In An Age Before – Part 309
Now just ere the dawn of 8 Nínui, Helm King returned to Súthburg after spending half the night Berserking 'round the encampment of the enemy. There he sowed terror in the hearts of the Dunlendings and Corsairs whilst taking them at unawares and beating them to death with his bare hands. He did this with a grim set to his jaw and a cold light in his eyes, unlike the gleeful menace projected by his ancient ally, the Werewolf's Bane. Fréaláf watched his return from the Deeping Wall as snow began to fall.
After the king was safely inside the keep, Fréaláf went to the postern door and pushed it open. Just outside, he hid a backpack in a drift of snow, and with it a bow, quiver of arrows, axe, and a spear all wrapped in waxed canvas. Then he followed his king back into the citadel.
Dawn revealed another six foemen impaled on the dike, and though barely visible through pelting snow, the sight was greeted with cheers from the morning watchmen on the walls. The tidings had soon spread throughout Súthburg.
Shortly later, the king joined his sister, his brother-in-law, and his brother-in-law's heir for a breakfast of hot water that tasted vaguely of mutton. As on the past few days, he was silent and cheerless, as if wholly preoccupied with whate'er grave concerns roiled in his mind. The Second Marshal tried to offer conversation, for the silent breakfast had grown morose.
"We have lost another seven of our people to starvation since yestereve," he said, not that this lightened the mood a whit.
Hild looked down into her soup with sad eyes whilst Fréaláf muttered curses on the weather 'neath his breath.
"Better they would do then in the snow, for the Corsairs survive and if they have 'aught to eat, I have yet to mark even a morsel," Helm muttered into his bowl. And to himself, he whispered, "They subsist on snow alone. Are they even Men at all, or are they spirits of winter fell?"
Our sire is clearly mad! Fréaláf realized. Woe betide the Eorlingas.
After breakfast, Helm excused himself to take a nap, claiming to have stayed up later than was prudent for a Man of his age. His sister rolled her eyes at that, but he marked it not.
An hour later the snow was still falling fast and the wind was swirling it into blinding, whirling, clouds and drifts. Fréaláf remembered the night Prince Háma had led his company hence and the weather was much the same now. He weighed whether to await the darkness but had no guarantee that the storm would continue 'til after nightfall. With Helm asleep and his father and mother occupied with their duties, 'twas as good a time as it could be. If what his lord said was true, he reckoned the Dunlendings and Corsairs might just fail to mark his flight.
He left no note behind lest the king deem that his parents approved his flight. In his current frame of mind, the younger lord knew not what Helm might think or do when his absence was marked. Because his errand was unsanctioned and he wished to preserve its secrecy, he took none with him lest they too be condemned. Instead, he girt his sword and dagger 'neath his cloak, donned his gloves, and wrapped a scarf 'round his face as if he were going out to check on the welfare of those on the walls or in the caves. None marked 'aught strange in his conduct as he made his way to the gate.
At the gate, Fréaláf spoke with the sentries. They knew him well and thought 'naught amiss in his presence. After sharing speech and learning there had been no changes, he went to gaze out through an arrow slot whilst they repaired to the guardhouse to get out of the wind. When he was sure they were preoccupied with their watch, he went to the postern door and slipped from the fortress.
It took him but a few moments to brush the snow from the backpack and the weapons he had cached there that morn, but after donning his equipment and throwing the waxed canvas o'er all, he slid down the path and made his way 'neath the causeway. Then he crept along the base of the Deeping Wall where none could see him from within Súthburg save if they happened to glance straight down o'er the parapet. With no foes encamped within the dike, that happened not and he made good his escape, first to the drainage culvert and then 'twixt tall drifts as he followed the course of the Deeping Stream. By the time he passed the dike, he was lost amidst the swirling snowfall and his passage went unmarked by the sentries on the wall.
When Fréaláf passed the dike and the trench, he found what Háma's company had learnt aforetime. The enemy had posted no guards, nor kept watch on the coomb. His surprise at that was the same as the prince's had been a fortnight past.
