Chapter 2:  Leaving Edoras

The sound of light, urgent steps underneath the guards’ marching prompted the men to turn around.

 “Éomer! Éomer, wait! Háma!“ Rushing to reach the procession before they left the hall, Éowyn stepped up to the Chief of Guards, breathless from the running. The man she had chosen to address looked uncomfortably at her, already slightly shaking his head in denial of whatever the king’s niece would ask of him.

 “Lady Éowyn, I am afraid I cannot allow you to-”

 Éowyn’s glare promised the Captain of the Guard instant death if he didn’t let her pass, and her voice gained a cold edge.

 “You do not want to tell me that I cannot speak with my brother, Háma, do you?” Her blue eyes tore into those of the broadly-built man she had known and trusted for most of her life. “You do not want to tell me that he will be banished and you won’t even let me say farewell to him? Has it come so far that you will do the counsellor’s bidding without using your own judgment? I used to know a different man under the name of Háma of the Royal Guard.”

 Ashamed, the warrior lowered his gaze. It was obvious that conflicting emotions were tearing the man apart inside, but at this moment, Éowyn cared little. Her brother had been banished, and not only this, she feared that their uncle’s words had destroyed what will to fight had been left in Éomer. The Gods alone knew how strong her inner urge was to leave the men standing and run to her chambers, throw herself onto the bed and cry her eyes out, but she would have to withstand the reflex. It would not help Éomer, and she could not afford to show weakness to their enemy, especially not now that her last protector was being chased from these halls.

 Háma, whose face had turned an astounding hue of red, gave her a small nod.

 “I apologise, my lady. You heard the king’s words yourself… but I suppose that there is indeed enough time to grant you your request.” He invited her with a gesture to step over to the convicted warrior, but she shook her head.

 “No, not out here. At least let us be alone for a moment.” With her chin, Éowyn gave a brief nod to the nearest door and sighed in frustration when she saw the hesitation in her opposite’s eyes. “Háma, what do you fear we could do? I beg you, grant us this brief moment of privacy, please! I did not hear the king specifically forbid it, and you are still the Captain of the Royal Guard, a man of power yourself. Surely there is still enough power left to your position to honour my request?”

 With a deep intake of breath, Háma finally gave her the little nod she had hoped for, and stepped aside, motioning for his men to release their prisoner.

 “I am sorry, Lady Éowyn. These are dark days we are living in. And with each passing day it becomes harder to make the right decisions. I will grant you this moment you asked for, but please-”

 “We will not cause you trouble. You have my word, Captain.” With a meaningful glance at her brother, Éowyn stepped over to the door one of the guards held open for her, and mechanically, he followed her inside. The door closed behind them, and silence filled the little guest room as she turned to him, the rigidity she had displayed in front of the guards suddenly melted away as she took Éomer in her arms, gently at first, but with growing intensity as the dam of her restrained threatened to break, and the fact that his arms were still bound on his back and he could not return her embrace made it even worse. This could not be! Reminding herself to remember her most important task first, because she did not know how much time they would be granted, Éowyn then suddenly took a step back, and her gaze grew urgent as her tone.

 “Éomer, listen, I will send someone to bring you your weapons, or any weapons I can get a hold of. Ride to our old hiding place and wait there until darkness, and I will see that the weapons are stored in the little niche underneath the rock. If that snake thinks he can kill you by sending you out there unarmed, he is mistaken!” He did not react, and the stone-set look on his face almost broke her heart. “Promise me you will wait there, Éomer! Do not go into the wild like this, because that is what Gríma wants. He intends to kill you!”

 “Does it matter?” Éomer finally spoke, but his voice sounded dead all the same, his eyes which had always carried that spark of defiance and willpower now two open wounds, wide open windows to his hurt soul. “My own uncle deems me a curse to his house. I am expelled for a deed I haven’t committed, and none of the men I grew up amongst speak against it though they know for the wrongness of these accusations.” He swallowed visibly. “It hurts, Éowyn… more than death. Given a choice, I would have chosen the gallows instead of this.”

