3. Hunfred

Brithwyn

"Excuse me, fair lady," says a mild male voice as I am kneeling in the garden, my hands covered in mud and dirt. I am sure that I am anything but lovely in this heat. The sun beats down harshly and my hair is plastered to my brow and the nape of my neck. My dress is my oldest work dress, stained with dye as well as covered in dirt and fraying at the elbows.

Curious, I look up to find the source of the voice. A young man, about my age or a little older, is standing at the gate. He smiles at me and I am struck by how handsome he is. Thick blond curls, worn shorter then most men I know, frame his face and he is clean-shaven, and his teeth are noticeably whiter than any other man's teeth I know. Whiter than mine, I am certain. Beneath the leather jerkin he wears, which bears the crest of Rohan and marks him as one of the Rohirrim, I notice that his shoulders are broad enough but his overall build is slim, a marked contrast from Éothain's powerful build.

I blush when I realize that I am comparing this man to Éothain, but then again, Éothain's torso is is the only man's torso that I have ever been close enough for me to...feel. I feel a twinge of regret in my chest at the memory of his proposal, and of my rejection, and of that solemn kiss. What could he have meant by it, after all these years of his absence? Surely it had been out of charity, out of a desire to help us, the gesture of a dear friend and nothing more... although he had told me I was beautiful, that he had thought of me often... A part of me still wanted to accept him. Would it be so bad, to wed him? I knew him better than anyone, or I had before he had left. He was such a part of my childhood, and once I had thought that we might be suited to one another. Surely he was handsome in a very different way from the man standing in front of me, and I liked the feel of his arms around me... but it was folly.

He had been my first kiss, however solemn and chaste it had been. How different from how I had imagined my first kiss would be. But I had never had time for the village boys, and boys they all were.

"It is a hot day," the man – he is a boy, really, in truth – continues, wiping the sweat from his glistening brow with the back of his hand. I am at once brought back to the situation at hand. "Might you have something – a cool drink - to offer a poor soldier?"

I raise my eyebrows. Really, now. "There is a well back the way you came," I respond sweetly, standing up and wiping my hands on my dress. I am a ragged, dirty, sorry sight but there's nothing I can do about it now. I point behind him. "Just there."

He grins sheepishly at my rebuke, but replies contritely, "I have no dipper, sweet lady, and I would never soil the waters of your well with only my grimy hand."

I put my hands on my hips. "There is a dipper by the well for anyone's use."

"I fear I need your guidance. Won't you come and show me?" He grins and bows slightly, gesturing to the way. "I must go and draw water on my own and such a labor would be sweetened by your company."

I smile, charmed in spite of myself. "Do you have a name, O flatterer?"

"Hunfred."

"Hunfred," I repeat, the name strange on my lips. I have never heard such a name before. "And where do you come from?"

"North, in the Wold," he replies. "This is my first time in Edoras."

"Oh," I say, "I have never met someone from the Wold." Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"You are the first woman I have met in Edoras," he replies with an easy smile.

"And what do you think of Edoras, now that you have seen it?" I ask, returning the smile because I cannot help it.

"It is lovely," he says, staring boldly at me so that I catch his implications. I look away, embarrassed at his forthrightness. "You have not told me your name, sweet lady."

"I am no lady," I respond, coyly avoiding the question. "How many ladies do you know who must dig in the dirt for their supper?"

"None. But then, I know no ladies at all. Surely a maid as beautiful as you must be a lady. No? Well then, sweet maid – won't you come get a drink from the well with me?"

I blush, inwardly furious with myself for it, then laugh, worn down. It is a strange sound to my own ears. I have not laughed in what seems like ages. "You are a smooth talker, Hunfred of the Wold. Yes, I will, and I will bring a pail to bring water back to my house. Give me but a moment."

I duck inside my little house – Mama is sleeping, thankfully – and grab the water jug and the little dipper that hangs on a nail beside it. Hurriedly, I squint at my reflection in the shiny metal sheet that serves us for a mirror on the wall. I smooth my hair and pinch my cheeks for color, hoping I look healthy and prettily disheveled, rather than as sweaty and bedraggled as I feel, and go out to join my smooth-talking new friend.

He takes my arm and together we walk the short journey to the well.

"You still have not told me your name," he says quietly. He looks at me with eyes that peep

through long lashes, eyes that are green and flecked with gold. These are a dreamer's eyes.

"Brithwyn," I say shyly. Why am I blushing? I shake my head at my own folly.

"Brithwyn," he says, not noticing my blush, or if he does, he makes no comment. "And are you married?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm not," I say. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I might have had to go have a word with your husband, that's all," he replies with a pointed look.

"Are you always this sure of yourself?" I ask as we reach the well. I am amused in spite of myself. He takes my pail and places it on the hook attached to the end of the rope and begins to lower it into the well.

