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Broken - Chapter VI

Western Gales

Westfold, March 10th, 3018 T.A.

The men stared grimly at the sight before them, occasionally throwing unsure glances at their commander. Most of the cottages were burned down and only a few stood wavering in the strong gale. There were no survivors, however. The villagers hadn't even seen the dawn break.

Théodred looked expressionlessly at the dreadful scene, but his mind was overtaken by grief for the people and boiling with hatred for the Orcs. This village was the first one to have been completely destroyed and the loss was devastating.

Théodred gathered the reins and turned Brego around to face the men. "Look for survivors, but don't be too hopeful."

The men spread into small groups and started to search the burned ruins for any signs of life. Théodred dismounted as well and walked up to a nearby heap of brick and wood. It was two days since he had left Edoras with barely two hundred men and he hadn't expected to run into this so fast.

An outrider had reported that a band of Orcs roamed the plains some miles away from Théodred's location and the men had ridden quickly to hunt them down. They had killed the Orcs only hours before dawn, but it had been too late. When reaching the nearby village, the Orcs had already been there.

As the men started to come back empty-handed, Théodred sighed. He hadn't expected them to find anything, but the truth was hard to accept.

One of the riders walked up to the Second Marshal and stood there for a while before daring to break the silence.

"We found no survivors, my lord. What are your orders?"

Théodred turned his gaze away from the burned village and looked west towards the mountains. "We ride to Helm's Deep... but first we bury the bodies."

The village had been small and it didn't take long for the riders to bury the few bodies that still were recognizable. Before mid-morning the riders were ready to leave.

As they rode towards Helm's Deep, Théodred wondered how long it would take for his father to reach him. Although the King himself was likely indifferent about his son's whereabouts, Grima Wormtongue wanted for sure to enchain the King's lawful heir.

As long as he lived, the people of Rohan would regard Théodred as their future King. Mere words wouldn't undo that. During his almost five years as Second Marshal of the Mark, he had positioned himself in the hearts of his men and to them Westfold had no other commander.

When the riders arrived at Helm's Deep, a much smaller amount of men than Théodred had hoped for was there to greet them. Théodred dismounted and handed Brego over to one of the stable hands, before making his way up to the Hornburg. The stairs were packed with young soldiers and Théodred grabbed one of them by the shoulder, asking the surprised youth to fetch Béorath.

When coming into the war room, Théodred quickly spread a map across the table and started to remove his armor. A few minutes later, the door opened and a bearded man in his late forties entered.

"Welcome back, my lord. I'm surprised, though, that you wished to see me so urgently upon your arrival. How can I be of service, my lord?"

Théodred turned to look at the man and smiled tiredly. "You disappoint me. Am I really so cruel? That I would only call on a friend when I needed him?"

Béorath chuckled, knowing that the Prince was jesting. He was a strong man with a thick beard and light brown hair. He was well respected among the men and Théodred admired the man for his resolve to remain castellan of Helm's Deep, even though he must miss riding with his eored. However, nearing his fiftieth winter, the man had other valuable virtues as well.

"Alright, I need your counsel." Théodred admitted, his eyes meeting Béorath's.

"You need my counsel, my lord? That's unheard of." He moved to help Théodred with the last straps of the armor, but his smile faded upon seeing the Prince's grave face.

"I had expected word from Edoras to have reached you already. But, never mind that … all I need is to know how to reach Erkenbrand. I heard Grimbold rode to Eastfold with a large portion of the riders."

Béorath frowned. "You should know, my lord, that Grimbold did not leave willingly. He knows the threats at the western borders. He was fuming when the orders came from Edoras."

Théodred nodded, not releasing his gaze from the map. When Béorath saw his gaze, he sighed.

"Around five hundred men are spread out guarding the West-march and the border… but that's all. With good fortune, Erkenbrand may have about two hundred riders at the Fords… "

Théodred hesitated a moment before saying, "When the riders left Westfold, several attacks from the mountains and from across the river were reported. What happened? Were they stopped?"

Béorath looked down, not able to look into the Prince's eyes. "The attacks coming from across the Fords were stopped, but the ones coming from the mountains… there just wasn't enough riders."

"That's what I was afraid of. The enemy knew when and where to strike."

Béorath looked at his commander with a troubled frown. "How could they have known?"

"I have no doubt about that either. Information concerning our forces has been leaking out lately… and that leak is in Edoras… right by the King's side."

Béorath frowned. Could it really be? Was the King's advisor involved? "My lord, if I may…?"

