In An Age Before – Part 310
From the edge of the precipice, Helluin had marked a Man riding a mule beside the tributary two leagues ere they reached Harrowdale. That forewarning gave her ample time to descend from the Firienfeld and take an ambush position o'erlooking the exit from the canyon. There she waited to challenge the arriving stranger.
Had he borne a shield bearing any of the familiar Rohirric motifs, or had he been riding a warhorse, he would have seemed far less suspicious. Had he winded a horn upon his arrival, she would have deemed him one of the Rohirrim. But a Man hooded and cloaked and riding a mule simply reeked of Dunlending scout.
The Noldo's choice of shooting blind left her invisible to the Man at first, but the mule, having its eyes on the sides of its head, marked her straightaway. It turned towards her and met her eyes with a comically terrified expression. Then she was bombard by a monologue so beseeching that 'twas well 'nigh embarrassing.
Oh please, please, please, hold thy fire…shoot not! I am Mul, a loyal mule of the Westfold who serves the widow Godlic. On loan, I bear Lord Fréaláf son of Eadmundr, giver of apples and sweet hay, who craves audience with Prince Haleth at Edoras. I pray thee, please, do not kill us! And then to himself, Oh Béma, we are going to die! Helluin silently groaned at the creature's histrionics and was sorely tempted to shoot him, simply to end his anxiety.
A moment later, Fréaláf's wits returned as he recovered from his shock and regained his voice.
"Lady Helluin? 'Tis Fréaláf Eadmundrsson," he declared, slowly raising his empty hands and drawing back his hood, "We met at Súthburg ere thou took thy leave for Edoras in Nórui last."
The Noldo recognized him at once, though he was somewhat gaunter for the past months' hardship. Still, she stood, shouldered her bow, and replaced the arrow in her quiver.
"My Lord Fréaláf," she said, offering him a restrained bow, "'tis good to see thee safe. Whyfor hast thou come hither?"
"I bear dark tidings and must speak with Prince Haleth. Things go ill in Súthburg."
This time Helluin groaned aloud, for the king's heir had been dead eight months. Rather than conveying tidings of all that had happened at Edoras though, she deemed his words should come first to Princess Heorte, the only member of the royal house left to receive them.
"Come, my friend, thy people winter at Dunharrow. Let us ascend thither for the completion of thine errand." Her words filled him with foreboding, for aforetime, none had favored that haunted place.
"I have ne'er come thither and the very thought of it chills my blood," he confessed. "I have heard that restless ghosts wander that haunted height and they are the shades of Men accursed."
Helluin nodded to him in sympathy and understanding, yet like the rest of the folk of Edoras, he would come to accept the refuge, hopefully sooner rather than later.
"We have withstood the winter and though none have ventured the Dimholt, none have marked any ghosts either," she told him. Fréaláf looked as if he truly wanted to believe her.
Mul, on the other hand, was terrified. Ghosts? Haunted? Accursed? Oh Béma, we are going to die! The mule then composed a ceaseless litany of similar depressive conclusions the entire way up the Climbing Stair. He continued thus each time Helluin caught his eye and finally she could stand it no longer.
Whyfor art thou so obsessed with ghosts and hauntings, pray tell? she asked, meeting and holding his eyes. Hast thou e'er even seen a ghost?
Indeed so and more than once, he claimed, astonishing the Noldo, or at least I have seen the same ghost many times. T'would seem that all the mountains are haunted.
I bid thee speak to me of this ghost thou hast seen, for all the ghosts I know were Men of the Mountains long accursed who now haunt the Paths of the Dead within the Dwimorberg.
The one I know wanders, she says, seeking she hath forgotten what, but comes to the heights o'er the dell wherein lives the widow Godlic. I see her e'ery few years.
She hath forgotten what she seeks, yet seeks it in the mountains? Helluin asked, just to be sure.
Aye, Mul said, and to me, she seems very sad, dressed in her fine robes.
Doth she speak to thee?
She speaks, but not to me, only bemoaning her missing maidservant and her broken teapot, he said.
When next wouldst thou think to meet her? Helluin asked, a cold chill creeping up her spine.
Next year, or perhaps the year after, Mul said, I am ne'er quite sure and am always surprised.
I see, said Helluin, setting his words in her memory, I thank thee for thy tidings.
