The sun has already dipped behind the Misty Mountains and the lands are settling into shadows as Seregrían approaches the gated entry to Stangard, the northernmost town of the Men of Rohan. She is hailed by the watchmen, who bid her stand and approach no closer. A man approaches with a lantern and calls to her in the tongue of Rohan which she cannot understand more than a few words, such as “Dwimordene”, the name of Lothlorien to these people.
Thinking on how to approach the problem, Seregrían reaches for the parcel of Lorien, and produces an object which flashes in the lamplight, a fist-sized piece of etched silver shaped in the likeness of a horse running free: the symbol of Eorl the Young, the first King of Rohan. The man’s eyes widen at the sight, and he looks closer at her, finally speaking the Common Tongue in a heavy accent.
“You bear a token of Eorl the Young, a time-honored sign of friendship. I see you now, maiden, and know that you are an Elf as well! Such a thing has not happened within memory, that a visitor from Dwimordene should seek to approach us. Sabert is my name, and I bid you welcome to Stangard. Our laws of hospitality are less than of old, for I can offer you neither sup nor bed; but speak as you may with the keeper of the keys to find better greeting. Cynrec is his name, and he stands within.”
Seregrían notes his manner of speech and replies in kind. “I thank you, Sabert of Stangard, and I accept your hospitality. Seregrían is my name, and I indeed come lately from the Golden Wood to pass into your lands. Point me to where I might find Cynrec of the Keys, and I shall be your guest.”
Following Sabert’s directions, Seregrían finds herself at the great lock-house south of the gates, where she introduces herself to Cynrec; he stares in amazement at her, as does each person she meets along the path to the great Mead Hall, the largest and most important building of the town. There she is introduced to the two chief men of Stangard, Stanric and Sithric. Sithric is an envoy of the King of Rohan, from the capital of Edoras far to the south. Stanric is Captain of the Garrison and by right the leader of Stangard. The men are loyal and bound by honor to the King, but under their breath and in whispered tones the men of Stangard are troubled.
“Sithric came recently and naught but trouble has been our lot since his arrival,” the whispers tell. “Food is low, and spirits are lower. The animals suffer hunger and want as we do. Fell beasts encroach on the gates, and none may even go forth to hunt or gather from the fields – fertile lands we have, but there must be crops before there can be food, and we shall soon have neither.”
Seregrían is appalled at the conditions the folk endure. “If the hands of Men are bound,” she declares, “then the hands of an Elf shall serve.” And for the next two days, she secretly sets about labors to aid the struggling Stangardings, from the littlest things such as finding fodder for the animals and sowing seed for crops, to scouting the lands from the towers or riding across the moors. The men and women of the town look on in growing respect, and her name is praised in the paths and even the tavern – until the men loyal to Sithric begin to dog her footsteps.
Then comes the abrupt news: Stanric is dead! Rumors and accusations fly like banners in a stiff wind, and tongues wag against Seregrían, saying the Elf somehow caused his death – and any she helped along the wayare equally guilty. Sithric’s rule descends from arrogance to tyranny, and many loyal to Stanric flee the town. Seregrían seeks out Gadda, Stanric’s loyal guard, as well as Sabert and Cynrec, the two Men she met first, and begins asking questions of the townsfolk.
The intrigue rapidly unravels under Seregrían’s shrewd questioning. Cynrec reveals the plot in defiance of Sithric; Stanric was imprisoned in secret so that Sithric could usurp the town to his corrupt efforts. Sabert has kept up a pretense of loyalty, to pass news along to Gadda who has organized resistance outside. Seregrían has learned enough. After first sending news to Gadda, she accompanies Cynrec to the lock-house, and frees Stanric. After rallying the men who are still loyal, both Stanric and Seregrían force Sithric’s hand at the Mead Hall with what remains of his following.
“Why have you weakened our town, Sithric?” Stanric demands of the usurper. “You took delight in corrupting and starving us out – I would know why!”
“You defy the will of Theoden King, Stanric,” Sithric replies, “and as bad as that is, you also allow this Elvish outlander free reign to interfere. Depart from us, maid, and meddle not in the affairs of your elders and betters!”
Too late, does Sithric realize his peril. All the men back away as Seregrían holds Dondangol before her, her eyes suddenly glowing white, the air in the hall becoming heavy as an approaching thunderstorm, her voice dropping dangerously low.
“Mortal fool, you are most definitely not my elder. As to my better: it is you who corrupt the lives of Men, with your lies and your treachery. You are revealed to be the vermin, the candle which shall be put out, you and all who follow you!”
“You threaten me in my hall? I will not tolerate this!” Sithric shouts to his men. “Take her, take them all! Kill them if you must!” Sithric’s men move forward – but not before Seregrían screams:
“Naurmenel dan i guid nin!!” (Lightning be to mine enemies!)
And the hall erupts in light and noise, smashing bolts coming from out of the air in a blinding flash of power, each of Sithric’s men wreathed in blue fire seeming to come from both Seregrían’s staff and eyes. Only Sithric now stands, quaking in terror as Seregrían stalks slowly towards him, her eyes aglow with white fury, her voice almost sultry behind a vulpine grin.
“Know this, baseborn. I am Seregrían, the Blood-queen. Is it your will to feel my fury, to slake my thirst? Then provoke me. Please.” And Sithric, his face a mask of horror, falls to his knees in surrender.
“It is over, my friend,” Stanric says firmly, laying his hand on Seregrían’s shoulder but dreading the sight of power uncloaked. “Stangard is free, and the folk owe this victory to you, Seregrían. You shall be welcome here with open arms, for as long as you wish. And should you depart from us, the gates of Stangard will always stand open for you.”
Seregrían slowly commands herself and lets out a deep shuddering breath, her eyes slowly fading from gleaming white back to silver, then grey. “Thank you, Stanric. I am glad to have freed the folk of your town from this man’s will. But I would learn and know you better, free and prosperous as you shall be once more. By your leave, I shall guest with you for a little while yet.”
“And the more pleased we all shall be,” Cynrec joins in. “Stanric, let us open the stores and give a feast to honor our Elvish deliverer. We shall drink your name, Blood-queen – westu Blodcwyn hal!” And the Stangardings echo the glad shout, westu Blodcwyn hal!
