A/N: [9/20/2012] If you have read this story before, I warn you. The ending of this chapter has been changed from its original version. Just so you know the reason for your confusion in case it occurs.

Disclaimer: No, no and no! I do not own anyone else except Dríana and some of the other small characters popping up here and there...

Broken - Chapter VIII

Letters and Departure

Helm's Deep, March 26th 3018 T.A.

Despite the wall of clouds in the east, the sky above Westfold was almost perfectly blue and the sun shone pleasantly, warming the usually cold stone of Helm's Deep.

Dríana had quickly gotten used to her new life inside the stronghold, but she missed home. At Helm's Deep there was no grass scented air to breathe and no quiet peacefulness. With riders coming and going it was never quiet. Not even in the dead of night.

Her days had been a mixture of work and boredom for several weeks, but now that Lord Théodred was back, she found herself enjoying the work (perhaps a bit too much). She knew, though, that he was far beyond her league and therefore it would remain her own little secret that her eyes sought the fair Prince a little too often. Perhaps it was for the best that he was now preparing his men to patrol the western borders. Then she wouldn't have to try and hide her feelings around him.

Sighing, she ascended the stairs of the Hornburg and made her way to the kitchens where her sister was helping one of the other servants. Dríana often wondered if the young girl truly understood what was going on around her. She had looked death in the eye when the Orcs had attacked their home, and she had seen what peril the riders risked every time they rode out to hunt down those foul creatures... but did she understand? As a girl of seven she should have been out playing on the plains...

Though deep inside Dríana knew that the days for play were long gone... and maybe Fréda knew that as well, because she never complained.

-0-0-0-

Outside the Deeping Wall, Théodred was sitting by his tent with Brego's saddle on his tights, enjoying the last few hours of sunshine. Despite the warmth Théodred shuddered as a breeze swept past. Some of the men had a cook fire going, but Théodred didn't feel like sharing their company. He was far too anxious about the reports from Westridge and the West-march, and he didn't want his mood to affect his men.

According to Erkenbrand, the plains close to Westridge were quiet and nothing out of the ordinary had occurred around the borders either, but Théodred wasn't ready to take any chances. He would have preferred to leave immediately, but with the imminent return of Grimbold it was better to wait. Once the riders arrived, he would leave four hundred men at Helm's Deep and take the rest to the Fords of Isen.

When Théodred was finished with the tack, he stepped into the tent and washed up. He was halfway through the washing when he heard the distant thunder of hooves and men shouting outside his tent. Alarmed Théodred hurried outside and strode quickly to the other side of the camp. There, he stopped in his tracks.

A company of some three thousand riders were slowing down by the campsite, and as their commander rode forward on his chestnut horse, Théodred allowed himself to smile. Grimbold.

The man took off his helmet, and despite being one of the Prince's closest friends he bowed his head respectfully as Théodred stopped in front of him."My lord Marshal."

"Lord Grimbold, your safe return is a relief... and couldn't have better timing."

"Aye, my lord." Grimbold said solemnly, but then his lips turned into a beaming smile. "But by the grace of Bema, it's good to see you. It's been two bloody months."

Bloody, indeed. Théodred thought, but as he guided Grimbold past the rows of tents, he returned the smile. "It's good to see you, too, old friend. Now come, you must be weary after your long ride, and tomorrow we must be on our way. I can't delay it any longer."

Grimbold nodded, eager about the prospect of a bed and fresh sheets instead of the cold ground and dirty blankets. However, despite his weariness, Théodred's uneasy demeanor and somewhat thinner frame didn't go unnoticed... though the Prince made a good effort of not showing it.

That night Théodred was pacing restlessly in his tent, unable to sleep. With Grimbold and his riders back in Westfold, Théodred had been freed from his recent worries only to be overtaken by new ones. There still had been no word from Edoras. At first he had been grateful of it, but now it made him uneasy... as if a bigger storm was on its way.

After yet another hour of pacing, Théodred finally lay down and tried to sleep, but he was soon woken by noises coming from outside. A horse snorted as if it had just ran several miles without rest, and hushed voices soon approached Théodred's tent.