He bobbed his head, breaking their connection, but Helluin had heard enough. She wondered if the war would be done in a year and if she would be free to investigate Mul's ghost, for his description left her suspicious. Still, she had much else to do besides waiting in a mountain dell on the off chance a ghost would appear, or perhaps not a ghost, but one half-Faded and too self-absorbed to mark the difference, she thought. Seven hundred and seventy-odd years…huh.
Fréaláf had dismounted and walked up the switchbacks with Helluin as Mul trailed behind. The Climbing Stair was covered in snow, but no more than knee deep, for the constant wind had blown much of it off into Harrowdale. The mule picked his way uphill, surefooted as Godlic had claimed, and though careful, ne'er in danger despite the icy base 'neath the powder.
They said little along the way, for Helluin had made it clear that she was not the one to whom he should say his rede, nor would she share what had befallen his people since Helm had ridden west. That too, she deemed, was a tale for others to tell. Indeed, more had passed 'twixt the Noldo and the mule than 'twixt the Elf and the Man.
The lord from the Westfold had finally thrown up his hands in frustration at her reticence to share, thinking that, whate'er had come to pass, it must be bad for them to take refuge on haunted ground. He then spent the remainder of the ascent with dark possibilities ruling his thought and troubling his mind.
Helluin had wondered whyfor he would come all the way from Súthburg, but she refused to ask, deeming that she would hear 'aught of importance to her after 'twas heard by Princess Heorte. Still, it left her thinking, whate'er had come to pass, it must be bad for him to venture forth alone. His claim of dark tidings and ill doings at Súthburg fills me with foreboding. I wonder if the fortress has fallen, or if Helm King still lives.
When they reached the top of the Climbing Stair, they were met by Captain Heaþolaf, Princess Heorte with the Shieldmaiden Agrona beside her, the veteran archer Beorhtwulf, and several other Riders whom Fréaláf did not know by name. They certainly recognized him, and the shock on their faces was mirrored by his confusion as he sought amongst them for Prince Haleth. As if t'were an ill omen, he marked Heorte's ensign flying o'er a hastily built longhouse of scrap wood. Why not the pennant of the prince? he wondered with foreboding.
Meanwhile, Mul had taken one horrified look at the parallel rows of standing stones marking the Dimholt Road, shaken his head in dread, and immediately stepped off the path as if seeing it would force him to walk thither. He wandered o'er to where he saw the horses gathered, but stood apart with his head down, shivering and silently bemoaning his fate. So stressed was the poor creature that he thought he might vomit.
"My lady," Fréaláf said, bowing to Princess Heorte, "I seek thy brother, Prince Haleth. I bear troubling tidings from Súthburg. As they concern the king and thy younger brother, thou should join him as well."
The gathering regarded him aghast, but Heorte answered.
"Welcome, Lord Fréaláf, to Dunharrow. I thank thee for bearing tidings from Súthburg, but I shall not join my eldest brother, hopefully for many years. Howe'er, as thy tidings concern my father and younger brother, I shall hearken to thy rede. Pray join us in the longhouse."
She began to turn away, but Eadmundr's son protested, for now he was confused as well as frustrated. He needed to speak with the prince, the heir of his king, who seemed to have gone mad.
"Princess Heorte, 'tis rightly thy brother who should hear me as he is our king's heir and next in line for the throne of the Eorlingas," he said. "I pray thee, whither hath he gone? I shall go to him."
"I pray thee joins him not," Heorte said, and then she pointed 'cross the Firienfeld to the edge of the rising ground ascending Starkhorn and the tomb that lay at its feet. "Thither lies my brother the king's heir, slain at the fall of Edoras in mid-Nórui last. Meet him we both shall one day, but let it not be on any day soon. Now come, cousin. I would hear tell of my family."
Then for many moments, Fréaláf stood silent in shock. Dame Godlic, (whom he was now sure was a witch), had searched for omens in her tealeaves, (and this he believed despite Lofain's denial), and she had spoken words of prophecy. I fear that he shall not be king, whate'er else betides. Many surprises await thee in Harrowdale, my lord. Thine errand is necessary and haste is needed.
He had made haste and come swifter than he had reckoned possible. He had indeed found surprises in Harrowdale, and all of them bad. Whyfor his presence was necessary though, and whyfor in timely fashion, those aspects escaped him still and left him with a chilling sense of dread.
