynflaed out.

Javan stayed where he had been sat, and the two younger boys stood on either side of him. All three pairs of eyes watched as the two grown-ups went out to deal with the problem.

“I hope Lithor doesn’t get in trouble again,” Javan said. “I wish she hadn’t gone out.” He paused and the other two didn’t say anything. He looked at them. “If you two hadn’t been so loud and insisted on interrupting and not letting me tell Thornden, she wouldn’t have overheard.”

“We weren’t interrupting!” Garmund said. “We were being just as quiet as you!”

“You were not, I was whisp-”

“Javan.” He turned his head sharply. Saeryn was looking at him from across the table. She raised an eyebrow warningly and tilted her head in the direction of the door.

“Sorry, lady Saeryn,” Javan said, standing up quickly. “Come on, fellows,” he said, and led the boys away.

Searyn turned back to lord Athanar. He was speaking at some length of a conversation that had at first been concerning Gondor and the lands there, but she had lost the thread of conversation when the boys distracted her. Their behavior worried her, though she had not heard anything that they had said. She noticed Wynflaed’s departure, and Thornden’s, and she also noticed that although Athanar had looked up and watched his wife leave, he did not stop the conversation.

She did not know what the trouble was, and as they had not come to get her, she figured she need not worry about it. She ate in silence, turning things over in her mind. So much would be happening tomorrow, and so much would be new. She really had no idea what to expect. So much had to be resolved – Javan’s actions must be addressed, more details had to be settled about her own position in the hall, and most lately, this issue concerning Lithor must be resolved. She truly dreaded that most of all. She felt he was not guilty of treason, but if Athanar thought it, he would try to punish Lithor accordingly, and she told herself now that she would do everything in her power to keep Lithor from being killed. However, even if he was not guilty of treason, he was guilty of gross disrespect to the lord in the lord’s own hall. Saeryn had no desire to see Lithor punished in any way, but she felt sure that Athanar would not let it go unaddressed.

And that brought her mind back to Javan. She had not seen Ædre even once, and the fact that the girl had not come to the banquet made her fear that Javan had done more than just hit her once. They had not had a chance to speak with Athanar before the feast, and she knew that the following day, it would be her duty to tell him who it was who had so insulted and injured Ædre. She did not look forward to it.

The simple fact was, she found herself saying in her mind, was that she didn’t look forward to tomorrow at all. She wished she did not have any dealing with it in the slightest, and for the first time since marrying Eodwine, she longed for the simple status of serving-maid again with all her heart. She wanted nothing to do with these responsibility issues – not when it all had to do with punishment and harsh order. Everything that happened had gone awry.

And what was happening outside, anyway?

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas was delighted to find Athanar well versed in the goings on of the nobles in Gondor. His first thought was that conversing with someone who knew all of the nuance of the City and its inhabitants was like being home again. But then he mentally checked himself, and reminded himself that while Gondor had been his home for several years, and was the home of his wife-to-be, he was born a man of Rohan, and he was now a ruling lord of Rohan, a peer of Athanar, and, as a lord not under Athanar's rule (Degas sent a quick thanks into the West that his own Eorl had nothing to do with his sister), a man capable of calling Athanar by name, and speaking to him as a peer.

While they discussed the impending marriage of the daughter of a man they were surprised to learn they both knew, Degas realized that Athanar was quite an excellent conversationalist, when he was not busy asserting dominance. Degas hid a smile behind his cup, and spotted Athanar's wife leave the hall quietly, followed by Thornden. He cast a glance around the room, noting Athanar and Saeryn doing the same. Even most of the old inhabitants were unfamiliar to Degas, so he was not all together concerned with who and where they were. He shrugged mentally. It was not his problem, and if it was important, someone would come find Athanar.

"Yes," he interjected, "Lady Ivoraen is quite understanding of the matter, but the question remains: will the floods in Edhellond affect the movement of salt cod and pearls to Ethring? After the blight this summer, trade is already much lower than Calembel can handle. If Ethring loses its access to the coast, the King will be looking at a fortnight of negotiations to get enough grain to his people in the west."

