Lord of the Rings Fanatics Plaza

Just off the high street of Edoras stands a small, nondescript building, with no outward sign of what might lie inside. Upon entering, you might notice a wall filled with scrolls, some thick, some thin, some yellowed with age, others looking freshly inked.

This wall of scrolls might be confusing to the visitor, as the Rohirrim are not known for being lettered. But in a corner on the opposite side of the room, with sunlight streaming in from the only window, is a small desk attended by a scribe, with pen and ink at hand. "Tell me your story, my friend," she says, "and I will enter it into the Hall of Histories so that generations to come may learn your story, be it grand or seemingly inconsequential."

Welcome to the Hall of Histories! Most of us arriving here in Rohan now have been here before. For some it has been merely a relatively short absence, for others it is like a lifetime ago. Either way, our back stories may be but faint memories to others; or maybe you would like to shed your old persona and create a new one. Perhaps even you are new to the Plaza and the Rohan forum, and we have never heard your story.

Here is your opportunity to give us your character's history. I hope others will read your stories so they may know a little about you as we begin this process of hopefully reviving role play in the Riddermark.

No rules other than the usual "keep it family friendly" and "keep it true to Middle-earth."

For OOC comments/questions, go here—> https://www.lotrfanaticsplaza.com/foru ... 0&start=50

A woman with some years on her strode through the streets of Edoras, trying to absorb the changes since she had last been here. She had a slightly crooked nose, the result of a long-ago ship-board battle. and her blond hair had strands of gray sprinkled throughout. She was tall, as were many Rohirrim, but she now had to remind herself to correct the slight stoop that threatened to become permanent. The woman was Eléowyn, and she now stood outside the run-down looking building, wondering what might lie inside. Had this been here when last she was in Edoras? Was her memory failing as she aged? It did not appear to be anyone's home, so she tentatively pulled on the latch and stepped inside.

In a sun-dappled corner sat a woman, who seemed neither young nor old, but could have been either. "Westu hal," she said softly. "Should I sit as I tell my tale, or would you rather I stand here?" With a nod from the woman toward a seat on the far side of the desk, Eléo began her story.

I was born many years ago on a farm in the Westfold, far enough from Edoras that we seldom ventured here. When I was but a young child, my parents were killed by a band of marauding Orcs. My older brother and I were spared, not through pity on the part of the Orcs but because we were safely hidden away. We were then raised by an aunt and uncle, who cared for us as if we were their own.

Our lives were fairly uneventful until my brother reached adulthood, or what was near enough for him to enter the cavalry. I remained with my aunt and uncle until one day an éored of warriors on their way to investigate a rumor of attacks on nearby villages rode past our home. They stopped to beg our leave to water their horses and refresh their waterskins, which was readily granted. As I shyly helped with filling the skins, I noticed one handsome young warrior who kept looking my way. I was immediately smitten, but they were off to likely battle, and I doubted I would ever see him again.

Two days later, the young man arrived back at our home, looking a little worse for wear. His éored had encountered fierce fighting, had lost too many warriors, but had ultimately won the battle. He, like the others who were not killed or seriously injured, had been given leave to return home for a well-deserved rest.

He did not make it home that day, nor for many days to come. My aunt and uncle offered him a place to sleep, and as the days passed, we fell in love. To make that long story short, I will say only that we married, had two sons who grew to young adulthood; and I lost all three of them when they rode off to defend our villages again.

After their deaths, I became something of a hermit, rarely venturing from our home in the Westfold, until one day I made my way into Edoras for supplies I could not produce myself on the farm. There I met many people who later became dear friends, and I eventually bought a small cottage on the edge of town.

My life seemed good then, and I wanted not for companionship. Then one day a mysterious stranger came into town and I was immediately drawn to him. There was something about the way he carried himself, his courage without bravado, and his slightly wicked sense of humor that intrigued me. And to make another long story shorter, we soon became fast friends, then later husband and wife. This man is known as Aodh Hammerhelm.

Our life together has been tumultuous, being separated many times through the years by fate and circumstance. But always we manage to find our way back to each other. Even as I speak, I await with great hope another reunion, after too long apart. If he should happen to find his way here, could you please tell him you have seen me, and that I await him here in Edoras?

During the dark times of the third age of this land, when the Dark Lord obsessed for the return of his power, when his darkness was spreading throughout this land and when the light of the Valar was forever glowing, a beacon of hope in our hearts. Here, at this time of woe, is where my story begins….

Alierwë, my birth-father, was a mighty elven warrior and high councilor of Imladris. He was a great friend of Elrond Half-elven and they kept each other informed of the happenings of the countries around them. While journeying to Lórien to deliver a message to Celeborn and the Lady of Light, Alierwë met and fell in love with my mother, Maríel.

After many months of courting and long walks though the wood together, they were married and took up residence in Rivendell. They settled in a beautiful house and were loved by all. Maríel soon became pregnant and my parents were never happier. For many months, while I was in my mother’s womb, my mother would pray to the Valar for my protection from anything ill that would come of this land. On the day that I was to be born, a mass horde of Uruk-Hai descended upon the green fields of Rohan. Ergo, because of the darkness that was spreading, my mother named me Leal’nemarr, which means "one who brings the sun" for it was said that I brought sunlight into the hearts of my parents, as well as the elves of Imladris.

I was but a small elf-child when Elrond called my parents to a secret council. He told them of the spread of panic amongst the elves, as Sauron could regain his power at anytime. Afraid for all the elves and especially his family, my father asked Elrond what we should do. The wise Lord advised his friend to lead a small gathering of elves to the Grey Havens, where we would be safe for eternity. Alierwë agreed and so, with a small group of our closest friends, we set out from Rivendell. The journey, as I remember it, was a fearsome one. We could not tell friend from foe, as spies roamed freely now. My father and mother were constantly concerned, as I was but a child and unaware of the evils of this land. They constantly worried about my safety. After a few days, we settled in a nice quiet forest, to gather our strength. Alierwë kept us close and we fell into our rest, a happy family, holding each other close.

I woke, a few hours later, to terrified cries, harsh voices and crashes from the forest beyond. My father called to my mother: Yrch! My mother cried out in fear and held me close, whispering her prayers to the Valar. I was scared, but as the daughter of a warrior, I wanted to see these foul creatures for my own. As I tried to wriggle my way out of my mother’s arms, my father came running to us and hurriedly told my mother to flee. She set me down and stood, facing my father. They held a quick, silent and furious discussion about what to do. I couldn’t read my parent’s faces...was it fear or anger that lived in their eyes? After a while, my mother let out a sob and clung to my father. His eyes filled with tears as he held and kissed his wife. He quickly held me in his arms and kissed my brow and told me he loved me. He set me down, kissed us again and started to run and help the others fight. I cried out to him, "Ú-’wano, ada!!! Aníron idulu lîn..." and as I looked into his face for the last time, I was startled at the reflection of pain that I saw. My mother quickly held me in her arms and started to flee, running into the forest. The shouts and trees shaking behind us told me that we were being followed.
Knowing that it was fruitless to try and outruns these orcs, my mother quietly and quickly ducked behind a large tree. She wrapped me in her elven cloak; the same one she had brought from her homeland of Lórien. With tears running down her cheeks, she kissed me and whispered, Sedho. Avo garo naeth...dartho an nîn. "Be quiet and stay still until the forest is quiet or I return..." I obeyed her, though I, myself, was crying softly. Amidst her tears, she smiled and told me she loved me...her last words echoing in my mind: Gerich veleth nîn... With one final kiss, she covered me with her cloak, said another prayer, turned and ran in the opposite direction, drawing the orcs away from me, her beloved child.

At last, when the forest was once again quiet, I crawled out of my hiding spot, glancing furtively around for any orcs. When I saw none, I drew my mother’s cloak across my shoulders and called out softly for my parents. Only when my voice had faded amongst my tears did I realize that I was truly alone. I drowned in my sorrow and pain, crying out for the gods to bring back my parents. After many days of wandering in my depression, my tears would no longer come and I realized that I had to stay alive. My parents had sacrificed themselves for me: their one last glimmer of hope....

I found myself orphaned and abandoned in a forest--- I was afraid, of course, but I soon depended on myself to learn and adapt quickly. The woodland animals soon helped me to forage for food I could eat and places to sleep and I grew strong in my solitude. For several months, I lived alone, living off the wild and remembering the happiness from the life I had ripped from me...I missed my parents with every passing day, but I knew I was to be strong--they would want that of me, their daughter. I wondered what lay beyond the woodland barrier that had become my shelter, but was afraid of what I would find, or what would find me. Soon, my curiosity got the better of me and I left the forest and (luckily) wandered, somehow, back into the city of Rivendell. I was feared dead by the elves at home and when they knew I was alive and well, they celebrated my return...and mourned my parents’ death along with the other elves. I stayed with a close family friend and began to grow with the elves of home. I was taught herblore, folklore and histories of Arda and as I asked for it, fighting tips. It was strange to see a young elf maiden wielding a sword, but I needed to be able to protect myself. At my coming of age dinner, I was given the ultimate present from the elves-- I opened a beautiful silver fabric box to find an exquisitely made slightly curved sword, carved with words from one of my mother's famous songs--Naurdor, Flame of the Forest, the sister-sword to Hadafang, the weapon wielded by Arwen Undomiel. I was speechless that I, a lesser elf, would be chosen for this honor but I was. I cherished it.

After several years passed, I grew more and more curious as to what else Middle Earth held and what kinds of people there were. I was done learning things of the elves for now...I needed to travel. One morning, I mounted my beloved mare Aarian, and left my birthplace. I traveled through all cities, country sides and large expanses of land I could hardly navigate. I saw the rolling hills of the Shire, I sat at the base of an Ent and listened to his endless songs .I even dared to visit the black heart of Mordor, and see the lands that were once ruled by the being that ripped my parents and my life from me. However, it was on a passing journey through the Riddermark that would change my life forever.

My mare and I had stopped for a rest, when a band of wild horses galloped over the hills nearby. Enthralled by their beauty, I followed them...only to see them pass close to the gates of Edoras. Aarian and I trotted in to stay the night and I completely fell in love with the city. It was amazing to see and hear about the history and the passion that the Rohirrim had for their city. I visited often, befriended many a person, and soon, found myself calling Rohan home. I felt at home--finally, I knew I found the place to stay forever.

To some, I am known only as the beautiful elven lady riding around the Riddermark...but to those who impede that which I love, I am a fierce foe, ready to challenge and not afraid to die for what I believe in. I am an elf, clad in the armour of the Calvary, fighting alongside the Rohirrim and pledging my elven sword for the Mark.

I am no longer Leal'nemarr Idril, madien of the Elves...I am really Leal Hrædhof, the Swifthoof of the Eastmark. Forth Erolingas!!

