Thank you for reading, following, favouriting (which probably is not an English word but I like it ;-) ) and especially for reviewing.

Boramir:You are quite right concerning both, Wulfrun and the Dunlendings. But then I never imagined the Dunlendings in open battle with the Eorlingas, given the situation they are in at the moment.

Anon: I wante to show the King, Éomer Éadig slowly emerging from the nymph of the rough and ready warrior. ;-) And Wulfrun will have to pay in the end, don't you worry.

A big THANK YOU to Lialathweril, artura, CarawynO and sian22 for their support! And as always special thanks go to Lady Bluejay for beta-reading.

Clouds over Isen

Chapter 6

Resilience

"Wonderful. That'll keep me for some hours." Shoving his empty bowl back, Alfric patted his stomach and then winked at the little girl across from him before he carefully licked the wooden spoon clean. Stanfleda giggled. Smiling, her mother reached for the small earthen pot she had set aside when they had sat down to their meal in the yard. Putting it into a coarse linen bag together with a big chunk of still warm bread, she motioned to her daughter.

"Take your brother a bite. And come back immediately. I would like to collect some Yellow Bedstraw and I need you to take care of Eadger."

Hearing his name, the little boy raised his head, but seeing that nothing special was happening, he turned his attention back to the last bits of mash in his bowl. The girl pouted, but trotted off without answering back. Frithuhelm waited until she was out of ear-shot and then turned to Alfric.

"Do you think it is safe to let her roam unattended?"

The old Rider shrugged. "As safe as it was before, I'd say. If that fellow had taken off in this direction, Deorsige's mongrel would have tracked him, rain or shine."

Frithuhelm grimaced. "He might have come back, he or others, the moment they noticed the patrol had left."

"He might, though I doubt it. There is nothing for them to loot at Acwuld's, they know that someone has been alerted… It would be foolish to come back."

Frithuhelm disagreed, but he knew better than to shake his head. "As long as we don't know why they crossed the river in the first place, there is no saying what they might do."

Handing them cups of cooled buttermilk, Osláfa sighed. "But life must go on. We cannot just cower and fear what might happen. There is a winter ahead of us. And I want to start a new batch of cheese tomorrow morning but I ran out of rennet."

Seeing Frithuhelm's questioning glance, she shrugged. "The last kid's stomach turned bad. It would have needed more salt with the smouldering heat and last night's wetness."

He sighed. If it were only salt they lacked! There were so many things that needed to be done before the winter, and here he was, as weak as a newborn kitten. Utterly frustrated, he felt the headache which had been reduced to something dull at the back of his consciousness coming back with a vengeance. He suppressed a groan. Luckily his wife did not seem to realize what was going on, as Alfric's protest held her attention.

"Yellow Bedstraw will change the taste," the old Rider exclaimed with a grimace.

She shrugged. "Sure, but I dare say not for the worse. And it gives the cheese quite a nice colour. They use it in the Eastfold, though I have never tried it with goats' milk. But there is always a first time for everything."

Hearing the determination in her voice, Alfric obviously knew better than gainsay her, and having taken a hearty draught, he put his cup on the table. "I wish we had some of your cheese at the garrison and some of this buttermilk, too."

Osláfa smiled. "It would be a long way to deliver fresh cheeses and milk. But I might have some ripe ones to barter for grain as we don't have enough of that yet. And we urgently need salt."

Alfric grunted. "You should come and stay at the garrison, at least over the winter. We'll find you quarters and..."

She shook her head. "No, I'm happy to be out of the narrow spaces and the bustle of the burg and I'm sure we can manage." Her brow in a slight frown, she turned to Frithuhelm. "You had better lie down."

So she had noticed, nevertheless! Frithuhelm suppressed another sigh. "I know. But it makes me feel so damned useless."

"Nonsense." Gathering their empty bowls in a wooden tub, Osláfa shook her head. "You need to rest to get better as soon as possible. And if you want to be useful, take Eadger with you for a nap so he's out from under my feet and I can take Stanfleda to help me."

