[Deorlin]

Deorlin was just finishing his ale and wiping the back of his hand across his mustache when he heard Aelfritha's grim declaration of the theft of the horses. He was on his feet in an instant, making for the door. All was confusion as the inn patrons talked loudly amongst themselves or joined the stream of horse owners, and the merely curious, going to see which beasts were missing. Deorlin swore under his breath as he pushed his way out into the darkness of the yard and thence to the stables. If Frey was gone . . . he wouldn't even allow himself to finish the thought.

A few short strides brought him to the stall where he had tended to his friend no more than 30 minutes before. Like all Rohirrim, to Deorlin his horse was more than just a means of travel or beast of burden - he was a friend, a true and loyal companion. More like a beloved family member than a four legged servant, or pet even. The bond formed between rider and mount was almost indescribable. In Frey, Deorlin would place his utmost trust, and there was no value in gold or jewels that could be placed on him. So without question, whenever they stopped for a respite from their journeying, Deorlin always tended to Frey's needs before his own. And he had left his friend here in this stall, with a bucket of fresh water and a manger of sweet hay. And now . . .

Empty! Deorlin's heart pounded in his chest, his blood throbbing in his temples. No! This can not be, he thought wildly. I am bound to go to Theoden! I must report on all that I have witnessed and heard these last few months! But, Frey . . . where have they taken him? What fate awaits him? I can not abandon him . . . but my duty to the king? Deorlin cursed his own stupidity for having chosen to stop, having been this close to Meduseld.

Torn between his two conflicting loyalties, Deorlin hesitated. But in his heart, he knew what he must do. Resolutley, he strode back to the inn, once more pushing his way through the noisy crowd. Standing tall, even among his fellow Rohirrim, he soon spotted Aelfritha and called out to her.

"Here am I, Deorlin, son of Deorwine, rider of the Mark, newly returned to our beloved land of Rohan. My horse, my companion, Frey, has been taken. If there is anyone here who can lend me the use of a mount, I will ride with you and not return unless it is with my Frey, and the others which have been so vilely stolen. Say you now, is there a horse I can borrow? If not, I'll run along side you, for this sort of of treachery can not be tolerated in our land. Not while a rider of the mark draws breath."

While waiting for Aelfritha's reply, the thought flashed through Deorlin's mind that these were dark days indeed when strangers came boldly into the very heart of Rohan, undetected, and stole good horses right out from under the noses of their people. The time was drawing near, very near, when all must look to their hearts and their sword arm to fight for what they held most dear, be it horse, family or country. There was no doubt in his own mind, the east was rising, and swiftly too!

[ December 29, 2002: Message edited by: Deorlin ]