Untold Tales of the Mark: The Banishment of Éomer

ALDBURG

It was well after darkness before Elfhelm had spoken with all the families of his fallen riders. For each and every single one of the grieving women, the captain had taken his time, never rushing, never hurrying, and when they had broken down in despair, no longer able to speak, Elfhelm had stayed with them and held them in his strong arms, speaking words of comfort which he knew would not help while the pain was still raw and fresh, but which might be a source of comfort to them once the immediate shock had worn off.

When he finally directed his steps over to his own home, the afternoon of passing tidings of death had exhausted the Captain of Aldburg to his limits. So much grief. So much suffering. What had the good people of the Mark done to deserve such misery? Had the Gods truly deserted them? Wearied in body and spirit to the point where not even the sight of Freela waiting in the doorframe for him could lift his mood, Elfhelm approached the woman he shared part of his life with. She wasn’t his wife and would never be, as both had decided after the loss of their partners that they would never wed again, out of respect for those they would continue to love when they meet them again in the afterlife. Yet the temperamental artist and he were soul mates, kindred spirits who had found comfort in each other in the time of their pain, and he was glad that Freela had chosen to stay with him for the winter before the travelling folk she belonged to would set out again with the arrival of spring. He needed her now; her understanding, her comfort, her warmth, all she had to give.

“Freela…” Words failed him, but the compassion in her eyes was all he needed. At last allowing himself to lower his guard and unleash the emotions he always held tightly reined in in the presence of his men, Elfhelm sunk into her embrace.

“Ssshh…it is good. I am here,” she whispered, holding him tight and stroking his head. He almost crushed her in his arms, but she endured it without a word. “Findárras told me what happened. That you lost ten of your men… Who was it?” He told her the names, and she recognised some of them, and their earnest faces passed in her mind at Elfhelm’s mention. Fighting her own despair, she kissed him, pained to see her strong warrior in such emotional distress. “You are not alone in your grief, léofa. Be not afraid to show it to me. Those men earned to be mourned.” Gently, she moved backward, urging him inside. “Come. You did what you could for them, now you need to rest yourself. Let me take care of you, love. Come.”

“I cannot rest. Not yet,” Elfhelm breathed against her neck, his voice hoarse with emotion. “There is still more to do. I must speak with Céorl and decide what to do about the news from Edoras, and –“

“I know,” she interrupted him gently. “But later, not now. Now, you come inside and get some rest yourself, or you will not for much longer be able to lead your men. It is more important than ever that you conserve your strength.” She closed the door and looked at him as he lifted his gaze now, and Freela knew she had found the right words. Still, it was so hard to look into those sad, pained eyes. What could a woman do against such grief?

“Aye. Aye, love, you are right.” Elfhelm wiped a dirty hand over his brow and inhaled deeply, trying to force the weariness back. Kissing Freela once more, he then stepped back and put the sack with the contents of his saddlebags onto the bench. “I should do that first. Or I will not be of much use to Céorl when he comes to speak with me later.”

Trying to give him her best encouraging smile, Freela anxiously eyed the man she loved as he began to shed his cloak with cautious movements. The delay between the arrival of his éored until he had finally found the way home himself had been nothing short of torture for her, and yet she had not found it in herself to walk down to the square and wait for him there with the others. Ten years back, in another life, she had done that for the man she had not only loved, but been betrothed to, and he had not returned from battle. She still remembered every detail of that dreadful autumn afternoon. How she had stood in the rain, the thunder of the approaching éored just outside the slowly opening gates… and then the shouts and cries of joy as the people around her recognised their sons, brothers and husbands. How her gaze had anxiously darted from face to face without finding the one she was looking for, her heartbeat accelerating with each failed identification. Then the joyful mood of the waiting crowd had abruptly shifted with the first shouts of people who had noticed that their friends or kin were not among the returning riders. Freela had stood among them, unable to call out herself as the feeling of foreboding strangled her, seeing everything in perfect clarity: the foam-lathered horses rolling their red-veined eyes as they passed her, many of them wounded in the battle and the gashes in their hides gaping and raw. The warriors’ dispirited expressions as they looked right through her in their own search for their families, many of them bleeding as well. And then she had seen the horses behind them, tied to the back of their saddles and carrying the limp forms of their fallen riders into the city, and Nightshade, her husband’s black stallion, had been among them, the load he carried lifelessly dangling from his back…

It took a great effort to shove the images and the emotions they stirred up away. No. No matter for how much longer she had to wait for Elfhelm by remaining at home, she would never again stand in the crowd and listen to its unreal din of simultaneous joy and heart-piercing grief. She knew that she would not be able to bear a repeat of this darkest day of her life, and if she could prevent the death of man she loved now by not awaiting him behind the city gates, she would do so, no matter how foolish the thought seemed. Seeing him fight with his sleeve, she came to his aid.