*She'd hesitated before she came in here. Did she want her story known? No. Never. And yet some parts of it were so well known that the absence of her might draw attention. And attention is the last thing Eldrith wanted. It had taken years to venture back into the village. And yet the camaraderie she'd found even in those few moments in the inn earlier made her not want to disappear completely. Not again. She'd done so too many times. And yet telling the story to any living soul still held risk. The bounty hunter was out there still, with a mark to cash in to his name. And shame still clung to her shadow in other countries. There's a twilight of desire between being known and being unknown, always. And within it she strode to the woman. Not to tell her story but to offer her a scroll, bound tight and sealed. "Perhaps it's a story to be read later, long after I've gone." *She said quietly, and the woman must not be a stranger to secrets, because she simply nodded and put the scroll away. Within the scroll, bound with twine and sealed with wax, without a crest in it, it seemed a story was told indeed, like a bedtime tale for children, except all the events within were true.*

"Long ago, in the White City, a woman appeared, too short to be a true descendant and too quiet to be of any great remark. Yet at the times the whole of Middle Earth was called up to march against an evil rising: Therion, who rose up armies and treacheries. Somehow the woman joined in with these efforts, yet she bore no arms and certainly held no rank. Not the only one she was who would head that call to all those free and willing to remain so, for the armies of many kingdoms joined together, and many civilians too took up weapons instead of a plough. Yet even during the long march Eldrith, for so she was known, did not seem to carry a blade. Instead she chose to offer her help in taking care of people. There was the setting up of shelters swiftly, and cooking, with a kettle which soon found more than one man around it, which grew from one who helped a neighbour to a nightly feeding of the Rangers of Gondor. And thus while she started out a stranger, once evil was defeated, Eldrith became cook to those she befriended this time with rank if cook could be a rank bestowed. It seemed a satisfying existence of one who'd found home among strangers. And yet.. sometimes what is hidden in the shadows rears it's head. And sometimes things that once were done can not be undone. Mathen Norse, highest ranking held suspicion of this woman, and soon she was found out. For in the darkness of the night, torches were lit on the Gondorian training grounds, and there, wielding a sword as if she were born to it, was the ranger cook, who all knew had refused to take up weapons even in defense of the city.
Before questions could be asked.. she disappeared. Never to be seen within Gondor again, leaving behind rank, friend and army. If any were looking for her, only one trace would have been able to be found. A hobbit called Ea, with whom she'd become friends on that long trek was the only one she kept in contact with, foregoing all friends and loved ones of Minas Tirith, and soon her name became a curse. Traitor? Spy? What HAD she been who so long nestled into the bosom of the rangers and then left in a cloud of suspicion?
No one knew. And no one followed, for building up the city and trade was needed and no danger seemed to follow. Only Mathen Norse did not give up the trace. And one snow filled day, a summons reached him to a cabin far within the wilds. A summons that seemed.. a trap? For she tried to steal from him the one thing that would bind him to her service, or at least.. stop him from ever pursuing her again. Something added to the food had brought him to quick unconsciousness, and only an iron will allowed him to wake. His hawk trained well and stopped her flight. Wounded and sure to die within the snow, she was surprised however when Mathen brought her back to the cabin, tended the wound and left her there, only to remind her that there was a marker now that soon he would collect.

No word of this ever reached Rohan where she appeared months later, as one who'd just recovered from an illness. A festival going on she merely sought to buy some food. Yet seeing a stall that was ill managed and the food badly prepared and dangerous, something of those years in Gondor resurfaced. A drunk stall holder was swiftly told off and within moments she was doing his duty in preparing food for those of the cavalry that visited. It was a strange welcome, but many flocked to her stall. There was warmth there, and wit, despite a seeming shyness.
Shortly after, she was offered the reigns of the Aeldsell Inn, that hallowed estate of a pub that welcomed both cavalry and none cavalry and became one of the centers of ease and adventure in Rohan. Many years did she tend to it, with Amadhrill as her fellow pubmistress, and Cnith and Getane serving the public. So many adventures were had there, from a desperate fight against rodents, to a stand off against Ele Isenfolme herself. From quiet conspiracies of the amorous kind to stews developed, cooking contests won, shortages of ale battled and more than one rider who found it necessary to jump on her tables. Almost did she find a family with Aern Freablod and the estate became home. Yet after the wars, in which the matriarch disappeared and the son died, so much changed. The once grand estate still had good coffers, but only the house and a small kitchen garden could be maintained. One duty warred with another yet when one day a missive reached her at the inn, she offered it in different hands and took up residence permanently at the estate, leading almost the life of a hermit, self sufficient with a flock of goats, a kitchen garden and the rare barter with traders or farmers who came past the road. Till one day.. something within her sprang to life it seemed: an urging she could not understand. An urging that hesitantly brought her back to the village where for so many years she had lived above the pub. And now there's a crossroads again. One where she does not know which road to take. The story is incomplete, but whether the rest will be found on these shelves.. that question I can not yet answer.

Shivased entered the small building and hesitantly looked around. She had been told of this place, but had never had the courage to visit. It was an odd place for Rohan; the were mostly a people of Oral tradition. This wasn't what made her hesitate, though. She was half Gondorian so writing, libraries and walls full of scrolls were not foreign to her. She had spent many hours in her grandparent's library, pouring over books and reading everything she could. It was just....well, she wasn't sure what it was. Maybe it was sharing her story that made her hesitate, for she was not the type to talk about herself or her own accomplishments.

Shrugging and deciding it didn't really matter what made her hesitate, now that she was here, she moved further into the building, catching the eye of the scribe sitting in the corner. Westu hal,she greeted him quietly. He nodded back, and motioned to the chair on the other side of his desk, seeming to know why she had come in. She seated herself stiffly on the edge of the chair, hands in her lap. At the scribe's nod she cleared her throat.

My full name is Shivased Fionnabhair Bochanachan she began. Truly, it felt odd to recite her full name, one only her family knew. She didn't really like her second name, and so few in Rohan even used surnames. But her mother had insisted, and so she bore it. I was born on my father's estate, just outside Edoras about halfway between the Snowbourn and the Great West Road. My mother was the daughter of a wealthy Gondorian merchant. She met my father when he was in Gondor trading and when he asked my grandfather for her hand, a marriage was arranged. To say the marriage was a love match was....well an exaggeration. My father doted on my mother, I think he did truly love her, but my mother definitely did not love him. She resented being brought to Rohan, taken away from the life of luxury she led in Gondor. As an extension, she resented her children.

I was the third of four children. I have two older brothers, Sidan and Daran, and a much, much younger brother, Jacen. While our lives were not idyllic by any means, we were raised well. Being the only daughter my mother had designs on raising me as a lady, but I had other ideas, which my brothers helped with. We spent our youth romping across the plains, helping our father raise horses. It was a good life. I learned to ride before I could walk, and by the time I was ten I was helping to gentle and train horses. My mother was horribly against my behaviour so forced me to go to Gondor and live with my grandparents. I spent five long years there. I love my grandparents, but I didn't fit in wealthy circles. I was too wild and untamed. My grandparents understood and at 15 I returned to the Mark. Things went back to normal, though Sidan was an adult by then and had taken on more running of the estate from my father, and I had a new baby brother.

That summer everything went wrong in my life. Sidan was breaking a stallion and it threw him. He was badly hurt, enough that we knew he wouldn't survive. I nursed him for several days, but nothing could be done and he died shortly after the accident. It changed our lives. My father, who was a loving and happy man, withdrew. He sent Daran and I to Lothlorien to study with an elven friend of his. We stayed there for a year, and when we returned he hardly spoke and seemed....a shadow of himself. Barely a year after that, while he and I were bringing a herd in from the high meadow, we were attacked by Orcs. He was killed and I barely survived. It was weeks before I recovered. When I did, I couldn't stay at the estate so Daran and I left. We spent four years travelling all over Middle Earth, exploring different kingdoms and meeting amazing people.

By the time we returned home, a lot had changed. We found out that my mother had left for Gondor, leaving my youngest brother Jacen in the care of our housekeeper and groundskeeper. It was not ideal, but she had never been much of a mother so it was not a shock to us. Daran and I took up the reins of our estate and continued to breed horses. I joined the Cavalry and made my way up through the ranks, reaching First Marshal. My brother joined as well. I have made a good life, even making peace with my mother before her death. I hope to continue serving my King and breeding my horses.

Shivased stopped there, her jaw snapping shut. She had been rambling, she was sure, giving more information on her feelings about her family than just plain facts, but she figured she couldn't take it back now. The scribe finished and looked at her, nodding in approval. Umm, thank you. I guess that's it.

A woman, in that age between young and old, slipped quietly through the streets of Edoras. Her normally brown hair was sun-bleached after many weeks of travel, and her once fair, unblemished skin was tanned and weather-chapped. Though she still had a hint of youth to her demeanor, her hazel eyes hid more sadness than someone her age should have ever known.

Every so often, she paused in shadows along the streets both to watch what was happening around her, and also to catch her thoughts. With every twist and turn she found herself bombarded with broken, drifting memories from what seemed to be a lifetime and an age before. Sometimes she thought she heard a familiar voice calling out, or saw a familiar face rounding a corner, but she wasn't yet ready to seek anyone out. Up one particular street, she caught sight of a small, vacant house and the pang it caused in her heart made her turn away, but she did not want to unbury those memories then, if ever.

She stumbled blindly through an alley as she blinked back tears, and when her vision was clear again, she looked up to see a small, simple building. It had no sign on it, but it didn't look like a home. It almost seemed like, maybe, a place she'd been before, once upon a lifetime ago, but she couldn't quite recall for sure.

Normally, she would simply walk past a place like this. She wouldn't want to intrude, and there was nothing that made it seem like a place for one to just... wander in. But there was something about the little hall that compelled her, and she barely hesitated to step forward and put her hand to the door latch. It swung open with barely a creak, and she squinted as she stepped into the darkened room.

As her eyes adjusted to the light, she heard another woman speak, "Tell me your story, my friend."

My story... the thought of it nearly made her turn around and leave, but her gaze finally found that of the scribe sitting at the sunlit desk in the corner.

"I am not sure what my story is anymore," the words escaped her mouth as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. "But mayhaps telling it to you will help sort out the jumbled memories."

The scribe smiled and reached for her pen. "Tell me your name, and then you may begin."

"I am Taethowen Anhyrne of the Eastfold," she introduced herself. "And it has been at least ten years, if not more, since I stepped foot into Rohan." Her voice caught in her throat, shocked at the time that had passed now that she let herself think of it. She began to pace as she sorted through her thoughts and tried to organize her story in some semblance of order.

"My father died when I was young, and I inherited our family land in the Eastfold at that time. I, my mother, and two siblings were left after that. My mother remarried some years later, though, and we eventually became estranged when her new husband was displeased with everything I did. As far as I knew, they still lived on the family land, but when I passed through there a few days ago, I found the house and stables vacant and the fields fallow. There was not even a letter left behind..."

Taethowen sighed. Speculating what may have happened to her family in the passing years was too much heartache for that moment. She hoped that they had simply moved on to other homes or trades.

"As for myself..." Taethowen hesitated for a moment, wondering what parts of her history to share. "Well, once upon a time... I was a seamstress here, and perhaps I shall pick up that trade again, though I shall need to find a steward for my family's lands. And once... once I was in the Cavalry. I had worked my way up to becoming the Third Marshal of the Riddermark, even."

That was where her memories truly began to twist and tangle, and when she tried too hard to sort them out, her head began to pound. Taeth paused in her pacing, shut her eyes a moment, and took a few deep breaths. What are the most important things? she thought. It doesn't have to be details. Just the highlights, and not even all of those. She opened her eyes and began her slow pacing again.

"There was... I don't remember what. Something happened. Rohan was... attacked, I think? But I do not recall by whom. Gondor called for aid, and I know that the Cavalry answered. I remember that there was a boy I adopted, but somewhere in the next few months after returning to Rohan, distant kin in Gondor came forward to claim him and I had to relinquish my rights. And I think... I think it was on the trip home to Rohan that... something happened. I think that I fell ill, and while the danger passed within days, it took me months to recover and regain my senses, and my mind has not been quite the same since.

"Much of what passed between my promotion to Marshal and then has become lost to my memory. I remember that I was able to send in my resignation early on in my illness, but whether a response was ever sent, it is long lost now, if it ever even made its way into my hands."

Taethowen sighed once more, and glanced over the scribe. She hoped she hadn't been speaking too quickly for the poor woman to keep up, but she appeared unrushed--serene, even--as she carefully inked Taeth's story onto parchment.

"Once I recovered from my illness, I was still not well in many ways, and instead of rushing back home to Rohan, I lingered in Gondor, and as my strength gradually returned, I decided to venture further south, even into Umbar, getting to know merchants and dignitaries along the way, and discovering many fine goods.

"The call of the Riddermark is etched into my soul, though, and eventually I couldn't bear to be away from home any longer. And so here I am, though what my story yet holds in store for me, I do not know."

Thalionwen had only wandered into the small building at the heart of Edoras to listen. She'd been drawn in by the tales of battle and travel, heartache and happiness, loves won and lives lost. But at last a silence fell, and she found the eyes of the scribe fixed on her. Thalionwen wondered if others saw her the way she did herself--as a woman still young and golden-haired, worn down a little by hard work, and made uncertain by difficulties, but hungry for something more. Whether it was adventure or knowledge or renown she craved, she could not say. All she knew was that as peace swept across the green fields of the Riddermark, she'd found a discontentment growing within herself.

"Well then?" the scribe asked expectantly. "Do you have a story to tell?"

Flushing, Thalionwen looked away. "Not much of one, mistress. I've led a small life."

