A RED SUN RISES

It was with the heaviest of hearts that Éothain went to meet his éored by the stables. Even though the men who had arrived earlier with Éomer and him had already heard some of the rumours that had flooded Edoras after the hearing, he had called them all together, and not only that, but his father's riders would be there, as well. Rumours needed to be turned into facts in order for them to act. He did not look forward to the meeting, and if his father's brooding expression was any indication, he surmised that it was no different for him.

The men would be shocked to hear what had happened, and they would demand answers. They would ask what their Captains were planning to remedy the situation, and Éothain hated the thought that he would have to tell them to stay put for the moment. It felt too much like cowardice… and betrayal, for how could they even hesitate a moment to run up that hill and free their commander?

Tilting his head back to look into the heavily clouded night sky, Éothain blinked the snowflakes away. Amidst all these heavy tidings and misery, he was glad that they had at least made it back from the north before the storm. If what he had heard was to be believed, a full-blown blizzard was on their way, and for a while, all movement within their realm would come to a stop… including the return of the three travellers Éomer counted on. They would not be able to ride through a white-out on the plains, risking to get lost and potentially freeze to death.

"I think you should address the men, son," Céorl spoke into his gloomy thoughts. "After all, Éomer is your commander. Just keep in mind what we discussed last night."

"Aye, Father." Éothain sighed. "Even if it feels wrong."

"Wrong would be to charge up the hill headlong and incite civil war on the spur of the moment. It would probably mean having to fight – and kill - the Royal Guard. We cannot do this. I thought we agreed on that."

"We did. It is only that I hate to wait while Éomer is suffering."

They rounded the corner to the stable yard and saw a throng of riders making for the meeting point. The stable would be filled to its full capacity with everybody attending, and Céorl had instructed beforehand for the personnel to grant them privacy for at least half an hour. Many uncertain glances found them now as they made their way to the building. By the entrance, Éothain beheld his waiting captains, Áedwulf and Anlaf. The effort of the additional day on the road was clearly visible upon their drawn features, but even more, concern and uncertainty stood written in their eyes as the warriors greeted their commanders with a curt nod.

"Éothain… Captain Céorl… Is it true what we heard? Did they truly incarcerate the Marshal?"

"We will give you all the facts we are in possession, shortly, Anlaf," Éothain answered the older of the two warriors. "Let's go inside."

He turned around and found that they seemed indeed to be the last ones to enter the stables. The yard behind him was empty. Closing the door behind himself as the three other captains preceded him, Céorl's son found the building packed with their riders. They sat on boxes, sacks of oats, stall walls and on the ground, and wherever Éothain looked, there was open concern on every face as they made their way through the aisle. The din of dozens of conversations stopped as the men awaited their report with baited breath and a feeling of foreboding. Someone had already shoved a massive wooden box into the middle of the corridor, and with a last glance into his father's face, Éothain climbed onto it. Involuntarily, his gaze first went up to the rafters from where they had cut down his rider only last night. A shudder raced down his spine at the memory.

Expectant eyes stared at him wherever he looked. He cleared his throat.

"My fellow brothers-in-arms… it seems that everyone has come, although those of you who arrived only two hours ago must be dead on their feet. I thank you, and I will try not to keep you from your well-deserved rest and food for too long. My father and I think it necessary to inform you about everything that happened while you were on the road, and we will gladly answer whatever questions you may have… as long as we can answer them. I'm afraid that the situation is still rather unclear and unprecedented."

It was Anlaf who spoke up first.

"We were intercepted by an errand rider from Westfold last night. He told us that the attack on the Fords of Isen came while we were in the north, and that it was repelled and our presence there was no longer needed." He inhaled deeply, and sudden dread appeared in his hawk-like eyes. "He also told us that Prince Théodred was slain by orcs. Is that true?"

Leaden silence threatened to suffocate all present as they stared at their captain, doubtlessly hoping for him to tell them that it was not so. Éothain sighed.

"Alas, it seems to be."

