McGraw 23

No one quite knows what lives through the plains of Rohan. More than just plants and animals. And what about the lands past Rohan? Rivendell? What secrets lie there? Who knows what discoveries will arise on this journey…

There was a buzz about the city. Everyone talked quietly to their friends and family, trying to figure out what King Théoden was talking to his Riders about in the Golden Hall, Meduseld. He had called them early around dawn, but now it was nine o’clock and the rest of the village was awake.

Winter was turning into spring, and frost licked the budding flowers through Edoras. Still water had frozen overnight, and the sun was beginning to thaw it out. The ground begun to soften after being frozen the preceding night. Unkempt children woke to collect the eggs form the laying hens, the women began to prepare breakfast, worrying about their husbands in the meeting. The remaining men stood and talked outside, discussing, and conversing with one another.

“It’s another war I tell you!” said one.

“That’s ridiculous! It’s got to be the change in seasons. Maybe the king’s worried about our crops.”

“You both are mad! Why would he worry about that, when he has a successor to choose? Théoden’s growing old, so he’s choosing a prince, since Théodred died…”

“God rest his soul,” a chorus of sad voices prayed.

“Théoden wouldn’t do something like that now. He’s probably just planning some construction or something simple, like that.”

“You’re probably right, Bromin.”

“Maybe.”

“Look! The doors are opening! The king is coming out! The king is coming!” someone shouted. And sure enough, the large wooden, gold-laden doors heaved open. A Rider stepped forward as the villagers rushed out into the village center, and yelled, “All hail Théoden, King!”

The people bowed down quickly in a wave of respect, and so they could hear the news as soon as possible. After seeing that everyone paid their respects the guard stepped aside, and King Théoden walked to the front of the magnificent structure.

It was built years before anyone in the village was born, by their Anglo-Saxon ancestors to honor Eorl the Grey, a master horse-tamer. Eorl started the Rohirrim’s high respect of horses in the first place. There was many hand-woven flags inside the hall, hanging on the walls. Twenty years ago, the townspeople had to rebuilt part of Meduseld after a attack from Wildmen burnt part of the straw-thatched roof. Giant beams of wood held the hall up, from what trees they felled to chop them is a mystery, as the plains of Rohan host only plants, and some brush. The door was almost completely gold, melted into the heavy wood.

He stared out over the crowd for a moment, then announced in a booming voice, “Ten of my Riders are riding to the Elven haven Rivendell tomorrow, Sunday. They are bringing back something I know no one will be able to wait any longer for.”

He stopped, and again scanned the crowd, smiling, and knowing the torture the peasants were going through.

He lingered another moment then began, “There, each Rider will receive two war stallions. All twenty will reside here, and be trained with the legendary Rohirrim expertise.”

A hushed gasp of excitement swept the crowds. Some small children cheered, but their mothers quieted them, and everyone waited to hear the king speak again.

He cleared his throat, and explained, “They will return some time before next Sunday. The journey is long, and stallions, especially war stallions, are a burden. They were invited to stay in Rivendell for one night, most likely Tuesday as they will spend the entire day riding in order to get there before Wednesday, and then the rest is hard riding through Rohan. Only ten Riders are leaving, so you will be protected against anything on this Middle Earth. With the Riders, Edoras is impervious!”

The villagers rose to their feet and roared with exhilaration. They knew the Riders’ were trustable, they’d saved the village in the past. Everyone knew how exposed they were without an army to protect them. No one had any real training for battle except the Riders, and they were treated with respect and honor.

A movement of Théoden’s hand quieted them in a moment. He continued, “The ten Riders that will be going are as follows: Turin, son of Durin; Fingrin, son of Gorthaur; Obrion, son of Owen; Sannyn, son of Sanwéa; Lur, son of Purr…” One by one, each warrior came out of the hall, and knelt on one knee, head down, facing the king on either side. “And finally, Alatar, son of Arien. My people, ten of your Riders.”

