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CHAPTER 18

Breaking

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Éowyn saw Mithlomi fly across the encampment as the Elven horn sounded again. The maid said nothing to her lord and lady, but slipped into the tent and returned a moment later, bearing Éowyn's cloak. "They are the Elves from Lothlórien, are they not?" she asked as she put the mantle over Éowyn's shoulders.

Faramir nodded. "They are quite different from the Mirkwood Elves, or Lady Arwen's people," he replied. And indeed they were: for these were not like Thranduil's people nor Elrond's. That much Éowyn could see for herself. These Elves were clad in garments of silver that seemed to shimmer in the dull light of the clouded afternoon. It was a color that seemed to represent them, for they were as the light of the stars descended to the trees.

With Faramir's hand on her back the whole way, Éowyn trudged through the snow with her husband, and Mithlomi a few steps behind. By the time they reached the Elven travelers, Legolas had reached them and greeted the guests. He turned to the three humans when they arrived. "Lord Faramir, Lady Éowyn, this is Haldir of Lórien. Haldir, the Lord of Ithilien, Prince Faramir, and his wife Éowyn of Rohan."

Haldir bowed to them; and on second thought glanced down at Éowyn's waist. "I now understand your reason for haste, Legolas," he said. "How much longer do you have, Lady Éowyn?"

"No more than a month," she replied, nodding to the Elf.

"Then we have no time to waste." Haldir motioned one of the other Elves forward, and the one who stepped forward held in his hand an object wrapped in blue cloth. Haldir took it and pulled the wrap away, revealing a simple silver pitcher.

"This is the object we have awaited?" asked Faramir. "It seems so insignificant."

"All of us have seen how much power may be wielded by the insignificant," said Legolas, "and how great an effect something small may have."

Haldir looked at the Prince of Mirkwood and nodded. "This was perhaps not so great as the Lady of the Galadhrim's Mirror, but it was no less important. And it may serve your purpose now."

He held it out, and Éowyn grasped it in both hands. "I thank you, Haldir."

Then some of the men appeared to lead horses away, and there was a flurry of voices then from the Elves amid that activity, many of them trying to speak to her, it seemed. "Lady, do you know any Elvish?" one asked.

"Have you returned to the glade since the first night?"

"How many of the men were there?"

"Did you go so far as the spring?"

"We should wait until nightfall."

"Nay, the dawn!"

"We cannot lose another moment."

"They have waited nine weeks; could they not wait a little longer?"

Somewhere along the way, Éowyn lost track of the voices; she knew not where to begin in responding to them, for they seemed all to speak at once. Her breathing became erratic for reasons she did not know. The wind suddenly picked up, billowing cloaks around. She closed her eyes, hoping that the cacophony would stop, and when a man leading a horse inadvertently bumped into her, she nearly dropped the pitcher in her hands. No longer able to follow what was going on around her, she looked to the snow-covered ground, and a sudden sob escaped her throat.

"Éowyn?"

The final voice was Faramir's, and all others ceased. A gentle hand touched her cheek and turned her face. "Éowyn, what is wrong?"

It took her a moment to compose herself, during which time Faramir gently wiped away the tear streaks from her cheeks. "I am sorry, my lord," she finally managed. "Forgive me."

Gently the Lord of Ithilien took her by her shoulders and turned her to him. "My love," he whispered, "will you be able to do this?"

Slowly she nodded. "I must, Faramir," she breathed. "None else can."

He closed his eyes and kissed her brow. "If you feel you are ready, I will not object."

Éowyn leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to his lips. "I am ready."

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The next hour seemed to pass by in a whirl of people rushing around in a manner Mithlomi had not seen since she had been sent off from Minas Tirith before the orc armies besieged the great city during the War. The air was tense as well, and more than anything the handmaiden wished she could go back to her tent and sleep until this ordeal was over.

For in truth, Mithlomi minded that more than she minded the bustling activity all around. Lady Éowyn was in no condition to be up on her feet for more than a few minutes at a time, and yet she was about to enter the glade again, even though it had taken so many men captive. Mithlomi did not wish to watch her mistress do this, not for anything the world could offer her.

"Mithlomi," said a soft, familiar voice behind her. She did not have to turn to know that the Ranger Adûman was behind her. "Mithlomi, are you all right?"

Slowly she turned, nodding to him. "I am worried for my lady."

"As we all are," Adûman replied, taking her hand gently in his. "Do not fear for her, Mithlomi. Fear will do good for no one."

"I wish I were in her place, and she in mine, safe in this camp," the handmaiden replied, bitterness in her voice.

Adûman's grip of her slender white hand tightened. "The Lady will be all right," he said. "For your sake I am glad you will be safe in this camp."

