Chapter Three.

Mathelm younger son of Framhelm, started to leave the grounds of the Marshals halls with his young admirer. He was eager to show Eomer something hidden in his barn at home. At eight summers Eomer’s senior, Mathelm two older brothers were both riders, and the oldest, Darthmund, had brought his young brother a grisly and blood wrapped trophy back from his last incursion. It was hidden in the barn ere his father, mother or sister’s should happen on it. He would show this ‘trophy ’to Eomer and explain to him all about orcs.

They were about to leave the gate from the large house when Eomer heard his name called from the direction of the kitchens. It was time for the noon - day meal and he must needs go. A look of disappointment crossed his little face briefly, but Mathelm whispered, “No matter, Eomer, I will return on the morn and shall show you something Darthmund brought me, and then you will know all about orcs.!”

Eomer was so excited and waved farewell to his friend ere he ran into his house, whereupon he was met by a servant who checked his hands and face afore letting him near the tables. As Eomer sat to dine he noticed that though the hall was full of other people, none were his family. His Papa, Uncle and Cousin were still locked in Eomunds study in conference. His Mama was taking a nap as Eowyn had been up most of the night and as she lay in her cradle asleep, Theodwyn took advantage of this and rested also. He ate his bread, meat, cheese and fruit with a heavy heart.

He left the dining halls and sat alone in the garden, playing with his wooden horses, one sunny corner of it having been turned into a small stable and battle area for the said toys. So intent was he on his game that he noticed not a large shape walking in his direction.

The sudden pressure of a large hand on his shoulder made Eomer look up with a start. There grinning down at him was Theodred, Eomer threw himself into his big cousins arms, “Theodred, can you play with me.” He pleaded.

Theodred laughed, “What about a ride, cousin, the talks have finished for the day and your Papa sent me out to see how you fare.”

“A ride?… On Feyerth?…Will he let me?” gasped Eomer with shock.

Feyerth was a Mearas stallion, ridden only by the Prince, but because of the blood flowing in the young ones veins, Theodred had no reason to doubt that his horse would object to carrying this particular small passenger.

Messages had been left in the halls as to the whereabouts of the prince and young lord, as Theodred walked hand in hand with a highly delighted Eomer to the stables.

There in large stalls were his Papa’s stallion and also those belonging to the King and Theodred. Feyerth was saddled and Theodred lifted Eomer up to stroke and caress the sides and flanks of the mighty dark grey beast. Feyerth accepted the butterfly touch of the young boy, recognising instantly the blood flowing through him. Theodred swung into the saddle and Breddar passed Eomer into his arms and settled him in front of him on the saddle.

It was inconceivable that the heir of Rohan should ride out alone, and more especially today as he was carrying fragile goods. A small party accompanied, six of the Kings knights and Breddar from Eomunds Eored. The immediate area round Aldburg was not always safe and though this was merely a pleasure outing, all the riders were aware of such potential dangers.

The ride was fast and joyous, the leagues pounding underneath Feyarth’s mighty hooves, the sound of which drummed into the very soul of Eomer. It always did, as his Papa had taken him on many a jaunt, when time and safety allowed. Eomer had sat a horse since a babe, held in his Fathers strong hands, and had long been allowed to do small tasks in the stables, under watchful and loving eyes, tasks suited to one of his stature. He longed for the day when he could ride one of the big chargers, but enjoyed this ride for the moment, pretending it was he controlling the Mearas and not his cousin.

A rather hot and happy party arrived back at the town, they had been gone rather longer than originally intended and Eomund was not a little anxious and was about to ride out himself to seek for his young one. It was to smiles of relief that Eomer was handed down into his Papa’s arms and taken to the halls to wash and change before evening meal.

A large feast was held that night for all, as the King and his son would depart back to Meduseld at daybreak. Eomer spent most of the evening sat alternately upon the laps of his uncle and cousin, eventually seeking a softer and more comforting lap when he felt sleepy.

The morning broke grey and drizzly, and all the household was astir to bid farewell and safe journey for Theoden. A very bleary eyed Eomer was held in his papa’s arms, still in his night tunic and wrapped snugly in a blanket for warmth. He was fondly embraced and bade farewell by both king and prince and then the same between the adults present. Eomer semi-dozed on Eomund’s shoulder watching the royal party leave the Aldburg, until they were mere dots in the distance, ere sleep overtook him again.

It was mid-morn ere Eomer opened his eyes fully and feeling ravenous. He had woken in his parent’s large bed and heard his Mama’s voice near at hand, singing gently. He slid from the bed, walking to find the source of that melodious sound, of which he had adored since his birth. Theodwyn was singing to Eowyn as she gently bathed his little sister, and did not notice her young son standing behind her. With his Mama busy…again, he turned to seek others, but the halls were strangely quiet since the departure of the King and his company. Eomer padded into his rooms and took off his night tunic and attempted to dress himself. He struggled a little, but managed to don his clothes, his tunic was on inside out, but he was mightily pleased with the result of his efforts.

He walked down to the dining halls and got some bread and cheese from the table and popped an apple up his sleeve for later. As he went outside into the still dull day he could see Mathelm awaiting him, leaning on the wall. Mathelm waved and Eomer dashed over to him.

“Come on sleepy,” he said to Eomer, rubbing his still bed tousled hair, “I have been waiting for you for near an hour. Do you still want to see what Darthmund brought me from the borders?”

