Erkenbrand returned three weeks to the day on which he departed with his host. Léofe had been indulging in a bout of self-pity, sitting alone on a parapet with her legs dangling over the edge. It was the same parapet where Théodred had taken her all those months ago, and in such solitude she could almost hear his voice again. The sun was warm, the breeze which drifted lazily down the mountain passes was pleasant, and she remembered happiness.
But the shouts of soldiers broke through her peace, and she was forced to open her eyes to see columns of riders mounting the causeway into the Deep. She could see Erkenbrand's massive form in the vanguard, and relief for Alfrida made Léofe smile wryly to herself. She could not feel so bitter that the happiness of others made her ache worse, but a blossom of hope in her heart seemed to cut through her darkness. Perhaps a year ago she might have responded differently, but it had been a very difficult year, after all.
Eventually she wandered down to the courtyard, which was mostly emptied as soldiers returned to their families and stablehands took the horses to be cared for. It was all done remarkably quickly; was Erkenbrand's host so depleted? Léofe turned to the hall, where she heard voices. Likely that was where Alfrida could be found.
She squeezed through the oaken door, stopping to blink in the dim light of the hall. Indeed, there was Alfrida, sitting at a low table next to Erkenbrand, whose large hand was spanning her swollen belly. He still wore his armor, and bore the dirt and filth of travel. A light was in his eyes, and there were tears on the lady's face.
"Léofe!" Alfrida said, her voice nasally. "Come sit with us."
Though feeling awkward for intruding on such a moment, Léofe obeyed anyway. She took a place at a table across from them, facing her friends.
"The Dark Lord is vanquished," Erkenbrand said before Léofe could open her mouth to ask. "For good this time, or so they tell me. Though we paid a heavy price for it: Théoden is dead."
Léofe supposed that was the reason for Alfrida's tears. Her brother was dead; of course she was weeping! Léofe's thoughts stumbled about for moment as she surmised that Théodred ought to be king then, but then she remembered.
"Théoden named Éomer king on the fields in front of Minas Tirith," Erkenbrand continued, as if knowing her mind. "Éomer has been crowned, and Théoden will be buried in Edoras with his kin."
Léofe frowned. She did not know what to think. "I suppose…" she said after a moment. "Éomer will be a good king."
"He will," Alfrida said. "Though he still mourns his cousin and uncle, as...as do I. As do we all. He will come around, though."
Léofe decided she was uncomfortable speaking of Théodred's family in such a familiar way. She stood abruptly, which startled Erkenbrand. "Thank you for the news," she said politely. "And welcome back."
She turned to leave, and so did not see Erkenbrand's mouth fall open at her retreating back.
.
.
"Are you going to the feast tonight?"
Léofe muttered a half-hearted response, being focused on trying to use the too-short end of bandage to tie a sufficient knot on the man's arm. It was not going well, and she was forced to stifle a growl of frustration. She pulled the linen tighter, making Ceorl wince.
"I hear there is going to be much singing and dancing," he added after a moment.
"I do not know where you get your gossip, but I find it most unsettling. You seem better informed than anyone else in the Keep," Léofe said airily as she succeeded in knotting the bandage. Ceorl wriggled his fingers as he stared doubtfully at the poorly tied bandage, which made her scowl.
"Erkenbrand visits us on occasion," Ceorl explained. "But you are going? Or did you dress so nicely to visit me?" His unrepentant grin might have made her smile at another time, but Léofe just shook her head.
"Yes, I am going. I have nothing else to do."
"You could stay here and keep me company."
She stood, untying the apron which protected her green velvet dress and folded it neatly. "Perhaps I should have made myself clear," Léofe said. "I have nothing better to do."
A low chuckle sounded from the made up bed next to Ceorl, and a man with a bandage wrapped 'round his head chortled, "You've no luck with women, Ceorl! Might as well give up!"
Léofe glowered at this man, avoiding Ceorl's intense gaze, which had not left her. She felt that she understood such insinuations well enough, but the thought of giving another man affection made her feel ill. Ceorl was plenty kind, and he was good-natured even with his injuries, but Léofe could not return his sentiments. She could not even consider it.
"Dawyn is on duty tonight, I believe," she said lightly. "Perhaps if you ask her nicely, she will do a jig for the special occasion."
"Or she will cuff me 'round the head," Ceorl grinned. "But it is kind of you to consider my amusement, in any case. Oh, and that is a pretty bracelet, Léofe!"
The billowy sleeves of her dress had fallen back as she was ordering the row of medicines into neater columns. She did not look at her wrist, where the gift from Ingewyn was resting. It was a gold bracelet, braided and set with a single garnet. Though Léofe thought it massively pretty, she felt it was unearned, and that she was far too plain to be wearing such richness. Unfortunately Alfrida had seen it in passing and insisted she wear it for the feast. And so she ignored Ceorl's comment, and said,
"Your wounds have been healing awfully slowly. Perhaps you will be well enough to attend Yuletide."
He laughed, which was her design, and she left before he could compose himself and make her any more uncomfortable.
.
.
The mood in the hall was half-somber, half-relieved. It was an odd atmosphere, as if everyone wanted to celebrate but was held back by their recent memories of horror and guilt at surviving when their friends and family did not.
Léofe certainly felt as if the entire feast was wrong somehow. How could she possibly feel festive when the memory of Théodred still darkened her heart?
The food tasted of ash in her mouth, though she was thankful for victuals at least. And it was hot and fresh; Alfrida had made a very good choice to have a cow slaughtered for the event. When the sweet course was at last served after a long, dragging meal, a minstrel with a lyre stepped forward, a bandage wrapped around his head but looking hale otherwise. He bowed to the head table, and Erkenbrand took his eyes off of his wife at last (though he did not remove his hand from her belly), and bade the man to begin.
