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Broken - Chapter IX

Ill News

The Fords of Isen, April 4th, 3018 T.A.

Grimbold woke up with a start as someone shook him by the shoulder, and as he opened his eyes he found a pale looking Ceorl looking down at him. One look at his weary face brought Grimbold to his feet faster than he had thought possible that early in the morning.

When Ceorl spoke, his voice was low and strained. "My lord, there's been a…"

An attack… was Grimbold's first thought, but no, it couldn't be. It was far too quiet for that, and Ceorl didn't look like a man just returned from an Orc ambush. Though if that weren't the case, then what in the name of Bema would have him awake at this hour?

"There's something you need to see." Ceorl finally said, motioning for Grimbold to follow.

It was still dark outside and the men were fast asleep, but as they reached the westernmost part of the camp Grimbold noticed that several of Ceorl's own men were up and about... their anxious eyes following the two lords as they passed.

Frowning, Grimbold looked at Ceorl. "What's going on?"

"It's Béorath's son, my lord." Ceorl said with a weary sigh. "One of the guards found his body..."

"Body?" The question probably sounded stupid, but Grimbold couldn't help it. Death among the patrolling riders wasn't unusual, but it was strange when it occurred during a quiet night and with no sound of alarm. The enemy didn't simply kill one man...

Ceorl, having paid Grimbold's exclamation no mind, quietly continued to lead the way through the woods. And then, as a small glade opened up before them, he finally stopped.

"There my lord... and please tell me I'm wrong in assuming that that is not the work of an Orc."

His face blank, Grimbold's eyes studied the body of Dagonár. His throat was cut cleanly open and blood covered a gash in his side, but the body wasn't maimed or ravaged in any other way. Like Ceorl feared, this was not the work of Orcs...

"But if not Orcs, then what?" Grimbold said, his eyes unable to leave the young lad's lifeless form. And why just one man?

Squinting in the torch light, his eyes searched the ground, looking for signs of struggle. The ground, however, was hard enough for even horses to trample it without leaving much of a track, and he was almost ready to give up when his eyes suddenly caught the glimpse of steel.

Ceorl followed his gaze and frowned. Dirt covered the blade and in the dim pre-dawn light it was almost impossible to see, but there it was… and even from afar Grimbold could tell that it was no Orc blade.

As he picked up the sword, a chill went through his body. He knew that blade. "Does... Lord Théodred know about this?"

Ceorl's face betrayed no emotion, but his voice gave away his uncertainty. "You do realize that…"

"Anything is possible until proven otherwise, Lord Ceorl." Grimbold cut in, wondering whether Ceorl truly feared that the truth was that plain. Grimbold didn't blame him, though, for Ceorl didn't know the Second Marshal like he did.

"I'll go check on him." He turned around and was about to leave when he realized that Ceorl was looking at him questioningly. Grimbold sighed. "Give the men whatever explanation you see fit... but it's best if..."

"It can wait... until you've spoken to Lord Théodred."

With a curt nod, Grimbold left and made his way back to the camp. When he reached his Lord's tent, he stopped outside and took a deep breath before calling his name. When there was no answer, Grimbold pushed the flap aside, but then stopped as his eyes looked around the empty tent.

No, no... oh please, no. For a brief moment Grimbold couldn't move. Théodred had never simply vanished, leaving his men behind. His mind told him that the Prince had just decided to wake up early and enjoy a moment of solitude, but the adorned sword in his hand told him otherwise… and it made his stomach turn.

He was about to leave when a note on the cot suddenly caught his eye. Frowning, he picked it up and slowly read the quickly scribbled words...

My good lords,

I imagine that my absence is worrying you by now, but I cannot tell you where I've gone. All I can say is that I do not intend to return. I'm truly sorry, but it's for the best. You may tell the King that he won't be seeing me again…

Grimbold's hands went numb. This couldn't be. Never had such simple words been so incomprehensible. He looked down at the note again and stared at it for several minutes, but the words remained the same.

