As the benches filled in with familiar faces, Ealhric's fellow Kinsman scowled at him a moment before asking, "Who's grave did ya steal a pretty blade like that from anyway?" Ealhric had made a fool of the rider this morning, knocking him to his rear when they were being drilled by the Provost. His Kinsman remained red-faced and spiteful of him all day. Ealhric requested assignment to this Eored just before their orders to scout Isenguard, having served the last few years under a garrison of the Second Marshal in the Westfold. He found it hard to make friends in the new company wielding such a fine piece of steel not issued from the armory. It did not help that the outriding eoreds were suspicious folk by nature, ever scouting the edges of the Mark for hidden threats. Ealhric loosened the leather straps of his gauntlets and laid them gently on the table beside his horn of ale. After a long swallow, Ealhric looked up from his drink, brushing his dark auburn hair aside, and his blue-grey eyes searched the Kinsman's a moment before he responded, "My father, he was a smith. Horseshoes and tools might have been his trade, but he had a hand for blades as well. He had served in the days of King Thengel, when last an Orc host challenged the Rohirrim." The Kinsman continued to listen but Ealhric said no more, solemnly staring off to the musicians as the sound of pipes began to add to the drone of the inn. The thought of home put his stomach in knots, and his heart longed to see his family again.

Ealhric had been raised in a small village along the Deeping Stream. From an early age, his father Ealhhelm taught him to ride and hunt with spear as was done by many men in their village, however it was customary that he take up his father's craft. So from a boy, he apprenticed at his father's forge learning to refine ore and shape metal. His mother Irma helped him learn his sums such as to make a comfortable living in trade as they had. Over time it would seem Ealhric's heart was not content with the life of a smith however. He more enjoyed his father's hunts and riding out alone across the grass fields as fast as their family's stallion would take him. He desired the adventure and glory his father spoke of in wartime stories. On a spring morning in his tenth year, Ealhric joined Ealhhelm to trade tools in Edoras, and it was that day among the crowded markets that he finally found the spark of greatness he sought.

The midday sun was high and bright as King Théoden and his escort rode down the hill. Ealhric watched beside his father as the congested market parted and came to a reverent quiet. Merchants, nobles and farmers alike knelt as the King and company guided their mounts through the crowd, and while near all eyes looked upon the King, Ealhric could not help but look in awe on the King's Royal Guard. Several knightly riders armored head to toe, he knew right away they were the warriors of living legend. As boys, he and the others his age would often play at 'Protect the King,' a simple sort of game that didn't amount to much more than blocking and shoving in the end. Ealhric was one of the few who didn't enjoy the prestigious keep-away king role as much as the blocking protectors. So, there they were before his glazed eyes, all matched in bright enameled plate and scale, fine cloaks of deep green, round shields emblazoned in green and gold, and stout helmets wrought with the designs of a horse who's mane formed the golden plumes coming out from the top. These men were hand-picked by the King to protect his hall and person in times of war and peace. It was then and there that Ealhric felt a certain purpose, a destiny to fulfill the ultimate glory a boy could desire. He decidedly devoted himself henceforth to serve the Mark, and perhaps one day be a picked himself to join the legendary company of the Royal Guard.

Ealhric understood full well what it meant to pursue such a lofty notion. When Ealhric came of age, he shared his intent with his parents and asked for leave to serve Théodred, Second Marshal of Rohan in the Westfold. His mother casted many doubts on his childish pursuits of glory, but at that time, the kingdom had seen a score of years in peace. There was little reason for Ealhric's father to deny his son's sense of duty, and he knew it would be a great honor for his family and village. On the day Ealhric departed on a borrowed gelding, his father rode with him to the crossroads to see him off. There they both dismounted, and Ealhhelm unraveled the cloth that was bundled on the back of his stallion. Underneath he drew a long sword, newly forged by look of it gleaming in the early morning sun, and handed it to Ealhric as he stood there admiring the work. Immediately, Ealhric noticed the pommel carved in the shape of a horse head, "your mother helped with that," Ealhhelm remarked. The crossguard was embedded on each side with a rounded piece of malachite, polished to a deep green. As Ealhric held the blade he looked down the length of the fuller in its center, and could feel the lightness and balance in his hand. Ealhric knew he had never held a finer blade, and said "You made this for me? You could fetch a fine price if...”, "No!” Ealhhelm cut in. "This is no blade for a lord or merchant. This is the blade that will protect the Mark. The blade that will protect my son," and the tone in his father's voice settled the matter. "Besides, I made two before it that weren't quite to my liking. I'll fetch a good price for those." Ealhric shared a laugh with his father before they said their last farewells, embraced and departed.

It had been several years since that day, but Ealhric remembered it fondly. The stress of events of most recent have often brought thoughts of happier times back, as the road to Bree had been costly and unwelcome. Under the command of Edelred, they were ordered to investigate rumors of Isenguard’s hostility to Rohan. Upon arriving at the Gap and observing the banner of Edoras being escorted across the Isen by Orcs, Edelred ordered his Kinsmen to cross the Gap in pursuit. At some point after crossing the Isen, Edelred’s and his Kinsmen were ambushed by Orcs and driven north. It is unclear how many Rohirrim were lost, and how many more were missing. After braving the Trollshaws, Edelred led the remnants of his Eored to Bree, where they currently are resting and resupplying for the journey home. Their days kept busy drilling in the fields, mending wounds, and gathering supplies or maps for the path ahead. The preparation is slow wearisome work and the company's restlessness is plain to see, but the prospect of home kept their hearts strong. Most of the stranded Rohirrim had a measure of comfort among the Bree-folk, but they were all troubled by the reports coming from the south. Orcs were making for war, and much darker powers were rumored to be rising in the east.