The Family Line Part 11 – West to Ruin

Part 11 – West to Ruin

Theomin woke early. His night was the most comfortable night he has had since being out on his quest, though this was only day three. The bed was not too soft, just the way he liked it. The temperature in the little house was perfect. If this was the way he could stay nightly, this was the perfect way.

With his strength renewed, he pulled out the map and decided upon a path to take. His journey would have to start north, up to Eaworth. The city of Edoras sounded too treacherous to venture to. Theomin hoped, though, that Eaworth was still standing after what he encountered the evening before. He also hoped he could cross the Entwash with no problem. He knew of no bridge nor crossing north of Eaworth. Just the Entwade south of Garsfeld. If he could cross north of Eaworth, his ride would have to take him somewhere in the Stonedeans, though he did not know what to find there. Gìsel spoke of a town called Woodhurst. Perhaps that would be his destination for the night, if it was close enough.

He then turned his eyes north. If he wanted to cross into Eriador and on to Fornost, he would have to find his way through Dunland. If his memory was correct, he would not have to deal with any Dunlandings until after passing the Gap of Rohan between the tip of the Misty Mountains and the White Mountains. His thought was to stay around Isengard before crossing into Dunland. As far as he knew, the White Wizard who lived there was friendly to the people of Rohan. His path started to take shape, though a question was burning through his mind. What was he going to encounter in Dunland? The question he knew would nag him throughout the few days journey to Dunland. Stealth and luck would be his companions while he ventured into Dunland.

He jumped out of bed and made his way down the stairs. A plate of bread with water was sitting on the table. His heart felt full as he knew it was Gìsel who supplied him the quick rations. In his mind he thanked Gìsel for the rations. He ate some and placed the rest in his bag. He wrapped the bread with the only cloth he had in his bag, which was the blue cloth with the white star. He, with all care, filled his water bladder with the cup of water on the table and then left the house.

The sun had not yet come up on the eastern horizon. It was still cold and the town was empty, save a few guards manning their posts. Theomin found his horse, and quickly left the same way he entered the town. The two guards he encountered the day before had been replaced by the next shift of guards at the gate. It was not as difficult leaving Garsfeld as entering, of course. He looked back at the town in remembrance of the thane who helped him with such a great decision. Probably one that would change his life in ways he would not be able to comprehend yet. He turned and galloped north.

Through the morning he headed north, passing over the stream he passed the day before. To the left, he could see the monument to Wygrende, carved in stone. Theomin had to stop and look upon the monument, thinking of the sad history of King Fengel’s folly. Wygrende’s tale was taught to him and Eotheron since a very young age. It was not just a tale but a warning to anyone who pushes aside those who seem lesser than themselves. He wanted to take the warning to heart before he continued on to Eaworth. He felt a direct correlation with the monument and his unease of taking life when he has not the need for it. His personal struggle with that was somehow eased by knowing even a great king of Rohan could make such a mistake. He needed to be conscious and careful on his journey not to make the same folly as King Fengel.

Theomin continued on the rode further north along the road to Eaworth and a hopeful crossing of the Entwash. Morning turned to noon, the sun was beating down on Theomin’s neck. Soon a strange smoke started to appear in the distance. It was coming from Eaworth, the town he knew would soon be laid siege to. Amongst the smoke was the mead hall, atop a hill dwarfed by a tall beacon. It looked as though part of the town of Eaworth was burned but the mead hall still stood. So they did not take the town. Theomin was relieved but felt sadness for those who lost their loved ones and their homes in the siege.

Theomin continued into the palisade gate and found a town burned, men and women homeless, Rohan guards and horses strewn about the ground, and ashes drifting down like snow on a wintery day. This was the home of that man in the Elthengels he met just the day before. Horn was his name and Eaworth was his home town. He may feel devastated to see his town wracked with such death and destruction. Theomin just hoped that he had a father who would give him solace in such a difficult time.

As much as Theomin wanted to aid the people of Eaworth, he had to continue north and westward if he wanted to arrive in Woodhurst before dark. He continued on through Eaworth, seeing crying and lonely people, desperate for any help but he continued on with a tinge of guilt in his heart. Only the thane of Eaworth could help his people now.

Just north of Eaworth the path split into two directions. One was continuing north, up through the Entwash Vale. The other headed west, across the mossy, swampy Entwash. The crossing was made even more difficult by the thick reeds sprouting up all around the path. The weeping willow trees grew in large quantity in this part of the river. Theomin did not dare stray from the path as he was not sure what grew in the thickness of the reeds of the swampy grasses of the marsh.