And then there was the sword – the sword that had lain in the mud by Dagonár's body. Just the thought of it made Grimbold sick. Confused as he was, he told himself that he couldaccept that Théodred, driven by the King's threats, had decided to leave rather than wait for the hammer to fall… but murder?

The Prince was but a man like any other – prone to weakness and faults – but he would never have killed one of his own men. Not like this. As Marshal he could be harsh and unbendable when his command demanded it… but never at the cost of someone else's life.

Grimbold rubbed his eyes wearily and left the deserted tent. He knew that whatever he chose to do now, it would have to be deftly done. Théodred had always valued honesty above prudence, but in this Grimbold had to favor the latter, even though it pained him.

Béorath had to be informed of his son's death and the riders of Westfold had to know that their commander was gone… but no one need know about the sword that had the young soldier's blood on it. The men would be disheartened enough to find out that their commander was gone.

-0-0-0-

Edoras, April 6th 3018 T.A.

When Èowyn woke up that morning she had a strange feeling. She couldn't tell if it was because of a dream she'd had or because of something else, but it made her go by her morning routines without much thought on what she was doing. In the end she even had to give up lacing the front of her gown (surrendering the task to one of the maids) as her mind was too unfocused to get it properly done.

When it was time for her to go and greet the King, she put on a brave face and tried to focus her thoughts on the present. It would not due to let the King see her sullen mood. Not when hers was the only face that could bring Théoden to truly smile these days.

However, when she was about to enter the throne room, the word 'son' uttered in a poisonous voice made her freeze in her tracks. From her spot by one of the pillars, she could see the King sitting on his throne, reaching for a note Grima was handing him.

"It's unfortunate, my liege… but can there be any doubt? This letter came from the Westfold."

Èowyn saw Théoden unfold the letter, his old wrinkled face paling as his eyes swept the content. When he looked up at Grima again, Èowyn thought the King was going to cry, but then his eyes flared with anger.

"He's a coward…" Théoden said coldly. "And not worthy of his King's mercy. If I ever get my hands on him, he will know that he went too far. Death by his own sword would be sufficient."

Èowyn let out a gasp and then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Slowly, she backed further into the shadows, suddenly afraid of the uncle she adored and loved.

"Certainly, my lord." Grima's voice cut through the air. "This is unheard of. If your son had had even the slightest bit of honor in him, he would have come here to accept his King's judgment."

Grima lowered his voice and Èowyn had to concentrate to hear his words.

"I have also received word that one of the riders were found dead the same morning your son was gone. I have no doubt that the poor lad tried to stop him from leaving… and paid the price. That's not only treason, my lord… but murder."

Èowyn closed her eyes, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. She heard the King say something in response, but she couldn't make out the words. As she opened her eyes again, she saw that Grima had taken the King by the arm and was leading him towards his quarters.

Long after both men were gone, Èowyn still remained in the shadows, unable to move. Unable to believe the King's words. Théoden loved his son... he always had. Èowyn and Èomer were his kin and he had raised them as his own, loving them no less than he loved Théodred... but Théodred was his. His only child. No father, King or not, could possibly wish for his son to die. Not in any way, but least of all by... by his own blade.

When her legs finally decided to obey her, she walked up to the hearth in the middle of the hall and stoked the smoldering coals, her thoughts a maelstrom of doubt and grief. She didn't notice that her brother had entered the hall until he stood beside her, the smell of horse, leather and sweat making her turn her head to look up at his familiar face.

She managed to smile as he embraced her, doing her best to forget the conversation she had just overheard. "Èomer, you're back. What took you so long? The King expected you six days ago."

Èomer chuckled. "It's nice to see you, too, sis."

Putting his arm around her shoulders, Èomer led her to the nearest table. A few moments later a servant came up with mead, bread and salted meat, but whereas Èomer dug in heartily, Èowyn had no appetite.

