Chapter 7: The longest Night

MEDUSELD

Dawn lay yet hours away when Maelwyn left the servants’ quarters after a few hours of shallow, restless sleep. Although Éowyn’s condition had further improved during her watch, concern had kept the handmaiden awake for the greater part of the night even after the healer had relieved her of her duty, as so many questions of consequence were still open and would only be answered in a few days, if they were lucky. What was Élric doing right now, and was he someplace safe? Had he succeeded in bringing the weapons and provisions to Éomer? If he had indeed travelled on to his brother’s in the Folde after depositing them at the secret place, he would not be back for at least another two days, a torturous span of time when so many lives were at stake. Was Éomer still alive, or had some horrible destiny befallen him even before his sister’s plan could have brought him relief? And what about herself, Maelwyn could not help wondering; had her conversation with the blacksmith been observed? Or had the counsellor made the connection after being informed about Élric’s sudden departure despite the harsh weather? Would he perhaps even wait for her at the White Lady’s door for a thorough interrogation? That thought frightened her. What would happen if he found her guilty of treason?

The hand of fear digging its cold fingers into her stomach, Maelwyn hastily directed her steps over to the kitchen to fetch Éowyn’s breakfast and occupy her mind with something else for a change. A wonderful scent of freshly baked bread wafted into the great hall whenever the kitchen doors opened and closed, and under other circumstances, she would have found it mouth-watering. Yet after the long day and even longer night of worry, Maelwyn felt not yet ready for food. She also thought not that Éowyn would like much of a breakfast after the fever, but at least the tea would help her restore some of her strength. And Yálanda might want the rest of what she would bring them. Silently working in the kitchen until she had everything assembled on her tray, Maelwyn turned and left the cooks to their daily business, suddenly very intent to reach the relative safety of Éowyn’s chambers before she could be intercepted by the counsellor or one of his men.

She was intercepted nonetheless, but not by the man she dreaded. No, it was Éothain who called out to her as she was already bracing herself for the confrontation with the stern-looking guard in front of her lady’s door. Inwardly thankful for the reason to delay the inevitable, she turned to the warrior who apparently had been waiting on one of the benches close to the hearth, balancing the tray in her hands. Although Éothain still stood several paces away and the flickering light of the few torches kept burning at night was not bright enough to let her see his face well, the dread in his eyes caused Maelwyn’s stomach to contract painfully.

“Éothain!”

“Maelwyn.” He came closer, and the defeat in his body language almost made her cry. She had always liked the powerfully built young man who was so akin to the king’s nephew. Possessed of the same fiery temperament and strong sense of justice as his friend, Éothain’s slightly different brand of humour and talent for gallantry had quickly caught her attention after she had taken up her service for the Lady Éowyn four years ago. Like Éomer, however, the son of the esteemed Captain Céorl was no man she could ever hope to win for herself, but certainly Éothain had never made her feel like just a lowly servant. To see him in this state of dismayed helplessness was yet another blow to her spirits Maelwyn desperately struggled to uphold. “They will not tell me anything apart from that she’s sleeping. Tell me the truth, Maelwyn, how is Éowyn faring? Has the healer been able to help her?”

They’d have to be careful under the guard’s observation. She’d have to watch her words. This was an entirely new experience for her, to be part of a conspiracy. It could have been exciting if she hadn’t been so frightened.

“Aye, she was, Éothain, don’t worry. When I left my lady last night, it seemed that her fever had dropped, and I believe that they would have woken me had there been any changes to the worse in her condition. Yálanda and I shared the night watch, and she is still with her. Éowyn is in good hands, Éothain.” How much she wanted to embrace and comfort him. But was it advisable under the guard’s scrutiny? On the other hand, they had been amiable with each other before, why should they stop now all of a sudden? In reaction to her short report, Éothain’s expression lit up, but the hint of mental fatigue and even shame in his eyes would not dissipate. Shame? Surely he blamed not himself for what had happened the day before, did he? Stepping away from the door under pretence of having to put down the tray on one of the long tables, Maelwyn signalled for the warrior to follow her and lowered her voice as she turned around, not to a whisper which would have woken instant suspicion, but to a level that was just low enough so that the man at the door wouldn’t understand their words.

“Éothain, you are not at fault here. There is nothing you could have done for Éomer yesterday. There was nothing anybody could have done.”

Éothain seemed to stare right through her; the lowly burning fire in the hearth gleaming in his eyes as he slowly shook his head.