"As have most in this country," the scribe chided, her voice gentle. "That does not make them less worthy of being remembered, or recorded."

Sighing, Thalionwen toyed with the end of her thick golden braid. "I was born in the Eastfold, only a day's journey from here, in the shadow of the White Mountains. We were an unremarkable family--not even worthy of a surname so that those from beyond our farm and the nearest village might know who we were. What need is there to be known by strangers when few ever arrive, and none of your kin have left home for generations?

"But I broke that long chain--I suppose that is my sole claim to ambition, or rebellion, or foolishness. I was little more than a girl when I left home and set out for Edoras, bent on joining the Cavalry. I'm no warrior, understand, but I had a youth's desire to see more, and do more, and be more, than my family's farm and village life could offer.

"For a year or so I served as a Sperewigned, but the sword and the spear hold little charm for me. Before long, I began training as a haelend, and though I loved the work, and the gaining of knowledge, I was never a healer of much repute. How could I be? The first great battle I entered was also my last. The horrors of war were a nightmare I'd never imagined possible, having grown up sheltered not just from adventure but also from danger. So I left the Cavalry quietly, though not with dishonor.

"Home called to me after that, and I returned to my family holding. Before long, a neighboring farmer and I were wed, though the union hardly lasted long enough for the sparks of affection to grow into flames of love. He had weak lungs, which had kept him from serving in the Cavalry himself, and the second winter of our marriage, an illness set in that he could not be rid of. Even my healer's learning was of no help, and before spring could warm the earth again, he died, leaving me alone on our land, and with child.

"That was four years back, and our twin girls, Elswyth and Freya, are my love and my light. We still live in the shadow of the White Mountains, my children and I, scratching a living from the rocky soil there. As I said, it's been a small life. No chance for heroism, no great passion or noble deeds. But it is mine, and until now, it has been enough."

Stepping back, Thalionwen bowed her head, hoping someone with a worthier tale would soon enter, so that the echoes of her meager words would die out and be forgotten.

Aethelu couldn't recall her last visit to Edoras, the city seemed both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. The small building looked so unremarkable she almost walked past it at first before she stepped in through the door. She took note of the scrolls around the place and found herself feeling strangely at ease. These past few years had found her at home amongst ink and quill so it felt no different, though she was sure there were many a Rohirrim who didn't feel the same. She walked up to the woman at her desk as she unrolled another parchment and lifted her quill. She gestured to the seat opposite her and Aethelu gratefully took it.

'Speak your story and I shall write.'

I was born on a farm to perfectly ordinary parents. They tended to their fields, cooked hearty meals, and lived quite ordinary lives. Of course, they expected the same of me. I would meet a nice young man, marry, and live my own ordinary life. When I was 7 my brother was born, a miracle. He nearly killed my mother, but my parents were so pleased it barely seemed to matter. We were happy and contented and that was that.
As I grew I found I had limited talents. I was a middling sort of cook, a middling sort of grower, and a middling sort of rider. What I could do was remember. Tell me a tale and I could recite it perfectly. Play a tune on the fiddle and I could play it straight back to you. Sing a song and I would finish it for you. I could remember other things too, but a musical talent was a boon. I often sang in the inn in the nearby village and told tales to those who travelled by.

One day, when I was 18, a bard stopped by the inn on his way to distant places, he was impressed by my skill and offered that I should journey with him. He truly believed I could make my way in the world as a travelling bard, or at the very least as his assistant. I begged my parents to let me go, promised I would be good, and return when I had made my fame and fortune. Perhaps foolishly, they let me go. So off I wandered with this bard, across Rohan and into Gondor. It was not the most wonderful trip, I soon discovered this bard hoped to make me his wife, but I had no interest in that. Once we reached Gondor, his home land, he disappeared into the night. I found myself alone in this strange new land with no friends or family to aid me. The wife of the innkeeper we had been staying with took pity on me and let me stay until I decided what to do. At first I planned to return home, to take my shame with me, and face my family. I had come so far though, surely I could do more?

I decided to continue my journey, visiting many a town in Gondor, performing the fine songs and stories of Rohan. One night, a scholar of Gondor (at least he claimed to be) asked if he could write down my tales so they could be preserved. I agreed, on the condition he teach me to read and write. It seemed only fair that I should be able to read these tales I was telling him. So that was how I learned to read and write while the scholar listened to my tales and songs, making notes in his spidery writing. When we were done, I found I had a new skill I could use as a travelled along. By day I would teach reading and writing to anyone who wished it, by night I would sing and tell my tales.

A few years went by, 8 I believe in total, and a thought occurred to me, my parents would be aging, my brother would be a man. I could not shift the thought from my head, I should return to my family. I had made enough money to sustain myself, it was time. And so, I journeyed back to Rohan, to my family farm. They still live there, tending the farm, though perhaps a little slower now. My brother will inherit someday, if he doesn't get himself killed joining the cavalry first. Now I must figure out what to do with myself, I have no desire to marry, I wish to continue my little independent life. And that is all there is.

She had heard of one who would scribe the histories of willing Riders, and had, at first, no desire to dredge her past, stitched in faint tattered threads of shame. What if the Lord would hear of it? She had not seen him for several years now, after crossing paths that would often run parallel for a seasons or two. Yet of late, she had no word of him, no knowledge of his fate.

But her story was hers as well, apart from his towering shelter. He had taken her under his wing, eventually adopting her as his daughter. Made her a Lady, entrusting the Manor.

So she dismounted her nameless one, nodding slightly at the woman who exited before her. Upon her entrance, the Scribe swept a curious gaze over her, and slowly reached for a fresh pot of ink. “M’Lady Freablod,” she said simply, gesturing her sit.

“It hasn’t always been so”, she began. “Headstrong and often verging on foolish, taking risks and enjoining mischief were my first clear memories. There was little structure to guide any of us, save a common purpose to defend our homes when need demanded. There were few who frequented the pubs, and laughter rang freely and often.

But the aimlessness was soon channeled into a high purpose when the First Marshal of the Mark organized the Cavalry, encouraging me to complete my training under his strict and exacting tutelage. I emerged with more intent, bent on training others, and grew to love that above all else.

Until called upon to rule, which I took with great seriousness. Well, except to the ill-advised foray into Mordor for an agonizingly brief stint away from our responsibilities. Which rocked and angered many.”

I stopped to choke back an unruly chuckle.

“The Kingdom grew rapidly those days, until my promise to greet each new arrival was simply impossible. I became more overwhelmed, but greatly heartened by the many who moved into positions of leadership and forged new ideas, though of course not all were wise. Or fruitful. But many were, and still stand as traditions today.

There were campaigns, and games, so many ingenious games. And laughter, times of mourning ... and ... there were the lovely and memorable celebrations of Mettare. Where finery and food and friendship shone as brightly as the thousands of candles that drove away the winter darkness for one shining night. And there were gifts and hugs and ... “

I stopped then, the elusive memory closer to the surface than ever, yet still past full retrieval. “Something .... Foolish, I think.”

There I trailed off a bit. How do I explain the days lost to my recall. “I grew ill, whether of body or soul, I cannot say. Perhaps both. I often wonder if it were a concerted attack of the darkest magic, as I have heard I was not alone in this illness, many recalling similar lapses in memories within the same space of years.

Whatever the cause, I wandered afar, needing rest. Needing peace. Shame embroidering the edges of all choice, until the Healers were not certain I’d find the will to live.

But I did. Almost as a child, I surrendered to their gentle care, learning without enthusiasm at first the more basic of skills that I had forgone with my former tasks of leadership. I plied needle and thread, often coloring a garment an unwanted red, scorched many a poor innocent meal, cobbled together small verse, sung to only myself, although never gained any real proficiency at any.

Except to spin tales. Tales of places I’d not seen and had never or very barely heard of. Wild tales, like dreams that leave one bewildered upon waking.

The bloom of health returned to tint my cheeks again with color, and I began to think of the Aern Freablod. Did it still stand? No doubt the Lord’s treasures ensured it would, he’d have not neglected such. I’d always the sense that he watched from wherever he was. Of little else was I so certain. He loves theses lands more than any.

I longed for home. And so I swallowed the shame of neglect, embraced the stars, found the sturdiest and least handsome horse I could, as the pain of losing my earliest ones still held me from bonding to another. Not yet.”

Weary of speaking, taking pity on the persistent and prolonged scratching of the skillful Scribe, I decided that was enough. Rising, I settled a small stack of silver before the weary woman. “Well earned, though perhaps a good soaking in warm salted water may be better reward for the recording of my lengthy narrative.”

Elvh unslung the shield - freshly painted before he'd left Mundburg with the sigil he'd adopted some years back, red half-sun and pale gray half-moon on a field of deep blue - from his back and settled his sword nearby. Small chance anyone passing by would thieve even these rich goods in Edoras, and this did not look a place for weapons, even for the currently unsettled. One day a guest with a friend, another few in a hostelry, several riding posts or merchant's guard to outlying towns: that was life now. Newly returned, but he had heard his last employer talking - himself an unlettered man - of this place and had to see it for himself. He had never known even the court to run to letters and wondered when this novelty had been added.

The cloak he kept - gray and now-faded red, somewhat patched, gift of an old friend - against the evening chill. As he passed the door he a view of his face in the mirrorred surface directing a candle's light outward - much brighter inside than he had expected - and frowned briefly and the new scar that now ran down his cheek, below the same blonde hair and blue-gray eyes as ever. "Not the decoration I'd have added," he muttered to himself, but turned to the scribe's desk.

The scribe looked up at his approach, and gestured to the chair set before her, checking her nib for fraying like any good scholar. "Please, be seated, and I will write as you say." She paused and he wondered if the hour was unwelcome, but she answered, no - it was merely that the past few days had seen her busier than she had been perhaps since beginning her work. "Though it will be dark soon, and the new lamps, though clever, will not contend with full night," she added.

"Well," he began, "You may be busy in service of a new fad - or there's a merchant I know now - but I suppose I came to tell my own story.

"My name is Elvheimdros - not a name from the Mark, but we get a few like in up North beyond even the Limlight, poor memories of Elvish in imitation or perhaps there is truth to a legend of Elf-blood in some of the few families that roam above the Wold. My friends call me Elvh; a few Elvheim. My father was hobbled in a raid by Orcs - they seemed more desperate than cruel, strange to say of those creatures, though the mind plays tricks over the years - and I thought it would be my fate to run a farm and range the horses. But the farm, we passed it to my sister when she married a younger son with none of his own: she loves the land, and I - came to Edoras, young at sixteen, sure of myself, uncertain of my image, yearning for command, hoping for power, and desparately unready.

"Things came to me - friends, fame, some satisfaction. At first odd jobs, such as I do now; then I rode away on a rumor to join a small band of the free races on a - call it a quest, a campaign, a venture far to the South. It brought not a few death and none of us much of the treasure or justice we presumed: but it got me some small measure of command and my first languages.

"On return I enrolled in our proper cavalry, and again rose to some prominence: but it stifled me then, or I gave it and my Lords less than they deserved. At any rate I let my duties go and went wandering with a company - we called ourselves 'Adventurous Souls' and I passed for a scholar among them."

He paused, collecting his thoughts and shook his head at old vanity: hair worn at the shoulder, in the style on Gondor but unbound, flipped into his face and he brushed it back.

"Eventually a friend encountered in our - quests, wanderings - persuaded me to be a scholar in truth: I have spent some time in the schools of Mundburg, and wondered if I might recognize the one who created this place - but no, to tell the truth, though I admire it. I speak the Westron now fluently and read it: and gained some of the tongue of Those Who Remain. They might render my name, in our tongue, as 'Wolf of the Dark Star', though the one who told me critiqued the form and had much to say about it." Elvh laughed softly: a pleasant memory that, an Elven scholar torn between indignation and desire to inform.

"But I left the schools again after a while - a couple years, and the call came again. Some rumor in the East of a Last Wyrm, when we thought them all dead - but this quest came to a farce, with our group set upon by an Easterling warlord who called us to account for trespassing. Some of us were killed and some forced to fight for him. Witta, I think they called him - but it's ill counsel to arm strong men with cause to hate you. Some dozen of us plotted and broke out: binding the guards - what had they done? We only had to kill one - and traveling North for Dale, not back West as we thought they would assume.