 Her eyes widened in dismay as she cupped his face with both hands, thus forcing him to look at her.

 “Do not speak like this, Éomer! Please, you must not let yourself be fooled! That was not our uncle speaking! The worm’s foul spell is holding his spirit captive, and he will say all that Gríma bids him, without knowing the import of his words! In your heart, you know better, brother!”

 “Do I?”

 Now her dismay shifted into anger.

 “Yes, you do! You should at least, after all those years we have lived here. Is your bitterness so great that you cannot remember the man our uncle once was? How he comforted us when we came here? How much love he gave us? He is a weak, ill man in the claws of a most dangerous traitor; he is not an evil man himself!”

 Éomer looked down on her from his superior height and shook his head.

 “He accused me of treachery before. He believed Gríma’s insinuations that I wanted to claim the throne for myself. No, I lost his favour long ago, Éowyn. He meant what he said.”

 “But it was the poison in him speaking, will you not see that?”

 “Then why not kill the man who gives it to him and release him from his suffering?” he rebuked heatedly, bending forward. “But they all prefer to stand back and watch the Mark fall to ruin right in front of their eyes, because they are cowards!”

 “There is a reason for that,” Éowyn began hesitantly. “You do not know of it yet, because it surfaced only when you were away. I meant to tell you when you returned, but they forbade me to visit you in the dungeon.”

 “They forbade you to visit me?” Éomer repeated, incredulous. “Who? Gamling? Háma? That is what’s wrong in these halls, Éowyn! All of them do the snake’s bidding, even though they know it’s wrong! They say they do it for the good of Rohan, and yet they help him destroy it. You are the king’s niece; they shouldn’t be able to forbid you anything!”

 “I know. But I dared not to stress my standing, because Gamling told me what Gríma showed him.” She looked into Éomer’s skeptical eyes. “The potion that made uncle his pawn… he will die if he is denied it. Gríma, of course, calls it a ‘strengthening potion’. Anyway, while you were away, Gamling quarrelled with him, and it got to the point where he brandished his sword against him. Gríma said that if he killed him, he would kill the King, too, because he is the only one who knows the secret ingredients to the potion that holds Théoden alive despite his illness. Gamling dared not kill him then, but to prove his words, the worm withheld the draught from uncle for two full days.” Her voice began to tremble. “He almost died. It was not until Gamling fell to his knees and apologised that Gríma finally relented.  Believe me, it is tearing him and Háma apart to see you treated like this, but they must maintain their position! If they, too, are replaced, there will be no one left to stop Wormtongue. It is for the good of the people and uncle!”

“Forgive me, sister, but I fail to see how our people profit from our Chiefs of the Guard silently nodding to all that the crooked liar can conceive. Sooner or later, they will be replaced by his minions nonetheless, and they will have done nothing to prevent it.”

 Her shoulders sagged.

 “You were not here. You did not see how uncle suffered.”

 “But I see how our people are suffering. I swore fealty to my lord and my land, Éowyn. And as my lord seems no longer capable of providing safety to the people under his care, it might be time to separate the two and decide who is more important: a single man, blood-kin or not, or many thousands.” Éomer lifted his chin, and his expression hardened. “I made my decision. What about you, Éowyn?”

 She studied his expression and shivered. He meant it.

 “You are saying then that you are giving up on our uncle, the man who was like a father to us until he fell prey to the dark counsellor’s devilry? You will desert him in the time of his greatest need?”

 “It is not I who deserts him, Éowyn,” Éomer retorted, his eyes blazing. “It is he who expels me!” The awkward moment stretched between them, neither sibling knowing what to say. At length, Éomer lowered his voice, his unexpected rage gone, and his tone was apologetic. “Will you not come with me, Éowyn? I do not know what expects me out there, but I do not want to leave you behind… not with this bastard doing as he pleases.”

