Shadows in the Sun

By: Zephyraria

Chapter IV: To the Gardens

The single advantage of an east-facing window was that it made certain she never failed to wake at sunrise. 

Light from the earliest dawn floated through the uncovered marble frames, past the heavy green drapes to spill upon her upturned face.  Conditioned for this, she woke wholly and completely; her first glance was of white stone and blue skies beyond the forest-green velvet.

With the morning light also came the chill of early spring, and Eowyn dressed quickly as she felt the flesh rise on her arms, still half submerged in a great sea of blankets.

The healer’s assistant would soon bring her morning repast, and Merwen still expected the decision to a question that Eowyn did not know how to answer.

It was not considerations for propriety that made her hesitate; indeed, if it were strange that a healer should ask help from her patients, Merwen would not have cared.   Her reasons were ever her own – Eowyn knew this, and respected her for that. 

It was not a difficult dilemma; really.  After all, it was peace time; the earth itself called for healing, long wearied by war and bloodshed.  Eowyn had attended such matters before, at Edoras, aiding the wisewomen in their duties.  It would be wise, and well thought-of, if she were to join with Rohan’s new allies in these irenic pursuits, for more than appearances’ sake.

No, Eowyn had no true objections to this, save only that she was a daughter of warriors; she had ridden here in pursuit of bloody battle, to prove herself equal to men – and healing; healing was the woman’s art.  It was another fetter to keep them from glory and renown, to stay home with children and hearth, stitching clothes, closing wounds.

Who indeed, Eowyn wondered, would know the name of a famous healer?  In Rohan’s lore there were ever warriors of might and renown, and their battles of brutal splendor, their defeated foes too monstrous to imagine.  It was the way of her people; glory lay in death, not recovery.  Even if a healer had saved the life of Eorl himself, anonymity would be her due, and justly so. 

Eowyn stood and paced about her room, willing her mind and body awake.

On the other hand, she thought, attempting to evade the protests of her pride, she had no respite for her idleness whiled she lingered in the houses.  These past days she has paced her chambers, stared in her fire, and passed through the gardens more times than she could remember, alone to her thoughts, slowly driven mad by the unending wait. 

Aragorn’s face flashed again through her mind, and Eowyn flinched inwardly.  Without occupation, there would be no respite.

Restless now, Eowyn pushed open the heavy door, and stepped outside her rooms.  The sun blinded her, having risen precisely to eye-level, so Eowyn looked upward at the Tower of Ecthelion, standing fierce and triumphant in the face of morn.  The magnificence of Minas Tirith at sunrise never failed to make the breath catch in her throat.  Eowyn shielded her eyes, still stinging from the brightness.  She thought of the Steward, and his fair words, his boundless smile.

Gondor stood; a mystery, an enchantment.  There was dignity and majesty in this land, with its innumerable histories, its peace-loving folk, somber and gentle.  Minas Tirith was grand far beyond her imaginings, and Eowyn suddenly thirsted to see its bustling streets, its grandeur restored as the days of old.  It would be so, now that the king has returned. 

But more than that Eowyn recalled her days by King Théoden’s side, tending to his failing mind, shackled.    There was something so helpless about that duty, that chaining of young life to withering flesh, something final and utterly inescapable.  For her ignoble task was naught else but to try and slow his fall into death, a charge that sapped up all her time and left no ground for her restive mind.  Those days her body had always felt on the verge of a great sprint, running away to where there was no bonds, no Eowyn shieldmaiden: dutiful daughter of the Rohirrim. But it had been her place – whatever it meant, whatever twisted conflicts of honor and need that it involved. 

And this; this offer was neither duty nor demand - nothing so binding.  It was a new beginning, conjured from shadows of the air.  And perhaps here, for a while, she could finally answer for herself what her desires would be, not have it dictated to her by inevitability and doom.  So Eowyn would accept this, as a long sought-after respite, a most timely reprieve.

Footsteps to her left signaled Merwen’s arrival with a woman of the Houses.

Eowyn preceded them into her room and nodded thanks to the nurse, who left breakfast on a tray and passed on with her small cart.  They sweetened the porridge with honey today, she noticed, not the preserves as the day before.

Merwen watched her eat for a short while, and finally said, “Have you decided?

Eowyn nodded, polishing off the last of the porridge, “I will come.” 

The healer smiled with satisfaction, but only briefly, as the thought of work ahead put her mind on the subsequent tasks, and she handed Eowyn a bundle of garments in the dark blue of the Houses of Healing.

“I know your preferred colors,” Merwen said, with an ironic look at Eowyn’s attire, “but white hardly lends itself to work, and we will be in the gardens for some time today –  that is, I trust you do not object unduly to trees, grass, and other assorted shrubbery?"

Eowyn gave her an exasperated look.

“Good; the clothes I took from the stores, see how they fit.  Oh, and for custom’s sake, wear this,” she handed Eowyn an armband of emerald green, “it marks you as apprentice – or assistant – to the healers, just so there is no confusion or unfounded curiosity.  I will meet you in the herb garden, then.”

