Ch. 31 - Oaths new and old…

They entered into the Cavern of Dunharrow and Théoden saw a bevy of ordered activity.  He smiled to himself as he looked about the radial cavern.  He saw the apprentice Eored standing at attention.  He saw Éowyn out of the corner of his eye motion and one of the Eored stepped forward and took a knee, head bowed and fist on heart.  The rest of the line followed suit.

“Hail! Théoden King!” called the kneeling Rider.

“Hail!” Théoden returned the greeting. Théoden motioned to have his reins handed off.  It was then that Éowyn noticed a curly brown mop top come forward to take the reins.  The Holbytla Merry, it must have been, the one that Aragorn spoke to her about.  The Holbytla then looked up at her with sympathetic brown eyes and nodded to her giving her a slight smile.  The action struck her to the heart and stayed.  Théoden’s voice then caught her attention.

“Rise,” the Rider stood and then looked up.  Théoden had expected youth but was met with the eyes of a man.  His heart grieved for the loss of youth, but such was in time of war.

He walked forward to the Rider, “And you are, Sir Rider?”

“Háláf, son of Déor! My King!” Háláf announced proudly, utterly relieved that his voice did not sound as nervous as he felt.

“Háláf?” Théoden queried.  The name rang a faint bell of recognition.  He looked back at Éowyn for an answer.

Éowyn came forth, “Aye, Uncle.  It was indeed Háláf that I asked for you to allow Léoulf to attend.”

Théoden looked back to Háláf, seeing a strong young Rider who radiated a sense of loyalty and pride.  “Now I remember!  I see Léoulf’s attentions, lo those many years ago, have yielded a fine young Rider!”

Háláf blushed and stammered out, “It was all due to the Lady Éowyn, My King!” 

Éowyn quickly countered, “Nonsense!  It was all due to your own hard work.”

Théoden looked back at Éowyn, pride filled his eyes, “I am sure both are true.” He looked to those still kneeling, “All rise!”

Éowyn spoke as the twenty-four stood in line placed fist on heart, “Théoden King,” She began formally. “I present the Apprentice Eored.  I ask that they be given status of Rider for they have done great service to the Mark and have won their first battle against Warg Riders and thereby saving the column seeking refuge here in Dunharrow.”

“Have they now?”

“Aye!”

“May I have their names so that I may know who it is that will be new Riders?”

“Aye!  You may!” 

Háláf resumed his place in line.  Théoden asked him, “You have fought your first battle?”

Háláf respectfully nodded his head, “Aye, My King!”

Théoden looked him in the eye, “I remember my first battle.  In the Eored of Edoras. A youngling among men.  I was nervous.” He confided.

Háláf ventured in the pause, “I was, My King!  As were all my brothers but the Lady Éowyn led us and helped us to not be afraid. She pulled her sword and gathered us around and exhorted us forward calling us her brothers.  She fought valiantly and we were proud to draw swords for her…in your name!”

Théoden listened as a father first and king only secondarily.  It worried him that she had been in so much danger, but his heart thrilled to hear the loyalty and love pouring from the young Rider.  He looked at his beloved niece, pride pushing aside worry to shine in his eyes.  “Is this true, my daughter?”

Éowyn withstood his look of pride, pushing aside for the moment all memory of the pain caused by years of denial, “It is true. I tried to lead as you taught.  Giving direction and courage, to do right by you and them!”  She stated with her shoulders straight and her head held high.

“Oh, my daughter.”  Tears welling in his eyes, Théoden kissed her forehead, “I am so proud of you!”

Éowyn’s heart was overflowing with joy at her uncle’s words of acceptance.  “I have only ever wanted to honor you, My King!”

“You have, my daughter.  You have.”  Théoden placed his hand on her cheek.  Turning to the gathered crowd.  “We shall hold the ceremony of Investiture for the new Riders tonight and ask that all family members that can be here to attend.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Merry looked around his little room in this amazing cavern.  The room right next to Théoden was clean and well swept.  The sturdy almost hobbit-sized furnishings were sparse but that was understandable, from he had been told that Dunharrow was primarily used as a garrison not a royal residence.  He felt honored to have been remembered.  Remembered, the word brought to mind the thought of the other walkers, his friends now dispersed among lands and pangs of loneliness stole across him.

“I hope the room is to your liking Master Brandybuck?”  A female voice behind him sounded, startling him just a bit.  He had not realized that his nerves were in such a state.  He turned around to find the Lady of Dunharrow.  “Oh!  I am so sorry!  I did not mean to startle you!” She stated graciously.

“Not to worry, My Lady!  And I don’t usually startle so easily.  Except that one time when my cousin Pippin dropped a small frog down the back of my shirt!  That did make me jump!”  Éowyn laughed and at that Merry smiled.  “And just Merry, if you please! I hear Master Brandybuck and I start looking around for my father!”  Merry was rewarded with another cheerful laugh and a smile.  Merry thought “What a lovely contrast to when we first met!” 