Alfric rose. "Well, Osláfa, what about you going to collect that Bedstraw of yours right now and I'll tuck in these two." Not waiting for her answer, he winked at Frithuhelm. "Come on, boy. Ealder Faeder Alfric is going to sing you a lullaby."

Osláfa chuckled and reached for the scoop to soak the dishes. "Go ahead, the two of you. I'll just wash the dishes and make Eadger have a pee for safety's sake and then I'll bring him to join you."

Frithuhelm rose from the stool and was thankful for the old Rider's helping hand, steadying him as the world suddenly seemed to spin around him.

"Slowly, lad. Come, take my arm. You'll feel much better once you are out of the sun."

He stopped at the door of the cottage. "Osláfa, do you have any meadowsweet?"

She nodded. "I have. But what about the bleeding?"

The old Rider shrugged at her worried face. "He made it through the night and he managed to stay on the horse. All he needs to heal is some rest and sleep and he won't get those with his head pounding like a smithy. Brew him a cup. Just as many herbs as you can pick between three fingers and let them steep well. I'll get him into bed in the meantime."

Frithuhelm truly felt better in the dim coolness of the cottage and having sat down on the bed with Alfric's help, he drew a breath. "Alfric, I'd like a word with you before you go."

The old Rider sat down on the edge of the bed. "Just spit it out."

Frithuhelm cleared his throat. "You see, I have been thinking. That disk I found in the midden at Acwuld's when we went there to bury the dead after the victory at Helm's Deep… Could it be one of those Dunlendic tokens Ulger spoke of..."

Alfric shook his head. "No, doesn't look like any Dunlending token I know. And it's much too big for that. And much too heavy. Can't imagine carrying something like that around my neck."

"Perhaps buckled on a belt?"

His suggestion only earned him another shake of Alfric's head. "I don't think so. I examined the back, and I couldn't find any fastenings. But what gives you the idea that it might be Dunlendic in the first place?"

"No orc would fashion anything like that."

Alfric nodded thoughtfully. "No, there you have a point. But could it not be something of that wizard's making?"

Frithuhelm snorted. "If it were, would his orcs have dared to throw it into the midden?"

Alfric scratched his beard. "Nah, certainly not. But blimey, it's solid bronze or copper and the signs are surely gold. Have you ever heard of the Hillmen possessing such things?"

"I have never cared much about them and about what they might or might not possess." Frithuhelm sighed. "I don't know why I kept it. Perhaps I should have put it on the cairn, too, together with the weapons."

The old Rider threw up his hand. "Oh, come off it! What's wrong with a nice piece of loot or let's say taking something for the service you did their cursed bones?"

Suppressing another sigh, Frithuhelm shifted to sit in a more comfortable way. Though the cut to his hip was only shallow it nevertheless was painful. "You are probably right. But you see, I can't help thinking that disk must be of some importance and that whoever carried it into battle was not a simple Dunleding."

The only answer he got from Alfric was an indecisive grunt. If only it weren't so difficult to think straight! Wearily Frithuhelm plodded on, expressing his worries. "Those raiders… You see, I keep wondering why they went on when I had taken down two of them, when it was more than obvious that they had been spotted and would meet resistance. I worried they were only a part of a much larger group then."

"It was just the seven of them, lad." The old Rider put his hand on Frithuhelm's brow, obviously checking if he was feverish. Impatiently, Frithuhelm shoved the hand away. Why was the bonehead not taking him seriously? He persisted.

"But why did they not try to go back? All of them, I mean?

Alfric shook his head. "Were quite determined the bastards, weren't they?"

At last he was following him! Frithuhelm nodded, carefully not to worsen his headache. "What if they were after something special?"

"You mean the disk?" Still the old Rider's mien expressed doubt.

"What if the thing is important for them? Something sacred or some token of leadership? And what if at least one of the Dunlendings who witnessed the orcs throwing the disk into the midden survived the Battle of Helm's Deep and came back to search for it?"

All the answer Frithuhelm got was a snort. "Now? More than two years after the battle?"

