FIRST ENCOUNTERS – Part 1

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"And how has my nephew been faring, captain? And be honest! Has he managed to put your entire éored into disarray yet?" Théoden-King had risen from his throne and descended the few steps which had separated him from the two men in front of the dais, one of whom had been beaming at him in open enthusiasm since he had entered the Golden Hall. Yet in reaction to his uncle’s words, the young rider’s expression quickly changed to an insecure frown as he eyed his commander in anxious expectation of the answer. The wiry warrior broke into a broad grin as he regarded his nervous apprentice.

"Oh, he tried so several times, sire, but since the men had been forewarned by Captain Elfhelm, they knew what to expect from the hotspur you had promised us. They neither listened to Éomer’s suggestions of raiding the Misty Mountains to annihilate every single one of the thousands of orcs living there, nor did they follow his urging to invade Dunland with only one éored." The grin widened at the sight of the crimson hue creeping into the youth’s face, and a heavy hand fell on Éomer’s shoulder and stirred up the dust that had collected there from the journey. "Nay, my lord, we cannot complain about your nephew. Apart from the lad’s impatience that’s stemming from his youth, there is no weakness to him that I could name. He follows all orders willingly and readily, from polishing tack over chopping firewood, to shining arms or repairing armour. He is eager to learn, trains well and has made a few kills already… despite having been told to stay behind and guard the horses we had to leave behind during our assault on a host of orcs in difficult terrain, of course." A twinkle was directed at Éomund’s son, yet Fastred’s grin faded as he turned serious again. "My king, let me assure you that your nephew is a promising recruit. The men like and respect him. I am confident that he will learn about the value of patience, too, before long,. He is a smart lad, a lot like his father."

"Aye," Théoden said, now standing in front of the young man their conversation was revolving around. A smile of fond remembrance played around the corners of his mouth as he regarded Éomer, who looked clearly uncomfortable at being the subject of everyone’s attention. "Of that there can be no doubt. There is a lot of Éomund of Eastfold in this young rider." Letting go of his regal composure without warning, he suddenly pulled his nephew into a hearty embrace which the young man returned after a heartbeat of mortification. "Welcome home, Éomer. To know you under my roof for this Midsummer week is the greatest joy I have had in a long time!" He paused, and, after a thorough glance from head to feet, stated: "You look well. Riding with our warriors seems to suit you, young man."

Ignoring Fastred’s amused expression, Éomer returned the affectionate welcome.

"Aye, uncle. They are all good men, honest and passionate, and so skilled at everything they do! Next to them, I feel like an inapt child, and yet they are kind and patient enough to pass on their knowledge to me. Be assured though that while I enjoy their company, I am also more than glad to be here. Returning to Meduseld and seeing you and Éowyn after almost an entire year of absence was an event I had been looking forward to for weeks."

"And if all goes well, you might even see Théodred, too," the king announced stepping backwards, the joy on his lined face deepening. "Things have been calm in the Westfold lately, so he sent a messenger last week to announce his coming if it would stay this way. He may even arrive this afternoon."

"Théodred comes?" exclaimed Éomer. "That would be wonderful! I wonder how he has been faring, now that he has been a marshal for almost a year."

"I have been hearing nothing but good things about him, sire," Fastred said, both to Éomer and his king. He briefly furrowed his brow as he saw a darkly-clad figure enter the throne room from one of the corridors that led to the king’s private chambers, but then turned back, his features brightening again. "Both your son’s men and the people in the villages are full of praise for their new marshal. Orc raids reportedly have become a rarity in those settlements that suffered from them the most. Together with Erkenbrand, he may even succeed in turning the tide there in our favour permanently."

