Scarburg Meadhall

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc woke up once again earlier than most, but he felt refreshed and ready for anything. Even though the hunt for Erbrand and Lithor could not have been called successful, there was a job to be done today with the local lords, and at least here, the enemy was clear and could not hide from them.

Hilderinc used the moment before most of the soldiers managed to get up, he went to the hall, and shoveled up his breakfast quickly before it became too crowded. It was a part of his loner-side taking grounds during this brief moment: perhaps he did so unconsciously, with the expectations of yet another day spent among the still mostly unfamiliar men of Scarburg and old, too well known men of Athanar's household. There were two sides working inside him: first one, the habit he had acquired during the last eighteen years of his life as a soldier under various lords, to smoothly fit into a new environment; and the other one, more lonely side shunning too much contact, the side which had made him a "queer fish" in the eyes of some fellow soldiers.

But no trouble was on his mind when he entered the stables. Several men already were inside, tending their horses. Hilderinc headed to the one chestnut stallion he had arrived on to Scarburg; the horse had not been in his possession for very long, but now it was his own. Coenred was standing nearby, and Hilderinc saluted him as he stopped near the Captain.

"Hilderinc," Coenred greeted him. "Good that you are here. As soon as everybody arrives, see to that all men assemble in the courtyard, fully ready. We ride out with all equipment. This is not like yesterday."

"Aye, sir," Hilderinc replied. "It was rather unfortunate that we could not catch the fugitives yesterday, but at least the local lords cannot hide from us," he remembered his early morning thought.

"We cannot allow a failure today," the Captain said. His mood seemed somewhat grim to Hilderinc, but the soldier thought that it was no wonder.

"We most certainly won't, sir," he replied. "Yesterday, the fugitives were just in too much of an advantage. With all the time they had, they have fled us easily. After all, if even the first scout did not catch up with them, no wonder that even your search party did not."

Coen frowned. "Scout? What scout?"

Hilderinc hesitated. He remembered the rider he spotted during the morning trials the previous day.

"A scout... a man who left on horseback during the morning trials. Master Thornden said that he was not the one to send him away, so I thought it was a scout whom you or lord Athanar have already sent out after Erbrand back then..."

Just as he spoke the words, the clear implication of what he said formed inside his head. It was clear that Coen had no idea about any scouts being sent, in fact, he was in no position to send anyone out during the trials; and Athanar would surely have told him about a scout he had sent out before him. And who then could have been this rider, this man who rode away? Who could have left the Hall at that time? The thought hammered Hilderinc with full strength - was it possible that whomever he and Thornden saw riding away was one of the fugitives? He was in utter shock, so he could not speak at first, just looked at Coenred's own reaction.

[Durelin]

Coenred was pleased to see Hilderinc, but not surprised. He knew he could trust the man to be at the ready even before he was. But his spirits and confidence that had begun to rise for only moments that morning were seized and strangled by Hilderinc's words.

'A scout.' That had been the term Thornden had used. The lie he had told. Coen had no doubt he would have recognized Erbrand or Lithor on the spot. What had he said about Lithor? Well, nothing as Coen recalled...but at mention of the man he had acted strangely. Had it been Lithor he'd seen?

Again Coen had failed to act on his feelings and again that caused him grief. He should have confronted Thornden more directly. But when had he had the time? And what time did he have now? There had been no time for Athanar and his household to settle in, much less for the character of anyone to be judged except purely by their actions. A man's actions were important, but his inaction could be even more.

"You do say that Thornden saw this rider?" he asked grimly. He did not want to accuse the man if he had misunderstood Hilderinc, though he had little doubt of that. All of his doubts in Thornden were suddenly confirmed, particularly by Hilderinc's reaction to the conclusions he had drawn himself. "He did behave strangely, when news first came to us," he said, a little more quietly.

Coen knew that this would have to wait, as much as he wanted to grab Thornden by his shirt and drag him before Lord Athanar.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

It became clear to Hilderinc that Coen was thinking along the same lines as him. "Yes, sir," he replied to the question immediately, but at the same time he already started to think what all this meant. Thornden had seen the leaving person, and he did not mention that it was Lithor or Erbrand when Hilderinc spoke about the subject. And even though he did not mention it directly, Coen's words implied immediate suspicion of treason.

So was it this way that the newly formed "soldiers of Scarburg" were supposed to work? Thornden seemed to be a sensible person, but if he had helped the fugitives – whichever of them – then his authority has just dropped in Hilderinc's eyes. Was he also one of those trying to ride against the wind? Whatever sentiment brought him to hide this fact from his superiors, it was the most foolish thing to do. Or did his treachery reach further?

Just at this time, this won't bode well at all, Hilderinc thought. He knew enough about the importance of leaders, and the need to keep the men together under trustworthy authority. Lord Athanar obviously wanted to help bringing the old and new Scarburgian soldiers together by putting Thornden in command. But what would become of the unity in such a case?

Hilderinc knew that it was not upon him to judge this. He drove all emotion away from his voice as he recounted to Coenred what he knew.

"I think I saw the rider saluting to commander Thornden, and then riding away. When I asked him about it later – I assumed that it was a scout – he only said that he did not send the man, and..." Hilderinc tried to remember, but his sharp memory served him well this time, "- and that if somebody had sent the man away, it must have been somebody else."

[Folwren]

Thornden hefted his saddle up on one arm and reached for the bridle. His heart was a little lighter this morning than it had been yesterday evening. What was to be done about Erbrand and Lithor was done and no one there would or could do anything more about it. All that lay before them seemed clear and straightforward. Nothing more could go wrong. The lords of the surrounding lands would listen to Athanar and pay, the men would work together, and all would be well.