For a while neither of them spoke, and then Alfric patted Frithuhelm's knee. "It won't help if you worry, lad. But I wish Gamling was here to have a look. That old fox knows more than anybody else about those dratted Hillmen."

"Can't you take it to him?"

The old Rider shook his head. "I'm bound for the bridge and it wouldn't make sense if I dragged the thing through half of the Westfold. I'll go back to the Fords in a fortnight. Perhaps I can make a detour on the way and pick it up then. Captain Balred will certainly find someone to ride over to the Hornburg if Gamling is not at the garrison."

Just then Osláfa entered, the toddler on her hip and a big, steaming mug in one hand. She put little Eadger on the bed beside her husband and then held out the mug to him. "Here, dear. Drink it and then try to sleep."

Gingerly, he took the mug and started to sip the hot brew. The taste of meadowsweet was pleasing, much better than the willow bark the leeches at the garrison used, but then willow bark was much easier to provide and there was a price to everything if you did not gather your own supplies. He stifled a sigh. It did not feel right that everything was now loaded on Osláfa's shoulders.

Alfric rose. "Well, I should be off." With a wry smile, he put a hand on Frithuhelm's shoulder. "And don't you dare to try and prance around too early. You need to give your body time to heal." Closing one eye, he grinned at Eadger. "You'll have to make sure that Frithuhelm Faeder sleeps enough. He needs a lot of rest to get well again. So you'll watch him, will you? And if he doesn't rest, you tell your mother and she will scold him."

Frithuhelm did not know if he felt more amused or more insulted by the old Rider's behaviour, but seeing the toddler's eyes going from him to Alfric and back to him, he kept silent. Finally Eadger shook his head. "Mother will not scol him. She never scols." Facing Frithuhelm, he tilted his head. "But if you don' rest and don' get better, she be sad, very sad. You must be a good faeder and not make mother sad, will you?"

Osláfa's face turned scarlet with embarrassment, and looking at her, Alfric guffawed. "Never mind the tactics, lass, as long as they get you where you want to go." He nodded to the two on the bed. "Good bye, lads. I'll come back if possible and have a peep at how you fare."

He went to the door and Osláfa followed him. Finishing his brew, Frithuhelm heard the noises from outside: the horses being brought into the yard, Alfric cursing softly because as always his mount held his breath to keep the old Rider from pulling the saddle girth tight. And then there was Osláfa's voice: "Here's some cheese. A loaf from the first batch I made when we came to live at Appletun in spring. It should be quite ripe and tasty by now, just to add a bit of homely taste to your field rations."

Alfric thanked her profoundly, and moments later Frithuhelm heard the hoof beats that signalled the horses leaving. Trying to put the empty mug on the floor beside the bed, he found the movement too painful and decided to leave it beside the pillow instead. He turned and found little Eadger already soundly asleep. Lowering himself on the bed was cumbersome, even more so as he did not want to wake the child, and he had just managed to stretch himself out when Osláfa came in again.

Smiling at the sleeping toddler, she sat down on the edge of the bed. "Do you think there really is a chance he might find Stapa's trail?"

Frithuhelm shrugged half-heartedly. "It's as he said, Láfa. Wulfrun probably took the main path and made for the garrison to sell her tale there. We would have noticed if there had been an accident on the track to Appletun and also Stapa probably would have continued for Appletun had his rider fallen off." He took her hand. "Acwuld had all his attention fixed on getting me here, so he did not pay any special heed to the track, but don't worry. If there are any signs he will spot them on the way back to the river."

Osláfa sighed. "It would be such a loss if we don't get the horse back."

"It would. But look, Stapa is so well known everywhere in the Westfold. If something frightened him and he ran off, he will be brought back."

"Only if nothing happened to him." Her voice sounded truly worried.

He squeezed her hand assuringly. "He's not a yearling. He'll come back, you'll see."

She heaved a breath. "I hope he will. And I also hope he comes without Wulfrun, for I will scratch out her eyes for what she did."

Frithuhelm cleared his throat. "We cannot be sure yet that she did not come to warn you on purpose."

"And what would have kept her if you rule out an accident at the same time?"