The ten stood up and faced the townspeople now. Everyone cheered, and clapped, and whistled, and screamed names, war chants, and encouragement to the lucky warriors. King Théoden turned around and walked back to his golden hall, and the soldiers followed him, one last soldier shutting the door behind him with a loud bang.

۞

Everyone in the village rejoiced for a moment on the arrival of new war horses, then continued their normal, daily lives. One maiden was left leaning against a lamppost in the town center, still facing Meduseld. Her name was Fréa, and she wore a pretty morning gown, suitable to go outside. It was red, and cream colored, with silver embroidery down the front and around the collar. Her long, sun bleached blonde hair drifted around her body, and she sighed and walked over to a basket she’d forgotten by the hall steps to pick it up.

She then walked to a small cottage, and knocked once. Strolling inside, she didn’t hesitate to step inside and greet the family, everyone doing something to prepare for breakfast. Cries of joy lift up and a small boy and girl ran up and hugged her dress, excitedly.

“Hana! Dareling! I missed you guys! How are the hens laying Hana?”

“I found twelve eggs today, Fréa! That three for each hen,” the small, five-year-old girl shared proudly.

“That’s wonderful! Dareling, what are you working on now?”

Scurrying over to a kitchen counter, the middle son pulled a drawing notebook out and hurried back to show Fréa: “I was gonna surprise you when it was done, but oh well.” On one page was a partially done open horse stall, showing a beautiful stallion inside, sketched in charcoal.

Gasping, Fréa cried, “Oh Dareling, it’s beautiful! Are you sure you drew this?”

The boy nodded his head shyly.

She smiled, and complemented, “I love it. You show me when it’s done, OK?”

“I will. Are you staying for breakfast?” he asked, making room on the cluttered dining table.

“No, I’m sorry. I just wanted to drop this off for your parents. Where are they? And Harswi?”

“What do you have? Is it for us?” Hana asked, peering into the wicker basket on tiptoe.

Laughing, Fréa tickled the little girl and replied, “No, it’s just boring stuff. Just fruits and vegetables. Oh! And something else…”

Eyes widening, the children nearly jumped up and down and begged, “What is it? We’ll be good! Promise!”

“Promise to be good? For your parents?” Fréa solemnly asked.

They nodded their heads energetically.

“Open your mouth, and close your eyes and you will get a big surprise.” Dareling and Hana each stuck their tongues out, and squeezed their eyes shut. Fréa secretly placed a sugar cube on each child’s tongue, shutting their mouths closed with a tap of the hand under the chin. They giggled, then squealed when they realized their sweet treats. They said the best ‘Thank you’ they could with a cube in their mouth, hugged Fréa again, and ran off to the back yard.

As they ran away, an older boy, the eldest of the three children, about fourteen-years-old, stepped over the threshold, and smiled when he saw Fréa. “Hullo, Fréa. Do you need something?”

“Hi Harswi! I just wanted to drop off these vegetables for your parents. And this for you,” she said as she pressed some hard candy into his hand, and closed his rough fingers around the candy. “Special made for the horses here. My stallion, Alcar, doesn’t like his candies, so you can have all of his.”

“I don’t know where my mother is, but I’ll be sure to give her the basket. Thank you. Can you stay for breakfast?”

“No, I expect the king will need some advice or something like that from me. Silly job, really. Advisor to the king. I’m so glad it’s working out though. Hey, I bet you’re pretty excited about your father being picked as one of the ten Riders,” she said, trying to change the subject.

“Yeah, I only wish I could go, too, “he answered longingly, eyes looking down towards the floor, upset, and lonely

Putting a hand on his shoulder, she consoled, “Keep training, and one day you’ll be a Rider, too. You can come help me in the stables some day, when you have time. I’ll try to get over here to show you something new one of the stablehands taught me. Make sure you keep up with school, now.”

Harswi rolled his eyes, and replied with a smile, “I will.”