“Come, let me help you with this.” He grimaced, and Freela’s heart missed a beat as she held the cloak for him to slip out. “Are you wounded? Should I call the healer for you?”

“It is not necessary,” he declined, yet unable to suppress another slight groan as he freed his arm. “These are only bruises and scratches; I will have forgotten about them in a week.”

She nodded, unsurprised. For Elfhelm to admit that he hurt, he would have to come back to her carrying his head underneath his arm.

“I see.” She took the cloak and hung it on the hook by the door. “But would you fight me if I prepared you a hot bath with some of my special ingredients, and then gave you a good massage with the scented oil I bought at a South-Gondorian market on my last voyage? The man said he got it in Harad, and that its scent is supposed to do wonders to a wearied man…” Under different circumstances, she would have lowered her voice suggestively to accompany her offer, but after the long anxiety of waiting and the dispiriting news of the éored’s casualties, Freela felt just as emotionally exhausted as the man by her side “What would you say to that?” Once more, she slipped her arms around him, and her slender fingers caressed the long, winding scar alongside his left temple. So many wounds, and so many scars. Would the ordeal ever end? And would he return to her from the next battle? She dared not think about it.

“The bath sounds good, and the massage even better, but you will have to be gentle with me.” Elfhelm gave her a tired, but honest smile, and she felt a little better. “You must excuse me, léofa, I’m afraid I am not the better for wear these days.”

For him to admit that, he had to be next to collapsing.

“Are you insinuating then that I am not usually being gentle with you?” she teased playfully, in an attempt to lift his spirits. The little smile in the corners of his mouth deepened, but then he winced as her fingers found a hard lump above his right shoulder blade. She cast him an apologetic glance. “I am sorry, but this feels as if I should have a look at it.”

“There are more of this kind for you to look at later, woman, but right now, I would really appreciate the bath you spoke of… and then something to eat, if possible.”

“Aye. And you shall have that, too.” Reluctantly, she let go of him. He felt so good in her arms, the firmness of his hard, muscular body; his warmth; even his scent. He had spent over a week in these clothes, he had gone through battle in them, and he had spent the entire time in the close company of his horse. Others would have said he reeked, but it was his scent, and since Béma had chosen to give him back to her alive, whatever sensation reassured her of his presence was most welcome to Freela. Taking a step back, she motioned Elfhelm over to a chair. “Come, sit down here and relax with a mug of hot broth while I prepare the water for you. I promise that it will not take long to make you feel warm again.”

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EDORAS

After another long day filled with routines and the usual arrival of ill tidings, the City of Kings had finally come to rest behind the protection of the great wall of stone and wood, but none of its inhabitants felt safe from the storm they knew would be coming for them before long. Its dark clouds were already visible on the horizon, a tower of darkness and evil, a great maw that was slowly opening to devour them all, no matter how valiantly they fought. There was battle within their lands now on all their borders, and even within them. Errand riders from the west and various settlements in the Ered Nimrais had reported marauding orc-troups, and there seemed to be no one left to stop them. Their king seemed no longer to understand what was happening in his lands, the second Marshal and heir to the throne was dead, and the third Marshal banished, and the captains of the remainders of their éoreds unable to provide protection with the few men left to them. Slowly but surely, the people of Rohan began to accept that these were indeed the days that would see their end.

