The smell of hot bread wafted around the large room, mingling with the scent of stew and the hint of an odor that was vaguely reminiscent of horses. The clatter of the utensils in wooden bowls blended with the sound of men's voices, and a merry fire blazed in the enormous fireplace, joining the many torches on the walls in lighting the Hall of the Éored. Though the dark night outside was complete and the moon had not yet risen, the Hall was bright with the dancing light of the flickering flames.
An inconspicuous door at the east side of the room opened, and a few heads turned as a man slipped in. He removed his cloak to reveal a golden head of hair, glanced around the Hall as though looking for someone, and, locating the object of his search, he wended his way through the maze of occupied dinner tables to one in the corner, where a group of seven men sat.
The man was tall and lean, with broad shoulders and a quick step. He was only in his early thirties, but his eyes, grave and slightly sad, revealed wisdom beyond his years.
"Teolir!" one of the men at the table towards which he was heading hailed him jovially, noticing his approach.
"Captain Teolir," he grumbled, but a faint smile betrayed that he was not really upset.
"We'll call you 'Your Royal Majesty, the Venerable Prince Teolir,' if you prefer," a second one smirked, moving over to make room for him on the bench.
"And as the prince, I sentence you, Keinen, to death for mocking a member of the royal family," Teolir said calmly as he sat down.
"You can't," Keinen said, entirely unfazed, as he plunked a bowl of stew down in front of his captain. "I'm the best soldier you have. If you kill me, you'll lose if Gondor ever starts a war."
Teolir shifted uncomfortably, a movement that did not go unnoticed by his companions.
"What's wrong, Captain?" another man asked suspiciously.
"Nothing," he answered a little too quickly.
The men around the table exchanged glances; they all knew that "nothing" was far from the truth, but none was willing to press him. They had individually determined that they would simply have to wait when the prince decided to open up of his own accord.
"We're at war," he said quietly.
The noise of the Hall seemed suddenly muted as the men at the table registered what he had said. A few blinked disbelievingly, and someone let out a long, slow breath.
"War," Keinen repeated hollowly. He was not surprised that Gondor would come to war with them, but shocked that they had.
"Aye," Teolir affirmed grimly, moving his spoon aimlessly through his bowl of stew. "Word has just come that Drían plans to march in six days. My father is going to come and announce it as soon as he's discussed his own plans with the captain of the guard. Daine—Daine, where are you going?"
One of the men had gotten up from the table and started determinedly towards the door. He glanced back at Teolir's question. "I'm going to spend tonight with my family," he answered resolutely. "I'll not see them for a long time, not if we're going to be fighting, and it will not be said of me that I shirked my duty as a father and a husband. Forgive me, Captain."
Teolir nodded his assent, though he doubted that a refusal would have changed anything. He put his head in his hands. "We can't win this war," he muttered. "We don't have the men, the supplies, the preparation… our only advantage is our cavalry."
"I didn't believe Drían would actually do it," joined another man hoarsely, looking as though he had only just found his voice after the bleak announcement. "The Oath of Éorl should not have been so easily broken."
"He wants to expand Gondor's empire, Rewn," Keinen said wearily, running a hand through his hair. "He's a greedy, filthy, selfish piece of rotting, maggoty—"
The enormous doors at one end of the Hall let out a loud groan as they were pushed open. The men fell silent, a hush starting closest to the doors and sweeping back as everyone realized who had entered. The king, flanked by two soldiers and followed by the captain of the guard, strode inside, face set as he made his way towards the other end of the hall, where he mounted a raised stone dais and turned to face his soldiers. The captain of the guard halted respectfully to the side of the dais, and the two guards who had entered with him shrank into the anonymity of the crowd. Several seconds of utter silence reigned before King Halin started to speak.
"Éored!" he began, gazing around at the waiting faces of the men. "My friends, my countrymen, my brothers, I stand before you today to bring grave tidings that will sadden many hearts, but are not unexpected. I have tried for fifteen years to rebuild our relationships with Gondor, to make as it was at the beginning of the Fourth Age when an oath was renewed between King Telcontar of Gondor and King Éomer of the Riddermark. While I believe that Andrith would have been willing to make amends, his brother will have none of it. He has continued to build up his army, to ignore my entreaties for peace, and now, now that he believes he has enough men, he has decided to come to war against us."
There were three seconds of ringing silence, and then an intense buzz exploded in the room. It took a full minute for it to die down, and the entire time, the king stood looking solemnly out over the soldiers—amounting to nearly two hundred men—who had gathered here for supper. It was not a surprise that Drían had decided to attack, but that he had actually done it, after all those years of waiting, all that time spent in ambiguity of action—that was what shocked the men. His eyes latched onto a table in the back corner, where Teolir sat with his small band of men. They were the only ones who were silent; they had evidently heard the news already.
