The clouds were racing across the sky, like a drawn out white fluffy hunt of horses, riders and hounds, Bronaa thought. She stroked back her hair from her forehead and smoothed it behind her ears, tipping her face up to the thin morning sunlight. The cool wind was about her face as she delighted in taking larger than usual breaths. Ah, it felt good after the storm clouds, the gray and red sky of battle. There was still some darkness on the far western horizon, but it seemed to be diminishing before the growing light. Blinking her eyes at the brightness, she really could see Bema giving chase to the enemies of her people, in her mind at least.
“Chase that darkness away please, Bema,” She said out loud, to herself.
Only she wasn’t alone.
“A good morn to you, Bronaa”, came an unknown man’s voice. “And praise to Bema for the excellent work he is doing.”
She turned hesitantly.
It was the Thane.
The girl made a swift glance around, to see if anyone else would come to her rescue, but none were in sight save some guards at the Garrison, about their duties. There was nothing for it but to hope Thane Averel would have mercy on her.
“My Thane,” she mumbled, making as good a courtesy as she could in the circumstances. “Please forgive me. I did not know the bowl was yours.”
Bronaa’s thoughts were on the night of the battle, when Sergeant Thilwend had come across her clutching the mithril bowl to her chest, and said it was the very one Thane Averel was desperate to find.
She really had not known it was his. And now she would face his wrath?
Surprisingly she was answered by an amused but kindly laugh.
Averel waved a hand, indicating she should rise. “Less formality please. I am Thane of Bancross, not Bema himself.”
The girl realised she was trembling. It took all her will to stop and nod her understanding.
The Thane smiled back with equal understanding. Garbed in an informal but well made robe, he was taller than many, but of a more boney build than most. He looked older than her father had been, and was definitely more self-assured.
She hesitated, sensing no anger or threat from him.
“I am pleased to finally meet with you,” he continued, holding out a hand to her. “You did no wrong girl. Indeed, you may be one of those whose action saved Bancross, and as such, deserve my thanks.”
Bronaa gasped. Such….friendliness? She could not quite believe it. She took the long fingered hand in a momentary clasp.
Now Averel had walked up behind her from the Garrison and was heading uphill, as she herself was. “Where are you walking to, Bronaa?” he asked. “Is it to aid your mama in the Roaring Dragon?”
She nodded, embarrassingly open-mouthed as she pondered the thought of useless Bronaa being one of those who saved Bancross. No, that could not be right.
“I heard you and she had decided to stay with Waelden and his family for a short time,” he continued, looking up to the sky, and that rim of darkness himself. “That is understandable after recent events. But things are improving now. I hope in due course all will return to their homes again. And I must pay a visit to the Tavern soon, to taste some of your mama’s famed mutton stew.”
Snapping out of her stunned frame of mind, Bronaa finally remembered whose daughter she was. The words did not tumble from her mouth as easily as from her mother’s, but she was Hild’s daughter.
“Thank you, Thane Averel. You are right, I got to help mama prepare food for the garrison, and for any who cannot cook for themselves yet. Seldis will be there soon as well. We serve Bancross and yourself as well as we may. And of course you are very welcome at our humble tavern whenever you care to visit.”
The Thane seemed most patient with her. His blue eyes twinkled a bit at her change of demeanor, and he scratched his nose. “Well in that case, will you permit me to escort you to your door?” He made a slight bow himself. “I would speak with your mama about provisions, and how much food she has left. I would also speak a little with you before you go to work.”
The girl nodded once, remembering again whose daughter she was. “Of course sir. We are running short and can only offer pottage or a little bread to most, but mama’s pottage is the best.”
So it was that Bronna and the Thane walked up the hill from the Garrison to the Tavern. Ethel grinned widely, and waved at them as she rode past on Roan, a little late for her own work at the Forge.
‘Just wait till I can tell you about me saving Bancross’, Bronaa thought, giving a wave to Ethel in turn.
“There are many folk whose contributions led to our victory the other day, Bronna.” Averel seemed to be reading her mind. “The soldiers of course, the healers, those villagers who took up arms, those who put out fires…and then there are others, less or unrecognised. But I and a few others know what you did.”