So he hoped, anyway, but as he carried his saddle to his horse, passing other soldiers on the way, he went by Coenred and Hilderinc. He could not but help hear Hilderinc’s words as he passed, “…saluting to commander Thornden, and then riding away. When I asked him about it later – I assumed that it was a scout – he only said that he did not send…”

Thornden did not stop to hear what else he said. He did not even turn his head as though he had heard. He continued to his horse and set the saddle on the aisle wall. He stroked the horse’s shoulder firmly and then ran his hand down his back. Worried questions ran swiftly through his mind about what Hilderinc was saying. Finally he shook himself out of his reverie. “That’s not good, whatever it is,” he said to his horse, and then began saddling.

[littlemanpoet]

He had slept through the night, and had woken with the dawn, still feeling very weak. Once he had taken a little food and drink, however, he felt much better. He bathed and dressed and walked a little bit, exploring the Houses of Healing and the gardens and the balcony that overlooked the lower levels.

He looked to the east and saw the mountains of the lands of Mordor, and shivered. The evil of the Dark Lord had been removed, but the memories lived on. Still, other evils lurked in the mountains and hidden recesses of Mordor, and some of them might never be completed cleansed. He shivered again and turned away from it, feeling his weakness again.

He returned to the apartment where he had lain as one dead for weeks. The steward of the Houses of Healing had dispatched a message to Scarburg as he said he would, and now Eodwine wished the time away so that he could be reunited with Saeryn. He wondered how she fared. Surely Thornden was taking good care in his place. He knew that he needed regain his strength quickly, for surely Thornden must be overburdened with the duties of an Eorl. He wondered if they had begun to build the Hall. He recalled the names of each of them and tried to bring to mind all he could of each of them. So he spent the few hours of his wakefulness until sleep beckoned long before sundown.

[Firefoot]

It really was difficult to get much done with so many people in the stable, Léof mused as he worked his way back to Æthel’s stall with a pail full of clean water for her. Perhaps he just ought to see to his own breakfast and come back when everyone had left. That might not be such a bad idea.

When he reached the stall he saw that Thornden was standing nearby, saddling his horse, whose stall was the one next to Æthel’s. “Good morning, Thornden,” he said.

“Same to you,” Thornden said, though his reply came a few seconds late.

“Is everything alright?” Léof asked as he hung the pail in Æthel’s stall. “Are you worried about the meeting with the landlords today?”

[Durelin]

Coen's jaw was gripped tightly. There was no doubt in his mind now that Thornden had seen one if not both of the men riding away. There may have been no reason for Thornden to detain them then, but once he had learned what happened to Scyrr, the man lied. He saw no reason to tell the truth, for the sake of two troublemakers? He now risked a great deal more than if he had given up this information.

"Thank you, Hilderinc," he said quietly. The weight of a poor night's sleep was now catching up to him. "It is perhaps no matter now, except to know that he cannot be trusted." Which was a great matter to him.

Coen kept his voice low. The stables were getting busy as the men prepared to leave. Thornden might be among them. He would not keep this from Thornden long, but it would have to wait until after the day's concerns. Today there would still be peace between them.

The Captain lead his horse fully tacked out of the stables and into the yard.

[Folwren]

Was he worried about the meeting with the landlords? "No, not really," Thornden said. He tightened the cinch mechanically while looking across his horse's neck to Léof. "I think that Athanar will have everything in order so that everything happens smoothly, as it should."

He paused while he adjusted the bridle in his hand before slipping it over the horse's head and sliding the bit into its mouth.

"You're coming with us, right?" he asked as he prepared to lead the horse out from the stables.

[Folwren]

Saeryn spent the morning ensuring that in the kitchen food was being prepared and packed for the men going out and checking up on the Scyrr. Ǽðhel had been up with him most of the night, and this morning as Saeryn came into his room, Ǽðhel was coming out.

“How is he?” Saeryn asked as they stood just inside the door.

“He will do well,” Ǽðhel replied. She looked over at Scyrr. “He had a slight fever last night, but I think it has gone. He will mend.” She told Saeryn what she could and when she had finished, Saeryn nodded and told her she might go and get some sleep, now that Scyrr seemed to be resting peacefully.

They parted; Ǽðhel to take some rest and Saeryn to go and find something else to turn her mind to. She felt somewhat ill again this morning, and she hoped that very soon this sickness would stop.

She came into the main hall and glanced about. It was quiet here, for most of the men were outside preparing their horses for the day’s ride. One group of five or six men stood by the fire, talking. There, coming out from the bedchamber, came Wynflaed. Saeryn went towards her.

“Lady Wynflaed,” she said. “I thought that today we might go about the house and I show you everything that is done here, as you suggested a couple days ago. With the men gone, things should be quieter than yesterday.”

[Firefoot]

Did Thornden really expect Léof was coming along? He was an ostler, not a soldier – his place was here, was it not? Or was this some duty that he was unaware of? Riding out after Lithor and Erbrand had been one thing (and almost more of a joy ride than aught else), but surely this was meant to be a showier affair.

“Am I? I mean – that is, I had not thought to,” Léof said. “I thought Lord Athanar spoke only to the soldiers last night. You are all riding out fully arrayed, but I have no sword and wear no mail. What would I do but sit there and look out of place?”

[Folwren]

“I thought you could probably come if you wished, to help with the horses and preparations of meals and things of that sort,” Thornden said. “I think you could be of service, and I imagine you would enjoy yourself riding out with the rest of us as opposed to staying here.” He ensured that the reins were secure over the saddle and gave his horse a last, affectionate pat on the shoulder. “Come if you like, Leof. I need to go and see the other arrangements are being taken care of.”

