A soldier was waiting at the Healing House as Eorl and Aragost approached. 

“Come, he his weak and anxious to give you his message.’

Eorl and Aragost walked briskly to the rear of the main room where a man lay.  He was clad in light mail over a dark padded tunic bearing the symbol of the white tree.  His strong face was thinned by hunger.  An aide was slowly feeding him some broth.

Eorl knelt down beside him.

“They say you have come two hundred leagues from Minas Tirith.”

Borondir stirred, braced himself up to a sitting position.

“I have a message from the Steward for the leader of the Eotheod.”

“I am Eorl, Lord of this realm.  What tidings prompts the Steward to risk such life and limb of his riders on a journey to our far land?”

“We are sorely pressed, my Lord.  East of the Anduin, over twenty thousand Balchoth gather near the Undeeps with intent to flood Calenardhon with their menace then march south to the heart of Gondor.  We have scarcely ten thousand men marching to meet them.  As your ancestors aided Gondor during the siege of the Wainriders in the days of the Kings, the Steward asks your aid in our hour of need.”

Borondir paused, closing his eyes, panting and exhausted.  The aide came with more broth and a small oat cake.  Eorl stood up, turned to Aragost.

“It is just as you said, the Balchoth”

“The threat is more imminent than I expected…and it would seem more dire” Aragost replied.

“My patrol leader said he left Minas Tirith on the tenth of the month.  His path north took him past Gondor’s north army then across the Undeeps on the fourteenth.”

Eorl paced back and forth trying to picture the situation to his south.  He stopped and turned to Aragost.

“Gondor’s army will make for the Undeeps.  They must meet the Balchoth head on as they cross.  It will take time for them to make that march, at least a fortnight, ”

Eorl paused and stared at Borondir, now in deep sleep.  He would let him rest, then press further for detailed dispositions of Gondor’s army.  But he knew enough already to make his decision.

He motioned Aragost to follow him through the entranceway back out into the bright morning sun. 

“We could do nothing.  Give the brave rider refuge with us here in the north, and leave Gondor to its fate.  Perhaps the Balchoth will not venture so far north to capture farmland and pasture when there is land and plunder much closer at hand across the Anduin.”

“But if they do…”  Aragost left the sentence hanging.

“If they do, we would face more than twenty thousand with the seven thousand riders we can muster.  I care not for the odds and many lives would be spent in uncertain victory.”

Eorl’s brow was furrowed with grave deliberations.  He paced back and forth, then turned and spoke to Aragost.

“But if we join with Gondor now, our combined forces number nearly those if the Balchoth,  Our horses will trample their foot soldiers into the earth.  Our swords will take their heads.  Our spears will pierce their bodies and their wills.  They will be defeated and of no further concern to Gondor or the Eotheod!”

Eorl was almost shouting.  The path was clear to him.  The excitement of the pending battle was in his blood.  His eyes were lit with the song of the sword. 

“Is there enough time?” Aragost quietly intruded.

Eorl’s heart slowed its pounding, his eyes cooled. 

“It is nine days hard ride to the Undeeps. Every man with a horse must come.   But I cannot just simply will such a thing.  The people must assent to such a task.”

Aragost nodded in assent.  It would risk all they had built over many generations.  Their lands would be undefended.  The preparations to muster 60 eoreds of over 100 riders each would almost be as daunting as the ride itself.

“I know your thoughts and have much the same.  We have rarely massed more than a thousand riders over the years.  At peace, we have no need to move armies.  Our eoreds are all we need to conduct patrols using local militias.  Now we must move seven thousand and see that they and their horses do not starve en route.  When we arrive our seven thousand must have a plan of attack.  I must meet with the Marshalls of the realm, my chief commanders who will bring their twenty eored captains.”

“How can I help?”  Aragost asked

“Join me.  Listen to the men.  Tell me what you see.”

Aragon nodded his assent.  Eorl stood facing him, hands on hips.

“You asked if there is time.  There is not.   I should have at least twelve weeks.  I have scarcely twelve days before we must depart.  But it must do.”

Eorl signaled to an aide who came running.  He whispered instructions in the aid’s ear.  The man went running.

“I have ordered messengers to ride to the Marshalls at all due speed.  They need gather their Captains.  I will ride out tomorrow.  Four days hence I will either have their support or we will watch from afar.”

Eorl took off at a brisk walk up the long stone path back to the main hall.  The wheels of his mind were turning rapidly from what he would say to the rations the men would need. 

Aragost watched the tall, blond haired warrior stride away.  Eorl would rouse his men to action, Aragost had little doubt.  He would bear witness as Eorl had requested. 

And then what.  Ride south with Eorl, plunge into battle hundreds of leagues away, risk his life and the line of the Dunedain?  Some knew of his journey to this land, his father Arahad for one, now old living out his last years.  His son, Aravorn, was learning his destiny in Rivendell at the hand of Elrond’s masters of lore and martial arts. 

His death on this mission would thrust Aravorn into the role of Chieftain.  One he was not ready to assume having passed just twelve summers.  One that Arahad could no longer carry given the infirmities of age in the winter of his life.

And he was just one man, no matter how well fostered in youth, or tempered by years in the wild.  His sword would cleave only so many Balchoth.  His absence would not affect the outcome.

He respected these truths but they did not sway him.

It was simple really.  He could not in good conscience claim the lineage of the kings of men and turn his back on Gondor in hour of need.