[Groin Redbeard]

It was absolute bliss in the hall. No music, no singing, but still Erbrand clung tightly to Kara. Tonight his troubles were ignored and the rivalries between old and new were forgotten as they held each other by the roaring fire in the great hall. Tonight had been waiting a long time to happen. He was at perfect ease around Kara and she seemed to like his company. Oh what a long awaited night indeed! There was a new wind blowing like Erbrand had never known; he was breathing deeper than he had ever done. It felt so natural and fulfilling.

Something small and cold pressed against chest. It was the ring, the same ring that had been given to him by that magician, or mage, or wizard, whatever he was, on Eodwine’s wedding day—the man (if he was man) who performed the wedding vows. Whoever the magician was, he had given Erbrand the same ring that now adorned his neck. It was the same day that Erbrand made the vow to be worthy of Kara’s love. Sometimes it was hard for Erbrand to understand, but he believed Kara was teaching him to be a better man. No longer did he want to take his life and grant it like he used to do. He was undoubtedly in love.

Tonight was another night for a vow. Tonight, Erbrand let go of all his lonely yesterdays and correct the mistakes that he made. With the new people in the hall that meant that there would be new suitors for the women of the hall and Erbrand would have nobody seeking after Kara. Too long had he been deluded in to thinking that Crabannan, or even Thornden, was interested in Kara. He would help her and protect her as much as possible, all the while keeping off potential suitors. The bliss that he felt when Kara was close to him was too dear to be snatched from him, Erbrand would not allow it! From tonight on he would start acting as a man in love should act and openly seek to win Kara as a wife.


Lithor
It was funny to see Crabannan suddenly appear in the doorway. Lithor watched as Crabannan immediately took his side in the manner without even waiting to hear what had happened. Crabannan was always good for an honest brawl.

However, Lithor’s amusement soon turned to dreaded doubt. He did not want this to turn into a brawl. If it was a beating only one man would be marked but to turn it into a brawl with four men would bode ill for himself and mostly Crabannan. Crabannan openly came on the side of Lithor in the hall, it would look like Crabannan came searching for revenge after Lithor had been humiliated. No, there must be none of that!

Lithor had become dull as an unused scythe from his “joy making” tonight. Things were constantly becoming worse and worse because he found everything amusing and what the end result was he did not know. The sight of the two angry boys and a protective Crabannan cut Lithor right in two with sorrow. It made him feel empty and worthless to think that he was the cause of all their unhappiness. If that is how things were going to be then Lithor was going fight it. He would not stand to have these boys bully others like they were attempting to do with him, he would not allow his friends to be rejected by Athanar, and he was going to be the cause of no one’s unhappiness other than those who were scoundrels. How had he become so cold?

Lithor hated that he was jaded and made trouble. This was not him, this is not what he would allow himself to become. His heart was numb, devoid of feeling. Lithor reached within his soul to pull an emotion out. What he ended up with was a mixed feeling of gratitude for Crabannan, anger at the behavior of the two young men, and acceptance for the consequence that might follow.

Lithor looked up at Crabannan (who had not gone in), full of his former self. “Thank you, my friend. You have once again proven that you are more than a roguish traveler. You are a loyal friend.” Lithor turned his hateful eyes to the young boys.

“Now, know that your bullying towards me will be accepted, but I can foresee further acts of cruelty to my friends by your hands. Only then will I fight you! I am willing to let things go as they are. However, if you wish to demand satisfaction for my “insults” then you will have to take it out on my flesh.”

[Nogrod]

"... If Ethring loses its access to the coast, the King will be looking at a fortnight of negotiations to get enough grain to his people in the west."

"I see what you're pointing at... so maybe he wants to replenish his granaries from north of Ered Nimrais? That would be only logical. So from Eastfold, East Emnet... maybe even from here? Hmm... That is actually something to consider."

Lord Athanar pulled back in his seat and took a sip of wine thinking about what Degas had just told him.

