Man in Chains - Chapter 2

Several hours later the riders reached Edoras. The gate to the city were barred and guarded by many men. But as soon as they saw Eomer, they opened the gates and let him in. The éored rode upon a broad path, paved with stones. They came pass several wooden homes and many dark doors. Near the path was a stream of bright water. At last they reached the top of the hill and there Éomer dismounted. He knew he should report his return to the King immediately and handed Éothain the reins of Firefoot. Then he took a deep breath and made his way to Meduseld.

In front of the doors stood Háma, the Doorwarden. He bowed to the Third Marshal and greeted him. “Hail, lord Éomer. I am pleased to you have returned from your skirmish unscathed. Ill news has come in your absence. The King is much displeased you left against his order.”

“I know, Háma.” Éomer answered. “Yet I must report to him. There are tidings he needs to hear.”

The Doorwarden nodded and opened the doors. “I will announce your arrival. Wait here.” He disappeared inside. Éomer waited. The moment of his doom was near at hand. His heart beat fast in his chest. Alas for his people that the things were now the way they were. He acted out of the best interest for Rohan, yet the King’s eyes were blind for it.

Shortly thereafter Hama returned. “The King awaits you, lord. I wish you luck. Wormtongue sits beside the King and he whispers again.”

Éomer nodded and entered the place he grew up in. It seemed warm and ark there. The hall was long and filled with shadows and filtered light. Mighty pillars supported the golden roof. Here and there sunbeams touched the ground like bright arrows. At the end of the hall sat in the middle on a throne his uncle. His back was bent out of old age and he seemed almost a Dwarf, but his white hair was long and thick. A thin golden crown was placed on his head. His beard fell like snow on his knees, but his eyes seemed to be burning as he looked at Éomer. Behind the King stood a woman clad in white, Éowyn. She was tall and was very serious. She as well looked at Éomer. At the other side of the King stood a man with a pale face, Wormtongue. The counsellor bent to the King and it seemed like he listened to him.

Slowly Éomer stepped forward and bowed to his king. “Hail, Théoden King. I have returned.”

Wormtongue rose to his feet and walked towards Éomer. “So we see, Éomer, son of Éomund. The King was most displeased that you disobeyed his orders and left to chase Orcs.”

The Marshal removed his helmet and lowered his eyelids out of his respect for his uncle the King, ignoring Wormtongue as much as possible. “Yes, lord. But the Orcs will no longer threaten the villages. We did battle with them and slew them.”

Théoden did not move. He just sat in his throne like a sickly child, capable of nothing. Wormtongue raised his head. “And?”

“We lost fifteen men and twelve horses. The group was larger and stronger than I had anticipated.” He awaited the response to this loss with anticipation and anxiety.

Wormtongue’s eyes widened and an evil gleam appeared in his eyes. There was also some sort of provocation there. “Fifteen men and twelve horses? All lost because you could only think of battle. Those lives are now wasted when they could have been used to defend Edoras. You left Edoras defenceless. Did you think of that, Éomer son of Éomund?”

Éomer’s eyes started to burn. “Those Orcs could have plundered many villages, killing many innocent people. And because I interfered they did not. Was Edoras under attack in my absence?”

There was silence.

”Was it?”

“No it was not.” Wormtongue admitted, but hated to do so. It meant Éomer was right. But he had another point to say. “Yet you took away forces from Edoras, while there were attacks on the Westfold, attacks that caused the death of lord Théodred.”

Those words left Éomer speechless. His eyes widened and he seemed like struck with an arrow in the middle of a scream. Théodred was dead? “How? When?”

Wormtongue’s eyes flickered dangerously. “You did not know of this? How odd. We assumed you did because you left Aldburg. Lord Théodred was slain at the Fords of the Isen three days ago.”


It took all of Éomer’s willpower to not burst into anger in front of Wormtongue. How he longed to rip his heart out. He had not known any of this. Was it another one of Worm’s schemes to place him into bad daylight with the King? What was he to do against this? There was nothing he could do. He watched as Wormtongue returned to the King who spoke softly with him. It was silent for a while, but then the pale counsellor spoke again.

“Théoden King wishes to know why you are late. You should have returned hours ago, when in fact you shouldn’t have left at all.”

Éomer took a deep breath. He tried to remain calm. “I am late for I had an encounter on the ride home. Three strangers crossed Rohan. They were on a quest to retrieve their friends, whom had been taken captive by Orcs. Since I was already late and I felt naught to fight three men I allowed them to go and I lend them horses to speed their way.”

Then it was silent in the hall. But not for long. For Wormtongue came with a pointing finger and stood in front of the Marshal of the Mark. “You allowed strangers to walk freely across our lands? That is against the law of the King, Éomer. And you lend them horses as well? It gets even better!”

The counsellor turned to the King. “My Lord, not only has he acted against your will, but he has disobeyed the law. He might have brought Rohan in great danger by allowing these strangers free passing. And he gives orders as he sees fit, acting as if he were king in your stead, my Lord. He is a traitor; he seeks to rule Rohan himself.”

At this Éomer could not contain himself. He burst out into anger and unsheathed his sword Gúthwinë. Before Wormtongue even realised what was going on he found himself pushed against one of the pillars. He was held firmly by Éomer and found a sword pointed at his throat.

“You lie! I only wanted to protect our country. I seek no such thing. My loyalties lie only with my King and my country. I see what you do, Wormtongue. I see how you poison my uncle with your honeyed tongue! I would have your head, Wormtongue, for it is you who brings Rohan to ruin with your ‘counsel’!”

While those words were uttered Théoden finally moved and he looked at his nephew. He rose slowly to his feet, leaning heavily on a short black staff. “Silence, sister-son! You know the law of the hall.”

Éomer bent his head and sighed, while he released Wormtongue. The latter crawled back to the King and knelt before him with pleading eyes. “My lord, he has threatened me to death. What have I ever done to him? I have only ever served you, my lord. You should put him into prison, as the law of the hall commands.”

Théoden listened intently, while he kept his eyes on his nephew. “Such is the law of the hall. Éomer, it grieves me to do this for you are my sister-son. But I cannot allow you to threaten Gríma in my hall. You will be put in the dungeons of Meduseld until further notice.”

Wormtongue looked at the Royal Guard. They did not move and seemed somewhat hesitant to follow the order. “You heard the orders of your King. Put Éomer, son of Éomund, into the dungeons.”

Slowly the men did as they were told. Éomer was put into chains. He was stripped of his armour and his sword was taken from him. The proud Marshal lowered his head in defeat. This was the end. The men guarded him as they walked towards the dungeons, going down the stairs. Háma entered the hall for he heard the commotion. He stood nailed to the floor as he saw with his very own eyes what happened to the lord Éomer and he watched as Éomer disappeared from his sight to be put in the dungeons below the hall.