White and Gold

[Dûnhád]

The view was magnificent, was there really another way to describe it? Dûnhád wondered if that was really the best way to describe what he saw. Great plains of grass opened up before him, revealing the colours known as green and brown in several tints. Had he known what horrors would be revealed in time on the same fields he now looked upon he would have turned back and averted his gaze. If he would have known the blood of many would melt together with the grass and make a single melting pot of fear and horror to everyone who would glance upon it.....he would have done the same. But now he glanced upon lands that reminded him of his homeland, but somehow these lands deserved a more important part in the stories of old.

Dûnhád looked upon the field and as if it had aged centuries upon centuries in a matter of moments many patches of grass disappeared. They changed into patches with row upon row of vegetables with small houses next to them which belonged to the farmers. As he saw civilization creep into the great plains he looked upon his gaze wandered around until it met the sight the voice could not describe. As if the light of the heavens descended upon the rocks a form was carved out of the huge rocks in his sight. The towers were made of a light unlike any others while the sun shone on it. The walls were made of a pure white substance, one which all of the words in every language on Middle-Earth could not describe. Rock, that's what it was made of.......walls, that's what they were. But those words just drowned in the enormous awe the city inspired into this onlookers. The keep rose above it like a enormous crown upon a mighty head made of walls and the hearts of the people of this fair people. Minas Tirith he looked upon and a light shone on Dûnhád's day.

He turned around as if the sight of this city was too much for him to handle. The hill he had found soon lay behind him as he moved towards the nearest farm he saw. Minas Tirith, he thought, Minas Tirith! The feeling he had a mere minute ago disappeared, the feeling he somehow knew how these fields came to this point just disappeared. A feeling of dread crawled towards him and took him unsuspected as a visage appeared in front of his eyes. He saw a golden shine reflected in the eyes of long dead Kings. He located the place where the shine started and he looked upon Meduseld with the eyes of a small boy who sees it for the first time, the eyes of his former self. He knew it was a masterwork of old and in his eyes it was even more beautiful then the white shine of the watchful eye of Gondor itself, Minas Tirith. As soon as it started the visage disappeared and Meduseld was just a memory in his head, not more then a image of his life long past. He knew he had not seen it, he knew they were just memories disturbing him now and he shook his head.

A single tear rolled down from his eye and over the old battle wound and it stung him momentarily. The pain had never died down from that scar, just as the other pain he had ever endured. The tear rolled own and through his moustache onto his upper lip. He licked it away in a single sweep of his tongue and the tear tasted bitter, like some of his emotional scars were in it and he had just taken them back with him. He looked up as the farm got closer and closer as his feet moved him when his head was somewhere else. The chain shirt was hurting him and his rations were all but spent. That was good in a way as he was now not as 'big' as he once was, but still he was a man of great width. The grim look on his face came back as he wiped away the line the tear had made on his face. The farm was his goal and that was one he could achieve.

[Lady Arwen]

Marenwe was ankle-deep in mud, a hoe in her hand, bent down and focusing on her task. She was covered in dirt and grime, from the top of her head to the bottoms of her bare feet. It was early in the season and the soil was too hard; Marenwe's father had instructed her to oversee and help her siblings wet down the earth with water from the stream and break apart the clods with her hoe. It was usually the task of her older sister to watch over the smaller children, but due to her recent marriage, Marenwe found the majority of the heavy chores on her shoulder. It was no surprise that her older brother was no help either, since he was helping take the grain from the last year's harvest to Minas Tirith.

It was nearly the time for lunch when a large man bearing a shield and ax stumbled into her part of the field, which caused Marenwe to stand up quickly and drop her tool. The sun caught her eyes for a moment and all she could see was the outline of a very large man coming toward her. Without a moment's notice she picked up her skirts and darted out of the mud, calling to her younger brother less than a hundred meters away. He had seen the man too, and was already running toward her. It wasn't that Marenwe was afraid of the man, but rather that travelers usually didn't stop by farms unless the situation were very bad. He appeared to be a man of Rohan, which was unusual considering that Gondor and Rohan had not been in active alliance for many years.

"Hark!" She called, her semi-sweet voice carrying over the small green plants. "Who are you and what brings you to Hardreth's farm?"