If 'aught, Fréaláf had an easier time navigating 'twixt the Dunlending shelters than his cousin had had aforetime. Amidst the snow, the pale, off-white canvas hid him better than a green cloak whilst the wax helped stop wind and moisture. Another advantage was that fewer of the enemy lived now and they were weaker and even less inclined to brave the storms than they had been in Narwain. He had no trouble reaching the base of the climbing path on the eastern ridge. There he turned uphill and disappeared into the woods.
Now though he began by taking the same trail as the hunting party, Fréaláf soon turned from it and headed east. There he struck an established track, a small, unpaved road broad enough in most places for a wagon or three to ride abreast and long known to the Rohirrim. It wound through the foothills 'nigh the base of the Ered Nimrais from Súthburg to Harrowdale, whence Riders could come to Edoras. 'Twas an ancient way, but not so ancient as the Great West Road, for it had not been made by the Dúnedain of Gondor. This track had been made by the country folk of the Eorlingas and served several small settlements in the foothills.
Fréaláf held no hope for finding any of his folk still living in their homes. Their lands had been invaded o'er three seasons past and the people driven hence. He prayed they had found safety in Súthburg, or perhaps even in Edoras.
What the young lord did seek was shelter. Fréaláf hoped there would be farmhouses or traders' shops still standing in which he could take refuge at night. He even allowed himself to half-hope that he might find some food left behind during a hasty evacuation and undiscovered by the enemy. Indeed, in seeking such, he thought he might know some places like the cold cellars and outdoor caches the country folk used that perhaps were unknown to the Dunlendings or Corsairs. Still, even if there were no rations, intact walls and a roof o'erhead to offer succor from the weather would be a boon worthy of great thanks and might just save his life.
Because it wound along the foothills rather than taking a straight line like the West Road, the mountain path ran one hundred forty miles 'twixt Súthburg and Harrowdale. Ahorse in good weather, the trip could be made in less than four full days. Afoot in winter, Fréaláf deemed he would be lucky to complete the trip in ten. At least the way was well known and visible enough that he could not get lost. All he had to do was keep walking and survive.
'Round noon, the snow trailed off, though the sky remained leaden. The wind too died away and in the foothills 'neath the cover of trees, the winter seemed not so harsh.
A dozen miles Fréaláf reckoned he made that day. He had walked from the second hour after dawn 'til dusk and his estimate was confirmed by a sidetrack leading to five houses clustered on the slopes of a dell, two on the western side and three on the eastern side. A creek ran through the center, crossed by a wooden footbridge. The tiny settlement had no name, but he recalled it from trips with his father in days of peace.
Here in the foothills of the White Mountains had dwelt a trapper, a bow hunter, a cutter of firewood and his brother who aided him in the business of selling split logs to horse breeders and farmers in the grasslands. The final house had belonged to an old woman, the venerable widow Godlic¹ whose late husband had been a Rider, fallen in battle decade's aforetime, and her granddaughter. She was known as a Herbwoman of some skill, and 'twas rumored that she and her granddaughter were witches. Fréaláf had ne'er taken that superstitious whispering seriously. ¹(Godlic, goodly adj. Old English)
The sidetrack led to the western side of the creek where the two houses of the woodcutter and his brother stood, for it served the wagon with which he delivered firewood to lowland farms and ranches. Fréaláf called out a greeting in the Rohirric tongue so that any who heard him would know he was not an invader. After a few minutes of silence, he received the only answer he had expected…more silence.
It seemed that the residents had fled the war and Eadmundr's heir hoped that they had found a safe refuge. His suspicion was borne out by the absence of the wagon and the draft horses that drew it when he pushed open the door of the stable. The sizable outbuilding, 'nigh half again larger than the house, held empty horse stalls, a parking space for the wagon, and an impressive stack of many cords of split logs, branches, and bundles of kindling.
