CHAPTER 30
Rohan

"There is no way of knowing" the scout said, "but chances are the Romen will suffer significant losses judging from the state of things."

The rider had brought word back to Edoras and Éomer with haste, bringing it straight to his chamber. The northern corner of his kingdom shared the river border with Romen and the flood had been unforgiving and heedless of his own fields. The southern riverbank on the Rohirric side was made up of pastures for their horses, which at this time of year was left to recover from the animal's grazing to once again feed the animals come spring. Aema, on the north bank, however, would be struck hard by the floods. Her land lay neatly tucked in between the rivers that bordered her on three sides, nor did she possess as many acres. Most of her farms and fields laying nestled between the foothills, wherever a scrap of fertile ground was found.

Éomer wiped his brow.
"Finding pastures for two hundred horses come spring can be done I reckon. We will have to strengthen the levees and find ways to lead the water elsewhere in any future event, but all that will come in time…"

The crackling of the waning hearth penetrated the men's contemplation. In Edoras the late summer sun was cascading through the clouds, but the weather was always more treacherous further north in the mountains. His thoughts touched on Aema, who would be hurting right now. Scrambling to find a relief for her people. It was easy for him to picture her, straight-backed, handing out orders, lending a comforting hand, while finding no respite for herself. He'd like to carve it out for her, shelter her if only for a moment. She'd hide in his arms as she had many times, and he'd feel her tension release its grip on her as she channeled strength from him. It was not a matter of depletion; rather she breathed life into a fire within him, allowing it to spread to her, and multiply whatever he offered.

"What of the north bank?" Éomer asked the scout who still stood in the doorway behind him.
"Likely even worse." The man replied. "I heard scores of people are displaced. How many I couldn't tell you, nor where they have gone, but one would assume the town."
"Indeed, that or up the foothills."

Éomer buckled his sword hilt around his waist as his eyes sought the daylight outside his window. Soon his hand was absent-mindedly stroking his beard, his fingertips running along the coarse hairs. Firefoot could carry him to Romen in two days' time if he drove him on. He could muster the Éored and any able-bodied man he could spare, Aema would need them all in the coming months. Having sacrificed a big portion of her own in the war, her land lay barren not only from the flood, but of strong men. She'd need men to dig and rid the fields of water, and she'd need them to clear the debris. He could bring working animals, plenty of them, and crops since her food stores would be dwindling so close to harvest. Romen would struggle to survive the winter, with so many of their fields in ruin.

"What of lives?"
"No reports of such losses, but these things do tend to claim them too, if not directly then by landslides, or one devilry or the other."
Éomer only nodded, for indeed it was true, yet he was relieved to hear there were none reported.

He wondered if Aema's pride would allow her to accept his offer. In his mind, he often accused her of being prideful, yet he had seen her throw her army at the vast enemy of Mordor, she had ridden out beside him when her very core resisted. When faced with the choice of him or her people, she had returned to her people. The notion still stung, not a day had passed where his chest hadn't ached for her. Just to hear her voice again, smell that faint note of lavender that would always follow her.
He wondered if she'd fall into his arms if he appeared, or if she would stiffen her delicate neck and attempt to look down her nose at him, as she so often did when displeased. The corner of his mouth twitched before he hindered the smile to break out. No matter how she stretched, she never managed, as she barely reached his chest. Looking down her nose would require her to climb atop a chair first, and her pride certainly would not allow such a thing.

"My Lord?" it was Helke who spoke up, his advisor who had flanked the scout as they entered his room, now requesting the king's order for course of action.

"You cannot protect me from the world" she had said once while he had claimed he wished it, a wish he carried still. He longed to leap atop his horse and set off toward her. He'd dig the fields himself if need be. She had spoken of drawing strength from the trust of her people, and he wondered what he would offer her that she could not find in them. In the end, it was their trust in her, and the strength it provided her, that had pulled her away.

"Ready the men we can spare." Éomer said at last. "Gather the work horses from the fields. I'd like an inventory of grain, fodder and produce, anything we can spare I want readied with haste, prepare to bring it all north."
Helke urged the scout to leave the room with a glance and a nod. Waiting for the chamber door to fall shut behind him he spoke:
"Éomer King, I cannot see we would have much to spare before harvest? And even then, the long winter awaits."
Éomer looked up, measuring the man who was questioning his order.
"Are you sending Rohan's aid to the queen? Or are you requesting Rohan's aid for a fellow country?"
Éomer shot the man a stern glare.
"May I remind you; Romen came to our aid at Hornburg. What shards were left of their army, fought beside us in Gondor. Someone who gives their only horse offers all, Helke, she gave us her only horse, would Rohan not recognize that, lest we bring dishonor upon ourselves and Théoden King's memory? Besides, I do not recall placing a request for Rohan to aid our ally, I believe I gave the order."

Helke's eyes fell to the floor.
"Aye. Éomer King. When will you have us ready to ride north?"
"…Upon her request." Éomer said, while Helke gave him an unreadable look before inclining his head in acceptance of the King's orders.
"I will have the scout ride back north once he is rested." Éomer told Helke as he walked over to his table and scribbled on a piece of parchment before sealing the scroll. "I'll have him deliver this message to their queen; will you see it is done."
"Aye my lord."