UNTOLD TALES OF THE MARK: THE BANISHMENT OF ÉOMER

Chapter 26: Revelations

Author's Notes:

At last, a chapter that brings a few new and heavily revised scenes again after the minimal changes of the last chapters. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Thank you's go out to CarawynO, Katia0203, King Aegon VII Targaryen, AmandaBaker852 and silverswath!

EDORAS

It was the first sunny day in a long time, but the promise of spring it carried did not reach Éothain's heart as he got out of bed. His back still hurt, especially after the restless night that lay behind him, and as he shared the early morning meal with his mother, they both ate in worried silence and barely managed to swallow what little food Glenwyn had prepared for them.

Céorl and his men had still not returned, and both his wife and his son could not believe that they were still in Aldburg. As much as they wanted to believe it, but Éothain knew that his father would have been adamant to return to Edoras as quickly as possible in order to be ready for any of the Worm's moves. Where was he? Had something happened on the road? Or had they, too, fallen prey to Gríma's schemes in Aldburg, along with Elfhelm? Did the Worm control both cities now? The uncertainty of his father's fate threatened to drive Eothain mad, and he could tell from the deep shadows beneath her eyes, that his mother, too, had not slept the past night.

"Perhaps they are already preparing their actions in Aldburg," he mused, in an attempt to cheer up both her and himself. "Perhaps, they are right now summoning the Eastfold's éoreds and will march on Edoras to cast the Worm out. That would take a few days to organise."

Glenwyn looked at him thankfully, but unconvinced. She could see that her son did not fully believe in his own assumption, either.

"I hope so, Éothain," she said without much hope in her voice. "Believe me, I do… because the alternative would be that something happened to your father." Her eyes strayed over to the window, focussed on a reality far beyond it as she quietly whispered: "May Béma grant that he will be given back to us safely. It is the only thing I wish for."

A sharp knocking sound from the door interrupted her, and they both jumped. Éothain rose to his feet.

"I'll get it, Mother."

He hurried down the corridor and heard Glenwyn following, unsurprised. When he opened the door, he looked into Aedwulf's tense features and was immediately alarmed.

"Yes?"

"We need to talk, Éothain," his captain stated in a clipped tone, and, with a nod, asked: "May I come in?"

"Of course."

Éothain's stomach cramped at the sight of his comrade's obvious distress, as he opened the door further. A short glance at the world outside showed him that the streets were still empty. The sun had only just risen.

Quickly, the wiry Eastfold warrior slipped inside, and upon becoming aware of Éothain's mother, granted her a short nod.

"Good morning, Lady Glenwyn. I'm afraid I have bad tidings… or perhaps, they are not so much tidings than rumours…"

"What rumours?" Éothain asked him warily. Aedwulf inhaled.

"Anlaf is gone. We shared a room at the guesthouse, and last night, quite late, he said that he could not sleep and wanted to take a walk to calm down." A deep breath. "He did not return from that walk. I waited for quite a while before I nodded off, and he had not returned by then. And when I woke before sunrise, his bed was still empty. I looked everywhere in the guesthouse, but no one appears to have seen him."

Éothain lifted his eyebrows. A horrible feeling of growing dread began to occupy his mind.

"Is it known whether he has someone here he would visit? A woman, or…"

"You and I know that that is not so." Aedwulf's gaze pierced him. "However, I went out to look if his horse is still here, and as I walked down to the stables, one of the citizens opened his door and waved me closer." He swallowed and lowered his voice. "The man said that your father returned with his men last night. He saw them arrive…"

Éothain inhaled sharply, and looked over Aedwulf's shoulder into his mother's worried face, before his attention turned back to his captain.

"He also saw that they were at once apprehended by Gríma's guards, and taken up the hill. There was barely anyone in the streets who witnessed it, and he said that he watched it through his window, from behind the curtains, and therefore, probably, was not detected by the guards. It was purely by coincidence he even saw it, because it was all over very quickly." Aedwulf shook his head in mounting concern and narrowed his eyes. "I bet that if we looked for those other witnesses, that they, too, have miraculously disappeared. Perhaps, Anlaf was one of them."