“I should have left together with him, along with the other men of his éored. My father eventually talked us out of it, but it still feels to me as if I betrayed my best friend.”

“But you are needed here, Éothain! The people of Edoras need you. What would we do if all righteous men left and we’d be at the mercy of these crooked men? As long as some of you remain here to put limits to what he can do, we can still hope that there will be a change for the better. Please, do not rob us of this hope. Éothain?” Impulsively, she laid a hand on his arm, but his thoughts were still somewhere else.

“Those were my father’s words. And I do understand his point of view, but still…” he looked over Maelwyn’s shoulder in the direction of the royal chambers, his lips tightening. “Perhaps we could be of better help to our people if we had left.” His voice dropped even lower. “I know what Éomer will do out there: he will summon the riders and return, he will not accept the verdict. And at least Elfhelm and his men will follow him, and I do not think that they will be the only ones. Perhaps Éomer will succeed in uniting our people against what has befallen us.” His expression darkened further. “I only wish I could ride with them. Of what use can I be here? The worm only keeps me here so that he can carry out his foul plans outside the city gates. It is not like he gives me any important errands to carry out within the confines of Edoras. He jus wants me to stay out of his way.”

“That may be so, but I will tell you again, Éothain: your very presence guarantees the safety of the people here in Edoras. And once Éomer returns, it will be your task to stop the counsellor’s men from within the city, before they can think of anything horrible to do.”

The young captain still seemed unconvinced, but at least she had his full attention now.

“But what if we hope in vain for his return? What if he is already dead? I think I am the one who knows best what skill Éomer has with the blade; I know he is not a man who is easily thwarted, but he is all alone out there, and without arms! And even if he was armed, he needs to sleep some time. He cannot be on his guard all day and all night! What if orcs find him while he’s sleeping, or-“

“Éothain!”

“-or if he has an accident out there? What if Firefoot falls and-“

“Éothain!” Maelwyn raised her voice. “You must not think of that now. It is not in our power to prevent it.” Feeling the strong impulse to comfort him, she first cast a cautious look over the young captain’s shoulder to make sure that his back obstructed her from the guard’s view before she whispered with a meaningful twitch of her eyebrows: “Help for Éomer is underway. My lady arranged for it yesterday, her illness was part of the plan to get me out of Meduseld. Please, I cannot say more, just rest assured that Éomer is not alone in this. Have faith, Éothain. We must not lose hope now.” Craning back her neck, Maelwyn met his scrutinising glance freely, and at last, he seemed to believe her. Taking her into his strong arms, the son of Céorl – to Maelwyn’s as well as to his own surprise – suddenly kissed her brow before letting her go. For the longest moment, they looked at each other in bafflement before he nodded and turned to go.

“Thank you, Maelwyn. Be assured that that knowledge is safe with me. I will do what I can to help our people here, but please, come to me if there is anything I can do for you or Éowyn; no matter what, no matter when! Do not trust anyone else.” He interrupted himself, the sudden uproar of emotions to strong to be kept inside nearly choking him. Aware of Maelwyn’s stunned expression, he only managed two more hastily spoken sentences before he virtually stormed toward the exit: “I will come back later. Be careful, Maelwyn.”

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EASTFOLD

It was still dark when Éomer halted Firefoot with a slight tug at the reins. Following the loss of his cloak, he had literally clung to the stallion’s neck for the better part of the ride to soak up the warmth his horse exuded, but inevitably the moment had come where it became impossible for him tocontinue his ride only in his tunic and breeches. To his misfortune, the horses he had abducted had carried neither spare garments nor blankets with which he could have substituted his thick cloak; likewise he had found no additional weapons in the saddlebags, only a few provisions. Together with a set of tack, they were the only things of use to him. Relieving the horses of their saddles, Éomer had put one of them on Firefoot’s back and filled the bags with his sparse loot, then - in order to prevent the animals from running straight back to their masters as any well-trained Rohirric horse would do once he released them - he tied their reins to a thick branch. To leave them a chance to free themselves if a danger should arise, however, he did not pull the knots very tight. It was a gamble he was taking, but Rohan needed its horses. About the dark bay whose bridle and saddle he had used on Firefoot, he could do nothing to keep him close, but thought not that the gelding would stray far from his companions. In any case it would be a long walk for Felrod and his band of thugs to reclaim their mounts.