“Aye!  Just Merry it is then!” Éowyn proclaimed, immediately disarmed by the Holbytla.  “And just Éowyn.  Too much formality at any time is so burdensome!”

“All right, then Just Éowyn!”  Merry ventured cheekily.

Éowyn smiled again and Merry was enchanted.  “But are you settled in well?  Having never met one of the Holbytla and having only stories to work from, I hope it is well!”

“It is wonderful and wonderful to be remembered…”  the little hobbit said with a sudden sad tinge to his voice.

Éowyn was touched by the sadness of tone in her new found friend’s voice, “What is it?  Can I help?”  She sat down on the small bed to see eye to eye with the hobbit. “The war affects us all, but is there anything I can do?” Concern was written across her face, the merry look gone.

Merry looked at the valiant lady sitting on his bed, “Now I’ve gone and made you sad again.  I much prefer you laughing and smiling.”

“Oh Merry!  So do I!  But of late it has not been easy.”  So much to cry over… But she pasted a smile on her face and found when she looked into the hobbit’s eyes her spirit did indeed brighten.  “Please tell me of this cousin, Pippin was it?”

“Oh aye!  He was a handful from the day he was born.  I was all of eight when we went to Great Smials for the birth of what I was hoping wasn’t going to be another girl…”

Éowyn laughed again, “I quite understand.  Girls are not nearly as fun. Are they?”  They sat talking and sharing stories, both happy and sad as an unexpected bond of fellow feeling grew between the tall willowy Rohirrim woman and the stout curly haired hobbit. 

Just then Háldemir one of the Apprentice Eored appeared at the doorway, head bowed, “Aye, Háldemir, what is it?” Éowyn inquired. 

“The Investiture is about to begin!”

“Thank you, Háldemir!” Éowyn looked at Merry, “I have so enjoyed talking with you somuch that I lost track of time!” She smiled.

“Glad to be of service!” Merry beamed and performed a little bow. Éowyn smiled again and rose from the bed trying to smooth the wrinkles from her dress.

Éowyn looked back to Háldemir, “I am glad that your father is here!  But I am so sorry that your mother cannot be here for you.” She said remembering the open and friendly woman who came to the apprentice elevation,  "She would be so proud.”

“Aye! My Lady,” Háldemir stated, “But no telling what she might have done considering how she was when I was elevated to apprentice. But,” Háldemir’s eyes moisten a bit, “hopefully she is safe within Aldburg walls.” 

Éowyn placed her hand on Háldemir’s lightly whiskered cheek, “She is, Háldemir. I’m sure of it.” and smiled.  “Now I must see if any arrangements are left or if Saelith has already finished everything.  Follow quick, now!”

Merry saw the look of loneliness steal across the young Rider’s face at the mention of his mother and felt an immediate kinship with him. Wishing to distract him from his sorrows, he started brightly, “Hello! I’m Meriadoc Brandybuck!  But everybody but my mum calls me Merry and that’s only when she is cross with me!”

Háldemir, looking down upon hearing the friendly overture, returned with a slightly awed, “Háldemir, son of Háldrith!” nodding his head in greeting.

“Pleased to meet you!”  Merry said in his friendliest manner.

Háldemir replied, “And I you.  P-Pardon me for asking but I heard that you are one of the wee folk, the Holbytla?”

“I am,” he declared forthrightly, “though we call ourselves Hobbits!”  Merry confided.  

“Béma be praised!  I thought you were a folktale!”

“Nope,” Merry replied cheerily, “But we generally don’t leave the Shire!”

“The Shire?” Háldemir repeated as he eyed the holbytla –hobbit warming to his friendly, open manner.

“That is our land and lovely it is!  Rolling hills.  Lovely streams filled with fish.”

It sounded lovely to Háldemir, reminding him of when he and his father had time to fish together at their home near Aldburg. That memory brought him around to the present, “The Investiture!”

“Hmmm!”  said Merry.

“I’m to be elevated to Rider today!”  Only the meeting of a myth made real could have scooted that from his mind.

“Let us go, then.” 

“Aye!”  Háldemir started down the passageway having to duck at a low bit and then noticed that Merry had no such need. “This cavern might have been made for you!”

Merry laughed, “Another advantage to being a hobbit!”

Háldemir smiled at his new friend.

Merry felt driven to ask, “The Lady Éowyn, why is she so sad?” Maybe it was the look in her eyes when he first saw her at the Cavern entrance. “One so valiant and so beautiful oughtn’t be so sad.”

Háldemir stopped and looked at the hobbit.  Earnest eyes of inquiry met his gaze.  He saw no judgment so he stowed his indignation.  “You are direct aren’t you?”

