“Sadly the anvil is too heavy.” she said after finishing packing and attaching bags to her horse’s saddle. “Got to do with the bare amount, but that's better than nothing”. “Well maybe that will be enough for master Eróin, having your own hammer and a satchel of ore and coal is..?” The old smith asked the young woman. “The default pack every smith needs to have on them.” Cyrawyn answers, nodding. “Exactly! There is of course, the idea of taking a second horse, a pack horse if you may. But considering these days.” The old smith says to himself mostly. “I just hope that, if the enemy ever arrives here, that I..” - “Be as far away from here as possible.” The old smith cut her off. “I recognise your talent for smithing, Cyra, and I am sure you can handle well in a fight, but training spars against an equal opponent, it's not the same as fighting against hordes of mindless orcs or Dunlendings.”.
Cyrawyn sighs. This argument she had before, with several others, her aging parents especially. Though she is happy that they all say the same and want her to travel and learn her craft, instead of settling somewhere in Snowbourn and continuing her family’s bloodline. Her brother went off to war following the banner of Théoden King. She even crafted the sword he wields, repaired his armour, even made additions to it to increase protection and utility. She just hoped it was enough. To her, he was always the rightful and only correct child of the family, strong Rohirrim, set exactly in the ways any male Rohirrim needs to be. No grandiose ideas stepping into a profession or career that was never meant for your gender. But that was just a small thought in her mind. She knew being a blacksmith was her calling, and she was happy everyone accepted it for her. She also knows that to her family, she never was or will be a black sheep. But sometimes she feels like an outsider or someone who needs to grow up or change. Especially in the last few days after she returned to Snowbourn and met some of her old friends who all ended up married, looking pretty in dresses, some halfway through pregnancies.
But it no longer mattered. Grass is always greener, just as Edoras was always more gold, until she got there. Sure Meduseld has gold worked into its walls and roofs, but the rest is like every other settlement here in Rohan, and it even lacks the grand stone walls of Snowbourn. “Allright that's all, not too heavy Anna?” Her horse gave a calm snort. “Maybe after all this war is over, hopefully soon, I will come back for that packhorse.” She said, while hoisting herself on the saddle. “That is if they don’t grant you a goat or two in Erebor, Cyra!” Cyra’s best friend Néhira said, a woman clearly settled down in a simple brown dress and hair longer than Cyra’s. But even if settled and married, when Cyra came back to Snowbourn, the two became difficult to separate. With her husband mostly on guard duty, Néhira spent time around the forge where Cyra worked. And at other times in pubs where Néhira tried to get Cyra coupled with some Rohirrim lads, but interest from Cyra was never fully there. She also told this to Néhira on a drunken evening once. When men try to win her, they try to show off, pose, act and act, and to her this is stupid and makes her lose interest quickly. Néhira never fully gave up though, and though she was sad her best friend was leaving again, she hoped that maybe in the Dale-lands her best friend would find that man. “Now don’t go doing any stupid things Néhy!” Cyra said, chuckling. “Your poor hostage can only handle so much.". “My ‘hostage’ is able to handle a lot, but no worry, I won’t go super drunk as we’ve done… it's going to be so boring here again.” Néhira said, half mumbling the last part. After which Cyra pulls out a few coins out of her pocket and hands it to Néhira. “Here, mostly for when you get little ones.” Cyra said. Néhira takes the money and nods. “If I get a daughter I will name her after you, Cyra!” On which Cyra rebuked “You absolutely will not! Go name her Éowyn.”
Éowyn, now to Cyra she was something. Only after moving to Dunharrow was Cyra able to get nearer to her for there would be no palace in the way anymore. She then beholds Éowyn, a woman who both radiates kindness, sternness, worry, care and strength. A lone snowflake beautifully glittering in the sunlight, which from then ever burned her image in Cyra’s mind. And to Cyra she saw bits of herself in Éowyn. The will and desire to be something larger than what she has been assigned to. And maybe this latter is what made Éowyn listen to her when they first spoke and Cyra made her request.