"Always," he says, then grins that sheepish grin again. "Not at all. If you knew how frantic I feel at this very moment, then you could never ask the question."

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the way his muscles ripple as he pulls on the rope to raise the bucket, easily and fluidly. He is stronger than I would have suspected, given his rather slender build, but I suppose that deception would work well for him in battle, and he must move quickly. Oh, for the Valar, I should not be looking at him so hungrily. I am sure I am blushing redder than a sunrise.

I take the pail from the hook, trying not to slosh it all over him, and scoop water from the pail and offer the full dipper to him. He takes it gratefully and drinks, then pours a little into his hand and runs it over his brow. I smile as the drops trail down his tanned forehead in rivers from his curly golden hair, darkened by the water, and take the dipper from him to get a drink for myself. Our fingertips brush and a shock ripples through me, my body buzzing at his touch. His eyes meet mine and hold.

"Would you come for the evening meal?" I ask him shyly, knowing I am going to regret it in a moment. "Ours is a simple table, but we would be honored to have you share it, my mother and sister and me."

I wait, biting my lip. He'll say no. He'll say no. Brithwyn, you fool. Likely he just wants a kiss and a tumble behind the stables. Do I want a kiss and a tumble behind the stables? Those lips look inviting. I know I am blushing. I know it.

But he smiles broadly and looks at me with that sweet green gaze. "I would like that very much."

Once we part at my doorway and Hunfred promises to come in the evening, I rush inside and immediately set to preparing a meal.

"Isemay!" I call several times, and she comes from the other room.

"What?" she asks, hands on her hips. "I was playing."

"I need you to help me. We have a guest for supper," I say. "And first we need to clean this horrible house."

"Who is it?" asks Mama from the bed.

"Éothain, of course," says Isemay. "Why else would she be blushing?"

I swat her on the head. "No, it is not. Another young rider in his company, Hunfred from the Wold. And I am not blushing."

"Not Éothain? But, it must be - "

"Hush. Not another word about him," I say, impatient and a little embarrassed. I have said nothing to anyone about Éothain's proposal and hope to keep it that way. "You will like our guest, I promise."

Isemay shrugs and goes to get the broom, but from the way her jaw sticks out I know she is still stuck on having Éothain for supper. I pay her no mind. I have little care at this moment for troublesome little sisters. My thoughts fly to instead a warm green gaze against golden skin, a flash of white teeth, finely-formed fingers brushing mine as they take the dipper from my hands.

—-

Hunfred easily charms my mother at dinner. I see her smile shyly, which I haven't seen for many months. Isemay sits sullen, but he manages to make her laugh and warm to him by the end of the evening, and then she is chattering away, like she does to anyone she likes and who has the patience for her boundless excitement. He laughs and listens to her attentively, but his eyes meet mine across the table and hold there, and my cheeks grow hot and my heart pounds so hard in my ears that I can scarcely hear.

He comes to calls again, and again, each time bringing flowers for me and my mother and once, a carved wooden horse for Isemay. But he doesn't reach out to kiss me, and my body singing and smarting for want of his touch, I begin to wonder if he ever will.

Yet one market day, Hunfred walks me home and we are caught in a sudden rainstorm. Laughing, we run through the streets hand in hand, dodging puddles and shrieking like children when the heavens open further and the rain pours down. Suddenly, Hunfred ducks into an overhang in a doorway and pulls me to him. We are standing so close that I can barely breathe for the nearness of him and I meet his eyes in shy anticipation. There is a burning look in his eyes that I do not quite understand and yet do not want to shrink from. He is saying something to me that I do not hear as his bare hands stroke my cheeks and smooth my wet hair off of my brow. Shivers shoot down my spine, and not from the cool rain. Suddenly he is kissing me, one hand sliding around my waist and pulling me hard against him while the other cups the back of my head and tangles in my hair. My eyes flutter shut as the sweetness of his mouth engulfs me and the roaring of our bodies grows louder as my stomach and breasts and pelvis meld against his own hard body. He presses me against the wall and kisses me more deeply, our mouths opening to taste one another more urgently. If not for him holding me upright I think I would crumple to the ground.

All too soon, he breaks the kiss, kissing me once more gently on the nose. I grin at him stupidly and look down at his chest. I want to bury my head in his shoulder and melt into him. He seems as speechless as me as he laces his fingers through my own and leads me out into the rain. I am glowing from within as we walk the remainder of the way home, scarcely noticing the rain that drenches us.

We are whispering shyly as he opens the gate for me and it takes me a moment to realize that Éothain is standing on our roof looking down at us through the rain. He is soaked to the bone in his shirt, holding thatching tools in his hand. When I raise my hand to him, he nods curtly and turns back to his task.

"Éothain," I call, "What are you doing?"

