[Folwren]

War. . .it killed friends and family, brought some back, alive and well, took others away, and sometimes let them return. . . Athwen had thought she had seen her share of war and its toll. She assumed that when they reached the safety of Hengistham, the companions she had been with for the last month would be able to stay, to rest, to remain safe. She wanted that, above anything else. But it could not be so.

When the company first arrived at Hengistham, Sythric, Eostre, and Fion left almost at once. Leod protested – Sythric shouldn’t go! He was still recovering! But the old healer was not heeded and the trio rode off together, seeking their kinsfolk. Within a week of their leaving they returned again, the people of their village with them. Athwen noticed a marked difference in Sythric after he returned. He was older, sadder than before.

Athwen didn’t have long to wonder about this. Among the Bregowares were wounds from some fight. Leod was hard put, even with the help of the healer from Hengistham. Athwen, having nothing better to do, stepped up to his side and helped him. In a few days, they had done all that they could, and once again, Athwen was left with nothing to do.

She took to wandering out alone, away from the safety of the walls. The wind blew fierce and cold over the plains there. For hours, she walked alone under the clear, pale blue sky, and sometimes in the night, with cold stars twinkling over head.

One night, when she had slipped off after a late supper, she came back, two hours later, to find the place in no little excitement. She allowed the shawl she had worn to slip back away from her hair as she looked about in curiosity. There were many new faces about, flushed with cold and excitement, and relief showed in every one. Slowly she wandered through them, wondering where her friends would be among the newcomers. Suddenly, someone caught her arm. Even before she turned to see who it was, she felt her heart leap, for there was excitement and joy in the hand that grasped her. But it was only Dorran.

"Athwen, they've come!" he said. "This is my sister. Criede, this is Athwen, the young woman I told you about." Athwen blinked to clear her mind of surprise and the hope she had felt and then she turned and found herself face to face with an attractive girl, both young and old at the same time. Their eyes met briefly and then both bowed their heads and gave a curtsey. When they looked up again, Criede smiled, and Athwen returned it, and from that moment forth, the two girls were friends.

Months passed - a year - more. Athwen lived happily. Criede and Dorran with the other Wulfhamers settled down and lived near Hengistham, some living within the walls. Criede worked within the household of Sigheberrt, Dorran found his place in the stables and horses. Athwen was happy for them both, but did not follow them to that great household. She went to Leod and asked him to teach her the arts of a healer.

"If I learn to heal, perhaps I will save lives, and that, above all else, I think, would be worth living for."

"You may find a husband yet, lass," the old man told her, a sad light in his eye. Athwen shook her head.

"Not now, Leod," she said quietly. "I don't know if I will ever marry. Teach me to heal others, and I will be happy, for I think it will also heal me."

So he taught her. She worked constantly by his side. Whenever he had a patient, she went with him to learn and to do. When he did not, they stayed at home and he taught her the different herbs, and how to pick and dry them, and store them so that they would last. She learned eagerly and with his teaching and constant guidance over her, Criede's sister like friendship, and Dorran’s calm, steadfast friendship, Athwen once more saw light come back to her world

And then the men of the Mark were called to take arms. Leod could not go, but Dorran did. Athwen was surprised, and a little dismayed. She had thought that after their adventures, none of the group of people she had come with would have to leave. Criede begged him not to go, and Athwen would have had she been his sister, too, but she did not. She stood by and said nothing. Cride was with him to the last and the brother and sister bid farewell at the gate. As he finally rode out, Athwen stood in the shadow of the gate watching him go.

Many of the men, and even boys who were almost men, rode off for war. Sythric, Fion and Brand went, too. The women and children and older people stayed behind and lived their lives as well as they could. Time passed and only rumors of how the war went on passed now and again to Edoras and Hengistham. They couldn't hear much. Once, the armies came through Edoras from Helm's Deep on their way towards Gondor to fight there. After that, all was dark and spirits and hopes were low. Weeks passed, and no word came. The first news they had was that King Theoden had died in battle, then more time elapsed, and there was nothing. Nothing - until they learned that the Dark Lord Sauron was overthrown and defeated.

But there was no more for some time. More waiting followed. . .agonizing waiting. No one knew who had died or who had lived. Athwen and Criede, who saw each other often, spoke little to each other, and little to the anyone else. Silently, they drew comfort from each other's company, but few words were spoken. Athwen was afraid to bring Dorran's name up for fear of hurting Criede.

Then, one day, he returned - strong and well, and far more a man than they had ever seen him before. He had grown, and was changed in every aspect. Criede and Athwen met him at the gate among others who had returned. Dorran spotted them and darted out of line, running towards them. He swept Criede up and they embraced, laughing and crying both at once. Athwen stood back, smiling amid tears of joy. Then Dorran, putting Criede down, turned to Athwen. He looked at her silently a moment, and then reached out his hand. She took it and he stepped a little closer.

“Hello, Athwen,” he said.