A/N: Still not much plot in this chapter. And I still don't own it. [sobs]

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Several mornings later, Kára and her brother were awakened by their mother, shaking them gently and murmuring, "Wake up! Wake up!"

"What, Mother?" asked Kára sleepily. She sat up, propping her self on her elbows.

Her eyes widened as she took in her mother's tear-stained face. Ælfwynne simply stared blankly at her children.

"What is it, Mother?" echoed Wærfer.

She gathered them to her and whispered quietly, "Léod is dead."

"Hwele?" questioned Wærfer, stunned.

Kára gasped. "Hwu?"

"His horse, the one he has had since it was a frisky colt, he tried to ride it--"

The same thought raced through all their heads: but it will bear no man. It had first been said long ago by the few wise men who still lived among the Éothéod, when Léod first found the colt, a prophecy Léod had scorned. He had always said that it would bear him, for he had raised it.

"And it threw him, as he tried to ride it, and his head hit a rock, killing him."

"Dead? Truly dead?" It was Wærfer who ventured the question; Kára could not absorb it. Their merry king, dead? So young, too - he was only two-and-forty.

"Yes, deore," answered Ælfwynne. "Dead."

Then something hit Kára's numb mind, waking it up. "But who shall take his place? Surely not Eorl..."

She trailed off as her mother nodded. "Eorl shall take his place. He is, after all, Léod's son."

"But he's my age!" burst Wærfer. "Only sixteen summers!"

"Yes, Eorl is young. He is also his father's heir."

The family sat together in silence for a while. Kára's father had died, long ago, fighting would-be invaders. She hardly remembered him, but Wærfer did, and he felt for Eorl. Losing a father is hard, whether he is a poor man or a king.

No work got done that day. All were lamenting their dead king.

Well, saying no work got done that day isn't technically true; people began preparing Léod's funeral and decorating houses for the time of mourning. However, none of the work that was normally done was left unfinished, from the time the Éothéod first heard of Léod's death, 'til the next morn.

After she ate a scanty breakfast, Kára wandered out to find her friends. They were looking for her, too. It was less painful to mourn together, and from the time when Kára's father had died -- when she was five -- they had done so.

"Deore freond!" cried Myst. "Aiya!"

"Myst! Sváva!" she called as she raced over.

Sváva's thoughtful face was grieved. "It's hard to believe, isn't it? I keep thinking someone's going to say, 'It's all a mistake, Léod isn't dead, it's just a mistake,' but they're not going to, are they?"

Nic, thought Kára. It's not, but I wish it was.

They roamed their little settlement for the rest of the day, weeping and occasionally helping out with the preparations. As Sváva had said, they all had hoped it was nothing more than an error; a mean joke, perhaps.

The other children, they could tell, thought much the same, except for the littlest ones, who did not understand. One particular little boy, Cælin, was a stubborn babe, and would not believe his mother when she said that Léod was not coming back.

"Lady," began Myst, as Cælin continued to pester his mother, "we would not mind watching your son, if you need to work."

His mother turned to them with gratitude in her eyes. "Would you please, Myst? He won't mind, I know."

Myst nodded and gathered Cælin up in her arms. "Happy to, Lady."

The friends were glad of Cælin. He was naturally a happy child, and as he didn't understand that Léod was dead, was still happy, despite the sadness of those around him.

"Myst?" he asked. "Why's everyone so sad?"

"They're strange people, Cælin, that's why," answered Kára absent-mindedly.

"I asked Myst!' hew told her indignantly, and rammed her with his head. "Hey!" Then she laughed, despite herself. He was so sweet, so young, so -- well, so innocent.

Then Sváva started to laugh as well, and Myst was giggling hopelessly. "You should have seen your face!" she gasped.

The other people, their faces etched with sorrow, stared at the laughing young girls with a mix of shame and, in a way, happiness: not all was bleak if they could still be merry. Cælin was stupefied as to what was so hilarious.

"What's so funny?"he kept inquiring.

At dusk, they returned Cælin to his mother. "Thank you, Lady," Sváva said. "Cælin is indeed a gift."

His mother smiled - barely, but she smiled nonetheless. "He is. I am lucky to have such a fægen bearn."

She thanked them for watching him, and Kára, Myst and Sváva left to their respective homes. At Kára's house, Wærfer and her mother were done with dinner, which Kára (late as usual) had missed. She ate some of the left over food, then dressed for bed.

As she slept that night, peacefully, a young man stayed up, perfecting a plan for revenge.

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A/N: Lotsa OE in that chapter. Glossary:

Hwele = What

Hwu = How

Deore = Dear

Deore freonde = Dear friend. I'm not sure that this is proper structure, but it gets the meaning across.

Nic = no.

Fægen bearn = happy child. See above note on structure.

Anybody who knows where the names Kára, Myst (Mist) and Sváva are from gets a box of Krispy Kremes!