"Can we not join him in battle one of these days, captain?" Éomer asked, momentarily distracted, although this question had been burning on his tongue. He had also spotted the approaching shape, yet took the stranger for a servant of no further importance. "It has been very quiet in the Eastfold for a long time, and –"

"You fear that he will have killed every single orc the Dark Lord ever bred before we will allow you slay them officially, young man, is it not so?" Fastred cut him off and roared with laughter, while the king smiled at his nephew’s eagerness. "Alas, I fear that not even Marshal Théodred will be able to achieve this deed, and if he did, it would be a source of joy to Rohan, not a reason to frown." He fell silent as the man who had entered came to a halt at the king’s side.

"My lord, we could not find your niece. It would appear that she is not in the hall at all, even though you told her to hold herself ready."

"Did you look in the stables?" Éomer asked, quicker than the king, who had just opened his mouth for the same question. Pale blue eyes met his in disapproval of his manners, and the man’s deadly pale complexion took him aback for a moment, before his opposite turned back to the king.

"Of course we did that, sire. Her horse is still there. She must be somewhere in Edoras, yet why she chose to ignore your Highness’ order is hard to tell."

Théoden did not appear to be concerned.

"I am certain that she will turn up soon, Grima. She wouldn’t want to miss the arrival of her brother." With an indicated nod, he extended his arm, gesturing. "Fastred, Éomer... I would like for you to meet my new counsellor Grima. I am glad to be able to say that his advice has already been valuable in those few months he has been in my service. Grima, please welcome Captain Fastred, second-in-command to Elfhelm of Eastfold and a warrior of great renown himself, and my nephew Éomer, son of Éomund, who just joined the armed forces last summer."

"I am delighted to make your acquaintance. Captain… young lord…" The dark-haired man bowed in submission, yet before he lowered his head, Éomer felt a thoroughly scrutinising glance on himself that caused the tiny hairs in the back of his neck to stand up. Clearly, Grima had heard of him before and was sizing him up. Wondering whether he was what the man had expected, Éomer answered with an inquisitive, mustering look himself, before he turned back to his uncle to bluntly ask:

"What happened to Folgar, uncle?"

Théoden drew a deep breath.

"Alas, he is no longer with us, Éomer. As you know, Folgard had been fading for a long time already, and last winter, Béma finally decided to call him home to his fathers. It was a great loss for all us, even if it came as no surprise." His features wearing an expression of grief, the king briefly looked at his new counsellor before he turned back to the two silent men in front of him.

"These are indeed most unfortunate tidings, sire. Folgar’s counsel was valued throughout the Mark," Fastred managed to say, his good mood dampened by the news. He had not known the king’s advisor very well himself, yet alone the fact that the man from Fenmark had served the Lord of Riddermark for over twenty years spoke for itself. "Yet it is comforting to hear that you found a man with the wisdom to replace him so quickly."

"And I shall do my best to follow the excellent example he set, my lord," Grima let himself be heard, bowing to his king. "All my wisdom for the Mark and its king."

Impatiently shuffling his feet at the exchange of pleasantries, Éomer finally dared to ask the one question that had been on his mind since he had entered the hall and not found his sister waiting there for him.

"I beg to excuse me, uncle, but may I have your permission to go seek Éowyn? I have a feeling that I know where she is, and after twelve months of separation I can hardly wait any longer to see her."

"Indeed." There was a twinkle in the king’s eyes Éomer knew very well, but he also could not help thinking that – despite the joy of their reunion -- his uncle looked tired. "Aye, Éomer. I remember well that you could always find her when everyone else failed. Very well. You are excused, young man. But be back in time for the evening meal, please. It would be too much to have both my niece and my nephew missing!"

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Éomer could not help smirk to himself as he heard familiar banter rise from behind the smithy.

"This is training, Éowyn! Training! I am not wearing any armour, as you can see! Can you please, for the sake of an old friend, watch what you are doing with that sword before you cut my head from my shoulders?"

"Ah, Gelbrand, but we are fighting! You cannot let yourself be distracted like this in a real fight!"