"And from there I heard of a new blossoming in my own land, and I traveled South on the Anduin, coming to Edoras with a Dalish merchant and - now here, and back to the old ways of odd jobs. But I thank you for listening and writing. A fair hand you write, too, spoken as one who knows now and values it."

The scribe nodded her welcome and began spreading sand to blot her ink; Elvh rose and twitched his cloak out from the leg of the chair it had unaccountably stuck under, and strode to the door, where - under a darker sky - the shield and sword sat untouched: he buckled them back on, and, "I think, now for food," he said. "And tomorrow - the next job."

Market day. A wagon, drawn by a pair of feather-legged, spatulate-footed grey plough horses and laden with sacks of unthreshed wheat and bales of straw, rumbled its slow way into Edoras. Also in the wagon was a large group of tow-headed children, the youngest trying to do headstands on a bare spot between sacks of wheat, one of the daughters holding a speckled chicken clamped tightly in her arms. Their parents sat on the seat in front, a tall, broad-shouldered, golden-bearded man and his wife, her slightly wavy ash-blonde hair tied back with a brown ribbon. Her figure was still small, but it spoke easily of hard work and frequent childbearing; and her eyes, though bright, were crinkled at the corners and frequently turned to the back to assess the safety and good behaviour of the small passengers. As they passed the Hall of Histories, a rumble of voices wafted out the open door and the woman started. Turning, she laid her hand on her husband's arm and spoke to him in a low voice. He nodded and stopped the wagon, dismounting and holding out a hand to help her down. Then he climbed back into his high seat, said, "have fun, love; I'll see you at the Inn at noon", chirruped to the horses, and turned them down the road toward the mill.

The woman, meanwhile, twisting her hands nervously in her faded green apron, entered the Hall and approached the writing desk at the end of the room. The Scribe, pinching the bridge of her nose with ink-stained fingers, turned tired eyes on the newcomer. "Um... hello - oh, so sorry to be part of the crush, you look busy, should I come back later?" The Scribe gestured helplessly, as if to say, May as well go on, I'm here anyway. "Oh, well, if you're sure... my name is - I should say, was - Amhran Deor. I have since taken my husband's name, Sulhhandla, "One who holds the handle of a plough". I was once a Shieldmaiden of Rohan - oh, so many years ago - but I left Meduseld in rather a hurry, handing the mantle of the Westmark off without any real thought; I think I caused pain to some, for which I am sorry. I thought that perhaps I should announce my presence here, in case I am recognized. My life since leaving has been tame enough. I rode home to the farming village where I was born, feeling I had had enough of war. A young man, the son of a friend of my father's, had recently inherited his father's farm, and felt himself in a position to ask for my hand. I accepted, and we have been living there ever since, growing grain for bread for the village and living as peaceful a life as one can hope for, with a house full of children." She smiled slightly. "Nothing more dramatic than a barn fire one year, and the loss of two children in infancy some time ago. Small things, perhaps, in the grand scheme of the world, but enough for one individual to be going on with. We only came here today because the mill in our village is down for repairs and the harvest couldn't wait." Amhran realized she could stop twisting her apron, and smoothed it down with work-roughened hands. "I am glad we came, though." She looked slowly around the room. "Very glad. I...I hope I can spend more time in Edoras in the future."

~*~*~*~
The dutiful scribe did some light dusting, and straightening of scrolls that had been BUMPed out of place.
~*~*~*~

Ok, here goes. I know it's a bit different in style than others, (hope that's ok) but I don't think Éomund is capable of telling his story, but I want you all to know it, at least OOC. IC a good portion isn't common knowledge … yet.

@Allafyrefleorhtlig Let me know if this fits with what you have for Grimthain. I think we've discussed most of the points where their characters intersect.
Éomund was born a few years after the end of the War of the Ring to his father Éodred and his mother Leigh. He grew up in the small village of Sceornbeorg, a few hours ride from Helms Deep. While his first few years of life were joyfully spent, tragedy struck when he was about four years old. Éodred and his friend Grimthian were called up to serve in the Summer Storm and Winter Wind campaign. During the campaign, Éodred, who was in his mid twenties, was killed.

One of Éomund’s earliest memories is travelling to Edoras with his mother for his father’s funeral/memorial, even though the body was actually buried far away somewhere in Gondor. Éomund has never been to the battlefield where his father is buried, but hopes to go there someday. At the funeral, Grimthain, his father’s commander and friend, gave a very young Éomund a necklace that belonged to his father. It was a simple black leather cord with a small silver medallion on which was etched a horn. Ever since it came into his possession, Éomund has not been without it. Grimthain would also go on to become a father-figure for Éomund.

Unknown to Éomund, Grimthain possessed Éodred’s sword with the intention of giving it to him when the time was right.

At the insistence of his mother, Grimthain’s role during Éomund’s childhood was a very limited role as Leigh was very resistant to the man, blaming him for the death of her husband and condemning her son to a fatherless life. As such, she rarely let him see the boy he was so fond of. They saw each other an average of two to three times a year: Mettare, Éomund’s birthday and the anniversary of his father’s death.

Even though Éomund only has a few fleeting memories of his father, he relished getting to spend time with the man who claimed to be a dear friend of his father. So three times a year, Grimthian would come to Éomund’s house and would be as much as a father as was possible for those few days a year. And once a year, after Éomund’s birthday, he would travel back to Helms Deep with Grimthain for a week. This week was by far Éomund's favourite time of the year and it was the only time he felt he could try and figure out who he was rather than who his mother wanted him to be. Despite the rarity of time together, the two care for each other on a deep level, even if neither of them can quite express it in words. In fact, Éomund usually addresses Grimthain with the familial term “Fædera” (paternal uncle).

Despite Leigh’s reluctance to have him involved in Éomund’s upbringing (and the fact that his visits always resulted in arguments between the two), Grimthain managed to remain a constant presence in the background. He paid for the boy to have an education with a local scribe, something Éodred had greatly desired for his son, and which would have been impossible otherwise. It is only because of Grimthain's involvement in his life and the yearly holidays to Helms Deep that Éomund learned basic Rohir tasks such as caring for and riding a horse (which he took to naturally), chopping wood, and other skills. Once he had learned his basic letters, Éomund would try and send notes to Grimthain whenever possible to show off his skills.

Leigh’s work as a seamstress made enough to cover basic necessities most of the time, but no space for “extravagences”. Éoumnd had been strictly charged to never mention the money issues, such as not always being able to afford firewood in the winter. Items such as lessons and the horse were gifts and as such were reluctantly accepted on Leigh’s part.

Leigh was extremely protective of Éomund, having seen far too much loss in her life. As such, he never travelled places with groups of young Rohir, which many of the other lads his age tended to do as preparation for joining the Cavalry or other life skills. She was loving towards her only child, but strict, and rarely had much time to pay attention to him.

Éomund always enjoyed hearing Grimthain’s stories about the Cavalry, usually the more light-hearted training adventures, but every so often, a more serious story would emerge. This consistent presence, along with the knowledge that both his father and grandfather had served honorably in the Cavalry resonated deeply within him. Having never met his grandfather and only hazy memories of his father, he knew that joining the Cavalry would make them and Grimthain proud and it would give himself something to be proud of as well. Despite his young age and his gentle nature, he knew he couldn’t always live with his mother learning the seamstress trade. And working at the inn Caddrick’s parents ran didn’t appeal to him either. But the tales of the Cavalry drew him and he leaned on every word Grimthain would tell him.

Joining the Cavalry

When Éomund turned 16, he approached Grimthain during their week in Helms Deep and asked about joining the Cavalry. The kindly man advised him to wait a bit longer and work on perfecting his horsemanship skills, as that was the only Cavalry skill he had in any capacity, Leigh not letting Éomund within spitting distance of swords or bows. Over the next two years, Éomund worked hard at learning all he could about horses and tried to read a little bit about the history of the Cavalry, but as Rohan was a very oral society, written sources were few and far between. And so, on the day of his 18th birthday, he approached his mother and insisted that he was going to join the Cavalry. Like he had expected, she was very resistant to the idea and tried to insist Éomund stay in their small village and learn a trade. “If I’m not cut out for the Cavalry, I’ll return soon,” Éomund said in answer to his mother’s requests. “But I need to try, to make Da proud.” The ensuing argument resulted in him getting kicked out of the house, and with that instead of journeying to Helms Deep for the week, Éomund found himself riding with Grimthain towards Edoras. And a strange ride it was as neither of them spoke much on the long journey. Éomund was too nervous to talk and wondered if by joining up he would honour or disgrace his family.

Somehow upon arrival in the Dragon Room the First Marshal had accepted his request to join. His start to the Cavalry was far from calm due to an embarrassing event in the Summer Festival After Party (which he was requested to attend despite not participating in the Summer Festival), in which he accidentally kicked the Third Marshal-Elect in the fact, giving her a black eye. The next day, the Third Marshal approached him and sent him on an ent-wife hunt as his “punishment”. Seeing his horror and embarrassment, Grimthain alerted him to the fact that it was a joke, and Éomund (along with the help of another new recruit Walpurga) responded with a joke. With her help he dug up a willow sampling, and then decorated it to present to Marshal Gwai.

His first training exercise was a disaster to say the least, but somehow he and the rest of the Cavalry managed to survive being dropped in the middle of nowhere with next to no supplies. During this training event Éomund gained his first “battle scar” from trying to gut a dead badger with a sword. He sliced his hand, but it was able to be bandaged quickly. Thankfully the injury healed quickly, but it left a light scar across the palm of his left hand. During this same training exercise, Éomund also managed to kill a badger, possibly saving the life of the HCMA (the same person who had roped him into the embrassing incident in the After Party Tent).

After completing the training event, Éomund was promoted to the rank of Dryhtguma. The promotion was a little out of the ordinary in that he had been summoned to the throne room before Marshal Shivased could present him with his insignia. At the throne room, Grimthain presented him with his father’s sword and King Éomer himself presented the insignia. Éomund was also given a letter, written by his father on the eve of the battle in which he died. Through some amount of miscommunication, the letter had never been delivered. The letter brought some much needed comfort and closure to Éomund, but a second letter, addressed to Grimthain caused the older man to panic and hurry out of the Throne Room. Éomund too soon left the Throne Room, but his feet took him to the memorial at the Courtyard. There he named his sword Ædsceaft (new birth) and realised that Grimthain was more like a father than an uncle. He has yet to tell Grimthain this, but hopes too soon, whenever he can convince him to read the letter from Éodred.

Cherished Possessions

- his horse Sunbeorht (a gift from Grimthain for his 16th birthday)
- his father’s necklace
- his father’s sword (presented to him by Grimthian after he completed his Cavalry training)
- a box of parchment, a quill, and some ink
- a letter from his father

Personality

Éomund is a hesitant individual, primarily because his upbringing was very strict and he was never given the space to stretch himself when he was at home. He struggles with self-esteem (something the Cavalry should help with), he’s nervous, and fears failure. At the same time, he always wants to help others, though he often has no clue how to do that.


Significant Links
Leaving home
Receiving his father's sword
Receiving the letter
At the Memorium

OOC (I’ve always been intimidated by the IC aspect of Halls of Rohirric Histories, and the pressure to get all the details right first time (if you don’t publish it for people to see, its easier to make it up as you go along as retrospectively amend everything to fit; cheating I know but I suspect we all do it).

However since @Dimcairien Luiniel and I have both created new PCs with such a closely interconnected history I need to share my notes with her so she can ready thoughts and discuss which ideas to keep and which to cut. I haven’t yet read her draft, i this could all be very wrong or repeating what she has said. Needless to say it made sense to use this thread for that.)

---

He had never been a proud or vain man, nor one to seek attention or fame. Humble and cherishing simplicity, with a stifling burden of guilt that has loomed over him for most of his adult life, he had never felt his tale worthy of recording in the Hall of Histories. But then he had been unexpectedly approached by Allacan, asking that he contribute to her publication The Art of Command, and she had - on hearing that his own experience had never been recorded in these halls - insisted that he write it down, that later generations might learn from his experiences. “Treat it like a formal report; speak about your life as though telling the tale of another, be objective if need be; you’ll likely find it easier that way.” she had said, planting the seeds of the idea in his mind.