“Well, I better get going. Tell your parents I said ‘Hello,’ and if I don’t see your father, before he leaves, give him my, ‘Congratulations.’ Bye, now!” and she headed out the low door. She heard Harswi call, ‘Bye, Fréa,’ as she shut the door gently.

۞

She entered the hall through the stable entrance, breezing through to check on Alcar, her war stallion she saved last year, and to give him a few sugar cubes, a treat he did like. She went straight to her room, and started to change into the clothes set out on her enormous, blue canopy bed. The gown she wore now was layered with many shades of earthy browns, and creams. The inner material was rough, but very warm. The outer layer was a magnificent dark brown silk cloak. Hanging from her neck was a deep purples stone amulet, accented by a milky marble backing. Her earrings were a small purple jewel lain upon a ‘log.’ She walked to her bathroom in the next room of her suite, and picked up a hairbrush. She brushed her hair, and then Laura and Alice, her maids, came and Laura meticulously tied her hair up into a stunning braided bun. She still wasn’t used to having the maids yet, and thanked them, graciously.

The sudden change from living in a busy household with little money, to having her own suite was unexpected, but enjoyable. Her new position as advisor to the king had allowed her to live in Meduseld in luxury. She still brought food to her family in Edoras, and sent money and foods back to her real family in the mountains.

Fréa checked her appearance in the mirror, and brushed back a strand of hair away from her face. She then gathered her dress up, and headed down the hall towards the dining room to see the king. On the way, she bumped into Hammond, the children’s father, who was hurrying to the meeting.

“Suilad Hammond! I so glad you were picked to go to Rivendell,” she exclaimed as she hugged him joyously.

Overjoyed to see Fréa, he gave her a gentle hug, and replied, “Fréa! And thank you! I’d never thought Théoden would pick a simple guard, I’m barely a Rider! Anyways, the meeting’s about to start, and King Théoden was looking for you, can I take you there myself?”

“I’d be honored, my lord,” she joked.

He took her arm, and they walked to the common room, where the meeting was being held. There she met up with the king, and he told her to sit down to the right of himself. Hammond, to keep her company, sat on her other side.

The meeting digressed, and Fréa put in a comment whenever she could. They discussed what to do in Rivendell, and what the Riders’ might expect form the elves. The more Fréa heard, the more excited she got, until she remembered she wasn’t going. Her brother had taught her a few months worth of conversational Elvish, and she thought it was a beautiful language. One day, a messenger from Mirkwood, another Elvish civilization, came to Edoras on an Elvish mare. Fréa was amazed at how fit, and still beautiful the horse was, despite the long travel from the Dark Woods. All she could think about now was how much longer she’d have to wait to see the new stallions in the stables, alongside her Alcar.

۞

The city was pandemonium the next morning. People, all sorts of Riders, villagers, stablehands, hurried everywhere, frantically trying to get many different things done before the departure. The horses were untouched for the first hour or so of preparation, they seemed so negligible, they were most likely forgotten. Then, someone realized that the horses weren’t even tacked yet, so the villagers, and stablehands sprinted down to the stables, nearly scaring the steeds to death.

After three hours, the Riders were ready to leave. Fréa was helping the entire time, and took her spot on the stone patio in front of the hall, waiting for King Théoden to arrive to see the company off. When he didn’t arrive for some time, she walked into the Golden Hall, Meduseld, puzzled.

There she found him, pacing back and forth along the feasting tables, muttering to himself and yelling at the nearest maid whenever he passed her. Startled, Fréa calmly walked towards him, and tried to figure out what was happening. The maid tried to speak to Théoden to tell him Fréa had arrived, but he exploded at her, rushing towards her, and yelling down into her face. Fréa ran to him, and gently pulled him away. He looked relieved to see her, and sat down on a bench below the nearest table.

“Fréa, I need help. One of the Riders, Obrion, refuses to leave. His wife is very sick and is dieing. I need to send someone else out in his place, but they were my most trustworthy Riders and guards. What should I do?” he explained at length.