When the noise had finally ceased and all attention was focused back on Halin, he cleared his throat. "He plans to march in six days, according to spies within his realm," he said with a heavy sigh. "He will be at our border in two weeks. I have talked with Moran, the captain of the guard, and we have agreed on a defensive strategy. Everyone in this room is henceforth promoted. Each of you, as the éored, will serve as a captain over a faction of thirty Rohirrim, and if you are already a captain, you will have jurisdiction over seven or eight of those factions. We will send out word immediately for all able-bodied men to come to Edoras, where, if they have none, they will be equipped with what armor, weapons, and horses we can supply. As soon as the first hundred men arrive, three factions will start for the western border. Three more will depart with the next hundred men, and so on. We will call for all villages on the border to be evacuated to one of the larger cities, Aldburg, here, or perhaps Snowbourne. You will all be ready to do whatever is required of you by tomorrow morning."
He paused, biting his lower lip as though trying to put his thoughts into words. "During the Great War at the end of the Third Age," he said slowly, starting to pace back and forth on the dais, "Rohan always had an army mustered, and each captain had command of one éored. Times of peace changed that; with no need for men to be constantly ready for battle, more and more of the éored were disbanded until my grandfather's time, when there was only one left. The one éored we have now serves as the elite riders of the King of Rohan.
"That must change now," he continued gravely, "for peace has been shattered and war is upon us. The éored of old are back: there shall be nigh ten score of them. I have seen you, soldiers, work hard side by side, make good friends, trust each other without question. You have become brothers.
"Our army cannot function, cannot come off victorious, if that level of camaraderie is not replicated in each new éored. Spite, malice, mistrust, and hatred will eat away at our ranks as surely as water rusts away the strongest iron. It will be your responsibility as captains to ensure that that does not happen. It is your duty to your king and to your kingdom to keep dissention, hatred, and rebellion out of your éored. Do not fail me now."
Another moment of silence reigned before one man seized his mug and raised it into the air. "Long live the King of the Riddermark!"
The call echoed throughout the Hall, and men drank to the king's health as he stepped down from the dais and swept towards the still-open doors. Moran, recently-promoted captain of the guard, mounted the stairs. He gave a short explanation of how the army would be divided and who would be dispatched first, and then he too descended and started towards the door. However, instead of exiting, he made his way towards the table where Teolir and his men sat.
"The king wishes to see all of you in the meeting room immediately."
Teolir's brow creased, but he did not ask questions. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
Moran left, and the men at the table exchanged glances. "What does he want with us, Captain?" Rewn asked, voicing the question that was on every man's mind.
Teolir shrugged, getting to his feet. "Whatever it is, I'm not going to keep him waiting."
With a murmur of general agreement, the others stood as well and followed him out. They began walking quickly up the road towards the top of the hill over which Edoras sprawled, crowned by Meduseld, the Golden Hall. Teolir, however, deliberately allowed his pace to slow, letting the other men pass him, deep in discussion about the coming war. One man lagged slightly behind, absorbed in his own thoughts, not listening to the others. Teolir dropped back beside him, but the man did not speak to him or even acknowledge his presence.
"So?" Teolir said after a moment.
The others were nearly a hundred feet ahead of them by now, and the two men made no attempt to catch up. The man glanced at Teolir, let his eyes rove skyward, and then dropped them back to the ground. "So what?" he finally said.
"What are you thinking?"
"What should I be thinking?"
Teolir glanced at him, drawing in a deep breath. "Most men have a war on their minds tonight."
"Indeed."
"Is that not the subject of your thoughts?"
"Of what consequence is it?"
The captain allowed a half-smile to flit across his face. "You can certainly be evasive when you so choose."
"Fifteen years has made me quite an expert in that field."
"After all that time, will you still not tell me?"
"After all that time, why do you still bother to ask?"
Teolir shook his head. "Old habits die hard."
They lapsed into silence for a few moments before Teolir spoke again. "You have only answered my questions with more questions."
"Sometimes those questions lead you to find the answer for yourself, and you are always a better man for it."
"I know you're trying to get me off the subject, but I'll not be deterred. What are you thinking?"
"The stars are beautiful."
"You're avoiding my question."
"Not at all."
"Then tell me what you think of this war. That's a direct order from your captain."
"Yes, sir. I think it's a shame that King Drían could not be satisfied with the peace that King Halin offered, and that he feels as though he has to conquer the Mark for power and wealth."
Teolir sighed. "You're really not going to tell me, are you?"
The man raised his eyes slowly, eyes that might have been blue or green or gray, but were more likely a dark, sparkling mixture of the three, as though a sea, quiet and still before the storm, were reflected in their depths.