After the banquet going so bad in the beginning Athanar had now almost forgotten all the ill words and feelings exchanged. This young lord Degas sure was good company; witty, knowledgeable and even more importantly, he was of a stature he could relate to so much more easily than with all the peasants, craftsmen or the rank and file soldiers. It was not that he didn't care about those serving him, on the contrary, he had always fought on behalf of those who were loyal to him with firmness and passion; but there was a difference in going into informal relationships or just chatting around with a person of nobility and education and doing it with people of lower rank.

And it was such a relief to be able to converse on interesting matters like power politics and general affairs of Rohan and Gondor leaving the domestic troubles behind him for a moment.

Speaking of which; he had noticed his wife leave with Thornden following her and he feared there was something he wouldn't like to hear going on outside... But he didn't want to put himself into any new public argument this evening if he was not forced to do it. It could flame the situation once again just as the general feeling was getting a bit more relaxed in the Hall. So if Wynflaed could handle it, the better. He would have a night full of decisions ahead of him but now he just wanted to put them off from his mind and enjoy the conversation.

Leaning towards Degas he put the goblet on the table and looked at the young nobleman to the eye. "And I guess you know what that means. It means remarkable revenues to these areas - and with revenues one gets power... Now most of the Eastfold, the western parts, is right under the governance of king Eomer so most of the added revenue will go to the king's treasury and will thus strengthen Rohan. But East Emnet? That's just a county ruled by wild independent lords - like West Emnet has been. So the revenue will go to those lords and not to Rohan. And if lord Tancred learns the news, which he surely does, it might make him even more bold trying to cling to that extra-wealth for himself... So we might have to act sooner I had thought and force him under the king's rule before he has more money and power to strengthen his position."

Athanar paused, he was thinking.

"That means we just can't afford these brawls here."

He leaned back again picking his pipe from his belt and started stuffing it. There clearly was no way of putting the pressing matters behind. He sighed.

But noticing Degas' and Saeryn's expressions he smiled again. "Heh, a nice northern habit, even if a bit odd around here. I learned it in Minas Tirith actually, during the war...". After lighting his pipe and puffing it to burn evenly he finally made the question he had been thinking of making for a long time - addressing both siblings.

"Now that we're here the three of us; lord Degas, Lady Saeryn; you know the general air of this Mead Hall better than I do. As long as we don't break the decree king Eomer gave me and my wife, I'm pretty much ready to give your ladyship any status here that would make you both feel comfortable and secure the peace within the Mead Hall. Do you have any wishes, any ideas how we could solve this problem that is not our own making?" He looked at both of them with anticipation, more serious he had been the whole evening. It was clear he meant what he said.

[Formendacil]

Náin was being poor company, and he was somewhat aware of it, as he sat in a less-lit corner of the hall, not far from the fireplace, with one hand around a perpetually half-full tankard of ale, and two eyes darting about the Meadhall. Though never particularly unguarded among Men--or even his own race--those who knew Náin better noticed that he was being unusually taciturn.

The Dwarf was not so much feasting as observing the feast, and while the tension seemed to have been eased since the altercation between Athanar and Lithor, Náin was only somewhat relaxed, as the ale worked on his mood. He was still watching the old Scarburgians, as they interacted with the newcomers, and the soldiers of King Éomer--or, rather, as they mostly didn't interact. With very few exceptions, the Old Scarburgians seemed to be keeping to themselves, speaking mostly with their proven friends and avoiding the possibility of another scene.

Náin noted the exit of Athanar's lady, followed closely by Thorden--and he noted too that it was precipitated by the arrival of Stigend and Garstan's sons. This either meant fun or trouble, and Náin did not think it meant much fun this night, but it was not his place to investigate.

One of the very few ongoing interactions between Old Scarburg and New was happening in the person of Scarburg's new Eorl. Athanar was conversing with Degas and Saeryn, and Náin nodded approvingly to himself. Foolish though the Rohirrim were for it, he knew that the Meadhall would remain divided if the memory of Eodwine could not be reconciled with the presence of Athanar. Saeryn could bridge this divide, and he was pleased to see that she was.