Seeing her agitation, Frithuhelm tried to comfort her. "I don't know, Láfa. And I have to admit I don't believe that there was anything that kept her from coming here but her own stubborn pride."

His wife snorted. "Pride! That woman does not even know what real pride is. Malice is what drives her, and I was a fool to have put up with her for so long. We should never have agreed to take her with us in the first place, but stupid me, I feared that she might take his father's land from Gudram." With a grimace she shook her head. "No land, no matter how large and rich can pay for what we all suffered because of her."

Frithuhelm grinned. It was good to see his soft-tempered wife so determined. "I truly would prefer Stapa to Wulfrun a dozen times, but at least she alerted the patrol."

"Alerted the patrol! And told them you were dead! As if she wished you were!"

He shrugged. "She might well have. She did not approve of me from the very beginning."

Osláfa angrily clenched her fists. "She did not approve of anybody who I made friends with because she did not want to lose her sway over me. And I was so stupid and did not see it until… " Her voice petered out and for a moment she just sat there, shaking her head over herself.

The effect of the meadowsweet was slowly setting in, and closing his eyes, Frithuhelm felt his brain clearing as the pain in his head eased. It was then that he remembered little Stanfleda's tale. He opened his eyes. "Why have you never told me that she hit you?"

Even in the dimness of the room he could see the blush rise to his wife's cheeks.

"I thought there was no need."

"No need?"

A work-calloused hand reached to smooth his frown. "You already had so many things to deal with and I didn't want to add to your troubles."

A small smile crinkled her lips. "And anyway, Airik took care of it and I was sure that Wulfrun would not dare to touch me again."

"She took care, eh? Tell me, what did that mountain cat do to Wulfrun?"

Osláfa giggled. "Oh, it was not so much what she did but rather what she said. She came in like a frost in a summer's night, grabbed Wulfrun by the wrist and dragged her over to the kettle on the fire, saying she would not raise a hand to hit her, because Wulfrun was an old woman. But if Wulfrun ever beat me again, she – Airik – would dip the hand Wulfrun did it with into boiling water and hold it until the flesh fell off her cursed bones."

"Erce's tits!" Frithuhelm's face contorted as his loud laugh sent a stab of pain through his head and shoulder.

Osláfa looked at him worriedly. "I'm sorry, I should have thought..."

He caught her hand. "Never you worry, dear. Better to hurt off and on than not to laugh at all. But that woman certainly is a wild one."

"She holds you in great esteem."

"Me?"

His wife nodded. "You. Why, she told me how you helped her and little Umirok, how you fed them and thought of everything necessary, and how you protected her and even threatened to geld some young lord should he not shut his big mouth."

It felt strange and somehow embarrassing to hear his deeds reported, but seeing Osláfa's eyes shine as she told him, he could not deny his pride and joy. He had never expected the Dunlending to have understood or even noticed what had been going on between him and that loud-mouth of a lordling at the garrison. He cleared his throat, not knowing what to say, but it was Osláfa who continued to speak, a mischievous grin on her face.

"Strictly speaking she was the reason why I married you."

"What?" He turned abruptly to face her, stopping mid-motion with a groan as he realised that again he had forgotten his broken collarbone.

"Poor you!" His wife's hands tenderly caressed his bruised face. "But there really is no need to get upset, you know."

"But how can she be… I mean, you like me well enough, don't you? And.."

"Don't be a fool, Frithuhelm. What woman wouldn't like you "well enough" as you put it? There are more than just a few lasses who are younger than me who would have eagerly taken my place."

His surprise must have shown on his face, because she laughed and shook her head. "Don't tell me you never noticed? How often did the cook offer you some food she had set aside for you? How often … "

"Now stop!" He raised his uninjured hand. "I always helped her carry all the heavier loads and I also repaired one of the large store racks, and.."

She laughed softly. "Oh yes, you certainly did. And you never understood that you were asked for certain favours only that the women might admire you and show you how thankful they are for your help."

"You mean they just asked me to have a reason to invite me for..."

Her bubbling laughter filled the little room. "And you didn't catch on at all?"

