ADVENTURES OF AN ÉORED: SINS OF THE FATHER

Chapter 6: LOST

FIRIEN FOREST

“Éomer!”

The fading shouts meant nothing to Éomer as he urged his mare deeper into the forest’s darkness at breakneck speed. Occasionally, lightning penetrated the dense foliage with its pale shine, only to leave the world behind an even darker place, and thunder rolled over the skies and was cast back multiplied in a perpetual growl from the mountains. Eomund’s son barely took notice of the noise, nor did he care for the direction he was headed, as long as it led him as far away from the camp as possible. They would search for him, of that he was sure, but he would take all necessary measures to ensure that they would not find him. He would not return. Trying to become one with the blackness of the forest, Éomer relentlessly pushed his steed forward.

The éored had ceased to be his family away from Edoras. If he returned, he would only be subjected to further torment from Arnhelm while the others stood around and did nothing. The incident had made it clear to Éomer that his captain would or could not – it no longer mattered to him which of the two - stop his scout from taking revenge for the death of his son, so perhaps inwardly, and although he had claimed otherwise, Elfhelm felt that Arnhelm’s accusations were indeed justified. Èomer’s lungs tightened in a painful but soundless sob at the discovery how truly alone he was in the world.

For a moment, he desperately wished that Éowyn was here. Although she was still so young, she always knew the right words to strengthen his courage. Éomer sighed. In a way, their childhood had ended with the death of their parents. In the course of just a few weeks, loss had stripped them of their belief that good would always prevail against evil. They knew now about the harshness of life, and that carelessness could turn everyone into a cold corpse in the wink of an eye. What use was it to waste one’s time with child’s play when one could train for battle instead? And oh, he had fought so hard to join the Armed Forces!

After a month with the éored, Éomer had truly believed that the warriors had accepted him. With most of the riders, he had already drunken to Brotherhood. And now it turned out that they had only pretended to accept him in their company, while inwardly, their scorn for his father still throbbed like a foul tooth. Different from Arnhelm, common sense had held them back from unleashing it against their recruit themselves, and yet they had done nothing to stop the old warrior when Arnhelm had turned on him. To Éomer, their behaviour could only mean one thing: they agreed with the scout’s way of seeing things. Like father, like son.

So was the lesson to be learned that he was doomed to repeat his father’s failure, Éomer wondered darkly. Would his false decisions indeed put his comrades and brothers in their early graves? Was it all already written in his blood, regardless of the high goals he had set himself? Had Arnhelm been right, in fact, in chasing him away? Éomer’s lips became a thin, bloodless line as a powerful surge of desperation flooded his conscious.

In a sudden, violent impulse to escape from his dark thoughts, he kicked his heels into Stormwing’s flanks, and the mare responded although she could barely see their surroundings. The forest swallowed them.

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THE CAMP

“Éomer! No! Come back! This is no solution!” But the mare quickly disappeared in the darkness beyond the camp fires’ reach, and Elfhelm stopped and shook his head to himself as he turned around to his waiting men. “I need three groups with five men each! Follow him and see that you bring him back! Quickly! And be careful, this is orc-weather! The rest stays here in case Éomer returns. Éothain, you’ll remain here! It is bad enough to have one recruit lost in the forest… one who is even unarmed.” He bent over to pick up Éomer’s sword, and when he straightened again, his gaze found his still waiting scout. He squared his shoulders. “Congratulations, Arnhelm. You managed to dispirit a young man who trained to become a warrior ever since he could hold a sword. I hope you are satisfied with yourself. “

Arnhelm raised his chin in defiance.

“I am not proud of myself, Elfhelm, but I did what was necessary to protect our brothers. See, it has already begun: you are right when you say that this is orc-weather, and that it will be dangerous for a man out there tonight. The youth’s hotheadedness endangers everyone who follows him. What if some of our riders come to harm in the search for him? Orcs only wait for opportunities like these, they wait for us to split up and become vulnerable, and sending our men out in groups of five won’t change that. The night, and especially the rainy night, is the orcs’ time. I understand that your promise to Eomund hinders you from seeing things objectively, but your decision in fact underlines everything I just said.”

