Théodred's eyes were burning as he tried to focus on the scribbling in front of him. If the garbled account was to be believed, a band of orcs had been allowed through the border at Éomer's order. The underlying accusation, laced heavily with insinuation, implied that Éomer's actions were for his own political gain.
Of all the ridiculous notions! Had the schemers, the liars, the manipulators no sense of what one's family meant? Did they truly think that some secondhand, obviously falsified account would have him reaching for his sword and thirsting for his own cousin's blood? Grima could be clever. But this stank of absurdity.
He threw the letter into the fire, watching with grim satisfaction as flames licked the corners. His eyes began to water from staring into the light, and he jumped when a light knock sounded on the door.
"Enter!"
His aunt strode through the door, shutting it behind her and casting her eyes over his jumbled desk. He could only imagine what sort of reprimand she was preparing for him, but he decided he was really not in the mood.
"What is it?" he asked.
"My, you're out of sorts," Alfrida said, tapping a finger on his desk. "Bad day?"
"Terrible. Brego took a stone to his hoof and had to be reshod, and your husband nearly knocked my lights out in the yard today," Théodred said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "It has never been very much of a contest between us, I do not see why he feels he must persist in thrashing me."
"Pride," she said promptly. "Shall I send for some willow bark tea?"
"Actually, yes, if you would. But what on earth has pride to do with anything?"
"Erkenbrand tires of being ordered about by you. He does like to relieve his frustration sometimes, you know. It keeps him biddable."
"You clearly know that well enough," Théodred said, raising an eyebrow as two bright pink spots appeared on her face.
"Did you receive any interesting correspondence?" she asked, changing the subject.
He snorted, his earlier annoyance returning. "Apparently Éomer wants to be king. I thought that was interesting."
"That is...certainly interesting," Alfrida's face formed what could only be termed a grimace. Théodred privately thanked his lucky stars that his aunt was so sensible. For all her imperial manners, she was very rarely deceived. "Did your father send a message?"
"Er...no," he said.
"Théodred," Alfrida began with a deep breath, and he felt that he already knew where she was going. "It has been nearly eight months since your father wrote you! Previous to last year, he would send at least a missive every month. It troubles me, and even though you hide behind your princely mask - " She pointed a finger at his nose. "You are distressed as well. Go to Edoras!"
"It is not safe," he said, lowering her hand. "You know it is not."
"It is not safe for Théoden either! But still he is there."
"He is safer than I. For the moment it benefits the enemy to have him on the throne."
"Then Éowyn," Alfrida persisted. "Éowyn would be pleased to see you. She cannot be entirely safe, being so close to the throne."
"Éowyn has Éomer," Théodred said. "He will bend over backwards to see her safe, and he is still allowed in Meduseld."
"You would be too, if you pleaded to your father!"
Théodred rubbed his eyes, feeling his headache steadily increasing. "I can no longer see him privately. There is a standing order that his is accompanied by an advisor at all times, even when with family."
"Blast it, boy!" Alfrida was scowling now, her small fists balled at her sides. "You are impossible! How have you given up so easily? You love your father! You love this country!"
"My love is not in the question!" Théodred snapped, rising to his feet to stare down the much shorter woman. "There are a thousand things I would do to benefit my country if it did not mean turning myself into a traitor or sending myself to the hangman's noose!"
"There are more options than sitting and doing nothing!"
"I am not doing nothing! I do double patrol rounds, as you well know!" It was a pathetic protest, as he knew she was absolutely correct, but he held his ground.
"There are plenty of men to patrol," Alfrida said, her voice lowering somewhat. "And there are other leaders as well. But you are the only heir! You are my brother's only son, and you should put your family in order first, before further fighting."
"That I cannot do," Théodred said, sinking back into his chair, anger abating. "Please, Alf - I am sorry I lost my temper. I am all out of sorts today."
"Yes, indeed," she muttered, frowning as he passed a hand over his face. "Anyway," her voice gentled. "I came to remind you that I am leaving in the morning for Snowbourne. My old friend Aedlind is expecting a baby any day, and I promised her I would attend. Ermhild has been prepared to take on my duties here."
"I remember, Alfie. I intend to keep Erkenbrand busy," he said, smiling. "Otherwise he will catch a case of the megrims."
"Erk will be fine," Alfrida said. "But what about you, Théodred?"
"I will certainly carry on living."
She was not impressed by his grin. "What will you do about your father?" she asked.
He leaned forward, putting his weight on his elbows and ignoring the crunch of parchment underneath. "I will think on it. I will counsel. I will decide. Do not worry so, Alfie! There is hope yet."
