In An Age Before

by Phantom Bard

Part 298 posted, in which Helluin and the Riders of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý aid the Third Marshal Haleth in Rohan's defeat of the Easterling invaders. Brutal weather, disease, and failing morale play a part. Aldburg is no sooner freed of the eastern threat when tidings come of the Dunlending's invasion from the west. OCs galore as usual.

207. In An Age Before Chapter 207

Author's Note: My apologies for a slightly tardy update this week, but a lot has happened since my last post. I've spent some time watching the U.S. Senate change hands in a run-off election, and the next day, an armed insurrection that culminated with the hostile occupation of the U.S. Capitol building. All this atop the raging corona virus epidemic that has claimed over 4,000 lives a day here for the better part of a week.

This update is longer than usual; over 18,600 words, which is double the norm. It closes out an adventure and a plotline in the story. As always, best wishes and stay safe until next time.

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In an Age Before – Part 207

Chapter One Hundred thirty-five

Ivar and Fagr-gørsimi– The Third Age of the Sun

Now the Éothéod made short work of the Yrch who had remained to fight on the road 'nigh Valfǫðr's home. More and more riders had charged from the settlement, the last arriving after all their enemies lay slain. 'Twas cold comfort in the end. A double company of two dozens was dispatched to check on the outlying households, and when they witnessed the slaughter of a half-dozen families, their wrath burned like a bonfire in their veins. They returned to report the grisly discoveries they had made, and after hearing their rede, Lord Rekkr was wroth.

During their absence, he and his riders had listened to Valfǫðr, Þórr, and Loki's account of the attack. 'Twas filled with boasts and laced with embellishments. The Yrch numbered no less than a hundred, they claimed, and the Men had survived only by their prowess and the cowardice of their foes. In his mind, Lord Rekkr halved 'aught that was said and deemed the count of their enemies had been closer to fifty, of whom a quick glance revealed 'round thirty slain.

Those who had remained to hear the tale of Valfǫðr and his sons included some scouts, and these soon marked the trail of the fleeing Yrch. The entire gathering, two hundred riders strong, followed the trail 'cross the fields heading south. They had come a half-mile when they saw where the Yrch had waded the stream. Then the lord ordered half his company to break off and ride to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý with the greatest haste, to reinforce the small garrison there and secure the farm and the mill downstream. Those riders galloped east to the bridge where they crossed the stream, and then took the track south and west into the woods.

Lord Rekkr and his hundred horsemen followed the trail of the Yrch directly, with their scouts tracking the fleeing foes at the fore and the rest coming behind in a bloodthirsty rage. In the night, the scouts needed care to mark the trail and could not lead the pursuit as fast as the Yrch could flee. All knew they were falling behind. They ground their teeth and muttered curses, and they gripped tighter the hilts of their weapons as they walked their horses through the dark.

At the farm all slept soundly after another day of hard work. In the stockade, two soldiers kept watch, one pacing atop the watchtower and the second sitting invisible on the flet in the oak tree. Both bore bows with quivers of arrows. Atop the tower was an alarm bell to rouse the garrison and perhaps the farm too, if it could be heard indoors. In the yard, two riders lounged outside the stable, spears beside them with their butt spikes planted in the ground, their saddled horses out of their stalls and waiting just inside the doors. Such was their normal level of readiness, four of twelve awake and on guard at all times during the night.

'Twas the man in the watchtower who first heard the soft thunder of approaching horses, still distant, but already he deemed them to be no few. With a soft whistle, he alerted the two in the yard and the one on the flet. They looked to him as he stood, then pointed to his ear. By then, he had marked that they approached in haste from the east, almost certainly come from Nýr Vera, and he stretched out his arm pointing east. The two riders in the yard opened the stable doors and led their horses out, mounting and taking up their spears. They walked to the gate and prepared to throw open its bolt.

The hoof beats grew louder, and now the sentry atop the watchtower rang thrice on the bell, paused, and then repeated his alarm o'er and o'er. He only ceased when Broddr appeared at the head of the stairs, clad only in his trousers. The garrison commander had no need of a report, for by then he too could clearly mark the approach. He gave the sentry a nod and then disappeared back down the stairs to the barrack. A few minutes later, as the horsemen came into view on the track along the river bank, six Men came from the barracks, tightening armor, donning helms, and affixing their sword belts. Four more came mounted from the stable, still fussing with cloaks, gloves, and helms as the mass of riders passed the copse and the berry brambles.

By then, the soldiers on watch had marked the riders as their own and they relaxed a bit. Three dozen riders continued down the track along the riverbank at a gallop, heading for the mill. The remainder turned in, but two dozens broke off to approach the stockade whilst the remaining forty headed directly to the farm. At a loud whistle from Broddr, two riders opened the gate and the garrison received their reinforcements. Their leader exchanged quick words with Broddr and then began to dismount, staffing the berm within the walls, and sending their archers aloft to the watchtower and the flet. With three dozen defenders, they could now hold the stockade against a hundred foes.

On the farm, riders leapt from their saddles and smote on the doors of Ierþling's house, Norðr-vestandóttir's cabin, and the homes of the new farmers. Doors opened and farmers looked out.

"Are all present? Are all accounted safe?" The lead rider asked, still so excited from the night's events, he well 'nigh shouted his questions.

"I am alone and safe. Böðvildr is with her father in Nýr Vera," Norðr-vestandóttir said. She looked to the other dwellings and the riders waiting at their doors. "What goes forth, pray tell?"

"Yrch," the Man hissed, "they invaded the outlying farms and some fled south. Lord Rekkr follows their trail, we came directly."

Alarmed, she ran to Ierþling's house with the rider close behind. Eadmundr, Milde, Ierþling and Ælla, Lyft, and Hertha she saw straight away.

"Whither are Sumor and Egill?" She asked in alarm. Yet already she saw a trio of riders heading for the stable.

"Egill stayed with the mare who is soon to foal," Ierþling answered.

"Sumor is afield with the flock again," Ælla sobbed, "for the night is warm and she feared for two lambs, one born today and the other yesternight."

Without a moment's thought, Norðr-vestandóttir beckoned three riders to follow, and pausing only to snatch up a well-worn walking stick, she led them toward the fields, for like Sumor, she knew whither the flock would rest on any given night. In haste, they passed the stable whence Egill came with three riders, but the lead rider who accompanied her beckoned two to join them, making a bodyguard of five. Out 'twixt the byre and the sheepfold they went, passing the paddock where the bull and Mihtig Ramm placidly watched their progress, and the paddock where Annar-hestr stood dozing and did not look up.

"M'lady, I confess to being ill at ease with this course," the lead rider said softly beside her as they pressed on 'twixt fields of tall grain. "The Yrch likely come from the north. I pray thee, let Lord Rekkr destroy them."

"Good sir, if he tracks through the night, he cannot move so fast as quarry on the run. Speed now is needed and time is dear. For Sumor's sake we must, for her family pledged themselves to my keeping."

Her words brought a lump to his throat. They were the sentiments of e'ery good lord he had served, Rekkr, Hrólfr, and Marhwini, in whom concern for their people was a matter of heart and honor. Yet she bore no weapon, only her determination, and he swore to himself then that he would die to keep her safe, a woman of no family or title, who had come to be mistress of a farm that fed many in need, thoughtless of reward and without gain save the prestige it conferred.

She led them unerringly through the dark of night on land she had known forty-six years, o'er two hills to the north they went, dodging outcrops, swampy low ground, and streams hidden amongst reeds. They stayed 'neath the hill's crests where they might be easily marked whilst moving against the sky, and the riders understood that whether by practice or instinct, she was leading them as would a stealthy battle veteran moving to ambush.

"'Nigh the crest of the second hill west the flock should rest," she said softly to them as they paused ere turning downslope, and they nodded their understanding. They had heard no disturbances, nor yet seen any tell tale of the Yrch.

Now Konshati and his company had crossed the stream outside Nýr Vera in a splashing, cursing gaggle with many hisses for silence from half of them to the other half. The captain groaned in exasperation as he led them o'er the crest of the rise south of the stream and into open woods where they would be less easily marked and more difficult to track for lack of light. They continued southward as the sounds of pursuit grew fainter behind them, and they felt they would make good their escape by being swallowed up in that dark landscape which appeared uninhabited.

"In another furlong we swing east and make for the forest," he said, and received nods of agreement and a few mutterings. They were already more relaxed and had begun to recount their earlier festivities to each other.

The Yrch company was far from quiet as they hastened through the woods. 'Twixt their tramping and muttering, they made enough noise for any woodsman to track them with eyes closed. So 'twas that one such awoke from a pleasant dream of the white hart, and remaining still, marked the rowdy advance of his peoples' enemies through the forest. He could scarce believe it. Indeed, he had only heard tell of such creatures and their destruction of the original hamlet of Vera. Now two dozens had passed him by not fifteen yards, and they had remained completely oblivious to his presence. He could not but rise and follow, mustering all that stealth with which he oft came within bowshot of his quarry. Indeed, in his hand, the weapon longed to sing. He felt that without seeking, he had found the black hart, and these he would gladly hunt.

Through the trees the Yrch pressed on, and with trepidation, they crossed a dirt track where wagon ruts ran east west. Soon thereafter, they came to a split-rail fence leading off 'cross their path in both directions and with no ends in sight. Konshati eyed it carefully and then nodded to himself.

"Well, well, t'would seem we have come to the south border of the straw-heads' realm," he announced to his company, seeing no other possible explanation for a fence in the midst of the woods. "We go a bit further south and we should be free of pursuit."

He smacked the first to cheer his words on the back of the head with his palm and then intimidated the rest to silence with a killing glance.

They easily clambered o'er the fence rails and continued south, intending to put a buffer 'twixt themselves and the Northmen, just to ensure that they were safely gone from that realm. Thereafter, they could turn east at their leisure and make for the safety of the great forest. Having passed the fence, they deemed themselves escaped and roaming in wild lands, and they increasingly ceased any pretense of stealth. They muttered and grumbled, shoved each other aside, hacked at undergrowth, and trampled 'aught that lay in their path, fallen leaf, twig, branch, or living plant. After the fifth part of an hour, they turned east and all breathed a sigh of relief.

Within two furlongs, the woods failed and rolling, grass-grown hills stretched out for 'nigh a mile before them. A half-mile south lay the resumption of the forested lands. Being out from 'neath the trees, their course was more easily discerned, and as they heard no pursuit and therefore deemed that they no longer needed cover, Konshati opted to tread the clearer path eastward through the hills. Down the first slope he led his company, and 'cross the dell at the bottom where ran a rill from which they drank to slake their thirst. After that short break, they continued on, and the captain kept the wood from which they had come close by to the left on his northward flank, lest a hasty retreat 'neath the trees was required.

Up the slope of the next hill the Yrch company trod, muttering curses at the exertion of the uphill walk and kicking at clumps of the calf-height grass. Its lumpy, irregular growth left their footing uneven and threatened to turn ankle in the dark. Yet as they approached the summit, the troublesome grass had been cropped shorter and walking became easier. They counted that a favor, neither suspecting, nor understanding why such should grow differently there. 'Neath the moonlight and starlight they crossed the crest of the hill, uncaring that they were revealed and would make easy targets. They continued on, down the next slope, 'cross the dry dell at the bottom, and onto the following upslope.

