Thrust and Parry

Éowyn’s blade whirled, slicing through the air.  Her face was set with determination as she moved swiftly through the movements of a pattern dance.  She never paused for breath and her blade never stopped moving – her long sleeves and her skirt sank and fell as she moved, and her hair swung from her head.  Théodred thought she was the most graceful thing he’d ever seen. 

He sat beside Éomer; they were just outside of Edoras, watching Éowyn perform her weird dance on a patch of flat ground.  Théodred looked sideways at Éomer and said, “How long has she been doing this?”

“I don’t know.  Hama sent me down here about an hour ago but she'd been at it for a while then, and she hasn’t stopped since.”

“She’s been at it for at least an hour, and she’s still going that fast!”

“I thought you said she hated sword work?”

“She did!  I mean, she was always a natural, you could see it, but she never seemed to get any pleasure out of it.  She did it because she had to, not because she liked it – she never spent half the time with the sword that she did with Windfola.”

“Well something’s changed then.  Look at her.”

“When did she get so fast!”  Théodred was astonished at the speed his cousin showed; he had seen great swordsmen at work before – his father had been unmatched with the blade in Rohan, and the dark traveller who had journeyed through Rohan in his twenty-fifth year had moved like no other Théodred had ever seen, but even compared to them Éowyn’s speed was exceptional.  Théodred knew she could not put the strength behind her blows that a Rider could, but the rapidity of strokes made him doubt that many Riders could defeat her in fair combat.

He looked at Éomer and thought he seemed worried, and so Théodred said, “Does she seem all right to you?”  Éomer looked at him and said, “All right?  No.  There has been something amiss with her for months.  I do not know what it is, and she will not tell me.”

“Have you asked her?”

“No.  I will not push her.  It has been hard enough already.  I think she is very lonely now Théodred.  We are always away, and Elfara is gone, and our Uncle not what he once was.”

“Could that be all do you think?”

Éomer looked at him appraisingly, and Théodred said, “We have not really spoken since Elfara’s death.  She was so angry with me then that I did not want to upset her further.”  Éomer had just opened his mouth when Hama joined them saying, “Lord Grima asked me to seek the Lady Éowyn.  She is wanted in the Hall.”  Théodred stood, saying, “I shall call her.”

He approached his cousin, calling her name, but she seemed not to hear him; she turned quickly, her sword spinning and finally coming to a stop a nails length from his throat.  She let out a cry and said, “Oh Théodred I am so sorry, I did not mean to, are you all right?  I didn’t realise you were there!”  He looked at her and smiled, saying “I am merely glad to see I taught you so well cousin” she laughed at his words and for the first time he saw a true, rosy smile break across her face.

She sheathed her sword, and said, “Well then I am glad to have given you such a demonstration cousin!”  Hama approached and said, “Lady Éowyn?  Lord Grima requests that you join him in Meduseld.”  A half-sigh passed from her lips and Éowyn’s face seemed to stiffen, but she only said, “Hama, would you be so kind as to tell Hala Grima that I shall return presently?” 

Hama bowed and left them, and Éowyn sat beside her brother for a moment.  Dusk fell around them, and a chill wind blew down the valley.  Éowyn’s unbound hair was driven into her face and she brushed at it impatiently.  Éomer looked at her and said, “Are you not cold?”  She looked at him, irritated, and said, “Of course not.  Did you not see me?  I have not been idle for the last two hours.”

Éomer looked at his sister and seemed to measure his words – a rare occurrence.  “Éowyn?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you not come stay at Aldburg for a few weeks?  You have never been.”

Éowyn looked at him and bit her lip, “Éomer, it is not that I do not wish to…but I do not think I can.  Uncle…” She stared off into space, and Théodred said, “Come.  Let us eat.”

Éowyn sat at the board and stifled a yawn.  She was tired, though she did not truly know why.  Just when the harvest began Théoden had taken a turn for the worse, and since then she had spent every day attending him.  Her Uncle had to be told when to rest and when to eat, for he would ignore such necessaries himself, and someone had to watch that he did not sicken further.  She did not begrudge the time she spent with him, though she could wish that Grima were not so ever present.  She wondered though why Grima had insisted that it be her who attended the King – he seemed convinced that her attentions could prevent Théoden from slipping further.  But Éowyn was no healer, however much she wished she were when she saw her Uncle’s state.  Grima always stood ever so slightly too close, his hand held hers for too long, and it was all she could do to control her trembling.  Such moments brought back memories she would rather forget, and she lived in fear of their repetition.  And yet such fear was foolish – she had warned him well, he would not overstep again, for, after all, she was of the House of Eorl and he was but an advisor.  The power lay in her hands, should she choose to use it.

Each day, when her Uncle was closeted with Grima, discussing the affairs of the kingdom, she would rush to the stables and saddle Windfola.  She would ride for an hour across the fields that surrounded Edoras, and then take her sword and practise till she was called to dine.  The exercise, the freedom from the weight of people’s sight, had become essential to her; after each day’s routine she felt as though some thing that cramped her shoulders together, that strained her muscles in to stillness, had been released. 

