Disclaimer: In case someone decides to start reading from chapter five, here's a disclaimer for you. I do NOT own the Lord of the Rings. You know, in case someone would confuse me with J.R.R. Tolkien...

Broken - Chapter V

A Bitter Farewell

"At dawn, my lord?"

Théodred's boldness had caught him completely off guard, and Èlfhelm could nothing but stare at his Lord and friend. "My lord... as you well know, the King will not take kindly to this."

Strangely enough, the Prince chuckled. "That's right. Are there any riders here in Edoras that would be ready to leave so soon?"

Èlfhelm sat down on another chair, his mind torn between loyalty to the Prince and his sworn duty to the King. This open defiance against the King was a dangerous game for Théodred to play, but Èlfhelm admired the Prince all the more for it, and in the end the choice was easy.

"You could take Haldór's eored."

"He's under your command."

Just before those words, Èlfhelm had seen the Prince's barely visible breath of relief. Apparently he hadn't been entirely sure about where his friend stood.

Èlfhelm smiled and scratched his beard nonchalantly. "To entrust you with my men was never a question. And they'll be honored to serve under your command. I'll tell Haldór that you will be leaving at dawn."

Théodred smiled faintly in return. "Thank you, my friend."

When Théodred left Èlfhelm's quarters and wandered up to the Hall, he had the feeling that things might yet get hard before he left. He thought of heading to his chambers before his father or Grima would see him, but the King's voice stopped him in the main hall.

"Théodred?"

Reluctantly he approached his father who was sitting on the throne. Lately the King could be found more and more often in that adorned chair – a fact that Théodred didn't like at all. His father wasn't that old, and it wasn't that long ago that he still used to go out or ride his steed across the plains. Sitting on that cursed wooden throne all day long was not like Théoden son of Thengel at all.

As Théodred walked closer, a rare smile formed on the King's face. It wasn't much of a smile, but a smile nonetheless. The words he spoke next, surprised Théodred even more.

"Son, I will be dining at eight tonight and I wish you to dine with me."

Théodred wasn't sure if he had heard correctly. No one had dined with the King in a long time, unless it had been a big feast… and that was a very long time ago, too. In fact, if Théodred hadn't seen Èowyn with a bowl of soup or stew every now and then, he hadn't even known that the King still ate.

When Théodred realized the King was looking intensively at him, he bowed his head slightly. "Of course, father."

Théoden smiled, seemingly satisfied. He then dismissed Théodred, who walked straight to his room. There was much to be done in a short time, and the dinner with his father meant that he wouldn't get many hours of sleep before dawn.

When finally coming to his room, Théodred strode to the carved table by the window and rolled out one of the maps. It showed all of Westfold, Isengard and Fangorn Forest, and just one look at it made his mood sink. It would be no easy task to gather all the riders under his command – not without leaving parts of the land unguarded.

Théodred was so deeply in his thoughts that he didn't notice Èowyn entering the room until her soft voice broke the silence. "Théodred… what are you doing?"

Théodred jumped slightly at the sudden interruption and turned around. Upon seeing the map, Èowyn's curious face turned into a frown.

"You are leaving, aren't you?" She said quietly, gazing down at the map.

"Yes, Èowyn." Théodred said and ran a hand through his blond hair. "I'm leaving… and I trust you not to mention this to anyone."

"But, why?"

"You know why."

"Send Èlfhelm instead… there are others." Èowyn took his hand, but Théodred broke free.

"No. I cannot ask Èlfhelm to defy the orders of the King. If I go, I'm the one to blame."

Èowyn sighed and reached for his hand again. This time he didn't recoil from the touch. She shivered slightly at the coldness of his skin and for a long while they just stood there, staring at each other for a long moment. Finally Théodred broke the contact and leaned on the table.

"It's my duty, Èowyn, as the second Marshal of the Mark."

"You know what will happen if you go." Èowyn tried to consult him.