He turned and went out, and as soon as the conversation with Leof was out of his mind, his thoughts flew back to what he had overheard Hilderinc say.

He was crossing the yard when a rider came trotting down the road towards the hall. Thornden saw him as he drew near the out buildings and turned to meet him.

“Hail,” he said as the stranger drew rein.

“Hail,” replied the rider. “I bear a letter from lord Randvér to his daughter Ginna.”

Thornden smiled, thinking the letter bore glad tidings for Ginna and would give her father’s well wishes for her match with Harreld. “I will see that it is taken to her,” he said. “I am the steward of the hall.”

The messenger nodded and reached beneath his cloak for the letter. “We have not yet broken our fast,” Thornden said as he took the missive. “Come, dismount and rest your horse while you eat with us.”

The messenger accepted his offer and dismounted. Thornden directed him to where he could take his horse. As he went towards the trough to water his mount, Thornden turned towards the kitchen.

“Thornden!”

Thornden turned to look, and there came Harreld running up. "Will the Eorl let the messengers go to Garreth?"

“Aye, they did,” Thornden answered. “They will see him after they have audience with the king. Here, speaking of messengers, one just rode in a moment ago, from Ginna’s father.” Harreld’s expression became attentive. Thornden smiled broadly. “Here is the letter. It is for Ginna, and I trust you shall get it to her.” He clapped Harreld on the shoulder and passed him, leaving him standing in the yard with the letter held in his hand.

[Mnemosyne]

He had left her to sleep in. Again. "New hall; new habits," Wynflaed had warned him, but Athanar did not seem to want to change this one. Judging from the sun in the sky, a third of the morning had wasted away, and if today was to be the day that the men rode out, they had left the Meadhall long since.

Sighing, she called for Lilige, dressed, and considered what would be the best use of the day with the menfolk gone.

It would be good to get a better feel for the workings of the hall, but there was much else to be done. She decided for the moment to continue the inventory that had been interrupted the previous day, and walked into the main hall. The lady Saeryn came towards her and said, “Lady Wynflaed, I thought that today we might go about the house and I show you everything that is done here, as you suggested a couple days ago. With the men gone, things should be quieter than yesterday.”

"Thank you, Lady Saeryn," said Wynflaed. "I was considering asking your help in that very thing. I should very much like to see the way the Hall has operated on a normal day, and, barring a fire, I doubt to-day will reach yesterday's level of... unrest." She smiled. "And, if you do not mind, I should like to hear a little of yourself, since we shall be working so closely, and since my husband and I are to be adopting you."

[Firefoot]

Come if you like. Léof worked that over in his mind for a couple moments as Thornden left the stables, trying to figure out if that really was all there was to it. Finally Léof decided that Thornden usually said pretty much what he meant, but that if Thornden had made the assumption that he was coming along in the first place, maybe he ought to go.

Then he needed to hurry. Several soldiers had already led their horses out of the stables. He knew better than to run in the stables but he strode as quickly as he could down to the tack room where he fetched his saddle and bridle. He returned to the stall, nearly colliding with one of the soldiers as he rounded the corner, and in almost no time at all had Æthel tacked up. He looked her over with a critical eye and decided that she, at least, looked more than presentable.

“Come on, then,” he said to her, and led her out into the courtyard where the soldiers were gathering, half-wondering what he was getting into.

[littlemanpoet]

“Here is the letter. It is for Ginna, and I trust you shall get it to her.” And Thornden was gone. Harreld stared at the small paper in his hand. He had never seen a letter before, much less handled one. He had come across scrolls and such, but not this new fangled Holbytlan thing. It had candle wax sealing it shut. He wondered what that was for. Was it supposed to be unseen by some folk?

Harreld new his letters. To be good in the business of smithying, he had to be. He read the outside of the paper. It was from Randvér, Ginna's father. Harreld caught his breath. This could be his word giving his yes to their betrothal. He started walking, aimless of his direction, and not thinking a sealed envelope indicated privacy, he opened it eagerly, and read.

My daughter, greetings. I hope you are well. You are missed here at home, but I am well.

I hope you do not take my silence over the past moons to mean that I have forgotten you. In truth, all this time I have been giving careful thought to your wellbeing, but with Eodwine's illness I felt I could delay this letter no longer.

I had little doubt you would find a good man in Eodwine's household for it would be unlike my friend to have ruffianly men in his charge. Take his right-hand man, Thornden, for example. He is hardworking, loyal to his lord, and good to his lord's folk. From the first I took a liking to him in the former mead hall. Had it crossed his mind to win your hand I would have granted him his wish. I think it likely he will not stay unwed for long, and seek the hand of Lady Saeryn. They are both young, both love their lord, and nothing could be better for the folk of Scarburg - though I'm unsure I could say the same for you.

Do not mistake me, I know what you see in the smith Harreld. He is a man of gentle manners and careful speech, and he treats you with the honor meet to a woman of your lineage. You are of the right age to choose for yourself, but know, my daughter, that in all of this I seek only the best for you, and should you entrust to me your future this is how I would have it.

Harreld stopped in his tracks and looked ahead vacantly, crestfallen. Ginna's father wanted Thornden for son-in-law, not himself. This was something he never should have read! Maybe that was why it had been sealed. His hands shook. He would reseal it and give to Ginna. No, there was no way he could be the one to give this to her. She might think he had read it! He would give it to one of the women and act as if he had never seen the contents.