"He is dead then," Fréaláf repeated as if to convince himself, and the grim expressions of the Shieldmaiden, the captain, and the Elf added their testimony to the princess' words. He sighed and shook his head, recognizing that only one course was left to him. "My lady, I shall share with thee my tidings, for thou art the sole scion of the House of Eorl in the Eastfold."
Princess Heorte nodded to him and led the way to the longhouse. Along the way, he marked the makeshift stable, byre, fold, and granary set amidst a wood of fir trees, the herd of horses standing 'round cropping winter-dried grass, the flock of sheep, the milk cows, and the chicken coop. In the snow-covered Firienfeld, children built snowmen and forts, or played at snowball fighting with teams boasting, shouting challenges, and laughing together. 'Twas all too normal by far.
Ahead stood the long house, a haphazard construct built of sundry planks and timbers hard by the cliff ascending to the heights of Írensaga. Many cords of firewood were stacked 'neath the o'erhanging eaves. A series of columns of smoke rose from the edge of the roof along the scarp, and as they drew closer, many voices were to be heard from within. After the weeks of privation in Súthburg and his ride 'cross the Westfold, the smell of cooking food was 'nigh too much to bear. He instantly began to salivate, and his stomach rumbled with hunger.
Upon following the princess through the door, Fréaláf was struck by the warmth of many fires and the smells of a great throng of folk packed closely together. His eyes swept the space in astonishment, and he reckoned that eleven hundreds sheltered within. Most stood talking in small groups, whilst others sat or lay on pallets and bedrolls beside the many hearths along the wall of stone, or opposite it 'cross a central aisle. O'er the fires were rigged spits and cauldrons whence came the scents of roasting meats and simmering stews. To his eyes, 'twas lavish as a royal feast in Meduseld, lacking only the kegs of ale, the toasting, the musicians, and the dancing.
They came to a central area where a table was set with makeshift benches on either side. 'Twas for now the council table though the counselors were few; one captain, a couple other Riders, the heads of a couple craft guilds, including Wærferð the mylnweard and Bīetlmære the sawyer of Upbourn, and the sires of several influential families from Edoras. He recognized some of them. They all recognized him. Princess Heorte took a seat and introduced him anyway.
"My friends, new come from Súthburg is my father's sister-son Lord Fréaláf, son and heir of Second Marshal Eadmundr. He bears tidings of my father and brother Háma and the state of the Westfold." She gestured him to a place of honor on the bench at her right hand.
Being still somewhat dazed, Fréaláf bowed to the princess as if he were at court and then seated himself and nodded to the rest of the gathering.
"My thanks for thy hospitality, Princess Heorte," he said, and then turning to sweep his gaze o'er the others, added, "and ye noble counselors. My lady, would thou not rather hear my tidings first in private?"
Heorte snorted gently but resisted rolling her eyes, though Agrona had to stifle a snicker.
"My lord, 'neath the duress of defeat and winter crowding we are not so formal. We are each subjects of Helm King and I reckon thy tidings bear upon us all," and casting a glance about the cramped space, said, "and as thou can see, room for privy councils is rarer than hens' teeth."
Beorhtwulf chuckled and said, "Lord Fréaláf, here there is scarcely room to breathe so that none smell thy last meal." The rest of the gathering chuckled.
He could but nod and begin to recite his rede. In doing so, he structured his words from general to specific and from high to low.
"Very well then, I shall start by saying that it goes ill in Súthburg. Since Narbeleth last we have been constrained within the fortress, and after the quickening of winter, the outer coomb was occupied by the Dunlendings and Corsairs. They have encamped beyond the new trench and dike that lie two furlongs from the Deeping Wall.
Within their leaguer, we have 'nigh exhausted both our rations and our firewood. Starvation haunts the caves and the keep and more of our people die each day. We restrict the heating of the citadel. Our desperation grew in the new year as our fortunes worsened. Finally, in light of our plight, thy brother proposed a daring measure.
During a storm on the night of 19 Narwain, Prince Háma embarked a hunting party of a dozen. They left Súthburg and passed the enemy, climbing to the eastern ridge of Thrihyrne. There they hunted and from the heights, dropped carcasses into the Deeping Coomb for our sustenance. Yet we marked too the appearance of cairn after cairn as Háma's party was reduced, and in the morn of 4 Nínui, we counted ten. Thereafter, no more cairns were stacked and no more meat came. We have seen 'naught since to prove that any still survive. I am sorry, my lady, but we deem the younger of thy brothers lost."