Mithlomi met his gaze then and saw in his dark eyes something which made her breath catch in the back of her throat, and her heart beat a little faster. She suspected that she knew what that look meant, and why it affected her so. It made her a little uncomfortable, for she had never seen a man look at her in such a way before.

The handmaiden looked down. "I must go to my lady, Adûman, and I am certain I am keeping you from your duties."

She risked a glance up at him, and she could tell that he wished to ask her something. But instead, he released her hand and bowed to her. "I take my leave."

She watched him go, his chin high, but his shoulders a little lower than normal. Thoughts of the last two months, with his constant attempts to draw her from her shell and her lady's shadow, fluttered through her mind, and a soft blush rose to her cheeks. It was flattering, certainly, more flattering than the Elf's attentions to her. Lord Legolas treated her no differently than he treated Lady Éowyn: kindly, attentively, and respectfully. He did like to tease Mithlomi, of course, but that was due largely to how she tended to retreat into a corner whenever he appeared. And if his goal had been to make her more comfortable at her lady's side instead of behind her, he had succeeded.

Yet at the same time, he had seemed to spark some jealousy in Adûman, jealousy which was groundless. She was sure that Legolas found her as plain and uninteresting as any human girl, and if she had ever tried to place words to what she felt for the Elven lord, she would have recognized that she was too much in awe of him to think of him as anything other than an Elven lord—she had yet to think of him as even attractive, let alone someone to court her.

It had seemed for a few weeks to Mithlomi that Adûman had wanted only her friendship. But recently it had become clear to her that he wanted something more from her. And more than anything else, it had confused her to have the Ranger's attentions. That confusion added to the stress and tension in the camp was enough to make for some sleepless nights, wondering about her future, and wondering about this day.

"You seem tired, Mithlomi," said a quiet voice behind her, that of Lady Éowyn.

Startled from her reverie, the handmaiden turned around. "Oh!" she cried, curtseying. "I am sorry, my lady."

The Lady smiled and touched Mithlomi's cheek, her other hand resting on her stomach. "Dear Mithlomi," she replied. "When will you learn that you do not have to apologize for everything?"

Mithlomi looked to the ground for a moment. "What would you have me do, my lady?"

"Stay with the Lord Faramir," Éowyn replied. "He may need your help."

And suddenly the Lady embraced her, as tightly as any woman less than a month from birthing a child could. Mithlomi squeezed her eyes shut to hold back tears. "You will be careful?" she whispered.

"I have many reasons to be careful," said Éowyn, pulling back. "And you are not the least among them. I will be careful."

And in a moment, the White Lady was gone, back to the group of Elves who beckoned her. And a little while later Mithlomi sought out the Steward, and with him she waited as Lady Éowyn passed through the trees, the silver pitcher in her hand.

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After taking leave of Mithlomi, Éowyn approached Haldir, who gave her the ewer once more and spoke a few words in Elvish, words she recognized as a blessing. He and his companions then dispersed, and as twilight descended upon them all in the forest, she turned to her husband, who stood silently and alone.

"I have told Mithlomi to stay with you," she said when she reached him.

He nodded. "I had apprehended as much." When she reached him, he took her by her shoulders again and kissed her brow, then rested his forehead against hers. "I do not need to remind you to be careful."

Éowyn shook her head. "No, my lord."

A little time passed in silence, and Faramir whispered, as though his voice came from long ago: "Flowers fair and bright, and maidens fairer still. . . ."

And at that tears began to well up in Éowyn's eyes, as she did not hear the awe she had heard the first time he had spoken those words to her, but instead heard despair. "Do not fear for me, Faramir," she replied in soft tones. "Neither death nor pain."

To that Faramir had no reply; and so he took her face in his hands and kissed her long and full, though they were surrounded by a large host and many watched them. Éowyn cared not, and she rested her free hand against his chest, wanting him nearer, wanting him longer. But there were pressing things to be done, so when Faramir pulled away and placed a chaste kiss upon her brow, she did not object.

"Take care of our son," he said.

Éowyn smiled. "I will take care of our daughter."

The sun was setting quickly, and as the last light of day died around them, Éowyn walked away, the pitcher in both hands. When she reached the farthest point of the glade before she reached the extent of the curse, she turned to see Faramir standing away from the men, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Mithlomi stood just behind him, and for them she smiled. Then, taking a deep breath, she turned back to the heart of darkness and took another step.

There was a rush of warm air across her face as she crossed the barrier. All noise from the camp ceased, and for that she was glad. She knew not which way she went, but only walked, and soon she came to a pool with a placid surface in the chill of the swiftly-falling night.