The end of the mossy crossing was over. At the other end of the river crossing was a small town. The men of this town did not look too favorably. Their faces were a little more gruff than those of their kin in other towns, even Floodwend. Never-the-less, Theomin approached one of the men.

“Excuse me, good sir, what town am I in?”

The man sized up Theomin. His stern face gave Theomin chills as he could tell he was not welcome in this town. “This is Oserley, and you are trespassing.”

“Oh, excuse me, I am just passing through on my way…”

Before Theomin continued the man interrupted, “Pass quicker. Outsiders are unwelcome.” With that, the man turned his head and spat on the ground. Theomin continued on through the unwelcome town, each person eyeing him as if he was a criminal. The unease grew even greater as he passed a man standing by the stables, grimacing at Theomin as he past. A cold chill ran down his back as he passed the man. He finally exited the town and made his way along the path toward another town on a hill. He hoped to get supplies from the next town as he knew the loaf of bread was not going to be enough for the journey.

There was something off about that town. Though it did not look like it outright, there was a feeling of tension and mistrust, more than in any other town he visited on his journey. What was it that gave such a ill feeling? It was not just the anger he sensed from the guard nor the stairs he was receiving from the people of Oserley. It was something else. Something dark with betrayal. Theomin was glad to have left that place as the ill feeling made him uneasy.

Through a short ride northwest, the next town was much more welcoming than Oserley. More people were walking the streets and talking outside. Much more than the other town. There was still a feeling of unease but not to the degree of Oserley. Theomin approached one of the women who was tending to some chickens near a small pond.

“Excuse me, ma’am, may I have a minute?” Theomin asked as kindly as he could.

She looked at him with welcome in her eyes, “Of course you can stranger.”

Relieved, Theomin continued, “I am wanting to know what town I am in and where I may purchase provisions here.”

“If you follow the path here through Stoke,” she quickly and gingerly said, “toward the southern gate, to the left you will find a tavern with two flags surrounding the door. You can find your provisions there.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He said while continuing to the tavern.

He followed the woman’s directions to the letter and arrived in the tavern. It was pretty empty with just a few people sitting, listening to music or reading. He approached the tavern keep who was just finishing wiping up the counter.

“What’ll you have, stranger?” He insisted still wiping the counter.

Theomin leaned on the counter. “I do not need much. Just some rations for my journey west.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Today to Woodhurst but my journey will take me to Eriador.”

“Huh,” the tavern keep said, not sure what to say to that. “Why in the world would you go to Eriador?”

“I uh,” Theomin said with some hesitation, “I am looking for my family.”

“Well,” the tavern keep happily smiled, “there’s a noble task. So many men come in here wanting to kill, kill, kill.” He handed Theomin double rations. “Here you go. To a good story.”

Theomin looked at what the tavern keep was offering. “I cannot take this. I have not the coin.”

“It is on the house. Your story makes me smile, good stranger.” He said with a smile.

“I do not know what to say.”

“Well,” the tavern keep said with a little tease in his voice, “you could say thank you.”

Theomin smiled, “Thank you.” He then took the rations, placed them in his bag and started to set off again.

“If your path does take you north to the ruins of Torsbury, avoid that town. Death was heard from that town not two days past.” The tavern keep warned him as he left.

“Thank you again.” Theomin said.

He then left through the town of Stoke and out the northern gate. He mounted his horse and rode off north. Not too far from the gate he noticed a group of riders closing in on him. Theomin looked at them and wondered if they were the great Rohirrim riding toward him. He happily waved his hand in excitement but as they closed in, Theomin could hear a wisp of an arrow pass him. They were not riders of Rohan!

Theomin pushed his horse as hard as he could but could not go the speed they were riding. They were too fast and soon they would be upon him. The riders looked like they were from Dunland. Dark skin and bald heads together with painting on their sinister faces made them look menacing. Theomin knew he had not the skill to take them on. He turned toward a small ranch and he and Bragga ducked into the windmill there. The riders yelled, cursed, and laughed at Theomin as they circled the small windmill. This was real danger. He had never in his life been in jeopardy like this before. He knew that if he provoked a fight, he would surely die. So he waited at the door, ready for what ever they were going to do, hoping they would not dismount and attack him in the small windmill. He was trapped. The only possible way to get out was through the mass of Dunlanding riders. If he did try to escape, that would spell his end.