Chapter 2 – Éomer’s Loss of Patience

Early the next morning, the palace of Meduseld was awakened by a horrible odor which had taken over the entire premises. Théoden King fled from his room, still in a loose robe. "The bloody thing has taken over my room!" he shouted fiercely, the horror of the moment retaking his mind from the clutches of the consuming evil which had overpowered him as of late.

Soon people were gathered outside the palace near the king’s window examining a rather rough hole which was placed directly under the embrasure. A foul stench wafted towards them from the hole, compelling all to wrinkle their nose in distaste. They were alerted by grunts coming from beneath the structure as the Dreaded Beast waddled out from its home in the early dawn for some unknown purpose.

The crowd scattered quickly, watching covertly from behind walls and fences as the skunk sniffed complacently and began to struggle from its den.

Éomer had awoken rather early lying on his stomach with a backache and a mouth full of hay. Sometime in his sleep he had completely rolled off the blankets and pillows, falling face-first into a pile of musty straw. It was not a good way to start the day.

He spat out the hay and dust and raised himself to his hands and knees, stretching like a cat. His belly rumbled, reminding him that last night’s fare was far from adequate. He climbed down from the loft and opened the large stable door. He found, from a quick glance at the stars, that it was just passed midnight. He groaned audibly, leaning wearily back again the door jam and closing his eyes to the unfriendly world which confronted him.

He would die before admitting it, but as a child he had been terrified of the dark, sleeping fitfully unless cradled in his mother’s loving embrace. When his parents had died, he had found solace in Éowyn who also had a fear of dark, moving shadows in the night. They had spent many a night cuddled together in Éomer’s bed talking of different things, mostly their parents or horses.

He had outgrown the fear when he turned ten, but it returned slightly now, so many years later. Without his sister, he hadn’t a friend in Edoras right now. He was alone, stranded out in the cold night air, banished from his own home and smelling of fresh horse droppings. He cursed suddenly. It had not been his wont to use such language, but growing up around soldiers had taught him many things, some of which his mother would have deplored.

He looked up to the night sky again, silently invoking his parents’ help. So many things were happening over which he had no control. His uncle’s mind was being corrupted by the Snake and he could not be reclaimed. The country was being left to the destruction of roaming orcs and here he was, locked out of his own home. He made a silent vow to always watch where he was going from now on.

He reentered the stable and crossed to Firefoot’s stall. His favorite mount was laying in the hay, his head propped up against the wall, watching his master through sleepy eyes. Éomer smiled and quietly left him to his rest. He was not completely without friends, he corrected himself. He still had his horse.

He busied himself around the stable, sweeping and tidying, chores he had hated since childhood, but now served as something, anything, to do. He was startled by a cackle from the doorway. There stood what amounted to the root of all the trouble, in Éomer’s mind anyway, namely, Grima Wormtongue. The rising sun’s light poured through the door behind Grima causing Éomer to shield his eyes, a gesture which pleased Wormtongue. He loved to be ever a cause of discomfort to the young marshal.

"What is the young commander doing this morning?" he inquired, simply oozing with sarcasm. "Oh, dear, what a shame, he is doing the stable boy’s work. This will never do. Would the young prince like me to fetch him breakfast on a silver platter? A fresh change of clothes? A few tomatoes to rid himself of his perfume?"

Éomer growled fiercely in reply, curling his lip into a snarl, and swept a large pile of dust violently in Grima’s direction causing it to fly up in a large cloud. Grima coughed and sputtered, but regained his composure for more nagging.

This continued until Éomer, having repeatedly hit Grima "accidentally" with some object or another, finished his small, self-appointed tasks and left the stable, the Worm still in tow, babbling incessantly. Éomer, intent on ridding himself of his ‘tail,’ turned his steps in the direction of the palace. With luck there would be no one else around.

They reached the palace and Éomer had no trouble finding his way to their destination. It looked as though his wish had come true. He could see no one else abroad this fine morning. He grinned evilly to himself as he saw his unknowing accomplice in crime step slowly from his den.

Éomer stopped abruptly only a few feet from his target, grabbed Wormtongue, who had not watched where they were going, and flung him bodily into the path of the skunk. He fell face first in the dirt but promptly rolled himself onto his side and looked back at his antagonist who was grinning with expectancy. Only when he turned around to stand up did Grima notice the animal, now with its tail high and pointed in his direction, only a foot away from his face.

He yelped and turned to scurry away, but not fast enough as the blast of sickly grime hit him directly in the eye. He screeched an ear-piercing screech, pawing at his eyes as they clouded with grime. They were suddenly cleared when Éomer grabbed a nearby bucket and doused him with cold water. Wormtongue leapt to his feet, swore fiercely at Éomer, then turned and fled to the safety of the palace. The entire clearing rang with laughter as those who had been hiding behind walls, houses and fences witnessed what the young marshal had done to the greasy majordomo they all despised.

~*~*~*~

Remember, this skunk is showing his nasty little face in the morning. For those of you who are wondering, yes, I do know that skunks are nocturnal, so there’s something wrong with this one. Perhaps it’s rabid or just weird. Who knows?