Then the council fell silent, their faces grim, and it seemed a pall fell o'er the folk in the longhouse, though most had been too far to hearken. Princess Heorte sat as if stunned, still and silent, as tears began to run down her cheeks. Beside her, Agrona laid a hand on her shoulder and offered comfort with a gentle squeeze.
To one side, Helluin shook her head, surprised and saddened by the announcement of Prince Háma's death. I wonder if Queen Fíriel felt the same when she learnt of the deaths of her father and brothers in 1944, she thought. At least Fíriel had her family with whom to share her sorrow. And does Helm King still live? Shall Rohan have its first queen, or shall they enthrone the closest male in blood? I reckon that would be Lord Fréaláf…huh.
A couple minutes passed ere Heorte sniffled and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She took a deep breath and then raised her eyes to her cousin.
"Thou hast further tidings, my Lord Fréaláf?" she asked softly, as if afraid that her voice might crack, or perhaps fearful of what she would hear.
With a sigh of embarrassment, he nodded 'aye' and asked, "My further tidings are little less dismal. If my lady prefers, might we adjourn for now to reconvene later at thy convenience?"
But the princess shook her head 'nay' and said, "Heartbroken though I am at the loss of a second brother, I would be loath to accompany my sorrow with doubt. Pray speak thy tidings now and I shall hearken lest my fears quicken and I shirk learning that which I should know."
'Round the table the counselors gave subtle nods of esteem for the princess' strength of will and their eyes regarded her with sympathy atop their own dismay.
Fréaláf bowed his head to her and prepared to say on. The remainder of his rede, he knew, was dire and contained scant hope. Yet already she had borne two blows with commendable aplomb.
After a deep sigh, he continued, saying, "My lady, after deeming Prince Háma lost, a fey mood o'ertook thy father. Beset with the invasion of our lands, the continuing severity of the winter, and the starvation of our people, he took up a solitary campaign against our foes.
Now at night he winds his horn and then ventures forth alone and unarmed, and into the enemy camp he visits slaughter. With his bare hands, he beats Dunlendings and Corsairs to death, and then impales their bodies atop the dike to be revealed by dawn's light.
He seems unaffected by the cold that saps the strength from all others' blood, and he is tireless in his violence. By day he is grim, indeed seemingly resigned to our fate, and then he sleeps. He keeps his own counsel now, asking the advice of none. My lady, we deem he hath taken on the habits of a Berserker. I had hoped that in coming hither; I could beseech the presence of Prince Haleth to Súthburg, which might snap him from his affliction."
Immediately the gathering spoke words of protest. The notion that their king had fallen into the violent madness and unreasoning bloodlust of such battle mania was not acceptable to them. Of course, Prince Haleth was long lost, and 'twas doubtful that he would have abandoned his own duty to sojourn to Súthburg, for his father the king had charged him to defend Edoras.
At the head of the table, Heorte sat with tears renewed and a stony expression on her face whilst Agrona shook her head in denial.
"Surely thou art mistaken, my lord," Captain Heaþolaf cried out. Throughout the longhouse, folk stared at them, straining to hear more.
"Would that I were, captain," Fréaláf said. "I took my leave in the morn of the 8th, following the third night of our sire's campaign. By then, fifteen foemen stood impaled upon the dike. At our fast-breaking that morn, Helm King had wondered if the invaders were Men at all, for having found no food in their camp, they seemed to exist on snow alone.
We deem he reckons this his only way to affect the conditions of the war and the winter, and so our sire acts as he can to fulfill his duty as Lord of the Eorlingas. Whether he hath still hope, or simply rage, we know not."
"He hath been forced to this by grief and privation," Beorhtwulf said sadly.
"Yet if his plight was relieved, he might recover himself," Heorte said after some thought, "and we have store of foods and grains. 'Tis 12 Nínui, and if we could send some victuals to Súthburg within a week, perhaps the winter shall break ere all starve."
Then some at the table felt hope, for in past years, winter had loosened its grip on Rohan in the latter half of Nínui. Yet winter was followed by weeks of dearth and 'twas only by the stored rations from the past harvest that the Eorlingas survived 'til hunting and early foraging could sustain them.
