The Cold Hours.

Well, we were back and I knew by the expressions on the guards both at the gate and in the courtyard before Meduseld that our homecoming would not be a merry one. Usually the stable area is abuzz with life and jovial banter as lads run out to take charge of our horses and with gentle words lead them into the stalls to be rubbed down and tended well, but not this day.

A large figure approaches me and our eyes meet. My marshal lays a hand upon my shoulder and I feel the pressure through my armour. He speaks not, need he? Too well I know his mind, know his fears. For alas, they are mine own, for my lord and for my country.

He walks with a brisk step to the halls and other members of the eored gather round and watch his retreating steps. Hama greets him, I see them converse a while, and a likewise worried look leaves itself upon his face. His shoulders sag, as if defeat were already riding through The Riddermark.

I hear voices raised in consternation. Many riders speak of their fears for the future, fear of the unknown.

“I pray Theoden King will give the honour due to our lord.”

“Not if the worm stops him first.”

“The worm, speak not his name in the same breath.”

“Our lord is resolute, he will win out.”

More riders approach, they are of Prince Theodreds Eored and demand to know what has occurred in our absence.

I tell of the filth we slew and of the fifteen lost amongst us. I also tell of the valour of our marshal, how he dismounted and sword to sword fought Ugluk and destroyed him.

A general murmur of approval greets this remark as all know of the bravery and skill of arms displayed by our leader, he is indeed his father’s son and will grace the mighty eored of Eorl himself when his time comes.

“But say,” demands Ordbyrht, “You have not told all, Eothain.” And I feel my hesitation has been read by all.

“I fear our Lord may have acted rashly,” I state. “Three we met on our return, a man, a dwarf and an elf. Our marshal took council with them, of what they spake I know not. Only that two horses were lent, and I received my lords displeasure when I voiced my concerns. I fear it may go ill when Eomer is brought to task for these doings, and the worm behind the throne will no doubt have his say… But if we have not our lord…” my voice trembles as I hesitated. Yes, without Eomer how can we survive? For he is the best among us and every rider would heed his call and fly to his banner, should he but say the word.

I cannot speak more and leave to seek rest, a change of clothes and a warming meal.

My mother greets me and I find a hot bath is ready. My sister Freya brings in a cooked meal when I am refreshed and find sleep as I sit still at the table.

A loud pummelling on the door wakes me with a start, the thuds continue as if the raise the dead. I rise to open the door, ‘tis still the early hours judging by the moon. About half the Eored are there and I immediately grope for my sword but stop when I see they are not armed. I reach for my cloak and follow them outside, shivering as I leave the warmth of my home.

Their faces are grave and I fear to ask the question that is burning me.

“What news…” I manage to croak, ” is…is it Eomer?” I speak his name with familiarity, for once we were boys together.

“He is imprisoned,” they say.

“What,” I gasp, “The king would never do such a thing...to his nephew ...his kin.”

“Eothain, you know of our marshal’s demeanour, especially where the Lady is involved.”

Oh lord Eomer, what has happened, what said you to find yourself so. All too well I know of his fiery temper, and of his deep love for his sister.

“And I suppose…the worm is behind this somewhere,” my voice sounded flat, without emotion. As well it might, for if things were ill yesterday now they seem doubly so. Was this his plan then, to destroy Rohan from within? First our glorious prince is slain and now our beloved third marshal is being held in the dungeons of Meduseld. The charge is treason, they say, and the punishment for this crime is death. Oh Eomer, what hope without thee. I feel my blood run cold at the thought.

I have not slept, two nights now. The riders are restless and confusion is rife, for our future is surely lost and there will be no more red dawn for the eothoed. Freya clicks her tongue at me, yes, I know sweet sister, I have drunk far too liberally and should not have indulged so. Ever she is right, but I would never let her know that.

They say the Lady Eowyn is inconsolable after being deprived of her brother, her mood is low and she trembles with fear. Ah, my lord, if ever she is touched I will avenge you, my word is my oath, would I die myself for committing this ‘tis no matter.

I find myself in the stable when a call goes out, visitors. I watch as they are admitted, and my heart leaps as the three have returned, bearing the horses they were lent..but stay, there is another. ‘Tis the wizard and he blatantly rides the pride of Rohan, Shadowfax, mighty of the Mearas.

Men begin to gather as they are admitted into the hall. I see the look on Hamas face and I know he fears as I, our love and fealty are deep. We wait, wondering what the hour will bring, surely no blacker than before. The wind has changed direction, it blows fresh from the mountains and carries its sweetness upon it.

A great cry and cheer rings from the Halls and the great doors fling open. And there is Theoden King, released from the thrall of the worm. My heart leaps with joy at the sight, and soon men are gathering, guards, heralds and all the lords and chiefs of Edoras. And at his side, oh blessed Bema, Eomer stands there. My lord and my friend.

Our king speaks, “Behold! I go forth and it seems like to be my last riding.” So the time has come for battle and all will answer the call to arms, and my voices carries loudest as Eomer is named as heir and his fair sister to govern the people in his absence. A new day, a new hour has dawned. The house of Eorl shall stand forever.

And all preparation is in hand to leave this city of ours and to defend her unto the end, and gladly we accept. I saddle my horse and lead him out of the stable. A shadow looms behind me, I bow, but a hand stays me.

“No, truehearted friend,” my Marshal speaks, his eyes gleaming with joy. “Vengeance shall be ours, and may truth and honour be the victors.”

He holds an arm out and I clasp it back with relief. Now there is hope of victory, and I shall ride by the side of this man, for he is my lord and my life.

And so with at least a thousand spears and the white wizard our path leads us from homes and hearth for the protection of all we hold dear. We ride to Helm’s Deep.

The End.

A.N. Many thanks to my beta reader Helena and to Drake for his never ending support.