KNOW THY PLACE – Part 2
"—and then the wolves came, and one of them bit a hole into my cloak! Here, Freya, look, what a big hole that is!" The lad spread the fabric, and his voice was high with excitement as he told his sister of his big adventure.
"Aye, that is indeed a big hole," the young woman agreed as she mustered the boy's evidence with due attention. Yet she could not hide a very relieved smile as she heated water in an old iron pot and poured herbs into it. She had known that something had been afoot when her father and Halad had not returned from their errand by noon, even though they had only gone out to herd the sheep into the barn against the advancing storm. Yet with three little children to take care of, she had not been able to go looking for them herself. She did not know what lucky incident had brought the Rohirrim to her, but when the dark shapes of their horses had advanced through the driving snow, she had been more than glad to see them.
"They were hungry!" Halad continued, who did not feel that he was being treated with the bidden respect. After all, he had survived an attack of wolves! "They wanted to kill us! But then the Rohirrim came and saved us! They fought with them, and forced them to flee!"
"Yes indeed, they did, Halad." She turned around to where the captain and the younger man were standing, who had accompanied him into the storm. After a hearty embrace, her father had left to see whether there was anything the Rohirrim in the barn would need, and she was alone with the two men in the kitchen. Her expression sobered when she saw the younger warrior's torn hood and the thin trail of blood which had trickled down his handsome face. "And for that I am most thankful. Did you already thank them, Halad?"
"Of course he did," the broad warrior who had introduced himself to her as Captain Elfhelm said. "He is a fine lad with good manners." Ruffling the boy's hair, his eyes briefly swept the kitchen. It was a very sparsely decorated hut, but under these conditions, it seemed to him like a castle.
"Well, on some days more than on others, isn't it, Halad?" Frey jested with a twinkle in her eyes, and then rubbed her hand on her plain rough tunic. "Come, let me give you a hug. I am so glad to have you back!"
Éomer could not help being fascinated with their host's warm and giving demeanour. The girl was not overly pretty, not someone he would have noticed had she passed on the street next to him at Edoras. With her ash-blonde, wild hair which she had bound into a thick braid and the rosy complexion and plain clothes, she looked very much like the farm girl she was, but her friendliness had him enamoured. There was so much love between the members of this family, that he suddenly missed his own. Éowyn, Théodred, his uncle… what were they doing right now? He had lost track of time, but it had to be around Yule, and wasn't that usually the time for families to be together?
"I will go see what the men are doing," Elfhelm finally announced and turned to go. "See whether they have made themselves comfortable, or whether I will have to reprimand someone for using your sheep for a pillow." His jest brought a laugh to Freya's face that caused a warm feeling in Éomer's stomach.
"Our sheep are hardy, Captain Elfhelm. They will not die if a man rests his head on them. But while you are looking, perhaps you want to take this along to make them yet more comfortable!" She pointed to a big pot that was hanging over the fire, and from where a delicious odour was spreading through the room. "I'm afraid it is not much, only some rather thin stew with potatoes and a bit of chicken—"
"It is more than we could accept with a good conscience, my lady," Elfhelm said with an all-encompassing gesture: "You do not have much for yourself, and then we come along and you waste your precious supplies on—"
"—some men who rescue my family from the wolves. Aye, captain. And that is why you will also get some freshly baked bread as soon as it is ready. And I will accept no further objection, my lord!"
Éomer could not help grin over the refreshing way the young woman was handling his fierce commander, and found it difficult to hide his amusement when Elfhelm suddenly turned toward him.
"I see. Mutiny it is, huh?" He twinkled. No one deems it necessary to follow a captain's orders anymore. What is the Mark coming to?"
"It is a shame, my lord. Really."
"I do, however, have one more request, Lady Freya, as much as I'm loath of asking even more of you."
"Oh?"
"That young rider here…" Elfhelm laid a heavy arm around Éomer's shoulders, causing him to blush. "He was injured in the fight. Not grievously, but I would be grateful if you could have a brief look at the scratches."
"I will gladly do this, captain. You see the smaller pot there over the fire? That is already the water for him. Please make sure you take the right pot outside, or I will wash your rider's wound with stew, while your men have to drink hot water with bitter tasting healing herbs. That can be in nobody's interest."
With a roaring laugh, Elfhelm stepped over to do as bidden.
"No, I assume not."
"Do you need bowls, or anything? Spoons?"
"Nothing, my lady. Thank you. Every rider has his own set. You have already done far too much for us." A semi-stern glance found Éomer, who had followed their exchange silently, and feeling a bit awkward. "I hope I can leave you alone with this rogue… Éomer, will you behave?"
Narrowing his eyes in indignant protest, Éomer responded:
"Of course, captain. What-- " But with a broad grin on his lips, Elfhelm had already left. Still staring at the closed door in disbelief, Éomer jumped when he was suddenly addressed. Somehow, in the meantime, Freya had made it over to him, the steaming pot and a few cloths in her hands. She smiled at him.