Night had fallen by the time he had explored both houses. He counted himself fortunate to have found, not only standing shelter, but a half-dozen links of sausage, a wax coated cheese, a tin of rolled oats, raisins, and some dried apples. He lit no candles or lamps, but kindled a small fire in the kitchen hearth and enjoyed the best meal he had eaten in months. That night he was not only fed, but warm. He lay on his bedroll on the kitchen floor 'nigh the hearth and let the sounds of the wind lull him to sleep. During the night, he woke only once, tossed a couple more faggots on the fire, and dozed back off.
Despite his comfort, years of training caused Fréaláf to wake at dawn. 'Twas 9 Nínui. Despite lying on a wooden floor, he felt better rested than he had in many weeks. After breaking his fast with a few more bites of sausage and cheese, he packed the remainder, the raisins, oats, a tin cup, and some of the dried apples in his pack, extinguished the fire, and went out to meet the day.
Now his first task was to seek more rations in the remaining three houses on the east side of the creek. He crossed the footbridge and made his way to the nearest house. Again, he called out a greeting then pounded on the door, and again he was met with silence.
The house was tiny, cluttered, and by the attached fleshing shed, he deemed 'twas the abode of the bow hunter. The wall décor was rich in taxidermy mounted animal heads affixed to rustic wooden plaques, and on a table in the center of the main room, he viewed a tableau of small mammals posed in comedic action as charging Riders. He found the kitchen bare.
The next house uphill had been occupied by the trapper. The rooms were strewn with snares, rolls of waxed twine, bottomless cages to be baited and propped up on sticks, and a couple of spring steel bear traps. Fréaláf found scraps of ancient bread, and hanging from a swivel hook in the fireplace, a cauldron with the putrid remains of what might once have been a game stew. He wrinkled his nose at the smell and retreated from the premises.
The lord approached the last house in the dell and knew it must belong to the widow. 'Twas located somewhat apart and uphill from the other four and its construction was peculiar. Rather than a typical single-story cabin of logs set on the ground, the widow's home stood three stories tall atop a foundation of two, massive tree trunks whose splayed roots gave the impression of a bird's feet.
'Neath the lowest floor, the sloping grade provided an open storage space high enough for him to stand upright on its downhill side. There was stored firewood, some barrels, drying racks for herbs, a single-wheeled barrow, and a small dogcart.
The home was as unusually narrow as 'twas tall, its sides probably measuring no more than three fathoms apiece by Fréaláf's reckoning. It stood in the shadow of a massive oak that leant o'er it from uphill as if t'would fall and crush the residence at any moment. That oak, and the two uplifting the house might have been a trio of similar age and girth, and the current lean of the surviving tree seemed an act of fraternity 'twixt the three.
The lower floor was provided on two sides with a broad deck on the front and downhill sides, partially shielded 'neath the broad eaves of a thatched roof. On the uphill front corner, a set of six steps ascended to the recess where the door was located 'twixt shuttered windows that stared upslope and towards the creek. Other windows on the upper floors, also shuttered, provided views in all four directions. 'Twas a unique construction and looked just as he recalled it.
As he had aforetime, Fréaláf came to the foot of the steps and called out a greeting in Rohirric. He expected no response by now, wholly convinced that the hamlet's inhabitants had fled, yet he was shocked when he received an answer.
A pair of shutters opened high above. "Ehhh? Who comes hither?" came the raised voice of an old woman from within the topmost story.
"'Tis Fréaláf son of Eadmundr," he called back up despite his surprise, "Dame Godlic?"
"'Tis indeed, my lord," she called back down, then to her granddaughter, "Lofain¹, pray admit the young lord." Then the shutters closed. ¹(Lofain, praise v. Old English)
Young lord, he thought, amused, with spring I shall count thirty-three winters.
Fréaláf ascended the steps onto the deck and stood before the door. Shortly, he heard footsteps descending from the second floor. The door opened and a comely young woman that he reckoned to be in her late teens stood before him. She smiled, bid him enter, and offered a restrained curtsey. He offered her a smile and a dip of his head in return. He only remembered her as a young child.
"My thanks for allowing me entry into thy home," he said, stamping the snow from his boots and then passing the threshold.
"Pray come in out of the cold, my lord, and have a seat by the fire," Lofain said. "My grandmother shall join us shortly. She is slow upon the stairs these days."
