“Still no sign of him. All right, I believe that’s it.” With a sigh, Anlaf tugged at the reins and brought his stallion to a halt at the river’s edge, his eyes sweeping the opposite shore. “It is time to admit it, Arnhelm: we must abandon the search and rejoin the éored, or they will search for us, too, when all they should concentrate on is finding Eomund’s boy!” Both his tone and expression left no doubt that this was where respect and allegiance to his teacher ended.

His captain stared at the rocky ground on the other side of the river, as if alone by intensity, he could force the tracks into the soil they were searching for. Nothing. All night they had ridden, and except for Éomer’s little silver horn, they had found nothing: no body, no clothes or parts of Éomer’s armour, no tracks… nothing at all. How much further could the boy have been swept away? Arnhelm’s instincts insisted that Anlaf was right, that they had to return to the éored… and face their brothers’ contempt. What would Elfhelm do when he saw him? Somehow, this was what Arnhelm feared the most. The Captain of Aldburg was a highly respected man, calm and just, and who for whatever reason received his scorn, deserved it fully well. Now that grim look would be directed at him, and somehow, Arnhelm doubted he was ready to face it. How had it come to this? What had possessed him to turn on an innocent boy?

There was sudden movement at the corner of his eye, and Arnhelm’s head snapped around. Instinctively, he brought up the bow – but when he saw what had caught his attention, he sat back in the saddle, relaxing. It was only a deer, and even as he watched, its fragile frame was swallowed by the morning mist. The old scout’s hands sunk to the pommel of his saddle, his powerful frame slumping. No, there was no use in delaying the inevitable. No matter what his fate would be, it was time to turn around and face it. Shaking his head to himself, Arnhelm turned around – and twitched at his fellow rider’s cold gaze.

Wracking his brain for an idea of how to proceed, faint hope surfaced in the back of his mind. Perhaps there was one more possibility to explore before he gave up.

“The water’s still too deep for a crossing,” he said. “It might be possible around noon. But I will not return to the éored without having cast at least a brief look at the other shore. I will wait here for the water to subside, while you ride back and report to Elfhelm. Tell him what we found last night and where we searched so far, and I will rejoin you as soon as I’m done here.”

To his own ears, his voice sounded reasonably normal, not betraying the doubt that he felt, but the expression in Anlaf’s eyes did not change – it told him that the younger man deemed him a coward, and his suggestion just another attempt to postpone righteous punishment. All respect the rider had once held for his teacher was gone.

“And you will search for Éomer alone? What if you actually find him, still alive? What will you do then?”

Arnhelm narrowed his eyes, not believing his ears. Just what was Anlaf insinuating?

“You could not possibly believe that he would come to harm through me?” he hissed. “When we just spent the whole night searching for the boy?”

“After last night, I am not certain of anything anymore, at least not when it concerns you,” the younger warrior gave back, as if he had not heard the hard edge in his teacher’s tone. “You provoked Éomer into running away, knowing fully well that orcs were around; no doubt you hoped they would find and finish him off… ridding you of the problem without having to dirty your own hands!”

Arnhelm’s eyes widened with incredulity.

“That is not true, Anlaf!”

“Then, when you realised what the King would do when he heard about your actions, you were desperate to find Éomer, but not out of worry, but because you feared Théoden’s wrath! I only joined you on this search because I thought that, if anyone could find the boy, it would be you. And now you want to send me from your side to continue the search on your own, and I cannot help thinking that perhaps, you saw something that I missed, and--”

“—that I would send you back so that I could kill Éomer if I found him still alive?” Arnhelm blanched. “This cannot be what you are thinking.” Anlaf’s expression told him that it was so. “Anlaf! This makes no sense; listen to yourself! Why would I kill Éomer when I’m afraid of Théoden’s reaction?”

“You must know that you will be sentenced for treason if the boy has come to harm. You might even be sentenced if we find him still alive, for the attempt alone. So why not finish what you begun and leave the Mark on your own, evading the trial, when you already know that you will at least be banished?”

“Anlaf!” Truly shocked, Arnhelm extended his hand to grip his companion’s reins. Not knowing what do say, he shook his head.