She looked at Théodred and Éomer and smiled to herself.  Her two brothers – so very different.  Théodred, collected and calm always, diplomatic and yet quick to raucous laughter and above all things, honourable to a fault – and Éomer.  She did not know exactly where the difference lay, but one thing stood out – Éomer was quick to anger, and he was no politician.  She loved her brother and thought that in many ways, he stood above all the Rohirrim with his virtues, but she had become used to the idea that there would be times when she would have to save him from a misspoken word.  It did not bother her.

She took a breath and said, “Théodred what is going on beyond Edoras?  In the last three weeks both Elfhelm and Dúnhere arrived with urgent messages for Uncle, and were closeted with him for hours on end.  Uncle won’t tell me what is happening but something is different, I am sure of it.”  Théodred and Éomer looked at each other, and then Théodred leaned forward and said in a low voice, “You have the right of it Éowyn.  I know not what it is, but the orcs and the Dunlendings both have become very active in the last few months.  They seem to move into our lands without fear of reprisal – I fear they may be testing our defences.”

Éowyn bent her head to him and said, “Have you told Uncle of this?”

”He knows, but he does not think it is serious.”

“He doesn’t think it is serious?  Théodred…”

Her cousin stopped her with a stern look, “Éowyn, you are not to worry about this, is that understood?  Your place is here – your worries are here.  The problem is small, and I will not have you fretting over it.”  She was about to protest when Grima sat beside her.  As his hands moved over the flagons of ale and tore through a loaf of bread, he asked, “If I may, what are you discussing so vociferously?”

Éomer leaned back in his chair, “I am simply trying to persuade my sister to visit Aldburg for a time.  I want her to join me there for Middwinter, but she is being stubborn as usual.”  Éowyn looked at him surprised – he was almost never so cordial towards Grima, the two had never got on – but he nodded at her slowly and she decided to play along.  Grima looked at her with a smile twisting his mouth and said, “I have long known that the Lady of Rohan can be formidable.  What, pray tell, is her reasoning?”

“I do not know if it would be to the good to leave my Uncle for such a period, Hala Grima.”

“Lady Éowyn I did not know that you let your sense of duty get in the way of pleasure to such an extent.  I am sure if you mentioned it to your Uncle he would allow you to visit your brother.”

“Perhaps Hala Grima, perhaps.  But I have no intention of mentioning it to him, so the question does not arise.”

He looked at her as though something in her words had caught him off balance, and she smiled inwardly at the thought.  A maidservant approached and asked, “Is there anything you desire my lady?”  Éowyn shook her head but asked, “Know you how Aegyth does this night?”  The maid bobbed a curtsy and said, “Well my lady, she seems well today.  She is sleeping now.”  Éowyn thanked her and stood saying, “Hala Grima shall my lord require me at any time tonight?”

“I think not Lady Éowyn”

“Then I shall retire for the evening.  Good night.”

Théodred stood to accompany her, and she curtsied to Grima and her brother.  She did not know why she was always so formal with him now – save that to allow him any intimacy seemed to her dangerous.  She would not grant him the least advantage of access when it came to her person.  When they reached her room she turned and asked, “Théodred what was the purpose of Éomer’s change of conversation.”  Her cousin looked around and said, “Éowyn Grima looks upon our doings with an unfriendly eye – he has convinced my father that the renewed attacks mean nothing.  I do not wish my father to hear that we are scouting for them until I have proof that something has changed.”

She looked at him in shock, “Have you disobeyed my Uncle?”  He shook his head vehemently, “No, no.  I am going beyond the usual bounds of duty a little, but Éowyn I am doing no harm.”  She smiled at him, “I understand.  Will you be here tomorrow?”

”No.  I shall scout the Westfold once more before returning.  Once winter begins the attacks will stop I am sure of it.”

She nodded and bid him goodnight before going into her room.  As she pulled on her white nightgown she yawned.  Éowyn felt as though she was foundering, pulled into deeper waters than she was used, she had not yet found a stroke that fit.  It seemed difficult to sleep of late – and even when she did she got little rest.  A nightmare had come to her several times, of Meduseld burning to the ground around her, and though she knew it was unlikely, each night she feared that she would dream it once again. 

Sighing, she realised that she was not yet ready for sleep; her mind was still too alert, moving to rapidly for rest.  She sat in front of her fire and pulled her maps towards her.  When she lived in the fair vales of Ithilien she would not live idle – no, she would be a healer, she would heal her Uncle, and she would be renowned throughout all the lands as a healer of men.  For a few moments she imagined that shifting dream – with a house and sun and a garden – but she could not hold it and started to laugh at herself.  What were such thoughts when her Uncle lay ill in his own Hall?  When she had to reason herself out of fear every morning?  Such dreams were foolishness.