In the winter, when the snows deafened the eye, and extra layers of clothing were placed first on the horses shaggy coats, then on the people who rode them (in that order, exactly); in winter, when fires burned that bit brighter, singing the edges of the darkness, and of robes left to dry in their glow; in winter, the ice cutters came.

He was meant to have been raised in a warmer clime, he thought, although he could not be sure of it. But he was sure of this: when the ice cutters arrived, it was cold enough for his skin to shrink away from the frosted air, and wrap itself more tightly around his muscles and bones, cold enough for his fingers to begin to twist and swell and cause him pain. They had been broken – all of them but one – in the past, and by the end of a cold winter here in this godsforsaken pit, they had twisted into dead spider shapes and didn't thaw until springs warmth coaxed them back to normalcy. It was almost as if the ice cutters themselves brought the cold with them, and for that he despised them. That wasn't all that unusual in itself – he despised a great many things in his life, and looked forward to despising a great many more before his end. But the ice cutters were so… jolly, with their red suits and red hats, and noses red also, from the cold. And the people loved them. The first few days of the ice season were almost like a festival, with dancing and feasting, and of course the eternal games of skill on horseback. Off horseback then on, on then off, side to side and around the horses' bellies – was there no end? And through it all he smiled thinly, (his lips seemed to shrink away from the cold as well), and tucked his aching fingers further into the sleeves of his extra robes. Eomer so often laughed at him – as did many of the young men here, covertly or otherwise – at his hatred of the cold, and dismay when the first frost ferns decorated the windows of the Halls. The young warrior's pale sister was, at least, more guarded in her mockery and for that he was grateful. She greeted the ice cutters with cool reserve, and avoided touching their hands, where her people eagerly crowded around to receive the traditional blessing of luck from the ice cutters' mitts. Once an eager cutter had seized both of her hands, pale and slim, in his own two red mittened paws and shaken them joyfully before whirling away and repeating the blessing over and over in the crowd. She had stood still for a moment looking at him as he retreated, then carefully wiped her fingers on her skirts, and turned toward the great doors of the Hall. Her face had seemed to him then to be moulding itself after the icy peaks in the distance.

Ice cutting was a tricky business, he had been told. The job of the cutter was to select the perfect blocks of ice – near to the beginning of the ice season was best, before the ice had had a chance to get tough as it was late in the season. Once the cutter had selected his block, he then cut it from the surrounding ice as square as he could manage. The block was then transported to the town where it was carefully packed in a box of straw with others to await the warmer seasons. It was then taken to a small dark room at the back of a house where it was kept, again packed in soft straw. The idea was that the ice kept the flesh pressed against it in the darkness from becoming rancid for at least a little longer.

**

Wickedly sharp, with a blade specially shaped for cutting, his brother Hulte had made the ice axe for him. Einal appreciated it as a craftsman appreciates his finest tool. Maybe even more so, because it was Hulte who gave it to him. It sliced through the ice easily, and Einal almost felt its joy as he shaped a block with it. Today his team was assigned to Bakra's Cauldron, a small deep lake that regularly provided quality ice at this time of the season. The people of Edoras, outside of Ice Season, rarely visited Bakra's Cauldron. It was half a day's ride from the town, appearing suddenly in the grasslands like a miracle in the ground. In the warmer months it was slightly brackish, fed by seeping groundwater rather than an underground spring. Several trees gathered on the north shore, bare and rattling in winter, bare and dead in summer. He had heard that it was once a popular trysting place for young lovers from Edoras, but for the last decade, noone had come here. He did not know why. He supposed that with the fickle faddishness of the youth, the Cauldron had been replaced by another favoured location. The three skeletal trees provided enough shelter for his team to set up a small fire to brew some of the strong tea favoured by ice cutters, before marking and grooving the blocks for removal. Einal, team captain, sat to one side, cup of tea in one hand and ice axe in the other. Hulte had carved a repeated pattern of leaves down the heft and handle, and Einal had worn it down with rubbing it. Warm fragrant steam condensed on his face as he sipped at the brew. One of his younger cutters, a boy named Elden, tossed his birch bark cup to one side, wiped his mouth with one mittened hand, and hefted his axe to his shoulder.

"Aye lad, you get started with the marking, and we'll be there to groove the blocks," Einal said. Elden nodded and walked out onto the ice. He stood for a moment, mentally marking his blocks, then walked a few steps and knelt to pound in a peg to mark one corner. Einal watched him raise his axe, peg in hand, and then saw him falter and the axe fall from his grip and spin away from him across the frozen surface. Einal tossed his cup aside and rose to join the boy on the ice. Elden's eyes were fixed to a point below the end of his peg. Einal followed his stricken gaze.

Visible beneath the milky surface of the ice was a woman's hand, still fingers curled as if in invitation.

Einal knelt by Elden and pressed two mittened finger to the surface where her fingers almost broke through. By now the others had stood, clustered at the Cauldron's edge.

"What is it, Einal?"

"Is it the ice? Is it breaking up this year?"

Einal held up his hand for silence and stood, hooking his other hand beneath Elden's arm and dragging him up. Einal gently pushed the boys toward the others, still craning their necks and murmuring amongst themselves. A curl of fear pushed through his gut.

He looked up at his team and gestured back toward Edoras.

"We'll be cutting nothing here today, lads. Elden, you and Serte head back to Edoras now, and tell Hama all that you have seen here."