“My mum says it's going to get me a right thumping one of these days.  But if I want to know; I ask.”

Háldemir pondered for a moment, “In answer to your question.  She has always seemed a little sad as long as I have known her and I came to train as a Rider at age eleven, but she has always been kind to me and all the training Riders.  She is more sad of late, though that is understandable.  But she always has time for you and takes the time to know you.” he stated emphatically.” She’s special to us Riders.  She’s ours and we will do anything to defend her!”

Merry saw the glow of love and loyalty shining in Háldemir’s eyes when he spoke of Éowyn.  Having spent the last hour or so with Éowyn, sharing stories that he would be hesitant even to share with his mother, he began to understand a little of what Háldemir spoke of.  Éowyn had a way of putting you at your ease.  They quickly reached the hall where the Investiture was to take place.

They entered the large dining halls and saw Éowyn and Saelith conferring about some matter while Saelith was holding a dark red sheet, measuring it by arms lengths.  Merry admired Éowyn's beauty, but more so the intelligence that lit her eyes as she spoke.  He found his way over to the king to reside at his side.  He had come to admire Théoden greatly and was proud to run attendance upon him.

“Master Merry!  I trust you have found your accommodations to your satisfaction!”

“Oh Aye! My lord! The Lady Éowyn has made me feel most welcomed!”

Théoden looked at Éowyn, love and appreciation in his eyes and then back to Merry. “Good.  That is good.”  He said quietly and placed a reassuring hand on Merry’s shoulder while turning to continue his conversation with Elfhelm.

Éowyn regretted that no more ceremony could be conjured for her boys, because they so richly deserved it.  But in times of war ceremony gives way to practicality.  Some family members were able to be in attendance.  Elfhelm was there for Aethered, though his mother was at the family holdings in the Eastfold near Aldberg.  Héodred was in attendance for Héohelm, Heráld was here for Heruling,  Háldrith for Háldemir along with Háldred his older brother and one of Éowyn’s attendants on her weekly rounds who was now in Grimbold’s Eored and married to Éowyn’s best friend, Cyneith.   And Léoulf would stand attendance for Léoulfwine along with his mother Cynehild, Léoulfwine’s father having died defending the Isen two weeks before. Eowyn stopped and thought “was it only two weeks ago?” It seemed like months.  So much had happened since then.

The muster had indeed provided many fathers for their sons, but alas few mothers other than Cynehild could be in attendance.  Háláf of course being the exception as both Déor and Saeryth were among the Edoras refugees.  Those few Riders who did not have family present would have Éomer stand with them as they were presented to the King.  Éowyn’s heart twinged a bit at that necessity.  In times of peace the new Riders would be presented to Théodred, as Second Marshal in charge of the Muster of Edoras, but Théodred lay under Simbelmynë and they were in Dunharrow in time of war.  It would be Théoden as King that the Riders were to be presented.  She quickly wiped the stray tear as she was discussing the change with Éomer.

He flashed her a look of sympathy and kissed her forehead, “There will be time for grief, my beloved sister.  But for now, we hold him in our hearts and remember him there,” and gave her a smile.  They held eyes for a moment and Éowyn drew strength from his spirit offered in commiseration and love.

~*~*~*~*~*~

On the dais where bowls of soup and oatcakes had been doled out in the morning there was draped the two deep red tablecloths that Merry had seen Eowyn dealing with earlier. The fabric serving on hooks to provide a festive look to the occasion.  The King sat on a wooden chair facing the gathered audience and each Rider stood just before the step onto the raised dais with his family behind him.  Those who did not have their own people were in the middle so Éomer could step behind each easily and present them to the King.  Gamhelm stood at his king’s right side to announce the names of each apprentice.  Éowyn as their leader stood to answer the formal question that would be put to her.

Háláf was first as informal captain of the Eored.  “Háláf, son of Déor and Saeryth, step forth with your family,” Gamhelm instructed.  They stepped up onto the dais.

Théoden, breaking with tradition, rose from his chair to stand in front of the family.   He looked at Háláf and his two parents with a soft smile on his face.  He looked at Éowyn, “As his leader, do you recommend that Háláf, Son of Déor and Saeryth, be elevated to the rank of Rider of Rohan?”

“Aye!” Éowyn stated with formal voice edging past the lump in her throat, “I swear an oath that Háláf, Son of Déor and Saeryth, is full ready and will bring honor to the Mark as a Rider of Rohan!” Breaking formality she smiled at the family.

“It is good,” intoned Théoden King.  He then questioned Déor and Saeryth, “Do you give your son in service to the Mark, cost what it may, knowing always that no cost will ever be asked except at greatest need…?”

Both spoke, “We do, My lord King.” 

“Thank you for this gift and it will never be taken lightly.”  Théoden looked somberly into first Déor’s and then Saeryth’s eyes.

