The Children of Éomund

Éowyn smiled at Hama as he opened the door.  She was to visit to the healer Cynefrid, and as she stepped out in to the chilly morning air, she mentally listed off the herbs she needed.  He had visited Diancecht in Minas Tirith and had learned much herblore during his stay.

As she walked down the steps of Meduseld she saw an old man, hooded and cloaked.  She paused beside him, wondering why he sat on their steps in the rough autumn winds.  He looked up at her and she exclaimed, “Gandalf Greyhame?  Why do you sit so on our doorstep?”

He stood up, leaning on his staff as if weary “I seek the aid of your King Lady Éowyn.  I arrived yesterday.”

“Yesterday?  And you were not offered the sanctuary of the Hall?”

“No, Lady Éowyn.  I believe the doorwarden was ordered to forbid me entrance.”

“Truly?  Forgive me Greyhame – I was not aware that you had come.  Would you care to join me for the morning meal?  I shall arrange for you to see my Uncle.”

“It would be my honour, Lady Éowyn.”

He offered her his arm and she took it, wondering how such a thing had occurred.  She had heard some whisperings against the Grey Pilgrim but she had not realised that her Uncle’s ire had been raised to such a degree.  As they walked through the doors of Meduseld she caught Hama glancing at them with suspicion.  He did not, however, presume to question her.

Silence spread through the hall as they walked to a bench.  Éowyn nodded at a maidservant, and she approached with food and drink, glancing at Gandalf fearfully.  The old man smiled at Éowyn and said, “It is good to see that Rohan has yet such strong youths as yourself Lady Éowyn.”

“Thank you, but, forgive me Gandalf, but, why have you come to the Golden Hall so”

“I am not angered Lady Éowyn.  I was held captive by Saruman the White in the tower of Isengard, and must now journey far to the North.”

A deadly silence broke in the air and Éowyn could not look around for fear of sparking a fire that ought not be lit.  She swallowed hard, feeling the weight of many eyes on her back, but she said only, “You must have had a swift and difficult journey.”  Conversation burst behind her like a sudden cloudburst, but she turned and said, “All of you, to your posts now.  This is no time for idle chatter.”  She sat down once again, and heard them slowly filter out of the Hall.  When the last of them had left she looked at Gandalf and said, “You ought not have said that.”

“I do not fear the Wormtongue my lady.”

“Nor do I, but he will have heard of this – he might seek to twist my Uncle’s heart further against you.”

“Further?”

“I have heard whisperings, that the King names you Lathspell, he believes you to be a carrion crow.  I do not believe it, but many of the people of Edoras do.”

He sighed deeply “I see – it was not known to me that things had reached such a pass in Rohan.”

“We are not all in shadow yet.  There are some who still hold true to the old ways.  I did not know that the honour of Meduseld had slipped so far that an old friend and ally would be left on our steps.”

“Is Théodred in Meduseld, or Éomer?  I hope to see them before I depart.”

“Théodred rides still over the fields of Rohan – he may not return until the first snows of winter fall.  I believe Éomer may be at Aldburg.”

“Well it is decided then; speed is of the essence, and I cannot spare the time.”

“I would send for him if I could Gandalf, but there is no messenger whom I trust that can be spared, and I myself am confined within the walls of Edoras.”

“What is this?  Lady Éowyn how dared you allow such a one within the walls of Meduseld?”

She saw Grima and her Uncle approach and stood to meet the accusation.  Théoden sat upon his throne, shivering as if suffering from an ague, his hands clenched on his crutch, and glared at his niece.  She almost stepped back upon perceiving his wrath but she straightened her spine and said, “Uncle you told me, when I was just a girl, that Rohan had no greater or truer ally than Gandalf Greyhame.  Am I to be chastised then for allowing him entrance to this Hall, of which I am mistress, when you spoke so of him?”

“Lord Théoden Lady Éowyn has allowed the entrance of one who works against Rohan in secret, who toils endlessly in shadows seeking our ruin.  She has permitted him to enter the Golden Hall.  Surely this is unacceptable?”

