In An Age Before – Part 306

Chapter One hundred seventy-four

The Long Winter – The Third Age of the Sun

It turned out that the snow on 5 Ivanneth lasted all of three hours, resulted in but a dusting, and melted ere noon on the 6th. 'Twas a tease, not the beginning of an early winter, it seemed, but an anxiety inducing fluke nonetheless, or so the Rohirrim deemed it. No one had e'er seen the season turn so early, and what of autumn? The color of the leaves had only begun to change.

"'Twas but a playful huff from Starkhorn," said old widow Gylden¹. At four score and seven, she was the eldest amongst the refugees. The crone then shook a finger severely at the distant peak as if admonishing a child, and advised, "Take it not as an omen, young Shieldmaiden." ¹(Gylden, Golden Old English)

Helluin had nodded and thanked the venerable woman, (thinking, young Shieldmaiden indeed), but her words had eased the Noldo's mind little.

We shall have need of much firewood, she thought, as she looked 'round at the high meadow. Most of the Rohirrim still slept on bedrolls beside campfires 'neath the stars. Some families and the well-to-do rested in their carts or in tents. They would want gravely for far more substantial shelter when winter came, whether in two months as most expected, or sooner. They were well up the side of a snowcapped mountain after all.

Though there had been some resistance at first regarding the necessity of such efforts, during the month of Ivanneth, carts rolled down the Climbing Stair into Harrowdale. The remains of the hunter's shacks in Underharrow were demolished for their wood, their boards, posts, and roofing shingles carried off and saved. Any tree found dead or ailing was felled and sawed for firewood. One load at a time, a great stockpile of many cords of split trunks, hewn branches, and kindling accumulated in Dunharrow.

Still, Helluin felt a sense of foreboding, for the chill breezes that flowed down from Starkhorn, Írensaga, and the Dwimorberg came more frequently as the weeks passed. Shelter, they must have shelter to survive. Tents shall not serve through a season of snow and wind, she thought with growing urgency.

She had long since ceased to believe that they would win back the city any time soon. Not whilst war still rages in the west, for we need reinforcements to unseat Wulf and his host, Helluin acknowledged, clearly recognizing the tactical situation. From his dour expressions, Captain Heaþolaf did as well.

As the month of Narbeleth opened, the Noldo led trains of carts to Upbourn where Bīetlmære, his apprentice, and work crews of Riders started culling construction materials from the buildings. They began with the most easily dismantled, the sheds, barns, stables, and byres. Well 'nigh the only material they did not take was foundation stone. Well 'nigh the only building they left untouched was the mill.

From the nearest fields they cut straw, left afield aforetime during the harvesting of the grain, but now of value as livestock bedding. During the nights, they stripped Wīglāf's fields.

They worked as swiftly as was safe, and as the air grew chillier, especially at night, they worked with a greater sense of urgency. Nor did they fear being discovered by their foes, for Upbourn could not be seen from the city and an éored of Riders was deployed to waylay the road just out of sight of Edoras 'round the foot of Írensaga.

The Riders had just pulled down the chandler's workshop and were loading the wallboards, roofing joists, and corner posts when snow began to fall. 'Twas the early afternoon of 27 Narbeleth and by then, winter weather had been expected any day.

The half part of an hour later, as the falling snow thickened, they heard the clip-clop of hooves coming down the road from the mouth of Harrowdale. At the fore of the column of Riders trotted Captain Heaþolaf. He drew the éored to a halt where Helluin and Bīetlmære were o'erseeing the loading of carts and spoke to them with obvious anxiety.

"We must be away," he told them as he cast a baleful glance to the lowering clouds. "The snow grows heavier and the Climbing Stair shall be a grave hazard if it continues. So steep a slope needs not even a foot of snow to become deadly." Already, an inch lay on the ground.

Helluin nodded in agreement and Bīetlmære called out the order to cease loading and begin their return to Dunharrow. The Rohir¹ sighed in relief at not having to argue his point. ¹(Rohir, Horse Lord (sing. n) Sindarin)

By the time they had come the three leagues from Upbourn to the Climbing Stair, a palm's width of snow lay on the ground. The captain sent the carts up first, deeming that saddled horses would have less trouble than those harnessed in draft. Carefully, they began to ascend whilst people looked down from the Firienfeld and prayed for their safety.

'Nigh a full foot of snow blanketed the ground by the time the last Riders reached the high meadow. Behind them, their hoof prints were already obscured on the lower switchbacks of the ascending path. 'Til the snow melted, whether in a few days or in the spring, no Man would willingly ride down into Harrowdale again, yet as is oft the case, in the end, the decision would not be one of choice.

They began construction the following morn, for the design had been refined o'er several weeks. Towards the rear of the smaller, left-hand section of the Firienfeld where the refugee camp lay, they had already spread and leveled a hundred yards of scree at the foot of the cliff of Írensaga. This became a free-draining foundation atop which they constructed a longhouse in the manner of the Éothéod of old. To conserve wood, the cliff itself provided the northern wall.

The headwaters of the Snowbourn tumbled down from Írensaga with the longhouse built behind its course so that 'twas set back further from the precipice. It stood amidst a narrow copse of trees at the cliff's base that they hoped would provide additional protection from the wind. Several hearths for warmth and cooking they established against the rock face with the intention of heating the stone itself to create a radiator.