"And now let me thank you, young rider, for battling with the wolves. Let me wash this scratch on your head, and also I would like to have a look at your hand. Please, sit down."
Slightly embarrassed, Éomer shook his head, but did as bidden nonetheless.
"In fact, it is not really necessary. I am fine. They barely even touched me."
"Aye," she countered. Even if the rider was still young, he was a warrior, and would rather die than ever admit hurting. She knew all about this kind of man. Even her little brother was the same. "I can see that it is nothing life-threatening. Yet it is always better to be safe. There could be dirt in those bites, even if they are only scratches. Better to wash them. It will only be a matter of minutes… or are you afraid it might hurt?" She twinkled.
Her teasing did the trick. Indignantly, Éomer straightened on the chair, aware of the inquisitive glances of the children behind Freya. They had just run into the kitchen in their wild chase, presumably to see whether their mother would have something to eat for them, sweets or otherwise, and now found this lanky, fierce-looking young man sitting there. He had their undivided attention.
"Of course not."
"Very well. I did not think so." Pulling another chair close and sitting down in front of him, Freya drenched the cloth she had brought into the strongly smelling water. "And I promise you that it will not hurt, too. I have a lot of experience in cleaning scrapes." Carefully, her fingers smoothed away the bloodied strand of hair to reveal the tear in the skin, and she felt him tense underneath her touch.
"I see. Your own children must keep you constantly occupied." Her amused laughter found Éomer unprepared. It was strange to be so close to this woman. She seemed not to be intimidated at all, not shy about touching him.
"Ah, but they are not my children! They are my siblings. What do you think of me?"
"Your siblings!" he echoed sheepishly, feeling rather stupid, and then hissed when she pressed the hot cloth against his head wound. Behind Freya, the children were giggling.
"Halad is already eleven summers old. I am eighteen. Things may go a bit faster and easier in this regard in the deep Mark than in Aldburg or Edoras, but we do not wed as children here, either, young rider."
Heat crept into Éomer's face, and he was thankful that Freya could not see his expression while she was treating the injury.
"I am sorry, my lady. I… I did not mean that—"
"Oh, you are not the first one to be mistaken," she laughed, cleaning the scratch with swift moves. "Think nothing of it. I take it as a compliment. Now, you were lucky here, young lord. It seems that your hood took the brunt of the wolf's fury, and only one of his fangs scratched you. This should heal in no time. It won't even need stitching." She leaned back and met his gaze. "Now let me see your hand."
"Only if you stop calling me 'young rider', or 'young anything'. My name is Éomer."
"Éomer." She nodded. "I will call you that… if you call me Freya. I do feel rather old being addressed as 'lady'." Another nod. "Now show me your hand, Éomer."
Carefully, he took off the thick glove and peeled back the torn sleeve, clenching his teeth as he did so. This was decidedly worse than the little scratch on his head.
"Oh…" Mustering the black and blue of his wrist and lower arm with concern, Freya carefully took his hand and gently moved it. "How is this?"
"Not too bad," he pressed with taut face. 'Liar', her look said, and she moved his wrist in the other direction and saw him wince.
"I see." Even though the skin wasn't broken, she wiped it gently with the cloth. "It would seem to me that nothing is broken, but it is badly bruised. If you have a little more patience left, I will go and apply some cool soil. It will help with the pain and also reduce the swelling."
"Soil? But everything is frozen outside!"
"I always keep some inside.for such occasions. My siblings do not care whether it is summer or winter to scrape their knees or hit their heads during their wild chases."
Éomer chuckled as he watched her leave for the adjourning room.
"I do remember my sister and I used to be the same. We often had our uncle angry with us because we would be a complete mess after our forays. Of course, as the older one, I always bore the brunt of his fury." The children still stared at him, and his smile widened as he slowly relaxed. Slowly, shyly, the smallest one smiled back.
"So you have a sister?" Freya's voice came from next door, where she rummaged between supplies. "How wonderful. I assume that you are quite protective of her?"
He nodded and met her gaze when she came back, bandages and a bucket of red-brown, moist contents in her hands.
"Aye… but aren't we all? These are dark times we are living in. We have to watch out for each other. Always. The moment we let down our guard, someone pays for it. And not necessarily oneself." He watched with interest as she began to smear his arm with the clay; her touch light enough not to hurt, yet strong enough to distribute the thick substance evenly from his elbow to his wrist. He found it a rather pleasant experience… but then, she suddenly stopped, and her brow furrowed as she regarded him pensively, as if she was trying to read him.
"That sounds like bitter experience. What happened? Who did you lose?"
It was not something he was keen on talking about. Not now, not with a stranger. Yet she seemed to understand, seemed to possess a knowledge similar to his, and that notion loosened his tongue.
