[piosenniel]

Hama of the Riddermark’s post


Hama looked up towards Edoras, the sunset was beautiful. He sat on his horse and watched the orb sink below the hill, the last beams catching the roof of the Meduseld in a glorious display of reflected light. A cool night-wind blew against his face, and he breathed deep, savoring the fresh taste of the cool air. Running a hand through his hair he gazed into the dark sky, sighting the stars and simply watching them sparkle. It had been a long while since he had last done this, and he regretted immensely that he had not been able to do it again sooner. The night was the one place where he could be at peace, alone. It was all very well for him to be the great hero, savior of the borderlands, in public, but he needed time away from all of that.

He didn’t think that Eomer would grant his request, but the outlands of Rohan had been quiet for many weeks, mainly thanks to Hama, and so the King had been unusually charitable in dealing with Hama’s petition for a few weeks’ leave. The first thing he had done was to saddle his horse and ride into the wilderness, settling down and camping under the stars by a small fire, cooking his own food for the first few days. He smiled wryly; it had almost tasted better than the fancy meals that his cook prepared for him. He had never much cared what he ate, as long as it kept him alive, and the over-indulgence practiced in the court had placed a few extra pounds on Hama’s waistline that he was eager to lose, and fast. It was no use being a Hero General if you were too fat to mount a horse or use a sword, and though Hama was at the peak of physical health, even at the age of forty two, he could feel the fat dragging him down like so much lead. After a week alone, he had lost most of his extra poundage, and began to ride around the Riddermark, visiting the people under the protection of the Hawkshead Company. Many of them were gracious, but some were uncivilized to the point of barbarism. It was a sobering experience for Hama, rich and handsome General of the Mark, to see a deformed beggar eating dirty meat cast out of the butcher’s shop and intended for the dogs. Hama gave the man a small pouch of silver coins, telling him to buy himself new clothes, a bath and a decent meal. The beggar threw himself at Hama’s feet, kissing his boots, and the General realized that his was likely the only act of kindness that this poor man had ever received.

Hama felt more at peace than he ever had done before, sitting under the black blanket of night on his noble stallion, Valuk. It was two weeks since his encounter with the beggar, and Hama had revisited the town and found the same man sitting in the street, looking certainly less disheveled, and with a bowl of hot stew next to him. The warmth of his embrace when he rushed at Hama, throwing his arms around the General’s chest, was a startling experience. After a second or two Hama returned the embrace, patting the man gently on the back. He still found it incredible what a difference a single bag of silver could make to a man’s life.

In any case, he was headed back to Edoras now, his leave over and his duty about to begin again. He was using his last night to lie with the world and enjoy it before he returned to his usual bed. Thirst struck his throat like an axe after about an hour, and he nursed his horse into a slow canter towards Edoras, the gates opening slowly at his command. He tugged Valuk’s reigns to ease the horse up the path that led to the White Horse Inn, ale was starting to sound like a joyful prospect to a man bereft of his luxury, albeit voluntarily, for a month…