There was no wealth of foundation stone for the lower walls, or rushes for thatching. They had barely enough salvaged lumber to raise a wall a fathom high and cover it with a shake-shingled roof that featured a deep eave to protect the firewood. 'Twas far from the comfort of Edoras or even a farmhouse, but 'twas the best that they could contrive with the time and materials they had. Though cramped within, at least it had space for all of the people.

For the horses and other livestock, they turned the carts on their sides and nailed boards 'cross them to form a crude byre. T'would offer some protection from wind and snow, and keep the feed in the troughs accessible, but little else. They located it 'nigh the base of the Starkhorn beside the Dimholt wood where the animals could take shelter 'neath the trees. Again, 'twas all they could do.

Thereafter, the Rohirrim settled in, hunkering down to endure the cold and snow, but still thankful to be free of the Dunlendings and Corsairs. If there was 'aught to whelp dissatisfaction, it arose from their envy of the invaders who occupied their city.

In their memories, Edoras was a place of feasting and celebration, of warm homes and family, and of a familiar way of life. They all recalled Meduseld at Yule when the King of the Golden Hall would announce his commendations, royal favor awarded for outstanding service, and offer his support to those in need, generously granting them aid from his treasury for the betterment of the ones hardest put. These memories warmed their hearts as much as the burning wood warmed their hands, and steeled their resolve to take back what was theirs.


The reality of that season in the city was somewhat different. As the autumn of 2758 turned to winter, Wulf sat on the throne in Meduseld, and whilst he had succeeded in seizing Edoras, he had not proven so adept at ruling it.

When his host had taken the city, they had found not a single wagon or cart left within the stockade. They had only those they had brought with them, and many of these were not of military grade, having been stolen from farms along the way as they marched east.

There had been not a single horse or head of cattle in Edoras either, nor were there sheep, goats, pigs, or chickens. There were no oxen, mules, donkeys, or ponies. The dearth of livestock and draft animals reduced their options further.

In the kitchens, there was no store of grain, no flour for bread, no cheeses in wax, no sausages or smoked meats, and no casks of ale or beer. Throughout the city, larders and pantries stood emptied. The fleeing refugees had picked the city clean of food, just as they had taken the animals and the treasure hoard. King Wulf cursed, deeming it an inauspicious start to his reign.

With accurate hindsight, the bards of Rohan would recognize that the problem for Freca's son was that he had too many desires and goals, and these he had failed to separate in his mind, so that the total achievement of them all he conflated into a notion of success. In his mind, victory was all or 'naught.

Wulf had sworn to take the throne of Rohan and this he had achieved. But he also desired to found a line of kings, and so to sire an unimpeachable lineage, he sought the hand of Helm's daughter Princess Heorte. Only by taking her to wife and having her bear him an heir could he legitimize his place as sire of the Second Line of the House of Eorl.

But beyond his purely genealogical aspirations was his compensatory imperative for custody of the cultural legacy of the Eorlingas. He needed to possess the physical evidence of Rohan's history, the accoutrements of royalty embodied in its relics, its wealth, and its status. He was compelled to claim the hereditary ownership of the material attributes of the royal house, for he believed that such conferred unquestioned evidence of his sovereignty. Only thus could he hope to countermand the declaration of Helm King, "With your lord and his heir, and all their near kin, I name ye foes of the crown. Show not your faces again in Rohan lest further judgments fall upon ye."

All of these factors were aspects of kingship to him, and he who had been born of a disfamed cadet line whose blood ties to the House of Eorl were only tenuously recognized, craved the outward symbols of royalty with the desperation characteristic of usurpers. Even had he been fully successful in all else, he still would have been disparaged as a pretender by the people.

But the most profound evidence of Wulf's ignorance of royal honor was that in the moment he had claimed the kingship of Rohan, by his alliance with the Corsairs, the enemies of Gondor, he had broken the Oath of Eorl and fallen 'neath the Shadow. And so the son of Freca became accursed before the Gods that Cirion and Eorl had sworn their oaths to. In all of his obsessive aspirations he was doomed to fail, and his fall was but a matter of time.

Following his soldiers' defeat in Harrowdale on 27 Nórui, the new king dared not command another assault. His Men's fear of the ghosts of the Dwimorberg, their living Rohirrim enemies, and the black armored wraith was too great. By the 30th, the stench of death had wafted o'er the city and those he sent to the mouth of Harrowdale to discover its cause had fled back in terror with all their fears reinforced.

The dead had appeared along the road from Edoras, and despite common sense telling that the Rohirrim had dumped the cadavers thither, his Dunlendings clove to macabre fantasies instead. The spirits of their fallen had fled the King of the Dead and their restless ghosts would not abide such haunted ground. These superstitious things they believed, and they reaffirmed those beliefs with hundreds of whispered comments 'twixt themselves. Wulf's soldiers had refused to return to Harrowdale, to touch the bodies, or to bury or burn them, and so they lay rotting in the summer heat. Soon, their corruption had leached into the Snowbourn and sickness followed.

To his immense irritation, Wulf realized that he was saddled with Men too fearful to attack Dunharrow and capture Princess Heorte, and he had too few rations to maintain his host in Edoras. He sought to alleviate this dilemma by deploying companies to hold the Great West Road.