As Grimbold stepped inside with an apologetic bow, Théodred was already on his feet. Without a word, the older man nodded at someone outside the tent and then another man entered. He had shadows under his eyes and he looked exhausted, but he stood in front of the Second Marshal without as much as a slouch.

Théodred fought the urge to ask the man his business. Just one look upon the man's garment made him dread the answer. Instead he waited for the courier to speak.

"My lord, forgive the late hour..."

Théodred had to suppress a smile. It had to be closer to dawn by now.

"But I bring word from the King."

The words left a bitter echo in the air and Théodred reluctantly took the letter the man was offering him. The seal was unmistakably the King's and the handwriting matched that of the King's, too... but the mind behind it couldn't have been.

It took his every nerve not to lose control right there and cry out in anguish. After a few shaky breaths, Théodred looked up and spoke to the messenger, his voice cool and unrevealing. "Thank you… but I'm afraid I can't heed these orders."

The courier's face grew pale. Apparently he had been informed about the contents of the letter. "My lord...?"

"You heard me." Théodred responded curtly, his face as blank as his mind. "Besides, the King already knows that I won't oblige."

The courier stiffly bowed his head and left the tent. Grimbold was about to leave, too, but upon seeing Théodred turn away and cover his eyes with one hand, the older rider remained.

Théodred was still holding the letter, and as Grimbold drew nearer he offered it to him. Surprised, Grimbold took it and unfolded it. The content of the letter was grim from the beginning, but it was the last few lines that shocked him the most.

…As your King I hereby deny you all your rights as Heir and Second Marshal of the Riddermark. You are to return to Edoras to await your punishment for treason against your King. If you choose to neglect these orders, you will be facing banishment or…

Grimbold stopped reading. He had read enough and the last words were so shockingly outrageous that he couldn't even finish reading them.

"This can't be." He whispered barely audibly. "How can he...?

Théodred didn't say a word, afraid that his voice would break. He had faced his father's rage when leaving Edoras, but those words had meant nothing compared to this. This was on paper and with the King's seal on it.

"My lord?" Grimbold finally spoke again when he got no response. "What will you do? Surely you can't ignore…"

Théodred finally looked up. "No matter how things will proceed, one thing is sure. I will never bow before that snake of an advisor. Call me coward if you will... but I'm not going to Edoras."

Grimbold sighed sadly. "No, my lord. I wouldn't call you a coward. Reckless perhaps... but justly so."

"The King has threatened to have me indefinitely removed."

Grimbold winced at the words. Indefinitely removed. The Crown Prince of Rohan... indefinitely removed? He just couldn't believe it. The people loved Théodred. Surely the King knew that he couldn't possibly undo that.

-0-0-0-

As the sun rose above the mountains the next morning, Théodred ignored Grimbold's protests and made his disinheritance known to the men... hoping in vain that they would be wise enough to see that they, too, risked banishment if they followed him. But, no one said a word or made a move to leave. And that loyalty touched him deeply.

Quietly, and in a far darker mood than the night before, the men quickly emptied the grounds outside Helm's Deep and then rode off across the plains. As they crossed the Deeping Stream, Théodred sent four hundred riders to join the men in Westridge and told the captain to inform Erkenbrand of all the circumstances... including the King's letter.

For Théodred, however, there was no time to concern himself with bitter thoughts. Halfway to the western borders one of the scouts picked up the trail of some thirty Orcs, and the riders were soon off to hunt them down.

Less than two hours later the men caught the beasts and had them slaughtered long before the sun had started to set behind the mountains. No one spoke of it, but they could all plainly see it. These had been no ordinary Orcs, but bigger and stronger... and not bothered by daylight.

As if that alone wasn't troubling enough, news from the Fords of Isen soon followed. Re-enforcements were direly needed as Orc attacks became more frequent and the number of rohirrim grew scarcer.

It was with cold determination and a heavy heart that Théodred told his men that they would ride through the night.

As they arrived at the Fords the next day, an eerie sight awaited them. On one of the hilltops a pile of Orc carcasses were burning and here and there were bodies of horses and men that had yet to be buried.

Following the hoof prints that led away from the Fords, Théodred's men rode onward until they ran into a small group of riders. Théodred took off his helmet and dismounted as the rider in command, Ceorlaf, made his way up to the Prince. While the other riders were dismounting, Ceorlaf drew Théodred and Grimbold slightly aside.