As Fréaláf removed his backpack and took one of several chairs at a table before the hearth, he heard the tread of careful steps on a staircase above. Lofain joined him.
"A challenge it must be for her to live in a house of three stories," he said.
Lofain nodded in agreement and explained that, "This house has been in our family for many generations. Now there are no Men left amongst our kin to build her another and so she hath little choice."
'Twas a sad acknowledgement of the cost of their defense against the constant encroachment of the Dunlendings and its toll in lives. Fréaláf bowed his head to honor the family's sacrifice.
Upstairs, the creaking of the staircase gave way to the shuffling of shoes and the clump of a cane in the second floor hall. The steps traced Godlic's path from the front of the house to the rear and then, absent the cane, continued as renewed creaking on the lower stairs.
"She keeps a cane on each floor, but takes the stairs without, so to more easily grasp the handrails," Lofain explained. It made sense, though he would not have thought of it himself.
Eventually, Godlic reached the bottom of the stairs, took up her 'ground floor cane', and hobbled into the kitchen. Fréaláf rose and greeted her with a dip of his head, and offered his arm to aid her to a chair before the fire. Though she seemed amused by his offer, she took his arm and let him lead her to a seat.
"Thank you my lord," she said once she was seated. "What brings thee hither in such cold?"
Ere he could answer, she bid Lofain serve hot tea, "That some warmth of hospitality ease the chill on this winter's morn." Then she gave her attention back to her guest.
"I make for Harrowdale in hope of meeting with Prince Haleth," he said, accepting a steaming cup from the young woman. "Things grow dire in Súthburg."
The elderly lady of the house nodded to him in understanding and said, "Too many folk too close together for too long. They must grow batty, cooped thus." She sipped from her own cup.
"They grow hungry, Dame Godlic, and worse, t'would seem Helm King is grown fey. He hath taken to sortieing forth in the dead of night, haunting the camp of the enemy and slaying them with his bare hands ere impaling them on the dike in sight of the walls."
"Ahhh, good for him!" she said cheerfully, causing Fréaláf's jaw to drop open in shock. "'Tis the part of a king to take matters into his own hands for the sake of his people, is it not?"
"Well aye, 'tis so," Fréaláf said despite his surprise, "yet we fear he hath become a Berserker."
"And why should he not when he is at the last of his wits' ends?" she asked rhetorically, then drained her cup. "When the worth of reason fades, 'tis the will that is left. If Súthburg's plight is so dire as to send its lord's heir cross-country in the snow, then becoming a Berserker is fitting, me thinks."
Fréaláf could only nod to that, not so much in agreement as to acknowledge the widow's words. He sipped more tea, finding its heat fortifying even if its taste was bitter. Yet he knew Helm had more causes than the war and the winter. When he considered that, he wondered if old Godlic might be right about the king.
"Our sire has more reason than the starvation of his people and the enemy on his doorstep. Grief too darkens his counsels. We deem his younger son is Háma lost. He led forth a dozen hunters twenty days past. One by one, we marked the cairns of his Men on the eastern ridge. After ten were seen, he sent no further kills. It hath been six days now…" He trailed off, shaking his head in sorrow.
"I know the heartbreak of burying a child," Godlic said softly, and Fréaláf turned his eyes to her. "Alas for Prince Háma. Pity for our king."
"Thou march to Prince Haleth bearing tidings of woe," Lofain said, and Fréaláf nodded a sad 'aye'. "Pity for thee too then."
"He deserves to know," Fréaláf said, and then added in barely a whisper, "especially if he may soon be king."
Dame Godlic seemed to regard the dregs at the bottom of her emptied cup and sighed.
"I fear that he shall not be king, whate'er else betides," she said gravely, and for a moment, Fréaláf knew hope that Helm might survive the war. Then she sighed again and added, "Many surprises await thee in Harrowdale, my lord. Thine errand is necessary and haste is needed."
"I shall walk as the track allows," he replied, "and I reckon to come thither in nine days."