For eight score and ten miles the road ran from Edoras to the border 'twixt the Eastfold and Anórien. The new King of Rohan appointed a lieutenant to command the east and sent five hundreds with him to take and garrison the city of Aldburg. Another seven hundreds divided into companies of a hundred were charged to waylay the road e'ery score miles all the way to the border of Gondor.

Another two companies of a hundred he sent to hold the road to the west of Edoras at distances of a score and two score miles from the city. All of these deployments reduced the occupancy of the capital by fourteen hundreds who would thereafter forage on their own behalf.

A further two thousands he sent to the Westfold 'neath the command of his loyal lieutenant Gebeor¹, to reinforce the host assailing Súthburg, for he greatly desired to slay Helm King and if possible, take the fortress. ¹(Gebeor, Beer-drinking Buddy Old English)

Wulf felt quite confident of holding the capital with his remaining seven hundred Dunlending soldiers and three hundred Corsairs, including all of their crossbowmen. He had seen the count of Riders that had fled the city and knew he outnumbered them two to one, a ratio he deemed easily sufficient to hold Edoras behind its stockade and rebuilt gates.

Yet still, Wulf needed victuals and firewood for the thousand who remained in Edoras. The Men he ordered hence to collect such necessities refused to go 'nigh Harrowdale. Instead, they sought the poorer burning wood from the willows that grew along the banks of the Snowbourn as it ran east toward the Entwash, and from the odd copses that stood out 'cross the grasslands to the north. His foraging parties had some success at hunting, and more success at reaving from farmhouses and hamlets where the folk had been driven off aforetime.

The possibility of harvesting grain in the fields 'nigh Edoras was barely exploited. Too few of Wulf's soldiers were experienced grist farmers and the only mill close by lay in the hamlet of Upbourn within the haunted vale of Harrowdale whither his Men refused to set foot.

Of those Dunlendings who did harvest oats, barley, wheat, or rye, their duties oft stayed them from timely drying, threshing, and winnowing, so that some grain spoiled and some grain sprouted. Of what was properly processed, hand grinding of flour was required, a time consuming and laborious process devoid of glory or appeal. Indeed, 'twas considered 'women's work' and the soldiers who engaged in it earnt the ridicule of their peers and very little bread.

Another local resource that was not explored was the population of waterfowl in the shallows of the Snowbourn and the Entwash. Flocks of ducks and geese dwelt thither in the warm months and could have been shot, but the Dunlendings had no dogs to retrieve them from the water. The birds took flight in early Narbeleth, heading east and then south toward Ethir Anduin and the rivers flowing down to Gondor's coast in Lebennin and Belfalas. From the road, Men hungrily watched the start of their migration, but save for a couple lucky shots o'er land, they could do 'naught to stay them.

As autumn passed, some Dunlendings felt nervous. They recognized that their preparations for the coming winter were deficient. The Corsairs, being used to the southern climes 'nigh Umbar, knew not what to expect. Yet for the most part, they all crossed their fingers and hunted what they could.

Thus, it came to pass that as the first snow of winter fell on 27 Narbeleth, Wulf and his host watched the flakes falling to blanket Edoras where they had stockpiled a month's worth of firewood and a fortnight's worth of food. The season would not be kind to the accursed.


Now in Súthburg the summer had been one of war, of battle after battle fought as the king and the Second Marshal prosecuted the defense of the Westfold. From the fortress, they rode out with their éoreds, assailing the Dunlendings and Corsairs where'er they found them, and guarding the flight of those remaining refugees from the West Emnet. Through the months of Nórui, Cerveth, and Urui, the fighting was so dispersed that Helm and Eadmundr did not even mark the additional two thousand troops that Wulf had sent west from Edoras.

After Helm's arrival on 17 Gwirith, Súthburg's population of three and one-half thousands had risen to eight and one-half thousands. During the months that followed, some fell in battle and some civilians fled thither.

Also during those months, whilst Helm King and Second Marshal Eadmundr led their Riders afield, the coomb remained uncontested so that behind the new dike and trench, the Rohirrim pastured their cattle and herded their sheep, and let their horses graze. And though the lands beyond the coomb repeatedly changed hands, the fields 'nigh were harvested in the late summer and early autumn. Many tons of grain and vegetables were brought in and wagons full of grist were ground to flour in the nearest mill. Much provision was laid in store for the winter, but there were many mouths to feed.

From the wooded slopes in the foothills of Thrihyrne beyond the coomb, teams cut firewood. Wagons laden with split logs rolled down the West Road and into the coomb 'neath the watchful guard of five éoreds. During the months of Urui, Ivanneth, and early Narbeleth, 'nigh fifty cords were cut and stacked against the inner face of the Deeping Wall. The Eorlingas reckoned t'would last the fortress and the camp three to four months.

When the first snow fell in the Westfold on 27 Narbeleth, the battles did not cease at first. Yet as the temperatures dropped and the land lay covered e'er thicker, Helm was forced to withdraw into the coomb. By then he had lost another thousand and a half Riders during the summer and autumn campaigning, and so the population of Súthburg stood at seven thousands all told.

