There wasn't a mound to be raised, as there was no body to bury. And even if there were, the man they mourned was no prince, to be buried in a place of honor, his mound covered with evermind or any other flower. Nor was he a warrior whose mound should be ringed by spears. He was nothing but the son of a crofter, sent over the edge of the wild, far out of his depth. Gone too long in lands too dangerous, with no word heard. His family could not know where he fell, or how, but after so long, they were sure he must have; and though he had never distinguished himself, he was still loved, as any family loves one of their own, and so he would be mourned.
They gathered under the stars, for they knew that he had always loved to gaze up at them. In summer, he slept on the barn roof as often as not, climbing up there to avoid his chores, perhaps, but lingering until sleep took him. They stood together in the field just behind the barn, gathered in a circle around a small fire. It wasn't a funeral pyre; the Eorlingas used none for their own. This fire stood to hold back the chill of winter, to be a point around which to gather in the night, to carry thoughts to the stars.
It was a large family, even for a crofter of Rohan. Four brothers were there, gathered from as far as the Hornburg. Four sisters also; one had ridden even longer, from Brockbridge. Many had their husbands and wives with them, and their children. Two aunts had come down from Woodhurst, and stood now with their sister, and her husband, the patriarch of this gathering. In all, there were more than two dozen souls under those stars. So many for a man of common blood and no accomplishments, but while deeds may gather mourners in number, so too may the bonds of family.
"We don't know what come of Leoffrith," began Leoffler, "only that he were given a quest by the Thane and he did his duty best he could. You might think it cruel that duty called him to do something as he weren't prepared to do. What farm-boy knows how to survive in the dangersome wilds? Why should duty send one there? But that's not what it is to be ready for duty. To be ready for duty means being willing to do what it asks, whether you know how or not. In that, Leoffrith was ready." Onto the fire, he added a handful of pine needles, and watched the smoke as it floated up towards the stars. As it spiraled up, he set a smooth river-stone onto the ground beside the fire.
Heads were bowed. Lithwyn, her leg clumsy with a heavy limp, hobbled forward. "Wherever you're gone, my son, we hope you went in peace, or in glory." She, too, added pine needles to the fire. A breeze carried smoke, and a few sparking embers, over the roof of the barn, before they winked out and vanished into the sky. Another river-stone was placed beside the first.
One by one, the brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, and aunts stepped forward to add pine needles to the fire, and smooth stones to the growing pile, slowly building into a humble memorial. The smoke and the sparks climbed towards the stars. Then they sang together -- not a dirge, but a folk song that he had oft sung on that barn roof, under those stars.
Uncounted leagues away, not knowing that his family had chosen this night or this means to mourn his passing, Leoffrith sat before a fire, under those same stars, singing that same song, thinking of how much he missed his family.