"But –"

"Giving your training partners grief as usual, are you, sister?" Éomer exclaimed upon rounding the corner and making his presence known. With a shout of pure joy, the young girl who had been standing next to a lanky lad he knew to be the blacksmith’s son, ran toward him.

"Éomer! Oh Éomer, I had no idea you were here yet! I did not see your éored arrive, and yet I had been watching for you!" With the wildness of an unbroken colt, she flung herself into his arms, not even now letting go of her sword, and tears of joy ran over her face as she laughed and cried at the same time at the sight of her older sibling.

Laughing with her, Éomer held her tight, and, as he had done uncountable times when she had been smaller, he lifted her up to whirl her around in a display of unabashed happiness.

"Éowyn! Éowyn! How I have missed you, sister!" Placing her on her feet again, he raised his eyebrows as he noticed something obvious. "By Béma’s beard, you have grown! I could hardly lift you up!"

She slapped him playfully.

"You are being rude, brother! Aye, I may have grown in statue, but I am hardly as heavy as you want me to believe." Curiosity lit up her features as she examined her returning brother. "You have changed as well, Éomer. It is hard to express in what way though. You look… grown to me, too, but in a different way. In a good way. You look older." She caressed his face… and frowned. Carefully, her fingers glided over his chin again, amazed at the scratchy feeling. "I will be… you are becoming a man now, brother. Although I can hardly believe it myself."

"It is about time you started growing a beard, Éomer," Gelbrand teased as he approached them. "A rider with a naked chin is a disgrace for every éored, for it is for everyone to see that he is still wet behind his ears."

Dark eyes narrowed at him.

"And what would you know of it, Gelbrand?" Éomer rebuked, the past year of having been the subject of the older warriors’ good-natured jests having sharpened his tongue. "Those few hairs on your chin hardly qualify for a beard, and you have two years on me! And in addition to that, you also let yourself be bested by my sister in battle. I would remain silent if I were you!"

"I have bested many, Éomer," Éowyn chided with an indignant expression. Forcefully, she sheathed her sword. "It is no disgrace to lose against me. I have quite improved since you’ve been away. Shall I prove it to you?" Her hand remained challengingly on the hilt, and Éomer couldn’t help but grin.

"You mean the first thing I do upon seeing my sister after one year of separation is draw my sword against her? What would others think?"

"You first lifted me up and whirled me around. I would say sparring with your sister would be a suitable second thing to do. People would think nothing of it, and even if they did..." She shrugged, the meaning clear, and then raised a mischievous eyebrow: "After all, we must determine who the stronger one is of us now."

"Ah, but you wouldn’t want to fight me now, Éowyn." The grin widened as Éomer stretched to his full superior size and squared his shoulders. "I am a grim, savage Rohirrim now. Orcs run when they see me from afar."

Her eyes widened in excitement.

"Have you killed any of them? Are you even allowed to fight them yet? Tell me, brother, for I am dying to know!"

"As I am dying to hear about all that has happened in Edoras!" He laid an arm around his sister and pulled her along toward the stairs. "You must excuse us now, Gelbrand, for Éowyn and I need to discuss important matters of the state."

"And very important matters that would be, I deem," the older lad jested, then shrugged. "Very well. I suppose my father could use some help with this wild beast they sent him this noon. I will see if I can do anything for him."

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"Was uncle angry because I wasn’t there to greet you?"

Together, the two siblings had made their way to the backside of the Golden Hall, where they now sat with their legs dangling over the cliff. Far below them to the left, the Old South Road wound its way through the Riddermark, looking like a dusty snake from their elevated position. Not many travelled on it. With the greatest festivity of the year only another day away, most people had already reached their homes and prepared for the bonfires and meals, the singing, dancing and drinking. Unwittingly twirling a dry straw between his fingers, Éomer let his gaze wander over the vast planes he called his home. The land was so beautiful, and he felt an overwhelming love for it.

"I do not think so, Wyn. Uncle knows you. He knows you can forget time over…" He couldn’t hold back the smirk as he turned to look at his sister. She seemed mortified. "… over certain things."