Hardred, who was nearly 16, finally made it to her side as the man grew close enough to see without shielding their eyes from the sun. He still had his hoe in his hand, and he held it in one hand almost defensively. (He was training with the boys in town to become a mighty warrior, and though his heart was true he did not bear the strength required to kill a man. Then again, neither did any of the boys in town.) Marenwe took a bold step forward, puffing out her chest with a deep breath, and placed her hands upon her hips. She would let no man onto her father's farm unless he spake why he needed the passage.

[Dûnhád]

Why this always happened, he did not quite guess. He wondered if the rumours didn't move quite as quick as he had expected here. This wasn't the first farm he had visited during his travels, but still everybody seemed surprised. All except that old geezer a little northwest of here, though he was blind. He had to change something about his appearance then. The helm he had long carried proudly now was floating down the river, which was an improvement. An armoured man with signs of his origin with the Rohirrim would not be a normal sight around these parts, not now....not ever.

As he now got closer and his thoughts were carried back to the here and now he saw where he had landed. Apparently his feet got him to the farm quicker then his mind had suspected. He now stood on the edge, or rather one step in a field of small plants and his boots were now firmly embedded in the sludgy mud, one of the small plants crushed beneath his right boot. He halted his movement and looked up only to look upon the faces of two younglings, no doubt working on their father's farm. A girl and a boy, they seemed quite alike in his eyes, brother and sister probably. The girl began to speak and his lips moved on the words that she said, stopping at the word 'Hardreth's'. This was not the first time he had heard them. The girl stepped forward and placed her hands on her hips, good, she didn't seem that scared. He spoke with a loud voice, speaking words he had said dozens of times.

"Greetings, I am Dûnhád of the Riddermark and I offer my services on the farm in exchange for a meal and a place to stay this night."

To show his goodwill he took a hard step back, as his boots went deep in the mud with the weight they had to carry. He slowly layed down his axe on the ground behind the patch of green plants and then held up his hands up, palms outwards as a sign of peace. He managed a faint smile and he looked over the people he was dealing with. The boy who stood but a step behind the girl held in his hands a hoe and he seemed ready to defend himself and his sister, no matter how futile it would prove. The way he held his hoe showed his something he already knew, the tool was used for farming and had not been used for war...yet.

He looked over at the girl and he could not guess which of the two younglings had seen more winters. The girl was pretty in her own way as she stood there and that reminded him. In Rohan she might be close to a marriage, but he did not know how this worked in Gondor. In a way she showed more courage then her brother as she was willing to take the step closer to him. Her hair shone in the morning light and he smiled as he thought; Another golden shine this day.....

[Lady Arwen]

Marenwe was startled to hear a deep voice rumble out of the man in front of her, but she was even more surprised that he was as humble as he was. Great men who bore such weapons were not usually so kind to those of a lesser station, nor were they shy or awkward. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder to read her brother's face, but it was as hard and solid as it ever was. He would be no help in deciding what to do, since he knew that she was placed in charge of the house whilst her father was gone. He would merely watch over her and protect her in the event that this stranger was not as kind as he seemed.

"Sir -" she paused, squinting in the sun again to better see his face. He wanted to lend his hand to the farm for a meal and a dry place to sleep? When strangers came to the farm offering help her father would greet them with kindness and courtesy, providing them with a large, warm meal and a soft bed to lie their weary heads upon. She knew that she too should offer this hospitality, but this was a man of Rohan, a man who came over the hills and down into their farm. Most of the men her father allowed were those traveling from one town to another and needing a place to stay, since there were no inns within many miles. What a deliberation! It would be nice to have the extra hands to break apart the clod, but at the same time... he was a man of Rohan!

Marenwe sighed, trying to forgo her distrust of Rohan. She needed to fulfill the name given to her by those who had met her, Marenwe the Faithful, the girl who was loyal to her kin and country, but at the same time she needed to be the girl who was kind to those in need. Oh, if only her father were here, or even her sister! This called for knowledge that she obviously did not possess.

"Sir," she tried again. "I would have you stay to be gracious, but I would have you work beside me to prove your worth. I do not mean to distrust you as you are obviously an honorable man to be with the Riddermark," the word sounded so foreign on her tongue. "But as you may know it has been many long years since any of the Rohirrim have worked beside a Gondorian."