And so, despite his protests and aversion to speaking of his own deeds and histories, and without yet having contributed to her own project, now he found himself here with quill in hand, contemplating what to put down. He thought of Sigrid and Éomund and to a lesser extent Éolath, and imagined for a moment that these three young people might one day wish to know more about him. And so, he put ink to paper. He kept it objective, sticking to the facts with minimal flourish, and it seemed that Allacan‘s advice had proven fruitful, for before long the words were flowing onto the page as though written by a narrator’s hand.


The ‘omen child’ orphan

As a young abandoned orphan boy on the steps of a cavalry outpost in the Westfold with no hint of or clue help place where he had come from [Grimthain did not learn until much later that he was actually found by a cavalry soldier Éothain, father of his future best friend Éodred, who gave him the name Grimthain but felt he was not at the time in a position to adopt the child, although he did maintain a keen interest on the boy’s upbringing and helped provide for him when he was in great need] As an orphan raised before the War of the Ring when orphanages were rare, he was fostered on rotation among the families and homesteads of a variety of often ill-suited cavalry soldiers, and many of his younger years were spent in the village of Sceornbeorg. A quiet child who lived up to his nickname ‘Grim’, he never really bonded with any of the families who cared for him and some misinterpreted his withdrawal and lack of trust as hiding a more sinister nature, and due to some unlucky and purely co-incidental incidents in his early years some superstitious folk believed he was unlucky or cursed, and called him ‘omen child’. The only family he was ever really close to was that of Éothain, and his only son Éodred was his best and only friend despite being around five years his senior.

The siege of Helm’s Deep

Inspired by Éothain and idolising Éodred in his early years, Grimthain always aspired to join the cavalry but found himself caught up in military affairs much sooner than he anticipated.

Grimthain was 11 at the time when the Westfold fell and many families were forced to retreat to the cover of Helm’s Deep. There he and his best friend Éodred son of Éothain, who was five years his senior, were called up to serve in defence of the keep against the forces of the traitor Saruman. Éodred gained renown commanding a corthor of child-warriors - Grimthain among them - in defence of one of Helm’s Deep’s lesser gates, and the older boy’s cool-headedness and confidence was one of the major factors that kept the younger lads from dropping their weapons and fleeing. However his father Éothain fell honourably in that siege, and thereafter Éodred became more dour and pessimistic a person, committing his life to serving his country perhaps as a means of trying to find purpose for his beloved father’s death. After learning of his best friend’s father’s death at Helm’s Deep, Grimthain vowed even at that young age that he would do all in his power to protect whatever family his best friend Éodred had left as if it were his own, a vow he has committed himself to since that day. In many ways, Grimthain ceased becoming a boy after the battle at Helm’s Deep and those events, and his reactions to them, were first steps into becoming a man.

A cavalry man

Eager to keep his vow to Éodred and his remaining family, as well as already having somewhat proven himself in the siege at Helm’s Deep and on the home guard when the muster rode to Gondor’s aid, Grimthain enlisted in the cavalry as soon as he was old enough to be accepted as a fully fledged soldier. With no land to his name, he has lived in cavalry barracks for most of his life, normally in twin rooms as is befitting of junior commanders. He has served in the Westmark Eored for most of his cavalry career, and considered Helm’s Deep his home until his recent transfer to Meduseld Eored.

Southern Storm and Northern Wind campaign

A number of cavalry warriors serving in the Westfold were summoned by the call to arms of the King. Grimthain was 20 at the time and his best friend Éodred was five years his senior. They both lived in the same village a little ways from Helm’s Deep, where Éodred has a wife and young 4 year old son Eomund. Together they answered the call and were placed in the same corthor during Southern Storm/Northern Wind. The close friends worked well as comrades, both gaining the approval of their superior officers, but Grimthain particularly was regarded as having a solid and sensible older head on a young man’s shoulders. After their commander was injured shortly before a major battle, it was the younger Grimthain who was given a field promotion to Aethelwigend; his first command. During a later cavalry charge, Éodred was pulled from his horse. Grimthain made the difficult decision of not risking his entire corthor and the cavalry charge just to try and rescue a single soldiers’ life, even if the solider was his best friend. When the battle was over, Éodred was found to have died on the field. Even though he was only following orders and putting the welfare of his unit first, Grimthain blamed himself for Éodred death.

[This was the same casualty of war that Allacan actually tried to save during the campaign in the incident that led to Marshal Malorn’s horse dying. One day, Allacan and Grimthain will talk about their shared experiences and Grimthain will learn that his inaction to rescue his soldier did not contribute to his death; Allacan took the very action he did not and tried to rescue the fallen man, at great risk to herself and the lives of many others, but Éodred was already dead when he hit he ground. Allacan was severely disciplined for her recklessness and gained a black mark on her record for her dangerous manoeuvre.]

After the campaign was over Grimthain’s promotion was made permanent, despite his protestations. He accepted, but shortly after the campaign was over he requested transfer to a duty close to his friend’s family so he could keep his vow, and was transferred to a junior command position at Helm’s Deep leading the regular patrols.

The Child Snatchers

(Note: this event came straight after Éomund attempted to hide away at Helm's Deep to avoid returning to his mother's farm, and Grimthain's poor reaction and heavy-handed approach to disciplining the boy. The initial post detailing these events can be found here)

Just under 8 years ago, when Éomund was still young and Grimthain considered still a somewhat freshly confirmed Aethelwigend, he led the cavalry Corthor based at Helms Deep that were ordered to pursue a number of child-snatchers who had razed and plundered a Westfold village, murdered most of its inhabitants and abducted fifteen children between the ages of two and sixteen. The child-snatchers attempting to flee the Westfold via the river Entwash. The unit pursued them downriver until they were approaching the borders of the Eastfold, and then it seems that the kidnappers grew tired of the pursuit and decided the children were not worth the effort given the corthor’s refusal to give in. They slaughtered the children; all fifteen, and abandoned their bodies for the soldiers to find in their scattered camp the next day. The cavalry warriors rode them down with fury and vengeance after that, not a single one did they leave alive, and burned them all on pyres so that their vile flesh would not taint the lands of Rohan again. They presumed they were traffickers native to the sea of Rhûn by their clothing, possibly hoping to carry the children down river and back to their homeland for sale. Their deaths were bitter-sweet, and far too late. The children were already lost, and there was naught they could do for them after the chase was done but gather their poor bodies and put them to rest with honour. They died along the Great West Road, only half a day’s ride west of the Firien-wood, and the bodies were transported back to the Westfold. Grimthain, already terribly traumatised by the experience, learned on his arrival at Helm's Deep that patrol reports suggested that the village the children were taken from had no survivors. He therefore commanded that the children's bodies be buried near his own home village of Sceornbeorg.

Grimthain carried the guilt for the fifteen children’s death for many years, and it was only when he met Sigrid in the Horse and Rider Inn and seemingly gained her forgiveness that he started to come to peace with the event. Though he is still haunted by the opening pyres and finding the children dead, those memories no longer overshadow all his actions and he feels at liberty to finally put his demons to rest and begin a new, hopeful life.

Watchmaster of the Helm's Deep dungeons

Following that terrible experience, which scarred Grimthain emotionally and gave him terrible nightmares for many years, he was forcibly relieved of duty for his own mental health. When he returned to duty, he requested he be taken off from patrol command duty and away from the front lines duty to a more sedentary office position so he could more easily support the family of his dead friend Éodred. Part of the reason he requested this transfer was because he still doubted his capabilities to lead effectively and the guilt of both his best friends’ death and the fifteen children weighed heavily upon him.

He was transferred to a position in the keep at Helm’s Deep supporting the quartermaster there, managing rotas and co-ordinating guard shifts. After swiftly proving to be adept at organisation and management, he was offered and accepted the position of Watchmaster of the Helm’s Deep dungeons, an unenviable and antisocial position he held for a number of years. He has only recently stepped away from that position after Allacan's visit led to her impromptu execution of Cuthbert

[Add in further information following the search for the traitors at Helm's Deep RPG]

After Cuthbert's death, he confessed to Allacan in a private discussion that he personally had disagreed with the decision to keep the man alive so long, as well as expressing a wish to be transferred to Meduseld Éored so that he could support a young person who was dear to him while he engaged in cavalry training. On her return to Edoras, Allacan took the initiative of requesting Grimthain's transfer from the Marshals herself, so that by the time Grimthain arrived in Edoras with Éomund, the transfer had already been completed.

Personal relationships

An orphan found abandoned at a very young age, Grimthain never knew his family. Other than Éomund and Leigh he has no family of his own and he has very few friends. He is an amenable and likeable colleague but rarely socialises with people outside work. He is protective of Éomund and would willingly give his life to keep his from harm, but he also actively allows the younger man the time and space to make his own mistakes and avoid smothering and mollycoddling him. He believes it is important to help Éomund learn independence, so the lad can fend for himself when his mother and Grimthain are gone. Although he had romantic relationships in his youth; his last serious relationship ended when his fiancée left him after the kidnapping incident had such a detrimental impact on his mental health and she was unable to cope with his depression. Although the break-up left Grimthain feeling abandoned once again, he respected her reasons and they have maintained an amicable understanding; her later marriage however caused them to drift apart and they have not corresponded in years. Grimthain has not trusted himself to engage in romantic associations with anyone since, and has resigned himself to a lonely life.

- Éomund (Dimcairien)

After his best friend Éodred was killed, Grimthain vowed over his best friend’s grave to protect and provide for Éodred’s widow and son in his place. He attempted to step in as a father figure for his friend’s son Éomund, however Éodred’s widowed wife Leigh held a strong grudge against Grimthain for getting her husband killed only a few years after her father-in-law got killed at Helms Deep, and has persisted in that grudge to date.

Grimthain was only ever allowed to visit Éomund rarely, normally special occasions, like Mettare and Éomund’s birthday and the anniversary of his father’s death. Days when his mother couldn’t refuse him. But by far the most cherished mutual memories of their relationship are their yearly holidays together. One week a year, normally just after Éomund’s birthday, he would come stay with Grimthain at Helm’s Deep; the only time the normally reserved soldier insisted he have off for leave. They thus have shared memories and experiences, don’t know each other well as they would like, but they have a deep affection for each other in spite of this. They just don’t really know how to express it.

Every time Grimthain visited Leigh’s home it would often end in arguments between him and Éomund’s mother. Grimthain was often angry at her mollycoddling and insisting Éomund be taught/trained, and Leigh often snooping on the activities they did together. It is possibly only because of Grimthain’s visits and insistence that Éomund learned life-skills, and their yearly holidays away from the ever-present Leigh, that Éomund learned how to ride, chop wood, write, etc. It also explains why Éomund has dexterity problems - he was never allowed to play and learn the way other youngsters were.

Éomund in then associated Grimthain’s visits as a relief from the brooding mother, and often changing his life for the better, although they were often extremely tense visits that ended in arguments. But Éomund and Grimthain were never as close as either would have liked. Grimthain had suspicions that Éomund had a harsh upbringing, and recognised subtle signs of mild poverty during his visits. [Grimthain, however, had no idea how bad the situation truly was, and that Éomund and Leigh would sometimes going without food or fuel; his mother didn't have enough money for wood to keep a fire going at night during the winter, but was too proud a woman to ask for help! Grimthain would have paid for all they needed if she had ever found it in her heart to forgive him. But Éomund was strictly told to NEVER mention the money problems, and he feared his mother too greatly to go against her wishes, and Grimthain never pried too deeply into their personal affairs.]

However Grimthain did often fund things his mother would never pay for, like buying him his own first mount, riding and horsemanship lessons, and also hired Aldith (Taethowen), head washerwoman at the Hornburg and prior resident of Sceornbeorg, to tutor him in reading and writing skills. Things his mother couldn’t refuse. Likely the real reason she didn’t offer these things was because they couldn’t afford it, but she was too proud to ask for help or accept charity. So she allowed Grimthain to give these things as gifts instead, because you can’t refuse a gift. In her opinion, something like giving a horse or writing lessons is very different than offering to pay for a stack of firewood.

Éomund has a necklace that belonged to his father. Grimthain gave it to him at his father's funeral/memorial in Edoras after the end of Southern Storm and Northern Wind campaign.