“And where might that be?” Eowyn inquired, shaking out the sturdy full-length dress.  Her previous excursions through the Houses and Gardens had not necessarily involved any close observation, or sense of direction.

"Never mind," Merwen decided, “put it on and I will show you where the herb gardens are.”

“The Gardens of Healing were not conceived for the pleasure of the patients alone,” Her healer began as they emerged from the ward, Eowyn tugging surreptitiously on her new gown, “aside from the lovely pines and oaks and roses and gardenias, we must be self-sustaining.  And so there are the herb gardens, the orchards, the Healer’s houses, among others.  Here on the sixth tier, we are a world onto ourselves.”

Eowyn raised her eyebrows at the great pride in Merwen’s voice.

“We just emerged from the Second House of Recuperation,” Merwen said, pointing to their left at the building where Eowyn had been housed, “and ahead of us would be the First House, past the archway on your left.”

“First House; imaginative,” Eowyn muttered, adjusting the leather belt around her waist – it was an austere black, but patterned meticulously; winding, flowing lines ran through its length in a dye of deep brown, with what looked like a star and a leaf here and there.  The cobbled walk under their feet widened, and the two-level house, the First House, came into view - high stone ceilings and graceful doorways.

“It was thusly named when I first came here,” Merwen made a dismissive shrug.  “These two houses, along with another farther south of here, are for the recovering invalids” – Eowyn sneered at the word – “as for those in a more threatening condition and thus require constant monitoring, they are housed in a wing attached to the Main House.  That’s the Main House, past the courtyard there.”

Past some obscuring rows of trees emerged a tall building of marble that stood proud amidst the company of aged trees.  The characteristic white stone pattern was relieved by aesthetic trimmings of night-blue upon the grand archways and pillars.  Wide windows rose on all sides; most of these were open now, only a few hidden behind blue drapes with an embroidery of stars.

Eowyn looked around with some awe.  A spacious courtyard stretched before the Main House, dotted with sprightly young maples.  Here was enough open space to ease the transfer of patients – who would enter through the path which branched to their right, leading, doubtless, to the City’s gates.  Indeed Eowyn could even now see the high prow a short distance away, high and full of craggy eminence. 

In the gardens everywhere was green – new grass grew beside the weathered steps, evergreens were strong and dark as ever, and most other trees had begun to leaven.  Here the overwhelming stone presence that pervaded the city was diminished, and Eowyn could almost imagine herself in some forest glen, retreated from the harsh mountains.

But Merwen had gotten somewhat ahead; Eowyn cut her thoughts short and lengthened her stride.

“I have never seen this before,” she conveyed to her healer.

“You have,” Merwen replied, with a backward glance, “ but then, you were unconscious.  It is true, however; most of the buildings are far inward of the City walls.  We prefer to leave the woods unbroken to the outer rim, that one may walk it long without disturbance.  The Second House is farthest eastward.  Now, there is an orchard there,” Merwen waved a hand to their general left, “some water, flowers.  And that to our right, that is the Healer’s College.”

They were passing the Main House, which ran inward to their left.  The Healer’s Collegium stood in the sun just past a row of trees, rather dwarfed by comparison.  But Eowyn took immediate liking to it; for, unlike the Main House, in its stately pristiness, the Healer’s building was a sprawling low structure, with rooms that jutted out irregularly.  The entire building was also traced over with boughs of ivy, which yet stood bare – mere spidery maps of earthen brown around the marble, making it less austere, more natural.  It would be beautiful, come summer.  Eowyn spotted a formidable chimney piece on the west end, but that was the extent of her observations.

For here the path took a sudden left, and Eowyn could see the Seventh Tier wall some ways before them, also half covered by the old climbing greenery.  Orderly plots and walkways stretched now, between the curving Wall and the terrace at the back of the Main House.  Graceful willow provided a partial enclosure for the Herb Garden, their long-fingered boughs swaying languidly with the morning breeze.

A few trees were planted in the large yard, to provide shade.  Most of the herbs were grown in tiered boxes that stood in orderly rows, laden with earth; others – with what looked very like vegetables – emerged in neat lines or in shrubs upon the ground.  To her surprise, Eowyn also small ponds around the place, amorphous shapes that shimmered brightly in the morning sun, half-covered by green moss and other plants, doubtlessly useful. 

The Herb Garden was nearly deserted; such large space could have held two dozen healers with ease, but only a handful of blue-clad men and women were beginning their work, in small groups of one or two.  Drifts of laughter floated to her ears, and Eowyn breathed deep the air again, detecting the faint scent of earth and grass and medicines.

Merwen had returned, gardening tools in hand. 

“The manual labor is supposedly the task of apprentices; we are supposed to supervise and watch from the shade, but all seven of us would much rather spend our mornings outside rather than at a desk, calculating the yield for herbalists and planning for next year. Come,” she said, with a gardener’s relish, “let us begin.”