The princess' solution would be a gamble on the weather, and then there was the difficulty of transporting 'aught they sent by the track through the foothills during a time of war. Just descending the snow-covered Climbing Stair with laden carts and teams of horses would be well 'nigh impossible. These realizations slowly took hold in the minds of the counselors and their jubilant expressions faded.
"How many shelter in Súthburg, Lord Fréaláf?" Helluin asked.
"Seven thousands give or take," he said, "twice the count 'twas designed to house."
"My lady," Helluin said after a quick calculation, "we have food for our eleven hundreds to last another three to four weeks. All of it would feed those in Súthburg for but a week on half rations. They are too many for us to buy their salvation with our starvation."
They could all see the heartbreak reflected in the princess' face as she realized the truth of the Noldo's words. She could not save her father and the people in the Westfold even at the expense of those in Dunharrow. And who knew how long this winter would last? Of Fréaláf's hope that her elder brother might have influenced the madness that had taken their king, that possibility too had already been proven fated to fail.
"Would that there was 'aught I could do to comfort my father," she whispered, "yet I can think of 'naught." Then she covered her face with her hands and wept.
Agrona pulled Heorte against her side and with a hand in her hair, urged the princess' head down onto her shoulder. There she held her as she cried for her family and her people, and her own impotence to amend any of their fate's ills. The others lowered their heads to grant her what privacy they could. They too loved their king, but none of them so fiercely as his daughter.
The council adjourned when those gathered dispersed to give the princess time for her grief. Agrona gave them thankful nods at their parting.
Captain Heaþolaf came to Fréaláf and said, "My lord, pray accept the hospitality of Dunharrow and allow me to provide thee a hot meal. Surely thy days afield have seen much hardship."
Though Eadmundr's heir had actually suffered less after taking his leave of Súthburg, he was loath to admit that to the captain and he would not turn down a meal. Instead, he dipped his head in thanks to Heaþolaf.
"Pray lead on captain," he said. "Thy hospitality I accept with much thanksgiving. I deem any hardship I have suffered is the less than what I have wrought with my arrival. Would that I had borne less bitter tidings." He shook his head in sorrow, cast a glance at the grieving princess, and then followed the captain to one of the nearest hearths where a roast turned on a spit.
Helluin also rose from the table, and after offering the princess a dip of her head, took her leave of the longhouse, for the mood within was abysmal. She greeted the cold air with relief for 'twas fresh and like all Elf kind, she felt the chill far less than mortal Men. After the Helcaraxë, no winter impresses, she thought. Then she cast her gaze 'round the Firienfeld to locate the one with whom she would take counsel, for no other could.
Mul, she said silently after capturing the mule's eyes, hast thou found no peace hither?
The poor creature had still been deep in a depressive internal monologue, endlessly ruminating o'er the ghosts, the haunted landscape, and his growing certainty of his pending mortality, all in his mind. As the situation had not changed, neither had his initial reaction, and now he was stuck.
I have not, Mul said, and I can fathom not how any could. In this high meadow, I cannot even flee from the restless dead.
Pray look to the horses, Helluin said, trying to be encouraging. They abide Dunharrow and have done so since Nórui last, and they remain unharmed.
They are horses, he said, as if that explained it all. When the Noldo cast him a questioning glance, he heaved a sigh and added, They are inured to the ways of the herd in which some lead and far more follow. A thing deemed safe by some may be accepted by all for 'tis their nature. Not but a few see any possibilities beyond what lies before their noses.
I see, said Helluin, though no few horses that she had known had seen well beyond the ends of their faces. What of mules?
We are by nature more cautious and reserved, indeed at times suspicious, and given to seeing hazards and threats. We deem that, as parentage has been denied to our kind, we are not numbered amongst Eru's creations. We are not natural creatures, but rather we are the spawn of some darker force…Sauron perhaps, or even Morgoth. That realization informs our character and dictates a more serious mien in our nature lest worse befall us.
All thou say makes sense, I suppose. I had not delved the possibilities, though I recall no mules in Beleriand whence Morgoth was taken prisoner by the Ainur at the end of the First Age.
Sauron then…perhaps he is our creator, Mul said, and he hung his head and sighed.
I cannot recall seeing mules in the Dark Lord's train, nor any serving him in Mordor, only some horses and those ill-treated. Could it not have been Men that first bred thy kind?
