Chapter two.

Scratch; scratch; scratch; The wind blew and howled round every corner of the East Mark and all were abed and asleep…all save one. Scratch; scratch; scratch…Eomer huddled under his covers, trembling with fear as the sound of claws neared closer to him. Outside the wind gusted ferociously and caused the large tree that grew next to the house to drag its branches over the wall again. A small whimper came from beneath the coverlet. Finally the thoughts of reaching his Mama and safety far outweighed all manner of monsters and foul beasts who were waiting to capture a small boy, ere he put his foot out of bed, and thus ensnare and devour him, he flew from his bed, down the corridor into the next chamber sobbing, “MAMAAAAA….!”

Theodwyn had just given suck for the second time that night and had lain Eowyn back in her cradle, replete. She lay back exhausted and felt Eomund wrap his arms around her, when a small blonde form hurtled noisily into the chamber. Both sat bolt upright as Eomer flew to his Mama in desperate need of comfort and reassurance, crying bitterly, the sounds of which roused Eowyn from her slumbers, adding her own wails to the stormy night. Eomund sighed and rose out of bed to cradle his tiny daughter and attempted to rock her back to sleep, leaving his wife to placate their distraught son. As they sang ancient Rhorriric children’s carols to their offspring, their eyes met briefly with a look of deep love, understanding and patience.

The following morn Eomund rolled onto his back, eyes focusing on the sight before him, Theodwyn nursing Eowyn in her arms, his son fast asleep between them, arms outstretched and legs splayed, he smiled at the sight and whispered, “Our daughter is but a week into this world, yet I deem she has slept and dined more than I.”

Theodwyn laughed softly, “Eowyn is certainly a hungry mite, is she not? At least she is gentle whilst feeding, Eomer was like a little wolfling in comparison.” Her eyes drifted down to the said ‘little wolfling’ with a tender expression. Eomer stirred and woke, rubbing his eyes blearily while he looked round to take in his surroundings. He smiled at his Mama and then frowned when he saw Eowyn in her arms…again. Theodwyn saw that look and held out her free arm to her anxious child, whereupon Eomer scuttled into her embrace, holding his mother tightly round the waist as she gently caressed him.

Eomund rose from the bed to wash and dress and to prepare for the day as important visitors were due and the house must needs be ready to receive. He walked back into the chamber to assist his son to do likewise, but Eomer did not want to leave the closeness of his Mama and pretended to be asleep as Eomund picked him up in his large yet gentle hands, feeling his son limp and apparently boneless. A knowing look and smile passed between husband and wife as Eomund started to tickle Eomer across his ribs, causing him to writhe and shriek with mirth. Eomund tossed a giggling Eomer over his shoulder and he waved to his Mama as he left the chamber for his own rooms. It did not matter at that moment that Eowyn had commandeered his Mama yet again, he had Papa all to himself for a while, which was a splendid thing.

After Eomer was dressed he was taken down to the dining hall for breakfast. The servants were busy about their duties, even more so this day as Theoden King was to visit his sister and new babe. Eomund had dismissed Sathwyn for the harsh way she had treated his son and the servants on realising why they were one number down, minded not, for the love and honour they bore to the family of the ruling house of Rohan. Eomund did not divulge this news for a while to his wife, knowing wisely how she wouldst have received it, especially so soon after birthing.

Later on in the afternoon Eomer was playing in the garden when he heard the shout from the watch, on a party approaching the Aldburg in the distance. Eomer was safely escorted down to the gates by Breddar, a rider of his Papa’s Eored, where a large crowd had gathered. Visitors to the East Mark meant gossip from outlying areas, be it from traders, farmers or other riders. It was a good chance to listen to news, of family and goings on elsewhere, and sometimes they spoke of small skirmishes or battles fought in defence of the Eotheod of which certain young ears loved to listen to.

The royal banner fluttering from the tips of the rider’s spears told the citizens of the township that the visitors were none other than Theoden King. Eomer jumped and hopped with excitement, being gently restrained by his keeper, lest he fall into the path of the oncoming horses. Breddar picked up his young charge to observe the oncoming host better, as the crowds pushed forward to greet their King with shouts of joy of welcome.

Theoden rode through the gates surrounded by twenty-four members of his royal guard, seasoned and fierce warriors. Prince Theodred had also accompanied and rode next to his sire. On receiving the news three days past, that his sister was to birth, caused the King much anxiety and reawakened past heartache. His dear wife Elfhild had died in childbirth bringing Theodred into the world and he had loved no other woman and had never wed again. Four years ago when Eomer was born at Meduseld he had paced and fretted more then Eomund that long, long night, memory drifting back yet again to a time when there should only be joy and celebration and not tears and sorrow, he could not have bourn to lose his beloved sister as well. When Eomer was laid in his arms by a proud Eomund, the King had loved the child instantly.

Eomund marched out to greet his king and nephew, a huge grin on his face which relieved Theoden greatly, without any words spoken. After a quick bow of reverence the two men embraced warmly, and Theodred was also welcomed as all were escorted into the halls. Eomer followed behind, after being escorted back to his home, he hid and dodged unseen behind pillars and posts to shyly watch the proceedings.

The Kings entourage were given welcome mugs of ale, horses tended, rubbed down and stabled, and the Kings Knights given billets to rest and refresh after the long journey.

