Born to an esteemed weaponsmith to the Horselords of the Riddermark, and his beautiful wife, in arguably one of the most peaceable and idyllic corners of Rohan, far from harm, Thengstan’s earliest life was very favoured indeed. As an only child he was the apple-of-the-eye of all that saw him as a babe-in-arms, so few were in the area, or for many miles around.

 

A lonely boy, Thengstan had taken an interest in jewel-craft from an early age, finding the shaping of soft metals and lustre of gemstones relaxing and fascinating, tales of dwarves in distant mountains and their deep delvings vivid in his mind from stories heard and read. He was always fascinated at the picture he built of them digging for centuries to unearth the secrets of the deep places.

 

It was a quiet upbringing in his early years, among the horses of the farmsteads and the simple life of the ‘Mark. The master of the next farmstead, within sight of his own, was a jeweller and the boy spent much of his time there, so much so that his mother was often heard to joke that they may as well be his parents instead since they were unable to bear their own children. The adults grew close on account of the boy, and he was blessed indeed to be so fondly loved by them all.

 

As very nearly his earliest memory, he remembers another boy that seemed to appear by miracle at the home he had come to call his own in equal measure to that of his true parents. It was marked to him how they were so clearly delighted and yet not somehow too. There was an air of mystery about the boy that he simply could not place, and it was due in no small part to the way the adults behaved around him, speaking in hushed tones and looking guardedly this way and that, a mannerism he came to adopt himself in much later life. Thengstan was a little older than the other boy, who was soon named Cynewulf, as though he had not been named before that point.

 

Cynewulf looked a little different, and didn’t speak so well right away, but the boys were immediately inseparable and spent long hours in one another’s company. Thengstan showed him everything he knew of the local area and they roamed within sight of their homes day after day for all the years of their youth. Their respective fathers raised them as men of Rohan in every way they were able to, and the boys learned of horses and horsecraft together, riding wherever they went.

 

The boy Cynewulf found the craft of Thengstans father entirely more engaging than that of his own and when they were not together, the boys were with the other boy’s father, learning their craft.

 

One day is burned into the memory of both boys, however, as the one that changed everything.

 

While crafting and shaping silver, the man that had raised Cynewulf casually remarked that he and his wife did not carry same blood in their veins as Cynewulf did. The boy understandably was outraged and devastated almost instantly, flying into a terrific rage that only his adopted father was able to defuse. Thengstan stayed as long as he could, listening to the kind and calm words of Cynewulf’s father, absorbing what he could in an intensified state of awareness born of his fondness for both, his own shock at the news, and of no small amount of envy for the relationship that Cynewulf had with the man, despite being only as related to him as Thengstan was.

 

Cynewulf did not speak of the matter again freely. It seemed to Thengstan that the matter was concluded for Cynewulf, and he did not share any of Thengstan’s burning urge to uncover the truth of the matter. Prominent in his mind was the way that Cynewulf’s adopted father had refused to divulge to Cynewulf who his true parentage was or where they had been when they passed, for he did say that much. They had been slain.

 

The most fateful of days for the two boys, however, was yet to come. While Cynewulf was content to go on and pay his origin no heed, Thengstan could not, and after two years, as the boys were all-but-men, Thengstan had asked enough questions of enough of the right people to have come to some portentous conclusions. He confronted Cynewulf, feeling sure that, with this news, he could make his closest friend understand that the matter simply could not be overlooked. But when he pressed, and insisted, Cynewulf only grew darker and darker in his manner and demeanour, until he attacked Thengstan.

 

The fight imperilled Thengstan’s very life, and left him stunned and not a little broken in more ways than just physically. It was an event that Thengstan has still not recovered from, and the two have not spoken since. Cynewulf, the younger of the two, went away to Edoras and joined the garrison there for a few months before being sent on into the west and north. Thengstan remained at home for some weeks after that, until he resolved that the mystery was still not solved, and that he may be the only person willing or able to find the answers.

 

He embarked then upon a quest to unearth a bewildering truth, to learn why his childhood friend, whom he had always been willing to call his brother, would have been orphaned, and why he might feel so unseated by the truth that he would be driven to try to kill him when confronted with it. The quest has brought Thengstan into increasing dangers and far from home, and the long, lonely nights in fear for his life have robbed him of some of his senses and all of his peace of mind.

 

And yet, now, in the very most recent of days, another has entered the picture, a woman, learned and beautiful, to offer him company on his road, dangerous though it may be. The relief of the sharing of the burden, though its full measure remains untold, is enough to restore some faith in humanity, and some rest to his nights. And perhaps there can be more… Dare he even dream it.