 “And leave our uncle at his mercy?” Éowyn shook her head, even though the thought her brother had just voiced chilled her blood. “I cannot, Éomer. I cannot yet give up on our surrogate father. Somewhere inside that weakened shell of him sitting on the throne, there must still be the great and generous man who raised us, and I will not leave his side until he is dead.”

 “Even if that means placing yourself at Gríma’s mercy, too? You know that once I’m gone—“

 “He will not dare to touch me,” she explained forcefully, wishing she felt as convinced as she sounded. Éomer’s expression told her that he did not fully believe her, either. “I know how to fend him off, and Gamling and Háma would never tolerate it if he laid a hand on me.”

 ‘They tolerated that I was banished,’ Éomer thought, but he chose to remain silent. She knew. So at last he cast his once proud eyes down and wished his sister farewell as the first knock on the door interrupted the heavy silence.

 “Until we are united again, I will not stop worrying for you, Éowyn.” After the heated outpour of his emotions, he suddenly felt utterly spent and choking on his emotions as he leaned forth to kiss her gently on the brow, and at last, her anger, too, faded away and gave way to a despair so deep, it threatened to leave her breathless.

 “Ssshh…” she made, the tears finally welling up behind her closed eyes as she pulled her brother close und ran her hands through his hair, revelling in the sensation of his warmth and scent perhaps for the last time. “Do not worry for me, Éomer, I can hold my own. Be careful out there, you must promise me this. You are a great warrior, but you stand alone now, and must weigh your actions even more carefully than ever before. No man, however valiant, can defeat all hosts of his enemies alone. You must hide, and only surface when the time is right. Do not let your pride lead you into an early grave.”

 “Lady Éowyn,” Háma’s voice reached them from outside. “I’m afraid we must leave. Will you please come outside?”

 “Just one more moment, please!” she shouted, unwilling to let go.  “Oh Éomer… may Béma himself hold his protective hand over you!”

 “And you, sister mine,” he breathed, and his heart felt leaden in his chest. “Yours may very well be the harder task. I wish you the courage and the good luck to see it done in the end. We will see each other again, Éowyn, mark my words. One not so far day, I will return, and we will rid the Mark of the plague that has befallen it.” He kissed her again, inwardly cursing his adversary that by binding his hands, he was denied the comfort of embracing the slender body of his sister.

 She lifted her chin, and the sudden expression of defiance in her eyes soothed Éomer’s mind.

 “Aye, brother, we will. Gríma overestimates himself. He thinks he can foresee everything, but he will find out that he’s wrong. We will prove him wrong.” 

 A second, more insistent knocking interrupted her and suddenly, the door was thrown open and the armed guards of Gríma Wormtongue stood in the entrance. Behind them, Éomer beheld the distraught looking face of Háma. With a derogatory sneer, the leader of the counsellor’s private guards seized Éowyn’s arm to pull her away from her brother.

 “Aw… what a sweet farewell! It brings tears to my eyes. — but now it is time!” A second later, Feldrod gasped as Éomer rammed his shoulder into his stomach, and landed unceremoniously and undignified on his behind, gulping for air like a fish while the former marshal towered over him like a god of wrath.

 “Touch her again, and you’ll lose that hand. Do you understand me?”

 “Back! Back, both of you!”  Throwing his full authority into the situation before it would severely spin out of control, Háma pushed through the group of quarrelling men. “Éomer, Felrod – apart! I will not tolerate this kind of behaviour.” He eyed Éowyn with concern. “Are you all right, my lady? Did he hurt you?”

 “It is nothing. Just see to it that this brute won’t touch me again, Captain!” She rubbed her arm and glared at the squarely built guard who was just beginning to draw shallow, painful breaths again. His whole insides twisting into a painful knot by the knowledge of what he’d have to do now, Háma – with a deep sigh – shifted his attention back to the man he had regarded as a brother-in-arms for many years and would now have to cast out.

 “Lord Éomer, will you follow me peacefully, please, as I would much prefer to lead you out unchained?”