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar had slept well despite the not so happy conditions at the Mead Hall. That was one of his advantages: while some totally lost control of their rhythm and sleep when under pressure, lord Athanar had always had a gift for sleeping soundly. He woke up early and got himself prepared both mentally and physically - finally getting into full gear before coming to the hall.

So he came downstairs a bit later than most others. He enjoyed a slow and full breakfast watching the slowly dying hussle and buzzle in the hall as the men went out to prepare their gear for the ride. He was ready.

Seeing that the last of the riders had left the hall he slowly rose up after wiping his mouth and beard clean with a cloth. Off we go then...

He went outside and looked for a while the gathering of men and the last minute preparations being underway. And he smiled. This was something he truly enjoyed; the concentration and the busyness of the men preparing to go, the feeling of tension before an errand... He draw a deep breath of the fresh and cool autumn air and felt it filling his lungs with its' scent. It was clearly different from Edoras; crispier, but damper at the same time, a bit sweet... He closed his eyes just to preserve the moment.

[Folwren]

The word came to mount up. There was a rustling and a clopping of hooves as men led their horses out and gathered the reins in their hands before grasping their stirrups and stepping up into the saddle. They took their spears in their right hands and rested the shaft on the stirrup and then arrayed themselves, four riders abreast across the road. Athanar rode down the side of the line, casting a sharp and critical, though approving, eye over them. Behind him half a pace, Coenred rode to his right and Thornden to his left.

Quin found himself at the rear of the column of riders. Hylath was on his right and just to his left was the stable hand, Léof. “Hullo,” Quin said, turning his head to speak once Athanar rode back towards the head of the line. “I’m glad to see you’re coming, too. Meet Hylath. He’s been in Athanar’s guard for six years.”

Hylath looked across at Léof and nodded. “We have met in the stables. You’re fairly young yet, are you not, stable master? Why not, as we ride, you tell us about yourself, and how you came to be here?”

[Folwren]

“I certainly hope today does not reach yesterday’s level of unrest!” Saeryn said. “I will tell you whatever you ask of myself, though it is hard talking of oneself a great deal. Come, let us go to the kitchen first and see what there is to be had of breakfast.”

They walked together to the kitchen and Lady Wynflaed set the example to sit at the kitchen table and break her fast there. Saeryn joined her, happy to see that she was not so superior that she could not sit with the women who served her. Kara set two boals of steaming porridge before them.

“Kara,” Saeryn said before picking up her spoon. She reached out and took Kara’s hand. “How are you doing today?”

“Better, Saeryn,” Kara said, glancing briefly across at Wynflaed.

“It is alright,” Saeryn told her reassuringly. “You may speak freely before lady Wynflaed.”

“It is a little hard, getting used to his not being here. But I will soon be well.” Saeryn smiled, and pressed her hand before letting go and turning to her breakfast.

“We may as well start in the kitchen as anywhere else,” Saeryn said. “As you can see, Fordides, Kara, Modtryth and Ginna manage quite well with things. I help when I can. There will be a lot more to do with more men here. I am glad that you have brought your maid servant with you. Will she be able to help with the household duties?”

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar passed the troops and he was pleased. He was so pleased.

He was no friend of plotting and backstabbing, no friend of conspiracies and all that politics. He was an aristocrat to the bone, but his ideal was the ideal of old; the ideal of aristocracy on horseback, in the windy plains ahead of his troops, in the midst of action, doing things, acting on matters openly... And now he felt he could leave all the problems behind him for a while and he would lead the men doing things together, having a single purpose to serve the king and the country. He wanted so much to forget all that stuff with Erbrand and Lithor, to forget all the rows and tensions within - and now he had a chance to focus on what was his to do.

"Men of Scarburg!" He shouted as he had taken his position in the lead with Coen and Thornden and turned to face the men.

"Men of Scarburg! Today we ride as one, as eorlinga!" He looked at the men and let them cheer - but broke in soon enough not letting the cheers to die themselves.

"We're not going to war and we're not going to any confrontation! Keep that in mind. We're going to meet the local lords... I have only been told about it, but those of you who came here with lord Eodwine saw the pomp with which they came here for a show-off. So let's make sure we'll show them in turn what the King's Mead Hall is about! Discipline, honour, alertness, readiness... and cool heads!" He took a pause glancing at Coen and Thornden, nodding at them both as his eyes met with theirs.

"You're not to answer to any provocation by yourselves - if there is one - and you shall follow the orders of the venerable Coenred while I'll conduct the talks with master Thornden."

There was a buzz of whispering and soldiers looking at each other with the announcement. Athanar turned to Coen and nodded slowly with a comforting face. He knew his first officer would understand this deal... he needed Coen as the highest ranking officer to lead the men if it came to that - and he trusted Coen's judgement after all the years they had rode together - and he both thought Thornden to be more wise with the local lords and he wanted to test him, as how he would cope with a possible situation of pressure.

He turned to Thornden and smiled encouracingly before turning back to the men on horseback.

"Let's ride men! For the King and the Scarburg Mead Hall!" With the howl of men on his back he turned around and spurred his steed to lead them from the yard and to the road.

[Firefoot]

For once, Léof was grateful when Athanar started giving another one of his speeches, thus interrupting all conversation. He paid little attention to Athanar’s words, however, for he was preoccupied with trying to figure out how he might respond to Hylath.

So few knew his true story; since coming into Eodwine’s employ, he had told only one person the full truth about why he had left home, and he had not seen her in many months. At first, the truth had shamed him, so he had kept it hidden for fear of losing his position. Now he was secure here, and time had lessened the sting of banishment from his father’s home. What was more, if ever he was to rescue his sister Cerwyn, the truth must come out eventually.