"My lords, it's good to have you here."

"What's the situation?" Théodred demanded, his eyes sweeping the camp of riders before settling on Ceorlaf.

"A band of wildmen crossed the river two nights ago and took Haldór's men by surprise. Only a few survived and several horses were slain. The wildmen retreated when we arrived, but no doubt they'll try again. Them and the half-Orcs..."

"What about Haldór himself?"

"Wounded, my lord, but very much alive."

Théodred nodded quietly, then put a hand on Ceorlaf's shoulder. "You've done well, Ceorlaf. I will take the men under my command for now. Together we will drive these scavengers off our lands."

-0-0-0-

It was late when Théodred left his tent and strode through the camp. The air was calm, but there was a chill in it, making Théodred feel uneasy. His mind focused on every movement and sound as he continued to walk towards the trees. After five days of patrolling around the Fords, he needed a moment of solitude. Not once since they had left from Helm's Deep had he stopped to brood on what his own future would bring. There simply hadn't been time or space for that.

But now the reality was starting to sink in and he was struggling to maintain his composure around his men. In action it was easy to forget about everything else, but at night it all came back to him. What was he to do? The burden of a kingdom lay on his shoulders and yet he had no claim to it. Not anymore. The trap had closed. If he returned to Edoras he would probably never set foot outside the city again... and if he left Rohan he feared that his people would never see a hopeful dawn again.

His place was here anyway. With his men. But how long would it last?

A cracking sound made its way through the silent forest, bringing Théodred from his thoughts. His hand moved to his sword as he looked around. He could still see the lights from the camp and some of the men going by their business, but he doubted that one of them had ventured into the trees. A cold breeze swept past and sent shivers down his spine. He wasn't alone.

When a hoarse male voice broke the silence, Théodred had his sword out of its sheath in a blink. "Well now, a lonesome Prince without his guard." A hooded man stepped forward. "Our Master wasn't exaggerating when he told us of your arrogance."

The man came closer and Théodred could see that he was not a man of Rohan. When Théodred moved towards him, six others emerged from the shadows with drawn weapons.

The trap had closed indeed. And he had been stupid not to see it coming. If Grima Wormtongue couldn't get him on his knees on the cold stones of Meduseld, then he would find another way – a way not even the King could do anything about.

Not lowering his sword, Théodred faced the men. "Who are you?"

The man in front of him smirked. "Who we are, is of no importance. It's whom we seek that matters. You see, our Master gave us orders to find you, Prince Théodred. He even told us where to look."

Théodred's face paled. Were they talking about Grima or someone else? For a moment the face of Saruman surfaced in his mind and in that moment Théodred son of Théoden knew that the White Wizard had betrayed Rohan.

"Lucky for us, it wasn't that hard to get to you..." The man chuckled. "And unlucky for the lad."

One of the six stepped forward, dragging a body and throwing it down in front of Théodred. With just one quick look he could tell that it was young Dagonár, the son of Béorath. His anger flared, but somewhere deep inside guilt arose as well. This is why his men should never have followed him out of Helm's Deep.

The stranger's voice pierced through the air again. "It's a pity, though. He was such a young lad... and handsome."

Théodred already had his sword raised and he would have cut off the man's head if one of his comrades hadn't sent an arrow flying in Théodred's direction. He managed to dodge it, but the short second he was off balance gave the man in front of him time to draw his own sword. As he swung it around, Théodred moved away from its path and brought his sword defensively in front of him.

The stranger smirked and in the next instance Théodred could see another blow coming from the side. Swiftly his blade moved to parry it, but that gave the first man an opening and he slashed his sword at Théodred's side, ripping through fabric and flesh.

Théodred ignored the pain, but before he could make another move, someone grabbed him from behind and forced him down hard on his knees and his sword was kicked out of his hand. The man who obviously was the leader retrieved the sword and bent down in front of Théodred.

"I was told to tell you this before the end. You've failed, your Highness… and all of Rohan will know it."

Théodred then felt something hard hit his head and his vision blurred. Someone tied his hands, the rope cutting painfully into his skin, and the last thing he saw before being surrounded by total blackness, was Dagonár's body being pierced with his sword and then left in the dirt for the men to find at dawn.