[Dûnhád]

Those words hurt him, no matter how noble and kind they were intended to sound. An honorable man could probably be no further from the truth. He sighed heavily and bowed his head down, looking at his dirty boots. Sir, she called him. He was in no way above her and in so many ways beneath her, though she did not know. His appearance had eluded another one. He raised his head again and with a grim look on his face he looked at both of the younglings one at a time and nodded.

"Your words are wise, but there is no need to call me Sir. Dûnhád is my given name and that name is good enough for me. I thank you for welcoming me this way and it will be an honor to work alongside a youngling who is able to speak such noble words in the presence of a stranger."

Dûnhád good enough for him? That was not the best way to describe it, he brought disgrace upon the Many Blessed. Dûnhád was not a name he was fit to carry, but his father had thought otherwise. He left the fact that just a few days ago he had worked alongside a Gondorian out of the picture, as he thought it was for the best. His gaze shifted from the girl and moved along the ground as he was looking for a way to move around the fields rather then straight through them. Soon his eyes saw a small stroke of 'empty' land between the fields. He picked up his axe again and swung it over his shoulder, just to let it rest there. He looked at the girl again and spoke.

"Could you show me a safe place to leave behind my belongings? I would work a lot better without all of this weighing me down."

With that he walked towards the small stroke which he could pass through. The chain was really heavy today and he was afraid one of the rings might have dug itself in his right shoulder, that would explain the pain he had endured for the last hours. He had a slow stride and he was in no need to hurry and he knew his feet would not let him even if he wanted to. While walking he did not look at the younglings as this might turn them to fear so he just looked at the crops or what was to be seen of them in this stage.

[Lady Arwen]

Marenwe noticed a hint of sadness in his voice as he asked her to call him by his given name. She would consent, but she could not help but wonder as to why he would decline being called sir by someone who was not as old as he. Perhaps he bore a great shame upon his shoulders, something that he felt did not give him the right to have such a title, perhaps that was the reason why he was now in a country sundered from his own. She did not feel a need to press the issue, and in fact, quickly forgot it. So he was a traveler seeking room and board in exchange for a day's work, that was something that she could accept; she would overlook the fact that he was from Rohan in exchange for this, yes.

"You are much too kind to someone who has seen so few winters," Marenwe said as she bent down to pick up her hoe. Her father would accept that she allowed a stranger to stay in their home while he was away, but he would not accept her leaving tools out. "But if that is your wish, then so be it, Dûnhád."

At this point she turned around and started walking back toward the farmhouse, touching Hardred, who was still staring at the man, on the should, giving him a look as she passed that it would be all right. He loosed his grip on his hoe and threw it over his shoulder, giving one final glare at the Rider before turning and following his sister. Marenwe did not go very far before she turned around and waved at the man to follow her. It was about the time for a luncheon anyway, and it would be appropriate to inform and consult her mother before she continued any further.

"Aenewe, Maridred, Fernwe - luncheon!" She called this in three directions, as loud as her soft voice would carry. They did not need to hear her voice, since they kept an able eye on her anyway, and picked up their hoes and started in the direction of the moderate but adequate house. Marenwe did not need to see the traveler to know that he followed her - the sound of his armor rubbing against itself was proof enough.

Once she reached the house she stepped into the small basin of water by the door, what was referred to as the 'foot tub' by her younger siblings, and washed the mud from her feet. As her brother stepped after her to do the same, she touched the soldier on the arm and beckoned him to follow her around the corner of the house and toward the barn. She opened the door and waited for the dust to fly away before entering the dusky building. Sun was pouring through the slats in the boards, and it took Marenwe a moment to figure where Dûnhád may place his things.

"There, by the saddles," she said, pointing her finger at a base board near the door. "No one will disturb it. When you are satisfied with your attire please come inside the house."

At that she turned round, and left the barn, allowing him time to remove whatever he wished. In the meantime she hurried into the house and quickly told her mother, while her brother silently looked on, of the visitor who required food and rest, and agreed to work for his pay. Tanenwe had hosted many guests in her time, and knew the procedure, and had Marenwe set another place on the table for their guest. Her siblings had already washed their feet and were helping their mother prepare food. Marenwe did not need to look out the door to know that the guest was on his way.

