Wealtheow blinked hard, but she could not stop the tears from coming. She
folded the last of Ceorl's shirts, cream-coloured, and still bearing the
stain of his deathblood. She put it softly in the pile, her body
convulsing with unwept sobs. Next were Terith's frocks. Yesterday they
had skipped down together to the sunlit field below Edoras to pick
simbelmynë to place on the graves of those who had fallen trying to stem
the nightly attacks. Wealtheow wrapped her arms around her knees and
rocked back and forth, finally giving into the tears that had been hurling
themselves against her sea-blue eyes.
Strong arms gently encircled her, pulling the little girl close in a comforting hug. She buried her face in her friend's chest and sobbed. A strange tremor caused her to look up; Hrothulf was crying too. He closed his eyes for a long moment, forcing back his tears, and then said to her, with a grieving smile, "Theow, let's get Hrethric and Hrothmund and ride awhile. I need to get away from here, and I'm sure you little ones do too. . . we can pack a lunch and take Hasuwine and Eotheod. . ."
Wealtheow nodded through the ocean in her deep blue eyes and stood up, giving Hrothulf a quick hug. Silently she went to find her foster- brothers. They would be helping to prepare the armour of the lost.
Running her fingers through Hasuwine's mist-grey mane, Wealtheow gazed at the fields stretched out beyond the gate of Edoras. The grasses danced like living sunlight, twirling with the zephyrs in waves of brilliant gold. The sight lifted her heart, and she forgot for a moment the white and scarlet of death.
Beow trotted easily alongside the horses, sniffing the clear scent of the air.
"And where are you going, Hrothulf?"
Hrothulf reined in Hasuwine, and Hrethric beside them did likewise. Eotheod pranced in place, impatient to leave the hall of slaughter.
"Down to the fields for simbelmynë; what concern is that of yours, Unferth?"
Unferth leaned on his carven staff, every muscle in his body belligerent, challenging. "None. But I cannot help but wonder, why you, two less than a score in years, would spend your time with ones hardly a quarter of your age."
"They are my family, all I have left."
"You have the king; you are his brother-son. Perhaps you would ingratiate yourself; perhaps you want to be his elect as the next ruler?"
Hrothulf jerked Hasuwine to face Unferth, trembling with anger, forcing his words out through teeth clenched in rage. "I do not. I would not rule if I were given the choice freely. My cousins are more my friends than those of my years. And besides, they do not speak incessantly of battle. They prefer life to death."
Unferth waved the barb aside with all the appearance of calm, but his eyes darkened in fury. "You are afraid then, of wyrd?"
"No. But death is not all that fate has to offer."
"You are strange, Hrothulf. You spend your days with children and old ones, dreaming of things that never were. You discount the highest aim of any man, and scorn battle. Methinks 'tis naught but fear that keeps you from facing the monster. Naught but cowar-"
"I note, Unferth, that you have not chosen to fight Grendel either. If I am a coward, then so are you. And so is Hrothgar. And so is every living man in this citadel." Hrothulf spurred Hasuwine around and rode through the gates, death-pale with rage. Eotheod followed, the two boys on his back gazing over their shoulders at Unferth, who savagely kicked at a frail star-flower that struggled for life on the rocky hillside.
Wealtheow craned her head back to look into her foster-cousin's face. "Why did Unferth say those things? He knows too that no-one may kill the shadow- beast."
Hrothulf looked at her thoughtfully, smiling a little at her innocence. "Sometimes, Theow, when people lose all that they love, they become very angry with the whole world, and even they do not know fully why. It is easy to forget starlight and sunset when you are grieving. The shadow clings to your heart, and does not go away. . . We used to be friends, Unferth and I." He gazed out at the free meadows, lost in memory.
"Did Grendel. . ."
"When the monster first came, six years ago, Unferth's house was one of the first he attacked. Unferth was very badly wounded when the door fell, and watched the shadow-beast feed on his family, completely helpless. I don't think he has ever forgiven himself for neither saving them nor dying in the attempt, even though it was not his fault."
"But Ilúvatar will have forgiven him."
"There was nothing to forgive. And I think that Unferth ceased to believe in Eru and the Valar when his family was slain. He doesn't even accept the existence of the Old Stories anymore; says that they are nothing but myths created by the Gondorians to bring our people under their rule."
"But they are true, Hrothulf?"
"Yes, lass, they are." He smiled. "Shall I tell you then of how the White Lady defeated the Witch-King, the servant of darkness whom no man could slay?"