With great care Éowyn knelt at the water's edge and peered into the small pool. The light of the emerging stars pierced deeper than she would have imagined, and she realized that this spring was much larger than she had thought, beginning deep within the earth. It was no wonder that the Enemy had chosen to weave such a spell in this place, for the spring would be a great asset to a city or guard tower, one which would not shrivel under the heat of the summer sun. Nor did it seem to freeze over in winter, which made her glad now, as it meant she did not have to break a sheet of ice.

She leaned over the surface of the water and gazed at her reflection. It had been some time since she had had a mirror, and what she saw on the water's surface surprised her a little. Her face was fuller than it had been when she had left Minas Tirith, which was not too surprising, given her weight gain. Faramir had commented on that once or twice, saying how becoming it was. He had mentioned a glow to her skin as well, and she saw that that too was true. In the moonlight she was willing to own herself lovely, even beautiful.

The babe stirred then, and Éowyn looked away from the pool, coming once more to the task at hand. Though she seemed immune to the spell that held the men captive, this pool appeared to have another power as well, the power to hold her attention away from her quest. With a little trepidation, she took up Galadriel's pitcher and dipped it into the dark water.

Éowyn held her breath as she watched drops of water trickle down the sides of the pitcher and back into the pool. They were clear as the dawn and sparkling, and when they hit the bubbling spring surface, they bloomed like water upon a layer of oil. And upon the silver surface where the pure water was, the light of the stars danced.

The stars. . . .

She looked up, the pitcher of pure water still in her hand, and found the chief star in the night sky, Eärendil waning in the west. The evening star's beacon was still bright, though it was dying, and Éowyn suddenly whispered in Elvish:

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel
silivren penna míriel
o menel aglar elenath!
Na-chaered palan-díriel
o galadhremmin ennorath
Fanuilos le linnathon
nef aear, si nef aearon!"

And the world grew still and cold, and Éowyn stood with great care. She took a deep breath and poured out the water in the pitcher like an offering upon an altar. The surface of silver deepened, until the starlight began to fill the pool; the darkness of the water fled, and silver purity spread in its wake.

Suddenly the stars burned much brighter and the air began to tremble. Within her womb Éowyn felt the child stir in agitation, and she held her breath. She looked to the west and saw Eärendil setting. And as the star reached the horizon, there was a bright burst of light, and all the earth seemed to go silent for a little while.

Éowyn closed her eyes, and the spring began to bubble in the darkness. And for a little while she thought she heard singing. But it was fairer than the music of the Elves and moved her in a way much deeper than anything she had ever heard. Her restless child calmed at the sound of the music, and a tear rolled down her cheek for reasons she did not comprehend.

And then more tears came. Those she did understand, for Faramir was calling her name.

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No one at the camp slept that night. They were all too busy greeting the men who were newly awakened and asking Éowyn what had happened. In truth, she was too stunned to really recount the spell-breaking for several days, and then only to Faramir. And when she told him of the music at the spring, he told her of the ancient tale of creation, and how Middle-earth had come into being through song. There was a wistfulness in his expression as he told her of the Ainur, and Éowyn knew that he believed that she had heard an echo of this music in the spring when the spell was broken.

It had taken Éowyn some time to realize exactly what had happened, but when the flash of light had come, it seemed to have hastened Spring in his arrival in Ithilien. For the snow had all melted, and flowers bloomed under the trees and in the clearings. It lifted the hearts of the men to see the early springtime. The days were warmer, and they went about their work singing always.

And there was much work to be done, for the Lady Arwen and Lord Aragorn arrived at the encampment a few days after the spell was broken. The King was on hand to strike the first spade into the ground for the new city and to name it. Thus he called it Minas Mardil, for the first Ruling Steward of Gondor, and gave to Faramir its rule and care, and a charge to let the City of the Steward always watch the land of Mordor and guard the realm of Gondor against her foes.

Éowyn did not attend this ceremony, for she was nearing the time of her confinement. And with her stayed Arwen, who confided in Éowyn that she too would bear a child before the year was out. For this the Lady of Rohan was very glad, for she hoped that her royal friends would find the same joy she had found in this miracle of life, even before she had held her child in her arms.

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For those who are curious, part of the above was based on this passage from The Silmarillion:

"And it is said by the Eldar that in water there lives yet the echo of the Music of the Ainur more than in any substance else that is in this Earth."

Water seems to have special significance to Tolkien. Its symbolism in many cultures is one of purification, which is how I've chosen to use it here. Galadriel also has a special connection to water, as she bore Nenya, the Ring of Water, so I figured she wouldn't mind me borrowing one of her possessions.