"Because you," and still he did not look up from his letter. "Are a White Rider now. That might seem a fine sort of adventure to you, but one of our duties - one of many, mind - is to act as mediators when there is no one else for the task. A magistrate might recuse himself due to a conflict of interest. People need to know that they can rely on our judgment and impartiality. They don't receive that impression when you call ladies... sausage wallets ...and suggest that your opinion is both harsh and unfair. The first thing you didn't learn in all of our training, Eithne, is the ability to judge someone without letting your feelings get in the way."
"Oh, and you're a fine one for teaching that," Vargis hooted.
"I'm trying to sleep," Covas grumbled irritably.
Eragos contented himself with an angry stare, fixed on Vargis, until the old man felt the red heat of the thing and shut his damned mouth. Eragos knew he had a temper. Everyone who'd heard the stories of the hall knew that Eragos had a temper. He'd thrashed more than one fellow who thought they could say or do anything simply because they'd rescued this person, killed that person or... his mind kept finding the winter again, and the Lady Vera, as beautiful as a goddess in the still snow. Her cheeks become roses, and her eyes fiercely bright, as though she intended them both to be angry stars to blind him. The fellow who'd been punched. Vargis, commenting on the ice on his boots.
Yes, he had a temper.
"Being able to judge someone has a more pratical use, Eithne," and Vargis stressed her name with a malicious smile - apparently she'd been annoyed, and Eragos had missed it. "Telling whether or not someone's lying can save your life. So can discerning their true intentions. If it saves your life, chances are it'll save many more. We aren't a group known for living safe and quiet lives."
"Unless you count old Fronam," Eragos filled his cheeks with smoke. "He rode away from the New Hill Massacre the day before it happened. Because he'd somehow gotten an infection in his toe! Those bandits on the Free Road to the north? They missed him by three hours! He was sleeping in the roots of some overgrown willow while they ransacked an empty house. Or, or, and here this is - he challenged an orc to a fistfight, d'you remember?"
"The orc thought that challenge was pure insanity," Vargis was biting his fist, with tears in his eyes. "So old Rockeye figures the only way a White Rider would challenge him to a fight is if he was no White Rider."
"What did the orc finally call him?" Eragos asked no one. "Leironuoth?"
"Some kind of Elvish demigod," Vargis was hissing laughter between his teeth. "He thought Fronam was the gods-damned champion of Lorien herself! He was in such a state, convinced Fronam was going to brain him with a single blow, that he fled north. No one ever saw him again! Fronam drank a whole skin that night, and he never shed a drop of blood."
"Fronam's not even an elf," Eragos' humor was bubbling out of his throat, and short wisps of smoke were streaming from his lips.