It was not as though he had ever lied about it. Well, once. To Garwine, some time ago. But he thought that mostly he had simply neglected to tell anyone anything, which was his right, perhaps: to bury his past if he saw fit. But he supposed that the past could never be truly buried… and perhaps it was time he was honest with someone, at least a little bit. He liked Quin well, though he knew little of Hylath. He was out of time to decide, however, for just then Athanar was declaring, "Let's ride men! For the King and the Scarburg Mead Hall!" Léof nudged Æthel with his heels and they were off.

“So, you were about to tell us of yourself,” Hylath prompted, resuming the conversation.

“Well, I was raised out in the West Emnet, in a village some days’ ride from here. It was a good life, though I fear I had little desire to farm as my father did. My father and I… I fear we did not get along well, and last spring we had something of a falling out, and I left. I came to Edoras hoping to find a place for myself, just as Lord Eodwine was setting up as Eorl. This was before he moved out here, you see. He had a place in Edoras, then – it used to be an inn. Anyway, I had always taken care of my family’s horses, and Eodwine had need of an ostler, so here I am.”

[Lhunardawen]

As Saeryn and Wynflaed talked and Kara began washing the pots and ladles Frodides used for making breakfast, Ginna went to the dining hall to gather the dishes left after the men had eaten. She took one glance around and sighed, walking toward the nearest table. The women had been much busier now that Lord Athanar had taken over the eorlship of Scarburg as he brought with him more people to add to the household. Perhaps today, she thought as she stacked a dirty bowl on top of another, the workload could be lighter with some of the men gone. She did not feel very optimistic about it.

Ginna approached the last messy table, the one closest to the doors, and saw a folded piece of paper lying close to a bowl. She put down the tray she was holding, wiped her hands on the apron around her waist, and took it. A letter from her father! She wondered why it was left there instead of handed directly to her, but it was quickly replaced by excitement as she realised what it possibly contained. She had half a mind to open it right then and there until she remembered that Kara was waiting for her. She dropped the letter in the pocket of her apron and walked back to the kitchen with the dishes.

There was only one thing her father could possibly write her about, that they had failed to discuss when he had been in Scarburg months ago. Randvér had to return to his lands sooner than he expected, but not before meeting Harreld and seeing him with her. If Rand did not approve of Harreld, he would have had no trouble letting her know immediately. As it was, it seemed he had to think things through. Ginna took it as a good sign.

"Frodides, may I step outside for a moment?" she asked as she dropped the tray full of dishes beside Kara.

"Go ahead. Just make sure you come back soon."

Ginna headed back to hall and sat on one of the benches. She took out the letter, tore off the seal, and read. It left her dumbstruck, quite unsure of how to respond. She read it again.

Take his right-hand man, Thornden, for example. He is hardworking, loyal to his lord, and good to his lord's folk. From the first I took a liking to him in the former mead hall. Had it crossed his mind to win your hand I would have granted him his wish.

Ginna was not surprised. She had always known Thornden was the kind of man her father would want for a son-in-law, which was probably why she never considered being with him. Perhaps unconsciously it was her way of silently rebelling against his efforts to control how she lived her life.

Do not mistake me, I know what you see in the smith Harreld. He is a man of gentle manners and careful speech, and he treats you with the honor meet to a woman of your lineage. You are of the right age to choose for yourself, but know, my daughter, that in all of this I seek only the best for you, and should you entrust to me your future this is how I would have it.

You are of the right age to choose for yourself. Ginna guessed it was the closest she could get to an approval, and thought sadly that it was far from what she had hoped for. She had dreamt that the man she loved would be able to win not only her heart but also her father's, and it was not so. But if such an approval would be enough for Harreld, then it was enough for her. Rand may seek the best for her, but now she knew what it was better than he.

As she stood and made her way to Harreld's smithy, she thought about what her father said about the likelihood of Thornden and Saeryn being wed to each other. It never occurred to her, but it made sense. Would she dare broach the subject with Saeryn?

Ginna saw the smith already hard at work, trying to do alone a job equivalent to that of two smiths. "Harreld," she said, "may I disturb you for a while? There is something we need to talk about."

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld had gone directly to his smithy after breaking his fast. He had no doubt that the letter would find its way to Ginna's hands. As he stoked the hearth and prepared his tools, he gave thought to this new trouble.

Would Ginna come to him, or not? If she saw the same thing as he, she might stay away from him, which would be hard to bear but would allow for her father's will to come into play. What if she did not see how things stood, but chose to be stubborn, not heeding her father's will? Then she would come to him and say ... what? He had no idea. But to be sure she would want to stay betrothed.

The hearth stoked, he prepared the hammers and swords and mallets and soup ladles to be repaired or honed. What if she tried to say to him that all was well? He could not bear it.

The first sword was ready. He took his hammer, laid the sword on the anvil, and began to ply his trade. A shadow appeared in the door. She came in. His heart lurched. She was everything to him, yet he could not keep her.

"Harreld," she said, "may I disturb you for a while? There is something we need to talk about."

A fair question. How could he speak to her? A knot formed in his throat. He blinked hard and scowled, wiping the sweat already formed on his brow and the moisture in his eyes with it.

"Now is not the time," he said gruffly. "Have you no work in the kitchen? Leave me to my chores, Gi-" his throat caught on her name. "Leave me!" He hammered hard and fast, giving her no chance to gainsay him.

[Lhunardawen]

A strong urge to hurry out in fear came over Ginna, but she knew it would be unreasonable to do so. Harreld had always been gentle, and he loved her. He would not do anything to hurt her. But she felt an equally strong urge to demand whatever the matter with him was. This outburst was different from the ones before it, and she guessed it had nothing to do with having too much work in his hands.

