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Untold Tales of the Mark: The Banishment of Éomer  by Katzilla

EDORAS

It was the first time in days that the sun shed its light onto the plains from a cloudless blue sky, and even if it was still cold, the very sight warmed Éothain’s heart and lifted his spirits as he approached the great gates at the head of his éored. For one and a half days, they had pursued a band of orcs on the fringes of the Westemnet, urging their horses to keep up their speed once the tracks they had followed became fresher, until at last, they had overcome the foul beings just before these could seek refuge in the nearby mountains. Needless to say, they had put an end to them.

And since none of his men or any of their horses had been wounded in the fight, Éothain’s spirits were unusually high as he steered his bay gelding toward the opening gate. From the guard tower, the bell announced their approach to the citizens of Edoras, and its silver sound warmed his heart. It had been a long time since he had last felt positive about the City of Kings; had felt at home within the confines of the mighty wooden fence.

"Captain?" Aedwulf rode up to him. "Do you have other errands for us today or…"

The son of Céorl shook his head.

"I just kept you away from your families for two full days. No, Aedwulf. See to your horses, and then you are released from duty for today. Tell the men. I will give the King my report, and then I will go and seek some respite as well."

"But like I said earlier, I would deem it wiser if some of us accompanied you up to the Golden Hall…" The older man’s gaze went up to the stark silhouette of Meduseld, and his expression darkened as he narrowed his eyes "After that confrontation with the Worm’s guards, I would feel very uncomfortable at the thought of you delivering your report unguarded, Éothain. Béma will forgive me when I say this, but all know that Meduseld has become a snakepit. Please, allow us to protect you. We cannot afford to lose our Captain, too, not after they already banished our Marshal." He stared back over his shoulder, for a moment lost in thought before he at last turned back with a soundless sigh and slow shaking of his head. "Do you reckon that Éomer is still alive? What might he be doing now?"

"I count on it, and I count on it that he is out there somewhere, teaching our enemies to fear him and preparing his triumphant return to Edoras," Éothain said with more confidence in his voice than he felt, his gaze following Aedwulf’s to the distant mountains. "And when he does, we must be ready to support him."

The other warrior nodded.

"Aye, my Captain, and that begins with being alive. Thereby I consider it decided that we accompany you to the King, Éothain, and I will hear no words of protest! Hiya!" With a mock-serious glare, Aedwulf urged his mount ahead of his captain and called out to their riders to itell them of his plan. As expected, it did not take long to find a dozen men more than willing to make the way up to the Golden Hall; the difficulty was more to determine who would not accompany them, as Éothain found the thought ridiculous that their entire éored walked up the path. And needless to say, the sight of one hundred and twenty armed, grim-faced warriors marching up the hill toward their own Hall of Kings would definitely upset the citizens. He wanted to keep things as quiet as he could. There were enough worries on the people’s minds already.

In a long line, riders and horses snaked through the half-opened gates into the city, and the feeling of returning home brought a smile to Éothain’s lips even if home was no longer what it used to be. The faces of the people awaiting them on the large open space behind the fence brightened with relief, and with heartfelt shouts of joy, the riders were welcomed back by their family members. His gaze sweeping the buzzing activity around him, Éothain involuntarily sought his father’s stern features in the mass of people, but it was his mother he saw instead hurrying toward him with an expression on her face that at once alarmed him: how could eyes look so relieved and so anxious at the same time? Swiftly sliding out of his saddle while his heart beat furiously in his throat, Éothain opened his arms, and Glenwyn accepted the invitation gladly as she embraced her son with a vigour which astounding given her fragile appearance.

"Oh Éothain, it is good to have you back! With all that going on in our land, one can never be sure if one sees his loved ones again when they ride out, even if the report spoke only of a small band of orcs." Her arms tightened around his chest, and he smoothed one of her ashen curls aside to kiss her lovingly on the brow.

"And I am glad to see you, Mother, but where is Father? Has he returned from Aldburg yet?"

The lines on Glenwyn’s face deepened abruptly with the mention of her husband, and her bright blue eyes, who were so much like her son’s, fogged over with concern.

"Aye, he returned yesterday shortly after you left... but none have seen him since he went up to the Golden Hall to deliver his report to the King. I know that he did not ride out again, because his horse is still here, but he did not return home last night, and after what happened to Éomer, I dare not think about what might have happened up there!" Barely suppressed tears sparkling in her eyes, she craned back her neck to look at her son who stared at her with a growing feeling of foreboding.

"Nobody has seen him, you say? Béma…" Pressing his lips together, Éothain looked up to the Hall towering above them. The decision came to him easily, and Glenwyn almost recoiled in shock when she beheld the expression of cold fury on her son’s face. "I will go immediately and find out where he is, Mother, and if that Snake in the disguise of the King’s counsellor says so much as a wrong word, he will deeply regret it!" He let go of her and turned to grasp his horse’s reins. Torn between clashing emotions of relief and concern, the wife of Captain Céorl laid a hand upon his arm, first wanting to hold him back, but reconsidering at the same moment.

