Sound The Deep

Éomer walked through the keep of Helm’s Deep, greeting those he knew and nodding at others.  Finally he passed into the hall, sinking on to a bench and gratefully accepting the mug of ale Gamling passed him.  His body ached from countless days and nights spent in the saddle.

The three he had met before sat across from him.  Aragorn dabbed at his face and hands with a rag and water, while Legolas sat, his eyes seemingly turned inwards.  Elendil’s heir was more matted than any man Éomer had ever seen, and in that, and the orc blood that was crusted yet on his hands, Éomer saw the proof of his valour.  He and Gamling had spoke after the battle, and Éomer knew all that had happened.

He sighed and rested his head on his hands – soon he would seek a soft bed and sleep.  As Éowyn passed through the hall he thought that perhaps he would have to wait a little longer before he found rest.  He could see the anger and exhaustion in her gait – it rolled off her.

She placed a tray in front of him – it held a basin of water, cloths and a jug of ale.  He looked at it with trepidation, “What’s all this?”

She looked at him, irritation deepening the shadows under her eyes “Do you want to eat?”

“There’s food?”

“But little Éomer, yet there is enough for tonight.  Still if you wish to break your fast this night my brother you must first cleanse yourself.”  She glanced around the room and raised her voice, “You should all mark my words.”

The riders left the room as one, and he saw a thin smile grace his sister’s face.  She turned to him and gestured towards the basin.  He sighed and dipped his hands.  Éowyn sat beside him, her hair hanging down in front of her face.  He wanted to put an arm around her, but felt certain that she would flinch.  She looked at him and seemed to take a breath before saying, “Why did you leave?”

He looked at her and asked, “Do you not know?  Grima had me banished.”

She turned and looked at him wide-eyed “Banished?  No one told me.”

“Did you not ask Uncle?”

“Uncle could hardly speak Éomer.”

“He had signed the paper.”

She laid a hand on his “He was not in his own mind Éomer.  When I told him about Théodred he hardly knew what it was I said.”

As she spoke the words Éomer could see a great wound in her eyes.  He swallowed and said, “Was he in pain?”

“He had a fever, and then he died in his sleep, I think.  When I woke on the third day he was gone.”

Éomer noticed that Aragorn had dropped his rag and was listening intently; Éowyn however was unaware of the man’s scrutiny, and Éomer gave him credit for that.  She would never speak honestly if she thought he was watching her.  She rubbed her eyes and said, without looking at him, “How many are dead?”

Éomer sighed looking at her, he did not like to see such a weight on her shoulders, “Does it truly matter Éowyn?”  She looked at him then, her eyes flashing, and said, “Of course it matters Éomer.  How many?”

“Most who defended the keep have fallen, I think.  Few of the riders who came with me died, and none of name.  Hama fell…”

“I know, Uncle told me.”

“And Helm.”

“What?  When?”

“One of the men told me.  He stepped into a sword thrust which was aimed at a young boy.”

Éowyn stood and started to pace, her hands wringing her sleeves.  She had walked the length of the hall twice before she said to Gamling, “Could you find Modwyn, Helm’s daughter for me?”  The older man bowed and left the room and Éowyn resumed her pacing.  Éomer walked with her asking, “Why are you so upset?”

“I spoke with some of the women from their village last night brother; Blostma died when the Westfold fell, and Modwyn is twice orphaned now.”

“So why did you send for her?”

“She must be told Éomer.  Do you wish to do it?  In truth it is a duty I love not.”

“Éowyn, be at peace.”

She turned to him, and he was startled to see tears in her eyes.  But these were not the tears of grief she had shed earlier in the day, when she sat beside Haleth son of Hama’s deathbed; no, these were tears of pure rage.  Her fists clenched, and she spoke in a dangerously quiet voice, “Be at peace?  How is that possible Éomer?”

“We have won the day Éowyn.”

“Aye, we have.  And there are boys, younger than I was when I first took up the sword, lying dead in this keep.  Tell me Éomer how am I to find this peace you speak of?”

“Éowyn – it was not your fault that battle claimed them.”

