“How long will you be gone” 

Leofric knew this was coming.  He had been back just a day from his meeting with the Marshall, listening to Lord Eorl talk of a bold mission. Equally bold was Freya, his wife of 10 years, standing before him in the upper field, hands on hips.  Clad in simple field tunic, she was nearly his height, broad shouldered with long blond hair.   

“All the eoreds muster at Framsburg.  We must ride south no later than the sixth of next month.  It will take nine days.”

“Your men are sharpening swords, bracing shields, fledging arrows.  Eorl does not muster the entire eohere to chase game.  You go to war.”

Her blue eyes blazed at him, rage not so much at his destination, but his reluctance to tell her the truth promptly and fully. 

“Yes, we do.”  He replied evenly, facing her.

Looking at him she had little doubt.  He was equipped for it.  Taller than most, hard muscle spread over a lean frame.  She had seen him practicing with his men, battle helm sconced over his mane of blond hair, demonstrating sword strikes on bales of hay. 

“I did not know we were at war.”  She said quietly.

 Leofric sighed.  All across the realm other husbands were facing their wives and this question.    

“A horseman arrived from Gondor two days ago.  They are outnumbered and will be hard pressed by Easterners called Balchoth.  If we do not respond, they are likely defeated.  Then nothing stands in the way of the Balchoth should they decide to venture north”

“Then we will meet them here, if they come this way.” 

“Freya, they number over twenty thousand.  Alone against them we may bear the same fate as Gondor’s army now faces.”

Freya turned away for a moment, looking down the slope towards the barnyard where her ten year old son and six year old daughter were tending the chickens.  Two flaxen haired children with no knowledge of what was to come.

“War makes widows and orphans, husband.  What if you do not come back.  What if none of you come back.  You do not know what you will find two hundred leagues south.  Gondor already defeated or retreated away and the eohere left alone to face this Balchoth!"  

“Retreat will not save them.  They would know that.  The only hope for victory is with our help.  The promise of a tomorrow where they…”  Leofric pointed to the children, laughing and chasing chickens, “…do not have to march to battle.  Our combined numbers are enough to take the field.”

She of course knew this, despite her protestations otherwise.  The women of the Eotheod had their own means of swift communication.  She wanted to gauge his commitment.  Doubt weakens the best sword.  It would not weaken his.

“Then you will be needing this.”

Freya opened a sack she was carrying and drew out a heavy tunic she had woven to be worn under chain mail.  Deep green it was with a stallion emblazoned in white on the front.  His eyes widened with delight and love for her.

“How could you…”

“This was meant for your birthday, come next month.  I did not create it overnight, husband, no matter how swift I weave.  We shall celebrate that day upon your return.  Now come, we must talk of practical matters, the farm, the children and what you will need.”

She led him away down the grassy slope towards their homestead, a sturdy stone house with a thick thatched roof.  She was smiling.