High above the sleeping city, Éowyn sat in a restless vigil at the window overlooking the plains; her mind occupied with related matters which yet were entirely her own. Somewhere out there, her brother fought for his life… if she believed Wormtongue. The question was whether she did or not, she could not decide. She dared not to think what it meant if it were true, if Éomer had indeed been captured by the snake’s henchman and grievously wounded. Éomer, of course, would have told her to pay no heed him, to do what was best for Rohan without thinking twice. But how could she do that? How should she forsake all bonds of blood-kin and commit the only remaining member of her family to a horrible death at the hands of their foe? Slightly shocked to find that she did no longer include their uncle into her thoughts of ‘family’, Éowyn shut her eyes in despair. And Élric, poor Élric! He had not understood the danger her plea had sent him into. They had grown up together, how then was she supposed to let him die, even if it was for the greater good? Béma, what should she do? With the dismissal of Maelwyn, Gríma had effectively banished her inside her own halls. She stood alone now, with no one left to trust. Whatever she decided to do – kill Gríma despite his threat against her family and Élric and thus risking her brother’s and uncle’s lives, or try to escape from this place that was infested with corruption and evil, to Aldburg perhaps, and then take it from there without having to fear the Worm’s malice – it was on her to act, and her task to accomplish. There would be help from outside.

With a deep breath, Éowyn opened her eyes again. The snow-capped mountains beyond her window looked as before, and as before, they held no answers for her…

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ALDBURG
It was not until well after most of the city’s inhabitants had gone to bed and the lights had been extinguished before the secretive rap on the door could be heard. Blinking in disorientation until she remembered that her valiant captain had scheduled a secrete meeting for the night, Freela sat up and wiped her eyes. Next to her, Elfhelm already stirred in his sleep, likewise woken by the signal. Knowing that they would have visitors some time later at night, they had gone to bed with their clothes on, resting while they had waited, and when the hours had passed uneventful, had fallen asleep. Unwilling to leave the warm bed, Freela swung her legs over the edge and shivered involuntarily at the sensation of the cold ground underneath her naked feet. A hand went back to gently shake her resting warrior.

“Elfhelm?”

“I heard it,” he muttered into his pillow. “Give me a moment.” He groaned and rolled onto his back, moaning. Why was it that one felt even worse than before after resting? For a moment considering going back to sleep, Elfhelm opened his eyes to the darkness of the room.

Not lighting a candle for fear that the light would be seen by hostile eyes, Freela slipped into her shoes and made her way over to the door as the second knock came.

“I am coming. I am here.” She sniffled, the burden of sleep still heavy on her shoulders as she inquired lowly through the still closed door: “Who is there?”

“Findárras. And Céorl… and I also brought Thor.”

She unhooked the chain and cast a quick, cautious glance outside before opening the door for the three waiting men a moment later and inviting them in. Running a hand through her unruly heap of dark red curls, Freela gestured fleetingly at the table in the living room.

“Elfhelm will be with you in a moment, gentlemen. Please, make yourselves comfortable in the meantime.” They nodded at her and murmured their thanks as each of them took a chair in the darkness. “Can I get you something? Tea, perhaps?” She could not help it that she still felt uneasy at the sight of the dark-haired young man among their visitors. She knew that Elfhelm trusted the Half-Dunlending who had joined his éored a few years ago with his life, but Freela had witnessed more than one attack of his evil brethren on the other side of the River Isen. She would never feel uncomfortable around them. They had taken Kélgard away from her, something she would never forgive them. She was grateful for the darkness in the room, not wanting for the scout to sense her hostility, but perhaps he did anyway from the way she avoided looking at him, because after a long, questioning glance, he, too, averted his eyes.

“Tea would be wonderful, Freela,” the tall, red-haired Findárras spoke into the strained silence, and she gave him a quick smile, thankful for the reason to disappear before she would seriously disgruntle the warriors with her irrational behaviour. “If it is not too inconvenient for you? I realise that it is the middle of the night, but waiting until everybody was asleep seemed the safest way of meeting.”

“Think about it no more, Findárras. I have to apologise for letting you all sit in the darkness, but it is the way Elfhelm wanted it,” she said, her eyes briefly resting on the third visitor; a grim looking man in his middle years with a thick, grey-streaked beard that was considerably darker than the hair upon his head. It was not often that Céorl came down to Aldburg. That he had undertaken the journey despite the unfavourable conditions only pointed at the seriousness of the matter he had come to discuss with his Aldburg counterpart. Aware of her close scrutiny, the Captain’s keen eyes briefly met her gaze, and with a barely noticeable nod, the powerful warrior acknowledged her. It was the moment Elfhelm chose to make his appearance.