[Dûnhád]

Resting his axe on the shoulder that had been hurting had proved not to be a great plan in whatever way you think of it. He stopped for a moment in the middle of the path between the crops and lowered his axe, giving his shoulder rest for a moment or two. Then he swung his axe upon his left shoulder, but let it land slowly as he was not happy with the prospect of two shoulders that would hurt. He heard the words of the girl going into one ear and it flew straight out of his other ear, the words carried away from him by the wind. He looked up at her just in time to see he needed to follow her, so he hastened his stride somewhat, ignoring how hard that seemed to be. He had walked for the larger part of the night, as sleep was something he could rarily get these days. He would wake in a matter of hours with visages of blood in his dreams and he could not lay his head down to rest anymore for the remainder of the night.

As he made it to the farmhouse one of the words that she had called out made it's way back to him and resonated in his head: "Luncheon". It appeared his timing was as good as it could be, though he himself had no knowledge of time these days and he rarely cared for it. He looked at the small bassin of water on the ground and then looked up as he saw Hardred step into the bassin. He looked at his face for a moment and he saw a determination and a fire in it that he remembered, he had seen those same fires burn in the eyes of his kinsmen. He was pulled out of his thoughts as the girl beckoned him to follow her.

They reached a barn which stood right next to the house and there would probably be a direct entrance from the house to it, though he couldn't see anything like that. He coughed a single time as the dust flew outwards and in his face. A scent entered his nostrils as soon as the dust had settled and a faint smile appeared on his lips as he looked over at the saddles. Long had he been a rider for the Riddermark and the leather of the saddles smelled the same anywhere. He bowed his head as a feeling of dread came over here, as his thoughts wandered to Tûlrád, the descendant of the mighty Stryhla and the day he was left dead in the mighty current of the same river he had given his life for to get his master across. Merenwe spoke and he nodded to her and spoke in a gentle voice, though still as deep as always.

"I will soon join you, thank you."

He turned around and walked towards the saddles and kneeled down besides them. He softly caressed the leather and took a big sniff to get the scent to him again. He stood up again and shook his head, hoping in vain that his past would magically disappear from his thoughts. His axe got stretched out across the ground, the gem having not a light to shine with started to gather dust. He layed his bag on the ground next to the saddles and then unstrapped his shield. He lay it respectful against the saddle the white horse facing him horizontal, there was no better place to lay it down then against the saddle. He took the chain shirt in hand and as he prepared to pull it of him, he noticed a slight resistance at his shoulder and he bit his bottom lip in pain. He wrenched a bit and felt a stinging pain in his shoulder, but he now could remove the chain. He folded it once and layed it down on the ground.

He stood up straight and glanced over at his right shoulder and saw a hole in the clothing he wore and through the hole blood could be seen. It didn't seem that bad, it seemed the ring did not go deep in the flesh and got no significant hold of it whatsoever. He took the animal skin out of his bag which was still half full with water and he searched the bag again. He found the gift from a seamstress he had met mere weeks ago, she gave him some rags to keep him warm if the night was colder then it seemed. He ripped a stroke of fabric from it and put the remainder of the rags back. He cleaned the wound with some water and then tied the stroke of fabric around his shoulder as tightly as he saw fit. Then he moved his shoulder around and then rested it again as it seemed to hurt. A small spot of blood could be seen on the fabric now, but it didn't seem to spread out.

Dûnhád used some of the water to clean his face and his hair so he looked at least a bit respectable. He put the water back and with a big steps he came striding back. The barn he closed behind him and he strod towards the house and he stepped inside and looked over at the table and smiled as he saw the family working together. He felt slightly out of his place as he walked over to the mother of the family and bowed for her.

"I would like to thank you for greeting a stranger like this. And I must say you have some of the most well-spoken children I have ever seen. And again, thank you for this."