Yet not even this amusing thought could lighten his spirits anymore. While the ruffians would simply be cold for a while, but certainly were in no danger of freezing to death, Éomer himself felt chilled to the bone, his teeth were clattering and he knew that he would not live to see the light of the new day if he did not take immediate action. Keen on making the most of the advantage he had gained by the abduction of his foes’ horses, he had relentlessly pressed on to reach the mountains instead of seeking shelter from the elements, and only now that they had travelled over terrain where the snow had been blown clear from the rock for a while, Éomer felt secure enough to stop. Perhaps not for the night, but long enough to help himself to some shelter from the temperatures.

Looking back the way they had come, he registered with satisfaction that they had left no tracks and shifted back in the saddle to concern himself with the new challenge he was faced with: behind Firefoot’s flickering ears, a thin column of smoke lazily rose into the sky from a group of buildings. Éomer knew the hard-working people living here well and felt miserable about having to drag them into this most unfortunate business, even if he could see no other option. It was either freezing to death or… steal? Grimacing at the word alone, Éomer took a deep breath. Yes, he would have to steal indeed, for it would be the only way to keep the couple out of trouble. It was no secret that their people were anything but adept at lying. He did not doubt that Forlorn and Théa would grant him anything he asked of them even if he woke them in the middle of the night, but if Gríma’s minions somehow found out that he had disappeared in this direction, things could get very ugly. No matter what happened, he would not be Gríma’s justification for the killing of innocent people. For once, it would be best to simply swallow his pride and take what he needed like an ordinary thief, and be gone before anyone found out who had paid them a nightly visit.

Patting Firefoot’s neck, Éomer slid from the saddle and ground his teeth at the discovery of how numb his body had already become in the cold.

“I know you would rather want to be in that barn than out here, Big One. I would that we could stay, too, but it is something that we just cannot do.” Narrowing his eyes as his gaze swept over the peaceful picture of the farmhouse and its stables and barn, Éomer clenched his jaw. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

The stallion’s snort sounding rather annoyed behind him as he advanced on feet he didn’t even feel anymore, Éomer listened into the night. He knew that the couple owned two fearsome watchdogs, a breed of wolfhound that was kept throughout the Mark as guardians for the stock, and scanned the patches of snow for their tracks without finding any. With luck, they would be kept inside the stables at these fierce temperatures, and his tired and freezing mind refused to come up with a solution for the case if they were not. After all he had been forced to endure these past days, wouldn’t it just be fitting to be ripped to pieces by his own people’s guard dogs? Surely Gríma would delight in such news, which was one of the reasons why he could not let it happen. Yet without arms, what should he do if he was detected?

‘Firefoot would come to my aid, even if he is cross with me at the moment,’ Éomer thought, briefly pausing in the shadow of the last tree before he would actually enter farm territory. There was still no sign of the dogs. Looking back, he briefly confirmed his stallion was indeed paying heed to his order before he advanced, treading even more carefully. There was no light anywhere in the house as he passed, but Éomer was still glad when it lay behind him. Now, where to go? Where would he find anything of use? Since entering the main house was out of the question, Éomer decided to try his luck first in the biggest building, since the barn was the place where most farmers kept their tools. What he would do if his search were in vain he did not know, and he pushed the thought back as he stealthily approached the great wooden structure over the patches of ice in an attempt not to leave a trace and at the same time, not to slip.

From the long building to his right, the muffled noises of sheep could be heard, and their scent reached his nose with amazing clarity through the chill air. Still no dogs. He reached the barn and craned back his neck to peer at the small window below the roof. To reach it, he would have to climb the pile of firewood stocked next to the building’s wall, an activity he was not looking forward to as it would be far too easy to slip on these ice-covered tree trunks and send the whole pile tumbling and seriously injure himself in the process. Yet what else could he do? A quick test revealed what he had already assumed: the door was locked and secured with an additional iron-chain. No way to get in through here, so the window it was for him.

Flexing his numb fingers to get at least some feeling back into them, Éomer began the ascent by carefully placing his foot on the first trunk. It did not roll away under his weight, and encouraged, he moved on, swiftly and cautiously at the same time nearing the narrow rectangle above him until he was directly below it and able to reach the wooden frame with his fingertips. Another quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that he still had the night to himself, and he turned back and tensed, then jumped. His fingers closed around the middle beam of the window, and with a chin-up, Éomer pulled himself up to see a barricade in the form of a pressed block of straw in front of him. Finding hold on the small ledge, he placed his shoulder against it and pushed cautiously, but persistently. Slowly, the block gave way.

