Grace

He watched her swing out of the saddle.  Éowyn’s movements were a little awkward for she had not yet grown used to her new length of limb.  Her riding habit was too short in the sleeves and was worn at the elbows.  She flicked her heavy plait over her shoulder, “Do I have to stop now Uncle?”

“Aye Éowyn, she’s young yet, you don’t want to spoil her through too much work.  Take it slow now, she’s tired.”

Éowyn hooked a halter around Windolfa’s neck.  She caught the horse near the head and turned to walk back to the stables.  Théoden rested a hand on her narrow shoulders briefly – she turned and smiled.  It was good to see – his neice was far less expansive than her brother and oftentimes it was hard to discover what she was feeling.  As much as she resembled her mother in appearance, she was not so similar in character.  She was high-hearted though, as he imagined she had to be, surrounded by the men of Meduseld.  They all doted on her – but holding your own in such company was no easy task.

She swatted at the wisps of hair around her pale face with a sigh of irritation.  “How goes your sword training?”, he said, rubbing his lower back discreetly.  Éowyn looked up at him, “Théodred and Éomer teach me when they’re here, and Helm taught me some moves for practise.  It’s like dancing”, Éowyn’s forehead furrowed over the last words, but she continued, “It’s not as good as teaching Windfola.”  She cosseted the mare’s velvet muzzle and smiled “I love training Windfola.”  Théoden felt obliged to reprimand her, “Éowyn you are to be Shieldmaiden and Lady of Rohan – you must learn the use of the blade”.  She shrugged her shoulders; “I don’t see the point of whacking at Théodred with a stick and missing, for hours.  And any way I’m never going to be strong enough to beat anyone so why should I bother?”

She sounded half angry and half tearful, and he was about to say something when Grima caught up with them.  Éowyn curtsied saying “Wita Grima” and stood back to let them talk.  The thin man leaned forward a little saying, “Dispatchs from the Eastfold have arrived my lord.  The last of the crops of the harvest have been gathered.”  Théoden’s shoulder ached in the biting wind –a knife thrust from a battle long past – a storm must be brewing.  He glanced at his advisor and said, “We shall speak more later Grima.  I must talk with my neice”

Grima bowed – which was difficult due to his stoop – and said, “Of course my lord.  I am glad to see the lady in such good spirits.”  He bowed to Éowyn, who smiled at him a little uncertainly, “I shall, if it please you my lord, depart.  I must speak with the door wardens.”  Éowyn watched his departure thoughtfully, and said, “Could the healers do nothing for him after the accident?”

“It happened as he was riding alone from Edoras to Aldburg.  His father was a drunkard and did not seek him for many hours; by then it was too late.”  He saw a frown cross Éowyn’s face and she said, “That’s awful.  He must be very brave to have kept on like that.”  Her pale face was screwed up in thought, and Théoden said, “How go your lessons in Westron?”

She fingered the halter, “Well… Mama taught me and Éomer to speak it when we were little so Grima’s trying to teach me how to read it.  We read a story of Gondolin, all about Idril and Tuor who she preferred to Maeglin even though he was an elf and learned as they are…It’s a beautful story.”

They had reached the stables and Éowyn was rubbing down her horse.  He had to speak with her, “Éowyn I know the sworkwork seems difficult to you now, but it will get easier I promise you.”  She tilted her head up at him and he sighed – he just didn’t know how to talk to his neice, for all that he loved her.  After all she was right; unless she was exceptionally skilled with the blade she would find it very difficult to defend herself against a taller, stronger opponent.  All of the instructors who trained Shieldmaidens had died, for there had been none since the time of his mother, Morwen.  Éowyn hefted the saddle against her hip and said, “Uncle when I’m finished can I visist Elfara?  I won’t stay long.”

Théoden sighed, “Of course Éowyn, but take care and be back before dark – a storm is coming.”  She nodded and smiled, “Of course, Uncle.”  He left, pulling his cloak closer as he went.

Éowyn dipped a cup of water from the bucket and set it down in front of Elfara.  The older woman looked up and smiled.  Her workshop, even in the biting winds of late autumn, was steamy.  They embraced briefly and then Elfara went back to work.  Éowyn levered herself onto the worktop saying, “When did you get back?”  Elfara grunted as she pulled thread through a torn strap, “Three days ago.”

“How was your journey?”

“It went well.  The saddler in the Fenmarch has been ill for weeks so there was much work to do.  Now there’s nothing but scut work till Mid-winter.  And you, how has your training gone?”

“Terrible.  I’m no good with a sword, I keep dropping it, and my uncle insists that I must be a Shieldmaiden.”

“Is that so terrible lady, you could be like the Steelsheen.”

“Not if I keep dropping my sword I won’t be.  I’m just not good at it.  It’s embarrassing – everyone keeps telling me how quickly Éomer picked it up.”

“Who’s teaching you?”

“Éomer and Théodred, and Helm helps.  And Poldon.”

“Who’s Poldon?”

“He’s a Rider in the same éored as Éomer – they’re friends.”

Éowyn didn’t see Elfara smile as she bent over the bucket to wash her hands.  The older woman said, “What’s he like?”

Éowyn smiled, “He’s very tall, and he’s funny, and he knows such a lot about fighting, and he has a beautiful horse – Strangast – and he says he’ll dance with me at Midwinter.”

“Any other news?”

“Well uncle says that Éomer can live in Aldburg in a year or two, but I’ll have to stay here until I’m older, so I won’t be seeing him as much.”

“And what of Grima?  He’s teaching you isn’t he?”

“Yes…he’s very nice.  He calls me ‘beorhtfeax’ and he’s very kind to me”

“Even if he is crooked?”

“Elfara!”

“You shouldn’t pity the man Éowyn.  He’s the same as the rest of us, for all that he’s twisted”

“It’s not that, it’s just…he changes the stories.  We were reading about Gondolin, and he made it seem as if she should have picked Maeglin, and only chose the other because she was silly, but I went back to read it again, and Maeglin was dark Elfara.  He was evil and a traitor and anyway the elves didn’t marry their cousins.”

Elfara straightened up and looked at the young girl.  She was toying with the end of her plait and staring off into space, “Well you know child they say a story changes with each telling.”  Éowyn seemed unconvinced but she said, “Théodred’s back for the winter you know.”

“Is he?” Elfara said flatly – she knew what was in the girl’s mind, but she could no more combat it than she could hold back the passage of the year – Éowyn would have to discover it for herself.  “Have you seen him?”

“No.  Get up and make yourself useful.  There’s a fire there that needs tending.”

Éowyn sat at the hearth, trying to coax some heat back into the dead embers.  “Will you come to Meduseld for Midwinter?  We’re already preparing for it.”

“Perhaps.  If it will not bother the King.”

“I’m sure it won’t, and Théodred would like you to come I’m sure.”

“Éowyn!  Hush with such talk!  I’ll hear no more about your cousin!”

Éowyn stood, and Elfara immediately regretted her outburst of temper; it was not the young one’s fault after all.  “I’m sorry Elfara, I didn’t mean to, I’ll just, go” and she turned and fled from the room.  Elfara ran to the door, calling, “Éowyn!  Éowyn!” but she was already gone.

Glossary

The two ‘Rohirric’ words I used are actually from old English

Wita – meaning advisor

And beorhtfeax – a compound I made, meaning ‘shining/bright hair’