[Lady Arwen]

Marenwe's mother smiled in reply, her weary eyes casting him an understanding glance. Her mind was absorbed with her work, the formidable task of feeding her children. Their father and eldest brother were away selling the harvest, and without them even the littlest had to go into the fields and toil. Senewe had spent much time under the sun for the betterment of the farm, and as much as it was needed she did not wish such things for her offspring. She knew of Marenwe's desire to become a healer in the Steward's house, but she also knew that without a dowry she would never find a proper husband, and without a proper husband she would never move beyond the farmlands. The destiny of her eldest daughter Sennina was to marry the local butcher's son and give him many strong sons and daughters, but that fate was not yet written for any of her other children.

"Marenwe, show your guest his place." Senewe's tired voice sounded out from the chatter of the younger children finishing their chores.

Marenwe stepped from the table and pulled back the chair at the head of the table, a place of honor in their household. The iron oven door creaked the room into silence as her mother pulled a fresh loaf of bread from the coals and tilted the wooden paddle on the table, letting the warm loaf slide into an awaiting basket. The children were now all standing behind their respective chairs, looking at the stranger to take his place. They would not and could not sit until he had accepted this formal offer of supper, even though it was an old and weary custom.

"Please," Marenwe's voice was soft in the smothering silence. Not even the chickens in the yard made much noise; they were sleeping in the shade of the outhouse until the heat of the midday had passed. "Sit and honor us by dining with us and celebrating in the harvest."

The tired feet of her younger siblings was nearly audible in Marenwe's ears, as she could hear the soft scuffle of bare feet on smooth wood. Her own feet were sore and desired the rest of sitting for a meal, but no matter how tired she was she couldn't plop down until Dûnhád sat.

[Dûnhád]

This was a slightly uncomfortable silence as everyone looked up at him in silent anticipation. Every pair of eyes in the room stared at him and for a few moments he stood there uncertain in a stranger’s house. But his gaze slided further down the room and at Marenwe who had just pulled the chair back. He looked at the chair and when he was wondering why he had the honor of sitting at the head of the table and loaf of bread slid into the basket. He looked from face to face as he could practically hear them beg to wait no longer and just sit down at the table. He had the honor of sitting down at the head of the table, but he waited. He did not want to seem ungrateful, but he did not deserve that place. His head quickly hanged down and his left hand he laid on the wound of his right shoulder, feeling the pain again.

As if a clear light shone through the window a single word was spoken and Dûnhád looked up to see the source of it. Please, that’s what he heard and the word did sound lovely in his dark dream. As he looked up he found himself looking at the girl known as Marenwe and a smile appeared on his lips. It was a genuine smile which had not appeared on his face for a long, long time and he was grateful that the dreaded silence had been disturbed. He softly nodded to Marenwe as more words of honor were spoken and he took the few steps he needed. Big steps they were and every time his heavy boot reached the ground it sounded like an avalanche of sound in his ears. He cursed the silenced silently and looked over at the table. He met the eyes of Hardred and nodded to the boy, knowing not what else to do as he looked into those intriguing eyes.

He reached the seat and softly sat down while pulling the chair closer to the table at the same time. He looked quickly over at the faces as he knew there were probably going to be questions. Questions about him, about Rohan and about his intentions here and he was not looking forward to any of them. This, combined with the fact that he felt like he needed to say something as he sat at the head of the table, made him clear his throat and raise his voice.

”Let us celebrate the harvest and the founding of new friendships between Rohan and Gondor. Now let us not stand here and starve, sit down and feast!”

He smiled a fake smile, which he had practiced a lot and nodded again. Still not knowing what the traditions were here in Gondor, he wondered if he had done the right thing. He himself waited for the family to sit down and in the noise and commotion that came from it, he put his hands together, bowed his head and mumbled a prayer, blessing his father and his father’s father. Blessings were given to his mother and to the King and he looked over at the table again.

[Lady Arwen]

Marenwe was glad when he took his chair and said his peace, as were all of her siblings, and in a great rushing and scraping of chairs the family was seated and eating. His words were of no comfort to her aching belly, but Marenwe tried to think of them to comment on them for later in the meal. Pig meat was heaped onto her plate, followed by a mixture of wild vegetables that grew in the small thicket of trees on the opposite end of the farm from the field. She was in the midst of reaching for a hot potato with her fork when one of her siblings spoke up, beating her to the punch. Fernwe, who had only seen six winters and was the youngest of Hardreth's children, opened her big brown eyes and stared at the man.