.
.
Théodred tightened the straps on his vambraces, pulling the laces with his teeth before tying them together. His gloves were already on and tucked underneath the cords, and with a precursory shake (the Hornburg did have a problem with spiders), he threw his cloak over his shoulder. He clasped it around his neck with a click just as a knock sounded at his door.
"My lord," a muffled voice made its way through the wood. "Brego is saddled and ready for departure."
Heavy footsteps retreated before Théodred could respond, and he sighed. For all his accustomed solitude, the past days of his aunt's absence and Erkenbrand leading his own patrol, he had rather missed a friendly conversation. There was no use in instigating anything of the sort with his men; they were either too grim, too fearful of his station, or spies.
I ought to find a squire, he thought to himself, picking up his scabbard before departing his chamber. A squire would certainly help with the vambraces, even though an awkward adolescent boy was probably a poor choice for a friend.
The sky was bright though the sun remained behind the mountains, and already feeling warm in his layers of protection, Théodred wished for a breeze. Clouds. Anything. But the bright blue expanse overhead and the buzzing of insects taunted him. It was to be another hot, miserable patrol.
The courtyard was chaos, as expected. So many horses in close quarters and ready for exercise rarely cooperated, and Brego seemed especially agitated, snorting and shying as he saw his master approach. Théodred took time to talk to his friend, stroking his nose and neck, before taking the reins from a stableboy.
"Thank you," Théodred said, but the boy had already run away from Brego's nervous hooves. He sighed, and turned back to the stallion. "You shall be my only friend for the time being, eh?" he asked, ruffling Brego's ears. Foam was dropping from the horse's lips, and with a frightened whinny Brego reared slightly, his eyes rolling back into his head. "Hold!" Théodred shouted, holding up his hand and trying to grasp the halter. A suitable amount of shame showed in Brego's eyes as he quieted slightly, and he huffed hot breath in Théodred's face, which was not fully appreciated. "What has gotten into you?" Théodred murmured, scratching the stallion's chin. "Whatever could be - "
A sudden slam caught his attention - the great gate to the courtyard from the causeway bust open, a single rider clomped through, scattering Riders and breathing heavily.
"Attack!" the man shouted hoarsely. "At - attack - orcs - Isen - Isenburg - " His face was growing red, and with a shuddering gasp leaned forward in his saddle. A servant rushed to help him dismount; voices growing in distress as the message was relayed.
Théodred's grip in the reins loosened as his heart stuttered. Brego reared, this time screaming. The horse was rushed by other riders as Brego continued to scream. But Théodred could barely hear, let alone calm Brego. His vision was suddenly cloudy, though he could see faces coming closer to him, and they seemed to be shouting, asking. But he could only think of what the man had said. Isenburg. Léofe.
"Grimbold!" Théodred bellowed, clarity rushing back to him as fear surged over him. "Ready your eored at once - get to Isenburg!" He did not dare say aloud that it was likely too late - for the two-day journey to the village, and considering that the man had come from there - the village would already be razed. "My men! We will scour the Westfold, for the orcs or survivors - which ever we can find."
There was one particular area he had in mind, the very same area for which he sent a muttered prayer as he finally regained enough control over Brego to mount. It explained the stallion's distress, he thought numbly. He should have known better.
Two days' ride! Why must it be so far away? And why did the prairie under Brego's hooves seem to be moving forward with them, pulling the destination further and further away as Théodred shouted again and again for them to increase their pace? A thousand images were surfacing in his mind, each more horrible than the last. Léofe dead. Léofe begging to die. Léofe, in one way or another, suffering more than any human could bear -
The sun was sinking to the horizon when the familiar hills came into sight. Renewed terror nearly stopped his heart, but Théodred gritted his teeth, tightening his hold on the reins. Brego's steady gallop, which had continued nearly the entire day without fault, now grew frantic. Would an enemy that crossed their path fear more the Rider, or the horse?
A large, sinking stone of dread settled in Théodred's stomach as Brego tossed his head. The blue sky was now blemished by black smoke, which rose directly in front of them.
The farm was burning.
.
.
There was not an orc in sight, which was fortunate for the orcs. Théodred found it vastly inopportune for himself, having frightened himself for the past several hours he was now ready to tear the beasts with his bare hands. They would deserve it, too, for the gruesome sights that met him as they entered the fields at a trot.