Thinking quickly, Fréa answered in a soothing voice, “My lord, you made a wise decision to let Obrion stay. These are hard times for him. Now, think about which of your Riders you can depend on.”

The king sat deep in his seat, immersed in thought and emotion from the stress of the morning, and the stress of the decision he had to make. Suddenly, a light came into his eyes and he smiled and whispered, “You. I trust you.”

Horrified, Fréa was dumbfounded. “But…but…my lord, I’m not a Rider. You know that! You can’t pick me!”

Nearly laughing now, Théoden just repeated, “No matter, I pick you. You can take Alcar, of course. He can handle the ride, and so can you. You must go, for me. You know you want to go to Rivendell.”

The look in his eyes convinced her to make the final decision: “Alright, if I must.”

Théoden cheered, “That’s a good girl! Hurry and get dressed, everyone else is ready to leave. I’ve have someone get Alcar ready for you. Go get changed now.”

“Yes, my lord-“

“Oh! And Fréa! Give this to the leader of the elves; it’s a sign of the Old Alliance between men and elves, from the First Age. He’ll understand then, why you’ve come,” Théoden explained while fastening a green leaf brooch to her collar.

She nodded her head in thanks, and rushed to change, and pack for the long journey. She grabbed a weeks worth of riding clothes, some toiletries, her lead shanks she used from leading the feisty stallions of Edoras, and finally ran away from her room out to the front of Meduseld. She had many mixed feelings about what she was doing: she felt nervous, anxious, excited, and scared at the same time. She raced outside, and jumped on Alcar, waiting at the bottom of the long, stone steps. The moment she was on, she and the other nine Riders burst away from Meduseld, through the main entrance gate, and set forth on their journey into the Wild of Edoras.

۞

Their first day of travel went smoothly; the horses were roused enough to run farther than ever. Alcar pestered some of the other stallions enough to race him over some stretches of land. But eventually, the group stopped and ate a plentiful lunch of meat and fresh vegetables. Fréa sat with Hammond and they discussed Harswi’s future as a Rider. The group divided, and Fréa and Hammond were joined by a strangely huge monster of a man, and a smaller-framed younger male. They introduced themselves as Lur and Alatar. Fréa learned from talking to them that the strongman, Lur, was also from the mountains, and his sister was a close friend of her family back home. Alatar stayed pretty quiet, moving the conversation along with nods, and the occasional statement or agreement.

She decided to stretch her legs for a moment and bring back some flasks of whiskey for herself and her friends from the travel bag. She walked behind the tree the food was under and crouched down to search through the bag. As she reached the bag, she felt someone watching her. She didn’t have to turn around to hear the things another group of men were whispering about her. She tried to pretend she didn’t hear the disrespectful talk, but one sexist comment went too far.

She whirled around, and stared into the faces of the three men. One was a bit smaller than the other two, and sat between them. The man had squared shoulders, thick, dark eyebrows and hair, and harsh looking gloves, but most of all a horrible, wicked smile on his face. He made the comment.

Glaring at him, Fréa asked maliciously, “Why do you say that, when you have never seen me before?”

The man laughed deeply, and gibed, “But I have seen you. You’re the king’s advisor, living in luxury in the golden hall all day.” He chuckled again. “You don’t belong here. Obriom should have come. You can’t take two war stallions. Go back, and sit and write songs about the adventures you’ll never go on, my fair maiden.” His friends started laughing hysterically along with him.

Fréa found a new impulse to tell the man off. Angered, and embarrassed, Fréa kicked the middle man in the shin, hard, and whispered, “Oh, I’m not the one who can’t handle the stallions. Tell me how I look when I take your stallions away from you.” She turned on her heel, and marched away, back to her band of brothers.

Trying to calm down before she reached them, she stopped for a moment and breathed. Then, she put on a happy face, and continued back to her friends. Minutes later, they regrouped and headed back out on their journey.

۞

The group ran for another hour or so, until Sannyn, guide to the group, and couldn’t recall where they were. No one seemed to know. They stood around, looking for any sign of Rivendell. Fréa stood up in her stirrups, and peered down into a valley. Just a dried up river bed laid at the bottom.

