I am a Man of honour, a Man of my land and ancestry. I am a Man of Rohan. The two always went together, or so I once believed. In days like these I am no longer sure. Bema be thanked, although there have been minor battles and skirmishes a plenty, my people have not seen the full force of open warfare in this generation. At least not yet. There are always orcs, always opportunist Easterlings. There are bands of Men of lesser sorts that are mostly brought to swift justice. But now, a certain few of our Thanes plot against us. In league with a ‘greater power’ most likely, and we do not have to look to the Gap of Rohan to know who it may be. A bitter enemy indeed. One here to aid us, if old tales are to be believed. But truth can be a strange thing, and people do not easily give up on long held beliefs.
I have always wanted peace for my people, the ability to work the good earth and feed our families. To ride out under the sun on this beautiful land and watch our children grow strong and hale. But to keep them safe from enemies, whose force is armies or a lying tongue, that is the struggle.
In the past I have led assaults. I am trained to fight and win. The physical battle holds no fear for me, though I would add, I am not the greatest of our warriors by far. Tactics, that is my forte. But I am also trained, by earlier mentors and by my own love of study, to battle the pernicious lie that would be spread. That we are safe, that Isengard has only our good at heart.
Most easily can I play the fool, the wealthy sop who is so into his cups he cannot know what is happening around him. Some still think of me like that. But the wickedness draws nigh Theoden King. More of his advisors have one end in mind, and serve but one Lord. It is not him. Thankfully we still have Theodred, and Eomer. Both sharp of sword and mind. But I fear this …I fear what may come against them.
So it is I have moved to dwell in the city. To better overhear the making of honourless plans and put a swift end to them is my goal. I know not if I shall be successful, only that I must. There are others too, Elfmar, ever loyal and a close friend is one. I am not alone.
I miss my people. What I do is for them.
This place, these rooms in Edoras are more than adequate. It is perhaps the building most like unto Aldburg in style, and that may well be why I am at ease. That old capital of Rohan has always held a place in my heart. Grey brick and wooden walls, a tiled floor covered generously by thick, red carpets, strong and sturdy furnishings in a draughtless sleeping room, a small hall for guests, and a private study. The fire pit looks as if it will keep me warm on even the coldest nights. I have no servants with me. The fewer who know what I am about, the less likely my purpose shall be discovered. Food is brought from the Kitchen of the nearby Tavern, and I am old enough to tidy up after myself. There is a goodly stock of wine and ale in the hall, and three bookcases, to maintain my image should anyone visit.
My only companion is my Man, nay, my ‘friend’, Ealdbrigt. Loyal to a fault, his cautiousness and his sword has saved my life more than once. He has a room at that Tavern, the better to be accepted among general folk, and to keep an ear open to relevant gossip.
And this is home, for now.
Soon I shall write to another dear to me. Northgyth, a friend since my boyhood, now dwells in a different village. I cannot begin to say how much that pains me. I had always thought she would be in Bancross for my people, for me. The healer and Wise Woman always gave me sound advice. She was always one of the few I could trust absolutely. It seemed that, after she lost her husband and their son, she became more like the Grandmother of the whole village, her greying hair and wrinkles adding to the image. But I know she is safe, and that she follows a path of meaning to her. Alas that I could not see to the peace and safety of all in Bancross. Always some few escaped my eye until it was too late. Hildfrith, the keeper of The Roaring Dragon, comes first to my mind. It is not my place to interfere between a man and wife, but….I had known Paega to be less than honest, to be drawn to unsavoury company, though I had never thought he would put his wife and daughter’s lives at risk.They deserved better than him. Both of them. And then he was no more. For a short time I, we, believed Hildfrith would settle. She worked hard to make the Tavern one of the most welcoming in Kingstead. Her cooking could well have graced any Thane’s table. But life was too much. ‘Her memories of Paega cried out from the walls’, Northgyth said. ‘She had to find peace’. So one early spring morning, she rode away. Her daughter, Bronaa, remained a while, staying with Northgyth herself and with Ymma. In my conceit I like to think she also enjoyed my teachings and encouragement. I had thought, dared hope, she would one day make a fine bard. Then, seeing her pain regarding her mother, I gave her gold coin, and a strong horse, and bid her find Hildfrith again. Little news returned, until one day Northgyth told me Hildfrith was in the town of Bree, having escaped from some Elves? It made little sense to me. Why so far away? What could she possibly have done to be in trouble with Elves? But the main thing was she was alive, and seemingly well. A year after that I was told she was back in the Mark, with Bronaa.
As it happened, Northgyth had told me a few years ago she may have to depart. It was something to do with thinking she had killed Yllfa, the young healer. There was always something different about Yllfa that I didn’t understand, but I trusted Northgyth, and she wanted Yllfa to eventually take over her place as healer and advisor. Northgyth succeeded, as earlier this year, Yllfa returned to her.
Then there was Hertha, our smith, and one of the most talented forgers of weapons I have ever known. She left over being forbidden to apply for a position at Helm’s Deep. She could be headstrong and difficult, but she knew what she was doing. She wanted the same treatment as any Man of her calibre. I should have intervened, and now her skills are lost to us. None have heard from her or of her.
The young widow, Brynleigh, also departed, I know not where. She was a breath of joy and light to many. Alas, I should have done better for my Women of the Mark.
Northgyth sold her house and store in Bancross. She spoke with me of her plans. She has a new home not so far away, but far enough that none of its residents need be troubled by old acquaintances or memories. I understand her actions, mostly. She has room for twelve guests, and seeks to give them space to heal from whatever has afflicted them, be it in body or spirit. I shall aid where I can. Averel the healer? Ha, I think not. But I shall do my bit.
I am obviously no Woman of the Mark, but as I think of my mother, my sister, and those who I have known, I understand their lot in life is no easier than we have. It would be a dishonorable Man who does not acknowledge that, nor treat their woman with regard and respect.
