Geoffrey, not even in his thirtieth year, limped over to the headless body of his father. Emptiness came over him now. For all his life he had felt alone when riding in the company, away from his wife and children. But now he was truly alone. His father lay slain before him, his brother too had fallen on the Greenway shortly before. Though the evening sun was warm in this summer, all Geoffrey felt was coldness. Beside his father was his sword that was cleaved in two – Avenger was its name, and for many years it was the terror of brigands and orcs alike. Away to the north was a green emptiness, few made the North Downs their home, except for the Rangers. Turning to the south he faced the village of Trestlebridge, nested on the other side of the gorge where Lankra had fell to his doom. The Trestlepan Bridge looked so long to Geoffrey now, as though he was at a great distance from any civilisation. Cold and alone, with only the dead to keep him company.
It was now past midnight. Geoffrey had sat next to the corpse of Royston Redstem for many hours now, in a thoughtless thought. Hooves could now be heard coming over the Trestlepan. A rider bearing a torch halted before the father and son. His face was illuminated by the flame. At length, Geoffrey recognised him. It was John Oldflax, his father’s lieutenant. A renowned warrior in his own right, his skill with a bow was legendary across the land. His fame was not limited to the bow alone, but also to his drink and cheer. But there was no cheer in his face this night. Down from his horse he came, his eyes fixed on his slain captain. His hair was long and blond, braided into a ponytail. His moustache was curled round at the ends. For all his life, Oldflax had been Geoffrey’s role model: a fierce and experienced fighter, yet honourable beyond measure. Perhaps more of a father than Royston had ever been. John placed his gloved hand on Geoffrey’s shoulders.
‘Up now, Geoff.’ He said in his gentle voice. ‘We must not linger with the fallen for too long.’ Now he attempted to pull the younger man away, yet Geoffrey resisted.
‘Another moment!’ he cried.
John shook his head now. ‘We must ride now if we are to find Lankra.’
‘Lankra has fallen. I killed him.’ Geoffrey replied, still looking to his father.
Oldflax smiled weakly now. ‘Then it is done. Your father fell fighting a mighty foe, with his honour intact. We may grieve for him, though this is not the place. This is not the end of the company, for we now look to you to lead. It is what the Hawk would have wanted.’ He bowed his head at his new captain.
Geoffrey nodded slowly, finally looking away from the corpse. Now he noticed that three riders had accompanied John. Two were hooded, but were still known to him. The other was Lawrence, Oldflax’s son. He was a similar age to Geoffrey and the two were lifelong friends, close as brothers. Lawrence also lowered his head in respect.
‘These two will see that the Hawk is brought to the graveyard outside of Bree.’ John said as he waved to the two hooded riders, who then placed the body of their fallen captain onto his horse which was nearby. Geoffrey had forgotten about his own steed, who he look for now, finding him standing at the edge of the gorge. Silently he mounted his horse and trotted him over to the others.
And so they rode south through the Bree-land, at no great speed. Passing through the many farms and odd homes that stood close to the Greenway, they saw that many awaited them – all with their heads lowered at the sight of the company, for they all owed Royston a great deal, for he had protected them for many years. Then they passed the sight where Anthony had killed Grankra, before being slain himself. The ground was still slightly tarnished by the blood of the fallen. Finally they rode in to the old graveyard, just to the north of the village of Bree. A small crowd awaited the company, mainly consisting of the brothers-in-arms who Royston had captained for all these years. Some were old and some were young, yet many of them wept. Away from these men where Geoffrey’s family. His mother, Laura, was clad all in black and she wept most of all. Geoffrey dismounted and rushed to her, and brought her into his arms. It felt as though this lasted for minutes, the two were tearful but did not speak. Then he found his wife, Edith, who he also embraced. His children were there too: Henry who was ten, Paul who was five, Clara who was three and Royston (named after his grandfather) was only one. Each of them had sorrowful looks about them, and Geoffrey took them all in his arms and kissed their foreheads.
The bodies of Royston and Anthony were placed into blankets of cloth, and were then put into wooden coffins. These were then closed and nailed down. Two designated spots had already been dug for the two, and they were lowered into these and then covered over with dirt. All were silent now. Geoffrey held the hands of his two eldest sons, Henry and Paul whilst Edith held Clara and Royston. After several minutes of silence, Geoffrey bid to all his brothers that they return to Bree and drink in honour of the Hawk. John Oldflax led them away, leaving only the family at the yard. Henry looked up at his father and asked: ‘How did grandpa die?’
Geoffrey now knelt down to his son’s level and smiled to him. ‘He fell fighting a bad man who did many bad things. Now that bad man cannot do anymore bad things. Because of your grandpa, a lot of bad men are not here to do bad things.’
The young boy nodded at this and said no more. Geoffrey put his family up onto the wagon that had brought them to the yard. Edith took the reins, but Geoffrey did not climb up. He asked his wife to take his family back to Bree, but he wished to remain for a while longer. And so they went away, and Geoffrey was once again alone as the sun descended into the west. Before the headstones of his father and brother he sat, thoughtlessly thinking. Upon the headstone of his father was engraved:
“Here lies Royston son of Thomas Redstem.
Loyal Father, Husband and Captain.
The Hawk of the Greenway.”