"Fixing the leaks in your roof for your mother," he says in return, but his gaze is directed at Hunfred: even through the rain it is cold and challenging. The tension is palpable. I bite my lip and look at Hunfred, who is staring up at Éothain with a furrowed brow. After a moment, Hunfred goes to the ladder and begins to climb.

"What are you doing?" Éothain asks sharply.

"Lending you a hand," Hunfred replies courteously. "If you will accept it."

"I am fine working on my own," Éothain replies without looking at him.

"The job will go faster with two," Hunfred retorts gently, although his shoulders are square and his jaw is set.

"I doubt it, my friend," is Éothain's brusque reply.

"Éothain, please," I call, wishing to end this show of manhood and knowing not how. "It is wet and miserable out and you will catch your death of cold. Let Hunfred help you. I will go inside and prepare you hot drinks."

Éothain looks annoyed but he says no more when Hunfred picks up a tool and begins to help. I nod in approval , though I cannot help but blush and bury my face in my knees as soon as I get inside and collapse in the doorway, my heart pounding with joy and embarrassment.

Later that night, Hunfred pulls me aside, out the door of the cottage. The rain has stopped and Éothain has left with scarcely a word to me and I am fretting over how to ease his temper and mend our friendship. I know not how.

"Brithwyn," Hunfred says seriously, his hand on my arm. "Have I misread your feelings for me?"

"What? No," I reply, confused that he should ask.

"Then is there something that I am missing regarding Éothain's relationship to your family?" Hunfred asks slowly, looking past me.

I heave a sigh. "It is complicated… a long story."

"I have time," Hunfred shrugs. His tone is of forced lightness. "Tell me. What claim does Éothain hold to your affections?"

"None! That is, I am not and have never been his sweetheart," I struggle and wish that Hunfred would take pity on me, but he does not. I squirm under his gaze. "Where to begin? Éothain and I are old friends. You knew that, I think."

Hunfred nods, biting his cheek as I have noticed he does when he is thinking.

"He is a big brother to Isemay, a second son to my mother. To me, a - " I struggle for words, blushing in spite of myself. Why can't I find the words?

"Not a brother, I think," Hunfred says softly. "He does not look at you as a brother looks at a sister."

Swallowing a lump in my throat, I shake my head in agreement. "No… no, he does not."

"And your feelings for him?" Hunfred presses.

I turn on him with more vehemence than I mean to. "Are none other than those of a dear friend who owes him much thanks for all he has done for my family, and for me. Though he once proposed to me, I refused him. I do not love him but as a friend, if that is what you are asking!"

My face red from shame at this interrogation, I make a move towards the door, but Hunfred catches my arm and pulls me back. "Wait, Brithwyn, stay," he says gently. "I believe you. I only wanted to make sure that I was not infringing upon an existing understanding between you and my friend."

"And now that you are sure?" I ask tremulously, looking up at him, my heart pounding as I remember the feeling of his kiss.

He slides his arms around me and pulls me to him. "I want to court you," he says, "Nay, I want to marry you and I will say it outright."

I smile at him happily, stupidly, though I am suddenly shot through with pain. It must read on my face, for he asks, "What is it?"

"I swore I would never marry a rider of the Rohirrim," I whisper ashamedly, my hands closing around the folds of his tunic. "And now I wish I had a way around it."

"Change your mind," he says simply, kissing my eyelids. "Marry me."

"I cannot," I murmur, turning my face away.

"Why not?" he asks, letting go of me and stepping away, clenching his fists. "You are making excuses, I think. Do you not want me?"

"You know I do," I say tremulously, reaching out to him as if to draw him back to me. "Listen to me. My mother married a warrior. He belonged to one of the largest and strongest éoreds. He died in battle, leaving her destitute with two young children to raise. It broke her heart and her will, leaving nothing but a shell of a mother to me and my sister. My father left left all of us to struggle onwards, barely making it through each winter. He left," I sob, suddenly. I have not wept for my father in years. "I have seen what marriage to a warrior brings."

A muscle works in his jaw. "I am a warrior."

"As is Éothain," I say before I can stop myself.

"Is this the reason you gave him?" Hunfred asks suddenly, pushing angrily past me to kick at the wall. I am shocked by his passion. He is always so light-hearted, so teasing. I did not expect this depth, this inner violence from him. It frightens me and intrigues me all at once.

"Yes, but I did not love him,' I reason appeasingly. I take a breath. "Not like I love you."

Stunned, he meets my gaze for a moment before he throws open his arms as if to show himself off. "A warrior is what I am, Brithwyn. You cannot love me and hate what I am."

"I hate that what you are might tear you away from me," I whisper, folding my arms around my waist protectively.

"Marry me, and I promise you will be cared for," he says, catching my arms and drawing me to him. "Marry me, Brithwyn."

His closeness is sweet. I kiss him hard on the mouth and hope that he understands.

"Let me think about it."

He nods, but I see a guarded look appear behind his green eyes as he bids his leave of me. What have I done?

—