“Céorl! It is good to see you, old friend, especially in times like these! Thor? Good that you are here, too. Findárras was right to bring you along.” He nodded at the younger man, rightly guessing that the scout still felt like an outsider in the presence of the commanding Rohirrim. He would have to overcome that. Only a few years had passed since Erkenbrand had made Thor his responsibility, knowing that the unlucky survivor of a routed Dunlending raiding commando who had switched sides in the middle of battle would never be given a chance to prove himself in the Westfold. Since then, the half-breed had shown extra-ordinary promise and eagerness, and Elfhelm had seen no reason why he should not build up the man as a captain. In a time where men died quicker than they could be replaced, the need for leaders was ever present, and once he overcame his insecurity, Thor had what it took to make people follow him, of that Elfhelm was sure.

Still feeling every bone in his body despite the bath and the relaxing massage, Elfhelm extended his hand to greet the experienced Captain of the Northern realm, who quickly rose to his feet to embrace his brother-in-arms.

“I apologise for the inconvenience of having to deny you your rightful sleep when you only just returned from battle, Elfhelm, but with the worm’s watchdogs on my tail, I saw no way of doing this differently.” Céorl’s deep, full voice fit his impressive frame as he clapped his comrade’s shoulder and sat down again while Elfhelm occupied the last remaining chair. “We heard about the battle from the errand riders, but I know that even their worst reports can only give a weak impression of what really happened.” He inhaled deeply, and his brow furrowed in concern and compassion. “I assume that it was the worst you have been in so far?”

“Aye.” Elfhelm’s expression darkened. “Aye, it was, by far. The bloodshed was unbelievable. The waters of the Isen ran red with the blood of Éorlingas. I truly expected this to be the battle that would see us fail to repel them for the first time. I feared that we would have to retreat to save our naked lives. It was only through Erkenbrand’s and Grimbold’s determination that we could throw them back at last. But I fear that next time, what is left of our armies will not be strong enough to keep them from entering the Riddermark. While we must fill our emptying ranks with men both too young and too old, the necromancer simply breeds himself a new army in a matter of days and assaults us again.” He clenched his teeth in helpless frustration while the other men listened silently. “The Mark is bleeding out, brothers. There are hardly enough able-bodied men left to fight in the Westfold. And we cannot summon them from other parts of the kingdom, because they are needed there, too. We cannot fight a war that comes to us from all directions at the same time.”

“And not only do we have to fight our foes from outside, but also those who seek to weaken us from within, as if our problems weren’t great enough already,” Céorl muttered angrily. He shook his head in frustration. “It has been a long time since I was able to understand the orders coming from Edoras, but my patience has reached its end now. This newest act of foolishness cannot be tolerated. I never thought that I would one day speak against our king in this fashion, but it is no longer he who rules this land. It is this foul, crooked spy of Saruman’s at his side. For how much longer are we expected to lean back and accept that he weakens us by forbidding us to ride out and hunt down those who assault us, or watch him kill or expel our leaders? I, for once, refuse to walk open-eyed to my doom! If I cannot change my fate, at least let me hew off as many ugly orc-heads as I can along the way!”

Nodding in acknowledgement of his brother-in-arms’ passionate statement, Elfhelm changed the topic.

“What is known about Éomer’s situation? Findárras said he was banished for disobedience against the king. What did he do?”

Céorl snorted.

“Only what each of us would have done in the same position: He rode out with his éored against Théoden’s orders when reports of a great horde of orcs descending into Rohan from the East Wall reached us. I would have gone with him, but he bid me stay behind to guard Edoras. The worm somehow succeeded in convincing the king that Éomer left them behind without sufficient protection, and also that he were responsible for the death of Théodred, since he was not present when the call for aid arrived from the Westfold.”

“But that is nonsense!” Elfhelm exclaimed, enraged. “I was already on the way, and even I arrived too late! Théodred and most of his men had already been slain when we entered the fray. Éomer could have done nothing to prevent it!”

“You know that, and I know that. But we both know who Theoden-King is listening to these days, Elfhelm, don’t we? Still, I wouldn’t have thought that he would act so hard against his own kin.”

Exchanging a grim glance with Findárras as he unsuccessfully tried to grasp the full meaning of Céorl’s words; Elfhelm could only shake his head. It still sounded unbelievable.

“What about Gamling and Háma? Did they not speak up?”