 Éomer’s narrowed eyes were still on his adversary.

 “As long as this piece of horse-dung keeps his dirty fingers away from my sister…”

 Felrod huffed as he picked himself up from the floor and wiped his trousers clean. Incredulous, he glared at the Chief of Guards.

 “Captain, you cannot seriously consider leading that man through the city unchained! Béma knows what he will do! We both know-”

 “I have known the Third Marshal for most of his life,” Háma retorted forcefully, his tone for once determined and his piercing gaze indicating that this time, he wasn’t about to back down. There were limits to what Gríma could ask of him. “Éomer is an honourable man. When he says he will come peacefully, then there will be no need to cast him in chains. This is my decision to make, Feldrod, and if you like, you can run to your master and complain about me, but this you will not change. Stand aside!”

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 The hour following his exciting of the Golden Hall settled in Éomer’s memories as one continuous nightmare. At first, they led him out onto the terrace where they bade him to wait, while one of the guards hurried back to his chambers to retrieve the one piece of his personal belongings he was allowed to take along: his old, weathered riding cloak. Then they made their way down to the stables, where they left him under the surveillance of four armed guards while the rest of them readied their horses and the stable-hands and masters silently stared at him. At last, they led Firefoot out of his stall, unsaddled, with only a halter for them to lead him. The mighty grey stallion, perceptive as ever, had felt the unusual tension among the group and given the men a hard time, and for a while, their cursing and swearing had amused Éomer as he watched them fighting with his horse. And yet at last, when they had ordered him to calm down the stallion for them, he had done so with only a few Rohirric words as he stepped into Firefoot’s path. The dangerous hooves had at once ceased their threatening dance, and although he had snorted indignantly, the grey had followed his master’s plead and lowered his head to him, and the warm breath from his nostrils had been the greatest token of comfort Éomer had received all day. Here at least was one whose loyalty would be his until the end of their days.

 Still with his hands bound behind his back, Éomer had then been wrestled onto his steed’s unsaddled back, and they had thrown his cloak over his shoulders. He understood that it was to not needlessly aggravate the citizens of Edoras while they led him to the gates. When they would see him, they would see a dishevelled looking man in deerskin breeches and a torn, woollen tunic underneath the old cloak, dirty after the three days he had spent in the dungeon and reeking of the mouldy, damp cell and sweat. His golden mane was a stringy, unkempt mess flying in the gusts of the winter storm, and his overall appearance, Éomer realised, was no better than that of an ordinary thief. If he was lucky, they would not even recognise him.

 Refusing to let his despair show by his bearing, Éomer had then straightened on Firefoot’s back, sitting perfectly balanced and proud despite the lack of a saddle while they led him down the lonely hill in the midst of the two lines of guards around him, the procession snaking down the steep path in ghastly silence while a mixture of snow and rain had fallen from the heavy clouds above their heads.  

 ‘Even the sky is weeping’, Éomer thought numbly as they made their way toward the city gates, and his innards twisted at the sight of the dismayed expression with which the people they passed averted their gaze, as the procedure required. It was meant as a ride of shame, a last passing through the city while its inhabitants deliberately turned their back on the convicted man. Banishment did not simply mean to be expelled from the land one loved, it also meant that it was forbidden to ever utter the name of the expelled person ever again, neither in conversation, nor in song. Éomer’s entire existence would be erased and forgotten by the people of the Mark. For the Rohirrim, who were a people with no written language, it was the worst punishment thinkable. Before they turned their backs on him, Éomer caught a glimpse of hopelessness and despair in many of his countrymen’s eyes, but again none of them dared to raise their voice in protest. Halfway down the slope, he decided that he had enough of the sad spectacle and chose instead to look at the thatched roofs of the cottages they passed, and beyond them, at the snow-covered peaks of the Ered Nimrais in the distance, and he could not suppress the thought that perhaps this was the last time he was granted this view. The urge to turn his head and look at the Golden Hall from up close for the last time was almost irresistible, but Éomer defeated it nonetheless. He did not want to give the impression that he thought this to be final. After all, he planned to return, and not alone, but with an army, victorious and triumphant, and rid the land he loved of the true plague that had befallen it. Focussing on this internal image in his mind, Éomer squared his shoulders. For as long as there was a single breath left in his body, he was not defeated. In his veins flowed the blood of Eorl, and by Béma, he would show the worm the meaning of it!

