In The Breach

Éowyn let the last drop of mead settle and then lifted the tray, suppressing a grunt as she did so.  Her sleeves hung almost to her knees and she swore inwardly at the weight of her gown.  The brocaded velvet seemed to slow her steps and force her to consider every movement – it was stiff, constricting, and she longed for a chance to undo the buttons and breathe deeply.

Still, now was not the time to indulge such desires, and Éowyn hefted her tray once more.  Éomer, Théodred and Elfhelm were enjoying a rare moment of celebration for Boromir, Gondor’s Heir, was visiting for a short period.  She had banished the maidservants so that they could relax, free from any gaze.  Unfortunately it meant that she had to ferry their drinks to and fro - inevitably she would tire of the task and dump a jug of ale in front of them, refusing such service – but for now she would smile.  The baking days of summer seemed to encourage all their enemies to attack.  She had not seen Éomer and Théodred together in four months.

Éowyn sat beside Elfhelm and gave them each their goblet.  She raised her glass and saluted Boromir, loving the honeyed slip of the mead down her throat.  He smiled at her but she could discern that strain and worry had left a mark on him, as they had on them all.  Lines fanned out from his eyes and she could just see a few streaks of grey in his hair.  His laughter had a strained, bitter undercurrent that had not been there when she first met him.

After a few scant minutes of laughter Éomer lowered his goblet and fixed Boromir with a glance “Is it true that you journey north for naught but a dream?”  Éowyn wanted to stop him, for he had imbibed much this night and the King’s mead was strong, even for such as Éomer, but Boromir was not offended.  He sighed and said, “Where did you hear such a tale Éomer?”

“From Grima – but I can scarce believe it.”

“That is not all that might be told.  What tidings have you had from Gondor?”

Théodred leaned closer to Gondor’s Heir, and as Éowyn met his eyes for a moment, she could sense his burning curiosity.  His voice when he spoke however was even, “Of late but few and rarely even those.”  Boromir drank deeply and said, “Then you have not heard that we are newly besieged?”

“No.”

“It came upon us in June.  Long have the men of Gondor stood against the hordes to the East, but they assailed us as a sudden flood when summer began.  But this was not the worst.  Some dark purpose was at work, for it was not by numbers that we were defeated.”

“What was it then?”

“I know not – some saw him as a rider in black, but none know for certain.  It is sure though that when he came our foes were newly enraged and even the boldest among us fell to some madness of fear.  All men retreated before him, abandoning Osgiliath, and in their frenzy they threw down the bridge on which my company stood.  A dream that came often to my brother, and once to me, seemed to speak of some hope in such dreadful time, and so I determined to journey north to seek Rivendell, in search of our deliverance.”

Éowyn looked at the other men’s’ faces – no laughter graced them now; even Éomer seemed old and grim.  She saw shadows of times past in Boromir’s eyes and knew it had been a dark and bitter battle.  She could not but ask, “Was it a wyrd?”

“I scarcely know Lady Éowyn.  Even my father, the Steward, would not name his apprehensions as to the Rider.  Your venture is as close to the mark as any I would wager.”

Éowyn shuddered, if a wyrd had come forth, come from the great darkness to the East, than it was a fell day for Gondor, and for Rohan also.  She looked to Théodred but he sat as if pondering what Boromir had said and so she said nothing.

“Lady Éowyn, I must speak with you for a moment.”  Grima often reminded her of apples that kept their shape even when rotten and she wondered what she must do to expose the corruption that lay inside.  Now though, she stilled her face in to smoothness and stood to greet him.  A voice rang out in the hall, “Who are you, Wormtongue, to speak to Lady Éowyn with such presumption?”

Éowyn hardly dared look at Elfhelm, fearing that he had lost his wits, but look she must, and so she turned to see his furious countenance.  She spoke softly, “Elfhelm it is no matter…” but Grima interrupted her, saying, “I cannot quite agree with you there Lady Éowyn – they are only a few scant questions with regards to your Uncle’s health, but I, for one, hold the Lord of the Mark, and my loyalty to him above all things.”

He paused and Éowyn could see that he got some kind of amusement from this contest of words.  “Think you that our lord Théoden shall be able to visit the stables tomorrow or is he yet infirm?  I have been told that the horse, Snowmane, pines.”

“I hardly know Hala Grima – but tomorrow I shall decide if his health permits it.”

He half-bowed and said, “As always Lady Éowyn you command obedience.  Marshal Elfhelm?”

“Yes?”

“Your interruption puts me in mind that Théoden has ordered that you ride out at first light to join with Erkenbrand.”

“But my place is with Théodred – who shall replace me?”

“That is not your concern.  You ought not question the King’s will, Marshal.”

Grima bowed once more and left, Elfhelm’s eyes marking him as an archer marks a target.  Éowyn spoke as acidly as possible, “Might I speak with you for a moment Marshal Elfhelm?”  He followed her to a far corner of the hall and she turned to him, saying, “What were you doing?”