“You see things ’objectively’, you say.” Elfhelm raised his voice, more than fed up with his scout’s line of reasoning. “It is strange that those very comrades you claim to protect see things rather differently. They do not feel threatened by a sixteen year old eager to learn from them; a boy they themselves will be able to form into the warrior the Mark needs him to become. In those weeks Éomer has ridden with us, the boy has collected nothing but praise from them. Whereas you, after only two days which you did not even spend in his company, have already given up without ever giving him a chance. It would seem to me that you do not trust in your own abilities as a teacher if you doubt that the lad has it in him to become a warrior!” Elfhelm moved closer, looking his brother-in-arms in the eye: “Let me give you a promise now, Arnhelm, one you would be well-advised to remember, for I mean every word: if anything happens to Éomer out there, it will be you who will have to explain the circumstances of his nephew’s death to Théoden-King. I doubt that the King would be very understanding. If I were you, I’d pray that we find the son of Eomund alive!”

A sudden thought entered his head and he turned to the awkwardly waiting Éothain. “I changed my mind, Éothain: you’ll accompany Tolgor and me. Your insight into Éomer’s way of thinking might help us to find him, but you must stay close to us at all times!”

“Aye, Lord Elfhelm.” Éothain lowered his head, glad to be allowed to help his friend. “I will get my horse at once.” He took off running, leaving the two older warriors to stare at each other in strained silence.

Elfhelm could see in his comrade’s eyes that Arnhelm had indeed forgotten the fact that the object of their quarrel was a member of the royal family. Was it truly dread he read now in the scout’s expression? He forced himself to calm down. Éomer would not be helped if they stood here for much longer, shouting accusations at each other. There would still be time for that once the boy sat safely among them by the camp fire. Now it was time to act.

“If anyone can find him even in these conditions, Arnhelm, it is you,” he said lowly. “Perhaps there is still time to correct your mistake… should you want to do that.” Elfhelm narrowed his eyes. In the flickering light of the camp fire, he saw doubt in Arnhelm’s expression. No remorse, but fear of what Théoden-King would do if his nephew was killed by orcs because he, Arnhelm, had provoked the lad to run away. Softly, the Captain of Aldburg added: “Think about it for a moment, Arnhelm. Do you really want to exact your revenge on Eomund by killing his son, the way you felt he robbed you of Gilbéard? Would you feel better with the knowledge that you sent a sixteen year old boy to his death? This is the question you should ask yourself.” Elfhelm inhaled, and, when no answer was offered, turned to fetch the reins of his horse Tolgor held out for him. He swung into the saddle and, with a last glance at the scout, led his group of warriors swiftly into the nightly forest.

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FIRIEN FOREST

After a league of wild flight, Éomer’s fury finally abated enough to allow his steed to slow down from her wild gallop into a trot, and finally, an exhausted walk. He knew not for how long they had raced through the darkness, fleeing from the voices calling from him and all sense of time lost in the growling thunderstorm and the flood of his emotions. Now the mare heaved with effort, and as Éomer clapped her neck in appreciation, his bad conscience assaulted him without warning. Stormwing had been carrying him a long way that day even before they had reached the camp, and she had every right to be tired. What was he doing here?

“I’m sorry, Little One,” he whispered under his breath and shifted in the saddle to check on his surroundings, but there was only darkness to behold. Involuntarily, his stomach contracted into a hard, cold ball. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Every glitter of wetness on the leafs in the lightning, every faint sparkle in the bushes could be orcs’ eyes and with a jolt, Éomer realised how utterly helpless he would be in the case of an attack. Elfhelm’s lesson the other day had made it painfully clear to him how much he was still lacking in swordmanship and strength, that he was anything but ready to met even a single orc in battle. And still, unconsciously, his hand crept down to feel the comforting solidness of his sword’s hilt… only it was not there. In sudden shock, Éomer stared at his empty sheath.