Éomund entered the cavalry a few years later than most young boys due to his mother’s reluctance and his delayed education/development. Grimthain didn’t actively encourage Éomund to join the cavalry. He just knew the boy looked up to him as a father figure, and made it clear that Éomund should choose how to live his life for himself, not for his mother. He never would have pushed Éomund towards the cavalry, but was quietly proud when he chose it for himself. Possibly inspired by all the stories Grimthain told him about Cavalry adventures and his father during their short times together.

On hearing that Éomund’s intended to join the cavalry (probably after an argument with his mother, definitely against her wishes, and possibly after him running away from home/being kicked out of his home) Grimthain immediately took emergency leave from the cavalry for family business. It was bad timing for Grimthain, who had just learned that there were potentially traitors among his subordinates at the Helm’s Deep barracks (see ‘Allacan’ below) but in his mind his oath to Éomund’s father took precedence over saving his own reputation.

He immediately attended on Éomund and escorted him to Meduseld to sign up for the cavalry. He had hoped the journey would give them a chance to bond, but the boy barely spoke more than two words outside the necessary during the whole journey and it was mostly limited to the older man providing practical guidance on what to expect when Éomund enrolled in the cavalry, such as traditional pranks and expectations regarding his conduct. So it was that Grimthain did not tell Éomund that he intended to request a transfer to Meduseld Eored - and take a demotion if necessary - so he could be on hand to support the boy, and instead decided to put himself in the capital ready for if the young man needed him but otherwise let the lad do things on his own, his own way. Grimthain was afraid his own affection and concern for the boy would be interpreted as more mollycoddling, and did not want to alienate Éomund from possibly the only friendly family that either of them still had; each other.

On arriving at Meduseld, Grimthain discovered that Allacan had requested the transfer to Meduseld Eored on his behalf and it had already been approved by the First Marshal Shivased, without any demotion. However Grimthain was called to his new duties (and Éomund summoned to his training) before Grimthain could tell the younger man about his transfer and moving home to Meduseld.

Éomund probably does not even realise Grimthain is still in Edoras and likely suspects he has already returned to his old post as Helm’s Deep Watchmaster. Éomund will probably be very surprised to see Grimthain’s name on the Meduseld roster, or spot him in the Dragon Room with the Meduseld soldiers.

Grimthain has been care-taking Éomund’s father’s sword, waiting for the right time to present it to his son. He will do so with great respect and ceremony when it seems Éomund has earned it; probably after he finishes his cavalry training.

(Someone who knows one or both of them well might realise there is a relationship between Éomund and Grimthain, but only with research and/or a keen skill in deduction.)

- Leigh

Grimthain's relationship with Éomund's mother and Éodred's wife has always been strained; they are too alike but approached problems in different ways which always led to disagreements. Both were fiercely loyal people who bury their emotions and aren't always the most diplomatic, but where Leigh was forceful and fought for what she want, Grimthain was more passive and let others lead. In his youth, Grimthain used to refer to the beautiful but fierce Leigh as the dreaded wildcat of Wilderwood when speaking of her with Éodred, a nickname that he later gave to the kitten he gifted to Leigh many years later as a private joke to himself (Leigh has never suspected that it was an old title for herself).

For many years Leigh blamed Grimthain for convincing Éodred to answer the cavalry summons to the Southern Storm and Northern Wind campaign and ultimately his death on the field of battle, and Grimthain never denied that the fault was his. Fiercely protective of Éomund, she resented Grimthain's attempts to prepare him for a life that might include the cavalry and so their relationship grew increasingly strained right up until the point when Éomund defied his mother by deciding to join the cavalry and Leigh threw him out of her home. Since Éomund's successful entry into the cavalry and learning of his decision to join the Eastmark Éored far from his homelands, Grimthain has been growing increasingly worried about how Leigh is faring and intends to return to her for a visit, share the news of her son's successes and attempt one last time to re-build some form of relationship with her, hoping to provide for her now that she is alone by funding the farm with his cavalry savings - if she will accept it.

- Allacan

Grimthain only recently met Allacan, when he was the Watchmaster at Helm’s Deep in command of the cells in which Cuthbert (Rowena’s evil NPC) was being held. Allacan was ordered by Rowena to interrogate Cuthbert for information. Instead, after designing a complicated plot to convince Cuthbert that she had murdered the guard on watch and was actually a recruiter from Mordor interested in liberating him in return for information on his capabilities... she executed him of her own whim, while there were no witnesses. After Allacan returned to Grimthain and confessed her loss of control and her belief she will be severely disciplined and dismissed from the cavalry, Grimthain confided in her his hatred of his commander and their insistence on keeping Cuthbert alive when Grimthain believed the man was a danger to the cavalry for as long as he remained alive. He also confided his desire to transfer to Meduseld Eored so he could be present during the enrolment and training of ‘someone dear to him’, but did not specify who. Grimthain wrote a report to the marshals about Allacan’s performance and suggested her actions were not wholly insubordinate. In return, Allacan suggested he be transferred to Meduseld because he ‘deserved a chance to get out of the stuffy office job’ and the Eored could do with a sub-commander. First Marshal Shiva approved the transfer, but he never knew of the same until he arrived in Meduseld ready to make his own request in person, and by then Éomund had already enlisted and it was too late to tell his ward about the transfer or make arrangements to move his belongings to Edoras before he was called to his new duties.

Allacan and Grimthain are comrades and acquaintances who respect each other, but nothing more. They have assisted each other professionally and personally and both consider all debts paid and the slate clean. Grimthain has no idea about failed Allacan’s attempt to save his best friend’s life during the Southern Storm/Northern Wind campaign.

- Gwai

Grimthain has only in the last few days met his Marshal, the recently promoted Third Marshal of the Mark, but after seeing how she greeted her subordinates and especially how she treated Audley’s potential disclosure regarding harassment and abuse, and her good natured pranking of Éomund after he was responsible for giving her a black eye, she has quickly risen in his regard to someone who believes to be honourable and fair.

Despite the brevity of their initially interaction, her presence had unexpectedly rekindled emotions that Grimthain had thought he would never feel again and had warmed his heart; his read of her was that she was firm but fair, sympathetic but expecting some reparation for wrongdoings, commanding but with a sense of humour. He told himself it would be an honour to serve beneath her, and tried initially to insist to himself that this was all his emotions on the matter were, although he will soon enough have to concede that actually has quite a big crush on his commander, and is still figuring out exactly what he should be doing about it.

- Aldith (Taethowen)

Currently the head washerwoman at the Hornburg, she was born and raised in Éodred/Éomund's home village of Sceornbeorg. One of the only locals schooled in reading and writing, Grimthain hired her to tutor Éomund in scholarly skills. He hired Aldith because he found her to be charismatic, likeable, unthreatening person, and someone he thought could get past Leigh’s blunt attitude and might even make friends with her. He holds in high regard; “She got along with Leigh despite being hired by me, that makes her a Demi-god in my opinion!”

- Sigrid (Winddancer)

Grimthain met Sigrid many years after the Child-Snatching incident when he overheard her speaking of it to Éolath in the Horse and Rider Inn. He was horrified to discover that she was the only survivor of the village from where the children had been taken, and had spent the last 8 years attempting to discover their fate. Evidently, after the traumatised Grimthain had been relieved of duty on his return to Helm's Deep after the failed rescue mission, his subordinate - themselves likely shaken and shocked by the experience - had omitted to make a formal report that might have later been available to Sigrid on request. Grimthain's guilt that he had failed to rescue the children was compounded by remorse that his mental instability had inadvertently led to her wasting many years of her life (and the last few years of her childhood) on a futile search. He told her the true fate of the children and gave directions both to the site where they had died and the location of their mounds, as well as confessing his own belief that their deaths had been his fault for not rescuing them sooner, or perhaps pursuing real child-snatchers with less fervour. He sought her forgiveness by stating “For my part in that failure, I am sorry. Deeply sorry, and though I do not expect you to be able to find it in your heart to forgive me, I hope perhaps my tale has offered you some semblance of closure.” Sigrid expressed her thanks for his efforts and for ensuring the children were all laid to rest properly, and he interpreting this as her forgiveness. This event was one of those experiences that helped Grimthain to finally begin putting his demons of the past to rest and began a notable change in the old veterans demeanour and attitude.

Grimthain feels partially responsible for Sigrid's lost youth, and is very conscious that she has no remaining family and likely few friends. Being himself an orphan, he can appreciate the difficulty of being raised without at least a father figure, and so he has attempted to reach out to Sigrid as a support and friend, and in the event that she is consensual he will likely treat her with the respect and support akin to a foster-daughter. He has written to her expressing that should she ever find herself in need of aid or coin or support, that he would be there for her, and has also provided her with an open invitation to his home.

- Éolath

[To be completed on conclusion of the current Horse and Rider Inn thread]

Hobbies

Grimthain rarely socialises with people outside work and often struggles in less formal environments. Raised within the cavalry, he enjoys structure and routine, and productive tasks.

He is a keen card player, playing with a Rohirric deck (instead of Jack, Queen, King it is Gelding, Mare, Stallion, the Ace is Foal, and the suits are river, forest, field and mountain). He knows a variety of games (both solo and multiplayer) and often runs games nights for his cavalry comrades. He does not approve of gambling, so when playing these games he uses his button collection in place of currency, with the larger or shinier buttons being worth a greater value. He would give out a fair portion to each player at the beginning of each gaming session and collect them all back in afterwards (not letting anyone leave until he had counted back all his precious buttons). He would often spend his own cavalry pay on small prizes for each game-night victor, so that they would have something to take home as a prize, and these gifts would often be practical tools that would encourage personal development.

The cards with which he plays do not have letters, but do have numbers, and he used the games-nights as teaching sessions to educate his soldiers on how to count, and the buttons as currency were used to teach people how to do basic mathematics. He also improved his insight skills while playing; developing a keen eye for people’s ‘tells’ and using each session as an opportunity to judge the character and mood of his comrades.

Cherished Possessions

- Norman, his horse; one of the cavalry mounts assigned to him who he took a particular liking to and later purchased
- Patched blanket
- Pile of rocks
- Two Rohirric playing card decks
- A large leather pouch containing his button collection (42 in total)
- A fine silver-looking thimble (actually made from mithril)
- A set of five sewing needles of various thicknesses, including a leather stitching needle
- Two reels of strong thread
- One coil of leather cord
- A stitching awl
- A skiver
- A leather hole-punch
- A hoofpick
- A grooming set (including tweezers, fine scissors and a shaving knife)
- A whet-stone
- Éodred’s sword

Among Grimthain’s most cherished possessions are an old, patched blanket and pile of rocks. The blanket is the only belonging he has left from his parents, and the pile of rocks are one stone for each of the cavalry families that fostered him as a child, taken from their homestead or close by it.

He also two Rohirric playing card decks (instead of Jack, Queen, King it is Gelding, Mare, Stallion, the Ace is Foal, and the suits are river, forest, field and mountain). The first of these is badly worn, with a number of cards damaged or faded that he keeps for sentimental reasons, the second is a newer set that he commissioned to continue running game-nights after his first set had become so well used that someone with a good memory could recognise cards from the back by recalling the a characteristic fold or tear.

He collects buttons, which are rare and expensive in Rohan, and has a sizeable collection for a Rohir (42). He uses these during gaming sessions in place of coin and to help teach his soldiers to count. On occasion buttons have been lost (or stolen) and he is now exceedingly observant to count all the buttons back at the end of each session before allowing anyone to leave.

Because of his poor background and thrifty nature, Grimthain is particularly careful to maintain what little clothing and belongings he has and protect them against wear and tear. He taught himself to work a needle and thread to preserve his clothes and has over the years invested in a variety of tools to enable him to do simple repairs and improvements on cloth and leather.

He also currently has possession of Éodred’s sword, but it is only in his safekeeping until such a time as Éomund has completed his cavalry training, when it will be presented to the young man. He used to have possession of Éodred’s sword, safekeeping it from Leigh for fear that she would dispose of it, but he has recently presented the sword to his son Éomund in the Throne Room before King Éomer and Lady Éowyn to mark the momentous occasion of him having completed his cavalry training and making of his oath.