Dismayed murmur followed reaction to his answer, and he raised his hand to speak over the sudden din.

"I have to add, though, that we were not yet summoned to Meduseld for a debriefing, so we have not seen or heard any proof for this claim. All we received this past morning was a written message, and a rather short one at that. It basically told us of the Prince's demise and the Marshal's incarceration, and asked us to hold us in readiness. What for, I have no idea. We have also been instructed to remain in Edoras until further notice."

More murmuring rose, which Éothain understood. The men had been looking forward to returning home to Aldburg and seeing their loved ones. Áedwulf's wife was expecting their second child any day now, and his gaze was appropriately angered when he looked up to address his captain.

"For how long does the Worm intend to keep us here? Some of us have to be home!"

Éothain sighed.

"I'm afraid that I cannot tell you more yet. I hope that we will learn more tomorrow. At one point, Wormtongue needs to let us in on the decisions of the Royal Court. He needs to know where we stand."

"Alas, I fear that he knows only too well where we stand!" Anlaf furrowed his brow. "As we all supported the Marshal's decision to disobey both the King's and the Prince's orders, he might want to punished us, as well. He just didn't have the time to concern himself with us yet!"

"I do not think so," Céorl made himself be heard, his deep voice cutting through the din. "You were under orders from your superior. And Gríma cannot dispose of us all, not even just us captains. Removing us would mean effectively reducing the fighting power of our éoreds to the point of rendering them useless. The hierarchy of our forces was formed over many years. It cannot be replaced over night. No doubt would this play into his hands, but if he tried it, the Council would not follow him."

"And yet our Council decreed some pretty stupid things these past months," Anlaf snorted. "I certainly would not put it beyond them. And the King…" He shrugged and swallowed the scathing words that lay on his tongue. It was one thing to think them, and an entirely other thing to voice them. They all thought similar about their ruler's latest decisions anyway.

"Is it known what they intend to do with the Marshal?" someone further behind asked. It was Falk.

Éothain shook his head.

"No. For the time being, they incarcerated him. Although I fear that Wormtongue plans something rather drastic." He swallowed and looked around. "I received first-hand information that Éomer was not only apprehended for disobedience and treason, but also for assaulting the Worm." He stared into widening eyes.

"And… was he successful?" Áedwulf barely dared to hope. "Is the filth dead?"

"I assume we would already have heard of it if that were the case… and in all likelihood, the Marshal would not have been arrested. It is not as if the Royal Guard does not know of the snake beneath the roof of our hall. They just fear the consequences."

"True." Áedwulf snorted and scratched his chin. "Just wishful thinking, I suppose… What do you mean by 'something rather drastic'?"

"Éomer has been accused of treason and assault of a high-ranking member of the Royal Court. We all know the sentence for those crimes."

The two captains stared at each other. Slowly, the older man shook his head.

"Do you truly believe they will execute him? He is the King's nephew! He is also the last male descendent of Éorl's line! Surely, Théoden-King will not give such an order."

"I would hope so, too," Éothain confessed. "I would not bet on it, though. We all know that the orders the king has issued these past months were not really his'. And the Worm has been desperate to remove Éomer for years. He will do everything in his power to sway Théoden. Apparently, this whole plot was designed by him to rid himself of both Théodred and Éomer at the same time."

"If they decide to execute the Marshal…" Anlaf started to ask the question Éothain had been dreading to hear, and it seemed to suck the air from the stable. "What will we do?" He looked around. "Will we tolerate it that they kill our commander? Or will we do something?"

Éothain inhaled sharply.

"Like call out for rebellion, you mean, Captain?" He narrowed his eyes. "Because it would be an act of rebellion if we tried to free Éomer. If we failed, we would all be executed, every single one of us. Make no mistake about that."

"They would first have to apprehend us." Anlaf lifted his chin. "And the Royal Guard doesn't have the manpower to arrest an entire éored. They would need help… from the other éored." He turned to Céorl. "Your éored, Captain. If we decided to rescue our commander, would you aid us… or fight us?"