“Against the king?” Céorl raised an eyebrow. “From what I heard, it was Théoden himself who spoke the verdict. You know Gamling and Háma – they would never question their lord’s words, even though they have to know by now where these are coming from these days.”

Yes, Elfhelm knew the two members of the Royal Guard well enough. Both were honourable men – and both would follow Théoden loyally until the end of days. Given recent developments, that event seemed not too distant anymore though. Fighting mightily against the bout of helpless frustration and anger welling up in him, Elfhelm asked instead: “Is it known whether Éomer has already left the Mark, or where he is?”

“Apparently, the Marshal was first incarcerated for three days upon his return, because the worm needed the time to send his riders out to bring the tidings of his banishment to the people … Théoden had not even spoken the verdict then!” Céorl’s hands balled into fist as anger overtook him anew. “It was yesterday morning when they released Éomer. I left Edoras shortly afterward to bring you the news, as I doubt you would have heard them from Wormtongue.”

“They sent him into the wild in the middle of the snowstorm?” Elfhelm asked incredulous.

“Yes. I am sure the snake found this little addition to the punishment very delightful. His men chased Éomer away from Edoras unarmed and without provisions; you know the law yourself. He is forbidden to seek help from the people, and they are forbidden to help him, and in addition to that, the Mark is brimming with orc spies and patrols. I would not be surprised if Gríma told them to search for Éomer. The question is now, what do we do? The way I see it, we must either openly disobey and break the law, or load shame upon ourselves and follow the verdict.”

Heavy silence ensued, and the darkness seemed to thicken as the four warriors sat brooding over the possibilities open to them. Only briefly did they wake from their dark thoughts, when Freela placed earthen mugs with steaming contents in front of each of them, and they muttered their thanks, their minds occupied with the problem at hand.

“We must do something,” Findárras began hesitantly, twirling his thin, red beard. “I mean, we cannot just leave the Marshal to his fate, can we? With the Prince dead, who will lead us? Our riders look to Éomer, and it is still the House of Éorl they trust in the most. It would be devastating to them all to see the man who fought so passionately for Rohan discarded without resistance from us, their commanding officers. They would no longer trust us. It is our duty. “

“Not to mention that we would be next, no doubt,” Elfhelm added. “We… and Erkenbrand. And Grimbold. It would be foolish to assume that Gríma would stop once he has ridded himself of Éomer. He will not rest before he has substituted every single position of power in the kingdom with a man he controls.”

“I kept Éothain from leaving Edoras together with Éomer,” Céorl admitted lowly, avoiding Elfhelm’s glance by looking at the table. “All men of his éored wanted to accompany him, but I told them that the people in the city needed their protection now more than ever. I cannot tell whether this was the right decision or not, but if Edoras falls, it will be over for all of us. I felt uncomfortable about leaving it entirely in the hands of men we cannot trust; it would make it too easy for Gríma to fortify the city against us, or even take its inhabitants prisoners if we came for him. Éothain did not like my orders, but he promised me to stay. Yet we must come to a decision tonight, it can no longer be delayed.”

“I fear you are right.” Elfhelm furrowed his brow as he looked at his scout. “Is anything known about Éomer’s whereabouts? Which way did he head, west… or east? I would expect him to head our way. He must know that the people of Eastfold are still on his side, so even if he violates the verdict, he will most likely not be reported. Perhaps he will even try to seek me out.”

“It will be difficult with the worm’s spies everywhere. I suppose that Gríma expects him to head our way, too, or he would not have sent so many men to the Eastfold’s major settlements. He does not expect that Éomer will leave the Mark.” Céorl stared over Elfhelm’s shoulder at the window. Beyond was only the darkness of the night, and still he felt uncomfortable. They were talking lowly, but alone by meeting in this strange, secretive way they had transformed themselves into suspects should the counsellor’s spies ever find out about it. The urge to get up and check for potential eavesdroppers outside was almost irresistible.

