Pledges Honored
The latest battle for the town of Hytbold, and indeed for Rohan, has been fought and won, and in a bleak dawn mantled by heavy clouds the thanes of the Eastemnet are counting the cost. Three thanes and one of the reeves are dead. What also died that night was the trust and belief that the White Wizard was a friend and ally of Rohan; and that there was ever any choice but to ride to war.
The Witan is due to convene again that day, with different faces standing among them: young Ides stands for Cliving in the shadow of Athelward’s treason, but all look upon her with pride as a Shield-Maiden proven in battle; Thornhope has ceased to exist, both as a town and in the person of its thane; Harding himself stands for Floodwend and fallen young Radwig; Gisling stands in his father’s stead. And standing there as well is Burnoth of the Riders Four, who has pledged to ride to Edoras with tidings of the last few days, and the word that the Eastemnet stands with Theoden in arms.
Around the town, work begins as first light to clear away the wreck and flotsam of war. The forces of Isengard were not able to breach the city, such was the valor of arms of the defenders; but the gate and approaches have been ruined and blocked both by wreckage of the gates and the bodies of the slain. But for all the activity and labor, a group of three weary figures cluster around a fire that gives wan warmth in the dawn. Leofdag and Hutha sit hunched over bread and mugs of ale, and just apart from them sits Ulf, staring unblinking into the fire.
The three sit silently, unspoken words in weariness, when they are joined by a fourth; Seregrían makes her way over to them, and sits heavily down beside Ulf, looking as weary as the men. Not content with ale, she has somehow found a bottle of wine, and wordlessly offers the first drink to Ulf. With barely a glance, he takes the bottle and drinks, and hands it back to Seregrían, who drinks in turn.
As the group stares at the sparks and smoke rising from the fire, both Seregrían and Ulf ask at the same time, “Who are you?” This brings a round of snuffling chuckles, and even Ulf shows a wry grin. They both then say, as if on cue, “You first…” which brings actual laughter. As the laughter wanes, Seregrían says, “Come, Reaver, our pledges at Cliving still hold. Tell me of the red fog; I have seen it in your eyes, now tell me with your words.”
And Ulf, haltingly at first but then warming as he goes on, tells of how he was born Wigelm, son of Widere. He speaks of his family in Gapholt; his young wife, Atta, and their three sons. He tells of how he returned from battle, one of the few survivors of an Orcish ambush, only to find his whole family slaughtered and Dunlendings sacking his home. The next thing he remembered was holding the severed heads of those who had murdered his family. On that day, Wigelm died and Ulf the Reaver was born. And the red fog descends upon him in battle, leaving him no clear memory of his deeds, knowing only what others tell him after the fog lifts and his mind is his once more, seeking only to feed his hunger for vengeance and slaughter.
Ulf falls silent and takes the bottle that Seregrían offers him. After one long pull, he looks sidelong at her, and she knows what he is thinking: it’s her turn now. And she begins, even more reluctantly than Ulf, to speak of Nauthira, daughter of Thandwen, and how her mother cast herself into the waters after the news of her father’s death in battle; the hour of dreadful despair that left her blood-stained and broken in spirit; and how in that hour the Heart’s Desire faded and the Blood-queen arose. And she speaks in guarded words of the white fury, the power that flows through her in the hour of battle and lingers afterward, and how she brings her burning anger and hate to any who stand before her. All there stare in shock and amaze as Seregrían’s tale draws to a close. Ulf simply offers the bottle back to Seregrían, who in her turn takes a long pull of wine.
“Elf and Man, young and old, both know life – and death,” Ulf says after a long pause. “You would be my children’s age, had they lived – but I know you to be elsewise, for your eyes alone are both ancient and not of this world of Men. How like, and unlike we are. But truly I say to you, Heart’s Desire: I shall never find mine, but I wish from my heart that you find yours once more.”
And Seregrían replies in a strained whisper, “ Yes, we have both known death, you and I; we both bring our hate to our foes. Yes, how alike we are; I am shown each day that perhaps Elves and Men are not so utterly different. We dream, we long, we love, we hate – we grieve. I cannot wish better for you than that you find the peace that eludes you, the bliss that was taken from you – that for both of us, the fog lifts and the fires burn out. But until that day…” and she takes his hand, “neither of us is alone. The pledge has been honored, Reaver.”
Ulf squeezes Seregrían’s hand, “Yes, our pledge is honored, Blodcwyn.”
Later that day, the Witan convenes once more as planned, but with a larger circle, for Seregrían and the Riders Four are also present at Harding’s bidding. It is decided that all the thanes and reeves shall ride, with Harding at their head, to Edoras and present themselves to the court at Meduseld, to reaffirm their oaths to Theoden and to Rohan. Riders would bring the tidings to the towns of the Eastemnet, and faithful stewards would be charged with the safety of the folk. It is decided that Ides shall stand as Reeve of the Norcrofts; Mildreth is asked, and accepts, to stand as Reeve of the Sutcrofts in Fastred’s absence; and word is sent that Lady Cillan shall stand as Aldor of the Wold until Harding’s return.
And Harding bids that the Riders Four, with the Lady Blodcwyn in their company, ride ahead to Edoras while the Witan makes ready, to bear the news of Hytbold and the treason in their midst. Into the westering sun ride the five, arriving at Snowbourn in the twilight, setting out once more at first light, bound for Edoras and uncertain war.