"Please!"
Wealtheow's eyes glowed with sapphire excitement while Hrothulf recounted the story. The little princes listened in, hardly able to mind their horse, so captivated were they by the tale. And the winds of Rohan blew the shadows from the hearts of the four riders, as they sailed the sunlit sea of gold.
Strong arms gently encircled her, pulling the little girl close in a comforting hug. She buried her face in her friend's chest and sobbed. A strange tremor caused her to look up; Hrothulf was crying too. He closed his eyes for a long moment, forcing back his tears, and then said to her, with a grieving smile, "Theow, let's get Hrethric and Hrothmund and ride awhile. I need to get away from here, and I'm sure you little ones do too. . . we can pack a lunch and take Hasuwine and Eotheod. . ."
Wealtheow nodded through the ocean in her deep blue eyes and stood up, giving Hrothulf a quick hug. Silently she went to find her foster- brothers. They would be helping to prepare the armour of the lost.
Running her fingers through Hasuwine's mist-grey mane, Wealtheow gazed at the fields stretched out beyond the gate of Edoras. The grasses danced like living sunlight, twirling with the zephyrs in waves of brilliant gold. The sight lifted her heart, and she forgot for a moment the white and scarlet of death.
Beow trotted easily alongside the horses, sniffing the clear scent of the air.
"And where are you going, Hrothulf?"
Hrothulf reined in Hasuwine, and Hrethric beside them did likewise. Eotheod pranced in place, impatient to leave the hall of slaughter.
"Down to the fields for simbelmynë; what concern is that of yours, Unferth?"
Unferth leaned on his carven staff, every muscle in his body belligerent, challenging. "None. But I cannot help but wonder, why you, two less than a score in years, would spend your time with ones hardly a quarter of your age."
"They are my family, all I have left."
"You have the king; you are his brother-son. Perhaps you would ingratiate yourself; perhaps you want to be his elect as the next ruler?"
Hrothulf jerked Hasuwine to face Unferth, trembling with anger, forcing his words out through teeth clenched in rage. "I do not. I would not rule if I were given the choice freely. My cousins are more my friends than those of my years. And besides, they do not speak incessantly of battle. They prefer life to death."
Unferth waved the barb aside with all the appearance of calm, but his eyes darkened in fury. "You are afraid then, of wyrd?"
"No. But death is not all that fate has to offer."
"You are strange, Hrothulf. You spend your days with children and old ones, dreaming of things that never were. You discount the highest aim of any man, and scorn battle. Methinks 'tis naught but fear that keeps you from facing the monster. Naught but cowar-"
"I note, Unferth, that you have not chosen to fight Grendel either. If I am a coward, then so are you. And so is Hrothgar. And so is every living man in this citadel." Hrothulf spurred Hasuwine around and rode through the gates, death-pale with rage. Eotheod followed, the two boys on his back gazing over their shoulders at Unferth, who savagely kicked at a frail star-flower that struggled for life on the rocky hillside.
Wealtheow craned her head back to look into her foster-cousin's face. "Why did Unferth say those things? He knows too that no-one may kill the shadow- beast."
Hrothulf looked at her thoughtfully, smiling a little at her innocence. "Sometimes, Theow, when people lose all that they love, they become very angry with the whole world, and even they do not know fully why. It is easy to forget starlight and sunset when you are grieving. The shadow clings to your heart, and does not go away. . . We used to be friends, Unferth and I." He gazed out at the free meadows, lost in memory.
"Did Grendel. . ."
"When the monster first came, six years ago, Unferth's house was one of the first he attacked. Unferth was very badly wounded when the door fell, and watched the shadow-beast feed on his family, completely helpless. I don't think he has ever forgiven himself for neither saving them nor dying in the attempt, even though it was not his fault."
"But Ilúvatar will have forgiven him."
"There was nothing to forgive. And I think that Unferth ceased to believe in Eru and the Valar when his family was slain. He doesn't even accept the existence of the Old Stories anymore; says that they are nothing but myths created by the Gondorians to bring our people under their rule."
"But they are true, Hrothulf?"
"Yes, lass, they are." He smiled. "Shall I tell you then of how the White Lady defeated the Witch-King, the servant of darkness whom no man could slay?"
"Please!"
Wealtheow's eyes glowed with sapphire excitement while Hrothulf recounted the story. The little princes listened in, hardly able to mind their horse, so captivated were they by the tale. And the winds of Rohan blew the shadows from the hearts of the four riders, as they sailed the sunlit sea of gold.