"I had to remain in Aldburg to make sure that all our eoreds returned." He said between mouthfuls. "When Grimbold took the Westfold companies back to Helm's Deep, I couldn't possibly have left Eastfold unguarded. My men still patrol Fenmarch…"

He took a deep swallow from his tankard and was silent for a long while. When he finally spoke, his voice was darker. "What about you, sister? When I came in I saw you stare at that coal with eyes as sad as the day Mother died."

Èowyn looked at Èomer, her expression a mixture of hopelessness and bitter acceptance. "Our cousin is gone, Èomer… or so Grima says. The King demanded that he return to Edoras... and threatened him with banishment and worse if he refused. But, of course he wouldn't come... and now no one knows where he is."

Eòmer just stared at her, too shocked to speak. First of all, the Théodred he knew wouldn't simply leave his men in the dead of night... and neither would he be too proud or craven to face his King. And the Uncle he knew would never have brought his son to such disgrace.

"That's not all, though." Èowyn continued quietly and told her brother about the man Théodred supposedly had killed. She couldn't, however, bring herself to repeat the words the King had spoken to Grima. It's too cruel...

When Èomer looked questioningly at her she realized that she had spoken her thoughts out loud. "He's not a coward, Èomer... or Heavens forbid, a..."

"I know." Èomer said, saving her from uttering the word. "I don't believe it either. It's not our cousin. Never has been and never will be."

He stood up and walked around the table to sit down beside her, taking her cold hand in his own. "But I do remember the look in Théo's eyes when he came down to the stables to warn me. He hadn't lost his mind, but something had... changed him. You know it."

Èowyn nodded silently. "That's why I made the grave mistake of informing the King that Théodred was leaving with his men. I was afraid he'd do something stupid. All of this could have been avoided if I hadn't…"

"Don't blame yourself, Èowyn. It's not your fault. I don't think anyone truly expected..." Èomer fell silent as voices could be heard coming from the hallway leading to the King's quarters.

Silently he stood up and took Èowyn by the hand, leading her to his quarters. Once there, he closed the door behind them.

"As I was saying... " Èomer continued, keeping his voice low. "I doubt anyone, save for Grima, expected the King to be true to his words. Théodred has been rash and single-minded in the past, but Théoden has never even hinted at shortening his leash. On the contrary, he made him Second Marshal..."

Èowyn smiled ruefully. "For being rash and single-minded?"

"No." Èomer said, glaring at the door as if daring it to doubt his words. "By being true to his beliefs and unafraid of the consequences... damn him... for putting me in this situation."

He sighed and when he looked at her again, the fire had gone out of his eyes, replaced by doubt. "Tell me that rumor has it wrong, sister. Tell me that the King does not wish for me to be his successor."

Surprised that he would know this, Èowyn met his gaze reluctantly. There was no avoiding the inevitable. "No, brother. It's true. Less than a fortnight ago I heard the King say to Grima that when you returned he would make the announcement official."

Èomer let out the breath he had been holding. "As long as Théodred lives, he is the true Heir. I can't take his place... I won't take his place."

"What choice do you have, Èomer? If you displease him…"

"The King will be short on kin if he gets rid of me as well... and I doubt he will let that happen." Èomer reassured her, then added under his breath, "Unless he plans to name Wormtongue his successor..."

Èowyn frowned at the jest. Somehow it made her blood go cold... thinking about Grima in that position. Even now it wasn't that far from the truth. But, of course Èomer wouldn't know. He didn't see how the King slowly withered away, his advisor whispering counsel in his ear for every small matter of the Kingdom.

"I hope you're right, brother... for all our sakes."

Èomer sighed. "Don't worry. If I can help it I won't give the King reason to discard me. However, my loyalty is to all of Rohan... not just its King."

And where is his loyalty? Èowyn thought, wondering where her cousin was.

A/N: You alone can make my tale take flight, so please review the story that I write…