He frowned. "No, and I don't want to think about it, for does it not mean that also they thought I was just kind and helpful to them because I wanted to hump them?"

Osláfa shrugged. "There is nothing wrong with it as long as you don't insist on being rewarded with a shag and demand it instead of taking what is given freely. I for instance would not have minded a little romp with you at all."

He felt that his eyes were popping out of his aching head. "You would have shared my bed so I would give you milk for your kids?"

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "No, stupid. But the fact that you fed my kids would have been a very good excuse to invite myself to your bed."

"But you didn't." He simply did not understand the woman.

With a sigh, she stroked his cheek. "What if I got pregnant? It was already difficult enough to see the children I had through."

He grabbed her hand. "But that's stupid. Who ever got you with child would care for the kid."

"Yes, for that kid. While the others..." She shook her head. "No, Frithuhelm. I wanted what was left of my family to stay a family. And I did not see a chance to find myself a good husband because Wulfrun would always have interfered, finding fault with everybody. Who would have put up with that spiteful crone to get a widow with three kids?"

Frithuhelm heaved a breath. "She really is a pain in the arse and I don't understand why Acwuld left the land to her and not to you."

He regretted the words the moment they had left his mouth. A shadow of sorrow flitted over Osláfa's face.

"You know..."

"I do. I'm sorry, Láfa, I..."

She shook her head. "You should sleep now, dear. Stanfleda will be on her way back by now, I'll meet her on the way. I'll make haste to be back before Eadger wakes up."

He grimaced. "I wish you had someone grown up to help you."

She shrugged. "There certainly is work enough for more people, but people working means people eating, and we scarcely have enough supplies to get ourselves through the winter. And where would they sleep? No, Frithuhelm, this year we'll have to struggle on our own. And we can make it, though it would be much easier if we get Stapa back."

She rose, taking her pannier off the peg. "Sleep. You'll see, it will do you good. And next year's business can be discussed next year."

She had already reached the door when the thought struck him.

"Osláfa!"

She turned round, eyeing him quizzically. He motioned to his things which Alfric had put beside the cold hearth. "Put my axe beside the bed, please, so I may reach it with my left hand. Just in case."

ooooo

It was the frenzied barking of the dog that woke him. Confused he sat up, the sudden pain reminding him sharply on what had happened and where he was. With a grunt he reached for the axe beside the bed and made to stand. Only then he realised that little Eadger was no longer at his side. His heart skipped a beat. Had someone taken the boy? Had the child scrambled off the bed while he had slept? He got up, a sudden fit of dizziness making him sway, and he clutched his axe tighter. Over the barking of the dog he could hear Gudram's voice now, yelling at the dog to shut it without any avail. And was there the sound of a horse? He heaved a breath and stumbled towards the door. And then came Stanfleda's high pitched scream.

"Módor, Módor! Alfric has come back!"

The sudden relief almost knocked him over. For a moment he stood and simply breathed before he stepped outside. The sun was already low in the west, bathing the land in mild, shadow-soaked light. He leaned on the doorframe.

Reigning in his horse in the middle of the yard, Alfric dismounted, a wide grin on his weather-beaten face. "Ordered to take care of you, you big clod."

Still grinning, he handed the reins to Gudram and turned to unbuckle the sack fastened behind his saddle. "Barley groats," he explained, holding it out to Osláfa, who had come out of the dairy shed. "You can grind them to get flour for bannocks or use them as they are."

Osláfa shook he head in disbelief. "How in Erce's name did you come by them? And more than a bushel by the look of the sack."

The old Rider's grin threatened to split his face now. "A full bushel and a half. Horic, the captain of the patrol at the bridge we were to relieve, stayed with a handful of his men at Acwuld's to check on the area in case the Hillmen gave some more problems. He told me to keep an eye on you and so I told him that if he sent me here, he had to send some provisions too as you were short of grain."

"Some provisions!" Frithuhelm snorted. "Not that I mind you staying, Alfric. But eating all these groats will even take a greedy guts like you quite some time."

