Rohirrim

Y by Zdzisław Beksiński

A SCOP'S UNWORTHINESS

Five gold coins was the price of my husband. Five gold coins for the slaying of Osgar son of Hincmar, a well-respected man in Aldburg. Five gold coins for a strong youth killing his weakened elder. Five gold coins for my beloved’s blood spilling out of his body. Five gold coins for the man I loved most to die in the darkest of nights, sputtering and gasping for breath. Five gold coins is a paltry sum. What fee can buy a husband’s love? A father’s care? A freeman’s fealty? That was no worthy trade.

The sound of war was about to fill the fields of the Pelennor. Indeed, war-horns and heavy footsteps sounded all over the place, and the ships of Aragorn and his company were not there yet. But indeed, the Rohirrim had answered the call of Gondor, and the Riders of Rohan had entered the Pelennor fields. The voice of Théoden King of the Mark, suddenly sounded in the field of onslaught:

The last words of Eorland the Bowman, sung to Audelwyn of Harwick in the alliterative style traditional to the Rohirrim. Along with his parting words, he leaves her the worldly possessions not buried with him, including his horse, hauberk, horn, and cloak.

Nelnardis tried not to look at the two boys rattling the door of her cell. They kept speaking in Rohirric, seemingly trying to get her attention.

“Maybe she only understands Westron,” one finally said in the common tongue.

Nelnardis didn’t go back to sleep. She couldn’t. Not while Thendryt was still out there on his own. She stared across the empty fields around the farm where Bovad and rider had disappeared into the distance. He must have known they wouldn’t go after him until dawn. He knew he would have the entire night for his personal errands.