"You want to know what this is doing to me," he said quietly after a long silence. "You want to know how I feel about all of this. I'll tell you. I feel exactly the same as you do: resolved not to fail, determined not to let Gondor ravage my home."
Teolir halted, looking hard at him. "No… pangs of regret? No second thoughts?"
The man, who had kept walking, now stopped as well, turning around slowly to face him.
"You dare to question my loyalty?" he asked softly, the sea stirring in his eyes.
"Fifteen years have not managed to rob you of every last vestige of your homeland, Thylian."
Neither of them spoke for a long moment, and then Thylian answered.
"Then only the gods may forgive me. I have done my best."
"You feel no allegiance to Gondor?"
The waves crashed in those fathomlessly deep eyes.
"I am a man of Rohan."
They had reached a small building on the edge of the grassy expanse that surrounded the Hall of Meduseld. The other five men, who had arrived slightly ahead of them but waited respectfully for their captain, were grouped around the door. Teolir stepped up smartly and rapped on the door, and a voice from inside invited them in. One by one, they filed through the doorway and into a cheerily lit room. The king stood beside a water basin in the corner, and as they entered, he splashed some over his face and dried it with a towel, motioning for them to sit down at a long table in the middle of the room. They assumed their seats and waited patiently for Halin to seat himself at the head.
Despite the restless vitality that shone in the king's eyes, no one could deny that age was catching up with him. His once-blonde hair was now a silvery sheen of gray, and his step was slightly slower than it had been. There was a weariness in his limbs as he lowered himself into his chair that betrayed his failing strength.
"You men," he began slowly, gazing around the table at each of them, "will be the first to be assigned éored and leave. Yours will be a very important task; not only will you arrive first and scout out the area in order to locate an ideal place for battle, you will also be there in case the Gondorian army arrives earlier than expected."
Keinen exchanged a look with Thylian, and both of them turned their eyes on Teolir, who glanced nervously at them and then back at his father. The prince cleared his throat. "I hate to dash the faith you have in us, sire, and I certainly am not one to underestimate the valor and abilities of a man of the Mark when his kingdom is threatened, but somehow I think that our little bands of thirty men apiece will not even slow down an army of ten thousand soldiers."
Halin laughed. "Of course not. I expect you to turn tail and run at the first sign of them if they come before sufficient reinforcements have arrived. But it is vital that you are there so that you can come back and tell us if they reach the border before our army is grouped."
A quiet, meditative man named Wenthan voiced the question that was on everyone's mind. "What if they should overtake us?"
The king snorted. "Thousands of Gondor men on foot overtake so few Rohirrim on horseback?"
"It is wise to consider every possibility, sire," interjected another, Mihnae. "What would you have us do?"
Halin leaned back in his chair, stroking his short beard pensively. "Always have one or two men following you at a distance of a mile or so, and if the ones ahead come across the Gondorian army, they will send a flaming arrow into the sky. That way they have a mile's start, and the message will get to us no matter what happens to the rest of the group."
This idea did not seem to be greeted with much enthusiasm. The men exchanged glances and then looked again to Teolir, who cleared his throat once more. "Er… sire?"
"What is it?"
The prince drew a deep breath. "Every one of my men is prepared to die a thousand deaths for his kingdom; it is an honor and a privilege. But I believe that you may be sending them needlessly on a suicide mission. Why not wait until there are two or three thousand Rohirrim gathered at Edoras before you send us out?"
Father's eyes met son's, and both were grave and solemn. Both understood the gravity of this decision.
"And what if," Halin said finally, "Gondor's army does come early? If we wait to set out troops, they will march straight across our borders and meet no resistance until they reach Edoras, where we will be woefully unprepared. No, my son, some must go ahead or we run too great a risk of losing this war."
Teolir bowed his head. "Yes, sire."
King Halin briefly laid his hand on his son's shoulder, then stood. "You are excused," he said to the men still seated at the table. "Riders are at this moment being dispatched for every city, every village in Rohan, and by tomorrow afternoon they will begin arriving. You will be needed to organize the distribution of weapons, horses, and supplies, so sleep soundly that you will be rested when you are called upon."
When the king said no more, the men glanced at each other one more time, stood up, and filed slowly out of the room. After a moment, only King Halin, Thylian, and Teolir remained. The prince turned to the friend who, over the past fifteen years, had come to be like a brother to him.
"I will ride with the first éored," Teolir said softly, "and, if you so choose, you will ride with the second."
"Anything that you ask of me, I will endeavor to do," Thylian answered, and with a slight smile, he left the room.
After a moment of silence, King Halin winked. "I told you that taking him into our house was a good idea."
With a smile that was more grim than amused and eyes that seemed to reflect the unknown dangers that the future held, Teolir followed Thylian into the night.