‘It’s still back at the camp! I did not even pause to pick it up! Béma…’

All of a sudden, the darkness around him seemed to thicken, and even through the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears, it seemed to Éomer as if he could hear the muffled sound of stealthy steps, the rustle of something moving in the undergrowth, just outside his range of vision. Something malicious, something evil. A ring of steel tightened around his ribs.

‘Calm down! You are not a small child anymore that would see monsters behind every tree!’ he berated himself, to little effect. It simply was a fact that he was alone and lost in the forest in the middle of the night, the preferred time of orcs in terrain and conditions that suited them perfectly…. and unarmed except for his dagger and a bow of which he was not yet a master. Again Éomer shifted in the saddle. Perhaps, if he just rode on until he gained open ground, it would be wiser, even if it meant to expose himself to the elements.

‘Arnhelm would collapse with laughter if he saw me like this!’ his inner voice admonished him again. ‘I’ve been a member of the Armed Forces for more than a month now; didn’t I learn anything in all those weeks? For example about how to orient myself at night?’ Squaring his shoulders in an attempt to calm down, Éomer craned back his neck to look for a hole in the dense foliage. Perhaps he could detect at least a few stars among the clouds, or see the mountains in the light of the next lightning…

“Éomer!” A faraway voice reached his ears, too distant to determine who was calling for him, and from where. “Éomer, where are you? Come back!” His expression hardening, Éomer urged Stormwing on, away from it, although his instincts screamed at him to turn around and follow the sound to safety. He had his pride, and he would not crawl back to them and thus confirm to the warriors that he got frightened in the nightly forest. No, he would not allow them to find him.

Again Éomer checked his surroundings as they moved along the narrow path through the undergrowth, and his heart jumped into his throat as a sudden movement just beyond his immediate range of vision claimed his attention. His fingers clenched around the hilt of his dagger as he stared into the darkness, barely daring to breathe. It had been something big, at least as big as a deer… could it have been an orc? He was still staring into the thicket when, with a vicious hiss followed by an ear-splitting crash, a bolt of lighting tore into the tree next to him.

It was too much for Stormwing. With a frightened shriek, the mare bolted as the tree exploded into fire, and for a moment, Éomer hung precariously at her side, unseated, and his fingers clawed into the white mane as he desperately fought to hold on. If he became unhorsed here, in the middle of the night, unarmed and alone… he’d be as good as dead. Whipped and lashed by bushes and branches as his steed raced through the undergrowth in sheer panic, he succeeded at last to pull himself up onto her back again and laid a hand onto Stormwing’s outstretched neck.

“Stormwing! Little One! No! Slow down. Hoh! Hoh!”

It was no use, Éomer realised immediately. Over the years, he had experienced his share of bolting horses, and once they were in this stage of utter terror, all a rider could usually do was to make sure they stayed seated and let the horse run until exhaustion finally stopped it. He settled back in the saddle, his hand still petting the mare’s neck in a useless attempt to calm her down, when with a horrible crunch, something collided with his head. Unconscious even before he hit the ground, Éomer did not hear as Stormwing disappeared in the distance…

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THE RIDERS

“Éomer! Éomer, if you hear me, come back! Don’t be foolish, lad, we can talk about everything!” Elfhelm held his breath, and exchanged a concerned gaze with Tolgor before his fellow rider bent down to check for tracks, but one glance at the ground was enough for the experienced warrior to determine that any such undertaking was doomed to fail: the long, rainless weeks had hardened the soil to the point where it would not let the water in, which stood several inches high and efficiently obscured everything beneath it. With a deep sigh, he lowered his torch.

“It’s no use,” Tolgor muttered, pivoting on his heels although he already knew that the conditions made it impossible to follow their recruit. He shook his head as he straightened and looked at Elfhelm. “I hate to admit it, but the only chance to find Éomer would be by luck. There’s nothing here to follow – no tracks, nothing he dropped, and the storm has torn so many branches from the trees that it is impossible to determine which one might have been broken off by running horse and not the wind…” He shrugged and climbed back into the saddle while his Commander stared pensively into the darkness.