“What?” Anlaf asked coldly, his tone indicating that he did not care much for his teacher’s answer.

Arnhelm swallowed.

“I – I do fear the King’s verdict, you are right. And Théoden would be right to condemn me after what I’ve done. But I swear, Anlaf, that it was not my intention to get the boy killed or chase him away from the éored. I did not think. I – I only saw Eomund’s face before me every time I looked at him, and—“

“It is not much of an apology,” his former pupil countered in a toneless voice. “Most of us barely understand the grudge you harbour against Éomund himself, much less the one against his son. You should think of a better excuse once you stand before Théoden-King, or you might lose your head in the true sense of the word.”

“Anlaf, I regret what I did. I deeply, deeply regret it. Please, you must believe me! I was not myself last night.”

But it seemed that his fellow rider did not feel merciful today, nor that he was finished.

“Ever since you first met the boy you behaved in a way none of us could understand. Éomer’s been with us for a month before you came, and everyone in the éored likes him. He is eager and quick to learn and has no misgivings about doing the dirty work of an ordinary apprentice despite his noble blood... but he is only sixteen. He was ill-equipped to handle your cruel provocations. Gods, Arnhelm, you provoked him to the blood to bring out his temper, so that you felt justified for chasing him away! None of us could believe the way you acted last night. We did not intervene because that would have been Elfhelm’s duty, but I believed he was just as stunned as we were.”

Arnhelm’s face burned with shame, and at last, he averted his gaze, no longer able to look his former pupil in the eye.

“Aye. I shamed myself. I understand that, Anlaf. I lost my composure and unleashed my pain against an innocent boy, and I’m not proud of it. I wish I could change what happened, but it is not in my power.” He forced himself to loo up. “What may still be within my power is to find Éomer and bring him back unharmed. Believe me, if we find Éomer alive, I will be the happiest man under the sun. Please, grant me this last chance, even if you feel that I may not deserve it. Grant me this chance on behalf of Éomer. You said rightly that I might be the only one who can find him now.” Arnhelm realised that he was pleading now, probably for the first time in his life.

The man with whom he was pleading narrowed his eyes.

“I can imagine that you would certainly be the most relieved man if you found him still alive; I would not say it has something to do with happiness, though.” Anlaf shook his head, contemplating and still unconvinced. “I do not feel comfortable at the thought of Éomer and you alone.”

And yet when the younger man’s gaze wandered upstream as his hand crept down to his horn, Arnhelm knew that he would be granted that last reprieve before he finally would have to face the éored.

Considering his options, Anlaf lowered his gaze, the horn in his hands. Not unhooking it.

“All right. I do not know why I am doing this, but I will not call them yet. I will ride back instead and slowly lead them here, so whatever it is that you want to do, Arnhelm, I advise you not to lose any more time.”

The older rider swallowed with relief, and finally summoned the courage to meet his comrade’s gaze.

“I thank you, Anlaf. Your trust is greatly appreciated. I know I do not deserve it… but I mean to make up for it. I promise you to remedy the harm I did.”

“Promise it to the boy when you find him. If he even listens to you.” Simply by shifting his body weight, Anlaf turned his horse around and, with a last look at the opposite river bank, disappeared into the mist.

***

His back pressed against the rock that hid him from the scouts’ view, Éomer strained his ears to follow their heated discussion, but the mist muffled their voices to the point where he understood only unconnected words. And yet alone by the tone of Anlaf’s voice, he could tell that the esteemed Arnhelm of Aldburg was in the middle of receiving a fierce verbal lashing. A lashing by a man half his age, a man who had been his pupil and whose rank – under normal circumstances – would not have given him the right to address his captain in such a way.

‘Very well,’ Éomer thought, unaware of the grim expression of satisfaction that spread over his face. ‘Now he is the subject of his brothers’ unrelenting scorn. Let’s see how he likes it!’

Listening further, it seemed to Éomer’s surprise as if the old scout did not even defend himself. What did it mean? That Arnhelm understood at last what he had done… and regretted it? No, that could not be. He was probably only feigning to be ashamed of himself to get on the riders’ good side again. If only he could understand them better!