During that time, Lord Rekkr's pursuing hundred had traversed the woods, and they came upon the road leading to the mill and soon found the footprints of the Yrch, distinct in the bare ground of the wagon ruts. The scouts followed their trail to the fence. There three riders dismounted, and with the scouts, wrenched a post loose so that the rails could be removed. It cost them a few minutes that none felt they could spare, but it allowed them to walk their horses through the barrier rather than having to back off and jump the fence a few at a time amidst the uncertain footing of the woods. Yet now the trail became easier to read. The Yrch had proceeded with no attention to their tracks, leaving behind clear spoor to follow. Indeed so obvious had the trail become that the scouts remounted and hastened the walking pace of their horses.

For another furlong they continued south, and then at the scouts' direction, they turned east.

"My lord," one scout whispered to Rekkr as he drew his horse abreast, "while I cannot be sure beyond doubt, I wager we are closing. Faintly now, I can again smell the scent of bruised and broken foliage."

'I pray thou art correct, Ingófr¹" Rekkr said, "for the pastures of Norðr-vestandóttir's flocks lie not a quarter-mile ahead." ¹(Ingófr, Ingófr, (Ingólfur Arnarson), is accorded the first man from Norway to inhabit Iceland. Cape Ingólfshöfði is a semi-detached island bird sanctuary on the southeast coat, and translates as Ingölfur's residence in Icelandic. Old Norse)

Ingófr gave his lord a somber nod and then returned to the fore, and seeing the trail continuing straight on unwavering, urged his horse to a faster walk. For another four minutes and two furlongs they continued, and then they broke from the trees. Now the trail was so clear that not only the scouts, but the rest of the riders as well marked the passage of the Yrch downslope. The Northmen reined to a halt and for a moment surveyed the grassy hills ahead. So 'twas that at last they marked the movement of the Yrch company, crossing the crest of the second hill to the east. For long enough to estimate their count, the foe was revealed by moonlight, silhouetted on the high ground. They were two dozens, give or take, and they were trudging forward giving no thought to silence or concealment. 'Cross that distance, the guttural mutterings and curses of the Yrch came faintly to their ears.

Ingófr and the other riders looked to their lord. Rekkr sat at the fore of the column now and fire burned in his veins for the treatment of his people outside of Nýr Vera. Grim he was, and he thought, already slain are ye, though as yet ye know it not. As did my faðir, I shall spare none.

For a moment he sat frozen, gritting his teeth and clenching the shaft of his spear as the Yrch disappeared from sight. Then he gestured his Men hence with a wave of his forearm, and he spurred his horse down the slope at a trot. Silently, the riders followed, and as the Yrch descended the slope two hills ahead, the Northmen rode down the first slope and the sound of their hooves was lost amidst the undulations of the land.

Rekkr led his Men up the facing slope at an angle, and they passed 'neath the crown of the hill, slightly downslope on its south face. Unlike their foes, they would not show themselves against the night sky, nor would they make easily heard the hoof beats of their mounts. The Lord of Nýr Vera kept his riders to the south faces of the hills, for should the Yrch break and flee, he would that they fled north towards the forest, rather than south towards the mill and the farm.

As the Yrch had advanced down the second slope after leaving the wood, Norðr-vestandóttir had led her five guardians downhill and then back up the further side of the next hill. They too had chosen to travel on the southern slopes of the hills, for there, Ithil best lit their way. They had turned west, and on the next upslope expected to find Sumor with the flock. The night was still and they hoped for it to remain so, yet they went forward warily.

Sure enough, as they came from the second trough 'twixt the hills, they marked the pale dots of the sheep 'neath the crest of the next hill. Amidst them, Sumor sat, and the ewes and several lambs with her, including those markedly small and young. Norðr-vestandóttir breathed a sigh of relief and hastened towards her. The shepherdess looked up at their approach and smiled, but the woman held a finger to her lips for silence and the girl withheld her greeting, though she rose to her feet.

"Sumor, we must away," Norðr-vestandóttir softly urged. The teen's face showed surprise and confusion at finding her mistress accompanied by five armed riders she knew came not from the stockade. The woman added, "They bring tidings of Yrch approaching."

Ere 'aught else could be said, the movement of the flock drew their attention. The ewes bleated in alarm and gathered in a tight cluster with their lambs amidmost. They were facing west.

"Haste, Sumor, they approach," she hissed, prompting the teen to move towards her. She turned and nodded to the five riders who drew their swords and joined them.

In the next moment, their furtive haste turned to shock as two dozen Yrch charged towards them o'er the crest of the hill. Behind these, galloping uphill from the southwest came a hundred horsemen. The flock turned and bolted in a river of white fluffy bodies, scuttling on surprisingly quick legs. They narrowly passed the two women and five riders, leaving them facing a rapidly closing mob of foes.

The sound of the horses was unmistakable, and they were moving at a gallop. When battle cries came from the Northmen, a half-dozen of the Yrch broke off, fleeing north towards the woods that lay but forty yards away, whilst the remainder charged o'er the hilltop and came straight at the seven shocked people. In their panic, the goblins had not even realized they were present.

Norðr-vestandóttir grabbed Sumor and pulled the teen behind her, and then she raised her walking stick, a frail defense against swords, whilst the five bodyguards hastened to stand before them with blades at the ready. They watched as a dozen riders broke off and ran down the six fleeing foes, dropping them with thrusts of their spears. Then the Yrch were upon them as the first riders came o'er the top of the hill behind.

Battle broke out, the five bodyguards fighting for their lives, outnumbered three to one. The Yrch fought in desperation, caught 'twixt foes ahead and behind, and far more desirous of wining free to flee the horsemen than to spend time slaying the few who stood before them. A flurry of blows rang out, sword on sword, accompanied by battle cries, screeches, and curses. Yrch and Men fell. Norðr-vestandóttir flailed with her walking stick at any who came 'nigh, trying to protect Sumor. They had but to hold out half a minute, perhaps less, ere the riders would be upon them, but life and death were decided in seconds.

'Twas Konshati who kicked Sumor to the ground, then seized Norðr-vestandóttir and held his blade to her throat. The two Yrch who had accompanied him most closely were cut down as more of his company died behind him, slain by the mounted Northmen. Before him stood three Men with swords, blocking his escape. No longer able to run, the Orch captain could only hope to win free using his hostage for protection, and somehow preserve his life.

Rekkr's hundred had swiftly slain the fifteen remaining Yrch on the hilltop, whilst the five bodyguards had slain three more, losing two of their own. Now Konshati alone still drew breath, but his left hand held his sword against the hostage's throat whilst his right arm was crooked 'round her neck, drawing back her head. He hauled her body tight against him as a shield and slowly began to force her forward, away towards the woods. The night was silent now, and eyes blazing with hatred followed his e'ery move.

"Whyfor came thee hither," Norðr-vestandóttir asked him, "when thou should be south, serving Lord Khamûl like those who once led me from his halls in the forest."

Her words stopped Konshati dead in his tracks.

"Khamûl, Nazgûl-ghâra Dol Guldur¹," he whispered, involuntarily shivering, and then his body jerked to his left. ¹(Khamûl, Nazgûl-ghâra Dol Guldur, Khamûl, Nazgûl from Dol Guldur Orkish)

Forty yards away at the verge of the wood stood a lone hunter. He had been rudely rousted from pleasant dreams by the passage of the Yrch company, and he had tracked them close through the forest after. But when they had left the wood and taken to the hills, he had remained hidden, slipping 'twixt the trees, yet keeping them in sight. He had been unsure of what he might be able to do 'til he heard the riders come from behind and then charge to close the gap against their foes. The battle he watched, yet the odds favored his people 'til the last Orch took the farmer hostage. Then none standing 'nigh could aid her for fear of her life, and her captor was desperate, with little left to lose.

Ivar raised his bow and took an arrow from his quiver. He set it to the string as he had done many thousands of times, and then he drew and sighted by moonlight alone. The white hart he would ne'er see, yet before him was a target no less desirable. To the night, he whispered the creed his uncle had taught him long ago, to steady his hand and his heart, and to remind him of his purpose.

"This is my bow. Many there are akin, yet this one is mine alone.

This bow is my best friend. 'Tis my life. I have mastered it as I have mastered the hunt.

Without me, my bow is useless. Without my bow, I am 'naught but a line trapper.

I must aim and fire true. I must shoot straighter than any foe who tries to slay me.

I must shoot him ere he shoots me.

By my will and upon my life, for lord and land and the innocents I protect,

this oath I honor with each arrow I loose, 'til peace reigns e'ermore.¹"

¹(Ivar's Archer's Creed is based on the lines of the U.S. Marine Corp Rifleman's Creed.)

He had ne'er been a common hunter. His line stretched back nine centuries through the reigns of many kings, even to the days of Ërlick, founder of the house of Vidugavia and Marhari, to a club-footed archer who had once pledged the service of his house to a slender elleth whose shot had saved him from accidentally slaying his king's last kin.

Soon his heartbeat was slow and his breathing slower. He held the eighty-five pound draw steady, as if t'were a feather 'twixt the fingers of his hand. Time stood still and he watched the woman and the Orch. She stood unbowed, neither pleading, nor sobbing, as her captor's blade lay 'cross her throat. Ivar awaited the moment that from so many hunts, he knew would come. Perhaps she spoke to her captor; they were too far for him to hear 'aught, but the Orch reacted. He turned towards her abruptly, away from the deadly eyes that ringed them, and he looked her in the face. In that moment, his head was no longer eclipsed by hers.

Konshati's body jerked hard to his left. The impact of the thirty-inch broadhead arrow kicked him halfway 'round, sweeping the sword's blade away from Norðr-vestandóttir's throat, and then he fell, twisting onto his back, the arrow perfectly bisecting his skull. The farmer stood as silent as the Men 'round her, unable at first to comprehend what had come to pass, and knowing only that she was free whilst her captor lay dead on the ground at her feet. 'Nigh the verge of the wood, Ivar slowly lowered his bow.

Rekkr dismounted and came to Norðr-vestandóttir as Sumor hugged her and the remaining three bodyguards ringed her in astonished thanksgiving. The Lord of Nýr Vera gave her a nod as he laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and then he bent to examine the fallen enemy. He set his boot on Konshati's skull and grasped the arrow's shaft just back from the point, and then he pulled it the rest of the way through to free it. For a moment, he examined the arrow, and then he nodded to himself and set it 'twixt the thongs of his sword scabbard's frog. Rekkr had no doubts about whom he owed a debt of thanks to that night. He looked to the woods whence the shot had come, but saw none. He had not expected to.

In the days that followed, Lord Rekkr sent another half-dozen soldiers to the garrison at Norðr-vestandóttir Bý, bringing their count to eighteen. Later in the month, he rode south from Nýr Vera with but two others and they came to the road leading towards the mill. He saw that the fence his Men had broken the night they tracked the Yrch was repaired and he nodded to himself in approval. Then he rode back and waited by the gap in the fence where the track branched, leading down to the farm.