Théodred sighed. "Yes, and if that's how it'll be, then so be it. I don't care. I will not abandon Rohan. As long as there's still strength in me, I will protect our people."

Èowyn managed to smile, even though it was a sad smile. "So that's why you will be the first to fall?"

"If I must." The words hang in the empty air and Èowyn stared at her cousin.

After a moment of complete silence, she sat down on his bed and said quietly. "Èomer is in the Eastfold and you're leaving for Helm's Deep… I don't want to be left alone with…" Her voice broke off, but Théodred knew what she had meant to say.

"I'm sorry, Èowyn. I have to go… and I know you would too if you were in my position."

"How I wish I were." She snorted.

Théodred shook his head sadly. "Believe me, cousin, when I say that you don't want to be in my position. Not in these times."

Èowyn looked like she wanted to ask him what he meant, but decided against it. Some things were better unsaid.

When Théodred made his way to the throne room at eight, the King's usual private table was set for two. As Théodred waited in the shadows, his thoughts drifted off to the time when he and his father had come along well.

It was four years since Wormtongue had entered the King's side and even though the past year had been worst between father and son, the old bond had broken long before that. The King had quickly aged beyond his years, forcing a seventeen-year-old Èowyn to take care of her uncle while Théodred – as the newly anointed Second Marshal – rarely paid Edoras a visit.

Théodred was brought back to the present when Théoden, aided by Grima, entered the Hall.

"Good evening, father." He stepped out of the shadows and put on a good act of courtesy.

Théoden nodded and sat down by the table. Théodred followed and quietly sat down on his right side. Grima attempted to sit down on the King's other side, but Théoden stopped him.

"No. Please, Grima… I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I'd like to spend the evening alone with my son."

With a curt nod the advisor obeyed and left the Hall as the food had been served. Théodred noted that the cups of wine had already been poured, which was never done, and he wondered if Grima had decided to poison him or the King.

The first few minutes passed under silence as the King ate with better appetite than Théodred had seen him do in a long while. Théodred, however, didn't feel like eating at all. He tried to think of something to say, but couldn't find the words. His wine stood untouched and the red liquid floated like blood in the small goblet and made Théodred feel slightly dazed and sick.

He was not aware of the fact that the King was looking at him, but as he finally lifted his gaze, he saw those dim grey eyes burn into his own. Théoden put down the chop he was holding and cleaned his hands in his napkin.

"What is it, son? You have barely touched your food."

"It's fine." Théodred lowered his gaze before saying, "Is there a special reason to why you wanted me to dine with you?"

"Does a father need a reason to dine with his son?"

"Considering our splendid relationship… yes." The words came out quicker and more sarcastically than Théodred had intended, but the King smiled with a slight chuckle.

"You are right. But, it doesn't have to be that way."

Théodred didn't respond. The cold truth was too bittersweet. It was true that it didn't have to be like this between father and son, but as of tomorrow it would be even worse. As for now, he tried his best to change the subject.

"Have there been any news from Darrowdale?"

The King shook his head. "None, except for last week's report on more Orc attacks. However, I do believe Èomer is capable of handling the situation. Besides, Grimbold and his men are with him, too…"

What? Théodred's thoughts were reeling. Grimbold was in the Eastfold? How many had they left in Helm's Deep? Only Erkenbrand's men?

"Am I excused?" Théodred said after a moment. Théoden seemed both surprised and displeased by this, but nodded.

Théodred bowed in response and hurried to his room. It was already late, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. Èowyn was probably awake, too, but Théodred wanted to be alone. However, his wishes were not granted as an oily voice came from the doorway mere moments later.

"Your Highness… here is your draught."

Théodred turned around, a retort on his tongue, but to his surprise the King was there, too. With an ill-willed smile, Grima gave him the cup and Théodred had no choice but to take it.

"Thank you, Grima. I will take it."