“Of course he will not do that,” Elfhelm agreed, lost in his own grim contemplation “Not as long as long as his sister is in danger. Éomer would never leave Éowyn behind, at the worm’s mercy. Gríma must know that Éomer will plot against him for as long as there is a single breath left in him, no matter where he ends up staying.” Elfhelm’s eyes narrowed as the implications of his words began to settle in his mind, and his blood turned into ice-water. “He will try to have him killed. He must see the threat Éomer still poses to him even now, he cannot allow him to live.” The cold hand of fear seized his stomach as he followed his thought to the last consequence. “He knew the people would not have taken it had he ordered Éomer’s execution, to have him killed right in front of their eyes. So he pretended to act merciful and instead made arrangements that his adversary be killed in secrecy. I have to give the worm that: his cunning knows no equal.”

“Then we must protect the Marshal,” Thor let himself be heard for the first time. The others looked at him, and from their silence, the younger man concluded that he had voiced their own thoughts. “We must find him before his enemies do, and help him hide somewhere until we know exactly which path to take.” He fell silent, not knowing whether he might have overstepped his boundaries. After all, he was just a simple soldier, and not even a pure-blooded Rohír. Although he had already served for several years in Elfhelm’s éored by now, Thor knew that apart from their group of riders, people were still looking at him distrustful, the captain’s own woman being an excellent example of the sentiments they held against him. There was nothing he could do about it but be patient and try to convince them through his deeds, he knew, but although he was used to being given hard looks, their hostility was hard to swallow at times. Éomer, however, had been one of those who had given him his chance after having gone through battle together side by side. That alone meant Thor felt indebted to the man.

“That sounds reasonable, but I fear that we will have to come to a decision about our further course of action tonight,” Céorl pressed. “Gríma’s influence gets stronger with each passing day; we cannot afford to wait much longer. Perhaps the time has arrived where open rebellion is indeed called for. Think about it: what would the worm do if you and I, and Éothain, and Erkenbrand, and Grimbold, too, and every captain in the Mark would summon our éoreds to form one great éohere to ride to Edoras and cast him out? What could he do if all our folk united against him? He could not defy ten thousand riders.”

“It is a nice image, I agree, but you forget that he still has power over the king,” Elfhelm said darkly. “Béma knows what it is, but I also know that there are still enough men among the Royal Guard who will enforce Théoden’s will, no matter how strange his orders may seem to them. We have been brought up this way, Céorl. You and I… one of the first things we were taught when we were still children was never to question the king.”

“But there can be no denying that Théoden has been led astray!” Findárras cried out, dismayed to hear his own voice say these words.

“Elfhelm is right, though.” Céorl’s expression darkened. “One can call Gríma many names. We call him a liar, a worm, filth, whatever, and it is all true, but he is also no fool, and his plan is faultless. There are more people than you would think who believe his lies. They believe that Éomer is responsible for Théodred’s death. You know how much they loved the Prince. It was a horrible blow to the people to hear that he had fallen. And Éomer was in his youth known to be rash on occasion, reckless even. We all that we’ve ridden with him for years know that he has lost that, that he has become a very shrewd strategist, but enough of the simple folk out there will believe that he disobeyed the king only to pick a fight.” He exhaled, giving his words time to settle. “So, what will we do?”

Elfhelm leant back. He had made his decision. The path he had to take was clearly visible to him now.

“No doubt Gríma expects us to become active, and I would really hate to disappoint him.” A nasty smirk forms around the corners of his mouth. “Yet I haven’t been in my position since yesteryear. We will help Éomer, but we will do so in secrecy.” He looks at his scout. “Thor, come dawn, you will summon our éored to the stables. I want them to form five independent groups and search the mountain paths. You are free to kill whatever orcs or other foul beasts you encounter along the way.” With a wolfish grin, Elfhelm’s attention returns to Ceorl. “You see, Captain, that I take the king’s orders serious. I protect our people. And that is why we will go on an extensive orc-hunt tomorrow! We will clear the way for Éomer. I myself will ride to Edoras with a few chosen men to see for myself what is going on in Meduseld, and try to speak with Gamling, Háma and perhaps even the king. And when I return, I will bring Éowyn with me. I am not comfortable with the thought of her in the middle of this snake pit. Éomer would want me to do that. And once I am back, we will begin to form the resistance.”

Céorl nodded and straightened on his chair, visibly relieved just like the other men around the table.