One hour passed, and then a second. The Men sat with their lord and took some food, bread, sausage, and cheese, for their noon meal. Rekkr watched the woods carefully, and finally he was rewarded. Through the trees to the north came a figure in a dark cloak, a powerful bow o'er one shoulder and a bulging game bag slung 'cross the other. As e'er, his tall boots bore a shine that spoke of self-esteem.

"Good day, Ivar, how goes thy hunt?" He called out.

The hunter turned and offered a graceful bow, as of a courtier.

"Fair noon, my lord. 'Tis well, thank thee," he said, then grinning, asked, "Whyfor hast thou lingered idle in the wood these past hours? Art thou lost?"

Rekkr tilted back his head and laughed.

"I have awaited thy appearance, hunter, for I would have words with thee."

Ivar nodded and approached the trio of horsemen.

"Had I known thou sought for me, my lord, I would have presented myself aforetime, rather than passing thee by ere I stalked these quail," he said, briefly lifting his game bag.

The lord waved his apology aside and then withdrew the arrow he had kept from the night of the attack, obviously the same as those in the quiver the hunter carried on his back.

"I have borne this and hoped to return it to thee, Ivar. Such a blessed arrow should go not to waste. 'Tis undamaged despite having passed the skull bones of fell prey," he said, laying the shaft in the hunter's hand.

Ivar received it, briefly checking the head and fletching ere returning it to his quiver.

"My thanks, lord," he said, grinning and offering another sweeping and theatrical bow, "let all say the Lord of Nýr Vera cares greatly for his people."

Rekkr grinned and nodded to him, and then waxing serious, he said, "Norðr-vestandóttir would offer her thanks to her savior. Pray visit her farm as thy time allows. Thou hast my thanks as well, Ivar, for she is dear to us all." He stopped and looked carefully at the hunter, then added, "My father has e'er spoken well of thee."

The hunter dipped his head in respect, for once absent any trace of jest, and said, "Pray convey my regards to Lord Hrólfr, my lord. I shall meet with Norðr-vestandóttir as time allows."

Ivar the hunter watched Norðr-vestandóttir Bý 'til the end of the month, and then, seeing that the harvest was in and the fall plowing of the fields done, he shot a brace of blackcock and brought them to the farm. Though well 'nigh all the people there had greeted him at a distance in the wood, only a few of the soldiers had actual met him aforetime. On that day, he came directly to the paddock where Norðr-vestandóttir was visiting with her old friend Annar-hestr. The stallion was thirty-seven now, slower and weaker, yet still not suffering any affliction save age.

The hunter watched a moment as she fed him sliced apples, and marked the trough holding chopped, green lucerne, a more tender forage than dried stalks. As he approached the paddock, the aging horse raised his head to regard him, a stranger, and the farmer followed her horse's gaze, offering the hunter with a wave and a smile of greeting.

"Fair noon to thee, Norðr-vestandóttir," Ivar said, as he came to the fence.

"Fair noon to thee, Ivar, and I pray thee accept my sincerest thanks for thy saving of my life," she said. "Great skill thou hast with thy bow."

He offered her a sweeping bow that brought a smile to her face, and he saw how the expression lit her eyes, a thing he had not marked aforetime, though he had ne'er stood so close 'til now.

"'Twas my pleasure, m'lady," he said. "Those Yrch disturbed my sleep that night, and I saw their disregard of 'aught that they encountered after. Though I had ne'er met such aforetime, I now find them most distasteful."

"I find myself confused by them," she confessed, momentarily chewing on her lower lip. "The first of that kindred I met aided me in escaping the forest, yet those met since have been vicious."

At her words, Ivar was confused as well. Although he knew but little of them, all he had heard tell of claimed they were deadly enemies ruled by malice, cannibalism, and wanton violence.

"I would hear such of thy tale as thou would share, m'lady, for I know 'naught of them save as the foes of our people."

She nodded to him then, and after giving Annar-hestr the remainder of the apple and some soft words, she joined him and they walked from the paddock to her cabin. During that stroll, he marked the outbuildings and the conditions provided her livestock; sound shelter, fresh water, abundant fodder, and clean yards. Not even the chickens showed any fear of people.

"I have brought thee a brace of black grouse," he said as they came to the cabin's door. "I deem it may provide a change from more accustomed suppers."

"T'would indeed, good hunter. Again, thou hast my thanks and I pray thee remain to sup with us this eve," she said, surprised, but adding 'naught in remark that would make his offer awkward. "They are fine fowl, and I deem them not so easy to take, for I see few whilst afield."

He dipped his head to accept her invitation, for 'twas not oft that he shared table with others. The blackcock were not common 'round Nýr Vera, but more importantly, in winter they ate the needles of pine primarily and moved into the forest exclusively, making them more difficult to hunt. In truth, they were much like her chickens, though perhaps a bit more flavorful, if a bit stringier, being wild.

Shortly later, they sat together at the table before Norðr-vestandóttir's hearth, where she had provided them mugs of cider and some sliced bread and cheese to snack on. Ivar had stared 'round after being invited inside, finding the space vast to his eyes, but warm, comfortable, and functional, though lacking for any ostentation. The woman had gained some free space with the removal of her spinning wheel to Lyft's weaving studio, and her chandler's supplies to the workshop in Ierþling's house. Along with her own raised bed was the more recently crafted bed that Böðvildr had used ere she returned to Nýr Vera to forge the parts for her smithy.

"Thou said thou hast met some Yrch aforetime, m'lady?" Ivar asked once they were settled.

"Aye, shortly after I awoke with no memories of 'aught that had come aforetime. 'Twas in 1856, and I found myself in a great hall of stone where food had been left for me, but none were in attendance. I was confounded at first," she admitted. "On the morrow, there appeared a lord draped in black robes, and many of his servants who were Yrch."

A creeping chill began to rise up the hunter's spine as he listened. There were legends and dark tales of a black robed lord…

"1856, thou say? That was forty-six years past, m'lady," he said, just to make sure he had heard her right, but she nodded aye' to his query.

"I am told 'twas the same year in which our people were driven east through the forest. It hath e'er been my guess that I came hither for such cause, though can I recall it not."

She waved his doubts away, for there was 'naught that she was unsure of concerning the count of those years. In those days, Vera had been but a briefly established refugee camp.

"I had awakened in a hall with hearths and a high seat. On the morrow, I learnt 'twas ruled by Lord Khamûl who commanded many Yrch, and who claimed they were all pariahs, relegated to dwell amidst the forest by the misfortune of their affliction as lepers." She shook her head sadly, recalling the goodness of that lord and his servants, though she had been sundered in speech from the latter. "He was a kindly lord who treated me with sympathy and concern though I was a stranger to him and to his house. Indeed, he warned me of his condition during our first exchange of words. He and his servants kept prudent distance from me lest I become infected.

'Twas at his suggestion that I sought our people to the west, for he said many who looked akin to me dwelt thither," she continued, "and I beseeched him to point the way. To this he readily agreed, even ordering four of his servants to guide me hence, and providing us provisions for a march of two days. Though I found we had no words in common, they led me true, and I came to the grasslands where I bid them farewell."

Ivar shook his head as he digested her account. That the servants were Yrch, she had clearly stated, recognizing them as such without doubt. As for the Lord Khamûl, he knew 'naught of any amongst the race of Men who might command the allegiance of that deadly kindred.

"Two days walk within the forest, thou say," he mused. "Know thou 'aught else of whither stood the hall of Lord Khamûl, Norðr-vestandóttir?" He asked.

"I was told 'twas thirty miles to the eaves of the forest. I left down a causeway from the gate, and that faced west. From the verge of the wood, I know that I walked a half-day west to find the farm of a settler where I spent the night. The following morn, I continued on, and for three and a half days walked north to reach Vera. 'Twas then summer, and the days were long."

The hunter nodded that he understood. After thirty miles within the forest, she could have traveled fifteen to twenty miles in half a long day's walk. In three and a half days, she could have covered o'er a hundred miles. This assumed a constant walking pace of three miles each hour with minimal rest stops along the way. He imagined a map of the lands west of the forest and south of Nýr Vera. In those lands, he had heard rumor of but one estate with walls of stone.

"Hast thou e'er heard of a place called Dol Guldur?" He asked.

Norðr-vestandóttir searched her memory. Amongst all the bits of tales and lore she had heard in forty-six years, she recalled 'naught pertinent. Yet the name seemed familiar and at first she could fathom not whyfor. 'Twas some minutes, but finally she placed that name. Through the haze of shock and the trauma of the night so recently past came the words of the dead Orch.

"He said, Khamûl, Nazgûl-ghâra Dol Guldur," she whispered. Her eyes had been distant as she recalled the memory, but now they looked to him, searching for an answer that would clarify Konshati's words. "I understood not his words."

"Who said?" He asked, confused, and then guessed, "The Lord Khamûl?"

"Nay. 'Twas the Orch who took me captive…I asked him why he was not south, in service to Lord Khamûl like the others. I could understand not why he would act so, when those I had met aforetime were respectful and aided me at the behest of their lord. He too was a leper, was he not?"

Ivar did his best to hide his shock. It seemed to him that Norðr-vestandóttir had no true understanding of who or what the Yrch really were. She believed that they were lepers, Men horribly afflicted by disease. Those that she had first met were ruled by the black robed Lord Khamûl, about whom he was beginning to have some suspicions. They had been respectful and had treated her kindly, as had their lord. That he simply could not understand. It seemed as though she and he spoke of two totally different kindreds, and yet both she and he had recognized the Orch that he had shot as one and the same kind. He shook his head, as if to clear it of his confusion.

"If he who held his blade to thy throat was of the same kindred as the lepers serving the Lord Khamûl, then I know that kindred only from tales of great evil. 'Tis said that in 1871, they came and slaughtered all the inhabitants of Gamall Vera," he told her.

Again the woman sat silent, thinking back on one of her worst nights. After fifteen years spent building a new life, she had lost all of her friends and e'eryone she had known in the slaughter of 1871. She had lost her first name along with them, for none remembered Einn if none living remembered her.

Norðr-vestandóttir had been happy to allow those memories to dim as the years passed, as new friends had been made, and happier experiences had replaced them, yet she had been there. The woman called up the scenes of carnage by fire light, of bodies lying in puddles of blood, and of corpses burnt in the ruins of their homes. She recalled the bodies of the invaders, the murderers. Little mind had she paid them at the time, and the horror of their visages she had gladly swept into the shadowed corners of her mind. Yet the memories of them lurked there, intact still, and the light of concentration brought them to clarity. She shuddered.

"They are indeed of one kindred, Ivar," she said, nodding with certainty. "How can this be?"

"I understand not whyfor those who served Lord Khamûl acted so differently," he said. "That the Orch who took thee captive recognized that lord's name is of import, I wager. Though I speak not their tongue, nor can I place his name, t'would seem that the Orch associated him with Dol Guldur, and lore tells only that that is a very evil place. I mark that he also spoke the word 'Nazgûl'. Such are to be feared."

"Whyfor? That name means 'naught to me," she said, curious, and feeling apprehensive.

"Again, I know not their lore, only rumors and the tales of battles heard from allies long ago. 'Tis said they are the ghosts of Men and command dark sorcery. 'Tis said they are e'er robed in black."

"Whence came such tales, Ivar?" Norðr-vestandóttir asked, by now thoroughly unsettled.