“It is not so Uncle!  I have never seen any evidence with my own eyes of this treachery Hala Grima describes.”

“Lady Éowyn men say…”

“Men have said many things Hala Grima, but the saying did not make them true.  Some men said that it would be good to make war on the Valar, and so Númenor fell.”

“Peace Éowyn.  Your fault was most innocent and so there shall be no punishment.  I ask now, why have you come here Gandalf Stormcrow?”

“I escaped the tower of Isengard yesternight Théoden King, and I come to you seeking aid and succour.  I must reach the North – it is imperative.  All our fates depend on it.”

“I doubt his words Théoden King.  We have no reason to believe this ragged interloper – and if we shelter him we may bring Saruman’s wrath upon us.  We are not strong enough to stand such a test, and indeed his very presence may strain you beyond what you can sustain.”

Théoden sank even further into his chair, and Grima officiously tucked the blanket around his knees tighter.  The King sat in thought for a few moments and then raised his head, saying, “Take any horse, only be gone ere tomorrow is old.”

Gandalf bowed and said, “I thank you Théoden lord of the Riddermark.”  He grasped his staff and walked from the Hall.  Éowyn looked at her Uncle, he leant against the side of his throne, gasping as if exhausted.  Grima glared at her and she followed the wizard.

He awaited her on the parapet and when she reached him he said, “I see now how things are.  I would that I could set this all to rights Lady Éowyn but my errand is most pressing.  Might I ask your advice?”

“Of course.”

“Which is the swiftest horse in Rohan?”

“All horses in Rohan are swift…but – can you promise me that this shall not prove ill for my King?”

“I can lady Éowyn.  What doom awaits Rohan, it shall not come for the lack of a horse.”

“Well, there is one.  He is named Shadowfax and is counted surpassing swift by all.  A friend of my cousin’s bred him for the House of Eorl, and he is the lord of all horses.  But, he is one of the Mearas, I do not think he will accept you as a rider.”

“Thank you lady Éowyn.  Where is he kept?”

“In the stables of Edoras – when he has a mind to be penned, which is not often.  He roams freely across the plains, for none would dare wound or affront him.”

Gandalf bowed to her and said, “I know what it is you fear Lady Éowyn, but it shall not come to pass.  Stand strong as you always have, and I promise you, it shall not come to pass.”  He walked away and for a moment she hugged herself, holding his words to her heart, hoping that they might prove to be true.

Éowyn sighed and stretched her spine.  The day had been long, and there had been no rest in it.  Théoden’s burst of better health meant that he had spent the day at judgement, and she had had to stand behind him, silent.  Few now were allowed to speak when the King was at judgement – not even his own kin.  It was exhausting to stand so for hours, unable to speak or even look at anything other than her King. 

Once Théoden had retired for the evening she had visited Cynefrid, and then she had been called upon to mediate a dispute between two of the maidservants, and decide which meat should be salted for the winter ahead.  She was just about to seek sleep herself when Grima called to her. 

They were alone in the Hall, and shadows danced across his face as he spoke, “I thought Lady Éowyn that you understood the order of things now?  Or are you perhaps confused as to what your role in this Hall is?”

“I am byrele of Meduseld Grima – mistress of this hall until our King take a wife.  Are you confused as to that?”

“And what is it that a mistress does lady Éowyn?  Exactly what she is told – that is all she is good for.”

“I broke no command of my Uncle’s.”

“If you were mine you would know something of the virtue of obedience.”

”But I am not yours, and so I must live without that virtue.”

“Are you not?  Do not mistake me Lady Éowyn – I shall not be crossed again, not in this hall.” He placed a hand on her cheek, and pressed his lips against hers.  It was only the briefest touch, and she pulled away, trembling in revulsion.  His eyes took her in as he said, “You are mine.”

“I am no man’s creature.  Keep a civil tongue in your head.”

“Perhaps you are not but you will be.  You will be mine.”

