It took not the eyes of an Elf to behold the oncoming gloom, groping fingers of brown clouds reaching up over the edge of the world.
The last three days for the city of Edoras have been that of frantic patience. Frantic for preparations for war and the people emptying the city, making for the refuge of Dunharrow; and then patience, as all held ready and breathless for the arrival of Théoden King and the victorious host of Rohan.
The Riders Four, their duty discharged, now seek to join with the host of the Rohirrim in whatever capacity they may. But Seregrían’s next course is uncertain after the encounter of dreams with Gwathwethil, and she seeks counsel with Hutha, who kept watch with her that night. They sit apart from the others as they camped in Harrowdale with the gathering host, many already there and more streaming in.
“You are troubled, that is plain,” Hutha says as he passes a mug of hot soup to her by the fire. “Does the memory of that dream-walk of yours plague you still?”
“Not plagues,” Seregrían replies, “but puzzles. All roads and paths now run to the East, though which twists and turns they take, who can say? My road plainly runs east to the Black Land; but the road of the Riders runs east, then turns to Minas Tirith. Shall I follow your track, for as long as needed? Or shall I strike out on my own, and find a way alone where a host might not go?”
“If my word carries any weight with you, Elf-lass – and this is speaking as one whom they used to call ‘elfling’ as a boy – I would see you ride with the Rohirrim. You should see plainly that any road leading east is fraught with peril, and one who rides alone in this hour plays toss-stones with doom.”
“’Elfling,’ you say! And of course, it would be said in mockery by your kin. But in that spirit, Hutha, your counsel is sound. I shall ride in the swath made by the host, not part of you but following hard by. But what of you and the others? Have you decided what path is yours?”
“Torn minds and hearts, same as yours, I deem. All of us wish to ride to the war, and whatever doom awaits us: Ulf looks for blood, Léofdag for his lost honor; and Burnoth, well, looks for fodder for his horse and for his next tale.
“I do mark where Burnoth sought out the Lord Éomer, seeking to make report and learn his will. Where he goes, we follow, such is the way of it – ah, look! Here is Burnoth now, perhaps he has news?” Both Hutha and Seregrían rise and greet Burnoth, Léofdag and Ulf walking with him, and the five friends gather round the fire, their faces bathed in the deepening night.
“New tidings have come, brothers – and lass,” Burnoth says with a nod and a grin to Seregrían, “and the word is that we ride on the morrow. News has come of an errand-rider from Gondor, and he speaks this night with Théoden King. And I have had words with the Lord Éomer: we shall rejoin his éored and ride in his company. But be ready for even this to change, for the Rohirrim shall have need of scouts, ranging far and wide to bring report on the march.”
“I call these tidings good,” Ulf says, “we have rested well enough, and I prefer a long ride to cooling my heels in Edoras.”
“As do we all,” Léofdag says, then turns to Seregrían, “at least, all of us?”
“Surely, you ride with us, Blodcwyn?” Burnoth says. “For where might you go, or stay, for I had hoped our paths would run together a while longer.”
“You had best not be thinking of riding alone, child…” Ulf says darkly.
“There you are once again with your tender speech, Reaver,” Seregrían teases, and all there smile. “In truth, Hutha here has made up my mind. I shall ride in the wake of the host, with you but not part of you. Well that we have fought as a company, I have no place among your host, nor armor or gear of war to ride with you.”
“Folly, I say!” Léofdag cries. “You, who have cut a path through our foes with light and fire, will not ride with us?”
“Blodcwyn speaks wisely,” Burnoth says. “In such a battle as what awaits us, could she be of use or hindrance to an eored’s charge? Unarmored as she is, she risks the crush and press of close battle.”
“And do you forget what she has already done?” Ulf counters. “Blasting a path through our foes at Hytbold? Standing against the Winged Terror on the Wold? I am of a mind with Léofdag, she would do well to ride in the host to battle.”
“Fools, why can she not do both?” Hutha offers, and all eyes turn to him. “All jests aside, she can do both. Let the four of us ride in the rearguard with her! Even if we are tasked to scout the flank of the march, the five of us will ride as always, do you not see?” Silence, then nods around the fire as Hutha’s word take hold, and Seregrían grins in approval.
“I think this a marvelous idea,” she says. “Let it be so, then; the Elf and the Riders Four go forth!” Hutha holds his hand out over the fire, and one by one the men lay their hands on his; and Seregrían lays her hand upon them all, smiling, and feeling more of a bond with these men than ever before.
The men retire to what rest or sleep they can take, with Seregrían sitting by the fire, watching the flames. Presently she hears her name called; not in the tongue of Rohan but in Elvish, and she looks up to see Elfidis approaching.
“Hail, Seregrían, I thought to find you here in the company of the Riders,” she says. “The news has been passed through the host, that the weapontake and the marshalling is set for dawn tomorrow. I am to remain here, with the last garrison of Harrowdale, for such is my charge. What of you, have you decided your course as yet?”
“Yes, I have,” Seregrían says, “I shall ride with the Riders Four, to whatever fortune shall meet them. Whether as part of the trailing guard, or the scouts on the flank, remains to be seen. But I see you,” she says looking hard at Elfidis’ expression, “and I deem you are not pleased? You wished for me to ride out with the host, and not remain?”
“That is so; but I fear for the children of the House of Éomund. For Éomer, I have no fear; but the lady Éowyn is even now distraught. She endured a bitter parting not a few nights past, and it seems to have sapped her will. And now, she is nowhere to be found; that is why I am here, I was seeking her among the host, but saw you first; and hoped you had news of her.”
“Of that, I have none. But now that I have found you once more, Elfidis, I wished to have words with you. I would leave you a gift in memory of your courtesy and kindness to me.”
“A gift! But what have I done to earn such of the Elves, other than show the courtesy due a guest of renown?”
“Your gift of fair speech with me, your gracious words, and reminding me of what I still need to learn: that among Mortals, there are those of good and kind spirit. And it is also a kindness to me as well. Stay a moment.” And Seregrían lets out a short, shrill whistle and stands still for a moment, when out of the gloom come shouts of surprise and dismay. For the wolf Warfrost now pads quietly up to the fire, looking earnestly at Seregrían. The elf kneels to the wolf, running her hand through his fur and speaking softly in the Elven-tongue, looking to Elfidis, then back to him; the wolf’s eyes also follow to her and he walks slowly to the woman, sitting and looking intently. Elfidis can only stand still, looking at the wolf in wonder.
“I cannot take Warfrost on the roads I must travel,” Seregrían explains. “To ask such a thing of him would be beyond cruel. Dagorlach shall bear me swiftly and sure, but Warfost I commend to you. I have named you, and he shall know you and come at your call. May you and he remain friends for as long as you may run together.” Elfidis sinks to her knees and holds out a hand to Warfrost, and the wolf nudges it with his muzzle; she strokes his fur, and he moves closer. Elfidis can only look up at Seregrían, her face a picture of delight and wonder. She stands and begins to move off, the wolf following in her steps as Seregrían nods a farewell.
The two women would never meet again, but the wolf would remain long in Elfidis’ company. Long years after, when the great events of these years were but a memory, the men of Rohan would speak of the lady known as Elfidis Ulfswoster: Elf-woman the Wolf-sister.