It occurred to the Dwarf, for a fleeting moment, to go over and join the nobles. He was, as the grandson of one of Thorin's companions, and distant kin of the Line of Durin, a Dwarf of considerable lineage, and indeed he was the formal ambassador of both Thorin Stonehelm and Gimli of the Glittering Caves. He was not, however, a bold man, and thus he hung back in his corner, deciding Athanar would meet him soon enough, and that he would not presume on Degas or Saeryn's indulgence. Náin had, in any case, no desire to be identified in Athanar's books with "Old Scarburg"; though he knew them and loved them, he was in Scarburg at King Éomer's pleasure, and had more in common with the elite soldiers sent as Athanar's bodyguard than the vassals of Eodwine.

Besides, what had he in common with Lord Athanar? Náin was a formidable warrior at need, as all the Dwarves were, and had fought well in the Battle of Erebor, though he was young, when the Dale was overrun and Dáin Ironfoot slain before the gates of the Mountain. But he was not a soldier. He was a craftsman, indeed a fine artist. He had more in common with the more advanced labourers of Scarburg, common men like Stigend or Garstan, but even they did not understand fully the art of creation. But then, few Men did.

As he continued to observe the nobles of the Hall, however, he noticed that Athanar drew out a pipe and lit a bowl of pipeweed, and his estimation of the soldier rose. Náin smoked a pipe as well, but this was common among his people. His grandfather, Nori, had said that all fifteen of Thorin's legendary company had smoked pipes. But this was not common among Men. Even in Dale, under the influence of the Dwarves, it was a rare habit, often looked upon in askance as a Dwarven, rather than Mannish, trait, and Náin had never seen one of the Rohirrim smoking.

The Dwarf wondered where Athanar had his pipeweed from. He knew that some was traded down the Greenway from the Shire, inheritors of the trade done with Isengard in Saruman's day, but he had thought it was only sold at Helm's Deep, where the Dwarves provided a ready market, or else in Minas Tirith, where it was said King Elessar paid a handsome price for Hobbit pipeweed. Possibly Athanar did more business with Helm's Deep than Náin had guessed, if he had a supply of pipeweed, and in addition to those about Éomer's court, he might know others of Náin's acquaintance.

Náin metaphorically put this in his pipe and began to smoke it, letting the scent of these cogitations seek into the pores of his mind.

[Durelin]

Coen ate quickly, but often scanning the hall, and especially watching the table the near end of which was filled by his men. One sign of someone having a bit too much to drink and acting a fool and he would be ready to drag them out rather than have them embarrass themselves and the lord Athanar. The banquet had settled into private conversations, and so Coen soon excused himself from the lord's table to pay a visit to the soldiers. He did not feel comfortable sitting at the table with the lord and leaders, but mostly because he did not like leaving his men on the hall's benches for too long without him. He was fidgety -- he had been since before even they arrived, and unfortunately the worry and stress had only been heightened with the day's events.

The 'Captain' approached the soldier's benches, and gestured for them to make room for him. They grew quite a bit quieter, and he smiled slightly. Once he was seated, he looked up and down the benches briefly. His eyes stopped at Áforglæd. "So you decided to show up for the banquet anyway?" he asked the man, not expecting an answer. The soldier's face reddened, adding color to the bruises. Coen would speak to him later, and the look he gave the soldier told him that if he had any doubt.

"I'm glad you all kept your heads about you earlier," he spoke to his men at large, keeping his voice at a level which he hoped would not be heard beyond their part of the table. "If any of you should do anything to embarrass Lord Athanar, and to cause any more problems with the locals, you'll be lucky if I let them keep you on as kitchen staff." Coen spoke calmly and evenly, without malice behind his voice. He was not angry at his men, besides being annoyed about Áforglæd, but he was generally distressed.

"I'll speak with you tonight in the barracks about tomorrow's exercises." Coen changed his tone to a bit more conversational. "How do the barracks look, anyway?" he asked the men, and particularly looked to Hilderinc for information.

He couldn't believe he had not even seen the barracks yet, nor even his own quarters, which he hoped were nearby. His responsibilities had grown beyond what he was used to -- meaning beyond the barracks -- and he was certainly starting to doubt that Athanar had made a wise decision with his appointment. But he had to admit that much of his responsibility was by his own assignation. He never could leave well-enough alone, much less leave someone else to do what he considered his job.