"From the Dúnedain of Gondor. There was a great war, many centuries ago 'tis said, wherein a fearsome enemy was defeated. Dagorlad, the plain whereon we defeated the Wainriders of late was the scene of a major battle in that war, and it hath been desolate e'er since."

"The Dúnedain…" she mused. "Commander Broddr of our garrison once said that my youth must be gifted by a heritage of their blood. That, alas, I can neither confirm, nor deny. Indeed, I knew 'naught of that people ere he spoke of them."

The hunter nodded to her, understanding that such memories had disappeared along with all others. Still, he reckoned Norðr-vestandóttir could count some seventy years, for she appeared twenty-five to his eyes and had dwelt on her farm for forty-six years. She was twice his age and there was no other explanation that he could imagine.

"In the tales I have heard, amongst the ranks of the Dúnedain's defeated foe marched many Yrch, but the Nazgûl are not mentioned," Ivar told her, "and save for thine own, I have heard no tale mentioning a Lord Khamûl."

They sat together in silence a while, idly sipping cider, having resolved 'naught and being left with more questions than aforetime. In the hearth an ember popped, causing Norðr-vestandóttir to blink and look to the window.

"Afternoon is upon us, and I should take the grouse to Milde, Ælla, and Hertha that supper may be started," she said.

They drained their mugs and rose from the table. Norðr-vestandóttir took the brace of blackcock and led Ivar to the large house 'cross the yard. Entering, they were met by Ælla and her younger daughter who were standing in the kitchen, peeling potatoes. Introductions were made and Ierþling's wife praised the birds.

"I have not had such since I lived in the East Bight and 'twas rare even then," she said, drawing a smile from the hunter. "Perhaps he should come more oft," she added with a wink.

Hertha giggled, carefully watching the interaction 'twixt the hunter and the mistress of the farm.

"'Twas his shot that saved me and thy sister," Norðr-vestandóttir said, "and he is e'er welcome to join us."

Ivar greeted her words with a smile and offered a bow in courtly fashion, prompting another giggle from the girl.

Supper that night was a jovial affair with Ivar and Norðr-vestandóttir joining Eadmundr's extended family at their board. Much food there was of many varieties, good farm fare in plenty, and all enjoyed their time together, begging many tales of the hunt from their guest. The hunter proved himself well practiced at telling tales, for his descriptions and the tone of his voice lent themselves to creating drama. Yet 'twas when he gave his account of tracking and slaying the Orch that all fell silent and hung on his words, for 'twas a side of the story that none had heard aforetime. Egill, Sumor, and Hertha in particular were impressed, for the thought of tracking a company of such fell enemies through the woods alone required courage they could not yet imagine, and such were their comments after

"E'er I have hunted alone," he said, "and so deem that no great feat in itself. Any beast may become a danger if 'tis cornered or wounded, and I was far enough from the Yrch at all times to feel content in my safety. I saw true courage that night, aye, yet 'twas not on my part."

The young people were by then hanging on his e'ery word and he looked each of them in the eyes ere he continued.

"Lord Rekkr and his riders were many together and far outnumbered their foes. I deem they were not in jeopardy. Courage I saw in the five soldiers who accompanied thee in search of Sumor," he said, glancing to Norðr-vestandóttir, "to stand against such foes whilst outnumbered, and courage I saw in thyself most of all. Even with thy captor's blade held to thy throat, thou bowed not to him, nor despaired, but rather asked 'aught of him that caused his reaction and provided my target. Unarmed and alone thou went thither in search of one of thine own," he added, "and I have seen no lord or warrior act more nobly."

He dipped his head to the farmer, and no trace of jest marked his voice or features.

"I was bound by my word, to protect those who cleave to me," she said simply, as if 'twas self-evident.

"And that too is noble in heart," he finished. "Lord Hrólfr chose true."

Now autumn passed on the farm and in Nýr Vera. The people of the settlement began to heal from the horror of the Yrch invasion. The outlying farmers built for themselves a hamlet close in beyond the walls and removed their homes thither, dwelling together after, rather than each in a home apart. They rode to their fields for their day's labors and begrudged not the time it took.

In the early days of the ninth month, Böðvildr returned to the farm with a cartload of iron parts for her smithy, and she was greeted warmly. With the aid of the farmers and soldiers, she fitted her new forged parts to the mechanisms of wood. The widow who had come with the last group of farmers had sewn the leather for the ferrière's bellows, and soldiers had stacked stone for the bloomery furnace, a forge hearth, and a charcoal kiln. The mylnweard joined them for the inaugural application of power from the waterwheel. When they engaged the power shafts and saw the bellows blow through the tuyere and heard the clang of the helve hammer, they rejoiced.

The following day, Böðvildr gathered all the cut-offs and scraps of wood, and all the green branches deemed too small for 'aught else, and even rotten wood rejected for the hearths in the homes. Some of these she split and cut down further 'til they would fit into the chimney of her furnace. The rest she packed into the stone lined kiln pit beside her bloomery furnace, where grooves ran end to end the length of its inclined floor. She directed the bellows into the shorter of two chimneys that were buried at each end of the pit. At the nearer end of the woodpile she kindled a fire, and when 'twas well caught, started her bellows and tuned its volume with a waste gate. Shortly, she had a bonfire burning throughout the pit, and then, with the aid of Ierþling and Norðr-vestandóttir, shoveled a layer of clay mixed with sand and ash o'er all as an airtight cover.

Once she was sure that the fire was well established, she stopped the bellows and allowed the fire to smolder, drawing in its own requirement of air. Smoke and fumes roiled from the tall chimney opposite the bellows inlet as it created a steady exhaust draft, and as the wood burnt to charcoal o'er the following two days, the volume and nature of the smoke changed in a predictable manner. Soon, steam was no longer present, for the wood was completely dried, and eventually, the scent of volatile resins was reduced. Last to diminish was the smoke from tars. After a day, Böðvildr found herself adding additional clay/sand/ash mix to keep the cover tight as the level of the wood sank and cracks appeared. Finally, towards evening of the third day, the sinking ceased, the smoke failed, and the temperature began to drop. After cooling for two further days, the kiln would be opened, and a cord of wood would be harvested as a half-cord of charcoal. As an aspect of her smith-craft, Böðvildr had become her own collier.

During that time, whilst she awaited the cooling of her charcoal, Böðvildr inspected the banks of the river. A half-mile downstream, just past the gristmill, she marked a bank of red clay, and after getting aid to construct a raft, poled her way 'cross and proceeded to prospecting an ore of iron. In three trips she collected a cart-load of iron bearing clay, and this she drove back to the smithy and spread on the ground 'round the cooling kiln.

By the next morn, when she came to open and inspect her load of charcoal, the clay was cracked, shrinking, and well on its way to drying. After another two days, the clay was dry enough to be crumbled by hand, and this she did, filling a wooden bin with a hundred pounds of broken red chunks the size of a walnut. The broken pieces she heated 'til fully dried, and she crushed them down to pea size and smaller. Now with her ore, some firewood, and her charcoal, she deemed herself prepared for her first smelting.

In the morn, Böðvildr began, burning wood in her furnace to dry and pre-heat it, and then through the open top, she began to pack it with charcoal to raise the temperature. Again, she started the waterpower to her bellows, and air was forced through the tuyere into the lower third of the furnace. As the level of charcoal dropped, she began adding both charcoal and dried clay in equal measures by volume, continually topping off the level in her furnace as the temperature rose and the heated ore sank deeper and deeper into the furnace. Handful by handful, she fed the furnace some fifteen stone of charcoal and eight stone of ore. By then, 'twas two hours past noon and she had been smelting for six hours straight. From the opening at the bottom of the furnace, a puddle of slag had run into a smallish pit of ash and sand, whilst within the base of the furnace, a black lump glowed a dull red.

Böðvildr stopped her bellows and removed the tuyere from the side of the furnace. The ferrière refilled her furnace to the top with charcoal one last time. Then she left to allow the last of the charcoal to burn down. After that hot morn's labor, she rinsed herself off in the river and then went to Norðr-vestandóttir's cabin to make herself a noon meal. Once there, she sliced fresh bread, lay cheese and sliced chicken on it, and then drew a mug of cider. As she sat at the table staring idly out the window, she saw the woman and the hunter walking back from the hills together, involved in an animated conversation. A grin shaped her lips as she chewed. Ivar and Norðr-vestandóttir had been keeping company increasingly frequently.

After her meal, she returned to her forge, and she used a heavy iron pick to turn the furnace o'er onto its side. With a heavy hammer, she gave the black lump a couple whacks to detach it from the furnace wall. It came away, dull and heavy, and she continued hitting it whilst she shielded her eyes with a hand as chips of glassy slag flew in all directions. When she had removed what slag she could, she used the pick to drag the lump aside and tilt her furnace back upright.

The dark lump was the 'bloom', a porous mass of 'sponge iron' composed of both low carbon iron and slag. When she had accumulated many such, Böðvildr would bring them to her forge for reheating, and then on her helve hammer, flatten, fold, and weld the mass to remove the slag and form a bar of wrought iron. This could be shaped as 'twas, or carburized to form steel through repeated heating and folding many times to add a precise amount of carbon. Such 'pattern welding¹' created a homogeneous steel billet from which implements could be shaped, hardened, and tempered. ¹(pattern welding reveals intricate and delicate striations in the metal and is often mis-termed 'Damascus' steel, which is a more specialized historical process.)

During that day and the next, Böðvildr smelted four more 'blooms', thus obtaining roughly fifteen stone or two hundred and ten pounds of 'sponge iron'. She reckoned 'twas enough to occupy her for a fortnight, and so she left her clay to dry, and stored her charcoal 'nigh the forge.

The young ferrière took the 'sponge iron' and reheated it in the charcoal fires, and when it glowed at the correct color, she folded it and hammered it flat, then heated and folded it again. O'er and o'er she repeated those steps 'til 'twas free of slag as her years of apprenticeship had taught her. Next, she heated the iron to add carbon, and as her father had instructed, she obtained steel. Of it, she formed tongs and hammerheads, punches and chisels, files and drifts, fullers, sets, and hardys. There were other tools more specialized, but those she would fabricate as needed. Her aim in those first days was to create the general necessities of her craft.

One necessity proved a more daunting task, simply for its size. To create such, she refined into steel, two of the remaining three 'sponges', 'nigh eighty pounds of iron. The forging of anvils is done piecemeal, beginning with a large rectangular block called a luppe. This formed the body and primary mass of the anvil to which all else is attached. Shaped separately were the feet, the horns, the face, and the shelf. Each of these was forged and then heated along with the luppe in its own bed of coals, and when the parts reached the correct temperature, they were welded together into a whole with many hammer blows. On each end at the bottom of the luppe was welded a foot, and above the feet, the horns projecting outward on each end. The shelf was welded at the junction of a horn with the luppe, and finally, the anvil face, a plate that covered and unified the top of the luppe, horns, and the shelf. When all was unified by welding, many blows of the hammer were struck to straighten and level the anvil and its face. One horn was rounded hot with a file, the longest Böðvildr had made. With smaller files, she dressed the square hole for the hardy, and the round hole for the pritchel. And finally, the ferrière quenched the anvil face to harden it against the impacts of the work she would do.