Suddenly, a shriek pierced the air, and Alcar spun around to face it, as in combat. Fréa felt lightheaded, and grabbed onto the saddle to steady herself. Up upon a hill westward, stood a lone chestnut paint stallion. An amicable voice surged through her head, and whispered, Follow me to Rivendell.

Entranced, Fréa moved Alcar forward towards the stallion. She broke out her state of mind, and called behind her, “We must follow this horse.”

Someone laughed, no doubted it was her tormenter from before, Kenning, and retorted, “Why? It can’t help us! The girl’s mad-“

She whirled around, and yelled back, “No, I’m not. And you can just try to bring your horses another way.”

With that, she led up the hill again, not caring if she went alone. She didn’t; Hammond, Lur, Alatar came after her, encouraging the rest of the troupe to follow also. Last to move on were Kenning, the man who tormented her earlier, and his two followers.

۞

The stallion ran them for the remaining hours of light left in the day, but eventually transitioned to a slow jog in the dark over many rocks, and odd types of terrain. The near full moon rose above them. The moon here looked very different from the one they were used to seeing in Rohan, they had traveled farther than they thought. There were many small, dark clouds passing in front of the moon, dimming it, and sometimes blocking it completely form view. Finally, the paint stallion stopped abruptly, and turned to face Fréa.

She grew dizzy again, and the wild horse said, Follow the rocky path to Rivendell. It will take you around the river, in only a few minutes at a walk. Watch where you are going, the Elves know you are here. Fréa tried to communicate back, Which path? In response, he burst away and skidded on a pile of rocks, then disappeared into the wood. Rim hennaed, Fréa thanked the stallion, sad to see him leave.

Nothing had to be said to make everyone follow the path; the horses started forward onto the path. No Rider said a word, just gave their horses rein, and relaxed a bit.

Though a bit dour, the view along the way was beautiful, a loud roar was the only thing to be heard, but the river the stallion spoke of was nowhere in sight. The magic of the Elves was becoming apparent now. Not many, if any, of the Riders had ever seen Elves, Fréa among the inexperienced ones.

They rode along in peace until something crashed, and everyone froze. A hooded high elf stood on either side of each Rider, one bow pointed to the horse, the other to the Rider. One, dressed in yellows and greens, spoke, “O man dôr túliel le?”

Knowing the answer, Fréa replied, “We come from Edoras, in Rohan. We come on account of the war stallions promised to Théoden, king. Can you help us?Heniach nin?”

Not moving, but pausing for a moment, the elf asked cautiously, “How can I trust you and your company are not enemies?”

Scared, Fréa froze, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, she remembered her brooch, and unpinned it from her cloak to hand to it the elf on the ground. He took it, and examined it closely, running his finger over the handiwork, scrutinizing it to the last detail.

“I understand. I trust you had a safe journey?” he asked kindly, and all the archers lowered their bows.

Relieved, Fréa replied, “Mae, hannon le. Yes, thank you for asking. We made it here safely. We ask only a place to sleep, for the night, and then we’ll be off tomorrow morning with the horses.”

The elf smiled, and started to walk forward, “Come, I will take you to your common room, and a private room for you, my lady.”

Fréa thanked him again and the train of horses and Riders pressed forward into a clearing where two magnificent open buildings fell. They were white, made of some foreign material looking like the ivory of an Oliphaunt, or elephant-like mumakil. There were no windows, for it was completely open-aired, only a frame and a tinted glass sheet for a changing room. Curtains were available to pull down for privacy, also. The head elf pointed the men to the structure on the right, having the other elves lead the horses away to their fine stables. Some Riders muttered smart remarks under their breath about the safety of their horses, but let them be led away, nonetheless, after taking their personal belongings.