Mentality and Characteristics

Grimthain is loyal to a fault, and a firm believer in maintaining the chain of command. He knows from experience that senior officers often have to make difficult orders and sometimes know things that their soldiers do not, so he trusts to his commanders to make the right decision even when their reasoning is not clear or appears wrong. He would likely never question the wisdom of a superior’s commands, even privately, and struggles to provide feedback to his superiors when asked to comment on their performance or asked for a second opinion; his default attitude is respectful obedience, and so he is not best suited to advisory ranks or senior command/second in command roles, but makes an excellent sergeant and enforcer of orders given by another. He rigidly follows orders - even those he does not agree with - without question, and will firmly rebuke any insubordination.

Being unable to serve his best friend’s family as he wishes, for the last few years he has buried himself in his work and the cavalry. He is organised and efficient; an educated man who does not shirk less pleasurable duties. His command style is calm, patient, and understanding. He expects loyalty and discipline, but he is known for never giving an order to anyone that he would not himself be willing to perform, and often engages in even the most menial tasks and unpopular shifts to prove this. For this reason he is respected and admired by his subordinates.

He is a particularly astute judge of character and after years of being Watchmaster often spots the early signs of troubling behaviour others do not. However he is uncomfortable by emotional conflict, and prone to hide behind the rigidity of commands. He does not like large amounts of responsibility and feels uncomfortable with the concept of any command rank above Aethelwigend, but he has proven himself time and again as a capable and well respected commander of smaller units such as corthor and patrols.

Grimthain struggles to express his emotions and rarely talks about his own grief, he has thus not processed it. He puts the safety and happiness of others before himself. He is kind and empathetic with others, slow to anger, and often positions himself as a protective father-figure to particularly young recruits.

The man has been living in a trap of his own guilt for years. Once Éomund thrives and is happy [and especially if he learns he was not to blame for Éodred’s death], he’ll finally learn to forgive himself and start searching out his own happiness. The process had already begun, and the more independent Éomund becomes, the more Grimthain re-discovers how to cherish life and live selfishly.

[As a player I am excited to have him learn how to forgive himself, and go from stern and serious older man to embarrassing father figure who gets drunk and dad-dances at Éomund’s promotion party. Who knows, he may even find a way to retire from the cavalry and lead a life focussed more on enrichment and happiness than duty and honour.

Pivotal character moments [relevant posts:-
- Flash-back to Helm’s Deep and his vow to protect Éodred’s family
- The day Éomund went missing from Helm's Deep and his later attempt to make up for his poor reaction
- Regarding his most cherished possessions being mementos from his childhood (also mentioned here)
- Southern Storm and Northern Wind XVII (old plaza) regarding Éodred’s death
- His report to the Marshals on Allacan’s re-joining task
- His confession to Sigrid and her subsequent forgiveness of him triggering a new start
- His first letter to Sigrid inviting her to see him as ‘found-family’
- Presenting his ‘new’ self in the Throne Room and petitioning King Éomer
- Presenting Éodred's sword to Éomund
- Processing an emotional breakdown after discovering Éodred wrote a letter to him before his passing, and resolving to make a new life for himself

---

A courier enters the Hall of Histories, a large scroll in hand. The scribe makes space on a table nearby, and as the courier unrolls it, the scroll is revealed to be a large map of the Riddermark. Several points are marked on it already, but as the courier leaves, the Scribe adds a new bit to her greeting.

"The King has asked for all those willing to mark their family homes or the villages they come from on the map."

---

To submit your home for the map or make changes, please tag @Taethowen in the Hall of Histories OOC thread. Make sure to include any pertinent information (location, village or private home; if private, size of the estate; name of village or estate, etc.) in your request. You are permitted to include multiple homes if your character(s) currently possess them.

You are free to have your characters reside in any village, city, town, fortress, or Cavalry outpost that is on the map (or to make up new ones!). If you do make up a new location, please tag me in the Golden Hall with the name and location so I can add it to the map!

Note: if you go back and tag someone in an older post, it does not send a notification to them.

---

Legend:
Farms are yellow dots
Cavalry Outposts are brown dots
Cities/Fortresses/Towns/Villages are red dots
Private Estates are purple dots

Dots and the distances between them are not to scale. They are basic location markers, not indicative of property size, etc. If you're not sure which region a location falls in, please refer to this map.

Updated map will be uploaded approximately once a week.

Scroll down below the map for the list of locations and those who reside there.
All maps in this post are courtesy of @Aodh Hammerhelm.



Cavalry Outposts (brown)

1 - Halherig (@Allacan ob Burzum)
An outpost far in the north of the Eastemnet, near the Wold, miles from anywhere.

2 - Unnamed/unclaimed
An outpost on the northern border of the Wetwang in the East Emnet.

3 - Unnamed/unclaimed
An outpost on the western shore of the Anduin, north of the Sarn Gebir and Emyn Muil, along the border of the East Emnet and the Wold.

4 - Tafelberg (Ælfred the One-eyed - @Aodh Hammerhelm)
An outpost on the western shore of the Anduin, between the North and South Undeeps in the Wold. Established in the early 4th Age after a military review of past invasions into Rohan.

5 - Unnamed/unclaimed
A small, permanently-maintained Cavalry encampment maintained along the southern bank of the Limlight river in the Wold. Mostly a support outpost for the nomadic horsemen in the region.

6 - Unnamed/unclaimed
A small, permanently-maintained Cavalry encampment in the Wold, established after the War of the Ring to aid those dealing with the last straggling wandering bands of orcs.

7 - Unnamed/unclaimed
An outpost established after the overthrow of Isengard, to keep watch for any of Saruman's remaining followers in the Westfold.

8 - Unnamed/unclaimed
A large, permanent outpost guarding the North-South Road where it enters Rohan at the Fords of Isen, since Dunland and the Mark are still unstable, at best, in their relationship with each other. Located in the Westfold.

9 - Unnamed/unclaimed
A small, permanent encampment in the West-March on the southern bank of the Isen river.

10 - Unnamed/unclaimed
A small, permanent encampment in the West-March, on the northern bank of the Adorn river.

11 - Unnamed/unclaimed
A small outpost in the West Emnet. Very isolated, possibly abandoned at the current time.

12 - Unnamed/unclaimed
A small outpost in the Eastfold near where the Fenmarch and Mering Stream join with the Wetwang.

13 - Unnamed/unclaimed
A large, permanent outpost guarding the Great West Road where it enters the Mark from the east. They deal less with orcs and more with bandits, thieves, and smugglers, since Gondor keeps Anorien and their portion of the Great West Road well-guarded.

Farms (yellow)

1 - Formerly @Thalionwen Hunigfolm's Family Farm - Eastfold (Thali is still maintaining 'rights' to it OOC .)

2 - @Éolath's Farm - Westfold
+/- 100 acres. 25 acres of farmland, the rest is grazing/pasture.

3 - @Eléowyn's Farm - Westfold
+/- 100 acres. 20 acres of currently fallow farmland, 2-3 acres of fruit orchards, the rest is pasture. Some 5 miles north of the North-South Road, about halfway between Helm's Deep and Edoras.

4 - Sulhhandlas Farm (@Amhran) - West Emnet
Within sight but not on the banks of the Onedlo (Entwash). There's a small village on the banks of the river, and the farm is on the outskirts. A couple day's ride from Edoras.

Private Estates (purple)

1 - Ærn Anhyrne - Eastfold (@Taethowen)
+/- 5,000 acres. Backs up to the Fenmarch, just north of the Firien Wood. Roughly half a day's ride north from the Great West Road.

2 - Braiarwood - Eastfold (@Shivased)
+/- 2,000 acres. About halfway between the Firien Wood and the Entwash, along the Mering Stream.

3 - Riverview - Eastfold (@Gwai)
+/- 900 acres. On the banks of the Snowbourne not far from the Entwash.

4 - Firimar's Estate - Westfold (@Éolath)
+/- 5000 acres, about a day's ride from Helm's Deep, toward the Fords of Isen.

5 - SwiÞám Range - Eastfold (Laewyn - @Lirimaer)
A large family-run estate with a farm and horse training center about 40-50 miles east of Aldburg, and on either side of the Great West Road, two small villages are located some miles apart, where the workers live. (See entries for SwiÞheorte and SwiÞhanda below.)

6 - Hwictahow (Breeze Hill) Homestead - West Emnet (@Aodh Hammerhelm)
+/- 4,500 acres. In the West Emnet on the west bank of the Entwash, 40 miles north of the Snowbourn river.

7 - The Dughlaich's Homestead - The Wold (@Aodh Hammerhelm)
+/- 75 acres encompassing river mead and forest, on the west bank of Anduin.

Cities/Forts/Towns/Villages (red)
Residents listed in italics.

1 - Sceornbeorg - Westfold
Éomund (@Dimcairien Luiniel)
Grimthain (@Allacan ob Burzum)

2 - SwiÞheorte - Eastfold
South of the Great West Road. Part of the SwiÞám Range estate. Contains an inn and general store.

3 - SwiÞhanda - Eastfold
North of the Great West Road. Part of the SwiÞám Range estate. Contains an inn and general store.

4 - Benton - Eastfold
Walpurga (@Vampire Bob)

5 - Coinmheadh - Eastfold
Small town that sits near the bordering boundaries of Ærn Anhyrne and Braiarwood.

6 - Abrocenfla - East Emnet
Eldreda (@Taethowen)

7 - Abrocenboga - West Emnet

8 - Geoluraed - The Wold

9 - Bremesgraf - The Wold

10 - Smoltwaeter - West-march

11 - Acsagemet - West Emnet

12 - Cal Mannes Hǣþ (Cold Man's Heath) - the Folde/Eastfold
Situated in the Folde, 15 miles north west of Aldburg in a wooded vale southwest of the Great West Road.
Ælfred the One-eyed (@Aodh Hammerhelm)
Sheemie Rheus (@Aodh Hammerhelm)

13 - Caldbeck - Westfold
@Elarith - family's sheepholding is in this village.


Edoras (map)
Auld Town
@Taethowen - a two-story house near the Riddermarket.
@Eléowyn - A small cottage, consisting of two rooms--a great room that includes cooking, dining, and sitting areas, and a small bedroom in the back. This cottage is in Auld Town in Edoras, on the side opposite the Riddermarket.
@Aodh Hammerhelm & Ringbold Took - Oferwyrðe Ceola (Worthy Cottage) - a cottage in the The Shambles, Auld Town. Situated midway between the northern watchtower and the road that leads from the North Gate.

New Town
Lailyn (@Lail) - The house is small but it sits in front of a generous yard (to be a garden and space for the beehives) and a large barn at the back. Located in New Town south of the stream.

Edoras Infirmary - @Thalionwen Hunigfolm
Immediately beyond the southern city walls sits a sprawling and derelict farmstead, which sat abandoned for decades and has now been taken over for use as the much-needed Edoras Infirmary. There are some residents, both permanent and temporary.
@Thalionwen Hunigfolm and (eventually) daughters Elswyth and Orla.
Alwin (NPC of @Thalionwen Hunigfolm)
Sigrid (@Winddancer)
Old Mother Mute (@Allacan ob Burzum)

Dunharrow - South of Edoras

Aldburg (Fortress) - Eastfold

Hornburg (Fortress at Helm's Deep) - Westfold

Edoras. Capital of Rohan, home of The Golden Hall, Meduseld. Jenwyn looked around in awe at the bustling city as she stepped through the gates. It was her first visit to Edoras and for a woman from a small farming village in the Westfold, the city seemed a world away from her home. Jenwyn made her way down the high street when she saw the building she was looking for, a small non-descript building just off the street. She went inside and was greeted by a scribe who asked for her story. A momentary glimpse of sadness passed by her face before she began.

