The Crebain's Call (October 2988) {Theodred}
Nov 29, 2017 23:58:38 GMT -5
Post by Ceolmund on Nov 29, 2017 23:58:38 GMT -5
The Training Grounds, Edoras
Autumn had fallen over Edoras in torrents of rain this year, and though there was yet sunshine this morning, the call of the crebain fortold harsh weather for the afternoon. Ceolmund's eyes rose upward, and his head tilted back to watch the black flock fly overhead; listening to their raspy cries. Ashy blonde shoulder length hair spilled back behind him. Grey clouds hung low on the horizon further solidifying the state of the upcoming weather. He hoped the storm would hang back some hours.
Ceolmund had just turned ten years old, a month past, though his height made him to look at least two years older, and now he was old enough to seek after his own ambitions… at least he hoped so. He wished to learn to use a sword as many of the other boys in the city… He'd had a little wooden sword when he had been young, and he kept it still tucked and hidden away at the bottom of his trunks. It was dented and dinged and well worn from many years of play. Yet he now wished to learn real steel.
He had barely risked to announce it to his family. It had taken him muttering the words to his Grandmum and Cynburga one afternoon as he sat outside their houses at the top of the terrace beneath the eastern watchtower. Cynburga had always lauded his height and told him he would be a good swordsman, and Grandmum had said the training could teach him to stand up tall. If he wished to do it, he would need look the Captains in the eye. It would be good for the boy! Both the elderly women had agreed on the matter, though they had taken no risk to shed their ideas upon the boy's mother. They had gone straight to Ceorl, his Father.
As his Father was a bowyer, he had spent some time with him here at the training grounds so he was already a fine shot with a bow. Ceolmund did not wish to follow in his Father's footsteps as a bowyer. To sit indoors all day learning to carve and select wood and twine the bowstrings. He wished for freedom from his home. Freedom from the city. He wished to become one of the great Riders of the Mark someday. Father had not the swordsmanship skill, nor the riding skill to teach him… and the King offered training for the youth of the city if their families wished it. The youth of Rohan were strong, and those who had skill with blade would always be a good asset, whether they went on to join the Eored or simply kept the skill in their mind for when a day came that they needed it. Here, they could learn from the true Captains and leaders of the Eored. How to use a sword, and a spear. How to ride a battle horse! And how to sing the songs of the Riddermark that would make them proud of their peoples and heir histories!
Ceorl had half-heartedly agreed to let Ceolmund go. He had hoped his son would prefer to learn his own skill and trade, though all the same, his eldest daughter Sunnifa practiced had already become a fine apprentice in his shop so he was not lacking in passing down his skill to someone. And also… the boy could get away from home this way. He needed a chance to get out from under Elin's roof and stern grasp, and this would at least be some hours a few days a week.
The tall boy hunched over slightly upon the old stump he sat on, digging his heels in the dirt before him. The training sword his Grandmum had gifted him sat across one knee of his grey pants, and he looked at it closely, seeing how the grey forms of clouds reflected upon the clean polished steel. He ran his fingers across the smooth metal, and closed his eyes, imagining that the simple piece of work was the fine, long broadswords of the Rohirrim.
Ceolmund sighed, tilting his head sideways, where some paces off a cluster of boys of the city were gathered together leaning and climbing on the fence of the training corral. One caught his eye momentarily, then looked away, muttering and chortling something to the others, and a few more turned their glances toward Ceolmund, smirks on their face before looking back to each other.
“Elin's baaaaaby,” someone remarked, though Ceolmund could not rightly see who it was, and he looked away, before the boys caught the way his cheeks reddened.
“How'd your mama's milk taste this morning?” another called; this time the familiar voice of Gudmarr. The boy lived a few houses down from Ceolmund's and was of the same age. He had been a thorn in Ceolmund's side for years already. The others were laughing at him now; and the few boys in the group whom he had not yet met were now prattling on with him. There was as little hope here for Ceolmund to make a friend among those boys as there was if he were to be standing in his own doorway. Everyone knew him as 'Elin's boy'.
Ceolmund stood up from the log quickly and began to walk away, moving further down the corrals where he could at least not hear their voices and the sniggered way they said his name. Now they just sounded raspy and muted like the call of the crebain high above. He leaned against the fence post, sword dangling in hand as he watched the horses moving and weaving in and out during their training practices, and he cast short, furtive glances back toward the others who were still looking upon him. Ceolmund pursed his lips together, and wiped his eyes on his sleeve, resolute as he waited for the Captain to call them for training.