Fréa jumped off Alcar and whispered a goodnight to him as an elf came to her side to take him away. She grabbed her bag, and stood standing in the middle of the path for a moment. Then, the leader of this group of archers came behind her, and gave her a gentle push towards the other building on the left. She smiled as he walked silently next to her. She tried to step as quietly as he, but it could not be done.

Now that he pulled his hood down, she could see his handsome face. His eyes were dark green, and his long blonde hair was braided into delicate strands, forming a light crown upon his head. He looked of royalty, but not a king.

He stopped a few feet away, and told her, “You will rest here tonight. Unless you wish to stay with the men.”

She thought of Hammond, and her other friends, but decided, “This is just right for me. Hannon le, mellon nin.” Realizing she didn’t know his name, she asked, “Man eneth lín?”

“Melian eneth nîn. Melian is my name. And you?”

“Fréa eneth nîn. My name is Fréa.”

“Welcome, Fréa, to Rivendell. There are other women in your building to help you. They speak the common tongue as well, so don’t worry. Goodnight,” Melian informed Fréa.

“Goodnight, Melian. Many thanks, rim hennaid,” she said respectfully before she headed anxiously to her quarters.

Inside was beautiful: full of blooming flowers, brilliant reds, and browns, and a stunning king sized bed, with a water fountain next to it. In near shock, Fréa fell down onto the bed, amazed at how light and comfortable the bed was. One maid called through her door, and asked if she needed anything; Fréa replied that she didn’t, and quickly changed into a nightgown, and tucked herself into bed, before she fell onto the floor in desperation for sleep.

۞

Fréa woke the next morning later than usual with probably the mattress to blame. She dressed, and stepped out into the streets to see what was happening. She didn’t see any of the men, but many elves walked along gracefully, and peacefully, some nodding in respect to her.

She looked for a sign of a type of a stable. She saw nothing. Then, a cry from some horse shook the city. Fréa began to walk towards it, hurriedly. She eventually got lost and began to head back and retrace her steps.

When she turned around, she recognized Alatar a ways back, heading her direction. He didn’t seem to have seen her, so she walked to him, and said ‘good morning.’

He replied graciously, “Good morning, Fréa. Did you sleep peacefully last night?”

“It was wonderful, and you?”

He chuckled, “It wasn’t too bad.”

Fréa laughed, asking, “I assume you’re heading for the same place I was…”

“Yeah, you couldn’t find it?”

“No, I would have loved to see the war stallions before we left,” she replied disappointedly.

“We will, in time. Can I take you back to our quarters to discuss what our plan is for heading back with the rest of the men?” Alatar proposed kindly.

Smiling brightly, Fréa chimed, “I would very much like that,” as she took the arm he offered.

They walked happily back to their encampments, but, to their surprise, everyone was outside, circled around Melian. He was saying, “Our spies have told us there is danger on the plains of Rohan, waiting for movement. Be quick, and silent. Do not stop for long. Our horses are calm now, bring them however you like, but be forewarned: Rohirrim horses are not the only prized horses in this Middle Earth. Speed, luck, and best wishes to everyone, and your people,” Melian finished before turning and walking away to a temple winding up and around an immensely thick tree behind him.

Fréa caught up with him and told him, “Rim hennaid, Melian, for your hospitality, and kindness. It can never be repaid.”

Grasping her hand, the Elvish lord replied, “Your presence is payment enough,” and kissed her hand lightly. “Calo anor na ven et no galu govad gen.”

Fréa looked questionably at Melian, unsure of what he said.

“May the sun shine on your road, and may you and your company leave with blessings from Rivendell,” he explained, understandingly. He walked away without another word. A shrill whinny broke her concentration: the Elvish war stallions were coming.

۞

The joy of riding had never felt as good as it did returning to Edoras: Fréa rode atop her beloved stallion, Alcar, riding with her legs only. For in both of her hands, she held the reins of an Elvish horse. Not just any horse, a war stallion, bred to fight, very powerful. But these steeds were very gentle and docile. They made no attempt to fight with Alcar, and he seemed to understand no to mess with them. The were either a very white grey, or deep, inky black, something different from the shades of brown more commonly found in Rohan. They galloped through Rohan with no delays. The Riders experimented with different ways to bring the stallions with them. Some trailed them straight behind, others did as Fréa did, while others held them both in one hand.