Carefully, Éomer peeked around the rock. In the mist, his comrades were but vague silhouettes on the other side of the Mering, and yet the young warrior understood immediately from the old scout’s bearing that Arnhelm intended to cross the river in continuation of his search. That was not good. The water was still too deep and flowing too fast, Éomer made out as he listened further, but inevitably, Arnhelm would end up on his side of the riverbank. And if he was still around, the scout would find him.

Narrowing his eyes, Éomer turned away and considered his options. Detection by Arnhelm had to be avoided at all costs if he wanted to pursue his current path to Halifirien, and by now, the at first only vague idea of consorting with his ancestor’s spirit had grown into a deep urge. Certainly the solution to his problems would come to him once he stood on top of the sacred mountain, opening himself to the wisdom of his ancestor Eorl the Young.

As his attention returned to his immediate surroundings, Éomer creased his brow. It seemed to him that the mist was lifting with the rising temperatures, but it would veil him for a while longer if he moved out now and treaded carefully. When Arnhelm crossed the river in a few hours, he could be long gone, and perhaps the scout would not be able to track him on the rocky ground. Aye, it was the right thing to do.

Once again he Éomer glanced around the rock, just in time to see Anlaf disappear in the swirling white; Arnhelm’s attention focussed on him.

‘This is the right moment. Move!’

On all fours, the young warrior crept behind the next rock, his heart beating like a drum in his chest. Soundlessly he inhaled as he paused behind his cover to look for the continuation of his path. The gravel looked loose, and no matter how hard he searched, Éomer could not find a way that promised to let him proceed soundlessly. Then something else occurred to him.

‘My chain mail! I forgot my chain mail!’

He looked back and saw it lying in a heap beside the little cave he had spent the night in. Arnhelm was already reduced to a blurred silhouette, still in the saddle and not giving the slightest indication that he would dismount any time soon, which would have provided Éomer with the opportunity to slip away unseen. He did not dare yet to move.

From somewhere within the forest rose the muffled sound of a horn into the early morning, claiming the warrior’s attention. Éomer recognized the opportunity at once. Quickly he dashed to the next rock and dropped behind its cover just as Arnhelm’s head turned around again.

“Éomer? Éomer, are you there?”

Had he been heard? Behind his rock, Éomer held his breath.

“Come out if you hear me, lad. There is no reason to fear me. I am here to bring you back to the éored. Your brothers worry for you. And surely it cannot be your wish to be alone out here anymore; it is dangerous. ”

Biting his lip, Éomer felt a new hot surge of fury welling up in him. So, it was dangerous to walk alone in this part of the Mark, was it? So why then had Arnhelm not thought of that before he had provoked him to run away? Bitter, angry words rose in his throat, wanting out. He shut his eyes and clenched his jaw, fighting to control his wildly bucking temper.

Yet no other sound reached him from the other side of the river; hopefully, Arnhelm had not really heard or seen him, but merely sensed motion and come to the conclusion that it had been an animal. With a deep breath, Éomer looked up. If he wanted to use the mist to get away, he could not afford to wait much longer. Once again, he peered around his cover – and found himself looking straight into the scout’s eyes through a momentary hole in the fog.

‘Damnation…!’

The little jerk the warrior gave as he sat back in the saddle told Éomer that the man had indeed seen him. So... what now? There was still the river between them, wasn’t there? Slowly, Éomer picked himself up, his eyes never leaving the warrior on the other side of the water.

“Éomer!” Arnhelm cried, and for once, he truly looked as he had been pardoned a moment before the ground dropped out beneath the gallows. “There you are! Praised be Béma, everyone is searching for you! They are terribly worried!”

Éomer inhaled and forced himself to calm down as he picked up his shirt of mail.

“So, you can ride back to them now and tell them that I am well. No need for them to search any longer. But I won’t come with you.”

‘Éomer! What are you doing?’ his father’s voice raced through his mind. `What did I tell you just last night?’ He shut himself to it as he slipped into the heavy iron shirt.

“Don’t be so mule-headed, Son!” Arnhelm shouted after him. “You cannot walk here on your own; you will never survive a second night in the wilderness! You don’t even have a sword!”

