Ermhild may have demoted Léofe to the room and garb of a servant, but evidently did not carry such an authority to give her menial duties. And so Léofe was left on her own, bored and miserable as she tried to adjust to living in a busy fortress without a friend in sight.
She visited first the stables, thinking that exchanging the company of people for that beasts would restore her spirits. As she passed through the gate, the smell of fresh hay, old apples, manure and horses met her with the comforting wholeness to which she was accustomed. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, though it was cut short as an armored rider barrelled past her.
"Move aside, girl!" he turned to bark at her. "There is no time for dallying here! Meet your lad elsewhere."
Tears stung her eyes, and humiliated as the stable boys and others milling about turned to stare at her, Léofe turned on her heel and ran.
Was there to be nothing left for her?
Grey rain heralded the autumn, and the grass in the valley died. If it could even be called grass, Léofe thought to herself sourly as she peeked through her window. It was short and yellow, and she doubted that it would be green and lush even in the spring. There was not even a sunrise on that day, for thick clouds covered the sky and stifled her further. A little sun would have been most welcome to her in her sickbed. Her luck had only become worse as the days passed, but at least now that she was laid up with a head cold she had an excuse to not leave her room and be stared at by all the servants.
She sneezed violently - once, twice, three times - and blew her nose on the corner of the thin shawl she had stolen from the laundry. Now, she thought to herself. When I thought that my life could not possibly become sorrier, it was not an invitation for the weather to do its worst!
A rap on the door made her jump, and she pulled the blankets higher on her chest. "Enter," she said hoarsely, hurrying to brush the stray hair from her face.
Théodred stepped through the door, bending down slightly to fit through and filling her room with his presence. Was her room truly so small? He was dirty and travel-stained, and she imagined that he was smelly, but as her sense of smell was quite gone it did not bother her. He gave her a smile, and she wrung her hands together underneath the covers.
"What is it?" she asked, hoping that perhaps he had gone blind over the last several weeks, and that he would not see her red, leaky nose and bloodshot eyes.
"We are returned," he said slowly, looking her up and down. "Could you possibly tell me why you are in a servants' chamber?"
Because the stupid, snobbish housekeeper thought it befitting my station! she thought to shout at him. But she could not. Her pride lifted her eyes to his, and the same pride suppressed her from melting within his gaze.
"Isolation, I suppose," he answered for her. "I imagine that Ermhild did not wish you to cause any others to become sick."
"Of course," Léofe said, feeling dumb.
He continued study her, and she felt herself reddening. "Is there something you wished to speak to me about?" she asked.
"Ah, yes - of course. But I do not wish to cause you to exert yourself. I must tell you that my eored is departing again today. I did intend to speak to you of your future, but now is, er, clearly not the proper time. I have a specific question to ask you, truthfully." He seemed to be babbling somewhat, which Léofe found disconcerting.
"It is kind of you to tell me in person that you are leaving," she said. "But there was no cause. Surely if you had not come I would not have even noticed that you had arrived."
The prince seemed confused at her words, and then he shook his head slightly. "I am leaving Brego in your care," he said. "He has been tireless the past two months but lately he has been lagging, and so has earned a long rest. I will inform the grooms to see to him until you recover. Brego is at your disposal. You may ride him, if you wish. I have thought that it might be difficult for you to be away from your home."
His thoughtfulness had her welling up with tears, though it could have been the itch in her throat. "I thank you," she whispered. "I shall spoil him."
"I imagine you would," his lips pulled into his heart-wrenching half-smile, and Léofe smothered a sigh. "That is all," Théodred said briskly after a moment. "I will see you again when I return. We have a great deal to discuss, you and I."
Léofe was left gaping at his back as he turned and left, shutting the door gently behind him. Discuss? What on earth did they have to discuss? But more importantly - Brego was here! She closed her eyes and settled deeper into bed. She needed to become well again quickly, and then she might see Brego again all the sooner.
.
.
Brego's warm eyes were unchanged, though the whiskers around his chin was not as soft as it used to be. He still enjoyed her scratching his ears and neck, and Léofe hummed to herself while the stallion relaxed under her touch. It was the happiest she had been in a long time - if her reckoning was correct, she had been in the Hornburg for nearly six weeks. Six extremely miserable weeks, and Théodred had been out on patrols for their entirety. It would not be nearly so pitiful, she thought to herself, if she had a friend. Théodred was her friend, was he not?