"I didn’t mean to, Éomer, you must believe me. I had been watching the road for your éored, but I never saw it coming. When did you arrive?"

"Not long ago. And it was only Éothain, Fastred and I, so it is quite explainable why you missed us. The captain let us choose whether we wanted to celebrate Midsummer with the éored or our families. All except us hail from the Eastmark, and they can do both, but…" he took a swig from the waterskin he had been carrying around since his arrival. The water was lukewarm and tasted muddy, but he didn’t mind. His expression turned urgent. "I wanted to see you. And uncle. And Théodred. I would have wanted to celebrate with the riders, too, but I could not do both at the same time." He took a deep breath, and his gaze revealed his utter sincerity. "Being here with you is even more important to me, Éowyn. I am glad I have come."

With a joyful smile, she extended her hand to grasp his.

"And so am I! It felt like an age since you left." She beamed at him, the dark eyes sparkling with exuberance, and with a jolt, Éomer noticed for the first time that his little sister was well on her way to becoming a beautiful woman. The discovery made him nervous. Who would be there to protect her from uncouth suitors while he was away? He pushed that enervating thought into the back of his mind for later upon Éowyn’s next question. "Tell me, brother, did you battle orcs yet? What did you do in this one year in the Eastmark?"

"Learning lots of things. Training with the sword, spear and bow. Learning to track and hunt. Helping the people out there in the villages. Whatever was needed." Éomer tried to sound matter-of-factly about his newly developed skills, but could not hide the pride in his voice. "And three months ago, I killed my first orcs!"

Éowyn’s expression clouded with scepticism, but even so, she could not hold back her excitement over her brother’s report.

"But they say that recruits are not allowed to fight in their first year."

Éomer snorted, and the straw he had been twirling finally ripped. He laid his hands on his lap, aware that he would have to bath and change before the feast tonight.

"Yes, such are the rules. Yet the orcs do not care for our rules, sister. While our éored was staging an ambush for them one league away, some of them tried to steal our horses. Éothain and I took care of them." The memory of that fight was still a source of immense satisfaction for Éomer, even though his legs had been shaky after the battle, which had resulted in their first kills. It had been different than hunting. Different than killing a beast. After he had laid open the orc that attacked him and watched it die in its blood, Éomer had lost the contents of his stomach as well, feeling nauseated by the carnage. But this was something he would not tell his little sister. Heroes did not grow sick upon the sight of their defeated foes.

"How many of them did you fight?"

"Three. Disgusting, foul things that soiled the earth wherever their feet touched the ground." He would have spat, but Elfhelm’s words never to spit in the presence of a lady held him back at the last moment. He thought of something else instead and dug into the pocket of his riding tunic. "Here, I kept that from my first dead orc. The captain said they all keep a token from their first kill. Isn’t it incredible?" He opened his fist to reveal a cruelly curved tooth; one of the fangs of a predator. Taking it from his palm to examine it, Éowyn furrowed her brow at her brother.

"Is that... that is not one of its teeth, is it? I mean, you did not –" She grimaced at the though, and he looked offended.

"No! No, of course not! It would make me no better than them," Éomer huffed, dismayed that his sister could think such a thing of him. "It is from a chain he wore around his neck. Fastred said that it’s probably a warg-tooth."

"Eww..." She gave him back his trophy, wiping her hands on her tunic. "That is disgusting, Éomer. Why did you not keep its knife, or whatever it had?"

"But I wanted this!" He turned it between his fingers once more, as always impression by its sharp point and size. He did not want to imagine a set of those closing around his leg. Since Éowyn seemed less impressed though, he used her temporary silence to ask a question of his own.

"But tell me, Wyn, what happened to Folgar? He was still hale when I left, and I was upset to see his place taken by this… this Grima."

He suddenly found himself into strangely guarded blue eyes, and the joyous smile vanished from Éowyn’s face.