The fortress had been built to be manned by a maximum of three thousand warriors and five hundred support personnel, cooks, servants, armorers, ferriers, healers, and grooms. Had it not been for the caverns of Aglarond, the crowding would have been unwholesome and intolerable. Yet the Glittering Caves within the Deeping Coomb were at a constant and comfortable temperature, as such havens 'neath the earth are wont to be, and they were spacious, easily housing supplies, horses, livestock, and three and a half thousand warriors and civilian refugees.

Beyond, in the lands of the Westfold, the Dunlendings eventually gathered to encamp 'nigh the mouth of the valley and in any abandoned shelter they could find, be it home, farmstead, or hamlet. So the battlefield stood in stalemate during the months of Hithui and Girithron, whilst the Rohirrim still manned the dike in force and their enemies remained at bay.

Yet the winter grew e'er more chill, unnaturally so, all said, and more snow fell than in any year that any amongst the living could recall. By Yule, four feet had fallen and the north wind had bared some ground whilst sculpting drifts twice that height. Helm pulled his Men back from the dike after some were frostbitten whilst standing sentry duty. Then the watch fires atop of the dike went dark and the Dunlendings crept forward.

Within a week, they were encamped in force on the land beyond the trench, for to come within the dike was to court arrow fire from the Deeping Wall. Yet now they held Súthburg and the Deeping Coomb within a cordon of leaguer, cutting it off from reinforcement and resupply, or so they believed, and so it remained 'til spring.

The winter drew on. The year 2758 turned to 2759 and the weather, already deemed the worst in memory, continued unabated. Within Súthburg, the Rohirrim waited for the spring thaw, and watched with increasing trepidation as their stockpile of firewood and stores of food dwindled with each passing fortnight. If there was 'aught to bring them mirth, 'twas that the lot of their foes must surely be worse, and the Horse-lords imagined the Dunlendings and Corsairs shivering and starving in the snow.

In this, they were not wrong. Being an invading force, the Dunlendings and Corsairs had no local support save what they could commandeer, and this was not enough in a land that had been sparsely populated and based on agriculture. Beyond Súthburg, there were no other fortresses or cities in which to garrison their host save one, and the gates of Angrenost they had not been able to break. The invaders found no shelter sufficient for comfort during that winter.

If there was 'aught that offered them succor, 'twas that from the surrounding land they could cut firewood. The invading host denuded whole slopes of trees, brush, and even dried grass to burn for warmth. Yet without walls of stone to break the wind, they had only hastily erected hovels of logs, tents, and trenches laboriously dug ere the ground froze solid. These they roofed with branches for shelter and they proved the most livable. The host depended on fire for warmth as well as cooking, and with gusts of wind to spread flames and carry sparks, there were no few accidents.

Eventually, they learnt that burying their meager accommodations in snow actually provided sheltering insulation from the wind chill. On many a night, the temperature of the frozen water felt warm compared to the frigid air that whistled down from the north and blasted any exposed skin. Even a small fire kindled within such a shelter could raise its temperature to a barely endurable level. Still, the weeks and then months of cold left their hands stiff and tempers short.

With the snowfall, hunting became fruitless. The local animals, already o'erhunted during the autumn, had fled or were too hard to find. Kills were rare and success hardly merited the effort. Insufficient rations meant constant shivering, dulled minds, and weakened bodies. They suffered skin rashes, hair loss, and loosened teeth from their deficient diet. Physical resistance to the rigorous conditions diminished and Men lost weight as they slowly starved.

At night, their sleep provided little rest as they tossed and turned, sometimes chilled to the bone and oft wet from melting snow, whilst some ne'er woke. Sickness grew commonplace, wheezing, coughing, and fever became their constant companions, and boots soaked through for weeks led to trench foot with tissue sloughing, gangrene, and death. The stench of wood smoke, disease, and unwashed bodies permeated the host's camp.

Predictably, troop morale fell, Men lost hope, and resentment grew as the winter dragged on. Little gain would there be for the common soldiers in displacing the straw-heads if they themselves were dead from exposure. Many of the Dunlendings were less than five score miles from comfortable homes 'cross the Fords of Isen, and here they would die in torment rather than in battle. Thus, the desertions began, but who can know how many managed to cross the frozen miles to return to their kith and kin in Dunland, and how many left their frozen corpses littering the West Emnet? Surely 'twas some, for at night, wolves howled.

For Gebeor, who had come commanding the two thousands that Wulf had sent from Edoras, and his counterpart Heardsælig¹, who had been in command of the western host since the start of the war, the situation was a depressing disaster. They had no faith in starving the straw-heads out of Súthburg, and certainly not ere they starved first. They had no engines of siege, no ladders, no ram to break the gates, and they could not undermine the wall when the ground was frozen solid. ¹(Heardsælig, Unlucky/Unhappy Old English)

Gebeor and Heardsælig had each lived through enough winters to know that this winter was worse than any they had seen aforetime. Realistically, they had doubts of even surviving it so long as they stayed in front of the Deeping Coomb. 'Twixt the two of them, they agreed that their only sure chance of seeing spring was to withdraw back to their homes in Dunland, but Wulf would have their sacks and sausages if they abandoned the siege. In grim resignation, they agreed to stay for one more week, just as they had agreed the past week and the week ere that.

The plight of the Corsairs was even worse. From their homes in Umbar and Harad, they were used to a hot, dry climate. The spring rains in Dunland and the Westfold had been miserable for them, not that they were unaccustomed to being wet at sea, but their ships outran storms, or endured them 'til they passed by in a day or two. The months of grey days and chill, torrential downpours in Rohan had been alien and depressing.

