Prince Theodred stood in the royal stable preparing his gear and tack, the first Eored was to ride within the hour, duty called, the defence of the Mark prime in his thoughts. He would not see Rohan and it’s people without protection. His mood was grim as he thought of the farewell between himself and Theoden King. His Father seemed so weak, so unable to grasp the management of Kingship any more, seeming not to heed the menace and threats that came from outside the borders, not heeding or responding to advice from either himself, his fellow Marshals or other councillors, relying more and more on the ever present worm at his side, he smiled through tightened lips as he thought of that name. It was Eomer, his younger cousin who had called Grima thus, to the mirth of the prince but also to the horror and consternation of the King on his being apprised of the situation. His firebrand cousin had found himself with extra duties for a month after that particular episode. But….he mused, chuckling to himself, Eomer had been correct in the naming at least                        

‘ Eomer’….he thought, so young to have been elevated to the rank of Marshal, but what choice had he, with so many others slain among the Rohirrim, not that his cousin was unable to perform his duties, he was a fierce warrior and had a keen and quick mind and would fight to the death to protect the Mark he so loved. He smiled, leaning his forehead onto the neck of his beloved Feyerth and paused a while, memory drifting back to the day Eomer and Eowyn were brought to Meduseld. It had been a calm hall until the intervention of the young orphans, oh the havoc and chaos that had come with their arrival, the tears and sullen silence that had come in their wake. Between them the Prince and Theoden King had despaired of the younglings ever settling down at all and start to accept their new life. How Eomer had grown, he mused, he was always tall and strong for his age, but under his tutelage and patronage he had grown even stronger and matured into a formidable warrior, and it was no surprise to anyone that he should become Marshal at the age of twenty-six, he was ever his right hand and loved the Mark as only a true son of Eorl would. They had embraced ere his departure, and the parting was hard, it always was as the bond of kinship and love was strong between the two Rohirric leaders.

Theodred shook the memory of that from his mind and concentrated on the task in hand, soothing and stroking his stallion Feyerth, adjusting the saddle. Making sure the great beast would be able to convey his master and gear into the field. He stowed his bedroll and other personal items into his saddle-bags, stopping to pause at a silk kerchief he always carried with him. It had been a yuletide gift from Eowyn a few years ago and it was her first attempt at embroidery, a task she still struggled with and secretly hated, but she was a noble lady of Rohan and had to learn the niceties of performing the duties that her later position in life called for. She had been so proud of her first attempt and she had watched Theodreds reaction closely as he opened the gift. The look on her face as he smiled his thanks and kissed her heartily would remain in his memory forever, despite the dropped and slipped stitching. His lovely young cousin was such a beauty, she always was, but the years had added to that as she matured to full womanhood. And yet there had been a distant look on her face just lately, that neither he and Eomer could  fathom….. and ever the watchful worm who haunted her steps.

Grima, son of Galmod…’.Oh Father, what has happened to you since the worm came, you were ever heedful of my advice and concerns…but now…’ he started as a voice broke into his deep thoughts.

“My Prince, the Eored waits, we are ready to follow you my Lord.” His Captain and close friend, Thormund was standing by the stable door, the same Thormund who had found and tended a lost Eomer in Edoras years before when the young Marshal was but a child of two.

“We are ready, Feyerth and I, Thormund, my friend, we need only to fill the water-skins.” The Prince replied.

“Permit me, my lord.” Thormund answered, bowing to his prince and gathering the skins to fill with water from the well and lashing them securely onto the saddle of Feyerth.

Theodred led his steed out of the stable, his Eored was waiting patiently, all the riders known to the Prince, all were fearsome seasoned warriors and renowned horsemen and would follow their leader without question. He swung into the saddle and rode to the front as he noticed his young cousins were present with the others assembled to bid the Eored farewell. He drew level with them both, eyes searching, conveying love with a deep intensity to his kin, love, and not a bit of fear…fear for the future of Rohan.

Theodred then nodded to both, turned his mount abruptly and in a loud clear voice shouted the call, “Forth Eorlinga’s….To The Fords of Isen.”