“Lady Éowyn he presumes too much…”

“And do you truly think that you were helping me?  Grima could have you banished from Meduseld for this.”

“Am I supposed to watch him take liberties with my…”

“With your what?  I am not yours to rescue Elfhelm!”

“Éowyn!”

“No.  I am my father’s daughter.  I am not afraid of anything; but this will end.  You will not give him yet more cause to strike against you, do you understand?  You are too important a Marshal to fall from my Uncle’s grace over something so petty.”

“Yes Lady Éowyn.”

He bowed over her hand and she said, “And Elfhelm?”

“Yes?”

“Have a care.”

He smiled and kissed her hand before bidding farewell to Théodred and leaving.  She returned to her seat.  Éomer had fallen asleep, for he had ridden two days so that he might meet Gondor’s Heir.  Théodred cast her a sharp look, for she had spoken with Elfhelm in fierce whispers, but he was deep in conversation with Boromir and asked her now no questions.

Elfhelm – he had become another fear in her heart.  He cared so much for her honour, her safety yet he did not understand.  If it had been simply a matter of herself and Grima she would have unmanned him long before now, but there were others, who he could use, were she to strike against him.  Her heart froze as she looked at Éomer and Théodred, and she realised afresh that Elfhelm did not understand.  For all his shrewdness he had never learned that sometimes the only defence lay in leaving oneself open.  Only by feigning acquiescence to Grima’s snivelling demands would she protect what mattered most – her King and her brothers.  She hated it, it burned her, it scalded to swallow the bitter words she longed to say and lock them in her heart; but that was the price.  A hard acceptance of it had been wrung from her heart, and all of Elfhelm’s protests, and this was not the first, merely made her part the harder.

She sighed and folded her hands in her lap as Théodred spoke.  “My father’s policy is to hold in fastness such fortresses as we have, and pay scant regard to those bands of orcs who cross our lands.”

“What think you of it?”

“I am not so sanguine as my father; I fear that soon we shall be tested, but the orcs cannot be pursued without the order of the Lord of the Mark.”

“Will Rohan still come to Gonder’s aid?”

“Always.  Are you in any doubt?  The men of Eorl hold true to their oaths.”

“There have been whispers in the dark that Théoden’s Riders might not heed the call.  I see though that my father and brother were right to pay them no heed.”

Éowyn stood – tiring of policies not her own – and said, “I shall now retire.  Good e’en to you.”  They stood and bowed but were too consumed with conversation to pay her much heed.  They were a pair – the Heirs of Rohan and Gondor – fair as men could be, wise and each had won renown to the honour of his house.

As she reached her door she heard Grima’s voice, and she stiffened her shoulders against his tone.  “I hope you are not too distressed my Lady; but if you are I shall offer every comfort it is in my power to give.”

“Why should I be distressed, Hala Grima?”

“Your great lover departs tomorrow morn does he not?”

“I have no lover.”

“Indeed?  Has he plucked you yet Lady Éowyn?  Does he plough the earth often?  Marshal Elfhelm is said to be skilled in such ‘country matters’.”

She wrenched her arm from his grasp and said, “Neither you, nor I, know anything of such matters.  I am yet chaste, and you have never known love.” 

Her hand was on the door when he said, “You know what it is he wants?”

“What?”

“You did not think he wanted to take you for wife did you?  No man could.  You are cold Lady Éowyn – over time you would freeze any man’s ardour.  He does not love you – there is only one who can love you.”

She turned to face him and said, low and vicious, “You revolt me.”  She wanted nothing more than to spit in his face but instead she stepped quietly into her room and closed the door.

The next morning Éowyn awoke early, to bid the men farewell.  She felt as though a sudden chill had descended upon her, but she could not summon up the will to seek warmth.  She looked on Elfhelm’s face and, with a coldness she did not like in herself, realised that he did not matter.  He was too dangerous; his actions left her too open to Grima’s machinations, and she did not have the will to risk her kin for such as he.  As she looked upon his face, Grima’s words sounded in her ear, and she remembered all the matches she had seen where love had burned quick and hot and then vanished.  The thought of such a match, with such a man, the thought of the marriage bed, of wifely duties performed when the heart was absent, repulsed her, and she wondered why Elfhelm would wish such evil upon her.

He touched her hand and she trembled at the touch.  His eyes admired her; but suddenly she could see only Grima’s leering desire in them, and she wished Elfhelm away.  The beast with two backs was but a beast and a foul one at that.

Théodred came and he embraced her, and she found herself clinging to him a little.  He chucked her chin and said, “One of us shall return soon Éowyn, I swear to you; we shall not leave you alone for so long.”  She could say nothing, but she smiled as he said, “And do not leave any candles lit at night.”

She walked to the doors of Meduseld and bid Boromir of Gondor farewell.  She watched as they all rode away; Théodred, wheeling to wave at her one last time and Boromir on the horse Théodred had given him.  The hot summer winds blew about her, swirling her light dress to one side, and suddenly she shivered.  She had an ill-divining soul.