There was a tapping on the stall door, and Léofe looked up to see Erkenbrand's grinning face looking down at her. "I heard a rumor that there was a young miss wooing the prince's horse," he said without preamble. "I had to see if it was true!"
Léofe scoffed. "I am simply enjoying his company, as he is enjoying mine. Wooing indeed! Brego loved me far before he loved Théodred."
"Have you ridden him very much?"
She paused, willing her face not to flush in embarrassment. "Only with Théodred," she said. "I never ride a horse to be sold."
"Is that so?"
"My father's rule. The Rohirrim prefer to train their own horses, at least for riding. And with the bonding...if I rode a horse I would only interfere with its future relationship with its master."
"Can't be completely true," Erkenbrand rumbled, rubbing his beard. "My wife will only take a horse that has been trained by another. She does not care much for them."
The insinuation that a Rohirric woman did not care for horses was akin to saying a bird preferred not to fly. Léofe could only shake her head in disbelief as a grin grew on the other man's face.
"She was raised in Gondor, for a time," he explained.
Léofe muttered something about excuses, fetching a comb to relieve Brego's mane of tangles. Erkenbrand was still standing there, and at once remembering what Théodred had said and feeling distinctly uncomfortable, she asked, "Were you not on patrol?"
"Aye, I was," he said, appearing pleased for the inquiry. "We returned only last night. I am eager to leave again; without Alf and Théodred this fortress can be a drag." Léofe agreed in murmur, not liking the way his eyes suddenly brightened. "Say, are you at all familiar with jumping horses? Théodred was training Brego in their spare time, but a few months ago…" He trailed off here, looking slightly red around the ears. Léofe frowned. "There has not been any time of late, I mean to say. Would you like to continue the training?"
Did she ever! A chance to ride Brego, to fill her time with training and perhaps the only possible semblance for normality? "I am not entirely sure I should," she said. "Théodred said I might visit and ride Brego, but he did not say I could teach him any tricks."
"Hardly a trick," Erkenbrand said, now looking satisfied. "I would assist you were I not to lead another patrol on the morrow. You ought to take him out sometime. It would be enjoyable for you both, I should think."
The huge bear of a man took his leave, and Léofe was left with a dilemma. Should she take up training Brego again? It was awfully suspect; Rohirric tradition held that a horse could only be ridden by its master or immediate family, excepting in times of war. She had been excused for arriving on Brego for her circumstances; she hadn't cared too much when Théodred had taken her into town on his gelding the winter previous. And he had said that she could ride Brego. But would that not make a target for gossip? It would certainly bend Ermhild's imperious nose out of shape.
Léofe refilled Brego's feed and water troughs, giving him a last scratch behind the ears before walking back into the hall for supper. She had taken longer than she realized, and Léofe grimaced at the thought of taking sup while smelling of the stables. Well, the Riders were no different. And as she sat with the servants, who would care, anyway?
Whispers seemed to hover over her meal, and despite her scowl at being stared at, Léofe looked up every few moments to see heads turn away from her. It was only slightly more irritating than normal, for still she could not understand why she caused such derision. She tried to eat her fill despite feeling nauseated and wishing that she could escape the hall. She did try to fill her own mind so that she would not hear what was being said, but Brego's name pricked her ears.
"I thought it was bad form to let your whore on your horse." A mutter from her left caused her clench her fist, nearly bending her spoon in half.
"That is unfair," a softer voice replied. "She seems like much less than a respectable whore. Any self-respecting, trained harlot wouldn't try to increase her station."
"Yer one to talk," a third, bland tone interjected. "Ye tried for the prince yourself last Midsummer, and ye ain't trained at all."
The second voice sniffed. "Not to increase my station, Hilgund."
"Only the weight of yer purse," Hilgund retorted. "Finish yer sups, both of ye, and get back to the kitchen."
The chatter died down after that, and Léofe's grip on her utensils slackened. So she had a friend, or a defender. And more enemies, for that. How did she become the target of such petty malice? The answer was obvious, of course, she thought as she stabbed at her pie before consuming it. The prince. Her acquaintance with Théodred was evidently one to covet. Was he not so kind to the servants in the Deep?
That question troubled her, and soon after she sought the solace of her chamber, though once she sat on the bed she wishes she were anywhere else. Théodred was a handsome man, there was no doubt of it, as well as the king's son, a marshal, and great leader in war. Any woman would be lucky to receive a smile from him, let alone the consideration that Léofe felt he had always shown her. But she received his attentions because he bought his stallion from her father, not for any special regard. That much was true, was it not?