It took all her willpower to fight down both urges. She knew Harreld, he would soon come around. When the time was right he would seek her as he always did and tell her his thoughts. She only needed to wait until he was ready.

Harreld gave her no more notice, striking his hammer at a sword as though his life depended on it. She wanted to walk towards him and wrap her arms around him, but she had to respect his wish. For now she had to be contented with conveying her concern through her words.

"You know I'm always here for you, Harreld," she said loudly enough, not letting his hammering drown out her voice. And she left.

[Folwren]

“Must’ve been quite a falling out for you to have left for good,” Hylath said when Leof had finished. “Quin, here, I imagine would give his right hand to be able to have his father back.”

Quin looked a little annoyed. Hylath was a good meaning fellow, but he spoke in an offhanded way on occasion that could be hurtful. Quin had been around so long that it didn’t affect him much at all anymore.

“Never mind,” Quin said. “I didn’t know lord Eodwine was so newly made an eorl. Why was he moved out here?”

“It makes more sense that he was moved than to stay in Edoras,” Hylath interjected. “What is the need of an eorl holding court in Edoras? The king is there already. It is much better than Eodwine was moved here, closer to the land over which he holds his eorlship.”

Quin turned to look at Leof again and shrugged, as though to apologize for his friend’s brusque manner. He thought of any question to ask, just to keep talking and keep his mind off of the long, cold ride ahead. “How old are you, anyway?”

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld kept hammering long after Ginna had left. He had been thinking about what she had said last: I'll always be here for you. So she did not heed her father's will. This was going to be hard. He broke off hammering.

Why could she not understand? Yes, of course he loved her and wanted her to be his wife, but it was not to be! Could she not see that? He hammered the sword hard three more times; too much. He had bent it, and now he would have to reheat it and start from the beginning. He threw his hammer to the floor; it bounced and clattered against a pile of slag iron before coming to a rest. He shoved the sword blade back in the oven.

He stared at the fire. His face slowly melted from rage at the sword to sadness about Ginna. His hands, which had been at his hips, fell to his side. You fool, he told himself, your words were cruel. She did not deserve them. She had come too soon, before he had had a chance to ready any words that would not have him melting into what she wanted - what they both wanted. How am I to get her to see that she must obey her father's will, no matter how much we love each other?

There was only one way: he would have to behave as if he did not love her any more. The moment he seized upon this plan, he collapsed onto his stool. It broke beneath the force of his fall, and he fell to the stone floor, weeping. He did not notice until later that a sharp point of the wood of the stool gave him a cut along his ribs beneath his right arm. It was more than a minute before he regained control, set the stool aside, and went about his work, his face settled now into grim mourning.

[Mnemosyne]

“I am glad that you have brought your maid servant with you. Will she be able to help with the household duties?”

"Indeed, she shall," said Wynflaed, for it was always important to get a second set of eyes in the household, and one often saw more things from below than above, where people were more likely to hide. "Of course, if the additional burden of men becomes too much, I can look into hiring another hand. And," she added, "in the worst of emergencies, all may--and often must--work."

Her mind returned to Kara, who was now working through the large stacks of dishes. It would be well to ease this one's mind, if only to make the rest of the kitchen more harmonious, and thus better working. Strange, how the politics of the country mirrored those of Edoras so clearly!

Ginna was the one who had just left for the Hall, which left Frodides and Modtryth. She had committed each name to its face quickly--a skill Wynflaed had always prided herself on--and that latter name sounded uncouth on her tongue. The inkling that she had had at the welcoming feast grew. She would have to speak with Saeryn about that woman--but not until their privacy was assured.

In the meantime, though, she wished to know more about Saeryn herself, but the lady was modest and circumspect--admirable qualities, but not conducive to Wynflaed's better knowledge. She finished her porridge, took the bowl up to Kara, and murmured some perfunctory words of encouragement to the whole staff.

"Whither next?" she asked Saeryn. "And why not start by telling me somewhat of your parents, or how you came to be at Scarburg?"

[Firefoot]

There were several points during the brief exchange between Hylath and Quin where Léof might have interjected, had he thought more quickly. There seemed to be some undercurrent which he had just missed – like that bit about Quin’s father. Quin seemed inclined to let it drop, however, so Léof had not pressed and Quin changed the subject. “How old are you, anyway?” he asked.

“Six-and-ten,” said Léof. He nearly added, though my birthday is within the month, but that seemed overly childish to say. Most days it did not bother him, that he was several years younger than most of the men in the household, but other times he felt it keenly – like a gap that could be only partway bridged from either side.

“That’s older than you look,” said Hylath.

“That’s not something I can much help, can I?” said Léof, trying not to sound too disgruntled.

Hylath laughed. “I suppose not. But it matters little.”

Léof quickly seized the opportunity to change the topic, sensing a reasonable stopping point in the current one. “So, what do you do for fun, when you’re not soldiering for Lord Athanar?”

[Folwren]

"Oh, well, I don't know what it's going to by like now that we're here in Scarburg," Quin said. "Back in Edoras, on market days, the soldiers who were not on duty would go out to the market. Some of the men play a game of chance in their free time, but lord Athanar does not encourage that sort of gaming. I have never joined in, though I've watched. They often make wagers against each other, occasionally playing for money, but more often playing for favors or service from one another."

"Aye," Hylath added, "like that one time Aforglaed lost to Scyrr and spent the rest of the afternoon polishing his stirrups and armor."