But Godlic shook her head 'nay' and said, "Not swift enough thy feet, my lord, but Mul¹ may bear thee." ¹(Mul, mule Old English)
Fréaláf looked to her in question. She had spoken the word as if it were one's name, yet the notion of her having a riding beast this late in the war and the winter was doubtful. That she would loan it to him was even more so. Then he recalled the dogcart stowed 'neath the house.
"Lofain, take our young lord to the stable and if Mul is thither, then make introductions," Godlic said. "If Mul shall have him, then send them on their way."
The young woman rose to don a heavy sweater and her cloak and mittens. She traded house shoes for boots. In the meantime, her grandmother continued speaking with Fréaláf.
"Mul is old for his kind, yet not so as old as I for mine." She cackled at that. "He knows these lands and can find his way. He is good at finding fodder, for he is less fussy than a horse. If he allows thee to mount, then thou shalt find his footing sure on snow, ice, or stone. If not, then he shan't move. Curses or whipping serves for 'naught, for he is stubborn above 'aught else."
Fréaláf nodded and said, "Such is the nature of mules, yet I should not whip any beast."
She nodded in approval of his sentiment and said, "Indeed 'tis so, and he lordly amongst them. Thy lineage may serve thee well that he find thee worthy."
"Come what may, I offer thee my thanks for thine offer, Dame Godlic. 'Tis unexpected, but most welcome."
"Dire times, dire measure," she said, and well 'nigh repeated her words as if speaking to herself, "dire measures for dire times. Afoot or ahoof, I pray thou come safe to Harrowdale."
Lofain caught his eye and signaled that she was ready for the cold. He dipped his head to widow Godlic, hoisted his backpack, and then followed the young woman out the door.
Once alone outside, Fréaláf just had to ask, "Did thy grandmother read somewhat of the future in her teacup?" Lofain looked at him in surprise a moment and then, recalling that they had each held a cup of tea, burst out laughing.
"Tea is but leaves, my lord. I wager she was simply looking down whilst reckoning from what is to what might be," she said. "She also claims the cords in her neck no longer uphold the weight of her head with such ease as in years past. It oft lolls now, to the front, or to the side."
They approached an outbuilding that could only be the stable, having broad half-doors and a fenced muckheap beside it. When they arrived, Lofain pushed the doors open with her foot, and Fréaláf saw that they were unsecured and only held closed by a spring. Once opened, he marked a loop of rope attached on the inside 'cross from the hinge that an animal could take in its teeth to pull the door open from within. It appeared that Mul came and went on his own initiative.
The mule was not home, but Lofain seemed unperturbed. They exited the stable and she set her fingers to her lips and produced a warbling whistle. Then they waited.
After what might have been five minutes of standing there shivering, they heard hooves approaching from uphill. Mul arrived chewing a mouthful of twigs. He stopped before them and looked from one to the other. Lofain said 'naught 'til he stilled his jaw and swallowed.
"Mul, hither is Lord Fréaláf, Marshal Eadmundr's heir, from Súthburg," Lofain said, and the mule eyed her attentively with his ears pricked forward. Fréaláf nodded to the mule. "He seeks to come to Harrowdale and grandmother says he must come swifter than his feet can carry him."
At the mention of Godlic, the mule dipped his head as if paying obeisance.
"Hello, Mul," Fréaláf said, feeling a bit silly for talking to the creature, but it met his eyes for a moment.
The mule then turned away and began nosing the snow from a shrub. When a branch was free, he bit off a few twigs from the end and began chewing. Fréaláf walked o'er with his spear and Mul watched him carefully as he used it to knock the rest of the shrub clean of snow. He then went back to stand beside Lofain as Mul continued his meal.
"Hath he managed to survive this winter on such poor forage?" he asked her.
"This winter and e'ery winter I can recall," she replied.
"He is a wonder then, for a horse would succumb from such a diet."
"Which is why my grandmother hosts a mule instead of a horse," Lofain said with a smile.
Fréaláf nodded with a growing respect for the widow's wisdom. She was far too old to be cutting grass or hay and baling it for winter forage. Likewise, the stable was far too small to store it. After a few more minutes, Mul finished his snack and turned back to face them.