“I am not your ‘son’, Captain! And praise the Gods for that!” Éomer snarled, only briefly pausing to cast a scathing glance over his shoulder at the scout. There was more he wanted to say, so much bitterness trying to force its way out, but ultimately, he turned around and clamped his mouth shut. What use would it be to shout his accusations over the river? It would only delay him on his way to Halifirien. Picking his way through the rocks, Éomer spied the faint path leading toward the mountains, and the swirling white swallowed him.

***

“Éomer! Come back here immediately! You cannot do this!” Helplessly, Arnhelm watched as the object of his desperate search disappeared right before his eyes, and once again, hot anger washed over him. How could the boy do this to him? How could he not even grant him the chance to say his apologies? Did he not know what would happen if the éored returned to Edoras without him? “Èomer!”

He kicked his heels against Ravenwing’s sides, and the black stallion snorted explosively in protest, but his hooves appeared to be glued to the ground.

“What? Now you forsake me, as well? In the moment when I need you most?” Arnhelm pressed his thighs around the horse’s rump in an iron grip, pushed the stallion with all of his bodyweight toward the water – and almost lost his seat as the black broke away. Furious, the warrior bundled the reins and slapped them against the black neck – and at the next moment, found himself submerged in the icy water.

The cold punched the breath from his lungs as the Mering’s fast floods carried him away, the weight of his armour relentlessly pulling him under.

‘He threw me. Ravenwing threw me!’

A burning pain spread in his chest as muscles cramped in reaction to the coldness, not allowing him to breathe even as his face briefly surfaced from the water.

‘Gods, I cannot drown! I cannot die like this after a life of battle!’

Frantically clawing at whatever hold presented itself to him, Arnhelm forced his head out the flood. From the corner of his eye, he saw a great black silhouette moving along the shore and knew that despite what he had done, his horse was following him.

‘Forgive me, Ravenwing. I did not mean to hit you…’

The river rushed around a corner, the froth of the rapids once again robbing the scout of his sight as he was thrown against a solid rock in water. The impact made every bone in his body groan, but it stopped him and allowed him to grab a tree root that protruded into the river; slowly, arduously edging toward the embankment… of the side he had come from.

Sputtering and spitting water, Arnhelm dragged himself out of the water and collapsed on the grass. With the rest of his strength, he turned upon his back and stared at the slowly clearing sky above him; understanding how narrow his survival had been. The Mering had made it clear that it would not suffer to be crossed just like people fancied; that it, too, like everything about nature, was a force not to be taken lightly and would take lives if it was not respected. It was one of the first lessons an apprentice in the éoreds learned, and its memory chased a grim smile over Arnhelm’s face. Perhaps he was not ready yet for service with the riders again. Perhaps, it would be better to resign from active duty until he had fully accepted the thought that the son of Eomund now rode with them… provided he would still somehow succeed in bringing Éomer back.

As he laid there and waited for his strength to return, his view was suddenly filled out with a huge black head, and with a weak smile, he lifted a hand.

“I’m sorry, Ravenwing,” he whispered, his voice rasping. “I should not have done that. You are the smarter of us two. Will you forgive me?” A soft snort told him all he needed to know.

***

Anlaf was wroth with himself. Replaying again and again the discussion with his former mentor before his inner eye, he barely had a mind for his surroundings as Hammerhand, his grey stallion, sought his way through the thick undergrowth of Firien Forest.

Why had he allowed Arnhelm to continue the search alone? Why was it that he had such a bad feeling about this? What if Arnhelm really found Éomer? Even with the best intentions, the lad apparently had everything it took to rip the old scout’s self-composure to shreds with only a few chosen words… and this time, there would be no one there to control their quarrel.

Yet, even worse, part of Anlaf was already convinced that if they found Eomund’s boy at all, he would be dead. Drowned by the river. Perhaps Arnhelm was certain of this as well, and had just sent him from his side to escape from the Mark before he could be sentenced for treason. Whatever it was, leaving him alone was the worst possible decision he could have made.

Tugging on the reins and halting Hammerhand, Anlaf shifted in the saddle. Looking the way he had come, he fought the growing urge to head back… and missed the massive shape that suddenly broke through the bushes toward him…