Here, let me stir the fire a little. The darkness draws in and I would not lose the light.
What's that? Ah...yes...I have known darkness and it is no friend to me. I have told you of my beginnings both old and new, but there was time in between which was both my making and my undoing.
When I left Minas Tirith I wandered, not entirely aimless, but steadily drawn Northward. I was young and wronged and I felt that the men of the sea had spat me out. The seeds of bitterness lay in my heart so that even the beauty of the southern towers of Belfalas would have held but tainted admiration from me. So I travelled north, across the mountains and into the land of Anorien until I came to the Westfold of the land of Rohan.
The Rohirrim are an ancient people, bound to the land and the swift steeds that race upon it. They tell their history in songs and tales with voice and harp rather than keeping them walled in towers scribbled on crumbling parchment. They are warriors as well and defend their lands with the blinding fierceness of both man and beast, for their horses spoil for the fight as much as the men do. It took a little effort, for the horse lords do not quickly give their trust or their friendship, but I found a place among them. There has long been alliance between Rohan and Gondor -since the time of Éorl himself- but it has been many years from that time that both peoples fought as one. Nonetheless they were glad of an able sword and were happy to trade the songs of the sea and blessed realm for those of rolling plain and swift horses. It was in this way I learned of the hatred of the Rohirrim for the people of Dunland.
The Horselords are a fair people. Both men and women have hair the color of flaxen corn, with ruddy complexion and light eyes. The Dunlendings name them "Forgoil" or "Straw-heads" because of this, yet there are Rohirrim that sport dark, even black hair. These are the ones who have Dunlendish blood in their veins, for in the early years these two people dwelt in the same land and married and lived as one until dissent and treachery forced them to war and enmity. These "dark ones" are accepted as Rohirrim yet are pushed to the side and must fight hard to find a place in the éored; the women are regarded as unfit for marriage by the horse lords who have honour and worse by those who have none. Perhaps it was because I was an out-Lander that Elfrith took pity on me, nursing my wounds when I returned from battling orc or raiding party and easing my heart's pain with a sweet smile and blue eyes that shone like the star of Eärendil when she laughed. She had hair as black as the raven's wing and her skin something of a tawny hue, more like mine than any of the sons of Éorl. We wed and lived for a time in peace and happiness. Our home was set somewhat away from the settlement where we dwelt and it seemed a comfort to both townsfolk and to us to have it so, though we were treated in most part with kindness and respect. The wounds in my heart faded with the seasons and on the day that Elfrith told me we were to have our first child the hurt that had festered inside me burned to nothing.
Yet in the following months we saw the beginnings of strife. Dunlendings had stopped warring among themselves long enough to mount forays through the gap of Rohan and into the West Emnet. Our Thane called in his banner men and we made ready to ride and meet the force which marched upon the lands above Helm's Deep. I was loath to leave Elfrith, as her time was very close, but beneath her dusky locks beat the heart of a true shield maiden and she would hear no word of my staying with her. Thus I wound my arms around her and held her to my heart a long moment before I mounted my horse and rode north to battle.
We won the victory, with all the joy and sorrow that comes with battle, and it was not long before we were told to return to our families. It was then that darkness fell upon me, for as we neared our homes we saw the smoke rising. A smaller party had made their way around the battle and moved south destroying what they could of our weakened holdings until they, too, were defeated by those who remained in defense of the keep. I rode quickly to the charred embers of my home and what I saw there rent my very soul in two: my heart, my Elfrith lay slain with knife and blade and beside her the one who would have been...our daughter.
I had never known such pain of grief.
I buried my beloved ones and left the place where we had dwelt. It did not matter to me where I went, but if a Dunlending crossed my path, I slew him. The darkness within me grew and the pain I felt became black flames of hatred. I travelled into the mountains to the north living many years as a savage, nursing the shadow within me and losing all light, all love, all sense of myself. Some kernel of my soul sought oblivion- to travel through the mists to the Heart of my Heart, my raven-haired girl. Yet my hatred sustained me even as it erased my name and the light of my fathers within me. It was not until a pack of wolves and a wise old shipwright found me that the flame Elfrith had nurtured and my forefathers had brought from the blessed realm was rekindled and reborn within me. But...I have told that tale...and dwelling on these things has wearied me. Do not let your heart be troubled on my behalf; even though terrible things come to pass, hope never leaves us. And love is able to reach even through the mists. I have seen the shadow, looked upon the world with its eyes, and have seen that the true light may dispel even the deepest darkness. Rest in hope, my friend. And we will have a happier tale upon the morrow...