“I did nothing sir. I had left a few things at the Dragon when the battle started, and did not know if the place would be standing after. Just an old, eh… toy, and the silver bowl, at least that is what I thought it was.” And the sudden sense of being ‘special’ was gone. “Ohh…” With a cool flood of realisation, Bronaa was herself again. Fated to be of help, aye. But a heroine she was not.
“Alright then,” Again that good humoured chuckle. “But I will say now that you most certainly helped me, and I hope we can become friends? For you rescued something I have searched for over half my years. I am in your debt.”
Friends with the Thane? She realised of course he did not mean friends like she and Ethel. She wondered why by all that was good he would want her as a friend? “I don’t know him yet”, she told herself. “Few of the villagers know him as anything other than an absentee Lord who didn’t bother with us.” Yet that knowledge did not sit well with the actual person walking with her.
“So Sergent Thilwend told me she found you and your mama outside Waelden’s house, clutching the bowl near the impaled Criba!” He broke the short silence. Then he made a face.
“That goat! He will be a bigger hero to the people than even Denholm soon.”
And they both laughed, knowing the goat in question, as they drew near the winding tree-lined path down to the Tavern.
“In all seriousness, you had good fortune with you. Criba would have easily slain you both for what you carried.”
“Criba grabbed me as I ran up this path, sir. In the confusion of heading for the Mead Hall, others did not notice I was in danger. And the others were pushing to the Mead Hall. Then mama was there and she flew at him. He had a knife to my throat and he took us downhill to Waelden’s place, muttering about ‘The other one’.” Bronaa halted to catch her breath. She looked to the ground and her face reddened a touch with shame. Then she stomped a foot. “I know nothing of ‘the other one’ and I am so very fed up with being taken captive.”
Laying a hand gently on her shoulder, Averel also paused for a moment. “I am sorry you were drawn into this matter. It should not have happened if I had had my wits about me. You and your mama deserve better. But as you are involved, I would like to tell you a story, something of our history, before we go in to meet her.”
There was something most earnest in Averel’s words, and a tale of the past did intrigue her. Surely her mama would not mind her being a little late, under the circumstances?
So Thane and girl took seat on the warming grass, both taking occasional looks at the billowing dark clouds on the horizon, though reassured by the growing golden glow of a fairer day breaking through. Those few who passed by gave them strange looks, but would not question Averel, so moved on. Hildfrith herself came out to look for her daughter, saw the situation, and hurriedly returned to her own work.
And this is what Averel told her:
“That mithril bowl is connected to an event nigh the very founding of the Mark. You will know of Eorl at the least, aye?”
She nodded. Of course she knew that.
“Well you may also know that before we lived here, our ancestors, the Eotheod, dwelt in the north, near to Mount Gundabad, in Framsburg.”
“Aye, Thane Averel. My papa (she halted a moment) told me of that, and of them travelling south in the time of King Eorl in answer to Lord Cirion of Gondor’s call for aid.” Did not all know that part of their history, she thought.
Averel frowned slightly. “I see. You will be teaching me before I know it. And all is as you said. But here is the part many have forgotten. It was a 950 mile ride for the Eohere from their homeland to Gondor. On the way they passed by the great wood, the Mirkwood, and nearing the south of that wood….” He paused a moment in case Bronaa would surprise him with the rest of the account, but the girl had already stated all she knew of history.
“...south of that wood, they moved as far to the west as they could. They would avoid being close to a place of much evil, Dol Guldur it was and is named.”
Bronaa shook her head. She had never heard that before. “Some elf magic?” She did not know much about Elves either, but her mama and others sometimes spoke very warily of them. Then she remembered. “The Witch of the Golden Wood perhaps?”
“So some would name her. But no. She is no witch, and the Golden Wood is not Dol Guldur.”
“She is still alive?” With a gasp, Bronaa recalled that many said the elves lived forever. That was something unthinkable.” Why, that would be like us walking round Bancross with Eorl himself!”
Averel smiled a little. The girl was doing well. Such matters as this did not interest many, not even the full grown.