Everyone was comfortable, and some began to sing old Rohirrim war poems, to lighten the mood and speed the trip. They slowed down to a collected trot/jog, and relaxed a bit, enjoying the moment. All merrymaking stopped, however, when an arrow shot through the sky in the midst of the group, thankfully missing them. Everyone turned in their seats looking for the source of the arrow, but none hesitated to spur their horses into a run when they heard the sickening cries. Wildmen ran on foot towards the group, armed with a few archers and spear throwers.

The Wildmen once lived throughout Rohan happily, until they began stealing food, and animals from the Rohirrim people. By this time, Edoras had become a very strong civilization. The people of Edoras decided they needed to act against the Wildmen, and drove them off their land, into the forests and into Gondor to live as nomads. Wildmen continued to move onto Rohan, but were very aware of the dangers. Some said they were gathering power to strike back against the people of Edoras, and all of Rohan. Many Wildmen living in the forests had heard about the Riders’ coming to receive the war horses. Being greedy, and simple, they planned to steal the horses, and, not breed them, and start an army, like Théoden was planning to do, but prepared to kill them and eat them for lack of food on the plains.

One arrow raked the flank of one of Sannyn’s stallions, and the horse broke his reins, and bolted. Fréa thanked Théoden mentally for her handmade stronger leader shanks and reins, and then she and Alcar sprinted to help Sannyn capture his loose horse. They rode up alongside the horse, and bumped it closer to the Rider. He thanked Fréa, and regained his balance after reaching down and grabbing the dangling reins.

The group quickly outran the Wildmen, and gave a cheer for all the Riders of the Mark. Out of fear, they continued running though, to get a head start so they could possibly rest over the night.

۞

They did rest overnight, with no disruptions until morning, when an early riser spotted the Wildmen in the not-too-far distance. He sounded the alarm, a long bellow from his cattle horn, and everyone rose, and clumsily packed up, and found their horses.

One of Fréa’s stallions was crazed with fear of something unseen. No one, not even Lur, could control him. Startled by the stallions’ behavior, Alcar pranced in place, until something fell from one of Fréa’s bags. It was a beautiful halter, woven with pure silver, and fringed with liquid silver strands. Put it on the stallion, a voice told her. She knew it was the paint stallion, and trusted his words. The moment the halter touched the head of the great horse, he stopped dead in his tracks, and breathed peacefully. The great paint stallion nickered softly, in her head. It is a gift from me, your great-grandfather. I started to craft it, but never got to finish. My soul was poured into that halter, and my spirit became this stallion. Remember me, Fréa.

Everyone stared at the stallion, dumbfounded, until a nearby cry from a Wildman startled them back into realization of their situation. Fréa leapt back onto Alcar, grabbed her stallions’ reins, and charged down the hill they slept on that night, following the rest of the Riders. Edoras was closer than they had thought, but they, they were more tired than they thought. The horses, as well, were lethargic, and stiff.

Someone remembered to blow their arrival horn as the raced up the path to the front gate of Edoras, and the gates opened just in time. Fréa, and the rest of the Riders breathed a sigh of relief as they approached the gates, and urged their horses inside even faster. As soon as the last Rider was in, the gates close with a bang.

The Wildmen, being wild, began to shoot flaming arrows high above the city wall, try to catch something ablaze. Suddenly scared, people began running, searching for tools to strike back at the outcasts.

Fréa turned to look at the newfound battlefield, and saw her great grand-father sailing across the plains, but now he was followed by an immensely large herd of horses. They showed no signs of slowing, and they were headed straight towards the Wildmen. Realizing she hadn’t paid her respects to her great grand-father, she whispered ‘Thank you grand-father. You will be ‘rite in songs, and honored. But most of all, I will never forget you.