"During the evenings, when we had pints of beer to drink, some of the men will tell stories. Some have been to the wars and they still remember the battles. Sometimes the men will sing. Hylath here has a good voice for a tune." Hylath looked partially modest towards the praise.

"I have the feeling that while we're here, there will not be much time for such play," Hylath said after a pause. "There is much to be done at Scarburg - the building of the hall not the least of our tasks to accomplish."

"But surely it's not all work and drudgery," Quin said. His brows knit concernedly over his eyes and he turned to look a Leof. "Surely you have times in which there is merriment and not all work? What do you do for fun?"

[Folwren]

"Whither next?” Wynflaed asked. "And why not start by telling me somewhat of your parents, or how you came to be at Scarburg?"

“Let us look over the house, at least until it is a little warmer outside,” Saeryn said, leading the way to the door. She held it open, allowing Wynlfaed to pass before her.

“My parents were lord and lady of a rather large landholding in the Folde. They were rather indulgent, I fear, and really raised all of us children with a rather free hand.” She smiled in fond recollection. “I left my home a couple years after their death and met Eodwine when I was seventeen. At the time, he was at the White Horse Inn, and he wasn’t even eorl yet.”

A lump in her throat prevented her from continuing for a minute. She opened the door to the women’s quarters and filled the pause with entering the room and allowing Wynflaed to look around.

“This is where all of us are staying for now. Of course, we have plans for the upstairs which will enable everyone to have a little more room. Usually, we all get up together, but lately they’ve been letting me sleep in.” The melancholy of thinking of her parents and of her husband was slowly passing. She walked into the room a few steps. “The girls are up well before dawn these days, getting breakfast ready for everyone.”

[Thinlómien]

"So what is it?"

The old cook was sharp, as always. Modtryth gave Frodides a half-hearted smile. She didn't really want to explain her friend that she had taken intuitive dislike on the new Eorl's wife. There was just something about her which made Modtryth distrustful, if not even frightened. You have worked under much worse and much less likeable mistresses, she reminded herself.

"Just feeling a little sad. Times are changing, and I suppose we have to change with them. Still, Eorling Meadhall and Scarburg Meadhall under Lord Eodwine and Lady Saeryn were better places than I could ever have imagined." Modtryth paused. She had intended to give Frodides an inconsequential lie or a half-truth, but what she said was definitely a truth although not the truth she should have told the old cook.

Frodides nodded gravely. She didn't reply immediately, which was uncharacteristic. "Saeryn has managed, and so will we," she finally said brusquely, and continued arranging the dishes. Then she smiled fondly. "She is a brave girl, I say. So tell me, how is she doing? I think you gather more than us others."

Modtryth smiled at Frodides. "Saeryn's been well, a little ill in the mornings but that's normal. Aedhel has been making her raspberry tea which helps. Everything is as it should."

"Good. So Eodwine's son will be a healthy big boy. Or do you think it'll be a girl?"

"Quite honestly, Frodides, I cannot say. When I was expecting Cnebba, I was certain it was a girl, but I proved to be wrong. So, don't you think, if I cannot predict the sex of my own child I should keep away from predicting that of others' babies?"

"Might be," Frodides laughed. "But that's a thing about you, lass, you never put your nose in other people's affairs, do you?"

"Not really," Modtryth admitted. "Unlike you." She gave Frodides a grin.

"That is, I dare say, a bit unfair my lass!" the older woman protested. "Who else would take care that you girls are alright? And besides, I am a cook and cooks are supposed to know the house gossip."

"Sure. You have nothing to keep your head busy while cooking so you have to gossip. I see."

"Now that is quite enough from you, Modtryth! Now you shall take these buckets and fetch me some water from the well."

"Yes, sir," Modtryth replied cheerfully, took the buckets and slipped away from the kitchen.

Maybe the day was going to be alright after all.

Or, so she thought until she saw Ginna emerge from the smithy. The girl looked troubled. Modtryth walked to her.

"Ginna," she said. "Is everything alright?"

Frodides would be proud of me, she thought wryly.

[Firefoot]

Léof laughed, seeing the concern on Quin’s face. “Of course there are times of merriment! No one can work all the time. And especially now with winter coming on, the work day is somewhat shorter – it is hard to get much done in the dark.

“I imagine our pastimes are much like yours – often in the evenings there is talking or story-telling, and some like to play games. There is a strategy game some like to play with stones upon a board, though I’m afraid I’m not much of a hand at it. And as you say, sometimes there is singing – and dancing if a particularly merry mood strikes the hall.”

“Dancing’s a bit easier when you actually have women about,” interjected Hylath. “And more fun.”

Léof grinned. “I suppose so. It will be nice to have some celebration tonight, if the meetings with the landlords go well. Since Lord Eodwine took sick, everyone’s been more subdued than usual.”

[littlemanpoet]

Falco trotted up the road and rounded a corner just in time to see a whole troop of these oversized Eorlingas galloping straight towards him. He coaxed his mount to the side of the road and put his cloak over his nose to protect himself from the coming dust cloud. Who were these folk? He saw a lot of strangers. He got a number of suprised glances his way, no doubt these folk had not seen proper Hobbits in some time if ever in their darkened lives far away from proper civilization.

"Surely they did not jest back at the White Horse," Falco said aloud to himself. "These folk seem a lot of strangers. Hold! Is that not Thornden? And in the back, Léof! Surely! Hey! Haloo! Léof, you silly ostler! Ack! All this dust!"

The troop rode past. Falco turned his mount. "Come on Daisy." They did not seem about to stop. Or had one of them turned back to look?

[Lhunardawen]

Ginna jerked to a stop and looked up.