The finished anvil weighed eighty pounds and would last for centuries. 'Twas raised with a block and tackle and set upon a flaring section cut from the base of an oak tree's trunk. When her labor was done, she stretched her back and heaved a sigh of relief. Böðvildr treated herself to a refreshing swim in the river and then went to Norðr-vestandóttir's cabin for the evening meal.

At the cabin, the young ferrière found Ivar and Norðr-vestandóttir sharing a chicken with side dishes from the garden, fresh bread with butter and honey, and they were laughing o'er some tale of the hunt. 'Twas a scene that had become increasingly frequent, and as e'er, Böðvildr was made welcome. The hunter sliced chicken onto her plate and the farmer poured her cider. The triumphs of her day became the topic of conversation. There was much good cheer, and the smith was thankful to have found so pleasant a place to settle. Not even a year aforetime she had worried for her future and her parents had shared her uncertainty, for none knew whither she would go to find work.

"I have prepared all things and am ready to undertake whatsoe'er thou may need," she happily told the mistress of the farm.

"That is good tidings, Böðvildr. I believe one of Broddr's riders, young Knáligr, needs his horse reshod," Norðr-vestandóttir said. "His stallion threw a shoe whilst returning from patrol to the mill this afternoon past."

The ferrière rolled her eyes at the mention of his name, but said, "I shall check at the garrison in the morn. Tonight I am exhausted from the hammering and the heat, and shall seek my rest straightaway after supper."

Ivar and Norðr-vestandóttir nodded to her. They had heard hammering for three days straight.

"We shall walk after our meal," the farmer declared, "I want to check on Sumor who is out with the flock. The weather turns and already 'tis not so warm at night."

"Shall she stay in the hills amongst the sheep all night?" Böðvildr asked. After the attack a couple months past, she would not have spent the night out in the hills by choice.

"Aye. T'would seem she desires to pass her nights thus ere winter comes," the woman said.

"And I believe she looks to meet the miller's son after his day of grinding grist is done," Ivar said with a chuckle. "They share speech and the view of the stars 'til he must return home lest his father seek him and discover their trysts."

Norðr-vestandóttir slapped his arm and said, "'Tis sweet, Alrekr's growing devotion, and she seems turned to him as well."

Ivar laughed, and in a mock whisper said, "And I hope 'tis Sumor and not the sheep as are the focus of his growing attentions."

Böðvildr choked on her cider and then fought to recover as she laughed.

"Perhaps she enjoys watching," she finally managed to say as she wiped tears from her eyes.

"Horrible as Yrch ye are," Norðr-vestandóttir said, shaking her head at them, but suppressing a smile of her own. "Ye understand now why I need check on the welfare of the sheep."

"Aye," he said, "lest they come to enjoy his attentions o'ermuch as well."

Their laughter carried out the door as Ivar and Norðr-vestandóttir took their leave. Left alone, in the cabin, Böðvildr giggled 'til sleep o'ercame her.

As that autumn passed to winter, the ringing of hammer on steel in the forge joined the activities of the farm. Preparations for winter went forward. All were hopeful and looked forward to that year's Yule. Sumor and Alrekr continued to spend such time together as they could arrange, and with no grain to grind and no sheep wandering the frozen hills, neither was constrained by their duties. Kátmaðr, Ierþling, and Ælla were all well aware of the budding romance, and all favored it as a good match. With restrained supervision, they facilitated their meetings, and oft the mylnweard's family joined the family for meals at the farm.

At the same time, all marked the increasing closeness of Ivar and Norðr-vestandóttir. 'Twas a more mature courtship in all respects, and seeing how much they enjoyed each others' company, and the esteem in which they held each other, none could find fault in their match. Being as she shared the cabin, the young ferrière saw this most clearly and her respect for both only grew. Ne'er did they exclude her from their company, always making her feel welcome and sharing good cheer and conversation with her o'er meals, or whilst relaxing after their days' labor was done. And when the couple desired their privacy, they would sometimes repair to the cabin that Ivar maintained amidst the forest, which none in Nýr Vera had e'er visited and few even knew existed, for though familiar to many, the hunter had e'er kept his own counsel and lived on the fringes of their society. 'Twas the manner of a hunter, with many solitary hours spent stalking his game, checking his traps, and learning the nature of the wood, its seasons, and its creatures.

"Whyfor did thou not become a rider?" Norðr-vestandóttir asked one afternoon as she accompanied Ivar along his trap line. 'Twas early winter and the year's first snow lay ankle deep on the ground. He had already collected two ermine in their white winter coats.

"Thou must promise not to laugh," he replied, a twinkle in his eyes that she found dear. At her nod of agreement, he continued, saying, "I ne'er learnt to ride. Little had we at home, a horse least of all, and so whilst other boys were learning the saddle, I learnt the bow from my uncle, for archery rather than horsemanship was the tradition of my family. Besides, in the early years I made the lord uneasy, though we have grown cordial since."

The woman nodded, probably the least likely amongst the folk of Nýr Vera to find 'aught odd about his path.

"I spent my first forty-one years riding only bareback," she said. "'Twas not 'til the king sent Eastern horses to me that I learnt the saddle and how to ride as do the Éothéod."

"How came thee to have so many horses at thy farm?" He asked, for the king's gift had come long after she had begun breeding steeds.

"The first half-dozen followed me from the south," she said, to his amazement. "I met them 'nigh as soon as I came from the forest, a breeding herd of six, and they trailed me north all the way to Gamall Vera."

They had strolled another furlong in that time and Ivar knelt to collect another white stoat from a snare. He stuffed it into his game bag and reset the trap.

"So thou rode into Old Vera on a new horse," he guessed.

"Nay, I rode not for 'nigh four years after my arrival," she answered. "Those first six I ne'er rode, but cared for only 'til the first foal was born. He was Hestr-einn, and we learnt to ride together in his third year. He was Annar-hestr's sire."

Ivar thought of the old stallion, now occupying a stall in the stable through the winter. The woman visited with him e'ery day to spend a little time with her old friend.

"Those first six were wild, yet they accepted my care, especially after I found the farm," she added. "The first winters, I sheltered them in the greater part of the cabin, keeping only a few fathoms and the hearth for myself. I ne'er even named them, having in those days no name myself. To this day, no gates bar their coming or going, neither they, nor the cows and sheep who followed me that first night from the ruin of Gamall Vera."

"I had wondered whyfor thy fences were ungated," he said.

"They simply mark the land according to the farm's charter and the land grants since."

"Thou hast great patience, Daughter of the Northwest," he said, "for any other would have tried to break those first six to the saddle, and would enclose their fields with jealous concern."

She waved his words away with a hand and said, "all this was 'neath the care of others ere my coming, and shall come to the care of others after. The farm was abandoned by some settler of the same kindred as the family I met on my first night after coming from the forest. I recognized the plantings and the constructions. I have but inherited and built, cultivated, and care taken these lands in my time."

They came to another trap and found another ermine.

"Is it common to have success at each trap?" She asked.

"Not always, and for some, not at all," he said, chuckling as he bagged the animal and reset the snare. "Few hunt full time, and they to the north of the stream and the village. I deem they were lazy in that, favoring lands closer to home."

"So thou art the sole hunter of these lands?"

"I have trod these lands since childhood and know them well," he said. "I know whence come their creatures and in what season, and so enjoy success more oft than failure. 'Twas not always so in the beginning."

Norðr-vestandóttir nodded, agreeing with his words. Time it took to learn 'aught, whether of farming, smithying, riding, or hunting. She looked out 'cross the lands to the south where lay her farm, the river, and the Hafrland beyond. In the distance, she heard the faint ringing of Böðvildr's hammer. Somewhere further in that direction lay the realm of Gondor and the Dúnedain. Uncharacteristically, she pondered a moment on the truth of Broddr's belief that she shared blood with that folk, a belief well 'nigh all in Nýr Vera held, the more tightly as the years passed. What wisdom might one attain if gifted a span of nine score in which to learn, she idly wondered, then dismissed the query in favor of what lay before her eyes.

"Much changes with time, Ivar, not the least we ourselves," she said.

"Aye, much changes even as we wonder to what end," he answered.

Days continued to pass and Yule came, the shortest day of the year. In the morn, 1903 would open, yet t'would be the same snow that had fallen in 1902 that still lay on the ground. As darkness fell, Eadmundr's extended family gathered for a festive evening meal, and joining them for the holiday were Ivar, Norðr-vestandóttir, Böðvildr, Kátmaðr, his wife and son, Alrekr, the six newest farmers, Broddr, Frár, Knáligr, and the rest of the garrison. Thirty-eight souls filled Ierþling's dining hall that night, and he wondered if he should build an extension.

The meal was filled with much gusto and the conversation was loud. Two hours the throng spent at table, and all were sated. Afterwards, the soldiers of the garrison raised their voices in many songs whilst people exchanged gifts. Böðvildr had forged boot knives for each of the soldiers. Each came with a sheath of thin leather bearing a clip to hold the knife securely inside the shaft of a rider's boot. They were received with great thanks, for a good knife was not cheap in those days, and no soldier could have too many.

A skinning knife she had forged for Ivar, full bellied, short-tipped, and specially curved. 'Twas uncommonly sharp and came in a sheath of thick leather with a belt loop. The hunter gave her a warm hug in thanks, for hunting brought him little coin with which to commission such a blade. The young smith shared a grateful look with Carléas¹, the widow who had proven herself an accomplished worker of leather and had made the sheaths in trade for a set of needles, thimbles, and awls. The woman had done other work in secret, and she looked forward to further revelations. ¹(Carléas, Carefree, fem form of Carl. Old English)

The festivities continued and sometime later, Norðr-vestandóttir caught Egill's eye and raised a brow in question. The young stable master nodded to her and grinned in answer. Then she took the hunter by the hand and asked him to accompany her to the stables. Though uncertain as to her cause for abandoning the party, he would deny her 'naught and they went from Ierþling's house, out into the night's chill.

"I have something to show thee," was all she would say as they crossed the yard and went 'round to the stable.

Ivar had shrugged and followed, for what else could he do? She opened a side door and they went inside, immediately finding a far warmer space where the animals rested, but many raised their heads at the entry and watched the couple as they made their way down the rows of stalls. Finally, they came to a box in which stood a young chestnut stallion, a half-blood Easterling, who regarded them with dark, intelligent eyes and whiffled to the woman in greeting. A new saddle sat o'er the stall's wall with the remaining tack draped from a peg in the wall post.

"Pray greet Veiði-hestr¹, Ivar. I shall teach thee to ride at last." ¹(Veiði-hestr, Hunter's stallion Old Norse)

The hunter stood frozen for long moments. Save their honor, which he had in abundance, the Northmen valued little more highly than a good horse, and this one was as fine as any he had seen. 'Twas a kingly gift in his estimation, and far more than he felt he deserved.

As if reading his thought, she said, "Trouble thyself not, good hunter, for any fee is long paid by delivering my life, yet such was not foremost in my thought. Rather, I seek to warm thy heart and bring a smile to thy face, which has become dear to me. T'will be spring ere thou actually mount, and much time shall be required to build the trust that must rule Man and horse, yet such steps as were denied thee in thy youth shall be taken in days to come."

