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as strong as iron bands (Luke)
IP: 73.140.244.137
Posted on June 24, 2015 at 05:40:58 AM by Theoden || Yggdrasil



A seed of a thought, planted firmly by the master Blacksmith Halle Fossen had brought Theoden to King Arthur's castle. The strapping, broad woman with her deep voice and forever furrowed brow had said, and Theoden remember it clearly, "T'eo, ya' need mor' 'an a ratty reindeer ta keep ya compenny. go 'n get yer'self a dog."

That had been a it. A simple suggestion, but coming from Blacksmith Fossen who used words sparingly, it was as forceful an order given by any Commanding Officer. Theoden hadn't wasted time asking why Blacksmith Fossen wanted him to get a dog. She probably would have shrugged him off, and in truth he already had his own answers. He knew he was growing lonelier by the day. As he was Fossen's only apprentice; the blacksmith was about the only company Theoden had. Aside, of course, for his familiar Yggdrassil the aforementioned "ratty reindeer". Ygg was wonderful company, but there were times when Theo found himself wanting for a different kind of companionship.

After spending a long, long week hammering out nails. Theoden had received permission to travel the few days it would take to find himself a canine companion and then return to the academy. Blacksmith Fossen was letting him travel more, and Theoden suspected soon he would be allowed to title himself Journeyman.

Such were the thoughts that filled Theoden's head as he approached the castle gate, riding high on Yggdrassil's back. With Blacksmith Fossen's seal, he was allowed through unhassled. The courtyard was rather quiet and Theoden recalled the King and most of his court was elsewhere tackling the "lack of magic" which prevailed across the land.

It was easy enough to flag down a passerby and get quick directions toward the kennels. Theoden rode Yggdrassil toward extreme right of the castle, past the stables until he could hear dogs barking. There he was greeted with the happy sight of dogs, young and old running about.


Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands:
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
Longfellow


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