Finally, he spoke with Háláf, looking into young blue eyes that had already seen more than they should, “Háláf, Son of Déor and Saeryth, do you accept this path, in service to King and country, defending those cannot fight, understanding always what sacrifice maybe required?”

“Aye, My King.” Háláf said in a voice that did not break or stutter.  He unsheathed his sword, holding it out to his King with both hands, palms up, “I offer my sword and my heart and I accept the Way of the Rider.” he finished solemnly.

Éomer stepped forward with his Rider’s badge in hand.  He had agreed to loan his badge to Háláf.  Normally a new badge would be crafted especially for the new Rider with accents added that symbolized the Rider’s family incorporated into the unique badge and they were highly prized by each Rider but here at Dunharrow that sort of personalized touch was not possible.  The word was circulated that any Rider willing to allow their badge to be borrowed until such time as to allow for the making of the new badges would be considered a personal favor to the king.  Éomer was one such giver.

Éomer faced Háláf.  “Wear this badge in honor of your elevation to the Riders of Rohan.  May you earn honor and distinction as its bearer.”  He slipped the badge on the shoulder belt of Háláf’s armor.  “Wear it well.”

Háláf nodded, fist on chest, “I shall,” he whispered though a choked throat.  He cleared it to say, “Thank you, My Lord Éomer.  It is an honour to wear and be a caretaker of your badge.”  Éomer looked at the young man and saw the small boy on crutches for whom he carved a wooden horse with tail flying in the wind and nodded.  So much was going to be expected of these new Riders and quickly, too.

Théoden then stepped forward, “Lay your sword down and cross over into the service of King and Country.” 

Háláf laid his sword down and stepped over to the ovation of all.  Éowyn looked upon Háláf and saw him as a ten year old in pain having his leg splinted on the road near his house.  Then she saw him taking faltering steps on his newly healed leg, then on the training ground at fourteen showing off a new sword move and now elevated to Ridership as she wiped a tear of pride sharing this moment with Déor and Saeryth.

Héohelm was next, arm still in a sling but healing nicely.  From where she was standing she could see tears gather in Héodred’s eyes as Théoden asked him the parent’s question.  But she could no longer see his face when he in turn presented Héohelm his own badge, “My son, I present you with my own badge, wear it with pride and know that I am so proud of you!  “Wear this badge in honor of your elevation to the Riders of Rohan.  May you earn honor and distinction as its bearer.”  It was now Héohelm’s turn for brimming, but unshed tears.  

“I will,” Héohelm said in a restrained voice and bowed his head, fist on chest.  When he looked up a tear had escaped unbidden but Héohelm just let it fall.

Each Rider who donated their badge was the one to pin the badge on the new Rider speaking their own words before the words of ritual.  It was not quite as the elevation ceremony that would have been performed at Edoras, but nothing was same and it somehow fit the moment they were living through.  Joy in the achievement of the young newly made Riders but solemnity tempered the joy for they were at war and soon they would be called upon to bear sword and bow and to fulfill newly made vows to King and country.

At supper a small feast was provided in as much as the food stores would allow.  Wine and mead was served along with barley soup and oatcakes with honey for the newly made Riders and their families.  At the table where sat the new Riders along with Théoden, Éomer and Éowyn and such captains as Elfhelm, much was discussed. Merry in his direct hobbit way asked after the Paths of the Dead and immediately regretted it as sitting next to him Éowyn’s face took on an ashen pallor.  

“Greatly changed seemed the Lord Aragorn to me since I saw him first in the King’s house,” Merry saw tears glitter in her eyes but remained unshed as tension grew in her face, “grimmer, older.  Fey I thought him like one who the Dead call.”

Merry’s heart grew troubled as he thought of the bright force of will that was the Strider that he knew and how it bore little resemblance to the Aragorn Éowyn spoke of.  “The way is shut,” he heard Théoden intone, “It was made by those who are Dead, and the Dead keep it. Until the time come.  The way is shut!  A shiver went down Merry’s spine.

Just then one of the Riders from Elfhelm’s Eored who was posted at the cavern entrance came into the dining hall and approached Théoden.  He knelt and said,  ”Pardon my liege!  A man has come!  An errand rider from Gondor!  He says he must speak to the King.  He says he must come before you at once!”

“Let him come!” decreed Théoden King.

The man strode in and Merry choked back a cry.  By his mail he could have been Boromir’s twin but upon closer inspection he realised he was not.

The man, cloaked in forest green over a fine chain mail shirt, sank to one knee and presented a black arrow, fletching and shaft save the arrow point, that was painted in red.  “Hail, Lord of the Rohirrim, Friend of Gondor!  Hirgon is my name, errand rider to Denethor, who brings you this token of war.  Gondor is in great need.”

~*~*~*~*~*~