With the coming of winter, a season they knew only from cool nights in the south or storms on more northerly seas, they were confronted with weather that they deemed came straight from hell. All too soon, the mariners believed that this land of endless, grassy plains was accursed. Even the nights seemed too long.

The current Corsair commander Abrazân¹ had succeeded his captain after the original commander of the Corsair Marines in western Rohan had been shot in the face with an arrow when the king's host had charged into the coomb on 17 Gwirith. On that day, he and 'nigh three hundred of his troops had escaped after their camp was buried 'neath an avalanche and then o'errun. Later, being the surviving ranking officer, he had taken command of the remaining marines in western Rohan. ¹(Abrazân, Steadfast Adûnaic)

In early Cerveth, after the barbarian commander Gebeor had arrived from Edoras with two thousand Dunlending soldiers, he had learnt that like his captain Bêthân¹, Captain Târik² of the eastern host had been slain the same way, shot in the face by the same black-armored archer. What were the chances of that? Truly, the land of Rohan was accursed. ¹(Bêthân, Speaker Adûnaic) ²(Târik, Pillar Adûnaic)

Ere his battlefield promotion, Abrazân had been First Mate by sea and Lieutenant of Marines by land, the younger son of a noble house in Umbar, and he was furious at the suffering his fellow soldiers were enduring. Given the order, he would have gladly led his comrades back to their ships where they rested at anchor in the lower Angren, but that order had not come. Now that he was trapped with his Men outside of Súthburg, he doubted it e'er would. As he seethed at the situation, he understood that not a single thing about the current campaign was right.

Their seafaring clothing was insufficient for winter, their gear unsuited to snow, and their constitutions unprepared for the colds, pneumonia, exposure, and starvation. At sea, food was but a fishing net or line away. In Rohan, there was 'naught to hunt.

By Yule, they were surreptitiously culling the only available source of meat, the Dunlendings' horses. Commander Abrazân approved. The wretched, stringy steeds disappeared in the night, shot with crossbows and swiftly butchered where they fell. Usually, they were not missed 'til long after they had been roasted and eaten, for the army was encamped, unmoving, and they could not be ridden in such deep the snow. Day by day, the pickets were becoming a bone yard.

The Corsairs were used to taking what they wanted and felt little reluctance to take what they needed. What sense of alliance they had felt to the Dunlendings was indirect at best and had ne'er been strong. The savages, for so they regarded Wulf's people, were only allies because they opposed the Rohirrim who were allies of Gondor.

Their admiral had accepted the alliance as a way to win marching rights through hostile territory so that they could invade Anórien and assail Minas Tirith from the north. The Corsair Marines would aid Wulf in defeating the Horse masters, and in return, they would have unrestricted passage 'cross the lands north of the White Mountains. By Girithron, none of them still believed that the deal had been worthwhile.

They had expected the campaign in Rohan to finish by Ivanneth. Their allies had seemed to hold e'ery advantage. The Dunlendings outnumbered the Rohirrim by as much as four to one and their early gains had been encouraging. The Fords of Isen had fallen easily with much slaughter of the defenders. Yet here they were, bogged down and still in the Westfold after three-quarters of a year.

Umbar's invasion, of which they were a component, had likely moved on without them and they resented the missed opportunity to war against their hereditary enemies, to take plunder, slaves, and territory, and to win glory. The Corsairs encamped outside of Súthburg grew more resentful with each passing day, for they felt that they had been cheated out of the chance to conquer in Gondor…a chance they had craved for a lifetime.

And for all of their disappointments, Abrazân and the Corsairs blamed Wulf and his host, a numerous but incompetent mob of barbarians who had failed to take a single fortress after two-thirds of a year. The meat from a few dying horses was the least their allies could provide, for the Men of Umbar deemed they were owed so much more.

So the parties stood at the start of the year 2759, and all of them looked to the end of the winter and the warming of spring by the second or third week of Nínui as had been in years past. Yet the severity of the Long Winter of 2758-9 would ne'er again be seen in Rohan during the Third Age. The days would grow darker and more desperate for all as winter clasped the Mark in its frigid grasp. Many would perish and the realm of the Horse Lords would be changed fore'er.


Despite that all prayed for the coming of spring, the month of Narwain brought yet greater cold and more snow along with the new year. In Súthburg, the weather had required burning more wood than expected to heat the cold stone fortress. To maintain their health, the seven thousand sheltering there were consuming the stockpile of food at an alarming rate. The Rohirrim's precious horses ate fodder and oats that had been set aside for them in the fall. In this, there was no choice, for the grass within the Deeping Wall was too deeply buried for them to reach, the snow too thick to be nosed aside.

Eadmundr and Helm watched the stores diminish and read the reports of its consumption, and all they could do was implement increasingly severe rationing. If the winter broke in mid-Nínui as it had in years past, then the Eorlingas would survive it with tightened belts, but what then? Súthburg was besieged, cut off within a cordon of foes, and removing them would be bloody and slow during the spring rainy season. They could only hope that the toll this winter took on the Corsairs and Dunlendings was so harsh that they would have a chance to break the siege and win free when the campaigning season resumed.