And what if that was not true? If it was not mutual respect he felt for her, the only other reasonable explanation considering his station as well as her own, was that he pitied her. And Léofe hated pity above all else in the world. She had been pitied as long as she remembered; for the death of her mother, for the poverty that she and her father lived in and which had increased yearly. She could recall a specific instance, once which made her insides boil with disgust.
An eight-year-old Léofe clinging to Gerdhelm's hand as he did his business in the market of Isenburg. The shop owners ignored her, which she did not mind, but she was not the only child there. One grubby boy, about her age, had stuck his tongue out at her and called her that detestable name, for the first time in her life - "Gutter snipe!" His mother had heard the quip, however, and struck him in the face for it. Her own gaze had settled on Léofe, and likely her torn dress and bare feet, and the mother had told her demon of a child that poor people must not be hated, but pitied. Bad fortune and breeding could happen to anyone, she had said.
Much older now, Léofe found it rather ironic that such a dirty boy had thought her disgusting, and that the mother had corrected his manners with worse ones. She had been poor for years, but she had always retained her pride. Pride in her horses, and pride that she and her father had always been able to live independently.
Léofe collapsed on her knobbly mattress, wincing as she felt the hard wood of the frame underneath the slip of pillow. Her younger self would not endure this humiliation. She had been shunned, sniffed at and disregarded as common since she had arrived at the Deep, but she was not common! She raised wonderful horses, famous in the Westmark and sought for by princes!
It was all insufferable; living with knowledge of her own abilities and yet hearing differently from all around her. Why could no one believe that she was not so worthless? Théodred thought kindly of her . . .
Her thoughts jumbled into this circling confusion, causing Léofe to bury herself in her bed linens with her eyes squeezed shut. Everything seemed to return to Théodred, as much as she tried to keep him away. His friendship, or sponsorship, or whatever he would term it - brought her to attention but it did not bring her privilege. Ought she to blame him for it? But how could she? - for she could deny her sentiments no longer; she did love him, so very deeply.
Blast it, she could not bear to live within these walls a moment longer!
Swinging her legs over the side of the rackety cot, Léofe took a deep breath, decision clearing her mind. After all, there was little need to continue living in the fortress; she had no family and no occupation. She was clearly unwelcomed by nearly all the residents, and likely unwanted by Théodred as well. It would be simpler, to remove herself without a fuss.
Brego - she could not leave him! The horrifying thought that followed turned her stomach in knots - take him along. Stealing a horse was a terrible offense by the law, stealing a Rider's horse far worse, and making off with the prince's? Well, she would likely be hanged for taking any horse, she may as well make out count. With this part of her plan finally in place, Léofe curled up next to her window, watching for dawn when she might escape.
It had not snowed yet; Léofe had overheard many times complaints and worries from individuals within the Keep. It was considered a bad omen for winter to delay its wrath, but she was grateful for it. It was cold enough with her few layers of clothing in the thin grey air as she stomped her way to the stable. She would not be tracked so easily, either.
Brego was perfectly happy to see her, and she was pleased to see an unattended bag of apples near his stall. She spread a saddle blanket across his back and was fastening a thin rope bridle when she heard approaching steps, and jumped.
"Oi, miss! That be the Marshal's steed - ye'll be imprisoned for such an offense!" So the stables were guarded. Fortunately Léofe came prepared, and turned to face the much taller man with fiery eyes.
"I have permission from the Marshal himself, dolt," she snapped. "And Lord Erkenbrand as well, in case you are questioning my right to be here."
"Er - well, that is to say -"
Léofe smiled to herself. She had rightly assumed that Erkenbrand was not one any soldier would willingly cross. And technically, it had been Erkenbrand's suggestion that she take Brego out. Although she was stretching his meaning rather far.
"Return to your duties, sir, and I shall not take this matter further," she adopted what she thought was a lordly manner.
"Yes, my lady." The guard bowed and continued on, his cheeks red.
That had been much easier than Léofe thought! After the guard had moved far enough down the stalls, she lifted the bag of apples onto Brego's back and maneuvered the stallion to a mounting block, where she swung herself up, holding the bag steady. She spurred him forward and he acceded to her commands without any fuss. Through the deserted stable yard, down the winding ways of the Hornburg towards the gate, which was thankfully open. Were there no guards here either? How odd. Léofe hesitated briefly before the huge oaken doors, and then with a word from her, Brego began trotting energetically down the stone path to the muddy plains below.