"Why are you in Gondor?"

As much as she wanted to scold her sister, Marenwe held her tongue. It was a reasonable question, and Marenwe herself was wondering. Her thoughts from the field flooded her mind again, and she wondered once more what a warrior from Rohan was doing in the farmlands of Gondor, why he was asking for work on a farm when he was obviously someone of higher status than herself. She questioned the alliance between Rohan and Gondor that he spoke of, for there hadn't been a friendship between any of those from either country in many, many years. It was just odd in her mind that such an occurrence was taking place in front of her.

"Yes," Hardred said slowly, poking his meat with his knife. "Do tell us what brought you to the humble lands of Gondor."

There was such sarcasm in his voice, such anger and loathe. It was true that in this, the Gondor's time of need, Rohan kept to her protected hills and horses. Osgiliath, according to her father, had been evacuated by Faramir, the second eldest of the Steward. Marenwe could only guess as to why the people of Osgiliath would need to flee their homes, but she surmised it to be grim. Hardred was not old enough to go forth and volunteer, and Marenwe could tell that he was angry that a soldier, no matter the nationality, would be sitting to sup with a group of children rather than fight against the enemy.

"Forgive my siblings for being curious," Marenwe finally said. "They are simply curious about you, as they are all the guests who come by our doors."

[Dûnhád]

He looked hopefully at the pig meat, hoping it would be as succulent as it looked, lying there on his plate. Dûnhád had now lived for a few days on dried rations, which was not the most grand food. He checked to see if he had blessed everyone who should gain one, only to bless them once again, in his head. He grabbed his fork and knife and sticked the fork down into the meat followed by his knife. When he was just about to cut a slice of it, the little girl began talking. As a response Dûnhád looked up and his hazel eyes looked in her big, innocent eyes. For a moment all seemed good as he saw the innocence of the youth, the beauty of the new age and he smiled. He opened his mouth to speak, but did not know how to answer. One word escaped from his mouth before he continued slicing.

"Well...."

Dûnhád sliced the meat while his thoughts remained somewhere else. How on earth could he explain to this little girl why he was here and not at home, it seemed impossible. The knife sliced the meat and stood still at the plate as Hardred spoke. Dûnhád's eyes shot up and for a moment he forgot that he was looking in the eyes of a little boy and not in that of a full-grown man. He heard the undertone in Hardred's voice and was disgusted by it. He was about to jump up and do something he might regret as Marenwe spoke. Her voice soothed him a little, but he kept looking at Hardred. The man of Rohan looked over at the table again and his gaze remained in the center, not looking at anyone in particular. His voice boomed down the chamber as he told about his homeland.

"All of you listen to what I have to say. I know alliances between the roaring plains of Rohan and the lands of the White City have been here for long, though it has not always looked like it. But when the call for help is sounded Théoden King will come to the aid of Gondor..."

He paused for a moment, looking at Hardred. Then he looked over at the ceiling, his gaze to the air, shining with a burning fire.

"And with him he will bring ten thousand spears and at least as many axes and swords. The very earth will tremble beneath the hooves of the mighty steeds of the Eorlingas. The blood of many a foe will stain the lands of Gondor and even the Dark Lord will despair as we tear down his evil reign."

His gaze lowered and he looked like an old man for a moment, weighed down by years of hard labor.

"But you must now that His hand reaches far and His shadow comes over everybody. Rohan can not lend a hand if it is threatened with extinction. The day of reckoning will come, but it is not this day. This is the day of a lone Rohirrim deprived of honour, not able to die for his country, not able to die for his King. For that requires honour...."

His voice died down at the end and he let his knife fall down on the plate. His eyes showed the pain he endured and the drama in his life. He slowly picked up the meat with his fork and brought it to his mouth, his gaze fixed on his plate, his voice silent.

[Lady Arwen]

"But you must know that His hand reaches far and His shadow comes over everybody. Rohan can not lend a hand if it is threatened with extinction. The day of reckoning will come, but it is not this day. This is the day of a lone Rohirrim deprived of honour, not able to die for his country, not able to die for his King. For that requires honour...."