His heart beating wildly all of a sudden, Éothain fought to squeeze his voice through the lump in his throat.

"So… you think they have been incarcerated?"

'Or worse,' was the silent answer in Aedwulf's eyes. There was no need to voice the terrible assumption, as they all shared it. "The question is: what do we do now? Surely, this is where all tolerance stops. Is it not, Captain?"

"You bet it is!"

Éothain inhaled, his thoughts already concerned with the necessary steps. Their weapons had still not been returned to them, and with good reason. Only now, in hindsight, Gríma's perfect plan to seize control became obvious.

Aedwulf lifted his chin.

"We will not be able to threaten them only with our hands though…"

"No, we will not." Éothain squared his shoulders. The path they had to take lay suddenly clearly before him. "Assemble our éored; I will summon Father's riders. We meet in the craftsmen's district in half an hour. I bet we will find a lot of things there we can use for weapons, perhaps even a few newly finished swords, spears and bows. When we tell the people what happened, I'm sure they will gladly give us everything we need. They might even join us."

His captain gave him a satisfied nod.

"What about any guards we meet? Not that I saw any on my way over, but…"

Éothain's eyes blazed with determination.

"Any guards you see are to be apprehended and immobilised. By force, if necessary. We cannot risk that anyone warns the Worm of our coming. This is it, Aedwulf. The day we have been waiting for. Let's make it count!"

OOO

WHITE MOUNTAINS

Daylight flooded the room through yellow curtains and bathed everything in a warm, golden glow when Éomer woke again. From outside, children's laughter reached his ears, a wonderful, long-missed sound of normality and joy. It market the absence of danger, and for a moment, while his body was still pleasantly heavy with sleep, Éomer allowed himself to just lie there on the mattress, unmoving, 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 over their 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 help 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 sitting in the chair Freya had occupied earlier. Strangely enough, the sight of Isildur's heir did not surprise him. Had not Théodred spoken of the mighty friends he had made and who had come to his aid? And Freya had mentioned him, too, he remembered. Their eyes met.

"He does not really mean it," Aragorn chuckled, amused by his friend's antics, which were invisible to him through the curtains, but which he could easily imagine. He was aware of Éomer's attention, and turned towards him now. "That dwarf loves to act as if he understands no fun, but he has a very big heart, that one, especially for young ones. Even though they are having their fun with him. I suppose they cannot understand how someone cannot 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 our 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. "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 renewed 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.

Aragorn nodded at him approvingly as he helped him 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.

"Their aim is good. He stands no chance."

Aragorn nodded, satisfied, and thoroughly looked him over.

"I am pleased to see that you seem to recover extraordinarily quickly, Marshal. Finding you near death on that path last night came as a great shock… and I cannot help wondering whether your predicament was, at least in part, our fault. We had planned to join you much earlier, but circumstances were against us."

Éomer's smile died on his lips, and his gaze grew serious.

"I will not lie: your presence in Edoras would have been of great help to me. It might even have convinced a few important members of the Court that I was not a traitor."

Aragorn's eyes widened. He exhaled.

"They… expelled you for treason? That is why your éored was not with you!"

Éomer nodded bitterly.

"One of them betrayed me and breathed word of our meeting into the wrong ears. They made it look as if I planned to overthrow the King with your help… and saw to it that my Cousin, who would have been Théoden's successor, was murdered in an orc attack."

In stunned disbelief, the older man shook his head.

"I wish we had known. It certainly explains things…"

Éomer narrowed his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

Aragorn straightened in the chair, and, with a last, fleeting glimpse at the happenings outside, turned around fully to face the waiting rider.

"We were hunted. That is why we were not able to keep our promise." He paused, looking into Éomer's aghast expression for a moment before he continued. "We made it to the Entwood and even found our friends alive and well…"

"That is good."