"Mul, wouldst thou be willing to carry Lord Fréaláf to Harrowdale?" Lofain asked.
The mule looked back and forth 'twixt the two of them, then looked Fréaláf up and down as if guessing his weight.
On impulse, Fréaláf said, "I bear grave tidings to Prince Haleth at Edoras and Dame Godlic says I should arrive as soon as may be. By thy grace I would ride. What say thee, Mul?"
To his great astonishment, the mule bobbed his head 'aye' and then stamped the ground four times with a fore hoof.
"He says thou shalt come to Edoras in four days, my lord," Lofain said, smiling as if 'naught was odd about his claim. "He accepts thee." Fréaláf smiled back.
"I thank thee, Lofain. Pray offer my thanks to thy grandmother."
The young woman dipped her head to the lord and said, "I shall do so, and I wish ye both safe passage to Harrowdale." After giving Mul a nod, she trudged back to the house and had soon disappeared within.
Ere he tried to mount, Fréaláf pulled the waxed canvas from his back and folded it, then held it out to Mul who sniffed it carefully. After seeming to approve it, Eadmundr's heir went to drape it o'er Mul's back and the mule accepted this as well, neither shying nor turning to grasp it in his teeth and pull it off.
"It shall offer thee some protection from the bouncing of my gear," he explained, becoming e'er more comfortable with speaking to the creature. "I have found it cuts the wind as well."
The mule stood still as Fréaláf swung up onto his back, and then set out towards the track at a stately walk. His gait was as smooth as a horse's and he was 'nigh as tall so that the lord had little unfamiliar to get used to. Indeed, if 'aught was different from riding a warhorse, 'twas that he had neither saddle nor stirrups. Yet being a rider from childhood, he was soon accustomed to riding as his people had of old.
Fréaláf found that Mul walked most of the time, but trotted when the track allowed, or perhaps when it suited his fancy. As widow Godlic had claimed, his footing was sure and steady. At times, he would stop beside some bush or shrub, and at those times, Fréaláf knocked them free of snow so that he could feed. Together, they continued east all the day of the 9th, uninterrupted by weather or foes and soon, afternoon passed to evening.
As the sun sank into the west, Fréaláf was surprised to find another sidetrack leading uphill. He knew that track led to a settlement, somewhat larger than the first and located 'nigh two score miles from Súthburg. 'Twas again a collection of structures with no name, distributed on the slopes of a dell with a stream running down from the mountains.
At first, he could not believe that they had come a score and eight miles that day, and yet when he thought back on it, the mule had been uncanny in his ability to follow the shallow snow 'twixt drifts so that he barely broke his gait. Despite halting repeatedly to graze on twigs and a few greening tips, Mul had maintained a steady pace all day. Indeed Fréaláf had not even stopped for his midday meal, having taken a few mouthfuls of sausage and cheese whilst continuing to ride.
At dusk, Fréaláf called a halt and Mul seemed to understand. He dismounted and led the mule towards the group of eight homes nestled in the dell. There was no smoke rising from the chimneys and no lights in the windows. The settlement was silent and 'twas obvious the inhabitants had fled. All the same, Fréaláf checked e'ery building, calling out a greeting in Rohirric ere entering each door. As expected, he received no answer.
In a stable behind the second house they examined, they found a loft with bales of straw and sweet smelling hay. There were two spacious boxes and Fréaláf grabbed a rake and drew out the old straw before dropping a fresh bale and spreading it on the floor. With sweet hay he filled a feed trough for Mul, and then he lit an oil lamp and lowered the flame, hanging it out of sight of the windows and bidding the mule a fair night.
Mul watched him go and then looked 'round. He even lay in the straw and rolled onto his back, finding it the equivalent of a feather mattress to a Man. The comfort was welcome and he was happy that the Man had left him with light. The hay smelled wonderful and soon tempted him back to his feet. He ambled o'er to the feed trough and inhaled deeply, and then he set his nose into the fodder and began eating his fill.