 A loud shout to his left woke him from his contemplation as the group of riders around him came to a halt.

 “Open the gate! Open the gate for the traitor!”

 The first shout was repeated from the guards’ position above the high wooden fence that surrounded Edoras, and Éomer recognised the voice as belonging to his friend Éothain. The pain was unexpected and sharp, and instead of looking up to bid his brother-in-arms farewell, he kept his gaze fixed on the two wings of the gate as they separated now under the screaming protest of their rusting hinges. Behind them, the wide vale of the central Mark stretched along the jagged mountains all the way to the horizon, and the fine rain that had accompanied his ride of shame slowly began to turn into snow. Éomer saw it with concern, because it would make disappearing without a trace much harder, but of course, there was nothing he could do against it. It seemed that these days, he was doomed to absolute helplessness. Had Béma truly deserted the people of the Mark? Was he playing a cruel game … or putting them to a test? Was all that was happening just a means of decision for the Gods to determine whether the Rohirrim were still worth their effort?

 “Out, scum,” a voice behind Éomer bellowed, and Firefoot gave a, startled jump that caused some of the men around them – all Gríma’s, Éomer knew – to laugh. “A bit skittish, your mighty steed, Marshal, isn’t he?”

“It might be because you sound like a warg, not a man, Felrod,” Éomer returned, and in looking at the swarthy guard, added: “And not only do you sound like one, with your ugly face, you look like one, too… and I won’t even mention your smell.”

 Again some of the guards laughed, but the furious glint in their captain’s eyes silenced them quickly and efficiently as he unsheathed his knife.

 “Now you are still laughing, son of Éomund. But I know it won’t be for long. Soon you will wish your mother had never born you!” With three quick moves, he severed the ties that held Éomer’s hands behind his back, and for the longest moment, while his hand with the knife was still within reach, the two adversaries stared at each other and tension built around them. At last, Éomer’s mouth twitched, and his dark eyes stayed on his opponent as he pulled his arms in front against the exquisite pain in his knotted neck muscles.

 “I still believe that you are the mouse among the two of us, Felrod,” he said at length, digging his fingers into Firefoot’s thick mane. “And I promise you that I will be back to show our people, you have my word.” He threw a quick glance back over the guard’s shoulder, to where the citizens of Edoras stood and watched, and pointed his chin at them. “They will see what a sorry excuse for a warrior you are. I am known to keep my promises. Ask them.”

 An amused flicker danced in the henchman’s eyes.

 “As a matter of fact, I would be glad if you did return, strawhead.” Felrod pulled a face and shook his head. “But I have this strange feeling, how shall I say it?” He grinned. “I have a strange feeling that I will be waiting in vain. After all, it is dangerous out there, all on your own. There are so many things that can happen to a lonely wanderer these days…” His pursed his lips meaningfully and met his opponent’s gaze unflinchingly. A hard glint briefly glistened in Éomer’s eyes.

 “If you believe that Edoras is a safe place for you, warg, then you are mistaken. Sooner rather than later, the people you believe to have tamed will rise against you and your master, and when they are done with you, they will lay your hides at the steps of Meduseld as a rug for visitors to clean their boots on before they enter the hall! This is my promise to you. Remember it well! Heya!” Kicking his heels into Firefoot’s flanks and letting the mighty stallion rear, Éomer thrust his steed around and into a gallop that took them away from the lonely hill of Edoras at breakneck speed, and the now thick-falling snow  soon dissolved their silhouette.