"Modtryth!" Her breath caught. She had been thinking of needing to talk to someone, to a woman. But who was there? Frodides and Kara made good listeners and even gave sound advice sometimes, but she thought that this time a married woman would understand her best. Saeryn, unfortunately, had her hands full assisting the new eorl's wife.

Ginna had forgotten Modtryth. She never really had a lot of chances to talk with her since she came into Eodwine's service, and so she did not feel as comfortable with her as she did with Frodides and Kara. Perhaps, she thought absently, this would be a good start.

"N-no. I don't think so. Do you think Frodides would be kind enough to give us some time to talk?"

And before Ginna realised it, a few tears had rolled down her cheek - half out of confusion, half out of relief.

[Firefoot]

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

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

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

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

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

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

"That's master Falco!"

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

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

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

[littlemanpoet]

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

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

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

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

[Firefoot]

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

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

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

[Folwren]

Of the leaders of the column, it was only Thornden who recognized the small rider, and only he turned his head as they thundered past the hobbit and pony. Falco was dwarfed to such a degree by the huge Rohirrim horses and their armed riders that he seemed even less of stature than he really was. A glance as they passed was all that Thornden was going to give the hobbit. Greetings would have to wait until they returned to the hall, for he guessed that was where Falco was heading. That backwards look, though, was enough to show Thornden the sudden falling away of several soldiers. The line was broken; discipline slipped again.

“My lord,” Thornden said, turning to Athanar and raising his voice enough to be heard above the horses’ hooves. “Some of the men have fallen out. I am going back to see they are put back in order.”

Athanar just nodded, and Thornden immediately wheeled his horse about, stepping out of the way of the oncoming riders. He cantered back, passing the rows of men until he came to the tattered tail-end of the riders.

“Reform the line,” he shouted, as he passed the hesitating riders at the end. “Get back into the line,” he repeated as he drew near those soldiers who had actually left. “What do you think you’re doing!” he said, not at all expecting an answer. He glared especially at Hilderinc, a soldier he knew to be experienced and well disciplined. His eye caught Quin’s, and his stern expression did not relent when he saw the young man’s sheepishness. The soldiers turned their horses quickly and without a word caught up with the retreating column and took their places once more. “You, too, Léofric,” Thornden added, as Léof hesitated by Falco’s pony.

“Back to your old mischief making again, I see, Falco,” Thornden said, as he turned his horse to rejoin Athanar and Coenred. “I have no doubt I’ll see you this evening at the Hall.” And without waiting for a retort from the hobbit, which he was sure Falco would formulate just as quick as he could, Thornden allowed his horse to gallop again to the head of the line.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco opened his mouth to give Thornden a sharp retort, but he had already started cantering away.

"Well how do you like that," Falco said aloud. "Daisy," he said with a pat to the pony's neck, "it seems I have returned not a moment too soon. There are things to be set aright, make no mistake! Let's go, girl!"

He kicked Daisy into a trot and continued on his way to Scarburg. Well, there was news, and that was saying something! Eodwine sick and off away in Minas Tirith! For just a brief moment Falco considered turning Daisy around and heading off to Minas Tirith, but he thought better of it. There was a second breakfast and a lunch to be had, and Frodides' kitchen had a good reputation.

But a new Eorl? What was wrong with Big People? Had they no thoughts in their heads for the consideration of traditions? "You don't just go changing things just because one little thing has gone wrong. Ask any good hobbit in the Shire and he'll tell you," he said to nobody in particular. "Well, we'll just have to show them the right way to do things. New Eorl! What a lot of ninnies!"

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar heard the hooves galloping fast towards him and then slowly settling to the general pace beside him.

Athanar waited a moment letting Thornden's breath to settle before turning towards him.

"Everything's alright master Thornden?" he asked casually.

"Yes my lord. The men are back in formation."

"So what was it?" he asked.

"It was... it was a hobbit..." Thornden wasn't sure if he'd have to explain more but before he could continue lord Athanar replied with another question.

"Someone you know?"

"Well... yes. He was master Falco Boffin from Shire, a close friend of Eodwine's who seems to have come back." Thornden fell silent.

Lord Athanar was quiet for a while as well while they rode on. He was thinking to himself how was it that all those close friends of lord Eodwine and Saeryn kept turning into the Mead Hall one by one, like there was something like a plan being executed. Degas was a good young man and he liked him. He had nothing against getting Harreld's brother back as they needed professional workers and he had heard just good things of the hobbits even if those were more tell-tales. Maybe I'm just getting paranoid... he sighed to himself.

Finally he turned towards Thornden again.

"I see. I'd wish to meet this master Falco as we come back." He gave Thornden a quick smile but then got more serious. "If I read my maps right we should be at Tancred's estate in a short while. Let's focus on this now."

"It should be less than two miles, my lord" Thornden confirmed.

Lord Athanar nodded and fell silent. He was focusing on meeting old Tancred.

[Firefoot]

Thornden’s words burned in Léof’s ears as he again took his place at the rear of the column of soldiers. Get back into the line! What do you think you’re doing? You, too, Léofric!” Léof had counted Thornden as a friend, but the last time Léof had heard his full name pronounced so harshly had been from his father. Granted, Thornden was neither so unjust nor so cruel as his father, but just now his words had held the ring of authority and not of friendship. Léof had forgotten how poorly the two matched each other.

And how poorly Thornden had greeted Falco! Mischief making? In what way was the meeting of old friends and the exchange of news mischief making? Surely there had been time for a short conversation? He had thought that the others would want to greet Falco, especially Thornden who knew him already.

“Make no mistake, that plainly didn’t go over like I thought it would,” muttered Léof to himself.