He is a good Man, Mul thought, and the widow did well in choosing him. I deem his years with horses have trained him well. Still, I should not wish to be a warhorse for any treasure, charging to battle with arrows flying and such. T'would be intolerable and uncivilized.
In a house uphill, Fréaláf was o'erjoyed to find an entire smoked ham hanging from the rafters in the pantry, and so he kindled a fire in the kitchen hearth and heated a portion for his supper. Unlike Háma, he was finding traveling a great improvement in his comfort.
Later, as he lay on his bedroll on the kitchen floor with a full belly and a warm fire 'nigh, he thought about the past day.
He is a good mule, this Mul, and the widow was generous in allowing me to ride him. I deem his years of service to her have trained him well. Still, I should not ride him into battle, for we know each other not so well as to trust each other with our lives whilst arrows fly. T'would be irresponsible and needlessly dangerous. Ere he realized it, he had dozed off.
Fréaláf woke to a dim, predawn glow and at first, he thought the morn yet to come. Then he heard pounding on the door that roused him like a splash of cold water and sent him thither with a drawn sword, for the settlement had been deserted yesternight. Yet instead of a party of Dunlendings, (who would have crashed through the door rather than knocking on it he belatedly realized), there gazing through the single pane in the door was Mul, his ears pricked forward and a mouthful of hay shifting 'twixt his jaws as he chewed. With a sigh of relief, Fréaláf sheathed his sword. Thinking 'naught strange about it, he opened the door and the mule walked in.
"Good morn," he muttered, still half asleep. The mule butted his shoulder with his nose, encouraging him back to the kitchen. "All right, all right. We should indeed be away."
Fréaláf stuffed a hunk of cheese into his mouth for breakfast and gathered his belongings. He doused the fire and returned to Mul, marking that the mule had left a pile of droppings just inside the door. The beast seemed to grin at him when he saw the lord's glance. Fréaláf shook his head and stepped outside, closing the door behind himself.
After shaking out the waxed canvas, the Man draped it o'er the mule's back again and they continued on their way ere the sun was properly above the horizon. Perhaps 'twas the sweet hay, but Mul trotted and even cantered briefly in the mid-morn where a gap in the tree cover had allowed the winds to blow off the snow well 'nigh down to the roadbed. Fréaláf was impressed with his energy as the hours passed, and he again found himself taking his noon meal whilst riding without a break.
In the early afternoon, they passed another small hamlet, but because there were still several hours of daylight remaining, neither Fréaláf nor Mul deigned to stop. 'Twas only somewhat later that the Marshal's heir realized that the hamlet they had passed marked a score and nine miles gone that day. The day of 10 Nínui was passing and he was already three score and nine miles from Súthburg.
By nightfall, Fréaláf guessed another eleven miles had passed and they had come a full two score miles that day, as far as he would have expected to ride in good weather on a horse. This night there was no convenient hamlet or settlement to offer shelter to Man or beast. This night, they would camp out, eighty miles from Súthburg.
Fréaláf led Mul off the road and uphill into the woods. Where large boulders thrust their bulk above the surface and a copse of saplings grew 'nigh, he rigged the waxed canvas o'erhead on the upslope side. 'Twixt low walls of solid stone, he created a narrow shelter, and at the more protected end, he dug a shallow trench and kindled a hunter's fire. After tearing the ends of small branches from the trees for his supper, the mule joined him 'neath the tarp, blocking the exit. There he lay down and dozed off.
Trusting the mule's sense of danger as he would that of a horse, Fréaláf spread his bedroll beside the fire and fell into a restful sleep. He only awoke when a chill breeze blew 'cross his face. Mul had gotten up as the rumor of dawn dimmed the stars and returned to the saplings for breakfast. He stood outside the shelter chewing.
Fréaláf broke his fast with raisins, more cheese, and sausage, then doused the fire and gathered his kit. Ere he closed his pack, he drew out some of the dried apples and called Mul. When the mule turned and paid him heed, he held out several and the beast took them one by one, chewing each thoroughly as if savoring a rare treat. After he was done, the lord took down the canvas, shook it out, and then laid it o'er the mule's back. They returned to the road and were on their way as the sun rose.