They would tease him here, just as they did anywhere else, but it would not stop him from learning the sword.
Autumn had fallen over Edoras in torrents of rain this year, and though there was yet sunshine this morning, the call of the crebain fortold harsh weather for the afternoon. Ceolmund's eyes rose upward, and his head tilted back to watch the black flock fly overhead; listening to their raspy cries. Ashy blonde shoulder length hair spilled back behind him. Grey clouds hung low on the horizon further solidifying the state of the upcoming weather. He hoped the storm would hang back some hours.
Ceolmund had just turned ten years old, a month past, though his height made him to look at least two years older, and now he was old enough to seek after his own ambitions… at least he hoped so. He wished to learn to use a sword as many of the other boys in the city… He'd had a little wooden sword when he had been young, and he kept it still tucked and hidden away at the bottom of his trunks. It was dented and dinged and well worn from many years of play. Yet he now wished to learn real steel.
He had barely risked to announce it to his family. It had taken him muttering the words to his Grandmum and Cynburga one afternoon as he sat outside their houses at the top of the terrace beneath the eastern watchtower. Cynburga had always lauded his height and told him he would be a good swordsman, and Grandmum had said the training could teach him to stand up tall. If he wished to do it, he would need look the Captains in the eye. It would be good for the boy! Both the elderly women had agreed on the matter, though they had taken no risk to shed their ideas upon the boy's mother. They had gone straight to Ceorl, his Father.
As his Father was a bowyer, he had spent some time with him here at the training grounds so he was already a fine shot with a bow. Ceolmund did not wish to follow in his Father's footsteps as a bowyer. To sit indoors all day learning to carve and select wood and twine the bowstrings. He wished for freedom from his home. Freedom from the city. He wished to become one of the great Riders of the Mark someday. Father had not the swordsmanship skill, nor the riding skill to teach him… and the King offered training for the youth of the city if their families wished it. The youth of Rohan were strong, and those who had skill with blade would always be a good asset, whether they went on to join the Eored or simply kept the skill in their mind for when a day came that they needed it. Here, they could learn from the true Captains and leaders of the Eored. How to use a sword, and a spear. How to ride a battle horse! And how to sing the songs of the Riddermark that would make them proud of their peoples and heir histories!
Ceorl had half-heartedly agreed to let Ceolmund go. He had hoped his son would prefer to learn his own skill and trade, though all the same, his eldest daughter Sunnifa practiced had already become a fine apprentice in his shop so he was not lacking in passing down his skill to someone. And also… the boy could get away from home this way. He needed a chance to get out from under Elin's roof and stern grasp, and this would at least be some hours a few days a week.
The tall boy hunched over slightly upon the old stump he sat on, digging his heels in the dirt before him. The training sword his Grandmum had gifted him sat across one knee of his grey pants, and he looked at it closely, seeing how the grey forms of clouds reflected upon the clean polished steel. He ran his fingers across the smooth metal, and closed his eyes, imagining that the simple piece of work was the fine, long broadswords of the Rohirrim.
Ceolmund sighed, tilting his head sideways, where some paces off a cluster of boys of the city were gathered together leaning and climbing on the fence of the training corral. One caught his eye momentarily, then looked away, muttering and chortling something to the others, and a few more turned their glances toward Ceolmund, smirks on their face before looking back to each other.
“Elin's baaaaaby,” someone remarked, though Ceolmund could not rightly see who it was, and he looked away, before the boys caught the way his cheeks reddened.
“How'd your mama's milk taste this morning?” another called; this time the familiar voice of Gudmarr. The boy lived a few houses down from Ceolmund's and was of the same age. He had been a thorn in Ceolmund's side for years already. The others were laughing at him now; and the few boys in the group whom he had not yet met were now prattling on with him. There was as little hope here for Ceolmund to make a friend among those boys as there was if he were to be standing in his own doorway. Everyone knew him as 'Elin's boy'.
Ceolmund stood up from the log quickly and began to walk away, moving further down the corrals where he could at least not hear their voices and the sniggered way they said his name. Now they just sounded raspy and muted like the call of the crebain high above. He leaned against the fence post, sword dangling in hand as he watched the horses moving and weaving in and out during their training practices, and he cast short, furtive glances back toward the others who were still looking upon him. Ceolmund pursed his lips together, and wiped his eyes on his sleeve, resolute as he waited for the Captain to call them for training.
They would tease him here, just as they did anywhere else, but it would not stop him from learning the sword.