As the long winter nights passed, Helm wondered how his son and daughter fared at Edoras. The ninth King of Rohan could not know that his heir Prince Haleth was dead six months and his daughter was trapped atop the refuge of Dunharrow. At times, he worried that the twelve éoreds he had left in the Eastfold were too few to hold the capital, but there was 'naught that he could do for it now. The forty-three éoreds he had brought to his brother-in-law's aid had barely been sufficient to keep the invaders in the west at bay.

What he really needed was more Men, and that meant aid from Gondor, yet the words that Belegund, Steward Beren's errand rider, had spoken to Haleth in Aldburg were known to him.

"We are hard pressed in the south. The Corsairs hold Ethir Anduin and we deem an assault on Pelargir pending. A second fleet landed along the southern coast. Anfalas and Belfalas are contested and Linhir invested. All of Lebennin, Dol Amroth, and Edhellond are threatened. In the west, a third fleet of Corsairs landed troops above the mouth of the Angren and joined with the Dunlendings. For now, there is no safety to be found in Gondor. Nor, alas, can the steward send aid."

The king shook his head and offered a prayer to Béma that the war had turned in favor of Steward Beren and his allies in Mundburg. And he hoped the shelter of the White Mountains had spared them the torment of this winter. That suffering he wished only on his foes.

Also during those months of forced isolation, Lord Fréaláf and Prince Háma grew closer in friendship. Though they were cousins and had known each other since childhood, they had spent their days dwelling on opposite sides of the realm. Now, these two, whose ties of kinship determined that they would one day be the next Second and Third Marshals respectively, laid the foundations for the future stewardship of their people.

Helm's second son was destined to take his elder brother Haleth's place as Third Marshal and Lord of the Eastfold at Aldburg upon the ascension of his brother to the throne. Fréaláf was the heir of Second Marshal Eadmundr and would inherit his lordship at Súthburg. Together, they would support and serve the future Haleth King. Alas, their plans were already doomed.

Beyond the trench and dike, the Dunlendings and the Corsairs were bedeviled by all the worst that the season had to offer. By the end of the first week of Narwain, Gebeor and Heardsælig would come to the front lines from the farmhouse they and their chief lieutenants occupied to discover a score Men dead of exposure, starvation, or disease each morn. The commanders arranged for other soldiers to take the cadavers to trench shelters whither all had perished, and stack them one atop another 'til the ground was soft enough that they could be buried.

During their daily rounds of the encampment, they also marked the dwindling count of horses at the pickets. Upon examination, their bodies were not found lying dead and frozen as they had expected. Instead, they found heaps of bones, flayed hides, entrail dumps, with abandoned hooves and skulls lying 'nigh. They wagered that their Men were eating their own horses and who could blame them? This winter would kill them anyway.

Now when they came to take counsel with their Corsair allies, they found Abrazân and his marines sullen, irritable, and not very friendly at all. Oft they were greeted with derisive looks, sarcastic remarks, and curses for the weather, the enemy, and the campaign. Heardsælig and Gebeor got the distinct impression that the soldiers from Umbar no longer cared what outcome followed the winter.

Though they could speak but little of each other's tongues, the Dunlendings kenned that their allies craved to take their leave of Súthburg. Commander Abrazân did not bother to hide that he thought Rohan accursed and despised it. The Corsair had grown defiant and uncooperative. Gebeor also marked that the Southrons seemed somewhat better fed than their own Men, but at any attempt to ask how or to make small talk, they were waved off and then ignored. He and Heardsælig were coming to dislike them intensely.

"They are hiding something," Heardsælig muttered. "I do not trust these foreigners."

"I have ne'er trusted them and were it not Wulf's will, I should be glad to bleed a few with my sword," Gebeor said. "I am sick of their manners. Are we not suffering beside them?"

In reply, Heardsælig only growled and spat. He felt too cold and too hungry to expend more words on the Corsairs that day. The Southrons too had their opinions.

"They are animals, barely able to speak," said Magân¹ who was serving as Abrazân's adjutant. He cast venomous eyes on Heardsælig and Gebeor as they trudged away 'cross the snow. "Let them perish in this wretched land. I care not." ¹(Magân, Wright/Builder Adûnaic)

"I am sure that many of them shall," Abrazân replied, eyeing the Dunlendings with a more calculating glance, "and sooner they than we." They were swiftly running out of horses.


At Edoras in the Eastfold, Wulf was far beyond dissatisfied. He fumed and frothed, deeming that 'naught was going right because, 'naught was going right. Well 'nigh e'ery other word spewed from his lips was a curse and his Men shied from him, for his words were unkind. He was a king lacking sympathy for the plight of his people, and so he inspired diminished devotion from his subjects in return.

The Dunlendings in the city were cold, tired, hungry, fearful of their lord's wrath, and terrified of the ghosts. They were afraid to abide the city with frostbite and starvation lurking 'round e'ery corner, and they were afraid to die there lest the King of the Dead claim them. And they had no place to go. They knew they would ne'er survive the retreat to Dunland afoot and the snow was too deep for riding. The stress was stomach churning and only got worse as the winter passed.

Soon, Men whispered that the winter's harshness was the doing of the King of the Dead, all in restitution for Wulf's refusal to sacrifice an heir. The true King of Rohan would kill them all and possess their spirits after, they said to one another. Despair grew acute. Each day, fewer truly believed that they would live to see spring.