While his heartbeat raced like a small, frightened animal in his chest, Éothain stared at the Eastfold warrior. It could not be. They could not simply give up! What would become of Éomer if they left him to whatever evil roamed this forest at this horrible night? Without warning, Elfhelm’s gaze turned to him.

“You have known Éomer for a long time, son,” the warrior began. “What would he do, what do you think? Would he stay near the camp in these conditions, only wanting to give us a scare but not daring to ride too far into the darkness, or would he welcome its cover to put as much distance between him and us as possible before dawn? Is he truly trying to run away, Éothain?”

His fingers clenching around the reins, Éothain stared at the forbidding darkness for a moment as he sought for the answer. It seemed obvious to him.

“In the condition he was in when he left, I`d say Éomer is apt to ride all the way to Gondor without a single break,” he said, feeling that it was the truth even as he uttered the words. “His pride has been hurt, so I doubt that he will return on his own. I have never before seen him like this, Captain. Joining the éored meant everything to him, and to have been humiliated in front of these men he had thought to be his brothers… He is very upset.”

Elfhelm nodded, his lips a thin white line in his tense face.

“Unfortunately, this is my impression, as well. Alas, the lad has indeed his father’s temper, even if Arnhelm is wrong when he says that it will not be possible to turn it into one of Éomer’s strengths. Let’s hope that your friend still has a chance to work on it when this night is over.” With the slightest pressure of his thighs and shift of his body weight, he moved his stallion on, and his men followed him.

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FIRIEN FOREST

It was the rush of the rain which sank into Éomer’s conscious, first. At first, it seemed to be only background noise, nothing he consciously noticed, but the noise steadily increased in volume until at last, his rational mind deciphered its meaning. And barely had he done so, that he also felt the water upon his face, and that he was drenched, his garments sticking to his body… and the bone-chilling cold. And yet with a jolt, all these sensations faded to nothingness when a horrible headache attacked him with all the savageness of a starving predator.

With an unconscious groan, Éomer laid a hand upon his throbbing skull, where his fingers found a lump of astonishing size on his forehead. It felt enormous, about as large as the egg of a chicken, at least, and hurt so badly that even the fleeting touch of his fingertips caused him agony.

With another groan, Éomer opened his eyes… to a thick, syrupy darkness. A wave of disorientation washed over him. Where was he? And what had happened? Why did he feel as if a mountain had been dropped upon him? He braced himself to sit up, but his body wouldn’t obey the command, and fiery explosions blossomed before his eyes as his headache performed a sudden transformation from ‘horrible’ to ‘crippling’.

Another bolt of lightning chased across the sky, and in its pale light, Éomer saw a dark shadow hovering above him. For a moment, shock stopped his heart…until with a sudden jolt, he realised that he was looking at a tree the storm had snapped off in the middle. The upper half spanned the lower path and had brushed him from Stormwing’s back. A brief, nervous laugh escaped Éomer despite the vicious headache. So, this had been his assailant – a tree! It certainly could have been worse. Now if he could only get on his feet again and find his horse…

Propping himself up with hands that felt already a bit stronger than when he had just woken, the son of Eomund somehow made it into a sitting position. Nausea overcame him almost at once.

“Gods…” Cautiously, he reached again for his brow, at the same time straining for signs that Stormwing was somewhere in the vicinity. But there was only the steady rush of the rain and every now and then, the sound of thunder, growing more distant each time it reached his ears. The storm was almost over- and he very much alone in the middle of a dark, hostile forest.

Éomer licked his lips, anxiously struggling with himself whether to call for his horse or not. Stormwing did not seem to be anywhere near, and the Gods alone knew whose ears his voice would reach if he gave his plight away now. And still, it would feel so much better to have at least one friend in this forbidding, horrible night…

He cleared his throat and inhaled, opened his mouth – and shut it again when the sudden sound of muffled laughter reached his ears. Breathlessly, Éomer listened. Who had found him? And how – Against the blinding headache, Éomer turned around, for a moment undecided whether to give his presence away or not, but then a low, guttural chuckle froze his blood, and a brief glimpse of yellow gleaming eyes in the darkness told the son of Eomund that it had not been his comrades who had found him…