"My name is Jenwyn. I am from a small farming village in the Westfold. During the War of the Ring I lived there with my mother, my elder sister and younger brother. I was 11 years old when the Uruk-Hai came. They attacked with no warning. I remember the day well, like it's burned into my memory. It was a sunny morning, I had woken early and gotten dressed and was ready for the day ahead, unaware that my world would soon by thrown upside down. I had just fed the pigs in a pen on the edge of the village when I heard the first screams. A man ran past me and screamed that we were under attack, his sentence cut short as two arrows pierced his back. Momentarily, I stood in shock as the man's life ebbed from his body in front of my eyes, an unspoken scream forming in my throat. Soon, I was pulled back to the moment and ran. Of course, I know I should have run away from the village as quickly as I could but I could not leave my family, so I ran straight towards my home, as quickly I could. My lungs felt like they were on fire as chaos erupted around me. Presently, I reached my house and saw my mother quickly grabbing what food and supplies she could as she packed, along with my two siblings. Screaming and the sounds of battle came close and closer. Well, I say battle, it was more like a slaughter. We quickly gathered anything else we could take and we ran outside. By this point, several buildings were on fire, and I watched in horror as a couple of Uruk-Hai cut down a woman, while other Uruk-Hai entered houses, smashing and looting and killing anyone in the way. My family and I turned and ran as fast as we could. Our house was near the centre of the village and while it is a fairly small village, it felt much bigger when trying to weave our way past burning buildings and avoid groups of snarling Uruk-Hai.

We reached the edge of the village but just then we came across a group of five Uruk-Hai armed with bows. Two fired arrows in our direction, but they harmlessly missed us. We had passed the edge of the village and were heading towards the nearby woods. I thought we were going to make it. Suddenly I heard the twang as three more arrows were released. My mother was running behind me, she was struck first. She fell forward, knocking me down. A fraction of a second afterwards, my elder sister was struck and fell next to my mother. My brother was hit in the leg, he screamed in agony and fell over next to me. My mother had stopped breathing, tears stung my eyes, but her body lay on top of me and I realised my best chance to survive was to pretend to be dead. I closed my eyes and slowed down my breathing. I heard the metallic footsteps as a Uruk came closer drawn to the groans of my younger brother, who was writhing on the ground, clutching his leg. I held my breath as I heard them come close. Out of the corner of my eye, I risked a peek and through a partially closed eye, I saw a Uruk standing above my above. Time seemed to slow down as I saw the Uruk plunge a spear into my brother's body. It took all of my will-power not to scream, inside it felt like something had died inside as I came to the realisation that both my siblings and my mother had perished. Still, I dared not move an inch and laid there under my mother's body, eyes closed and trying not to breath.

Luckily for me, Uruk-Hai are not always the most observant. How long I stayed lying there, I do not know. Hours, definitely. The sun was beginning to descend. Finally, I tentatively started to move. I clambered onto all fours and then stood and surveyed the devastation. Around me, the bodies of my family remained where they had fallen. Smoking, charred buildings were all that remained of the village. In a daze, I started slowly walking towards my home. I passed bodies, some heavily mutilated, men, women and children. Hollow shells of buildings. Presently, I am across my house which was just a blackened skeleton. I stood in-front of it, mouth agape, locked in a silent scream, scarcely believing what had happened. Bitter tears began to sting my face, and I stood there for I don't know how long, letting the tears fall all around me. Finally, with a deep breath and a feeling of grim determination, I made my way back through the village towards where my family lay. I found them and gently moved them so they were arranged as if they were sleeping. I made a vow that one day I would become back.

With a bitter sigh, I turned away from the village and where my family lay. The sun was reaching the western horizon now and I did not want to stay out over night with roaming Uruks about. I remembered my cousins live on a farm a few miles away. It wasn't much and it may not be safe, but it was the only option I could think of so I began the journey. I made good time. The sky began to glow red and yellow as the sun set over the horizon and all was quiet, even the birds seemed to be silent.

I walked at a quick pace for several hours, clambering over streams and fields, through woods and glades. All the while, I kept alert for any signs of Uruk-Hai activity. By now the sun had sunk below the horizon, the sky was getting dark when in the horizon I spotted light from a window. My cousin's farm. Clearly it had been spared from the destruction. I made my way towards the light like a beacon of hope. The sky had turned back as night-time descended when I finally reached my cousin's farm. I knocked on the door and collapsed on the door step, weeping, as they answered. They took me in, gave me food, water and a soft bed.

The next few days passed in a blur. My cousins decided it wasn't safe so we left the farm and sought refugee at Helm's Deep. There we remained for the rest of the War of the Ring. Some time later, we returned to my village in the Westfold. Those that survived helped to rebuild the village, the population of which was increased by the trickle of people moving into village from isolated farmsteads around the area, including my cousins. Life gradually returned to normal, we buried my family, and everyone else who died on that fateful day. Years passed and I learnt to ride, I learnt to fight with a sword and shoot with a bow. Never again did I want to feel as helpless as I did that day. Now, my path has taken me to Edoras and to this hall. I hope by sharing my past, I can honour the memory of my family and all those who died in the village and, one day, make them proud."

The scribe had been writing furiously throughout the time Jenwyn spoke, and continued for a few more minutes as she caught up with all of Jenwyn's story.

OOC: This is the first time I've RPed in a while, so my apologies if it's not very good

OOC: @Jenny Harper

<< The scribe read your story to blind Aldor the Sage, he wept and pronounced it mighty fine, sai. >>

Gwai entered the Hall of Histories, smiled at the scribe, but waved them away, preferring not to speak out loud. This story she would write herself. It was not an exciting story, or even particularly unique, but it was her own, and she was overdue in the telling. She sat down, pulled a candle closer to a blank piece of parchment, and dipped the quill in ink, pausing as she wondered how to begin.




I was born to the Feorsteorras on their Riverview estate on the banks of the Snowbourn River, not far from the Entwash. While not the largest breeding stable in Rohan by any means, it was nonetheless well established, and profitable. We were a wealthy family, although not rich. Able to indulge in the elegancies of life, if not the extravagances.

I was born Araina Feorsteorra, but early on was nicknamed Gwai, after the lord of the Eagles, when my father joked I reminded him of the famous bird when I sailed my pony over a jump which should have been too tall for me. It was, actually, and I deservedly landed in the mud, but the nickname stuck, and it is now rare for me to be called anything else.

My father, Æthelstan, long called Ironsides from his deeds in old battles, was an avid breeder of fine horses, one in a long line of Feorsteorras who had been breeding on our estate for many generations. It is said that our horses still have a drop of the bloodline of the Mearas. Father specialized in breeding palominos, which while not unheard of in the Mark, were also not commonplace, although he also had a wide range of others.

My mother, Lady Édith, had come from a noble, yet less affluent family, and her marriage had been regarded as quite fortuitous for her. However, she always regretted the passion Father felt for his land and his horses. He did go fairly frequently to Edoras to visit the Golden Hall, trade or sell horses in the Riddermarket, and see old friends, and would take his wife with him when she asked. However, Lady Édith craved what she considered more civilized society, and was frequently badgering Father to take her to Minas Tirith for a protracted stay. We can well afford it, she would say, and it would be good for the children to be exposed to culture. It was an old argument, which occurred with increasing frequency as we got older.

I didn’t have difficulty with the bookwork or lessons in etiquette my refined mother forced me to do every morning, but I had very little in common with her. Instead, I looked forward to being released from my studies and spending time outdoors with my father in the afternoons. I would ride out with him and my brother nearly every day. My father taught us to love our land and horses. He taught us swordsmanship, archery, horsemanship, his breeding ideas, as well as stewardship of the land.

I was a fearless rider (a bit too fearless, from the tumbles I took), but learned well from my mistakes. My mother, however, deplored what she considered my recklessness and passion for everything she deemed wrong with living far from the city, as well as my complete refusal to comport myself as Lady Édith believed a proper young lady should—teas, embroidery, social visits, and the like. But my heart was that of a shieldmaiden, and Father fully approved and supported me in this.

Father had been a faithful friend to King Théoden, and had ridden out behind the King in the battle for Helm’s Deep that fateful morning when the King and his lords had thought they were riding to their doom. He was also among the lords who accompanied the King to Isengard, and, like the King he loved, fell in the Battle of Pelennor Fields, ad well as my older brother Æthelred. Father’s sword, Bælfyr, was returned to us by his ceorl, but there were no words of condolence that could ease the wound that had been caused that day.

I was devastated by the death of Father and Æthelred, whom I had loved dearly. I felt as if part of my soul had been torn away. My mother, Lady Édith, while sad, was not as disconsolate as I, and continued to manage the estate after Father’s death, although she did not share the enthusiasm he had for the breeding of horses. Fortunately, her brother came to live with us after Father passed away, and took over the management of the stables. He was ably aided by several of the workers, who had been with the family for years.

When I came of age, my mother insisted I marry well, and even went so far as to arrange a marriage with the son of a nearby extremely wealthy, noble family. Having met the young man, whom I considered to have the face of a fish and a personality to match, I insisted I would rather do anything but. (Perhaps I could have phrased that more diplomatically, but, in my defense, I was young. And my uncle agreed he really did look like a fish). My dream was to join the Cavalry in memory of my father. My mother, however, adamantly refused this request, and after a prolonged argument, I eventually packed a few essentials in a saddlebag, strapped on my father’s sword, saddled young Brightfyr in the middle of the night, and rode to Edoras to join the cavalry as sperewigend. (Again in my defense, I did leave a note).

My relationship with my mother had never been close, and was not helped by what my mother considered the complete social disgrace that accompanied her daughter joining the Cavalry. My mother would never have done something so socially devastating as to disown her own daughter, but during Édith’s trips to Edoras, she refused to acknowledge me when she saw me in cavalry uniform, and refused to acknowledge my eventual promotion to pӕthfindian as being a cause for celebration or reconciliation.

I was a new recruit during the Southern Storm Campaign, and fought with the eagerness of a young sperewigend.
I made friendships that would last a lifetime. A year or two later, I applied for and trained for the role of pӕthfindian, and felt quite well suited to that calling. However, perhaps because of how well suited I was for the life of a pæth,
I eventually felt the call of the mountains, and after several years in the cavalry, I honorably retired to pursue my travels.

I returned home periodically, and now that I was older, was able empathize a bit more with my mother, who had longed for a very different life than one she had led. While I did not crave the finer things of life that my mother loved, I tolerated the teas, ceremonial visits with neighbors, and dress parties, which my mother took as the gesture of goodwill it was intended. (There was also something to be said for good food, nice clothes, and a feather bed.) I rarely stayed home for longer than a few weeks as I felt the continued draw to see what was over the horizon, but my mother and I parted on cordial terms, albeit still not close.

I eventually received word that my mother had passed quietly away this last winter from an inflammation of the lungs, and my attention was required back home. My uncle, while continuing to ably manage the estate, was growing older, and would appreciate more assistance. Brightfyr and I turned back toward Rohan, and as I settled back into my old life once more, I found I had quenched much of the restlessness that had been in my soul, and was most content to be home once more in the Mark.

A woman, old enough to have experienced some hardship and gained some wisdom, but young enough to still have at least half her life before her yet (and probably more), stumbled across the hall of histories while exploring Edoras. She wasn't sure how she'd missed the last time she was there, but this time she stepped inside and couldn't help but smile at the sight of scrolls, and then turned to the scribe.

"So you record our histories here? What deems a person's history worthy?" she asked while perusing what appeared to be a new map of the Mark.

"If you are a citizen of the Mark, your story can be told," the scribe answered, a bit bemused. "Do you wish to tell your story?"

"I don't think I have much of a story to tell," the woman answered. "But... what could be the harm? My name is Eldreda. My family once owned a small farm in the Westfold, which is where I was born, but I have no memory of the place for we moved within a year of my birth. I have no siblings, and both of my parents have passed. My only known family is Taethowen Anhyrne. My father's uncle was her father, so we're cousins of a sort.

"After leaving the Westfold, my parents resettled in the village of Abrocanfla in the East Emnet, and I resided there until just recently, when Taeth requested my help running her shop since she's been placed in the position of the Marshal of the Westmark. I helped her once before with the shop, when she was away at war.

"Taethowen and I spent a few years together, as my mother taught both of us her trade--tailoring. Supposedly, my mother made garments for the family of our current king, when the King and his sister were children, but I've never been able to confirm this tale of hers.

"But I... most of my life, I've simply sewed. I love it, but I do find myself wishing for something more these days. I'm glad to be back here in Edoras. I've decided to ask my cousin for a permanent position in the shop, and have put my late parents' home up for sale in Abrocanfla. It's time I tried something new."