By Yule, the stock of firewood was gone. The willow logs cut in the autumn and not fully seasoned still held much water. They were harder to kindle and produced less heat than hardwood taken during the spring or summer. The local oak, ash, hickory, birch, and maple were the most desirable, but even softwoods like pine and fir or a soft hardwood like poplar would have been an improvement. These produced much heat but were shorter-lived in the hearth.

The three hundred Corsairs, like their western counterparts outside Súthburg, chose barracks separate from their Dunlending hosts. These were comprised of a compound of four homes, built by well-to-do Rohirrim merchants and clustered low on the southern slope of the hill of Edoras. Being sailors, the Southrons had carefully observed the prevailing winds. The site they had occupied was more sheltered from the northerly gusts that pummeled Meduseld.

The houses had fenced yards with their own stables and outbuildings, reflecting the hard-earnt wealth of their owners. When the communal woodpiles were depleted, the Corsairs began tearing down and burning them. After all, what need had they for stables? They had no horses. They soon found that the boards and beams were of well-seasoned hardwoods and provided far longer burning time and far more heat than the Dunlendings' firewood. Even the wood from the fences was an improvement.

After a fortnight of this, Wulf's Men marked that some structures downslope had disappeared. Seeing the smoke rising from the chimneys in the Corsair compound, they finally kenned the source of their firewood. Then, they too began demolishing buildings and burning the construction materials, furnishings, and other contents. Together, they and their Corsair allies set the city back a century and burnt much of the prize their lord Wulf had won at the cost of so many lives. Of course, no word of their activities passed their lips in his presence.

In the city, Men snared rats and mice, ate cats, shot pigeons roosting in building rafters, and chewed on scraps of leather to assuage their hunger. Yet as the weeks passed, the opportunities to hunt in Edoras dwindled and the invaders sought for other options.

When they had first taken the city, the Corsairs had examined the garb and weapons of their fallen foes. 'Twas a standard military practice for them, far ranging warriors that they were. The mail and helms of the Rohirrim, their swords, axes, spears, and shields were not worthy of remark, all being long familiar from their centuries of campaigns against the Gondorim. But their heavy leather riding boots and gloves, woolen tunics, trousers, and cloaks, those were more noteworthy. Compared with their own robes and pants of linen and cotton, they spoke of lesser refinement and comfort, but greater protection in cold weather. When they took the captured garments and tried to wash the stench of sweat and wood smoke from them, they were surprised to find that some of the cloaks were water resistant as well.

The Men of Umbar had collected many sets of Rohirrim garb along with the better quality weapons and armor, all of which they had regarded as curios, souvenirs of conquest, and spoils of battle. Then the winter had come down. The Corsairs were long past expecting 'aught from the Dunlendings by then. They had clearly perceived how deficient their leadership and their preparations for the cold season had been. Now they took their own survival into their own hands, as Men had e'er done upon the sea.

At night, bundled in the warmer woolen clothing of their enemies o'er their own, they broke several boards from 'neath a watchtower on the southern palisade where they were out of sight from Meduseld. From there they ventured forth in teams of two dozens, armed with spears and their crossbows, and slowly trekked 'cross the lowlands.

Despite that they were ne'er seen during the hours of daylight, some creatures large enough to make game trails had left evidence of their passage 'twixt drifts in the snow. One of these trails they followed with great labor 'til after a mile, they came to the foothills of Írensaga, and there they commenced to hunt. Though they were sailors and not great game trackers, the snow made it easier than they had expected.

On their second day of privation and cold, (though they had managed to gather sufficient deadfall to have a fire's warmth in their hunting camp), they succeeded in shooting a roebuck. They butchered it and roasted the meat, and after gorging better than they had in months, returned to Edoras that night with the rest.

Within hours, they were holding a feast for those in their house whilst their garb was given o'er to a hunting party from another house that left after fortifying themselves with bowls of venison soup. This activity continued so long as the snow allowed, rotating the hunting parties 'twixt the four Corsair houses, and they breathed not a word of it to the Dunlendings. Even had they done so though, their hosts would not have dared venture so close to Harrowdale.

Wulf and his Men were not so intrepid. When faced with starvation, they found the easiest solution. Just like the Corsairs outside of Súthburg, they began to slaughter and butcher their horses. Unlike the Rohirrim, they esteemed their steeds far less and felt their loss far less than the gnawing emptiness of their bellies. One by one, their mounts became piles of bones, cast off hides, and discarded entrails, though they used some of these last as bait for their snares. So it came to pass that for a while longer, both the Corsairs and the Dunlendings in Edoras survived.

Now here it should be told what befell those troops that Wulf had sent to garrison Aldburg and to waylay the Great West Road. Five hundreds he had ordered to take and hold the old capital city in the Folde. Another seven hundreds he had sent to secure the road all the way to the border with Anórien at Halifirien. Another two hundreds were sent to hold the road to the west; fourteen hundred Men all told.

By Yule, the nine parties manning the road had been halved by freezing and starvation. They had 'naught for shelter save what pitiful camps they could build in the open grasslands. Most of these were hastily dug trenches, roofed with branches and turf. The Men there burnt such wood as they found, or bundles of grass dug from 'neath the snow.