She ceased her pacing and turned to look at him, all her energy straining upwards as she clenched her slim shoulders and stared him down.  “Éomer I have trained with the blade since I was but a girl.  I disarmed you and Théodred, the finest of the Rohirrim, and yet I sat in the caves, while boys were fighting and dying.  What peace is there for me to find in that?”

“I know not Éowyn – I am only glad that you were not called upon to fight.”  He instantly knew that he had said the wrong thing, for all the blood drained from her face and she stared at him, her eyes wide and shocked. 

“Glad?  You are glad?  Well I am not, brother.  I am not.  It is not any joy to me that I cowered in the caves while children’s blood was spilt on the rocks outside.”

“Éowyn that is not what I meant…”

“Is it not Éomer?”  She paused for a moment, and seemed to stifle a sob, “Well that matters little to me.  Mothers are outside, keening for their sons, and I most walk among them, when all know that when the time came the Shieldmaiden did not stand and fight, as she ought, no she cowered in the dark, while the blood of children was spilt!”

“Éowyn it was not your fault!”

“Then say they are not slain Éomer.  Say they are not slain – but dead they are.”

Her face was white and still as stone as she said the words, and Éomer was at a loss as to what he should say to comfort her.  Suddenly her gaze shifted behind him, and he turned to see Gamling escorting a small girl into the hall.  When he met his sister’s eyes once again, he saw that they were the only parts of her face that were yet living – the rest was stiff as stone.

She sat down, at the other end of the bench from Aragorn, and beckoned to the little girl, who came and stood in front of her.  Éowyn spoke very softly, “Do you remember me Modwyn?”  The girl nodded, her face very grave, and said, “Why am I here?”

“Your father fought in the battle Modwyn.”

“I know.  He’s very brave.  Where is he?”

Éowyn reached out a hand to stroke Modwyn’s hair, and said, “It was a huge battle Modwyn, and the enemy had many more fighters than us.  Your father fought very bravely, but there were too many of them, and he fell.”  Modwyn gasped and fell against Éowyn, very still.  The image awoke memories in Éomer, and he blinked against them.

Éowyn lifted Modwyn into her lap, and the little girl clung to her as she stroked her hair.  She whispered something to Éowyn, and Éomer heard his sister say, “Of course you can Modwyn, but not yet, is that all right?  First the gebyrdwif must see to him, do you understand?”

“But, why?  Why can’t I see him now?”

“Modwyn, he fought in a battle.  He is dirty and he must be cleansed before you can lay eyes upon him.  I promise you Modwyn, you shall see him before he goes to his pytt.”

Éowyn held the girl close, and rock her to and fro, murmuring comforting words in her ear, her face oddly set throughout.  Food for Éomer, Aragorn and the others was brought in, but Éowyn just sat upon the bench.  Eventually Modwyn fell asleep, and Éowyn stood, still holding her, and said, “Well, I bid you all good e’en and sweet repose.  I shall now retire.”

Éomer looked at her and said, “And what about Modwyn?”

“She shall sleep in my chamber tonight; and then tomorrow, when it is done, she may bid her father farewell.  There is no one else to care for her Éomer.”

He could see that Éowyn’s arms were trembling from the effort of holding the girl, who looked to be about nine years old, and Éomer was about to step in when Aragorn stood and said, “Let me carry the child Lady Éowyn.” 

Éowyn raised her chin and said, “I do not wish to take you from your rest Lord Aragorn.  I can carry her.”

“I do not doubt it my Lady, but it would be my honour to bear this burden for you.”

She smiled at him then, and let him take the girl from her arms.  She kissed Éomer on the cheek, and nodded to the other men, before leaving the room with Aragorn.  Éomer drank deep from his mug of ale, wishing that it were stronger; something about the way she had looked at Aragorn son of Arathorn worried him, though what it was exactly, he did not know.

Glossary

Gebyrdwif – a compound of the words ‘birth’ and ‘wife’ which I have glossed to mean midwife, since I couldn’t find a word with that meaning.  Traditionally midwives did not only help when women gave birth, but also laid out the dead.

Pytt - Grave