Marenwe, as well as her siblings, watched him as he gave this fantastic speech. She had forgotten to eat, though she did find herself swallowing the last of what was in her mouth as he finished. If no one else felt it, Marenwe was in awe of this man. He spoke the truth, even if it was hard and cruel, and she prayed that her brother realized that and left the poor man alone. If nothing else, she would take Hardred outside by the ear and give him a stern talking to, but, judging the look on his face he felt the same as she. It could not be helped that the enemy was so numerous and forceful, nor could it be helped that all were plagued.

Marenwe went back to her food, which was starting to get cold, and she ate as fast as she could. By the look of the shadows on the wall, they had already lingered too long for sup, and the fields were probably dried out by now, the clods being even thicker and more tough than before. She sighed as she shoved a piece of bread in her mouth, looking down at her blistered and calloused hands. The hands of a healer were not rough, but soft and gentle; how, if she were to ever obtain freedom from this place, would she be a healer now? Her hands were ruined, and only much idleness would make them gentle again. Marenwe by nature could not be idle, nor could she suffer to sit around while there was work to be done.

"Five minutes," she announced to the silent table, which was absorbed in eating. She knew that her brothers and sisters were too taken aback by this man's speech to say anything more to him, which was good in Marenwe's mind. The less questions they had on their tongues the more work they would get done, and the more pleased her father would be when he returned home in the evening. It had already been a day past the time he and her brother were to return, so the sales must have either been very good or very bad. She had hopes though, that they were splendid.

After the food was gone from her plate Marenwe rose and placed the dirty dishes near the kitchen washtub, and after opening the door stepped out into the sunshine. She would have to draw up more water from the well so that each person could take their share and go back to breaking clods. The well was covered, and flies buzzed about it lazily, awaiting their chance to fly in. She shooed them away before she opened the lid, and as she drew up the bucket she heard the footfalls of her sisters, going out to the shed to fetch their hoes and the buckets. They wooden pails were lined up in a row, and Marenwe poured one, two... six buckets of water. An extra hoe was brought for Dûnhád and laid by his pail. Aenewe and Fernwe were already breaking clods by the time her brothers came out, followed by the warrior. Her mother had already begun a dinner, which Marenwe could smell.

[Dûnhád]

The meat got chewed slowly and the jaws of Dûnhád went slower and slower. He did not taste a thing as he thought back to old days when things were different and so much better. The juicy meat did not taste like meat, but he only tasted blood in his mouth as if was hit in the face and he was bleeding now. It tasted sweet and sour together at once and Dûnhád bowed his head. Everyone was silent and everytime his teeths connected as he chewed it sounded like a great battering ram on a huge gate and the silence in the room was gone for the moment. Nobody looked at him anymore and he felt like, although he had told the whole truth, he should not have. Those people were too young to need to listen to those words.

But they did live in this world and they might know it even better then himself. Though he ate all the food he had on his plate, he registered no taste as his mind was somewhere else. Thoughts racing back throughout the years he looked back at his life and with that he threw himself back into the hole he had dug for himself. It was way too deep for him to crawl out by himself, but he did not know it. Dûnhád thought back about the battles he had thought and he was shocked he would rather throw his life away in a battle then sitting here in relative safety eating. He shook the thought away as he was not ready to die, he could fight for Gondor, but he could not die for it. Only for Rohan could he die. As he thought about that last battle in Rohan, the one he had not thought his eyes began to tear again and as Marenwe picked up the empty plate of Dûnhád a tear fell on it. Dûnhád looked up at her as he showed this weakness and though his mouth formed the word 'sorry', the word itself did not pass his lips.

He slowly stood up and his heavy boot came hard on the ground. He walked over to Tanenwe and bowed again, thanking her for the fine dinner, though he wondered how it tasted to him. Then he quickly turned around and walked through the door outside, the last of the ones to go to work. He quickly spotted his hoe and bucket and moved over to it. He picked up the bucket with his right arm and immediatly his shoulder protested as the wound stretched. The bucket was quickly set down and picked up with his left arm, the hoe with his left hand. He looked over at Hardred, recognizing so much of the Rohirrim in him and then quickly shifted his gaze over at Marenwe and nodded with a faint smile.

"Lead the way, young one. For, if I remember correctly, you wanted to keep an eye on me during the work."