The town of Harwick, like many of the major settlements in Rohan, has as its center a great mead hall where the lords sit at court, and councils and feasts are held. It is here, atop the highest hill in the town, where Seregrían is shown audience with Aldor Harding, the lord of the Wold and the northern marches of Rohan. Having seen and heard how the Rohirrim conduct themselves and the roles people observe, she decides to use this knowledge to cunning effect.
“Caeorwulf, might I ask something of you?” Seregrían says with a disarming smile. “Before we meet with Lord Harding, might I fetch some things from my baggage? I should wish to make myself presentable before I receive the honor of meeting the Aldor. Is there somewhere I could refresh? I shall not be but a few moments.”
“I can understand how you might wish to do so,” Caeorwulf says. “I should only say not to take time overmuch, as the Aldor is not a patient man, as you shall see.” Seregrían agrees, and swiftly finds her seemingly meager pack of gear, and disappears inside a room just to the interior doors of the hall. Caeorwulf waits courteously and talks with two of the guards when all talk stops dead; Seregrían emerges, having cast off her travel garb and now clad in a scarlet gown, her pale skin white against black hair, her eyes grey and piercing bright.
“Is this more appropriate for meeting your lord?” Seregrían asks the men, who all seem stricken dumb until Caeorwulf stammers, “Lady Blodcwyn, not only is it appropriate, but I think it will command the talk this night. Let us go on,” and he extends an arm to her, which she lays her hand upon and allows him to lead her down the length of the hall, all eyes watching as she moves. She listens with barely concealed amusement to the whispered words from men and women around the hall, they not realizing she can hear every word:
“Who is this who comes with Caeorwulf? I’ve never seen the like…”
“Who IS she? She’s beautiful!”
”Look at her, she’s an Elf, or I’m a mule!”
“I can’t take my eyes away; it must be some spell…”
“What was her name, did Caeorwulf call her Blodcwyn?”
“How can such comely youth sound like old death?”
“An Elvish wight from out of the North – it can only mean ill for us all…”
Lord Harding, sitting at the high table with several counselors, looks up and sees Seregrían and Caeorwulf come near. He, too, is astonished at the sight of the Elf-woman who approaches. He rises and walks down to the floor to greet the newcomers, as Caeorwulf speaks, choosing his words with care.
“Hail, Lord Harding! I have only just returned from Stangard with tidings, and here I find that the tidings have raced here before me. I bring to you a visitor, an Elf from the Dwimordene. Here is Seregrían, Blodcwyn in our tongue, who has released Stangard from dearth and foiled the plots of Sithric, the voice of Grima from Edoras!”
“Westu Harding hál,” Seregrían says with a perfect curtsey, lowering her eyes then raising up to meet Harding’s gaze. “I greet you in the name of the Golden Wood, and in the name of all Free Peoples and friends of the Riddermark. I come to you on the wings of a coming storm, soon to cover all lands with dread; but also I bring news and counsel of hope, and of cheer.”
Harding returns Seregrían’s greeting with a hard, cool gaze, but not without his eyes roaming over her from head to floor. “I greet you, Elf of Dwimordene,” he says, “but look not for welcome just yet. I have had report of you even as you arrived at my gate. You have met the lady Cillan and wandered through the town looking for shelter – and stood in the marketplace scorning the folk of Harwick with unjust words. You arrive on the edge of the storm, you say – as would the crows that fly before the thunder to pick clean the crofts and barns.”
“The wise one is he who hearkens not to the crows, but the distant thunder and the rising breeze,” Seregrían counters. “For then there is time to prepare for when the storm breaks. That is my message, and my counsel. You have guarded your folk and your walls well, O Harding, and I offer aid for those tasks you have yet to face.”
"Even so? You!? Elf though you may be, you seem to our eyes no more than a maid of not twenty summers! Of what use could I make of you, besides the sculleries and kitchens, or tending the fires in the hall - ” and Harding stops short as he sees Seregrían’s eyes glow with silver fury.
“Fire, say you?” Seregrían says icily. “Fire, be it from the hearth or the skies, is mine to command, and thus did I deliver Stangard. If my face and frame can confound your eyes so, what does that speak for your wits?”
“Have a care, my lord,” Caeorwulf warns as he steps next to Seregrían. “The men of Stangard have reported what power the lady Blodcwyn wields. She not only faced down the servants of Sithric, but the fell beasts of the plains. She it was who cleared the lands for our crofters to sow and work once more. She it was who, alone, routed the Easterlings who crossed the marshes, driving them back from the walls. The fire in her eyes is matched by the high spirit of her heart, and she is hailed as a friend of the Mark!”
Harding looks once more upon Seregrían, taking these tidings into his thought. Neither of their gazes waver, their eyes locked like two crossed blades. After a heavy silence, Harding asks, “All these feats you have done at Stangard, can you do the same for Harwick? Can you beat back the tide from the East and buy us back the breathing room we need? Food and fodder run low, and those who flock here for safety risk hunger as well as fear. If I were to listen to the counsel of Blodcwyn, where would we begin our labors?”
“The Langholders must be sheltered,” Seregrían says without a pause. “Let them be brought within the gates. There are houses which stand empty; let them be filled with life and warmth once more. While this is being done, let those who can draw steel work to clear the land of the Enemy. Once done, crops can be sown, herds can be moved, and the lot of the folk will change. Let word be sent across Rohan of the tidings of war; for that is what stalks your lands, Harding. You have yet to see its full force, but it is coming, and the hammer will fall first and hard upon Harwick. Be ready to withstand that stroke when it falls.”
Harding again falls silent, his mind working, his jaw grinding in thought. When he speaks, his voice has more force, a decision made. “All you say is sense, Elf-maid. But I will risk none of the folk of Harwick outside the walls, not until I know the foes arrayed against us. So this is my thought: let the folk of Cillan come within, room shall be found at my word. As to the Enemy, let scouts be sent forth to find and learn of them – and that, my lady Blodcwyn, is where you shall go. Scour the lands with the scouts, learn of the lands as well as the foes, and bring this dwimorcraft of yours to bear as you like. For the rest of this night, take your ease and rest, for you shall ride with the dawn.”
“If it pleases, lord,” Caeorwulf says, “let me ride with Blodcwyn, for she will need a guide that first day, and it shall be my honor to do so!”
“You would be most welcome in my company, Caeorwulf,” Seregrían says.
“So be it! You ride at first light,” Harding says. “Go to what rest you may.” Both Seregrían and Caeorwulf thank Harding and leave the hall. Once outside the doors, Caeorwulf turns to Seregrían, all smiles.
“Blodcwyn, you did it! You have accomplished what all Harding’s counselors could not, you changed his mind! So might one move a mountain with a blade of sawgrass! And now to sleep, and to rise before the dawn to our labor. But first, I shall take you to the tavern, where there might still be a pallet and a plate for you. Down to the stables near the gate, come!”
“But good friend,” Seregrían says with a wry smirk, “what need have I for rest, a maid of but twenty summers? Are there no fires to tend?” And laughing, Caeorwulf leads her back down the hill.