He could not but wrap her in his arms and give her a long, tight hug as he fought to recover from the flight of his emotions. Love he had known aforetime from family, but ne'er from one not of his own blood, nay, not even from all of those. To be gifted so fine a horse was as a revelation, but the promise of time spent to teach the craft of riding was yet a greater treasure still to his heart. Not since his youth, when his uncle had taught him archery, had any committed so much effort for his well-being. This he acknowledged easily, and when he finally drew back, a broad smile of pure happiness lit his face, and Norðr-vestandóttir returned it with genuine joy.

"'Tis not to soon to begin thy bonding," she said, and from her pocket she took an apple, still fresh from cold storage, and with a paring knife, deftly sliced in into quarters and pocketed the core.

Veiði-hestr immediately caught the scent of the treat and nosed the woman, but she slipped the pieces into Ivar's hands 'neath the level of the stall door, and 'twas his hand that offered the apple slice to the horse. Veiði-hestr spent a moment to look him in the eye, but then lowered his muzzle and picked up the treat with nimble lips. When he finished chewing and swallowed, he immediately returned and butted the hunter's hand with his nose. Ivar offered him another apple slice and this was accepted without hesitation. So too were the last pair of slices, one at a time. At Norðr-vestandóttir's prompting, he rubbed Veiði-hestr's cheeks and 'round his ears, receiving a contented whiffle and nuzzling in return. The farmer nodded in approval of a first step taken towards trust and acceptance 'twixt the two.

They bid Veiði-hestr farewell shortly after spending some time checking o'er the saddle, and on their return to Ierþling's house, Ivar asked her to stop briefly at her cabin. They entered and he went to the table before the hearth where lay a parcel he had left there ere the Yule feast. This he set into her hands, saying, "I too have thought to offer thee a gift, though nothing so rich as a horse." A grin shaped his lips.

Norðr-vestandóttir accepted the parcel and pulled aside the wrapping, and inside was a riding coat of white fur, luxurious and thick. 'Twas made from the pelts of a half-dozen foxes in winter white, and with it was a hood of ermine. Several buttons of carved bone closed it o'er a weather flap. She held the fur to her face to revel in its softness.

"T'will be warmer than any woven cloak of wool, and all hides have the virtue to block the wind," he explained. "White shall hide thee from all eyes amidst the snow. Pray try it on that I may check the fit. 'Tis cut for ease of wear whilst riding."

At his prompting, she doffed her woolen cloak and pulled on the coat. Immediately, she marked the warmth and the surprising lightness of the garment and a broad smile graced her lips. She found herself amazed by the soft, silky feel on her wrists and 'round her neck where the fur met her skin. Ivar eyed the cut and sizing with a critical glance and deemed it fine.

"It feels wonderful," Norðr-vestandóttir gushed, turning as she held the front closed, "so light and yet so warm." She pulled on the hood and looked out from 'neath the white fur ringing her face. "I recall thee taking the ermine from thy traps, but fox I rarely see in any season."

"They are wily creatures, few and difficult to hunt," he admitted. He told her 'naught of how he managed to take but one or two in most winters, so fugitive were those animals. Three winters he had collected those pelts ere trading twelve stone of venison to a seamstress in Nýr Vera.

"I love it! 'Tis beautiful and I thank thee most sincerely, Ivar," she said, "I wager 'tis one of a kind."

She stepped forward gave him a long hug, smiling and bright eyed, and it warmed his heart to see her so. When they returned to the throng in Ierþling's dining hall, all remarked on Norðr-vestandóttir's new coat and the women eyed it with longing as they crowded 'round to feel the softness of the fur. Many too looked to Ivar, appreciative of his thoughtfulness for the woman they had all come to esteem, and no few of those who knew her best hoped that she would no longer be alone.

Now the year 1903 opened and Böðvildr was amazed that a cycle of the seasons had already passed since she had come to the farm. She worked her craft for the farm, the garrison, and the mill, and her time was comfortably occupied. She celebrated her twentieth year by inviting her parents to visit her forge and they were impressed with the smithy she had created. The waterpower was a revelation to her father, and Arngrímr watched the hammer than ran itself and struck the anvil more tirelessly than six apprentices.

The folk held their breath through the thaw and the spring planting, awaiting word that they had all come to expect, and when Ivar and Norðr-vestandóttir announced their betrothal on the equinox, few were truly surprised. A spontaneous celebration erupted and another grand feast was held in Ierþling's dining hall. On that evening, the farmer from the East Bight resolved to increase the space. He could foresee it needing to host yet more souls in the days ahead.

'Twas a good year for all. Sumor and Alrekr, both now sixteen, openly kept company together, walking hand in hand and stealing kisses in the hills amidst the flock, or at the mill when she would visit and they thought Kátmaðr's back was turned.

In early summer, another soul came to the farm, not at Lord Hrólfr's suggestion or Norðr-vestandóttir's invitation, but rather of her own accord, appearing unannounced on foot, and beseeching the lady of the estate for leave to settle and build a studio for the making and firing of clay vessels. Like Böðvildr, she had learnt a craft, but Nýr Vera had no need of another potter.

"I am Stjarna Þyridóttir¹, m'lady. Good clay, both red and grey, there is in the riverbanks," she said, "and much wood to fire a kiln grows 'nigh. I have learnt the craft and can make such wares as any hither could want." ¹(Stjarna Þyridóttir, Star Thyri's daughter Old Norse)

Norðr-vestandóttir considered her request for less than a minute ere giving the young woman her blessing. She still remembered sealing baskets with beeswax in lieu of jugs and jars she could not afford.

Because the equipment for ceramics was far less involved that blacksmithing, Stjarna was quick to build her studio. With the aid of the soldiers and farmers, she excavated cartloads of clay, both red and grey, dug a slaking pool and lined it with stone, and erected a temporary kiln with firebox and chimney, and a firing chamber dug into a pile of dirt excavated for postholes in the building of her studio walls. That she chose a site on the riverbank, just downstream from Böðvildr's smithy made perfect sense, for both clay and wood lay 'twixt the forge and the mill.

Rather than building a potter's wheel at first, she raised only a worktable, and built a wooden form, and then she set about making bricks from varying mixtures of clay and sand. These she marked for later reference and set into her provisional kiln, then fired 'til a bright yellow incandescence was reached. When the cooling was complete, she broke open the kiln to find her test bricks spanning a range from slightly deformed, shrunken, and cracked, to porous. Those that had become vitreous she discarded, whilst those still porous, she retained. Böðvildr watched all this, recognizing the value of Stjarna's test. She too had a kiln, a furnace, and a hearth that could benefit from refractory brick. At that time, she was not engaged in forging any commissions, and so she offered her aid, knowing the labor of establishing a workplace.

Together, the two young women built a dozen molds for bricks. They dug more clay and washed more sand, and together they mixed the batch of clay, many hundreds of pounds. Then they set to work, pressing bricks in the molds and drying them in the sun. After a week, they had many hundred dried bricks ready for firing.

"But thou demolished thy kiln in the test," Böðvildr said, looking o'er to where only the firebox and chimney remained.

Stjarna smiled and said, "then we shall build one anew."

Now 'neath the potter's tutelage, the ferrière helped stack the bricks. Rows they built with spaces left 'neath and 'twixt, and these they filled well with wood, twigs, dried grass, and the dried dung of cattle. Tier and after tier the arrangement grew, and the higher it climbed, the less fuel Stjarna included.

"How many can thou burn at a time," Böðvildr asked, looking o'er the dwindling pile of dried bricks.

"All of them, always all of them," Stjarna replied, smiling, and the ferrière found that she liked the expression.

Eventually, all the bricks were indeed stacked, in an orderly pile higher than 'twas wide or broad. Stjarna then began coating the entire pile with a mix of clay, sand, and straw, with Böðvildr lending a hand. 'Twas much the same as she had done when firing her charcoal, save that open holes were spaced 'round the top. Along the bottom of the pile, the potter sculpted openings to the firebox and rows of smaller air inlets. By evening, they had completed the scoved clamp and packed the firebox with wood.

Stjarna lit the wood and watched a while to make sure it had caught well. When the flames burned down, she packed in more wood. She repeated the process twice more ere assuring herself that the fuel 'neath the bottom layer of bricks was wholly afire, then she packed the firebox on last time and dusted off her hands.

"Is that it then?" Böðvildr asked.

Stjarna nodded 'aye' and said, "'tis left to burn a week for a pile this size, and then when the temperature cools on the outside, we shall chance a look within."

Böðvildr nodded. Being of like mind, both said at the same moment, "'tis time for a swim."

Laughing together, they stripped and leapt into the cooling waters to wash away the sweat and dirt and dust, and the smell of smoke. Stjarna was glad to have had the help, and Böðvildr was glad to finally have another woman close in age and experience to share time with. She described her own days spent building her forge the past year, as well as the friendships she had developed with the other people on the farm.

Eventually, the scove was broken open and the bricks freed from the clamp. Stjarna sorted good from bad. Those underfired were set aside for the next firing, whilst those o'erfired were pulverized to become the foundation of the kiln. Now the kiln was laid 'neath the o'erhanging roof, with its door facing into the studio and its chimney facing out past the eaves. 'Twas a rectangular chamber of interlocked fire bricks, with openings along one side at the bottom leading to an enclosed firebox. Along the bottom on the opposite side, she left openings that converged into a channel that connected with the chimney. When the walls had attained their finished height, Stjarna back-filled against their outsides with a mass of dirt and rubble to provide support and insulation.

To lay the bricks for the kiln's ceiling, she had shaped planks by soaking and heat bending them into identical arches that spanned the walls. These she set in place and then used to support the incomplete courses of bricks 'til she could interlock them and install the keystones at the very apex of the arch. Locked in place thus, she could then remove the wooden forms and slid them down the vertical sidewalls to the next position, and set more rows of bricks in place. O'er the hours of the day, she completed the 'sprung arch' for the roof of her kiln, and then this too she insulated with more crushed brick, sand, and clay. The process took two long days, but the young potter was being very careful. Should the roof collapse at high temperature, the results would be a catastrophic fire wherein superheated air would suddenly be vented in an expanding cloud, to ignite 'aught it touched, roof, walls, and any wood or flesh standing 'nigh.

'Twas late afternoon when she finished, and hearing the ringing of Böðvildr's hammer, she walked o'er to the smithy. There she saw the ferrière 'nigh done forging a sword blade, heating the metal to red-orange, lifting it from the hearth with tongs, and then setting it on the anvil for another round of shaping ere it grew too cool. The smith refined the shape, creating the fullers on both sides, and then reheated the steel to temper it, and finally quenched it in a barrel of water. After the steam stopped rising, she withdrew it and checked the hardness. A file slid along the edge rang and bit not. She set it beside another already completed and wiped the sweat from her face with a forearm.

"Swim?" Stjarna asked with a cant of her head towards the river.

Böðvildr smiled, nodded her agreement and stripped off her gloves and apron. Soon, laughter and splashing could be heard as the evening sky darkened.