He stared her down and for the first time she broke away from him.  Not caring as to what he might think she ran for her room.  When she reached she slammed the bolt home, before leaning against her door, her hands shaking.  He was foul, fouler than anything else that grew.  He had touched her – he had placed his flesh upon her – oh she would die – she was shamed again.  She had sworn that never again would his hands find purchase on her skin, and now she was forsworn – and she had fled from that cursed creature.  But she could not flee from him, not truly, for she was penned in Meduseld with him – penned in the city.  Oh it was not to be borne!

Without realising it she had set her cloak about her shoulders, and as she touched the rough fabric she decided that she could not stay.  She would not.  She opened her door, and moved silent and swift through the hall.  Soon she had opened the doors and made her way to the stables.  Her mare whinnied when she entered, and Eowyn held her head, saying, “Hush Windfola.  Come, we have leagues to go before the night is done.”

She left Edoras quickly, leaving through a hole in the walls.  It was a mystery to many why the walls were kept in such bad repair but not to her –somehow Grima had convinced her Uncle that the walls did not need reinforcement urgently, and so they had been left for several years without any kind of repair.  Once she had breached the walls of the city, she hoisted herself into the saddle, and spurred Winfola’s sides.

She did not know how long she rode, only that when she reached Aldburg her hands were stiff on the reins and she had been nearly deafened by the howling of the wind.  Éomer’s doorwarden looked on her with suspicion, as if doubting her identity, but he allowed her entrance and went to seek his master. 

After a few scant moments, during which she smoothed her hair and her dress, Éomer entered the room, bright eyed with tiredness.  He was alone and looked at her fearfully and said, “Is it Uncle?  Has something happened in Edoras?”  She looked at him and suddenly burst into tears.  She felt it rise up within her and break all the bonds she had set upon it.  She could not remember the last time she had wept in front of another, and she looked at Éomer, terrified at this breach in her control.

He swept her into his arms, saying, “What is sister?  What is it?”  She sighed and tried to speak but sobs rose in her once again and she could not.  She felt Éomer kiss her hair lightly and cried all the more.  It was many moments before she could speak, and then she could only babble brokenly, “It’s so awful – he’s twisting me Éomer – he’s twisting me.  Anything that was ever good or beautiful in me is gone, and this is all that is left.  Please, please don’t send me back.  Don’t make me go back to him.”

Her brother said nothing, only held her and stroked her hair, and finally she slipped into a half dazed silence.  He must have thought her asleep, for he lifted her and carried her into another room, setting her down on a bed and covering her up.  As he closed the door, she saw him pause to blow out the candle.  She was uncomfortable in the bed, missing the sheepskin she had slept with since she was a baby, and it took her a long time to find sleep. 

Éowyn woke the next morning confused as to where she was.  A weight rested on her head, and she felt as though she had not slept a moment.  Still she rose and sought Éomer.  She found him cosseting Windfola in the stables.  He grinned at her, and she managed a wan smile in return. 

They sat outside the stables and he said, “Why did you come last night?”

“I hardly know Éomer; I just could not face the thought of staying.  I needed to see you.”

“But what happened.”

“Gandalf came yesterday – and I let him into the Hall.”

“These are tidings indeed.  Is he still in the Hall?”

“No he left in the afternoon.  But, for receiving him in Meduseld, Grima was enraged with me.”

“What did he say to you sister?”

“Peace Éomer.  The words hardly matter do they?”

Éomer looked at her, confused, and said, “Well, then why did you leave?”

“I just – I could not stand it any longer Éomer!  I felt as though the walls were pressing in upon me.”

He looked at her seriously and said, “Éowyn what is it?  What are you not telling me?”

“I…I’m so frightened Éomer.  Every day it gets worse – I cannot bear to stand there, and do nothing, each and every day.  I am just an ornament to the hall – they would be as well to carve a statue beside the King’s throne and call it Éowyn.”

