Chapter 1 – Éomer’s Big Mistake

It all began when Éomer, on his way home from the stables, turned the corner and found himself facing a rather ugly and smelly animal. He was so deep in thought that it took him a while to gather his wits. Black plus white stripes down its back equals skunk. Skunk!?

He turned to run, but by that time, it was too late. The nasty beast let fly with a well-aimed blast of awful smelling fluid. Luckily, Éomer had been in the process of turning and so, rather than his eyes, the back of his head caught the full force of the blow.

The stench enveloped him like a wet blanket. His eyes clouded and began to water. His lungs seemed to tighten and all breath was choked off as the horrible fumes covered him from head to foot, forcing him to gag. He could also feel the awful liquid slowly trailing its way down his head and the back of his neck. As he ran to the palace, loosing all decorum in his hurry, he could feel the cold, slimly fluid on his back. This was quickly turning into a very, very bad day.

His entry into the Golden Hall was like that of a rain cloud at a picnic, only worse. Rather than everyone calmly packing up and leaving, there were exclamations of surprise and disgust and everyone in the room grabbed their nose. Even the king, who had of late been distant and fey, felt the impact of that stench and reached hurriedly for his nose. Grima Wormtongue, standing behind the throne of Théoden King retched, causing Éowyn, standing on the other side of her uncle, to glance his way and step to the side.

"Éomer, sister-son, what malodorous odor have you brought into my home?" Théoden asked rather nasally, his nose still covered.

"I assure you, my King, that I meant no offense! I wish merely for a bath, and quickly!" Éomer replied, his eyes still watering.

"He should not be allowed to remain longer here, my Lord," Wormtongue muttered into the king’s ear, causing Éowyn to covertly stomp on his foot. He grimaced but no wail escaped his lips.

"Then, by all means, take one!" Théoden called to Éomer. "Only take it in the stables, please! Now get ye gone before you foul the rest of the palace. Éowyn will bring you fresh clothes."

With that, Éomer trailed slowly outside, wondering how in the world he had ever gotten himself into this mess.

~*~*~*~*~

Once he had bathed with prodigious amounts of the palace’s best soaps and huge amounts of water, he dressed himself in fresh clothes and stepped out of the empty stall he had occupied. He found Éowyn talking to her horse across the stable. She turned as he walked up. She was kind enough not to grab her nose, but her face wrinkled.

"It did not work, Éomer," she stated rather bluntly. "I am afraid that what the herb master tells me is true. You will have to bathe again, only this time, in the juice of tomatoes. Unfortunately, he has none on hand. I suppose you will simply have to stink until it all wears off with time."

Éomer groaned. "You know Uncle will not allow me into the palace smelling like this! Where am I going to stay?"

"You could stay in the barracks with the men, although they would, no doubt, give you grief about it. Perhaps you could go on a camping trip."

"A camping trip?" he asked incredulously, quirking an eyebrow at his sister. "Éowyn, be serious. I have duties I must perform and there are so many things to do. I cannot simply go camping, it would look ridiculous!"

"Well, my brother, it is either look ridiculous or smell ridiculous. I suppose it is your choice. Which would you do?"

Éomer glared at her for a moment. "Are you sure there are no tomatoes anywhere in the city?"

"No. I merely said that the herb master has none. Would you care to go on a tour of the city, smelling as you do, soliciting for tomatoes?"

"You could do it."

Éowyn gave her brother a rather aggravated stare, tossing her head to get her hair out of her face. "Come now, Éomer. Now you be serious. A Lady of the Royal House of Rohan, going door to door, asking for tomatoes in order that she may present them to her royal brother, Lord Éomer, Third Marshal of the Riddermark, so that he may bathe himself in their juice to rid himself of the foul smell of the skunk which he, not looking where he was going, happen to run into. Do you really want me to?"

"No, to tell you the truth, I do not. You would have the entire town know of my disgrace."

"They will anyway. Do you not think that the story is already sweeping the countryside, so that even the small villages on the outskirts of Rohan know of it? Surely you know the old women of Rohan better than that. The Old Widow was a spectator, you know."

Again Éomer felt compelled to groan, but he simply glowered instead. The Old Widow was their name for an old woman, they didn’t know if she had ever been married or not, who was the local gossip. Whenever anything happened to anyone, she was there to witness it. Éomer suddenly recalled having seen her in the royal hall as he ran in, but she had not been present as he walked out.

"Well then, what are we to do?" he asked hopelessly. "Neither you nor I wish to journey door to door and yet we still have need of tomatoes. Shall we send one of the servants?"