"Be careful, Éothain, please! Do not go up there alone!"

How far had it come for the people of Edoras to be afraid of approaching Meduseld, Éothain thought bitterly. He grasped his mother’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Fear not, Mother. My riders already demanded that I’d take them with me, and once I tell them about father’s disappearance, they will all storm up the hill together with me. Wormtongue will not dare to oppose me with an entire éored on his doorstep!"

---------------------------

WHITE MOUNTAINS

Daylight flooded his room through the heavy yellow curtains and bathed everything in a warm golden glow when Éomer woke again. From outside, children’s laughter could be heard, a wonderful, long-missed sound of normality. It market the absence of danger, and for a moment, while his body was still pleasantly heavy with sleep, Éomer allowed himself to just lay back and stare at the ceiling, thinking of nothing.

"Ha ha! You missed! You are too slow!"

"Hrmpf! I will show you who is too slow here, Young Man!" a deep, rolling voice grumbled in mock-anger, and a lazy smile spread over Éomer’s face when he recognised its owner. Béma knew he had made his own experiences with the temperamental dwarf; to the point where they had glared at each other with drawn weapons. Had not Aragorn interfered at the last moment, they would have spilled each other’s blood. And how foolish would that have been, for the enemies of the White Wizard to kill each other and helping him in his evil task of emptying the plains of the Mark of all human life! "The orcs do not fear Gimli son of Gloin for nothing throughout Middle Earth! Sooner or later, I’ll catch you, and then I will tan both your hides!"

"You will never catch us!"

The sound of silent laughter reached Éomer’s ears from the right, and cautiously, he turned his head to see Aragorn in the chair Freya had occupied earlier. Strangely enough, the sight of Elendil’s heir did not surprise him. Had not Théodred spoken of the mighty friends he had made and who had come to his aid?

"He does not really mean it," Aragorn chuckled, amused by his friend’s antics invisible to him through the curtains, but which he could easily imagine. "That dwarf loves to act as if he understood no fun, but he has a very big heart, that one, especially for young ones. Even if they are having their fun with him. I suppose they cannot understand how someone can not be taller than they and not be a child. I can honestly say until today, I have never seen Gimli engaged in a snowball fight."

"A snowball-fight?" Éomer echoed in amused disbelief, trying to envision the stout, hairy warrior in that activity and failing. "I wish I could see them."

"You can, they are right in front of your window." Aragorn rose to his feet and walked around the bed to pull aside the curtains. The bright sunlight blinded Éomer, and he shielded his eyes as he adjusted to it after days of muted twilight in the caves and overcast skies. "Let me help you sit up." He offered his hand, and it was readily accepted.

Remembering how he had failed last time, Éomer cautiously pressed his free hand against the mattress and then slowly half-shoved, half allowed himself to be pulled into an upright position against the wall, grimacing against the throbbing in his side. The effort brought beads of sweat onto his face, but it was a definite improvement from the first attempt a few hours earlier, and Aragorn nodded at him approvingly as he helped him to make himself comfortable. Finally, Éomer leant back against the thick cushion in his back, and he smiled at the sight of the short-legged opponents racing through the snow in front of his window.

"They are good with the snowballs. He stands no chance."

Aragorn nodded, satisfied.

"I am pleased to see that you recover extraordinarily quickly, Marshal."

"I am no longer a marshal," – Aragorn’s eyebrow went up – "- and aye, I am astonished about that myself. Although I probably shouldn’t be after Freya told me that I was in your capable hands." Éomer met the ranger’s gaze evenly. Somehow, talking about the shame of his banishment to this man was easier than it would have been to others. There was something in the older man’s nature that inspired trust; a thing Éomer had never given lightly to anyone. "She said that it was you who found me on that mountain path, and that it was you who treated me. Your intervention is the reason that I am still alive." He gave the ranger an appreciative nod. "I will not find it easy to repay that debt."

"You repaid it already by surviving," Aragorn assured him. "In fact, it was us who were indebted to you in the first place for lending us your horses although you knew of the risk. Yet I would not have accepted them had I known what resulted from this generous decision." He inhaled, and his expression turned grave as he shook his head in disbelief. "You say that your title was taken away from you. It is still hard to accept for me that Théoden-King would expel even his own kin. I used to know a different man on the throne of the Mark."

"That may be so, but the Théoden-King you are speaking of is no longer the man ruling us. That man is but an empty shell our enemy uses cunningly to weaken the Mark from within, for there are still too many men of power left who will do Théoden’s bidding regardless of how strange or unwise his orders may sound to them. I assume there is no way of expressing it differently: my Uncle has become the ultimate tool in the undoing of the Mark." Éomer fell silent, broodingly staring with unseeing eyes at the window when memory briefly overwhelmed him. At last, his attention returned to Aragorn. "You say that you knew him before he fell under the enemy’s influence… when was that? I do not remember ever seeing you in Meduseld."