Eomer was so excited he started jumping and trying to tow Mathelm out of the grounds with much haste.

“Is it an orc?” he squeaked with joy.

“Well,” Mathelm crinkled his nose and pondered, “It is….PART of an orc.”

Eomer’s eyes grew wide; this was good, he would now see an orc, and he had a sword so could slay one himself, if needed. He carried his sword with him always, in fact since Theoden had given the toy to his nephew, it had barely left his side and had had to be extricated from within his bed-covers on a few occasions, to the despair of his mother and amusement of his father.

Eomer was so excited on leaving the confines of his home he had totally forgotten he was not allowed to do so without an escort and without permission. It was not dangerous within the perimeter of the town, but the streets could be very busy and the area near the stables could be quite hazardous to one so small.

As they left the gates to walk through the middle of the town to the house where Mathelm lived, an observant pair of eyes watched from the stables. As the two youngsters chatted happily as they walked, they noticed not that a tall rider was following at a distance, keeping out of sight as he followed along behind them.

As they neared the house of Mathelm, Eomer was bade to wait by the fence as Mathelm checked to see if his Papa was about. He knew his mother and sister’s were in the house, as they were busy with domestic duties. He crept into the barn to check if the ’item’ was still in its secret place. The said ‘item’ was wrapped in a black blood stained cloth and was beginning to smell, but it was still recognizable and Mathelm was proud of his present from his eldest brother, he had been very popular among his own age group, being in possession of such a gift.

Eomer sat impatiently on the fence wriggling in joyful anticipation, waiting for his friend to reappear with the ‘surprise’. His head turned as he heard someone approaching from behind, he smiled shyly as he recognised Framhelm, Mathelm’s sire.

“Son of Eomund, what do you here, so far from your home?” he questioned, towering over Eomer, looking down at him with a grim expression.

A second voice added, “I woudst ask the same question, youngling,” stated Breddar, eye-brows raised and a quizzical look on his face. He had followed Eomer from the stables, knowing full well the lad had left his home without the knowledge of Eomund.

Eomer hung his head, and reddened slightly, not knowing what to say, knowing he was in the wrong for leaving the safety of his home unknown, and realising he could be in big trouble.

A voice shouted from the barn, “Eomer, I have it, come and see!”

Framhelm walked in the direction of his youngest’s voice, surprising his son, appearing suddenly before him. “What in the name of Bema…..” he bellowed, causing many heads to turn to look for the source of that cacophony.

Breddar remained with Eomer, standing rather intimidatingly over the son of his Marshal. He was a young rider, devoted to Eomund, and in turn had much affection for his offspring, often looking out for the young lord, as he had today. He had noticed the lad leaving the safe confines of his home with a much older and more worldly youth. Breddar had been slightly suspicious of the older lad’s intentions and followed instinctively.

Framhelm stormed out of the barn leading a bawling and squirming Mathelm by one of his ears, and holding a black stained wrapped bundle in his other hand, the stench of which was unmistakable to every rider present.

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Back in the Marshal’s house, Eomund had left his study and crept into his bedchamber, both wife and baby daughter were asleep. He smiled fondly and he left as quietly as he came and went seeking his son, thinking to take Eomer to the stables. Eomer was no-where in the house, so Eomund checked the grounds. As he approached the corner where his son was want to play, he noticed the abandoned toys, and more, the gate wide open and swinging slowly in the light breeze that had just started to build.

Eomund frowned deeply as he walked to the stables, thinking to find his son there. The stable areas were busy as usual, but no sight of his young one, but on inquiring he was told that Breddar might know, but he was not to be seen either.

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As soon as Breddar saw and smelt the war trophy, he turned Eomer round and marched him hastily from the barn area. Eomer did not understand what was wrong, he trembled slightly, tears prickling his eyes, wondering why Framhelm was so angry and why was Mathelm sobbing loudly?

The noise had brought the whole household of Framhelm from the kitchens, and a few neighbours had gathered, attracted by the commotion.

“Where in the name of Eorl, did this come from,” Framhelm bellowed at his youngest, waving the bundle.

Mathelm could not lie, “Darthmund brought it for me,” he sobbed back.

“And you would show this to a mere lad?”

“He asked me about orc’s Papa, I only thought to inform him.”

“And give the babe nightmares for weeks on end, and your father thrown into the cells by the Marshal for traumatizing his son! Have you and your brother no sense?”

Framhelm released his son and Mathelm rubbed his reddened ear, trying to get the blood to flow again. “Into the house with you, remain indoors until I decide what’s to do.” He roared.

Mathelm ran to his Mother as if the very orcs of Mordor were behind him and Framhelm looked round for where the Rider was shielding the marshals son. Eomer himself was by now terrified, he did not understand what he had done wrong, and when Framhelm walked up to speak with Breddar, he started to whimper a little, and hid slightly behind his legs.

“Please convey to the Marshal that this issue will be dealt with,” he nodded to Breddar.

“As you will, Framhelm,” Breddar agreed, reaching down to comfort Eomer with one hand, as he could feel him clutching his leg tightly.

Framhelm strode away, first to light a fire to rid his holding of the trophy and its stench, and secondly to deal with his oldest and youngest child.

Breddar looked down at Eomer, “Well lad, let’s to home,” he spoke sternly,” I know not what your Papa will say about this business.”

Huge tears ran down Eomer’s face as they walked in silence to his father’s halls and whatever awaited him there.

TBC.