“Aye, and I will accompany you on the way, old friend. We will see whether the snake will dare to defy us entry. If he does, I might as well take the opportunity to kill him myself. It is time that the Mark is returned into the hands of men who have its welfare in mind, not its destruction…”

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WHITE MOUNTAINS

“How do you plan to contact Elfhelm… if he has already returned from the Westfold, that is. You know the worm as well as I. I would be surprised if he didn’t send his spies to all major cities and settlements to wait for you to show up… especially in Aldburg. He will expect that you are headed there. Are you certain that it is not a mistake to do what he is counting on?”

“I agree that it won’t be easy.” Éomer took another bite from the pitifully thin rabbit in his hands and fell silent, chewing while he stared through Théodred in deep thought. “As a matter of fact, I have already given this some thought.” He looked up. “Of course, it still involves risk, but no matter what I do, I will not be able to avoid it entirely as long as I stay in the Mark against the verdict.” Still chewing, he turned his head to see Firefoot restlessly shifting to his right. The grey stallion had at last accepted his choice of camp for the night, but it was clear that he would not be able to rest here. Whenever his head sunk and the eyes closed, it took only the smallest crackle from the fire to wake him and make him toss his head, ears nervously flickering to and fro. Éomer felt sorry for his animal companion, but it could not be helped. This was not the time to be picky; they’d have to take whatever was available.

“So what will you do?” Théodred spoke into his thoughts, waking him from his contemplation. “I agree that I share your opinion of Elfhelm; I don’t see that he would ever turn against you… but Aldburg is a great city with three éoreds, and not all captains might share his view. You see, that Rohan has been brought to the brink of defeat lies in our inherent obedience to our king. I hate having to say that we should have rebelled sooner against father’s, or perhaps I should rather say - the worm’s - orders, but it just is not in our blood. The king’s word is the law. There is no questioning the king.” Théodred raised one sceptical eyebrow. “You are fighting against five hundred years of Rohirric tradition. I certainly don’t envy you, cousin.” He shook his head and took another bite, cursing over getting more bones than meat in his mouth with it.

Creasing his brow in realisation that Théodred had indeed made a very valid point by reminding him of the history of the Éorlingas, Éomer stared into the fire. To unite their people against Théoden was indeed be a deed he could hardly hope to accomplish… yet what other option was there? To flee and leave his kinsmen, and – yet even more important – Éowyn to their fate? He would sooner die than admit defeat by Gríma Wormtongue. Even if they riddled him with arrows wherever he chose to turn up, at least he would die knowing that he had tried.

“Brother?” Théodred spoke into his thoughts, staring at him from the other side of the fire. “Tell me, what is your plan? Because if I were you, I would not force my position and ride into the city openly, however certain you may be of the citizen’s loyalty to you. Just one man of a different mind would be enough for it to go wrong.”

Éomer inhaled deeply, and tried to lend his voice conviction. “I do not plan to ride into the city, because as you said, it would be madness. No, I will ride to the farm of Arnhelm’s parents in the foothills near Aldburg, and ask Elgard to deliver a message to Elfhelm for me. I know I can trust Elgard.” The man he spoke of was the younger brother of the scout he had ridden with for most of his life among the Rohirrim. Due to an injury he had sustained in a match - breaking his leg in one of their wild riding games - Elgard had , to his great disappointment, been denied joining the armed forces, but Éomer remembered how the younger man had always eagerly listened to the tales of their bravery once their éored had returned. “I will instruct him to tell Elfhelm that I will be waiting for him in the vicinity of Aldburg, to discuss what we can do.”

“I see.” The older man nodded pensively. “And since I know that you are usually a good judge of character, I will not question your choice of the people you choose to set your trust in. But you realise that, even if Elfhelm agrees to follow you, and even if all of the Eastfold’s éoreds will do so, too – what you are about to unleash will test the boundaries of our people’s beliefs and loyalty. There has never been rebellion in Rohan. This could easily end in disaster… and result in a bloodbath that would drown us all, brought about by ourselves. This is a great responsibility you are speaking of. ”

“I am aware of that. But I do not see how it could be worse than witnessing the slow decline and decay of the kingdom the worm forced on us. I would rather die on my feet, in a battle against fate itself, than live on my knees, and I am certain that our people do not see it differently. Things cannot go on the way they are now, it is that simple.” He stared into the fire, unseeing. “One way or another, the fate of the Mark will soon be decided, brother. He paused as he realised that Théodred was no longer paying attention to him. “Théo?”

“I think you are not alone anymore…”