“Sister you know that is not true,” he paused, “Elfhelm’s éored is here.  They will escort you to Edoras before they continue to meet Erkenbrand.”

She looked at him, her mouth open in shock “Return to Edoras?  But why, why can’t I stay here Éomer?”

He knelt beside her and took one of her hands in his “Éowyn you know there is nothing I would love more than to have you live in my hall and be its mistress; but who would care for our Uncle if you came here?  Your duty is with him.”

“My duty?  Aye, my duty is there, but…”

“What?”

“It is no matter.  When must I return?”

“Well they are ready to leave now, but there is no hurry.  I would escort you myself, but Sigeberht has been found, and I must speak with him ”

“I thought the orcs kill all the prisoners they take?”

“It seems not.  He said he was being brought to Isengard for some other purpose before he fell into a swoon.  I will speak with him further… Are you sure you must leave so soon Éowyn – you could go back this evening.”

“No I should return.  I thank you brother.”

Éowyn reached Edoras mid-morning.  She would have arrived sooner, but for Elfhelm insisting that they speak awhile.  She closed her eyes at the memory.  He had stood before her, earnest, and asked her to be his wife.  And she had refused, for as she said, “It would be base to marry without a heart.”  She would never forget his face when she said those words, and he had said, “Would it be so completely without love?” 

Éowyn had not known at first how to answer him, but at last she had stumbled across the words.  She told him that he would always be one of her truest friends, and her knight; that she would always remember his many kindnesses, but her duty bound her to her Uncle.

She shrugged the memory away, and was about to open her door, and find her bed and sleep until all the world had changed, when she heard Grima calling her once again. 

He kissed her hand and said, “I had heard that the lady Éowyn had vanished, and none knew where, but in truth I did not believe it until I saw you return with Elfhelm’s éored.  Where did you go?”

“To Aldburg.  I had a need to speak with Éomer.”

“Indeed.  Tell me lady Éowyn are you familiar with the tale of the children of Hurin?”

“A little.”

“Perhaps you remember that I taught it to you long ago.  Túrin Turambar fell in love with his sister Nienor, and wedded her, unaware of their closer tie; his name has been stained with that dishonour through all the ages.”

“And?”

“And it would be a shame were Eorl’s house to receive any such stain upon its honour.”

“What chance is there of that?”

“Perhaps more than you are aware lady Éowyn.  You are, of course, the fairest of all ladies, and already many say that you and Éomund’s son share an unusual closeness.”

“People have foul minds…Wormtongue.  Éomund’s daughter does not fear such.”

He moved closer to her and toyed with a lock of her hair, “Yet it were possible to cease the spread of such foul ideas by wagging tongues.”

“How so?”

“Marry my lady.  An old friend of your family and confidant of you uncle – then your honour and your brother’s would be saved from such a foul stain.”

Éowyn trembled but only said, “I would not marry such a one as I could not love simply to prevent ideas from springing in foul minds – for all ideas in such minds have fertile growth.”

She stepped into her room and closed the door softly in his face – sliding the bolt closed as silently as she could.  She moved quietly to her bed, knowing that he stood outside the door, listening.  She lay upon the soft covers but her body was rigid – she could not soothe her muscles into stillness.  Must she lose Éomer as well?  Would Grima plant such a foul thought in her Uncle’s mind?  He was almost all she had left in this world, and now she must be like ice to him for fear that men would ‘say’ that she was…oh she could not even contemplate such an idea.  He was her brother, her brother – how could she simply let him go?

But how could she not?  The punishment for such a crime was death – and while she did not fear the excecutioner's axe, she would not allow Éomer to fall beneath it.  Oh death – if only death would come upon her on swift wings.  Grima was going to win – he was going to wrest each and every person she held dear from her grasp until there was nothing left between them.  At that moment she wished that death might come for her, like a great black wyrd, for then at least it would be over.  What a tale of grief this was.

Author's Note

Just to make it clear - the man who bred Shadowfax is in fact Helm.  This, of course when he was still a Rider in Théodred's éored.