'Round the start of Narwain, the survivors of the two companies to the west of Edoras met to take counsel. Grim, they spoke of those already fallen to frostbite, disease, exhaustion, or starvation. They agreed that to stay was to die, Wulf be damned. They had despaired of living 'til the snow thawed. So on 4 Narwain, five score and twelve Men started out down the road heading towards the western border and the Fords of Isen that lay five score and five miles away. That night, they heard the howls of wolves behind them.

For the next four days, they trudged on, making a pitiful ten miles a day. Exhausted and weakened by their ordeal, some gave up and sat down, soon to freeze to death amidst the snow. Behind them, the howls grew closer each night as the wolf pack followed the trail of food down the road.

Two days later, another snowfall began. From the evening of 10 Narwain to the morn of the 12th, another two feet fell. The fleeing Dunlendings had stopped in the afternoon of the 11th having made but five miles that day. They huddled together in the lee of a drift, pressed together for warmth, and there gave in to their fatigue and the cold and slept. Barely four dozens woke on the 12th to resume their hopeless march. Behind, half-buried, they left the bodies of three dozen comrades.

That night, the bright eyes circling them in the dark did not haunt their camp. In the distance, the wolves howled, scarfing down the frozen meat of the prior night's fallen. Another nine passed away in the dark and again, these casualties bought with their deaths the escape of the living whilst feeding the pack.

Of the wolves, it can be said that they were not a single pack. As the Dunlendings had fled down the road, they had passed through the hunting ranges of three packs. Despite their kind's instinctual territoriality, all three of these had joined the pursuit as there was sufficient meat for all. 'Twas a windfall, an unforeseen bounty, and despite the privation of winter, they did not cache meat. What they found, they ate on the spot. Save that the home alphas and their mates ate first, they begrudged not the shares of those whose hunting grounds they had followed their prey through. They even suffered a few owl griffons who favored the eyes to sup.

On 15 Narwain, the survivors of the deserting company had come three score and fifteen miles and their strength was spent. They were then but three leagues east of the host camped outside of Súthburg, but they knew it not. The days of exposure had led to delirium and they had lost track of their mileage. The snow-covered lands were unfamiliar, for when they had marched east, 'twas not by way of the road. All they knew was that the woods tracing the river Isen still lay somewhere beyond their sight.

Gasping for each breath, the frigid air chilled their lungs, robbing them of precious body heat. 'Round noon, by mutual agreement conveyed in a glance, they stayed their march and sat in the snow to rest. They were so weak and so cold by then that the pain had faded. "Just a moment's rest," one might have said to no one in particular. "Aye, just a few breaths and then we go on our way," another might have answered. "All I wanted was a couple acres of flat land to farm," someone whispered. It mattered not.

When the wolves arrived at dusk, none moved. The last of the company had passed, or were so deeply unconscious that they roused not as they were dragged out prone. Then with growls of eager anticipation, clothes were rent and bellies torn open. Blood gushed sluggishly or slowly pooled as entrails were tugged forth, steaming with the last body heat. The wolves spent most of two days gorging, lounging, or snoozing 'twixt the carcasses as they digested stomachs filled with meat ere resuming their feast 'til they had picked the carcasses clean.


Of all the invaders in the Eastfold, 'twas the five hundreds that Wulf had sent to Aldburg that fared the best. Because the citizens of Rohan's first capital had been preparing to make the long journey to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý, they had packed only such personal belongings as they could carry and such rations as were needed for their road. Unlike the refugees of Edoras, they did not try to empty their city of 'aught that might give comfort to enemies.

So 'twas that when Eadric¹, the lieutenant appointed commander by Wulf, led his company into Aldburg, they found the city deserted and occupied it without doing battle. Better, the citadel and many buildings were built of stone rather than wood. Better still, there were many cords of firewood stacked beside the buildings. But best of all, in the keep and the homes, they found flour, smoked meats, cheeses, vegetables fresh and pickled, and dried fruit. There were kegs of ale and beer, and even some small casks of wine. After a search, they discovered there were still extra woolen clothes, shoes, and even some weapons. They did not find treasure, but they were satisfied for they doubted not that Wulf had sent them hence to fend for themselves. ¹(Eadric, proper name including the root Ead, riches/ prosperity Old English)

By whate'er chance, Eadric had begun as a hunter and knew that a company could ne'er have too much provision. During that autumn, he organized hunting parties, and being that they were safely distant from Harrowdale, his Men were happy to track game in the foothills. They snared rabbits, shot grouse and deer, and even speared some stray farm animals.

Amongst his troops were some who had been farmers, and on their advice, he organized the harvesting of several fields and the grinding of the grist at the close by mill that had long served the farms 'nigh the city. They took in several tons of flour and grain for bread, porridge, and soups. So 'twas that they increased their stores for the winter and the Men felt more confident than they had since ere taking Edoras. Their only real fear was that Wulf would call them back.

Of all the Dunlending forces in Rohan, Eadric and his five hundreds were the only company with a chance of surviving the winter in health. They settled in, barred the gates, and as the winter came down, they were e'er more thankful for their good fortune. When the first snow fell on 27 Narbeleth, they rested within their stone walls and ate fresh baked bread, washing it down with mugs of ale. Had the war ended that day, they would have been quite content just where they were.

To Be Continued