Then for a while, Mul was silent as he chewed Helluin's words in his mind. After a while though, he admitted that, Aye, 'tis possible. All those I know serve the Men of Rohan.
And thou served the widow Godlic, Helluin said, to which Mul nodded 'aye'. And wouldst thou favor returning to her service?
For the first time, an expression of hope shaped the mule's features and he nodded vigorously, (making his ears flop as though he were a children's stuffed toy animal).
I would favor 'naught else more. Indeed, I would favor anywhere that is not here.
Helluin nodded to him and said, I shall speak with Lord Fréaláf about returning thee home.
This possibility triggered a well 'nigh embarrassing return to his prior beseeching flood of thoughts.
Oh please, please, please, deliver me from this dreadful place of ill omen and woe! I would not die hither for 'aught, becoming then a ghost accursed and restless. I pray thee, please, please, please, lead me hence! I shall gladly do 'aught thou require. Helluin gave him a nod and broke their connection, and then she strode off toward the longhouse. The whole way, she was snickering at the notion of Isildur cursing a mule.
Back inside the longhouse, she found Lord Fréaláf listening to accounts of the fall of Edoras as he shamelessly gorged on flatbread and stew. 'Round him were gathered Captain Heaþolaf and the Riders Beorhtwulf, Fostercyld, Hroþulf, and Osbearn, each offering comments to fill out the narrative. Of course, tales of battle were a favorite staple of Rohirrim lore and their tradition was oral rather than written, so the telling was a serious matter. Despite his well 'nigh Dwarvish gluttony, Fréaláf still managed to ask many questions and this greatly pleased the Men. Helluin imagined them assuming that their reports would eventually be heard by their king so that deeds of renown could be recognized by the crown.
The Noldo came o'er and joined them, though she shook her head 'nay' to an offer of food. A moment after she sat, Fréaláf began asking for details of the battle from her perspective.
"Helluin, hazard thou a guess as to our casualties?" he asked.
The Noldo nodded and reviewed her flawless memory.
"Seven hundred, six and thirty Riders have fallen in the defense of Edoras, my lord."
"'Tis o'er half of the dozen éoreds assigned to Prince Haleth by Helm King," Captain Heaþolaf clarified. "Seven hundred and four survived, but only six hundred and twelve are fit for battle."
Fréaláf nodded his thanks to them for their numbers agreed, even whilst he rued the outcome of the combat. Soon, that tally led to his next questions.
"How many of the enemy dost thou think fell at Edoras, Helluin?" Again, the Noldo consulted her memory, but the numbers were only guesses.
"Of six thousands, I reckon seventeen hundreds were slain in the East Emnet and the winning of the city," she finally said. "I wager Wulf holds Edoras with as many as forty-three hundreds."
She could not know that the new King of Rohan had deployed twelve hundreds eastward and twenty-two hundreds westward. After losing o'er three hundreds battling on the Climbing Stair in Harrowdale, he had retained a force of only seven hundred Dunlendings and three hundred Corsairs in Edoras at the start of the winter.
In the time since, hundreds had frozen or starved along the Great West Road 'twixt Edoras and the border with Anórien. 'Twixt Edoras and Súthburg two hundred deserters had died of exposure or been eaten by wolves, whilst outside of Súthburg 'neath the command of Gebeor, two thousands were dying or being eaten by Corsairs. On the day of 12 Nínui, eight hundred of Wulf's forces remained east of Edoras and twelve hundreds west of the capital. In Edoras, six hundred and fifty survived, 'nigh half of them intensely dissatisfied Corsairs.
Indeed, the only Dunlendings who were not perishing from the winter were the five hundreds 'neath the command of Eadric who had been ordered to take and hold Aldburg, but he and his Men were a unique tale that shall be told later.
"I ken not how Wulf could support so many through the winter, for ere her departure, the princess bid our folk take e'ery scrap of food and drink from Edoras, and all the animals as well," Captain Heaþolaf said. "I wager he starves there rather than feasts as a king."
"Aye, King Wulf rules a pauper's house," Beorhtwulf chuckled, "for hither rests the royal hoard of Meduseld. He hath no treasure to deal and his Men took no plunder." Then Fréaláf laughed. The Dunlending pretender's victory was hollow.
"He shall be lucky if they do not mutiny and kill him," Eadmundr's heir said.