About time he remembered those apples, Mul thought. I have been smelling them in his pack for two days and it hath been driving me crazy. Another day and I would have robbed him as he slept. What good can they possibly do in a pack rather than in a stomach? And after a few more moments ruminating on the peculiarities of Men, he thought, I suspect he hath some oats as well.
They covered a score and eighteen miles that day and again camped at night. Fréaláf was amazed, but he reckoned they were now five score and eighteen miles from Súthburg and only a score and two miles from Harrowdale. He slept happily that night, the night of 11 Nínui, and in the morn, he gave Mul the remaining apples.
By late morn on the 12th, the track joined the course of a stream flowing east and its banks rose on either side 'til they found themselves riding through a shallow but steep-sided canyon. This stream was a major tributary of the Snowbourn and joined the flow coming down through Dunharrow from Írensaga. Four leagues that canyon ran with the track beside it, yet finally, in the mid-afternoon, the canyon opened into Harrowdale 'cross the Snowbourn from the Climbing Stair and Fréaláf looked up to the Haunted Mountain.
There he saw columns of smoke rising. The Firienfeld was occupied! Yet he realized with a chill that none would encamp thither save if Edoras had fallen. His people all feared that place. Then he marked the remains of Underharrow and the leavings of a battle fought months ago at the base of the switchback path. Judging by their gear, the dead strewn 'round the foot of the trail had been Dunlendings and he could not imagine their survivors ascending to that high shelf.
He was about to call up, hoping his voice would carry so high and that 'twas indeed his people atop the refuge. For a moment, he rued that he had not brought a horn.
Then he heard the drawing of a bowstring all too close and a soft voice said, "Name thyself and declare thine errand, stranger, for this holding is loyal to Helm son of Gram, the true King of Rohan, and is guarded by Riders of the Eorlingas."
To Be Continued
Artalicous: Thanks for your review of Chapter 161. I appreciate it and I'm glad to hear that you've begun reading "In An Age Before" again. I hope you continue to enjoy Helluin's adventures.
Adding my thanks and appreciation for your comments on chapters 218 and 265. Wow, you're reading fast!
Chapter 218 begins with a summary of Eärnil's victories that led to his being crowned King of Gondor. That much is canon. Thereafter, the chapter recounts the campaign to destroy the Wainriders and sets the stage for the destruction of Sauron's eastern fortress. None of it is canon, of course, just me making stuff up, lol.
Chapter 265 recounts Helluin's unwitting meeting with Sméagol in the Loeg Ningloron, after he is banished by his grandmother, but before he seeks shelter under the mountains of Goblin Town. Helluin also introduces Elrond and Galadriel to some of the Tatyar's inventions. None of this is canon. The second half of the chapter dramatizes the fall of Sméagol to the Ring and that is based on canon.
Chapter 308 My God you're reading fast! Mostly though, I'm just happy that you're reading and enjoying the story. I also have to re-read chapters so I can maintain the internal continuity in the plot, referring to things that happened or were done in the past and trying to keep it all straight.
I think a lot of themes get repeated in ME. Háma and his hunters climbing through the blizzard to the eastern ridge does feel a bit like the fellowship climbing Caradhras, though the outcome is much different. Canon only says that Háma was lost in the snow while seeking food. The rest is my own elaboration to fill out the story of how that happened.
In canon, Helm is regarded as a heroic figure by the Rohirrim, and so he may have appeared at the time. Some analysis I've read claims he was less thorough and foresighted as a king. His killing of Freca in 2754 and his subsequent failure to hunt down and slay Wulf and his family can be seen as a deadly oversight that contributed to the later invasion by the Dunlendings. I've portrayed him as more preoccupied with his love of his family and people and a victim of circumstance. He and the Eorlingas were in the way of Sauron's plan to destroy Gondor with an attack from east and west, north and south during the worst winter in history.
Chapter 309 is here, but stay tuned for chapter 310. :)