"It was a long time ago," Aragorn said, deliberately imprecise as he knew that the younger man would be sceptical when he told him the truth. "It does not matter now. We will concern ourselves with him, and with your enemies," Aragorn assured him, compassion colouring his voice. He could well imagine how the proud young man in front of him had to feel about being expelled from his land by his own family member. "Once we have defeated them, your Uncle’s condition may even be reversible."

"I must unfortunately say that I am having my doubts." Lost in contemplation for another moment, Éomer then shook his head as if shaking off the last cobwebs of an unpleasant dream, and life finally returned to his eyes when he asked. "What about your friends, did you find them?"

Aragorn nodded.

"Indeed, thanks to your help we did, and astonishingly enough, they even were in good spirits and more or less unharmed. Those Halflings appear to be possessed of an incredible talent to land themselves in trouble and then escape from it by the most unbelievable incidents. By pure chance, they discovered what must be the safest place in all of Middle Earth, so we decided to leave them there for the time being and head back to return your horses... and also, I told you that I would be honoured to draw swords with you. I stand by that."

A faint smile wandered over Éomer’s gaunt face.

"I am glad to hear this and would never have doubted your word, and yet I wonder what you are doing here. How come that we meet again in the eastern Ered Nimrais when this farm is a long way from Edoras, which was your initial destination?"

From outside, a shrill shriek and ensuing laughter indicated that the son of Gloin had at last caught up with his tormentors, presumably treating them to a good, cold face-rub in the snow. For a moment distracted, Aragorn glanced outside, and the sight was indeed unusual enough to chuckle. Shaking his head in amusement, he turned back to the waiting Rohir.

"On our way to Edoras, we came across several orc-tracks and decided to investigate, thinking that it could not hurt to make ourselves useful while we were here. I admit though that it was by pure chance that we followed the one that lead us to the caves, and ultimately, to you." Éomer stared at him, not liking what he heard.

"You are saying then that there was more than one group. How many more?"

"We saw four." Aragorn studied the younger man’s expression with interest. "They seemed to move in one great group at first, and upon reaching the mountains, they split up… apparently in search of you."

"Of course," Éomer growled. "Wormtongue wants me dead. He knows that I will skin him alive when I return." A hard glint of vengeance suddenly lit up his eyes. "It is this very thought that speeds up my recovery, apart from wanting to help my sister and having to summon our armies against the traitor in Isengard before he attacks us."

"Who is Wormtongue?"

"My Uncle’s so-called counsellor and chief minion of Saruman. I have no proof for it, but there can be no doubt that the King’s condition is due to foul play on his part. According to my sister, Théoden’s will is held enslaved through the use of a secret potion which his body has become so depended on that he might die if it is withheld from him. That is the chief reason why we could not dispose of the Worm yet." Éomer exhaled, bitterness in his features "I fear though that we can no longer allow for this to influence our decicions. Where the fate of all of Rohan is at stake, the life of a single person is of no concern – even if he is the King."

At the mention of Saruman, Aragorn had straightened, and his gaze hardened when he stated: "So you already know of the White Wizard’s treason."

"We suspected for years that he was behind the steady increase of orcs-raids in the Westfold, although I found solid proof of it only now." Éomer shook his head in frustration. "Of course, Théoden-King would not listen when I confronted him with it. Instead, he threw me into the dungeon for disobedience, and I am convinced that the Worm made what I found against his master disappear. Yet it matters not; most of our Armed Forces know who our true enemy is by now, and I am convinced of it that they will follow me into battle even if I am no longer their marshal."

"And yet I must tell you that Saruman is not the only foe to fear," Aragorn spoke slowly, reluctant to burden the still weakened warrior with the weight of his knowledge, but it was something Éomer needed to know. "And the weaker one at that, I am afraid. The true adversary awaits us in the east." He looked into suspiciously narrowed eyes.

"What do you mean?" For the longest time, the two men regarded each other while the merry laughter outside seeped into the quiet of their room, suddenly very distant. "Are you saying that the Dark Lord is behind all that is happening in Rohan? So far, we thought he was only stealing our horses."

"As brought to us by Gandalf Greyhame, as you call him here, a union has been concluded between the two towers of Isengard and Barad-dûr; their aim being nothing less than the complete annihilation of all who are not on their side; be it men, elves or dwarves. The Dark Lord is readying his armies to cover all of Middle Earth with a second darkness, and with each passing day, his power grows. Soon, he will be ready to strike, and if he gets hold of his most terrible weapon, there will be no withstanding his onslaught no matter what we do. In this hour of peril, my friends and I have come to Rohan to join with the sons of Eorl in fight and ensure that the war will not be brought to us from two sides. I do not know whether our presence here can tip the scales in our favour, but all that can be done to achieve victory, we will do."





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