Midyear's day dawned at the farm, and 'twas the day set aside for the marriage of Ivar and Norðr-vestandóttir. All work ceased and the people gathered. In preparation for the ceremony, Ælla spent o'er an hour braiding Norðr-vestandóttir's hair in the most elaborate fashion she could contrive. Hertha had woven a circlet of daisies for her to wear, and Lyft had woven a light gown of white wool and a girdle with knitted textures. Since their announcement three months ago, Carléas had sewn a vest of fine leather for Ivar and a supple belt. Both matched his boots, which as e'er, were spotless and meticulously polished black.

Just ere the time of the vow taking, Böðvildr brought forth the two swords she had forged, for neither Norðr-vestandóttir, nor Ivar had e'er owned a sword.

"A proper wedding of Northmen requires an exchange of swords," she said. "Yours, Ivar is for your wife to pass on to your future son, whilst yours, Norðr-vestandóttir, is symbolic of Ivar taking on the protection thy father would have provided thee aforetime."

Both smiled and gave the young smith hugs and kisses upon her cheeks, one from each side.

Tradition though 'twas, Ivar had e'er lived by his wits and his bow, and Norðr-vestandóttir had ne'er known her father. Still, both were happy to honor their peoples' ways in their wedding ceremony.

At noon, the couple appeared from the cabin to speak their vows in the yard 'neath the apple trees, surrounded by friends. Being the eldest, Eadmundr presided o'er the ceremony. The full count of soldiers from the garrison stood at attention, nine to a side, lining their path from the door. To one side stood Veiði-hestr bearing all his tack, symbolic of Norðr-vestandóttir's dowry, and to the other side stood a stand upon which the white fox coat was displayed, symbolic of Ivar's bride price.

The ceremony began with the presentation of the swords and the soldiers especially applauded their fine workmanship as being fit for future heirlooms, whilst the rest appreciated the symbolic intentions embodied in the exchange.

Following the exchange of swords came the gifting of rings to each other. These were wrought of gold by the only fine metal smith in Nýr Vera, and the bride and groom slipped the rings onto their betrothed's fingers to symbolize the binding of their lives to be voiced in their vows.

Then the two stood facing each other before Eadmundr and he bid them speak with their hearts' voices, and the friends that surrounded them hearkened, for they would be witnesses.

"Norðr-vestandóttir, on this day 'neath the sun and the gods, I vow to thee protection and devotion, from this day forth 'til life's passage or world's ending, whether the days bring joy or sorrow, dearth or plenty, sickness or health, henceforth to be encircled in love."

Then Norðr-vestandóttir spoke, saying, "Ivar, on this day 'neath the sun and the gods, I vow to thee protection and devotion, from this day forth 'til life's passage or world's ending, whether the days bring joy or sorrow, dearth or plenty, sickness or health, henceforth to be encircled in love."

And Eadmundr took their hands and loosely bound them together with a finely woven cord, and he said, "By your vows and the truth in your hearts, I declare ye husband and wife hereafter, to abide together in joy and peace, and to teach well the sons and daughters of your union, and to honor each other 'til death part ye or the world end."

When the couple simply stood staring at each other in wonder at the step they had taken together, the old soldier produced an exasperated sigh and said, "Pray kiss each other, for crying aloud. We have a feast to attend."

Then with a self-conscious chuckle, Ivar took Norðr-vestandóttir in his arms, and with theatrical grace, bent her back so he supported her on his arm. Then he leant down and kissed her, and she met him and their kiss was long and deep, held 'til Eadmundr groaned and stalked off towards his son's house where the feast was laid. Laughter followed him and then the throng began to move in his wake. Last to leave were the newlyweds, and when they passed the door to the dining hall, their guests applauded them and cheered, and the feast continued for many hours after.

That day was a one of unsurpassed joy for both of them, the solitary hunter and the woman who had long farmed her fields alone. In some places, the wedding of an estate holder would have been celebrated far and wide, yet the only guests to come from Nýr Vera that day were Böðvildr's parents, Arngrímr and his wife, and Stjarna's widowed mother, Revna¹. Even so, Ierþling was glad that he had extended the wall of his dining hall, adding another fathom to the breadth of the room. ¹(Revna, Raven)

During the feast, some marked the company kept by Sumor and Alrekr, (which was actually no surprise), but also Böðvildr and Stjarna who seemed to have much in common to speak of together, and most surprisingly, Sæmundr¹, once a woodcutter from the East Bight, who shared mead and several increasingly clumsy dances with Revna. ¹(Sæmundr, known from Icelandic folklore in which he managed to trick the Devil. Old Norse)

The festivities continued late into the night, and due to the effects of the potent wedding mead served to the guests, proceeded to hilarious episodes of inebriation. When the bride and groom finally took their leave but a couple hours ere the dawn, Eadmundr, Milde, Lyft, Ierþling, Ælla, and Broddr staggered along with them as traditional witnesses to the consummation. Despite the weight of culture, Ivar and Norðr-vestandóttir forcefully dismissed them ere the actual event, though they did stay long enough to see the couple abed together in the nude 'neath a thin sheet. By the afternoon when they awoke with vicious hango'ers, most had forgotten the exact train of events anyway.

The following day began late, saw little activity, and ended early. 'Twas a day of recovery and was soon forgotten for heads pounded and memories were foggy. Most found the sun too bright, were too queasy to seek further sustenance, and so they gathered not for meals. The farm continued on inertia and the clean up began the day after. Soon the harvest began, the preparations for winter were undertaken, and the people settled in for the cold months.

The only further constructions that year were the completion of Stjarna's pottery studio and the construction of the cabin that she would share with Böðvildr. The smith sought to give the newlyweds their privacy, and so she vacated Norðr-vestandóttir's cabin and brought her belongings to the somewhat quirky new home that grew 'twixt the smithy and the pottery studio along the bank of the river.

Because of the proximity of those two workplaces, the cabin was forced to be long and narrow, and was constrained from rising to a second floor in order to avoid the smoke and fumes of furnaces, kilns, and forge. O'er time, when more space was needed, they simply added rooms to the end of the building furthest from the riverbank, and in that way, extended the structure 'til its front lay but a couple fathoms from the wagon track leading to the mill.

At the rear, which was built hard by the riverbank, they built a stair leading down to a short, floating jetty that gave easy access to the water for bathing, a necessity both agreed on because of their professions. 'Twas during the first winter when the water was frigid or covered in a skin of ice, that they conceived of a heated tub of wood, sunken into the floor of the rearmost room. They walled off the space, built a small hearth for the heating of water and air with charcoal, and thereby invented the sauna and hot tub, both of which became part of the wider cultural tradition.

Now thereafter time passed on the farm, and the cycles of the season came and went with increasing plenty. More people, both soldiers and farmers, came to dwell at Norðr-vestandóttir Bý. As the smithy and pottery grew in reputation, people of Nýr Vera would ride the two miles south to commission works, and to buy foodstuffs. Soon, the track branching off from the mill road was the more heavily traveled of the two.

In 1904, a shop was built adjacent to Ierþling's house for the sale to the public of standardized goods, mostly dinnerware and crockery of clay, or household implements of steel at one end, and groceries at the other. Soon, other dry goods were added, most notably woolens and supplies such as yarn for knitting, and furs and pelts from Ivar's trap lines. To attend customers, the farmers hired Revna, Stjarna's widowed mother, who since the wedding had been spending increasing time on the farm visiting Sæmundr anyway. They built her an apartment at the rear of the building, and she was happy to have a home, a position she found to be great fun, and to be closer to her daughter. Surprisingly, she seemed to know most of the folk of Nýr Vera. More surprisingly, she proved to be a gleeful haggler, something Norðr-vestandóttir was horrible at.

Also in 1904, after two years of marriage, Ivar and Norðr-vestandóttir celebrated the birth of their firstborn son, whom they named Leifr, heir. The christening party was little less boisterous than the wedding party had been, save that there were now more folk in attendance. Again, the recuperation took a full day with only Revna sober enough to manage business in the store. The boy seemed to grow quickly, and soon 'twas marked that he would one day be as tall as his father. He was also adventurous, fearless, and irrepressibly joyful, a combination that soon drove his parents to their wits' end as they tried to keep him out of trouble.

Great joy Ivar found in teaching him the skills of horsemanship, skills that he had missed out on as a boy for lack of a horse. The hunter had by then learnt much of horses from Norðr-vestandóttir, and oft aided Egill at the stable in hopes of learning more. Soon it seemed, Leifr was struggling to hold an arrow steady on the small bow his father had carved for him, an augur of proficiency to come.

In 1907, Norðr-vestandóttir and Ivar welcomed a daughter whom they christened Ljóss, which signified light, clear and bright. She was beautiful as a baby, and as she grew, that beauty only increased with each year. 'Twas easy to foretell that she would break many hearts amongst the Éothéod in days to come. She was also a quiet child, not sickly or sorrowful, but rather attentive, contemplative, and e'er given to examining 'aught that she saw. Flowers, foods, sunlight, and her own toes were thoroughly studied in minute detail. Her curiosity seemed unlimited, as if some compulsion drove her to explore all things. Like her brother, she took to riding early, but unlike him, she paid equal attention to the other animals on the farm. She would spend hours watching the chickens, laughing and clapping as the cows were milked, or picking through the wool of the sheep as they stood indulgent of her small hands combing through their fleeces. Like all others, her brother was enchanted with her, and in later years became her fiercest protector.

1910 came, and Norðr-vestandóttir marked the first faint wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and the drying of the skin on her hands. As the years passed, the evidence of aging continued. In gifting of her fëa's virtue to her offspring, she was diminished, as is oft the case with mothers of the Elder Children. She understood that not, nor did any others. They deemed it the first, faint evidence of her mortality, for even the Dúnedain live not fore'er. Near as any could reckon, she was by then 'nigh four score years in age, and possibly far older.

In the late spring of 1914, word came from Nýr Vera that old Lord Hrólfr lay dying. He was then four score and four years of age, honored by all his folk, and he had called for Norðr-vestandóttir and Ivar both, for he would speak with them ere he passed. The tidings brought tears from the woman and in haste, she and her husband mounted and rode for the village. They arrived with the returning messenger, and coming to the lord's home, were met at the door by Lord Rekkr. Sad smiles of greeting they shared and words of comfort were offered and received.

"Pray go up," Rekkr Hrólfrsonr said, "he awaits thee, though he has been weaker since yester eve."

They climbed the stairs and found Lord Hrólfr abed though comfortable. 'Naught seemed to afflict him save his age and he beckoned them forward as they stood in the doorway.

"I am glad ye have come," he said, offering a smile of greeting.

Norðr-vestandóttir and Ivar bowed to the lord, whom both had known all their lives. The woman's eyes glistened with tears threatening to o'erflow as she came to the bedside and he clasped her hand.

"Forty-three years it hath been since first I saw thee, charging bareback o'er the hill south of Vera with thy herd," he said, and they shared a grim smile at the recollection. "A great mystery wast thou that night and for many years after, Norðr-vestandóttir. I thought perhaps a Val-kyrja¹ had come amongst us, for thou made a circuit of the hamlet to honor the dead ere taking thy leave." ¹(Val-kyrja, Valkyrie, a chooser of the slain to be admitted to Valhalla. Old Norse)

The old lord sighed, and shook his head, still recalling the wonder of that night.