Alfric winked at the children. "True, but it should not be too heavy a task for I count on having some sturdy helpers." Then he turned to Osláfa. "I had to throw your cheese into the bargain and I'm sure they will come for more once they have gobbled it down. It's barely an hour's ride."

But Osláfa remained doubtful. "I dare say they don't have any grain left to barter with, given the amount you took."

"Ah, never you worry. I mentioned that you were interested in salt and one of the blokes told me that his sister, who is in service at old Sigward's, got some of a bloody good quality, her son having haggled with those Dunlending women near Landbúnes."

Frithuhelm frowned. "The folk of Trihyrne trade with the Dunlendings?"

The old Rider shrugged. "They have been on and off through all the centuries. Though I have not heard about the Hillmen having salt. But it seems they have. So perhaps there is a chance to get at some, at least in the long run. The bloke promised to ask his sister once he got back to Trihyrne."

Osláfa slowly shook her head. "With the attack last night I doubt there will be any chance for further trade at the moment, Afric. And anyway, I would need much more than just the handful that is needed to season a pot of stew now and then." And then all of a sudden she turned deadly pale, raising a hand to her mouth as if to stifle a cry.

Letting his axe fall to the ground, Frithuhelm put his arm around her shoulder. "What's wrong, Láfa?"

Being utterly upset, she did not manage to speak at first, and even when she finally did, her voice was but a whisper. "The attack! The Hillmen broke their oath to Erkenbrand with that attack."

Frithuhelm did not understand how that could upset her so profoundly so he resorted to squeezing her shoulders encouragingly. "They certainly did, but…"

Her desperate wail cut him short: "But Airik and her child! They will be held responsible! Oh, Erce help! What will the marshal do to them!"

Annotations

Faeder: (Old English/Rohirrc) father

Ealder Faeder: (Old English/Rohirrc) Grandfather

rennet: In order to make cheese you need to curdle the milk. For that rennet, a ferment that can be found in the stomachs of suckling animals, is added to the milk, though today - at least in Europe - mostly artificial rennet is used. The stomachs of the slaughtered calves or lambs could be dried, salted or frozen and when needed, a tiny space of the inner part would be scraped off and added to the milk.

Yellow bedstraw (Gallium verum): There are some plants that can be used to curdle milk, Gallium verum being one of them. The German name Labkraut even means "rennet herb".

meadowsweet: a plant that contains much more salicylic acid and tastes much better than the so often referred to willow bark. (I use it to flavour the whipped cream for my summer pies. ;-)) But as salicylic acid "dilutes" the blood ( that's why a large number of old people take a low dose daily ) it can be dangerous in case of internal bleeding.

Who's Who? (Thanwen universe)

Éomer: King of the Riddermark, said to have a tendency to fly off the handle

Lothíriel: Queen of the Riddermark, for good reason called scipflota cwen (pirate princess) by her husband

Éothain: the king's friend and captain of the royal guard

Eorthwela: Éothain's wife

Erkenbrand: Marshal of the Westfold

Egefride: his mother, a clever old woman, knows Dunlendic

Leofwaru: his wife, a sweet-tempered lady, but not the brightest candle on the cake

Frithuhelm: a young farmer (widowed), the gentle giant of the Mark who can get quite ungentle if need be

Osláfa: his second wife ( Acwuld's widow ) has three children and is some years older than Frithuhelm

Gudram (10), Stanfleda (6), Eadger (2): Osláfa's children

Wulfrun: (in "Winds" her name was Arild, but I changed that because otherwise there would have been too many names starting with an A .) Acwuld's mother; not the most lovable contemporary, to say the least

Acwuld: farmer, killed by Saruman's orcs, Frithuhelm's former friend and neighbour

Stapa: Frithuhelm's horse, partly cold-blooded and well-trained

Alfric: an old Westfold Rider, knows a few things about leechcraft; a friend of Frithuhelm

Brūn: Alfric's horse

Ulger: captain of a Westfold border patrol

Airik: Dunlending, taken hostage by Éomer in the last winter, clever, ruthless and famous for her bad temper
Umirok: her baby-daughter