"No, Béorath." Théodred cut him off. "I don't wish to speak about that. There are other things to discuss."

Béorath nodded understandingly and showed the Second Marshal where the riders were patrolling.

"In addition to Erkenbrand's men, there is a possibility that Fréawan's riders are somewhere in the north-west."

"How many are here in Helm's Deep?"

"Not many. Maybe around three hundred, counting the riders you brought from Edoras."

Théodred nodded. "Send a messenger to Erkenbrand and tell him to leave three hundred men to guard the Fords, but I want him back here in Helm's Deep. With so few riders left we can't spare them much rest, but I'll patrol the Fords myself, if I have to."

Béorath nodded and was about to get the messenger when Théodred's voice stopped him at the door. "And Béorath, tell Erkenbrand to hurry. His… friend needs him."

Béorath frowned at Théodred's last words. Did he really think that the men of Westfold would forget who their Prince was? Well, Béorath would tell the messenger that Prince Théodred's orders were to be carried out with haste.

As Théodred made his way out of the Hornburg he let his gaze sweep over the Deeping Comb. Inside the Wall the ground was covered with tents and the sound of steel, horses and talking men desperately tried to make up for the lack of forces in the Deep. Still, the truth was inevitable and the sight of it couldn't have been more discouraging.

One thousand men in all of Westfold? How could it be? That was less than one fourth of the amount Théodred had ordered there two months ago.

When Théodred saw the messenger leave, he wondered how long it would take for his father to send word to him. It surprised him that two days had passed without a single report from Edoras.

Absent-mindedly Théodred wandered down to the stables, hoping that the horses could make him forget about the events in Rohan for a while. This spring's crop of foals had been good and Theódred was proud to know that some of the best warhorses came from Helm's Deep and the surrounding plains.

The horses were strong and sound, swift and brave, and Théodred remembered Èomer having said that he would trade a dozen of his best horses in exchange for one Westfold mount. Théodred chuckled lightly at the memory. It was no secret that the Third Marshal envied Théodred, or at least had envied. In a good way...

When Théodred stopped at Brego's stall and patted the steed on the neck, a movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned around and saw a young woman standing beside one of the mares, talking to it.

The woman looked vaguely familiar, but Théodred couldn't remember where he had seen her.

-0-0-0-

Some forty miles from Helm's Deep, the men of Erkenbrand were camping for nightfall at the delta of the River Isen and the Deeping Stream, when a messenger rode into the camp and halted his horse.

"Riders, I bring news from Helm's Deep. Prince Théodred has resumed command over Westfold and wants all riders to regroup at the Deep."

When the man mentioned Théodred, the riders shared amazed and hopeful looks. The King's son hadn't been seen in Westfold for over a month and now the riders suddenly had their leader back.

"Lord Erkenbrand, the Prince ordered three hundred men to stay by the Fords, but he wished for your return."

Erkenbrand, who had been in his tent when the messenger had arrived, was now standing in front of it with a grim expression on his face. He knew all too well why the Prince wanted him back to the Deep.

"Tell Lord Théodred that he will have his riders before dusk in two days. But why this haste?"

The messenger leaned closer to speak for his ears only. "The Prince is defying the King's orders. When word from Edoras reaches Helm's Deep, the Prince will have no choice but to obey, unless he wants a massacre."

Erkenbrand nodded, but it was obvious that he was not pleased with the news. He had known the Prince since Théodred had been old enough to ride with the men and these words did him no justice.

"I would follow Lord Théodred to whatever end he takes me. There are not many riders I can give the Prince… but we will come, and you can tell him that these men will stay loyal to him… and him only if need be."

The messenger nodded and mounted the horse. Then he vanished into the night.

-0-0-0-

Edoras, March 14th 3018 T.A.

Grima Wormtongue paced restlessly in his private rooms. This change of tied didn't please him at all. Though the King had made it clear that Èomer was to success him, it had still just been an open statement and Théoden seemed to regret his actions.

Grima had also underestimated the King's son badly and it had cost him a lot. Everything had been under control, but now Théodred was somewhere in the Westfold gathering the few men who were still there.

As if it couldn't get any worse, reports from Eastfold said that the Orcs were defeated and the companies of Westfold would soon be returning to Helm's Deep. That meant that Westfold would be fully mustered and with Théodred in charge.

He had already informed his master that the Prince would no more be a threat to their plans, but now he had to tell him the bad news… unless he found a way to bring Théodred down.

However, with him being in Westfold it wasn't an easy task. Not was it just hard to reach the Second Marshal, but he also had all of Westfold on his side.