Corpses of horses littered the ground before them. Bile rose in Théodred's throat at the sight of a particularly elegant mare, which had been completely gutted in the training grounds. The training grounds where Brego had been trained. The grounds were Léofe had spent her days -
Riders fanned out around him, shouting to each other and reporting back. Brego had stopped by the charred remains of the fence, and Théodred rested his forehead on his fist, unable to race the sight in front of him. Despite having imagined the worst, and in rather vivid detail, seeing Gerdhelm's rickety house reduced to blackened rubble and the stables still alight with dying flames filled him with such - such rage. He had been angry before; angry at the orcs for killing his people and destroying his land, but this went further. This was personal. It was deeply, intensely personal, as if the orcs had known somehow that this place was where Théodred had found peace. That this, this was where he had hidden away his heart for safekeeping.
"No life!" One man shouted.
"Orcs went south - tracks into the woods!" yelled another.
Théodred lifted his face, steeling himself. He could not look himself, but soon someone would find her, and he would have to brave it out. He had to be strong. So many families had been torn apart, and they had survived. He would, too, because he had to.
"Over here! I found - " The rest of the words were lost, the message was clear.
He jerked around, Brego snorting as Théodred spurred him east, where several Riders were congregating. Even if it is terrible - grisly - sickening - must be strong - He alighted, keeping a tenuous hold on Brego as a man walked forward, his arm firmly gripped on a bare, freckled arm - Théodred swallowed.
Must be strong -
"I found her in a barrow, sire."
He nearly took a step back - Léofe's light eyes were staring at him - red-rimmed and filled with tears - but they were alive. She was alive. "By the gods," he murmured, stepping forward to grasp her arms. "You - alive - are you hurt?"
Her lips were cracked, and they trembled as she breathed in little gasps. Her eyes darted around them, taking in the sight of a dozen fully-armed and unsmiling Riders, an equal number of horses fit for battle, the smoke still rising behind them - and she swooned.
"Water!" Théodred bellowed, catching her in the crook of his arm. He lowered her gently to the ground, kneeling and accepting a flask of water, which he tried to pour into her mouth, but with very poor results. His hands were shaking too much.
"I will do it." Allred's calm voice broke through, and the flask was taken from him. Théodred stared as Allred began to administer to Léofe, wishing he could do something - anything, apart from waiting.
After several tense moments, Léofe began to cough, spewing water over her faded dress as well as the two men beside her. Her eyes shot open, and her frightened gaze settled on Théodred. She was licking her lips, and he imagined he could imagine what she was going to say.
"You are safe," he told her, and he suddenly wished they were alone. He could hold her hand, smooth the hair from her face… "The, er - farm is gone, but you are safe."
"Papa." The word came out in a rasp. Théodred saw Allred shaking his head, a pang of grief overtook him for a moment as he closed his eyes.
"You are safe," Théodred repeated, opening his eyes once more. "That is more than many others can say for having their homes destroyed by evil beasts!" It was meant to be a light-hearted, to bring that beautiful, lively smile to her face - but it had the rather opposite effect, and a river of tears began to course down her cheeks.
A keening wail sent many of the onlookers staggering back, and Allred stood as she curled herself into a ball, drawing her arms over her face. Théodred touched her shoulder hesitantly, but there was no response. He looked to Allred, who, despite appearing troubled, only shrugged.
"Er - " Théodred said. "Send a scout to see if the orcs are still near enough to engage. Order camp in the meantime."
With directions given, he was left essentially alone with Léofe, who continued her weeping as the sky darkened from orange to purple to grey. He did not know what to do, and being in the sight of his men (some of whom were spies for Grima), he was unwilling to try to comfort her. When Allred returned, reporting that the orcs were already twenty miles away and that the camp was prepared, Théodred had made his decision. "Find Hamlin," he said, naming the eored's healer. "Ask him to bring a dose of laudanum."
Léofe had subsided into fits of trembling by the time the healer arrived, and she allowed herself to be held up by Théodred as the medicine was pressed through her lips. It worried Théodred that her eyes seemed lifeless, and he stayed with her as she slowly stopped shaking, and her eyes began to close.
A heavy hand dropped on his shoulder, and startled, he looked up to see Allred watching him. "Hamlin insisted that she take his tent," he said quietly. "I will take her. No - do not protest - I understand that you care for her but your actions have not gone unnoticed. Do not let her fall victim to those who wish to see you fail!"
Théodred could only watch, still numb, as Allred lifted Léofe's limp body from the ground and walked towards the tents, which had been pitched on the far side of the barrows, out of sight from the desolate farm. The stables were no longer aflame, but he felt that the fright in his heart would not be so easily quenched.