It was only a few months after Cyra arrived in Edoras. She was hired by a master blacksmith of Edoras who stayed in Snowbourn at the time. Snowbourn, already having plenty of smiths, always had difficulty placing Cyra. But when the master blacksmith from Edoras accompanied an Edoras official to Snowbourn, learnt of the smithing ability of Cyra and how she often was not able to have her own established smithy, he made a deal with Cyra’s blacksmith teacher. Edoras needed more smiths, stronger spears where needed to defend Meduseld against possible attacks, as well as blacksmiths to do dentist work, craft horseshoe, tools and building & maintenance material. Gríma Wormtongue has seen many smiths where banished or worse, purely for them making more weapons rather than ‘Tools and Resources for the living to live.’. So new smiths were needed, badly. While Cyra wasn’t fully enjoying the idea of just crafting nails and horseshoes there, for her it was better than sitting on her bum waiting for a chance to even hit her hammer on an anvil again.
And she spent her time well at Edoras. And when the day came that Théoden King stood on the entry of Meduseld, an old man in white next to him, she knew change was coming.
The king rode away, and Éowyn took command. Soon Edoras was deserted and the party made its way to Dunharrow. It was then Cyra decided to ask Éowyn her request. She wants to leave Edoras, or .. Dunharrow as it is now, and ride back to Snowbourn. Where she wants to tell what happened and to see if she can improve her craft. And it's likely that Éowyn saw the strength and same self desire to step above oneself in Cyra and granted it gladly.
Cyra left quickly the following day, riding back to Snowbourn and with luck, avoided any roaming enemy.
Back in Snowbourn, she told of the events in Edoras, of her grant-of-leave from Éowyn, and where she met back her parents, her brother, her best friend and her old teacher. The summons came soon after, and her brother was now fated to leave Snowbourn. She then decided to try and improve the odds of her brother returning, adjusting the armour, fixing errors and broken parts, smithing a new and sharper sword, and a sturdier shield. She just hopes it was enough.
Now, a couple days later again, no news from the south and fear started to spread around in Snowbourn. A traveller came from the north however, telling of the dwarves of Erebor in the Dale-lands. He spoke of how a renowned dwarf smith named Eróin is willing to take apprentices of any kind. And to Cyra this was a golden opportunity, to learn the craft of the dwarves. And so she started packing, crafting her own armour, with the help of her best friend Néhira, as the armour fitting required measuring and gambit fitting she rather not let a stranger, be it man or woman, do.
Now she sits on her horse Anna. She still doesn’t know where the name came from. Named by a Bree-lander she was told, but it's a pure Rohirrim breed. A strong, tall steed, nearly a draft-horse. Cyra looks up at the porch, her parents are standing there. Her father, old, slightly fattened, had a bald spot on his head but curly blonde hair and a long stache running down past the corners of his mouth to the bottom of his jaw. Her mother, weeping slightly against her husband. She looked like she never aged in the past, a happy and round face with flowing wavy blonde hair. But after her son was sent away to war, she has become grey, age kicking in with wrinkles and her happy face changed to solemnness and sadness. Even now as she weeps however, a small smile she gives her daughter Cyra. For her, Cyra leaving Snowbourn to learn to smith among the dwarves, would mean she is a lot saver, then possibly being stuck in Snowbourn when besieged.
Cyra waved to her parents slowly, she did feel sad as well for leaving them, wishing she could take em with her to the north. “Remember to use your shield, Cyrawyn.” Her father said, but Cyra smiled and nodded. “Remember to shave.” she said in return. On which her father gave a small chuckle and even a small weepy chuckle was heard from her mother. It might’ve looked weird for others, but what exactly was said in those exchanges was; Be safe, we love you, come back to us.
Cyra tapped her heels against Anna’s side and clicked with her tongue. Slowly at first she exited through Snowbourn’s gate, and slowly picked up speed. Now she was on her way north, riding, curious, and a new sense she got… a sense of… Adventure. She loved it.