"In latter days, I came to know thee and to hold thee in esteem for thy accomplishments, the more so when I learnt they were won by none save thyself alone. And so, 'twixt thy industry and the placement of thy farm, I deemed it wise to promote thy standing and the industry thou had begun. Now I hear from my son that the garrison numbers three dozens, and thy farmers and craftsmen a like count, and the rewards of thy estate but grow by the year."

He nodded to himself as if reaffirming his thought and said, "Rekkr, pray be witness now. On this day, whilst wit and life still abide in me, I name thee Lady Norðr-vestandóttir of the lordly house of Suðriborg¹ that thy heirs may inherit the standing thou hast achieved." ¹(Suꝺriborg, South fortress Old Norse)

"And so thou hast at last made of me a lord and my farm a fortress as thou intended in 1899," she said, dipping her head to him in respect, "and I give thee my thanks for the honor thou hast accorded this farmer."

"I have but recognized in formal fashion that which thou hast long labored to achieve. King Forthwini and the Éothéod could not wish for a finer vassal."

He sighed then, as if the proceedings had consumed a measure of his remaining strength, but then he turned to Ivar and his glance was unwavering, as if for a time his strength was renewed.

"Thou art lord of a lordly house now, Ivar," he said, and the hunter dipped his head in respect, "yet there is more thou should know ere I pass from Middangeard."

The Man looked to him in confusion. He had already more honor and status than he had e'er imagined.

"Two score and seven years ago I was consumed by my duties, charged by my king with securing our southern settlement of Sunnan Hǫrgr, and still grieving o'er our defeat in 1856 and the fall of King Marhari. In those days, I was somber, choosing work to claim my time, and yet to truly accept my failure in the duty my king had assigned to me."

Again he sighed and for a moment closed his eyes as he remembered those feelings. Then he blinked and reengaged Ivar with his glance.

"A year ere I finally married, I knew a woman briefly, and I deem we both took some comfort against the loss and sorrow of those times by finding in each other some surcease. We soon discovered that we had less in common and 'naught upon which to base a marriage, and so we went our separate ways without recrimination. Three seasons later, she birthed a son."

His words left Ivar astonished, and his eyes grew wider with each passing moment. Ere she had passed, his mother had said that his father was a good Man, but not a match for her heart. They had parted ere sorrow soured the memory of the relationship they had had. And so, he had been raised by a single mother, taught by her brother, his uncle, the ways of the bow and the hunt, which had been passed down in his family for countless generations.

"I believe thou art my son by the woman I knew, though I cannot prove or disprove it beyond doubt now. I always wondered, and as thou grew, the sight of thee left me e'er uncertain, and alas, uncomfortable." He shook his head in regret. "By then I was newly wed, and soon had a son and heir, and then other children of that marriage, and so continued down my path, as thou continued down thine own."

At Lord Hrólfr's revelations, Rekkr, Ivar, and Norðr-vestandóttir stood staring at him in shock with mouths agape.

"Long ago, I should have aided thy mother, for I knew her plight, and even if I could not claim thee and give thee my name, I could at least have provided somewhat for thy table and thy welfare. Alas, I was not yet so wise or so strong of heart. 'Twas many years ere I made peace with my past and embraced my present.

I have gained in wisdom with age, as all Men do, and for many years now, I have esteemed thee, for thou became a good Man in thine own right, with little aid from any amongst the Éothéod. A dozen years past, when Rekkr came in the night bearing a blooded arrow and tidings of thy heroism, I finally felt pride. Nay, not the pride of a father, for I long ago forfeited any right to such, but certainly the pride of a lord in the fearless prowess of one of my people."

And now the tears that had glossed Norðr-vestandóttir's eyes at their entry began to fall in a slow trickle down her cheeks. Ivar too wiped his eyes and took deep breaths to calm his heart's flutter. Though he had ne'er suspected that Hrólfr might be his father, he had esteemed his lord, and his lord's praise now was a thing long sought after in solitary nights when he stalked game or slept amidst the woods. Such acclaim had been a boon dreamt of, but ne'er expected.

"And now thou art husband to Norðr-vestandóttir, whom with thy arrow thou saved, and so thou art also lord of a noble house, Lord Ivar of Suꝺriborg."

Norðr-vestandóttir took Ivar's hand in her own and together they bowed to Lord Hrólfr in honor of his decree, and finally they shared a smile together that came from the heart.

"'Tis a thing strange to me how all has worked itself out," the old lord mused. "'Tis almost as if some power grander than the will of Men has guided events to this day and to this resolution of what had seemed aforetime so troubling and disparate. I am amazed, and soon perhaps I shall apprehend somewhat of the greater mysteries that encompass our lives in Middangeard. My friends, I feel that at last my conscience is clean and I can pass in peace."

Shortly later, the old lord felt drowsy and they took their leave for to allow him his rest. They were quiet on their ride back to the farm, but they had much to think about. In her saddlebag was a parchment with the declaration of their lordship and the lordship of their house, signed by the lords Hrólfr and Rekkr, and bearing the wax seal of the King's Regent for the South. A fortnight later, their old friend was gone.

The years continued to pass, and with them passed Norðr-vestandóttir's unnatural youth. At last she aged according to the life of Men, and despite their differences in age, she and Ivar appeared to age together.

An afternoon came in 1916, when Leifr was twelve and Ljóss ten. Suꝺriborg had grown, and now encompassed all the lands south of Nýr Vera, east to the city's gate and west past the mill to Anduin, though much of that grant was in name only and most of the land west of the mill and east of Norðr-vestandóttir's fence was unoccupied. The population had grown as well o'er the four years since Lord Hrólfr's passing and the publishing of his decree. As part of a named fief, citizens of the realm felt secure in resettling, and though the land was no different from the lands 'round Nýr Vera, the prosperity derived from it undeniably was.

On that sunny afternoon, the Lady of Suꝺriborg had ridden east to survey the establishment of the first farm beyond her fence. The family was earnest and respectful, and they had farmed many generations, even ere the years of their servitude in the East Bight. More recently, they had patronized the farm's store increasingly regularly and finally decided to move, hoping to learn the methods of cultivation that led to such abundance. As e'er, Norðr-vestandóttir was glad to help and offer advice on agriculture.

Now she paused as the afternoon had grown late, and she cast her eyes at the fields of tall grass spreading in all directions, save the fields newly plowed. In the far distance, she descried the sunglint off snow-capped peaks in the Hithaeglir, whilst in her mind's eye she saw the great river and the great forest that bound the lands of her people, as they appeared on the map hanging in the office whither the estate's achieves were kept.

Closer, the sun shone down on many homesteads, the newest of which formed a hamlet on the track leading downriver to the gristmill. There Alrekr and Sumor dwelt, married two years past, grinding grist with an aging Kátmaðr, and o'erseeing three shepherdesses who kept watch on her flocks. The track leading past the garrison to her cabin had become a regularly traveled cart track that led north south 'twixt her outbuildings and the vegetable garden, north to Nýr Vera.

Closer still, 'nigh the copse and the berry brambles, a herd of horses grazed in peace whilst their stallion kept watch. Behind her, her own horse came up and whiffled, blowing its warm breath through her hair and nudging her shoulder. She brushed back her pale hair with a slender hand and then smiled as she caught sight of Leifr and Ljóss riding double towards her.

The children waved and Leifr called out, "Mother, come ride with us!"

She smiled, content and beyond complaint, and she reached up to grasp the reins. She set her foot in the stirrup and then swung up into the saddle. With the pressure of her calves and a cluck of her tongue, she coaxed her mount into motion, joining her children in an easy trot towards their home. Somewhere during that ride, she had the strangest feeling, that all seemed familiar despite being newly experienced, but 'twas a brief impression only and quick to fade, and she paid it no mind after.

In the spring of 1924, Ljóss, having long charmed 'nigh e'ery rider in Nýr Vera, wed Bjørn Rekkrsonr, the second son of Lord Rekkr. Because both families were noble and considered wealthy by the current standards, much negotiation was undertaken in the traditional manner, yet the love of the young couple and the close friendship of their houses left the results preordained. They wed at the lord's house in Nýr Vera, in the company of many esteemed guests and witnesses.

That same year, a young mother died in Nýr Vera, trampled by horses in a bizarre accident involving copious quantities of mead. Because she had no living family, Böðvildr and Stjarna, by then long recognized as a couple, petitioned Rekkr for the right of adoption. The lord had little concern in the matter save finding a stable home for one of his people, and after the request was seconded by his newlywed son and daughter-in-law, he granted the petition. The ferrière and the potter became parents to an infant boy who would know the love of two mothers.

More years passed. Eadmundr, Milde, and Lyft passed from the world, each in their turn, and ere they had blinked, it seemed, Leifr was married with twin boys, Ljóss and Bjørn had two daughters and a son, and fifteen years had fled. 'Twas 1939, and Ivar was then three score and twelve, and Norðr-vestandóttir matched him in apparent age. With Ierþling and Ælla, they had retired from active farming and hunting, leaving the lordship of the estate to Leifr.

The following year, King Ondoher of Gondor and King Araphant of Arthedain arranged the marriage of Princess Fíriel to Prince Arvedui. In 1944, Forthwini sent word to Ondoher of renewed plotting by their old foes, the Wainriders. The peace their fathers had won on Dagorlad in 1899 was ended. There followed the disastrous battle 'nigh the Morannon in which Ondoher and his sons Artamir and Faramir were slain, ending their southern line. To the battle, King Forthwini sent five hundred riders who had volunteered for the chance to ride to war, but few of these returned north after the Battle of the Camp. Many were slain 'nigh the Dead Marshes and more fell whilst reinforcing Minohtar, Captain of the Right Flank, on his retreat into Ithilien, but the war and the battle come not into this tale.

In 1944, Ivar was seventy-seven. As that year faded to winter and the kingdoms of Men were preoccupied with the succession of the kingship in Gondor, Lord Ivar was afflicted with a flu that led to pneumonia. Norðr-vestandóttir tended him as she had vowed she would 'in sickness or health', and soon she too lay feverish and wheezing for breath. In the end, even the healers could do 'naught for them, and ere Yule, they passed, together and within an hour. With her fëa weakened by childbirths, and knowing no better, Norðr-vestandóttir followed the mortal path to the grave, even as Elves sometimes might, not from disease alone, but when combined with the loss of her beloved hunter and the breaking of her heart.

Ere he passed, Ivar rasped for air and whispered to her as she lay on the bed beside him, "Life leaves me, yet I regret 'naught but leaving thee alone, my beloved Fagr-gørsimi¹." ¹(Fagr-gørsimi, Fair Treasure = fagr(fair, beautiful adj.) + gørsimi(treasure, f.) Old Norse)

"Fear not, my beloved hunter, for I feel I shall follow thee soon enough and with thanks. Rather would I abide with thee in the next world than remain alone in this one."

On the first day of the last month of 1944, Lord Ivar and Lady Norðr-vestandóttir were laid to rest in a barrow in the new cemetery that had been established in the hills 'twixt Nýr Vera and Norðr-vestandóttir Bý, on the very hill where she had once been delivered by Ivar's bow. For another thirty-three years, the fallen of Suꝺriborg were laid to rest in that peaceful, rolling land where the breeze brought waves to a sea of grass and fluffy sheep stood like clouds on the hills.

To Be Continued