Céorl held his gaze evenly.

"I am not your enemy," he said. "I want what you want. But your suggestion holds great danger, because even if I would not hinder you, you can count on it that somebody will see things differently… and act. From what I heard, the tidings we received were from the Lord of Westfold himself. If he saw the Prince die, he is bound to come to a different conclusion. The same goes for Grimbold. He was Théodred's best friend. With the Eastmark behind Éomer and the Westmark behind Erkenbrand and Grimbold, can you fathom what catastrophe would ensue? We have barely enough men to fight orcs and Wild Men. If we also started killing each other over politics… it would be our end. We cannot afford it, under no circumstances."

For the longest time, it seemed that none of the present dared to breathe as they envisioned what their Captain had said. Their éoreds fighting each other… it was unthinkable. Unimaginable.

"Then what is it that you suggest, Captain? Is there nothing we can do without dooming the Mark to burn in a civil war?" Anlaf began to sound desperate. Éothain could not blame him.

"If we act," Céorl began, "we need to ensure that everyone is on the same side. There is no way around that."

"Which means someone needs to ride west and try to sway Erkenbrand. But what if that fails?"

"First of all, it means that we will have to assure ourselves of the Eastmark's loyalty," Céorl clarified. "We cannot simply take it as a given. Not in these dark times. I plan to ride to Aldburg myself to see how things are. You did not, by any chance, meet Elfhelm on the road? They should be on their way back from Westfold, as well."

Anlaf shook his head.

"We saw no sign of them. I imagine that they might take a bit longer to wait until their injured can be transported. That errand rider told us that it was a very bloody battle with great loss of life. However, we might lose too much time waiting for Marshal Elfhelm's and the Lord of Westfold's consent. What if the Worm decides to execute Éomer before we have it?"

"There must first be a trial. Our law calls for it. That will give us some additional time, at least one or two sennights." Céorl looked around and into sceptical faces. "And I imagine that they would want for the Lord of Westfold to have a say in it, so in all likelihood, Marshal Erkenbrand will come to Edoras, and we will find an opportunity to speak with him."

Brooding silence spread in the confined space of the stable, only broken by occasional snorts and whickering horses. When it seemed that no one else had any questions left, Éothain spoke up again.

"We will leave it at that for the time being. Hopefully, there will be new developments tomorrow, and we will concern ourselves with them then… Yet I fear that there is something else that needs your attention. Something of no lesser urgency, I'm afraid." His men looked at him warily. "The spy we assumed in our éored… he was finally revealed. It was Cernhelm."

For a moment, they stared at him in consternation… before anger replaced that emotion. Heated shouting erupted in the stables in result to Éothain's words.

"So that's why he is not here! I should have known! That man was always too quiet," Áedwulf sneered and spat in disgust. "Where is he? Did you kill him when you found out?"

Éothain met his Captain's gaze unflinchingly.

"He killed himself. He hung himself from the rafters in this very building."

"Well, good for him!" Áedwulf narrowed his eyes. "That spares him what I would have done had I gotten my hands on him!"

Shouts of approval answered him. Éothain lifted his hand, silencing the riders before he explained.

"Before you cheer and condemn the man, perhaps all of you should should first hear what actually happened. Because it raises questions… for example, how we can avoid ever finding ourselves in Cernhelm's shoes."

"I would never betray my brothers-in-arms!" Áedwulf growled indignantly. "I would rather bite off my tongue… or kill myself!"

"Apparently, that is what Cernhelm decided to do at last. He was desperate enough to hang himself, leaving his wife and his child behind. It is a rather tragic story, and we need to find a way to prevent that anything like this happens ever again. But hear for yourself…"

Éothain recounted the happenings of the past night, and while he talked, he could see the expression on the faces before him change from rage to thoughtfulness… and at last to dismay. Silence followed his words once he was done, and the riders stared at each other uncomfortably.