Grima's eyes sparkled as he spoke. "I had hoped you would take it now. Just to be sure that you take it, your Highness. I know it's not one of the most tasteful draughts."

Théodred glanced sideways at his father, but the King remained expressionless. With a sigh, Théodred emptied the cup. When he had swallowed, he looked challengingly at Grima, the bitter liquid still burning his throat.

Grima simply smiled and then turned around to look at Théoden. "My liege, I think it's time for bed. It has been a long day… and the Prince needs sleep, too."

Grima led the way out of the room and they vanished into the shadows of the Hall. When Théodred was sure they were gone, he bent down over the chamber pot and threw up the poisonous medicine. Never again would he swallow that stuff.

After a nearly sleepless night, Théodred woke up an hour before dawn. The Golden Hall would still be asleep and he could slip out unnoticed.

Rubbing his eyes from sleep, he quickly dressed in tunic, breeches and mail, only leaving his armor plait behind. He would fetch it when all the arrangements had been made.

Whereas the Golden Hall was silent, the stable yard was not. It was still damp outside from the night, but far away in the east the sun was slowly rising behind the mountains as men and horses were geared up for the ride west.

-0-0-0-

When Théodred had vanished through the doors, Èowyn emerged from the shadows and stared after him a long while, unsure about what to do. Her senses told her to tell the King his son was leaving, but her heart told her to let her cousin go. Westfold could be in need of him, but she couldn't let him go just like that.

After all, he was the one who had taught her patience – to never rush into things. And wasn't he rushing into things now? Wasn't he running away?

With a heavy heart Èowyn made her decision.

-0-0-0-

By the time Brego was saddled, dawn had already broken and the riders were almost ready to leave. Théodred led Brego outside and asked a stable boy to hold him. He was just about to head back up to the Hall when Èlfhelm grabbed his arm.

"My lord, I do hope you know what you are doing. The King won't forget this in a hurry."

Théodred turned to face the older rider and nodded. "I know… and it's my choice."

"Bema bless you then, my lord. Hurry."

Théodred smiled quickly at Èlfhelm before making his way back to the Hall and his chambers. Once in his room, he quickly gathered his belongings and was fastening the last straps of his armor when Èowyn appeared in the doorway.

"You shouldn't keep the door open."

He smiled. "Why? Should I expect my cousin to sneak up behind me and stab me in the back?"

Èowyn didn't smile at the joke. In fact, she seemed paler than usual and it looked like she had been crying.

"Is something wrong, Èowyn?"

"Don't go…"

Théodred took up his sword, strapped it to his belt and took his helmet. "I must go… before it's too late. Farewell, cousin."

He left the room and Èowyn cried desperately after him. "It is too late, Théo…"

Théodred made his way to the front doors, but just as he was about to open them, a cold and stern voice stopped him. "If you walk through that door, there's no coming back."

A chill went through Théodred's body, but he turned around and saw his father and Grima approaching. "You shall no longer defy my orders."

Théodred held back his anger with great effort as he spoke. "I will no longer watch from the side when our people are dying. If you won't welcome me here again, then so be it."

With that he stormed out of the Golden Hall and descended the stairs. The voice that called after him was that of pure anger and outrage.

"That's it then. You went too far."

Théodred didn't look behind him, but he knew that his father was standing at the top of the stairs with Grima by his side and Hama and Gamling behind him. The King lowered his voice slightly as he spoke again, but Théodred could still hear him clearly. "You are disgracing my house and honor. You are no son of mine…"

Théodred continued to walk towards Brego and took the reins from the shocked stable boy and mounted. Brego, sensing the tension in the air, shifted nervously beneath him. Théodred spoke calmly to him and then called for the riders to mount. As the men rode out of the city, Théodred lingered to look at his father with a last daring gaze.

"Farewell, then." It was but a whisper, but in his heart it was a cry. He knew he wouldn't return…and this was a bitter farewell. But, his choice was made. Théodred urged Brego on and rode west without a second glance at his home.