“Indeed, Bronaa. For our kind that thought is a little…unnerving at the least. They are very different to us, but most are not unkind. And I will explain in part why I know this.”
Settling down, almost as a bard or storyteller would, Averel started on the story proper. His eyes glazed slightly as if he were living in the tale. “Now as the Eohere moved further south, a great mist came up from the west and surrounded them. Some of the horses grew restless, as did some of their riders. There was something strange about that mist. But Eorl spoke forth, that they would not turn aside, nor let some river mist halt them on their way to give aid. Some spoke a little otherwise, but as they continued to ride, they could see the mist was driving away the darkness from the place of Dol Guldur. It seemed they were hidden, shadowed from the darkness by the white walls of the mist, and that even the sound of their mounts hooves was muffled. Some still were anxious, but Eorl’s mount, Felarof..”
“Oh aye. Felarof!” Bronaa’s enthusiasm broke the Thane’s concentration for a moment. He blinked once, but did not bid her to be silent.
“Well Felarof moved ahead swiftly, sensing no ill, nor threat. And the other horses picked up on his renewed mood and also strode out at some speed.”
“I do not know if our riders would be happy with such a situation these days, my Thane. Anything unnatural is to be avoided most say.” the girl spoke up.
“So they do. But indeed the riders and horses found their strength renewed so they rode on swiftly for two further days. But on the third morn, the mist was gone. They awoke to see that they were far nearer their goal than any could have hoped. And so they arrived in good time to bring the needed help to Cirion, and passed whatever lurked in the darkness of Dol Guldur unhindered.”
There was silence for a moment, then Bronna said “It was the elves helping them, wasn’t it?”
“So some would say. Others held it to be a convenient river mist. But I know the truth.”
Sitting sharply upright, Bronaa was torn between mistrust of anything elvish, and wanting to believe there was some truth to their magic.
“Please tell me.”
“What is known by only a few is that three of the leaders of the Eohere dreamt that last night that three elves had walked out of the mist to them, each bearing a Mithril bowl from their wood. A ‘gift’ they said, from their Lady, for the trust shown. A token of her aid past the great darkness, and one that could be used again against any great darkness at great need. When they woke, the bowls were on the grass beside them. One of those men was an ancestor of mine.”
Bronaa was silent for a moment, taking in the tale and marvelling at it. She trusted Averel. It was not something he had made up.
“So I helped because that mist we had in Bancross, you were able to summon it?”
“Aye,” the Thane replied. “I am a student of our history, and of our tales and legends, as was my father before me. I seek to protect us in any way I can. Though I am well versed in the use of a sword or spear, sometimes other ‘things’ can give us an advantage.”
Bronaa traced a rough image of the bowl on the grass, she thought for a moment. “Thank you for telling me, my Thane.”
“I owed you that much at least.”
“Can I speak to others of this?”
“I lay no condition upon you,” Averel replied, with a wry note to his voice. Speak as you will of the Eohere, and folk will marvel at your learning. But I would caution on anything elvish, or concerning the bowl. It would be better if you only speak with me of that. But now I must ask you a question. How did you find the bowl?!”
There was no mythical tale she could tell to make the finding sound important. And at heart, Bronaa was one for telling the truth.
“It was in a pile of rubbish from the brewery, Thane Averel,'' she stated.”From the condition I think it had been used as a spitoon.”
And Averel covered his face with his hands. “Under my nose, all this time?”
He rose to his feet, bidding Bronaa do likewise.
“Well, now we must go face your mama, and you to do the work in the kitchen and I see how I can be of aid with supplies. I will go and speak with the Brewery owner later. It may be I can learn more. But you have been an excellent student this day, and shall find a reward at Waelden’s house on the morrow.”
It had been an overwhelming morning for Bronaa. She was almost happy to get to the kitchen and be about everyday tasks of peeling and chopping onions and the last of the dried carrots. Her mama was talking with Averel in the main room, and she was aglow with her new secret. It was only as she put the cauldron of pottage over the firepit to simmer away that she started to wonder if the Thane knew what ‘the other one’ could be?
(( Information on the Ride of Eorl taken from ‘Unfinished Tales’ Chapter 11, Cirion and Eorl.p 383 -388))
