Seregrían and the Riders Four have returned to Harwick, and rest one more day before departing for Cliving and their ongoing errantry. As they gather for a shared meal at the Harwick tavern, they are joined by Caeorwulf, who has bitter news to relate. At the will of Lord Harding, he shall rejoin the errand-riders and ride north to Wildermore as planned.
“I know my duty, both to Harding and to Harwick itself,” Caeorwulf tells his five comrades. “But I also would do my duty to my friends in arms. There seems to be so much more of labor to perform, so much more to achieve. But I go where my lord bids me, and that is the way of the Rohirrim.”
“You are a true man, Caeorwulf, and we will not forget it,” Burnoth says proudly, “and we shall carry your comradeship to every corner of the Mark, this I swear.” The others all voice their agreement, and the six friends feast into the night, though retiring early to make ready for the morning’s first light.
All that is, except Caeorwulf, who bids Seregrían walk with him a while. They find themselves atop one of the watchtowers overlooking the Wold, a carpet of stars alight in the sky. As Seregrían gazes at the stars, Caeorwulf unfolds his mind.
“Blodcwyn, I recall your first night in Harwick, and the meeting with Harding. He mocked you by saying you looked no more than a maid of twenty summers – and he was not wrong. To my eyes and others, you are indeed a slip of a girl; but when your true nature comes to the fore, all are amazed, and your legend only grows. But tell me, if you may, just how old are you? I know that the Elves are long-lived, but can you really be that much older than I – than we?”
“Do you see them,” Seregrían replies, “the stars above? Each star would be each summer I have seen.”
“But… but there must be thousands!”
“There are, indeed.”
Silence, then, “Your people are long-lived, and possess lore and dwimorcraft far beyond my understanding. You are so high above us – why are you even here, Blodcwyn? What possible interest could you have in the lives of Men?”
“The interests of all free peoples. A great Enemy threatens all, and I have a task given to me by greater minds than mine: to go out across the lands and render what help I may, and to remind you all that you are not alone in this fight. All shall unite in defiance of the Shadow, in whatever ways and means can be.”
“And your ways are frightening, Elf-maid. You wield power that in our songs belongs in the hands of Wizards, or witches in far-off lands and farther-off tales. But not just death; you bring life as well. I have never known death, up close, until Floodwend and when you found me in that place. And in truth, it leaves me with many questions, and few answers.”
A chuckle. “That is the way of the lore-masters, to open one door reveals three more rooms beyond. Even for those with the ever-mounting count of years.” And she gazes to the stars once more. “I, too, have more questions than answers, except for this: even for the scholar, the learning never stops.” She laughs lightly and smiles at Caeorwulf. “If only my master would have heard me say that now!”
Caeorwulf smiles as well, then continues, “When the student learns, the master laughs, and begins the next lesson. I know that from my training with the sword. Blodcwyn,” he says as he reaches for her hand, “you have taught me a lesson as well. I once never gave a moment’s thought to what lies beyond things, beyond the night, beyond even life itself. But you have let me walk right to the edge of the life Men know, and brought me back to speak of it. I no longer fear it, because thanks to you I know for truth there is something awaiting us beyond this life. I merely have yet to walk that path – but when the time arrives that I must, I shall not face it in fear.”
Seregrían looks at their joined hands, Elf and Mortal – no, she makes herself think, Elf and Man. She turns her eyes to Caeorwulf’s. “It is part of the long lore of the Elves, that the dark was made to be fearful by the Shadow long ago. We Elves love the night for its beauty and peace; but that joy has been denied Men for time out of count. As I told you, no Elf save one has ever walked that path you saw. It is a gift to you, we deem, one in which we cannot share.
“But this, we can share, you and I. Yes, we have walked that path and both returned to speak of it. It is not the most fitting gift I would leave you with, but I see in your eyes it gives you hope – and that pleases me, that you will take that gift all your days.”
“And I shall always cherish that gift, Blod- no, no, let me try: S- Ser- Sair-ruh-GREE-yon.”
And amid laughter, Seregrían and Caeorwulf embrace, this time not out of fear or near-death dreams, but out of something else. Seregrían had found another friend.
The next morning sees the Riders Four ready to depart Harwick and bound for Cliving at last. In their company rides Seregrían astride Dagorlach, and the wolf Warfrost running at her stirrup. Absent from their company is Caeorwulf, who stands among the small crowd at the gate to see the Riders off. Lady Cillan, who stands in the place of Lord Harding, lifts what she calls the “stirrup-cup” to bid the riders farewell.
“Ferthu Eorlingas hal!” she says. “Glad was the hour when the Riders Four came to our aid. Receive this cup and drink to happy hour, and health be to all at our parting!” And as each drink from the cup, she turns to Seregrían. “Glad as well is the coming of the Lady Blodcwyn, whose name races across the Mark swifter than the fire she wields. Ride to renown and a safe return!” Cillan hands the cup to Seregrían, smiling as she drinks in salute.
Leofdag lifts a horn and blows a blast. The Riders Four spur their mounts, Seregrían calls aloud to Dagorlach, and a shivering howl rises from Warfrost. The company explodes into a canter, and they ride out to the cheers of the folk of Harwick to their next adventure.