The first sensation as he squeezed through the window was that of warmth… and then the smell of the animals and the noises of their restless shifting trickled into his awareness as well. Stretching his neck to orientate himself in the semi-darkness from his elevated position, Éomer looked down on two rows of stalls holding cattle and two heavy-set horses. From their calm demeanour, Éomer concluded that the beasts had not yet picked up the scent of their unbidden nightly visitor, and so he used the moment to look around further. The flickering light of an oil lamp that enabled him to see stemmed from an even higher place opposite him, where two booted feet stuck out from underneath a blanket: a guard. He tensed, even though he had not expected to find himself alone in here. These days, no farmer could risk his stock by leaving it unprotected. He would have to be quiet.

With careful, conscious movements, Éomer silently advanced to the edge of the straw and peered down. There was still no sign of the dogs, but as he looked to his right, he saw to his excitement a couple of fur-lined, thick leather capes hanging from hooks at the wall underneath the sleeping guard’s position. There was a small shed there, as well, which probably contained work tools such as axes, hammers and sickles, things he could use well for a weapon in lack of a better option. His heart beating faster at the sight of this treasure, Éomer climbed down and came to stand on the stone floor only a moment later. A brief glance upwards confirmed that the guard was still asleep, and so he took his heart in both hands and closed the distance to the wall with a few fast and soundless steps, his fingers already digging into the thick fur to unhook the cape – when a sudden low, menacing snarl turned his stomach into a block of ice. Inwardly swearing, Éomer turned around. From the corridor between the two rows of stalls, a pair of amber glowing eyes was set on him, and even as he looked, the growl rose in volume, the flickering light now also reflecting from an impressive looking set of pointed fangs as the wolfhound they belonged to approached.

‘Gods, I almost had it! Am I spared nothing?‘ Lunging for the first thing within his reach, Éomer’s fingers closed around a hayfork, which he stabbed menacingly in the direction of his attacker. Yet instead of jumping, the well-trained guard dog immediately retreated to wake the barn with his hysterical barking. The alarm was instantly picked up by the cows and horses and filled the building with an ear-splitting din that could impossibly be overheard even in the distant main house.

“Morgoth’s stinking breath…!” Still attempting to hold the dog at bay with the fork single-handedly, Éomer seized one of the capes and started to edge his way back to the pile of straw blocks when a young frightened voice from above froze him in his tracks.

“Faestor? What is it? Is there something-“ The light of the lamp started to move down the ladder, and with a sigh of resignation, Éomer retreated all the way to the wall while a burning feeling of shame twisted his insides. So it had come to this: the former proud Marshal of the Mark had been reduced to a petty thief who broke into stables at night to steal from the people he had once sworn to protect and scare their children. No longer attempting to escape detection, Éomer waited until the young lad he knew to be the oldest son of the couple saw him. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

The lad, no older than thirteen or fourteen summers, held a small axe in his hand which he lifted now in pitiful threat upon the sight of the stranger in his barn. Not intending to scare the boy further, Éomer did not move a muscle.

“I mean you no harm, Hâlrod, relax. I only wanted to borrow one of your capes.” Slowly, he lifted the hand with the garment. “I am sorry for the disturbance, but--”

“Who are you, and how do you know my name?” Holding up the lamp to see better while his still growling hound walked with stiff steps over to his master, Hâlrod looked confused at hearing his own name uttered. Yet before he could think of anything else to say, the sound of the heavy door being unlocked and pushed open interrupted his train of thought, and the next moment, a broad-shouldered, unkempt looking man in his middle-years entered the barn, a sickle in his right hand. Inwardly sighing to himself, Éomer looked down the corridor. So here came Forlon. Béma certainly seemed in a mood to spare him not even the least indignity these days. Holding up his own oil-lamp, the farmer squinted at him and when he spoke, his tone was harsh.

“Who are you, and what are you doing in our barn in the dead of night, thief? What did you hope to find here?” He squinted even more, and suddenly his eyes widened in disbelief. “No, it cannot be! Marshal? Marshal Éomer? Is it really you?”

Straightening to his full height and squaring his shoulders, Éomer swallowed his pride. His approach had not worked, so he would have to think of something else now, even if the thought of including the family in his act of disobedience against the banishment still caused him stomach cramps.

“Yes, it is indeed I, Forlorn, even if I am no longer a marshal, and you must believe me that I am truly sorry about this. Circumstances brought me here in the middle of the night to try and borrow one of your capes.” He took a deep breath and added in a low voice: “I would have brought it back later.”