"Curse that filth Wormtongue," Anlaf growled between ground teeth, and his fingers clenched around the hilt of his sword in helpless frustration. "I wish we had known. We might have been able to help him. I never understood why he had his family here in Edoras, where they were much closer to the Worm's influence. He said it was because his wife's parents lived here, and they needed their help ever since her father had been wounded in an accident. They should all have moved to Aldburg together."

Éothain shrugged.

"I do not think it matters where anyone lives. The Worm has his spies everywhere. It is safe to assume that. And it is also safe to assume that Cernhelm was not the only one they threatened into betraying his éored's secrets." He noticed how his riders were looking at each other with increasing unease, and his tone grew even more urgent. "I implore you: tell us if you ever find yourself in a seemingly desperate situation! Trust us, we will keep it secret, and we will find a way to help you! You can come and talk to us any time, and if you think it is safer for you to knock on our door in the middle of the night, then this is all right, too! One grieving widow in result to the Worm's scheming is more than enough. We need to protect each other more than ever. Promise me you will tell us!"

The riders stared at him, clearly unwilling to imagine themselves in their dead comrade's situation.

"Do you promise?" Éothain stressed, and this time, a unanimous "Aye!" answered him. Satisfied for the time being, he nodded. "Good. Now, I do not want to keep you any longer. Take up your quarters and see that you get a full stomach and some rest, you have earned it. We will meet here again tomorrow at noon and see whether there are any new developments we need to take into consideration. Now go."

OOO

Night had fallen over Edoras once again, and as on the night before, Éowyn waited for the last light in the city to go out. It had been another taxing, frustrating day with intense discussions involving both captains of the Royal Guard, and it had left her thoroughly drained. Contrary to the night before, the daughter of Éomund felt that she could have instantly fallen asleep if she had allowed it… which was why she had chosen not to lie down this time. If she slept through, it meant that her brother would go hungry and thirsty.

So she sat in her favourite armchair and stared into the flames, huddled into a warm blanket and waiting for time to pass while she pondered what the day had brought. Shortly before the evening meal, Háma had knocked at her door and confessed that Wormtongue had denied his request to see Éomer, a crestfallen expression deeply engraved into his broad features. He had only confirmed what Éowyn had expected, and yet the news had left her deeply disappointed and even more concerned for her brother.

She had thanked the warrior and chosen to take the evening meal in the solitude of her own chambers, not feeling up to any company. Apparently, she had made a rather forlorn impression, as it had caused Maelwyn to speak up when she had set the heavily laden tray on the table in front of her. The young handmaiden had offered her help in whatever way she could, for a moment succeeding in painting a thankful, touched smile onto Éowyn's features. It had been a nice gesture, a compassionate gesture, something that was becoming increasingly rare within these halls. And yet a gesture it would remain, for what was there that a simple handmaiden could do in these evil times?

If the past days had had one positive aspect, it was that Wormtongue had apparently been too busy to play his usual evil game with her. Too busy… or perhaps, he was still hurting too much after Éomer's assault. She had seen the force her brother had used to smash his opponent against the pillar. Beneath his moth-eaten black garments, Gríma had to be black and blue from the impact. She thanked Béma for every single moment of their adversary's pain.

And still… Éomer had been in much worse condition than their enemy when she had last seen him. And it made her feel so helpless, for even though he had greatly appreciated the food she had brought him, her efforts had only been a drop in the bucket of what her brother really needed. Now her plan with Háma had failed, too, and she did not see what else there was that she could do to ease Éomer's situation. Perhaps, the time had come to plead for his life. Perhaps, if she caught him in the right moment and found the right words, Théoden would be merciful.

Éowyn gave an unladylike snort and grimaced. She did not even know the outcome of today's council meeting, that was how involved they kept her. And neither Éothain nor Céorl had come to see her today, which was a direct result of fiercer entry regulations. Háma had told her that, for as long as Éomer was kept in the dungeon, no one who had not been summoned would be allowed into Meduseld. It was frustrating enough to drive anyone up the wall.