"What do you think of him, brother? What kind of a man does he deem you to be, uncle’s new counsellor?"

Her voice sounded strange, too, and caused Éomer to furrow his brow.

"I was hoping you could tell me more about him. Where he came from. Why uncle chose him. I have seen him but for a few moments yet."

"Yes," she replied impatiently. "But we always felt strongly about people even when we had only just met them. What was your impression of him?"

Irritated by Éowyn’s urgency, he pondered the question for a long moment, replaying the scene of his arrival in his head… and remembering that piercing glance the counsellor had given him.

"It is hard to say yet. But he seems an unusual choice to me, not someone uncle would ordinarily have chosen as a replacement for a man who counselled him for such a long time. Why did he not pick Gamling, or Hama? Someone who has served him for years, and someone the people know and trust?"

"All wonder about that. I tried to find out more, and learnt that Folgar brought Grima to Edoras as his apprentice about two years ago. I remember that I saw him a few times in the lower levels before, but never paid much attention to him." She drew in a deep breath, and if possible, her gaze grew even more persistent. "He seems strange to you then, too? Is this what you are saying, brother?"

"Well…" Inside, Éomer felt slight anger rise in response to his sister’s interrogation. And why did she not say what she meant? What was it she wanted to hear from him? Something else came to Éomer’s mind, and he mentioned it. "He looks not very Rohirric. I suspect that there could be some Dunlendish blood in him, although that counts hardly as an argument. You occasionally find those people of different appearance in the Westfold settlements." He paused. "He… he looks a bit sickly, doesn’t he? So scrawny, and this pale skin and such… as if he hasn’t seen much daylight. Do you know where he came from?"

"He said that he wandered around the lands for a long time," Éowyn replied, her gaze wandering up to the Hall of Kings in remembrance of what Théoden-King had told her. "Not just the Riddermark, but also Gondor and the South. He said he had been seeking for wisdom on his journeys, wanting to experience different cultures and learn about their way of living. Yet he does not look to me as if he ever was on such a journey, except if they took him into secret passages underground for a long time."

Éomer could only laugh at that.

"What are you suggesting, Wyn? That he is a troll? Or a Goblin? He looks human enough to me. Perhaps he was sick for a long time before he came here, or maybe he is still sick. There is hardly a pound of meat on him. He looks like a scarecrow!""

She did not laugh with him. Instead, she seemed annoyed at his attempt to ridicule her.

"I suggested no such thing, Éomer. I just thought it was strange that he was so pale when he claimed to have been on the road for a long time. And he never spoke about having a sickness of any sort."

"You do not like him." It was a statement, not a question. A long silence answered him, as if Éowyn was contemplating whether she should tell her brother the truth. At length, she hesitantly admitted, without looking at him:

"I do not like the looks he is giving me."

The words wiped Éomer’s playful mood away like the clouds of a thunderstorm suddenly covering the sun.

"What are you saying, Éowyn? What kind of looks is he giving you?"

She could feel his anger rise, even if she still avoided his burning gaze. Suddenly, she wasn’t certain that she wanted to share her concerns with her brother at all. Éomer was famous for his heated temper. There was no telling what he would do once something had roused it. Suddenly, she felt uncertain.

"I… I could be wrong. It could be that I dislike him because he is so different than Folgar." She forced herself to look up, and urgency burnt in her expression as she stared at her brother pleadingly. " Please, Éomer, do not act yet. I could be wrong, and I do not want uncle angry with us if we err. Just watch Grima for now, will you? See for yourself and decide, because I do not know. I feel uncomfortable when he looks at me, but perhaps it is my fault." She flinched at her older sibling’s darkened expression and touched his arm in a calming gesture without even noticing it. "Please, Éomer, you must promise me!"

"I will watch him, Wyn," the young man stated emphatically. "And if I catch him leering at you, he will wish he never set foot into Edoras!"