After embracing his sister warmly, a small babe was placed in his arms, “Say Hailsa to your niece, brother,” smiled Theodwyn.

Theoden looked tenderly at the tiny form in his large hands. “Eowyn, we have named her, Theoden,” stated Eomund, “Is she not as sweet as her dam?” Laughter followed this remark and Theodred was reluctantly persuaded to hold his youngest cousin, rather tentatively.

The king looked round the halls, “You seem to be a babe short, where is my nephew in all this? Presents we have, my sweet sister, for you and both your offspring.”

“Presents, Papa?” stated Eomer, popping his shaggy blonde head from behind Eomund, his newest and latest vantage point.

The King laughed, “Aye, presents, young one.”

“My son, greet your King properly ere you get your gifts,” prompted Eomund. Eomer did as he was bidden and shrieked with joy as he found himself being lifted into his warrior uncles arms, and he stared unabashed into the king’s eyes, all shyness gone. Theoden gazed on his nephew, thinking how like his sister the lad was, especially around the eyes.

“You have grown a good deal since our last meeting, nephew. Methinks you will outshoot your Papa some day, “ stated Theoden.

Eomer thought this news the best ever. To be as tall as Papa, he could do anything. Wield a sword; throw a spear; ride the biggest horses; anything.

Eomer was passed to Theodred, and he looked with awe at his big cousin in full armour, “Remember me,” he asked, laughing. Eomer shook his head shyly, but was mightily impressed with his kin. Theodred put Eomer down on the floor where he fingered the armour and briefly donned his cousins helmet then dashed into his Mama’s lap, on spying it free for the time being, as Eowyn was sleeping in her cradle.

The royal party were shown to their prepared chambers to wash and refresh ere they descended to the halls for an evenings feasting and entertainment, for many songs and sagas would be related that night.

Before the feast started the gifts were given out, many old friends had sent welcome tokens for the new babe and Mother. Eomer watched as the many lacy edged garments were unwrapped and he frowned slightly to himself. How could his sister play thus dressed, such attire was not suitable for climbing trees or much fun to be had in small streams and brooks. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he heard not his name called twice by his uncle. Theoden’s gift to his nephew was a small shield, painted with the emblem of Eorl and a matching wooden sword. Eomer’s face lit up as he stammered his thanks excitedly and dashed to his Papa’s side to show him, and received a short impromptu lesson in handling his new weapons. Eomer then proceeded to scamper and cavort round the halls, fighting unseen creatures of his own imagination, to the laughter of all.

The evening was long, all enjoyed the feasting and merrymaking, and Eomer was starting to weary, his head was nodding as he felt arms picking him up, warm soft arms accompanied by the scent of wildflowers, of which would remain in his memory for ever. He curled into his Mama’s lap and fell sound asleep, not even stirring whilst being put to bed and changed from his day clothing into a sleep tunic.

Theoden stayed a month in the east mark with his sister and family. He had not seen his kin for a couple of years and was determined to spend as much time as he could before affairs of state drove him back to Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. He was not too far away to return on a swift steed should any need call him back, and almost daily couriers arrived to impart news and tidings to the King. It was with Eomund and is captains that the King met to discuss the increase of orc attacks on the borders. Several outlying villages had been raided, slaughter and foul deeds had occurred to the populace, to the consternation of all. Letters and messages were brought from the West Fold, Dunharrow and Grimslade as the other Marshals also had had troubles on their borders.

Eomer had tried on occasions to stay close to his uncle as he had been much taken with him, but on noticing his nephew’s presence the talks died on their lips, as such words were not for the ears of one so young. There would be plenty of time when the lad came of age and would be called thus to defend the Eotheod. Eomer was made to promise not to bother the men whilst they were in the private study of Eomund, which they were quite frequently in that last week and Eomer thought this most unfair.

He had been much taken when his sister was newly born, but had not realised that she would take so much of his Mama’s time. Every time he went seeking his Mama, Eowyn was there before him, and now his uncle, Papa and cousin were talking about orcs and things. He had asked many a time regarding orcs, only to be told he was yet too young for such knowledge. He knew them to be an enemy to the Eotheod and had heard homecoming riders boast about the number of them they had slain, but on noticing his eager young ears, words had been hushed and he had hastily been shoed from the stables.

The King was to return home on the morn and Eomer had not seen him or Papa all day, Eowyn had a touch of colic and was keeping Mama from him. It just wasn’t fair, he sulked, no-one wanted him anymore, he sat scowling. Well, at least Eowyn didn’t have a sword, he thought, he did, Eomer the warrior, the greatest rider in Rohan; afraid of nothing, who slew dragons daily, he had a sword.

He sat grizzling, a deep scowl on his forehead, bottom lip protruding slightly, digging into the soft earth with his sword. An older youth passing by noticed the forlorn lad with his disgruntled expression.

“Whats to do, young Eomer?” asked Mathelm, “Why the sullen face?”

Eomer looked up as Mathelm hunkered down next to him, “No-one will tell me anything Mathelm, I only want to know about orcs.”

“Orcs, eh,” answered Mathelm, with a knowing look, “Come with me an I will tell you all about orcs.”

Eomer’s face lit up with a huge smile as he stood up and took the proffered hand held out to him.

TBC.