Impatiently, she jumped to her feet. Another look out of the window revealed at last a sleeping Edoras to her. That was good, because otherwise, anxiety might well have caused her to start pulling her hair out. Quickly gathering her things, Éowyn pulled aside the tapestry and briefly listened into the darkness beyond before she descended the few steps into the tunnel. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the voice of reason cried out to her to be at least as cautious as on the night before. That, only because it had worked once, there was no guarantee that Gríma had not in the meantime recognised – and remedied – his lapse. That voice annoyed her, even though she realised that its concern was valid.

Only with the greatest effort, Éowyn managed to slow down. Time and again, she halted and listened, against her impulse to reach Éomer as quickly as possible. No doubt would he be cross with her for not having heeded his advice and leave, but he would also be thankful for her company… and the food she had for him.

While her mind returned to the previous night, her groping hand found the connecting tunnel. She turned into it… and hesitated suddenly. Something was different, even if she could not name it yet. It was no noise she had heard, nor a smell that had reach her nostrils. It was only the merest sense that something had changed, somewhere on the very edge of her awareness.

While she stood in the darkness and listened, a cold shudder raced down her spine. Icy tendrils sprouted from it and settled in her stomach.

'Someone is here…'

Éowyn narrowed her eyes in a doomed attempt to see more in the distant twilight at the tunnel's mouth. It was not until the image began to spin before her that she realised she had been holding her breath. Soundlessly, she filled her lungs with air… and advanced another step… only to hesitate again. Her heartbeat accelerated. The distinct notion that she was not alone in the tunnel grew even stronger.

'It cannot be! I left no trace, he cannot have known!'

And yet Gríma had always been a step or two ahead of everyone for most of the time. Was it not possible that he had simply realised his oversight when he had visited Éomer… and placed a guard at the tunnel's end?

'Of course it is, and it would be just like him!'

Was that breathing she was hearing through the thunder of her own heartbeat? Stealthy, subdued breaths by someone who was listening into the darkness just as intently as she was?

'It is only fear! It's causing me to hear these things!'

But why was there the insistent tingling of all her nerve endings which she had never felt before? Had not her own brother repeatedly stated that there was such a thing as a heightened state of awareness? The sharpened instincts of a warrior that picked up things others would have deemed impossible? While she was no warrior in the ordinary way, the game of cat and mouse she had been playing with their adversary surely justified the existence of such an increased sense of perception. And right now, her body was signalling her in every way it could that there was danger lurking before her.

'If I turn back now, Éomer will suffer…'

But would he not suffer even more if they caught and punished her? And he had begged her to leave Edoras only last night. He was not expecting her. In fact, he was hoping for her not to return.

'What shall I do?'

It felt as if she had been standing in the blackness for ages, and now fear threatened to root her to the spot permanently. It was either proceed… or leave. Now. With infinite caution, Éowyn crouched down to get a different angle. It was the last attempt to save the situation… and this time, she saw him. There was someone in the darkness before her, sitting with his back against the wall. Silent. Unmoving. Listening. Very likely alarmed by the same set of senses that had warned her.

Suddenly, her heartbeat sounded like thunder in her ears. Every little internal noise, every swallow, every shallow breath she drew had the potential to betray her. What if she got up and her joints cracked? Fear threatened to paralyse her.

'I…NEED…TO...LEAVE!'

From somewhere behind the man, a sudden bout of coughing disrupted the silence, and Éowyn jumped. For a dreadful moment, the tankard threatened to slip from her hands.

'No, no, no, no, no…'

"Shut your face, bastard! Or I'll shut it for you!' the guard growled, for a moment annoyed and distracted. It was all Éowyn needed to rise and retreat around the corner. On legs that felt like two wooden sticks, the daughter of Éomund slowly made it back to the safety of her chambers.

Only when the heavy tapestry had fallen back into place behind her, Éowyn allowed herself a deep, shaky breath. It turned into a sob. Violent trembling seized her as she sank into her armchair and set down the tankard on the floor. She buried her face in quivering hands as a black chasm of despair opened before her.

'I am sorry, Éomer! I am so sorry!'