Elden nodded and tugged the older Serte towards the horses. Wentha, Einal's team second, edged toward him across the ice.

"What is it, Einal? Fractures?"

Einal looked at him, shook his head, and pointed to the spot at his feet. Wentha crossed the short distance, and looked down.

Then he knelt and took a closer look.

"There's someone under here," he said, his voice rough. "A lass, frozen with the Cauldron I'd bet."

He looked away. Einal nodded.

"Aye. Its serious business, Wentha."

**

Grima regarded the boy's ruddy cheeks with a measure of distaste. Hama was kneeling with the lad before the great fireplace in the Hall, listening with a frown to the tale he told. Eomer and his lieutenant, dark complected Rade, had also drawn near, ale mugs in hand, to listen. Einal, leader of the cutter team, stood unhappily to one side, while the rest of his team lingered in a corner. The lad, Elden, had ridden in a half-hour ahead of his team, and Hama had seen him almost immediately.

"No Sir, I did not see more. Just a lady's hand. Under the ice."

Hama glanced up at Einal, who nodded tersely.

"Aye. That's all that's visible, but I'd wager there's more under there."

Eomer swallowed his last mouthful of ale, and wiped his mouth. He glanced at Rade.

"I doubt that this is worthy of your notice, Hama. Doubtless whoever this unfortunate was, she is beyond all aid now."

Rade nodded. "Likely a victim of orc attacks. This shows that what I have been saying about stepping up patrols is not baseless, Hama."

Hama was silent for a moment, his burly form still in a pose that Grima recognised as thought.

He needs to be completely still to allow the blood to redirect from his muscles, Grima supposed. Somewhat uncharitable of me.

"I disagree, Lord Eomer, Rade. I believe this to be very much worthy of my attention," Hama replied, his voice a little strained.

There was a moment of silence, and Grima felt himself twitching in silent amusement. Perhaps it was time to sway the balance of the scene in his favour.

"Well, such a mystery as we have here…. I agree with the redoubtable Lord Hama," he said softly. The assembled others looked up with varying degrees of surprise. He had been mostly ensconced in the shadows, and stepped forward as he spoke, inserting himself between Hama and the lad.

"Every life in Rohan in under this man's protection. Besides… There is one name that I have not yet heard uttered here. Doubtless you are aware of that name, Lord Eomer."

"And you shall not utter it, snake," Hama rumbled, his attention turning to Grima. "Her name is not fit to pass your lips."

Grima shrugged slightly and spread his hands in a gesture of peace.

"And so it shall not, Lord Hama. I merely suggest that it may need to be said by somebody."

But silence followed, and rang from the rafters of the Golden Hall.

The name, of course, was Leah. It was almost impossible for any present to imagine that it might not be. The lass was a favourite in the Hall, Eowyn's handmaiden, possessed of a marvellous singing voice and fond of markplums, a small fruit that grew close to the ground in small patches on the Mark. She was also Hama's niece, and had not been seen for several weeks. Hama himself had led searches, riding in widening, maddening circles around Edoras and across the far reaching frosted grasslands, until his mount and his men were lathered despite winter's cold. It was assumed that the girl had been killed by an orc raiding party that had struck at an outlying settlement before carving a swathe of destruction across the Riddermark. They had angled closer to Edoras than had been forecast, and several townspeople had been caught in their path. Leah's body had never been found. But, thought Grima, her body was suddenly here in the room with them, all around them, and he could almost smell the rancid scent of decomposition as he looked at the faces of the men around him. His nostrils twitched. Hama's face sank into crags and lines, then lifted as he caught himself. Rade nodded slowly.

"That must be it, then. It must be… Leah."

"What must be Leah?"

The voice came from behind them, brittle and edged. Grima's spine contracted, and he turned to face her.

"Eowyn, this cannot concern you," her brother said brusquely. Her face grew set and steely.

"And yet despite that, I ask again, Eomer – what about Leah?"

Grima remained silent, awaiting the answer. None was offered by any assembled, and Eowyn's expression remained unchanged.

Einal cleared his throat. "Forgive me if this is not my place, Lady, but – my cutters found a body this morning… in the ice."

"And are you certain that it is… her?" she murmured, her expression shifting to real confusion. Grima was fascinated by the play of emotion across her features. He would have expected grief, or denial, or even anger – but this was genuine confusion, as if the lady was taken by surprise. He decided to answer her question.

"So it would appear to those of us here, Lady. Did she not vanish at a time when the ice was beginning to form? This alone supports the… identity… of the poor, unfortunate girl."

He watched closely as her face relaxed into familiar lines, closed and pacific – a mask that she wore, that he longed to prise away.

"Indeed," she said coolly. "This is terrible news, Lord Hama. I… I am grieved. Excuse me." She nodded to her brother and Lord Hama, and glanced fleetingly in Grima's direction, her eyes flashing momentarily, as if full of something she could barely contain within her skin. Eomer watched her go through narrowed eyes. Across from him, Grima mirrored his expression, observing both of them closely. He had had too much experience at hiding things himself not to see the signs of things withheld and things implied. Beneath the exquisite surface of her skin, she was holding something to herself, something which directly affected the disappearance of the maid Leah. Grima glanced at Eomer once more. He was to one side, whispering animatedly to Rade, while Hama dismissed Elden. As much as Grima wished to hear every syllable uttered by the two Riders, he had a fairer quarry in mind. He turned silently and followed her. There was something afoot here, and he very much wished to be a part of it.