"Waerhild, why are you getting us lost in this forest, the woods are too dangerous!"

The young man scrambled and hopped his way over log and through thicket but his long stride could not keep up with Waerhild's agile frame. Still, she did slow her pace a little when she saw him struggling. 

"If we wait for morning your brother will already be lost to us. Would you rather I pay a wergild?"

She was coarse, but her words stymied his complaints. His brave foolish brother, far too valiant for his own good, lay dying after defending Waerhild from a dreadful boar. And she may not be the gentlest of women, but Grimhelm knew she felt gratitude and guilt for it. 

"... You truly believe this woman we seek can save him? Who is she?"

Waerhild glanced back at him in momentary surprise, before understanding dawned and she forged ahead. 

"I had forgotten you were not born at Beaconwatch. I will tell you then, the tale of the Wicce of the Eastfold. We should arrive by the end of it."

You must know of the Cunning Women of the Eored? Some say they are the daughters of Sorceresses from before our people came south. Who can know for sure? 

But our Wicce came from the mountains. Her mother, they say, a woman of secrets, a Crone of deep memory whom one could only find if they were lost in the first place. They resided in a cave high up on the peaks, mother teaching daughter and both tending to the mountains and whatever traveler became desperate enough to risk the journey. 

Some say her father was a great hero and a warrior, wounded and found in the snow. Others say he was the lost son of a Thane, offered shelter and enchanted by her mother's wiles. Still others claim he was no one at all, just an ordinary man whom no one remembers. It matters not, it was only mother and daughter in the end and whether he left them, or betrayed them, or suffered a darker end for either, none can agree. 

But our Wicce was said to be even more beautiful than her mother, her grace unmatched by sun or moon. She would come down the mountain to gather herbs for her mother, at times, and on one of her trips she discovered a man beset by bears. He would have been killed, but our Wicce calmed the creatures with her subtle ways and took the man back with her to her mother. 

He survived his wounds, thanks to their craft, and upon waking they discovered he was the son of the Thane of Beaconwatch. Not only that, he had also fallen deeply in love with the Wicce. He wooed her as he recovered and when he was fully healed he begged her to come back with him to be his wife. The Wicce wished to go, but her mother was very old. When she could not persuade her to also come down the mountain she very nearly refused him, but the Crone would not have it. She wished her daughter to be happy.

At their parting, mother gave daughter a final gift of wisdom and prophecy. 'Joy unmeasured will reward your boldness. But so shall you find grief to match it. And when the choice to resist or succumb is offered, remember the land you loved the best. Remember that it loves you also.'

It was a tearful good bye but Beaconwatch rejoiced at the return of the Thane's son and she was received gladly. The Thane's gratitude for his son's safety was great and he blessed their marriage without issue. She was called Eofeya by all, because of her fae gifts and subtle powers and the whole village found reason to be glad for her great knowledge and powers of cures and foresight. 

She had five children, three sons and two daughters, and such happiness she found there with her husband and her family she had never felt before. When her father in law died and her husband became Thane, she took well to her new station. All was well and prosperous for many many years. 

However, as with all things, it could not last. In one dreadful and dark night all was lost and rent asunder. Orcs of the mountains descended upon the village without warning, the beacon not lit or not seen soon enough. Her husband mustered what few Riders he could but he and most of his fellows were slain there. 

The Orcs then fell upon the mead hall and Eofeya, who had been away that night to gather herbs for her tinctures, returned only in time to save her eldest son, Cútha, and his young family. All her other children were lost.

Riders from Fenmarch arrived in time to save the Village but the damage was done. 

They say the Wicce stayed by her son's side for a time. Yet the grief was too great, in the end. She remembered her mother's words and came back to the woods, sought the place she had first met her husband. And here she resides. She gives aide to those worthy of it, but beware. If she deems you unfit or finds some disrespect in your manner, you may leave with even less than when you arrived.

A little candlelight suddenly flickers some way in the distance and Grimhelm squints through the darkness to try and pick out the shape of a cottage. 

"Watch out for the bears." Waerhild cautions as she takes his hand and leads him on a winding path, avoiding the sleeping creatures that can barely be seen in the gloom. They reach the cottage door, the wooden structure twisted and warped by the wind and damp, and all is silent. Grimhelm swallows a lump of fear in his throat, some unknown instinct telling him this is a dangerous place to be.

Still, his brother's life hangs by a thread, he is desperate. 

His fist lifts to rap against the door but ,before he can, the hinges creak and the boards grown and it swings open to reveal... an old woman. 

She is not so bent as one might expect, not so stiff as one might imagine, but her face is a mass of wrinkles and freckles and her hair is as white as snow. Her eyes seem misted, set deep within heavy lids, but they look at Grimhelm keenly all the same. 

"... I hope you enjoyed Waerhild's little tale," she says eventually, her voice rough croaking with age, but still with a powerful tambre. 

Waerhild lowers her gaze and says nothing and Grimhelm cannot find an answer either. Luckily, the Wicce seems to not expect one. 

She is, he realises, dressed for a journey already. Her robes and furs roughly spun but warm and dyed with greens and browns. She also carries a heavy satchel over one shoulder. "Come. You did not disturb my sleep to stare dumbly at my door. What do you want boy?"

"I-..." He begins, before he finds his voice and his courage. "I beg you, please, save my Brother. He is all I have."

She nods, asking no more questions, as if she knew his wish and was merely asking out of respect for procedure. 

"And what will you give me in return for his life?" She asks, and Grimhelm falters, he realises he has nothing to give. 

Thankfully, Waerhild speaks up. "I will pay the price for it, the burden is on my shoulders."

The Wicce snaps her gaze to the young woman, humming curiously for a moment before seeming to accept the terms. "Then we will speak later. Come then. Show me to this fool brother of yours."