"We cannot forget past afflictions," the minstrel said in a carrying voice. "Lest we fall victims to the same traps again. I wish to begin with a song which has arisen from the Westmark during this time of war...a tale whispered from soldier to soldier, from Rider to widow, from farmhand to Lord… A tale that reminds us of love given and love lost." He cleared his throat, strummed his lyre.
There was a pretty freckled maid from valley lush and green
Who was loved by a noble prince; tall, noble, brave and true
And though their births would never agree, their souls did not want
Oh, they swore eternal love beneath the clear azure sky . . .
He said, "My darling, I must go to war—
And though I know I hold your heart
I cannot swear to keep it safe.
And if I fall promise not to grieve long,
for ye fair maid are the worthiest I know
and should not deny yourself joy for my sake."
She said, "I'd rather lay my life down than my true love forsake,
even if my heart bleeds for the rest of my days—
I will ever be thine, and thine alone."
The prince did not return and fair maid haunts now the valley green . . .
Léofe's face was burning, and almost against her will she felt a grimace pulling at her lips. She knew there were eyes upon her, and whispers echoed throughout the now silent hall. Her heartbeat thudded loudly in her own ears. Alfrida reached over a hand and placed it over Léofe's cold one, and she shook herself. "Well," she said, tossing her hair back as if she had not a care in the world, which was a complete lie. "It was not quite like that."
Awkward laughter rang in her ears, and thankfully, the minstrel began another song without further waiting. But Léofe did not listen any longer; the song of her—there was a song about her and Théodred!—still echoing in her ears. So, their great secret was not a secret at all. Was it such a surprise? They had not been entirely careful, too caught up in their own affections to realize that others could see it, too.
The remainder of the songs were more light-hearted, tales of long-dead lovers, old kings and forgotten wars. But the last, as the minstrel stood to give a final bow, quieted the hall once more. It was a song Léofe knew well enough; it had been around for years in taverns (or at least as her father had mentioned). But with recent events still fresh in mind, there was a special ache along with it.
Oh, all the money that ever I spent
I spent it in good company
And all the harm that ever I've done
Alas, it was to none but me
And all I've done for want of wit
To memory now I can't recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all.
Oh, all the comrades that ever I've had
Are sorry for my going away
And all the sweethearts that ever I've had
Would wish me one more day to stay
But since it falls unto my lot
That I should rise and you should not
I'll gently rise and I'll softly call
Good night and joy be with you all . . .
.
.
Summer burned bright that year, but Léofe could have no thought for the weather, so busy was she with taking over Alfrida's duties during the lady's confinement. The babe arrived soon after Midsummer, and while Léofe was happy for her friend she could not help feeling immensely sad at the sight of the squalling child, for he was named Théobrand and seemed to relight the her agony of loneliness.
But time passed, nonetheless.
Léofe watched the lush grass in the valley, tall and proud, fluttering in the hot breeze of late summer. She leaned out her window as far as she could, breathing deeply and noticing—for the first time—the barest whiff of chill air from the mountains. So, autumn was considering making an appearance.
A knock sounded on her door, and Léofe reluctantly drew away from the open window. Alfrida, dressed for travel, was standing in the doorway, Théobrand wrapped to her chest with a shawl. Léofe smiled at his pink, pudgy cheeks sticking out as he stared at her with wide, grey eyes.
"I wanted to ask one final time before we left," Alfrida said, her tone gentle. "Are you determined to stay behind?"
Erkenbrand and Alfrida had been planning a visit to the Fords of Isen for quite some time; partly to oversee the cleaning of all traces of war from the area, and partly to visit Théodred's cairn, which had been constructed on the riverbank. Léofe had struggled to even consider joining the expedition, and took a deep breath as she said, slowly, "I cannot go, Alfie. For if I do...I fear I shall lie down on the bank and never move again."
Alfrida's lips drooped downwards, but she nodded and stepped forward to kiss Léofe's cheek. "Farewell, Léofe. If you find yourself overwhelmed without Erk and I...you might consult Grimbold."
"Thank you; I shall."
.
.
They returned the morning of the first frost. Léofe had been sweeping the front steps to the hall (out of boredom rather than need; without war there was surprisingly little to the upkeep of the Hornburg). She heard the call of Erkenbrand's horn, and she made down the stairs, excited to see her friends again. She shaded her eyes from the chill sun to watch the great gate swing inwards.
There was a screeching neigh, and before she could even smile to greet Alfrida, she saw a familiar but dilapidated figure of a horse tied to Erkenbrand's mount.
It was Brego!
The broom fell from her limp hands as she stared at the stallion, who was shying away from a squire who had rushed forward to untie him. Brego looked simply awful—ribs protruded, his coat was matted and filled with briars, and he walked with a limp. Part of his left ear was torn away, and foaming spittle dripped onto the stones of the courtyard. The squire was is immediate danger of being bitten, so Léofe walked on trembling legs, calling out Brego's name in as strong a voice as she could force through her numb throat. The stallion paused, his head tilting her way. His legs were shaking too, and with tears in her eyes, Léofe scratched his wrinkly chin only briefly before winding her arms tightly around his neck. Léofe barely heard Erkenbrand explaining, behind her, that they had come across him in the forest, half-mad and half-starved. Brego seemed in as bad condition as Léofe felt her heart was, but she murmured to her best friend anyway—
"Oh, Brego! How I missed you! We must stay together now, you and I, now that—now that Théodred is gone. Do you think we will be alright? Can we be happy again? I think I could possibly be, with you again. Brego, Brego!"
But this time, her shaking sobs were a curative, and she felt the sun warm her back.
Stay tuned just a bit longer; one more chapter!