"My parents. Five years ago. Our uncle took us in his household, and I love him dearly, and yet…"
"It is not the same. Aye. I understand." Having finished with the clay, Freya began to carefully wrap his arm with a piece of cloth. "It is a pain that will always stay fresh, no matter how much time passes." She swallowed, and then looked up from her work. For the first time, the smile had completely vanished from her face. "We lost our mother ten months ago. She died in childbed. It was devastating, especially to my father. He knew not how to go on. But we had to. We had to care for the little ones." She paused, and briefly looked over to where she could hear the noise of her playing siblings in another room of the hut. At length, she resumed her work, fastening the end of the bandage around his arm and leant back. "That made it easier. I had a task. And I love them so much, I could not bear if anything happened to them. I would tear myself in two to protect them… even if I am anything but a skilled fighter."
A new seriousness stood in Éomer's eyes as he regarded her.
"I can help you with that. I can show you the moves."
Now the smile stole back into her expression, however distant.
"I do not have a sword, young rider. What should we train with?"
"We will find something. Let me show you how to defend yourself!" He came to his feet, eager to start with his self-appointed task, yet met a sceptical look.
"I would like to, Éomer, yet you should rest that arm. Moving it around is not going to make it heal any faster."
"Ah, I don't need it for a lesson in defence. Come, let us begin!"
The darkness had thickened to the point where he could only find the barn through the dim glow of light emanating from inside as he left, and the snow crunched underneath his feet. It was already knee-high, and so far, the storm was showing no signs of letting up. Strangely, Éomer did not mind. Considering that they were trapped in a very provisional shelter in the middle of a blistering storm with next to no food, an ill rider, and far away from where they had planned to be, he was in an amazingly good mood, feeling light-hearted for the first time in what seemed like weeks to him. However unlikely it had been, he had found a kindred spirit out here in the desolate wilderness of the outer Mark. A woman who shared his experiences and knew which words to speak to soothe the still lingering pain. A woman who displayed true courage by living out here, depending on herself only and fighting for survival on a daily basis, deeply caring for her family despite the fact that she had rarely stepped out of the shoes of childhood herself yet. The very thought of her warmed him despite the blistering cold, and when he stepped into the barn, the expression on his face was obvious enough for Arnhelm to commentate dryly:
"Didn't I say that you shouldn't have let him alone with her, captain?" Unanimous laughter followed his remark. Heat flushing his face, Éomer quickly made his way back to Éothain and their horses in the far corner. Yet even his friend was grinning at him.
"The captain said that they were only scratches, yet if it took her so long to take care of you..."
"Silence, Éothain!" Éomer grumbled, well aware of the bemused faces around him as he opened his saddlebag to rummage around for the little bowl he kept in there. "Speak not of things of which you have no understanding!"
"Ooh…" The young rider meant to add another teasing remark, but a cough fit interrupted him and made him spill the water he had been drinking onto his lap.
"That serves you right." Ignoring his comrades' inquisitive glances, Éomer stepped over to where he saw the pot of stew standing on the ground. In the meantime, he also noticed, their men had apparently finished what Freya's father had set out to do in the morning, because the barn was filled with bleating, smelling sheep. Another look also confirmed that the riders had indeed left some food over for him.
"It is already cold," Arnhelm again made himself be heard. "But I assume you do not mind, do you, Éomer? If your flushed face is any indication, the heat inside of you should be enough to warm the stew in your stomach quite nicely."
"Enough, Arnhelm," Elfhelm ended the banter from where he sat, and his tone sounded annoyed, although Éomer could not tell whether he or their scout's teasing were the source of it. Neither did a glance at his captain reveal anything about Elfhelm's disposition, and so Éomer settled for just filling his bowl with the cold stew and breaking off a piece of the bread. With the men finally resuming their various conversations, he lowered himself to the ground in the corner Éothain and he were sharing and started to eat.
The smug smile had entirely disappeared from Éothain's face when he spoke again.
"I am sorry, Éomer. I did not think that it was serious… or is it? She struck me as rather plain." He raised an eyebrow inquisitively.
"It is not what she is about, Éothain." For a moment, Éomer stared unfocussed into the distance, chewing on a piece of bread and trying to bring order to his emotions, which were in an uproar. "She is a very courageous person… and a very giving person, too. In a way, she reminds me of Éowyn."
"Of Wyn?" Éothain's eyes widened in astonishment.
"Their likeness would not be evident to anyone who only regarded her fleetingly," Éomer mused, not looking at his friend. "Yet it exists. She would fight for her kin to the very end, even if she never learned how to." He lifted his gaze. "I taught her a few moves, that was all, Éothain. Out here, she will need them before long, I'm afraid."
His friend's gaze remained doubtful.
"And that is all there is to it? You want her to be able to defend herself? I apologise, my friend, but I do not believe you."
"I do not care whether you do or not. All I care for now is a few hours of rest after this long day, so if you please…" Setting down his emptied bowl, Éomer leaned back into the hay, pleasantly heavy with sleep. Yet before he could drift off, he once more heard Éothain's voice.
"She is a commoner, Éomer. Keep that in mind."
He did not honour the words with a reply.