"Especially if they are freezing and starving," Osbearn added.
"If Wulf's state is truly so dire, then he shall be ripe to fall in spring," Helluin said, "but for now, I feel the need to return to Súthburg. As Prince Haleth can no longer aid his father's plight, I hope to offer some assistance. Lord Fréaláf, I would beg the loan of thy mule, Mul, for he knows the way and yearns to return home."
The others met her words with a range of emotions. Fostercyld, Hroþulf, and Osbearn grinned and stamped their feet, deeming that Helluin meant to visit slaughter on their enemies, and if she did not outright join their sire in his Berserking, then she might render it unnecessary. Their clamor attracted the attention of the princess, still seated at the council table a short distance away. Now she paid them heed and listened with her full attention.
Beorhtwulf and Heaþolaf were both reserved in their enthusiasm, for they were loath to lose the Noldo's prowess if they were to retake Edoras in the spring. The Dunlendings and Corsairs already feared her and her aid would be a great boon to them in battle.
Fréaláf was conflicted. He would be happy enough to have his responsibility to widow Godlic for the mule pass from his hands. It seemed he would have much else to occupy himself with in Dunharrow. He knew less of Helluin's battle prowess and would miss it less, but he knew she could not stave off the starvation that bedeviled his people in Súthburg. Nor could she cut enough firewood to keep them all warm. Indeed, he saw little point in her going thither at all.
Still, Helluin was an ally only, not a subject of the king, and he could not rightly command her. She asked only for the loan of the mule, which was not his to loan in the first place. Finally, he nodded his head 'aye' and left the matter in favor of more immediate concerns. How could he help to ease the princess' grief? What plans could he aid for the destruction of Wulf and the recovery of Edoras?
"I am sure widow Godlic shall be glad for Mul's return. Pray express my gratitude to her when thou meet, for he hath served me well," he said. "I wish thee safe on thy journey west, Helluin. I shall pray Béma that thou can aid Helm King."
Helluin dipped her head to thank Lord Fréaláf and was about to go and prepare her travel bag when Princess Heorte and the Shieldmaiden Agrona approached. In a half-dozen strides, she stood looking o'er the seated group.
"Helluin," she said, "I shall join thee on thy way to Súthburg. With Lord Fréaláf's arrival, I deem Dunharrow has now a leader whom the Riders shall willingly follow in the coming battle at Edoras. I shall go whither I am most needed and whither the call of blood ties demands."
Beside her, Agrona stifled her impulse to protest, but a cacophony of objections rose from the Men. Fréaláf could not believe he was suddenly to trade places with Heorte, thereafter ruling the Riders and refugees on haunted ground he was still uncomfortable abiding. Thine errand is necessary and haste is needed, Godlic the witch had said, and now he understood. He felt like he might vomit.
The captain and the Riders all opposed the last member of the House of Eorl traipsing off cross-country amidst the deadliest winter they had endured, in a vain quest to save her father who had gone mad. There was also a war going on, lest any had forgotten. And if she survived the travel, she would then starve with the rest of the folk of the Westfold, or perhaps die if the fortress fell. In Dunharrow, they were safe.
Helluin too had immediately been against Heorte going and for much the same reasons, but after her plea citing the blood ties of kinship and hearing the objections of the Men, she felt compelled to add her opinion to resolve the debate. The princess had done her duty leading her people to safety, and now she had more right than any other in Rohan to support her king, come what may.
"My lady, t'would be my honor to convey thee hence." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Shieldmaiden groan. "I would leave with the morrow's dawn."
To be continued
Author's Note: This is the first half of the chapter I was intending to post as Part 310, but it grew long and too much time was passing since my last post, so I split it and am posting this section by itself.
Artalicous: Thanks for the review on chapter 309. I'm glad you're continuing to enjoy the story. Chapter 309 was kind of a set-up with the mule having a part to play. The chapter is also a 'reset' to conform to canon that says Fréaláf had taken refuge at Dunharrow.
To be honest, I've departed from canon in a few instances in these chapters. Some sources say that Helm took refuge at Súthburg after being defeated at the Fords of Isen, which makes no sense. Helm had a Second Marshal to hold the fords and the Westfold and Rohan had been also been attacked from the east. He shouldn't have been at the fords in time for the initial Dunlending/Corsair assault unless he'd been forewarned, and I've never read anything about that happening.