"It would take one person all day to visit every house in the town, you know that as well as I. Perhaps you can order the men of your company to scour the town for some. They would do it for you, I know."

A smile illuminated Éomer’s face. "I would hug you, my brilliant sister, if I smelled better! You have found the answer! I am off to beg their assistance."

~*~*~*~*~

Éomer watched, ill at ease, as his men spread throughout the town, rapping on each door in turn until they were out of view. His uncle had banished him from the palace until he no longer stank, so he was stuck standing outside far from all places of residence with Éowyn who, being rather fond of her brother, decided that he would need company, though she stood some distance from him.

"Do you see anything?" Éomer asked her presently.

"No, but I smell something," she chided him in a sisterly manner.

"Oh, dry up, Éowyn," he said, glaring at her. "Can you not forget it for just a moment?"

"No."

"Fine then, do not say anything unless you see someone coming."

"As you wish, oh Smelly One," she replied laughing.

They waited in silence for sometime, Éomer slowly getting restive and shifting his weight from one foot to the other as time dragged on. Then, suddenly, Éowyn pointed. "Look, brother," she said excitedly. "The men are returning. Perhaps they have found some!"

Éomer ran towards his approaching men, who screwed their faces up in an attempt to block out the rank stench that wafted their direction as the young Marshal hurried to them. "Have you found any?" he asked as they halted a few feet away.

"No, my Lord," his second-in-command replied. "I am sorry."

"No doubt," Éomer said ruefully, "but are you sorry for your Marshal, or yourself?"

The young man smiled. "Both, my Lord."

"Very well, you may return to your quarters."

Éomer questioned each soldier as he arrived, but from each came the same answer until Éomer had nearly given up all hope. Then the youngest, a boy of merely 17 years and the last to report back, walked up the slope towards him. "Have you found any?" Éomer asked him.

"Only this one, my Lord, and I am afraid that it will do little good." He handed his commander a rather wilted, shriveled grey tomato.

"I see," Éomer answered, rather deflatedly. "Well, I suppose you may return to your quarters. Thank you for your assistance."

Bowing, the young man turned and left, leaving brother and sister alone together once more. Éomer looked down at the tomato in his hand. The once green leaves and stem were now a sickly blackish-green, the fruit itself being the color of early morning mist, only, as a tomato, the hue left something to be desired. He turned to his sister who was also staring rather cynically at the offending fruit. "Do you think it will do?" he asked her hopefully.

"I do not know, Éomer," she said doubtfully. "I suppose we could try it and see. Come, let us return to your stall."

~*~*~*~*~

Once again Éomer found himself in the drafty stall, shivering with cold, the only change was the instead of soap and water, he was rubbing grey mush all over himself. He swore that if it did not work, he was going to go insane. The only high point in all this was the slight joy he found at seeing his sister’s mood lighten, for dark had been her spirit of late.

"Is it working?" he heard her ask from outside the high-walls.

"We shall have to wait and see," he answered grimly, all his hope dying as he spoke. "I do not know if it is me, but something in here still stinks."

"Let us hope it is not you, brother, for night approaches and if you have not rid yourself of the stench, you will have no where to sleep tonight."

"Do not remind me, sister. I am in a bad enough mood already without your assistance."

"My, we are touchy on this glorious spring evening, are we not?" she teased him. Éomer did not deign to answer. Sometimes his sister’s affectionate teasing grated just a little too much on his nerves, but he could never really be mad at her. "Do not worry, brother," she reassured him quietly, "it will work."

~*~*~*~*~

Éowyn handed yet another blanket up to her brother. "I guess I was wrong," she said as Éomer took the blanket from her.

"I guess you were," he growled somewhat testily. He was not mad at her, but rather at the skunk and Grima Wormtongue who had convinced the king not to allow him in the palace for the night. Grumbling, he rearranged all his blankets and pillows in the hay. He lay down in it, testing the comfort. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t the best either. It would just have to do.

Climbing down the ladder, he forced a smile. "I shall be fine tonight. Let me walk you back to the palace and then I shall return."

"Very well. I am sorry uncle made you miss dinner," she said apologetically as they walked through the moonlit streets of Edoras.

"Do not let it worry you, what you brought out was enough. Thank you."

"You are welcome, brother. Good night," she said as they reached the stairs of Meduseld.

"Good night, sister," he said, watching to be sure she made it inside. Once inside, she would have to fend for herself. He turned slowly and sauntered his way back to the stable. It was going to be a long night.