DEFINING MOMENT

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

TA 3002

Aldburg

Éomer dreamed of the day he'd accompany his father on the Orc raids that seemed to happen so often. For as long as he could remember, he'd wanted to be just like his father, Éomund, descended from Eorl the Young. Éomund was a Marshal of the Mark of Rohan, his main objective to defend the lands from Orcish raids. He was renowned in battle-arms, his feats of valor spreading through Rohan. Éomer was proud to be his son and hoped to one day become like him. He only wished his father were home more often.

Rohan was a plains land, famous for its farming and cavalry. At Aldburg, with mountains on one side and the Entwash river to the other, the scenery changed from green to gold to white all year round. It was the green season now. The fields rippled like green waves, with flowers for darts of color. Éowyn loved playing in the fields, and Éomer would only be able to find her by the glint of the sun on her golden hair.

Tomorrow, his father would leave them and go to Emyn Muil, a rocky and dark place full of cliffs and brambles. Éomer walked through the great house, searching for his father. He wasn't in the Great Hall, and he wasn't even in the courtyard.

Éomer saw a flash of green silk–his mother's–and heard the jangle of mail–his father's. They were in the garden, standing beside the fountain overlooking the Entwash.

"I will come again, I swear to you, my lady," he heard Éomund say.

Théodwyn sighed and placed her hand in his larger one. "I know. I just hate the waiting and the unknown." She laid her head on his shoulder.

"I will always come home to you."

At eleven, Éomer found such talk sickening to his mind, which was filled with horses and javelin throwing and Orc fights.

Éomund caught sight of Éomer lingering in the archway of the garden. "Come, my son."

Théodwyn raised her head and smiled lovingly at her son.

"I will take my leave now, my lord," she told Éomund. They embraced, then she swept out of the garden, taking with her the gentle air ladies have.

Éomer was left with his father; truth, honesty, and integrity remained.

"Father, may I please go as your squire?" he asked. "I yearn to fight like you do." He walked up to his father and faced the Entwash, just as his father was doing.

"You wish to see battle, my son?"

Éomer nodded up. "I do! I wish to with all my heart."

Éomund laughed and crouched down so that Éomer was much taller than he. "I do not doubt your heart, lad. Only your reach of arm."

Éomer sighed. "On your next battle perhaps?" He wasn't as short as the other lads he knew, and his mother claimed he grew an inch every day.

"Perhaps," Éomund said thoughtfully. "But while I am gone, your duty is to your mother, and to your sister. You must watch over them."

His mother hardly needed watching, and at five, Éowyn was under strict vigilance of her mother and nurses. Somehow this task seemed less golden than fighting on the frontiers.

"Yes, Father," Éomer said slowly. He tried not to let disappointment sink into him, but it did. Dreadfully heavy.

"Do you know I grow weary of going off to fight, Son?" Éomund asked. His face was set towards the East, and the wind blew his long, blond hair out of his face. He closed his eyes and inhaled the evening scents of grass, wildflowers, and brook.