[Thinlómien]

"Now, know that your bullying towards me will be accepted, but I can foresee further acts of cruelty to my friends by your hands. Only then will I fight you! I am willing to let things go as they are. However, if you wish to demand satisfaction for my “insults” then you will have to take it out on my flesh."

Wulfric laughed aloud. This was absurd.

"Bullying? Acts of cruelty? Fight us? Are you mad, crone? I am not bullying you, I am commanding you as a rightful noble of this Hall. I have no interest in harming your insulting scoundrel friend: he seems old and hardly fit. You, on the other hand, are still serving as a soldier despite your years, I understand, and will therefore not avoid my anger if I decide to fight you.

And speaking of fighting... are you seriously thinking of attacking the two of us with that cramped and crippled funny-looking friend of yours? Come on, you're old and aching and so is your friend, we are two young and fit warriors!"

He laughed again, it was so absurd. Wilheard, however, was not laughing. He rolled his sleeves up, glaring at the two friends.

"I think he wouldn't attack us," he said, eyeing Lithor with sheer loathing. "For I see it clearly now. This man, if somebody, wants harm to our family. He has insulted our father and now us, but he has been cowardly enough not to let his fists talk. That is because you only attack the ones who are smaller than you, don't you, soldier?"

"I don't understand what you're talking about," Lithor said coldly.

"Sure you don't," Wilheard said with a bitter laugh. "Wulf, I think we've found the jerk who did something to our sister."

Before Wulfric could react in any way, his little brother aimed a mighty blow at Lithor's head.

[Mnemosyne]

Wynflaed tsked to herself as soon as she heard the voices. Her guess had been correct--and her sons were not even bothering to keep their voices quiet. Who knew how many people would know of this fray by the time the night was over?

"Let me handle them," she said quietly to Thornden.

As she reached the scene she heard Wilheard: "Wulf, I think we've found the jerk who did something to our sister." No, no, no... she thought, hurrying forward, as he drew back his arm, ready for a blow. With two swift steps she was there, gripping his other arm with surprisingly strong fingers.

Wilheard whirled around to meet his mother's icy stare.

"Come," she said, in a voice that brooked no disobedience. "You as well, Wulfric. Thornden, speak to these men and learn from them how this happened. I expect an honest report."

At Thornden's nod she continued walking until she found a safe distance from which she could question her sons. She did not turn to see if they had followed until she was there.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc was already in the happy state of having his stomach full of good food and finishing his pot for already... well, he wasn't counting anymore how many times had he seen the bottom of it this evening. Most of the soldiers didn't seem to be counting either. Áforglæd seemed happy enough and cheerfully led a discussion with several others, until Coenred appeared. Hilderinc noticed that few of the soldiers quietly chuckled when Coenred addressed Áforglæd. Scyrr sitting opposite to Hilderinc seemed as if he wanted to say something, most likely something on the address of the old Scarburgians, but Coenred continued.

"I'm glad you all kept your heads about you earlier. If any of you should do anything to embarrass Lord Athanar, and to cause any more problems with the locals, you'll be lucky if I let them keep you on as kitchen staff."

Hilderinc's face once again did not betray any emotion, but inside he approved of Coenred. The commander knew how to work with people and kept soldiers in line without being outwardly harsh. Even now the soldiers, including Scyrr, seemed to be somewhat calmed down. Coen was their commander after all, and he had authority among the men - also authority of the sort that they have been aware that he was a good commander. Hilderinc, who had served under many commanders, including very harsh ones, arrogant ones and some who have been downright mean, was especially grateful for this.

"I'll speak with you tonight in the barracks about tomorrow's exercises." Not all of the soldiers seemed to be happy to be reminded of this, but Hilderinc nodded. He didn't know why, but he actually felt like doing something. More would be seen after a night spent in the new place, though. "How do the barracks look, anyway?"

The commander looked at Hilderinc. The soldier shrugged.

"I think it is fair enough, sir," he said. "I think we might be a bit cramped -"

"A lot," red-faced Scyrr interrupted him.