“But…” The man obviously doubted whether he was truly awake yet, but his hand with the sickle sank. “-why did you not knock and wake us, my lord? We would have given you gladly everything you needed.” He paused as his memory slowly returned. “There was a rider here two days ago, telling us that… oh Béma! They did not even leave you your coat? But that is murder!” Casting an angry glance at the still growling dog, the farmer shouted: “Silence, Faestor! Hâlrod, take him back to his stall before he causes the animals to panic. There is no foe to be found here.”

With another insecure glance at him, the lad grasped his hound by the collar and did as bidden.

“It is a long story,” Éomer sighed as he slowly relaxed. His hand with the cloak sank. “Of course I would have rather liked to ask you for this instead of simply taking it, but you know the rules of the banishment. It was not my wish to draw you into this any more than necessary.”

“But is it true then that the Prince is dead? The errand rider said that he died in battle in the Westfold.”

A shadow crept over Éomer’s face as Forlorn’s questions brought back the hurt of his own loss.

“Aye. Alas, I fear that it is so. It is not true that I played a part in it. But as I said, it is a long story, and –“

“So the heir to the throne is gone. Alas that we should live to see such days of darkness…” The farmer’s expression told of his dismay. “And of course I know that it could not have been your fault, Marshal, you do not have to tell me. Although we live far from the court, we know better than to trust information coming from Edoras these days.” He shook his head, motioning Éomer closer. “I would never have thought that I would say such a thing one day. But tell me, what is the matter with the king these days that he makes such strange decisions?”

“Gods, Forlong, will you look at the poor man?” another voice suddenly interrupted their conversation harshly from the direction of the door. “The Marshal is shivering like autumn leaves, and his teeth clatter. He must be half-frozen! Will you not ask him to come to our house for some warm broth and tea first? You can continue your talk there.” Théa, the frail-looking, yet astonishingly resilient wife of the man before him stepped into the barn with an expression of irritation on her plain face as she regarded her husband. “Marshal Éomer, please, it will be an honour for us to welcome you in our home”

“And I thank you, Théa, but I am afraid that I cannot accept your invitation, as much as I would like to. If I am found here, you will come to harm. And I will not risk it, under no circumstance. “

Yet to his utter surprise and then, sudden, secret amusement, the diminutive woman put her hands on her hips in a resolute gesture, seemingly far from intimidated by her high guest.

“I understand, my lord. You would rather freeze to death out there. But how in Éorl’s name is that supposed to help us?”

“You say you understand, Théa, but you don’t. I was banished, which means that all who help me will be treated as traitors if it becomes known, and I will not be responsible for your death.”

“There is no one here to see you. It is the middle of the night! There have never been many Rohirrim forces around here, not even when we really needed them… except for your éored, of course. You and your men risked your lives for us many a time; it would only be far to repay you for it now, even if we cannot do much, I’m afraid.”

“If you could borrow me this cape, it would be more than I could have hoped to find. That, and perhaps something I could use for a weapon, a knife, or an axe, should you have one to spare…”

“The cape is yours, let us talk no more about it,” Forlorn rejoined the discussion. “And before you leave, we will also find a blade or such for you as well, but for now, I fear I have to agree with my wife: we will not let you leave like this. We would see it as a serious insult of our hospitality.” He paused and looked back. “Wouldn’t we, Théa?”

“Oh, we certainly would.” The woman was actually glowering at him now, Éomer noticed, torn between laughing and feeling annoyed over the stubbornness of the couple. And yet, wasn’t this the very character trait their people were famous for, the one trait which had ensured their survival through all those hard, violent centuries? “I even believe that I could feel insulted enough to take back our gift.”

Incredulous, Éomer narrowed his eyes. Was he being blackmailed?

“I do not believe my ears. Are you trying to force me to accept?”

“Aye,” Théa beamed. “Thus I think it would be best for you to give in. We are two, after all, and there is only one of you… and of course, we also have the dogs.”

Now Éomer could no longer help himself, the grin broke through as he slowly shook his head in wonder.

“I see. It is quite telling what happens to authority once you’re stripped of your titles. Very well, I surrender to your sheer power of conviction. But –“ and he pointed the finger at the woman, whose expression suddenly flushed with satisfaction. “—I will move on before dawn, even if I have to fight you. I meant it when I said that I must not be found here.”

“And we understood you,” Forlorn confessed. “But there must be time enough to thaw you up again. Come, we will let you sit before the fire and Thea will make you some hot soup and tea while I pack a few things for you. Aye, and I am certain that your horse might appreciate a few handful of oats as well, wouldn’t you agree?”