Grima clenched his fingers and slammed his fist in the table. This had to end. Rohan would fall and he would get his prize. A smile crept onto his lips as he thought about it. His prize…

-0-0-0-

Six days had passed since Théodred had ridden out of the city, and Èowyn couldn't help feeling guilty about the bitter farewell. What had she been thinking when alerting the King of his son's departure? Her uncle had been furious the first two days, but now he had calmed down and Èowyn had even seen a hint of sadness in his grey eyes.

As for the King's advisor, he had been in a bad mood ever since that day. The King had told Grima not to challenge Théodred by force, but to approach him prudently. However, it was obvious that Grima had been pleased with Théoden's outrage and was now angry that the King was regretting it.

When Èowyn later brought food to the King, he was alone and motioned for her to sit down. Surprised of the invitation, she quietly sat down and tried to look comfortable.

The King, however, noticed her discomfort. "Èowyn… it's a long time ago I've seen you smile. The absence of both your brother and… your cousin has made you distant. Dear niece, is there anything I can do?"

There's a lot you could do, uncle Théoden. Èowyn thought as she tried to come up with an answer that would satisfy the King, but still wouldn't be too far from the truth.

"My lord… I'm worried about my brother and cousin. Especially Théodred. He loves you, Uncle. He's just too devoted to his people to care about what's best for him."

"I know, Èowyn… and that's what worries me, too. I'm angry and disappointed in him. How could I not be? But, I'm also thinking that maybe I was a bit too harsh."

"Is he still your heir?" Èowyn asked hesitantly and Théoden sighed heavily.

"I'm afraid not, Èowyn. I wish he would come back to be my son again… but he cannot unpunished defy his King's orders and betray his land and people."

Èowyn looked down at her fingers, not knowing what to say. It was horrible to hear the King speak of his son as someone who had betrayed his land and people. Wasn't that exactly why her cousin had left? As not to betray his people…

"He accuses Grima of treason and then he himself rides away with two hundred men… like a rebel." Théoden paused to take a spoonful of the soup.

"You don't go against the King like that… and he knows it. Grima suggested that I take away all of Théodred's rights as Second Marshal and commander of the Westfold… but, I asked myself if I really wanted that… to force my son here to live in captivity and shame with nothing left."

Théoden fell silent and looked into the distance for a long while before saying, "No, I don't want that."

-0-0-0-

Helm's Deep, March 15th, 3018 T.A.

Upon the fifth day of Théodred's arrival in Helm's Deep, good news finally reached the stronghold. Erkenbrand was on his way with three hundred riders and would reach Helm's Deep by nightfall. Also, the eoreds at the Fords had managed to stop another Orc attack and the western plains were quiet, save for the strong gales that played among the grasslands.

Théodred was overlooking the maps again when the horn at the gates blew and he could hear riders arrive. Moments later, a young soldier knocked on the open door.

"My lord, Erkenbrand has arrived and wishes to speak with you."

"By all means, send him in."

The soldier left and Théodred looked down at the map with a hint of a smile on his face. At this rate, maybe the King would never reach him.

Théodred didn't notice the presence of Erkenbrand until the man stood beside him. Slightly startled, Théodred turned to smile welcomingly at the older rider.

Erkenbrand didn't answer the smile, but grabbed the stunned Prince into a brotherly embrace. "It's great to have you back here, Théodred. It's been too long. What news do you bring from Edoras?"

Théodred's smile faded. "Not good news, I am afraid. The King barely recognizes his own kin from strangers… and I'm no longer in his good graces. The reason why I'm here is because of the lack of riders in Westfold. Had I been able to come earlier, I would have, but…" Théodred paused a while to ponder his words. "I was being held under a tight watch."

Erkenbrand nodded, knowing that Théodred wouldn't want to speak about it. "What do you have in mind for the riders, my lord?"

Théodred's face remained expressionless as he spoke. "It's time to reassemble the forces of Westfold. We have only one thousand riders to spare, but it can't be helped until the companies in Eastfold return. I will take an escort to the Fords and take command of the Isen patrol…"

This was exactly what Erkenbrand had been afraid of. He made a move to protest, but Théodred raised his hand, wordlessly asking him not to push the matter. And, somehow the older rider understood. The Prince needed to get back to the plains.

"Three hundred riders will have to do for patrolling the surrounding area of Helm's Deep and guarding the villages from attacks from the mountains. But, I want two eoreds instead of one down in the West-march. I want no more burned villages."