"…but we decided to leave them there for the time being. They are quite possibly at the safest place in all of Middle Earth. When we started back for Edoras, it was not long before we noticed that something was wrong. Legolas has the superior eyesight of his people, and it was he who noticed that there were several great orc hordes coming for us, long before they could catch our scent… interestingly, the greatest group seemed to come from the direction of Edoras, making it impossible for us to break through. They were too many, we had to evade them."

Éomer cursed soundlessly. He dimly remembered that Gríma had mentioned something like this to him in the dungeon. It seemed that he had, in fact, made a great effort to catch the three travellers. Of course, the question remained how such great orc hordes were able to move freely across the plains, but he assumed that the Worm had thought of that problem, as well, and grounded their éoreds.

"We were pushed far to the west," Aragorn resumed, "… until another great horde closed in on us from there, as well, threatening to surround us. The only way still open to us was the one into the mountains. We took it, after laying a few false tracks, hoping that they would not expect us here. Which is why we found you on that path."

"But they could still be on your tracks." Éomer narrowed his eyes. A shiver raced down his spine at the thought. Had they accidentally endangered Freya's family?

Aragorn weighed his head.

"Alas, I fear that I cannot rule out that possibility entirely, even if we tried our best to shake them off." He nodded at the younger man. "They could also still search for you. Last night's snowstorm should have covered whatever tracks we left, but…" he shrugged. "It would be foolish to assume that they'll give up so quickly. From what I'm able to gather from your words, your enemy is highly motivated to have you killed."

"Aye, without doubt," Éomer concurred, trying to put the dreadful thought somewhere into his mind where it wouldn't hinder him from planning. The man who might be the solution to the problems of the Mark was right here before him. Together, they would have to find a way to overcome their adversaries.

"There is one thing, however, which I do not understand," Aragorn confessed. "If they expelled you… why then would they hunt you? I have known Théoden-King for a benign ruler, although it has admittedly been some time since I have last seen him. Yet I cannot imagine that he would act that harshly against his own kin… that he would want you killed."

Éomer sighed.

"Like I said on the plains: 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 for the undoing of the Mark. He does not know how much damage he inflicts upon his kingdom. It is his so-called 'counsellor' who is the real problem: his name is Gríma, son of Gálmód, but we all only call him 'Wormtongue', as he is just as slimy and slithery. It is clear to everyone that his true master is Saruman, but they are all too afraid to act." He inhaled and lowered his voice, shaking his head. "How my uncle ever came to trust him, I will never understand."

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 having seen 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," he assured Éomer with conviction in his voice. "Once we defeated him and his minions, your uncle's condition may even be reversible."

"I must unfortunately say that I have my doubts."

From outside, a shrill shriek and ensuing laughter indicated that the son of Gloín 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 despite their serious conversation. Shaking his head in amusement, he turned back to the waiting Rohir.

"You already said during our first meeting that you know Saruman is your enemy now. Alas, I fear that I have further bad tidings for you; as it seems that he has turned not only into the Mark's foe. We have reason to believe that he is, in fact, in league with the Dark Lord, against all the free peoples of Middle Earth."

Once again, Éomer could only stare at the older man. Béma, And he had thought things could not possibly get any worse…

"So, Saruman is not the only foe for us to fear," Aragorn spoke slowly, reluctant to burden the still weakened warrior with the weight of his knowledge, but it was something Éomer urgently needed to know. "And the weaker one at that, I am afraid. Much weaker. The true adversary awaits us further east." He looked into hazel eyes in which rising alarm could be clearly read.

"The Dark Lord? Is that what you're saying? We need to fight him, too? Béma…" 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. "Is he the one secretly behind all that is happening in the Mark? So far, we thought he was only stealing our horses."

"For his armies, aye." Aragorn nodded, his keen grey eyes firmly focussed on the younger man's expression. "It seems that 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 they men, elves or dwarves. Sauron is readying his forces 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 the sons of Éorl in their fight and ensure that the war will not be brought to us from both sides. I do not know whether our presence here can tip the scales in our favour, but whatever can be done to achieve victory, we are prepared to do."