Eorl had ridden west after the morning with Marshall Wulfgar and his Captains. 

In a setting similar to the morning meeting, Eorl met with Cenhelm, Marshall of the northwest, along with his twenty five eored Captains.  The outcome was much the same. Cenhelm had then hosted them in his field tent that evening.  Early the next day he accompanied Eorl and Aragost back to Framsburg for a meeting of the Elders of the Eotheod.

Eorl's Marshalls would represent the men of the eoreds.  Werhild, his father’s brother, as Landsman, would speak to the state of the crops and livestock.   Eadric, was well versed in the inventories of seed, fodder and foodstuffs and general supplies.  Hengest was the master armorer whose smiths might find themselves suddenly busy.      

Finally there was Grimgar, his grandfather’s youngest brother.  And old man of seventy, he was a trusted source of wisdom, one who took a long view irrespective of the passions of the moment.  When Leod was thrown and killed by Felarof, Grimgar had been a forceful supporter of the sixteen year old Eorl as the new Lord of the realm. 

Eorl would bring two guests, outsiders to the council of Elders.  One was Borondir, who had recovered sufficiently to recount his tale directly.  The other was Aragost of the Dunedain, by chance visiting to renew contacts after ten years absence. He stood with both of them outside the doors to the Council Chamber. 

“You are improved” Eorl turned to Borondir.

Indeed he was.  He had slept like the dead, then woke with the appetite of a bear.  He had washed off leagues of dirt and dust off.  Aides had cleaned his field uniform.  The image of the White Tree shone against the blue black of his short traveling tunic.  His eyes were clear and purposeful.

“I was running out of days.  You have given them back to me and more with your hospitality.”

“Come then.  The Council awaits.  A grave decision is upon us I fear.”

With that Eorl pushed open the tall doors and emerged into a room with a long polished oak table.  The Council looked expectantly at him as he walked over to his chair, motioning Borondir and Aragost to theirs. He paused for a moment standing at the head of the table, assessing the faces turned his way.  Then he spoke.

“Men of the Council.  Two days ago, this man…”  Eorl gestured to Borondir, “…arrived at the south bridge, half starved, exhausted from more than a fortnight’s ride from Minas Tirith bearing dire news.  I would have him tell his tale directly”

At the other end of the table, Grimgar nodded in assent.  Eorl bade Borondir begin.

“On the tenth of this month, Cirion, Steward of Gondor, sent out three pairs of riders who were to ride north to seek your aid.  It seems I am the only one to survive.”

“The Steward requests your aid.  To the east of Gondor, the Balchoth have advanced from the East.  Though rudely armed, they number twenty thousand or more.  They are massing at the Undeeps, planning to cross and overrun Calenardhon, perhaps then advancing on Minas Tirith itself.  Cirion leads the North Army of ten thousand soldiers.  The South Army guards Minas Tirith and the southern approaches to Gondor.”

“You have not enough” Grimgar declared flatly

“No, we do not.” Borondir replied

“And why is this our concern?” Werhild mused out loud, stroking his voluminous beard.  “One hundred fifty leagues to meet a foe of Gondor, their foe.  Do they attack us? Would Gondor ride north if Gundabad burst forth with legions of orcs to harry us?”

It was Werhild’s way, Eorl knew, to be the contrarian.  He respected the man’s links to the land its tillers, how they viewed the challenges of their world.  But he also knew that Werhild harbored some envy that Eorl, at 16, and not he, had been chosen as Leod’s successor. 

“They do not attack us.  Today…”  Eorl replied, evenly.  “But in recent years they have rendered the Vales of the Anduin uninhabitable below the Gladden Fields where Borondir almost met his doom at their hands.”

Werhild waived him off.  “A hundred leagues from here.  I know what you propose.  Vacate the realm of any who can ride a horse, wield a sword on this quest.  Where are the arms, legs and backs to manage the farms, tend to the livestock, defend the realm against enemies closer at hand?  What if you don’t come back?”

And that was the nub of it.  The room went silent, awaiting an answer.  Finally, Wulfgar, the old Marshall spoke.

“An army can march a hundred leagues in a month.  My eored’s can cover that in less than a week.  A week, a month.  That is the time that separates us from the present northernmost predations of this Balchoth.  It is a short time.  We are not so remote as to dissuade an enemy with a will.”

Wulfgar leaned back in his chair, glanced around the table, then continued.

“If we sit here, do nothing, then we are just waiting.  Waiting to see what the Balchoth and others like them will do after they defeat Gondor’s North Army, as surely they will if Gondor stands alone.  We would wait, our seven thousand horsemen against their twenty thousand foot soldiers should they come.  We might not prevail.”

Wulfgar let that sink in for a moment, then continued. 

“For my part, I prefer not to wait nor ask my children and grandchildren on to wait on their whims for a time when we are alone against them.  If we seize the day, this day, we meet them with Gondor’s strength beside us.  We will destroy them.  There will be no waiting”

A low murmur swept the room.  Eadric spoke.

“We have ample supplies of feed and traveling rations.  The last two harvests have been good and the winters mild.  It will not strain our reserves.  Men and horses must eat whether they are here or en route to Gondor.”

“They will have the best of weapons.”  Hengest offered as chief armorer in the realm.  “We have been at peace for many years.  It has given us time to prepare well for war should it have come.  Every man shall wield a fine sword, shield, and lance.  All will have light mail and helms.  Indeed, most of them already are so armed.”

Eorl stood, arms folded, looking down the table at Grimgar. 

“It is not in our nature to wait.”  The old man growled.  “Nor is it to chase foolish quests. Wulfgar is right to measure threats to our southern borders not in leagues but in time, the time an enemy takes to reach our realm.  I also look at time as an old man.  Not just this season, the fall harvest, the winter snow.  But the future of our people, the Eotheod, our grandchildren’s grandchildren.  It is upon us, in this room, to protect them.  To do that we must act.”

Eorl leaned forward slightly, place his palms on the table, fixing on Werhild who squirmed slightly in his seat.

“And act we will.  From what Borondir tells me, by mid next month Gondor will meet their foes at the Undeeps.  That is nine days hard ride south from here.  We must be there. Marshalls, can we muster the eohere in time?”

The two Marshalls, Wulfgar and Cenhelm, huddled together.  Then Wulfgar spoke.

“We can muster seven thousand fully armed horsemen and three hundred mounted archers.”

Borondir’s eyes widened at the number and realization that his mission might save Gondor. 

“Very well.  Every one of them must be in formation south of the Graylin no later than the sixth of next month.  Marshalls, consult with your eored Captains. Hengest and Eadric, see to their needs as best you can in such short time.  And Werhild, we need to talk about the state of spring planting.  We must have crops to return to when our task is done.”

And so the meeting ended.  The Marshalls hurried out to conduct a canvas of their Captains as to needs for arms or supplies.  Hengest and Eadric went their own directions to check on inventories.  Grimgar quietly left with a satisfied smile on his face.