"But I don't think it will be such a problem," Hilderinc continued without paying attention to him. Scyrr's face turned even more red as he took another gulp from his mug. "After all, we are just sleeping there. I guess there will be enough chance to stretch our bodies after that..."

Scyrr quickly swallowed the ale in his mouth, but still he did not avoid spitting some of it with his next words. "It's small for the lot of us, sir," he said in a deep voice. "And we are going to sleep in it all the time. Back home it was twice as big and there haven't been any other blighters sharing it -"

"...or those who feel it is too uncomfortable may take double shifts and sleep outside," Hilderinc finished calmly. Scyrr's face was now of the color of a ripe cherry.

"It ain't bad," said calmly Feargall who was sitting next to Hilderinc. "To be honest, I was worried that it will be a hole filled with wet hay."

Hilderinc nodded. "Also, sir, wouldn't there be more space after the Hall's construction advances a bit? I assume there is still a lot left to do."

"I hope they do not expect us to build -" Scyrr interrupted once again, but Hilderinc did not let him finish. Somehow, most likely due to the ale consummed, he felt a lot more talkative than he usually was.

"The barracks are in a quite good place, too," he said. "Especially when you want to go to the kitchen... though I have been almost knocked over twice when going there from inside the Hall, so everybody better watch out..."

A few soldiers laughed. It was unusual for Hilderinc to make jokes, or at least not with obvious intention like this time.

"Kitchens," one of the young soldiers, Baldwic, interposed. "Seen any pretty lasses around there, Hilderinc?"

Hilderinc's eyes briefly shot towards the dark woman who has been serving the ale and then the young fair-haired girl whom he encountered in the kitchens.

"I am sure you will have time to look around, Baldwic," he said, turning to the soldier. "You could have asked some of the girls for a dance, you can still do that, even though I don't hear our musicians now anymore." Hilderinc knew very well that Baldwic has been looking around all the evening, obviously being curious as a young man coming to a new place would be, yet he did not dare to move away from the soldiers' table.

Hilderinc turned back to Coenred.

"As I said, sir, I think the barracks should be fine for the time being..." The interest in the conversation of most of the soldiers, except for those who were sitting close by, seemed to decline. Many were turning back to their own talks. Hilderinc leaned across the table, pulling his mug closer, but also leaning closer to Coenred.

"Sir, I wanted to ask, is commander Thornden going to be with us tomorrow too?" This was perhaps somewhat unnecessary question, but Hilderinc kept an unspoken question behind it too: what does Coen think about his new second-in-command? Hilderinc wondered whether his words would betray anything about the opinion he had formed about the local commander. Despite not being overtly curious, Hilderinc preferred to know what to expect, it helped him to make easier judgements later on. Coenred's opinion on the new commander might give him a better notion of the man he had seen only casually.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"...Do you have any wishes, any ideas how we could solve this problem that is not our own making?"

Degas leaned forward, looking between Saeryn and Athanar. "May I, sister?"

She nodded, as regal as he had ever seen her.

He set his drink down and addressed Athanar directly. "Saeryn and I have discussed the matter at length, and so I know her mind. The question has never truly been Saeryn's position as the Lady of Scarburg, though that will remain an open wound for some time amongst the people. That is merely a matter of peasant loyalty, as they doubtlessly understand the nuance of their household far better than matters of state. It's in the very nature of peasants to remain loyal to those nobles who have treated them well. With time, they will grow accustomed to their new situation."

Athanar inclined his head, acknowledging Degas's point, and inviting him to continue.

"As I said, it is not Saeryn's title that is of concern to us. You see, my sister is with child, early enough yet that - forgive my indelicacy - her gowns are only just beginning to feel too snug, and being stripped of title and lands also strips her unborn child of the inheritance promised to him by nature of his noble parents. While Saeryn would accept the loss of her own station if it were the will of the King - and I would most certainly invite her back to our family lands, where she would live as sister of the lord, with all the rights and privileges of the immediate family of the ruler - for her to accept that option would be to leave her home and the people who have come to signify family to her, and to forfeit the rightful inheritance of her child."

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar draw his breath with the news. He toyed with his empty goblet for a while thinking but then addressed Saeryn.

