Summer’s Lease

Éowyn waved up at Théodred.  He grinned cheerfully back from the roof and she continued on her way.  Gathering an armful of sweet-smelling hay Éowyn couldn’t help but smile to herself.  It was a warm, late summer day and the breeze only plucked teasingly at her skirts.  Edoras was busy and humming with good cheer.  Théoden king had decreed that the Hall be rethatched and this was the last day of the work.

Even now, as the men finished binding and knotting the thatch, maidservants were clearing and dusting off the hall so that it would be fit for the celebrations that night.  Éowyn herself was busy weaving the wreaths all the women would wear that night.

She returned to her seat in front of the doors.  Her Uncle had asked her to send every person where they ought, and she liked the feeling of worth that came when she directed every person to the right place.  A pitcher of cool creamy milk flavoured with cinnamon stood in the shade and whenever she was thirsty she would drink a dipperful.

Elfara and Aegyth helped her as she worked.  At first she had been frightened of Aegyth, a woman with brawny arms and rough hands, who had managed Meduseld with an iron fist since the death of Queen Elfhild.  It was only recently that Aegyth had ceased to scare her, for she was a good and patient teacher if one listened to her.

She was speaking now, “I remember the last Thatching Elfara, it was when I was only Lady Éowyn’s age.  And the dancing and feasting and singing went on till all hours that night.  Many is the girl met her husband at that Thatching.”  She winked at Éowyn as she spoke – Éowyn would have responded but a shadow fell across her face and she looked up.

“Wita Grima.  What are you doing here?”

“I wondered if I might in any way serve you my Lady?”  Éowyn looked at him carefully, wondering if he still felt it.  A fever that winter had weakened him further so that he stooped always now, and often had to take pause for breath.  He could not help the men with the thatching and Éowyn knew that many pitied him.  She would not give him her pity however – instead she would put a few stalks in his hands and teach him how to braid.

He sat beside her awkwardly and Éowyn shifted her dainty white skirts out of his way.  He nodded to Aegyth and said to Elfara, “Who else has the honour of Lady Éowyn’s company?”

“Elfara, Magnus’s daughter, lord.”

“”Oh. You are well known to many members of Eorl’s house are you not?”

Éowyn’s hands guided Grima’s over the straws but she looked up at his tone.  Elfara’s face was flushed, though not, Éowyn thought, with anger.  She stepped in for her friend, “Freocwene Elfara is a dear friend of mine and a gifted craftswoman Wita Grima.  Elfara could you get Aegyth a dipper of milk?”

Grima nodded but his eyes seemed oddly lit up as he said, “Forgive me Lady Éowyn, I did not mean to offend.”  She looked away from him – she had no more desire for conversation with him, though she felt sorry for him.

A tall figure landed just in front of them, and Éowyn yelped and stood up, “Poldon!  What are you doing?”  He smiled at her, unabashed, “I wanted to surprise you Lady Éowyn.  You’re not easily surprised.”  She blushed and did not see Aegyth and Elfara nudge each other, newly made allies.  They stood for a moment, and then, all hands and feet, Poldon handed her a small nosegay of little blue flowers.  He stammered, “I thought you might like them, you might need them.  They’ll look pretty with your dress.”  Éowyn blushed still deeper, and Aegyth came to her rescue, saying, “We shall weave them into Lady Éowyn’s wreath Poldon.”

He hung his head a little, and turned to go, saying, “Good, that’s good.”  Éowyn stood for a moment before she recollected herself.  Grabbing a jug of sweet cider she followed him.  When she couldn’t catch up she called out to him, “Poldon?”  He turned and walked back to her.  “Could you bring this to my Uncle?  Someone said he was thirsty.”  He took it from her hands and she said, “Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble Lady Éowyn”

“No.  I mean, thank you for the flowers.”

He beamed at her then and Éowyn felt that she was drenched in his smile.  They stood, looking at each other, for a moment, before Éowyn said, “Well I should, get back.  The others…”  Her voice trailed off, and she had turned to go when he said, “Will you dance with me this night?”

She smiled, “Aye Poldon, I’ll dance with you.”

The valley was very still, a last lingering warmth in the cool air as the sun sank beneath the hills.  Éowyn hugged her knees as she sat on the steps.  She loved the view from Meduseld.  Elfara and Aegyth had brought the wreaths inside for the evening’s festivities.  A call broke her reverie.

Éomer sat beside her.  Like her, he looked tired and contented from the long day’s work in the sun, “Did you enjoy the thatching?”

”Aye”

”You should come next summer when we thatch Aldburg.  Then you’ll see a real thatching.”

She shoved at him playfully, “We’re lucky though Éomer.  Some people never see a thatching”

“Father didn’t.  Nor mother neither.”

“I didn’t know that”, she leant her head on his shoulder, “I miss them Éomer.  I don’t remember much – Mama’s smile and that herb she always smelt of, and Father’s beard and the song he used to sing – but that’s nearly all.”

Éomer put an arm around her as she sighed and twisted her wreath in her hands.  He squeezed her shoulder a little and said, “Those Poldon’s flowers?”

“How did you know?”

“He has a fancy for you.”

“Do you like him?”

“As a Rider and a friend I like him, but Éowyn, Uncle wouldn’t want…”

“Really?”

“He wouldn’t stop you, but I think he’d prefer you to not.  And if it is only a fancy?”

“Yes”

They sat for a moment and Éowyn said, “It was a beautiful day.”

“Aye it was.”

She stood and asked him, “Have I dirt on my skirt?”

“No – it’s still white.”

Author’s Note

The idea of a collective thatching struck me as rather interesting and promptly refused to be dislodged from my brain.  The only comparison I can make is with the Irish ‘meitheal’ where a community would join together to harvest a field or build a barn etc etc.

Freocwene - Freewoman

The title comes from Shakespeare's sonnet 18:

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.