"So that is how it is, you bear a child to lord Eodwine? And everyone in the Scarburg Hall knows that?"

Saeryn nodded, not saying a word.

"Well I quessed it was so after speaking with this Erbrand-fellow before the banquet... he kind of slipped it even if not openly... But it is good to know it from your mouths - and that it's not just his knowledge, but everyone's."

Lord Athanar pulled back and took a long puff from his pipe to concentrate.

"King Eomer never told me about this... here you just have to believe me. Had I known that, I would have acted otherwise today... I don't stand the way this Lithor acted - or that someone beat my daughter - but I might have been able to suppress things in time had I known what feelings there were running under the surface..."

He leaned back to the table trying to drink from an empty goblet. Disappointed he looked around finally finding the eyes of Modtryth and raising his goblet to show their table needed more. Modtryth nodded and went to the kitchens to get them more wine.

"I see what you mean, it's most unfortunate." Degas added feeling relieved. Lord Athanar was clearly not jumping off the walls with the news.

"Thank you Degas... Well I have to... well, we have to think about something. The king's mission is the first priority whatever our private fortunes might be..."

He looked at both of the siblings studying their reactions.

"So... it's not only your status right now lady Saeryn, but the inheritance then?"

They both nodded.

"I have promised to look after my sister's rights and that's why I am here in the first place." Degas added to confirm the negotiating position.

Lord Athanar nodded in acceptance and leaned back again to think puffing his pipe.

Modtryth was just coming to pour them some more wine when lord Athanar suddenly spread his hands with a seemingly bright idea crossing his mind.

His right hand hit the winecase and a lot of wine poured down to his lap. He turned his eye to Modtryth only to see her grow pale. "What is your name woman?" He asked in a stern voice while wondering if she was indeed a dunleding... Now what is this... a dunleding in my Hall... I clearly know not half of what is going on down here.

"Modtryth, sir, at your service," she replied curtly, eyes downcast. "I'm the wife of Stigend the carpenter... and the humble servant of the eorl, and lady Saeryn."

"Well Modtryth, it was my fault... you were only carrying out your duties. Fill our goblets and then get a towel for me." He said now quite softly even if determinatedly, looking at the woman beside her.

"Sure my lord," Modtryth said and filled the goblets and thus went away to search for a towel.

Lord Athanar seemed not to care of the wine poured on his lap but leaned forward.

"If the inheritance is the problem, I think we could come up with a solution..."

Looking at the confused faces of Saeryn and Degas lord Athanar almost laughed out aloud.

"Now listen to me... this will be between ourselves and not leaked into the commoners... not even to master Thornden... right?" He looked for the accepting nods from the two.

"I'm here on an assignment from king Eomer but I have no idea of spending my retiring years here... so whoever takes the leadership of the Mead Hall here after my duties are fulfilled, and I get a promotion from the king, it's pretty much same to me... so how if we could come up with an arrangement that you lady Saeryn would be the inheritor of this place? If king Eomer is not knowledgeable of your child or has just not thought of it... then we could act by ourselves, or ask his blessing on our deal?"

Modtryth came with the towels and together the two tried to clean as much they could. After a few minutes lord Athanar asked Modtryth to leave.

"I see you have grown into this place lady Saeryn... well not the place... but the people here. And they have grown to you. But you will not defeat lord Tancred which is what king Eomer is asking from this Mead Hall right now, irrespective of how lord Eodwine is. That thing needs to be settled now. And if anyone can do that, I can do that. I know that scoundrel and know his game... and he beat me in the war for honours... with vile tricks... so I have the motive to fight him back and fight him hard. Hopefully not with weapons... but if it comes to that... then even that way. In a duel he will die..."

Lord Athanar took a sip of his newly filled goblet and fell into his memories for a moment. Hearing the heavy thoughts both Saeryn and Degas decided not to say anything.

And lord Athanar turned back to them at last.

"So let's find out a way to show people that you - or at least your child - will have his rights to this community. I think that at the time of your child reaches adulthood I will be far away in other places fulfilling greater requests for my lord - or then I have failed my lord indeed."