Ch. 28 - If not her heart…

The Banquet room went quiet.  Éowyn’s breath caught in her throat.  The only sound she could hear was the ringing in her ears.  She looked at Aragorn and all she could see was him dead in an unknown cavern.  She tried to blink the image away but it would not go.  Finally the ringing subsided enough that she could form words that could be heard through the din in her head.  “But Aragorn, is it then your errand to seek death?  For that is all that you will find on that road.”  She paused and then whispered, “They do not suffer the living to pass.”*  She thought of the few stories she had heard as a young girl in winter time in the Great Hall.  Brave men who thought they could brazen their way through.  They were never heard from again.  She stared dumbfounded at this man.  Mostly she was appalled at the waste of a life, though a small sliver of her soul yearned for escape, or even for the choice to escape.  This was not something she was allowed to choose.

She looked around the room. Silence and horrified looks greeted her.  She looked at Aragorn “Please I beg of you, please choose the living.  Please stay until my uncle and brother come from the north.  Join forces with them and fight the good fight.  Do not cast away your life on madness!”  She spoke from the heart and spoke with such a passion that she did not fully understand.

“It is not madness,”  Aragorn countered with compelling calmness. “”For I go on a path appointed.   But those who follow me do so of their own free will.”*  He looked at his companions knowing with regret that none of them would be staying.  No words would shift them from their appointed path, to follow him.  “But I shall take the Paths of the Dead, alone if need be.”  He voiced these last words hopelessly for none would forsake him.

Gamhelm watched Éowyn as Aragorn voiced his doom or at the very least his intentions of it.  He saw her face pale and her body held rigid.  He could see in her eyes a tempest of emotion.  He had sensed she was drawn to Aragorn but until now he had not realized just how much.

The meal continued in silence.  Gamhelm sat at her right hand and Aragorn at her left.  The old stableman watched his daughter-of-the-heart closely.  Éowyn had returned to the head of the table now but her plate was untouched and her goblet still full.  She only had eyes for Aragorn or the blank empty space ahead of her.  One by one the guests departed speaking their thanks to the silent lady of Dunharrow.  She mutely nodded in recognition, only that much of duty could she muster. 

Gamhelm stood at his daughter’s chair.  He touched her chin and gently nudged it so that he could see her face.  The words of comfort died on his lips as he witnessed the mute torment in her eyes.  He smiled gently, lightly touched her cheek and placed a kiss upon her forehead. He turned and shared a pained look with Gamwyn as they left the makeshift banquet hall.

Éowyn sat alone at the table, a still figure to the eye but within a tempest of emotion ripped through her, flying at a speed that did not allow comprehension.  He was leaving to find his death was the refrain that chorused through her heart even so she wanted to join him. The answering chord, however, was her uncle’s voice saying “I give you charge….”  Her heart screamed yet she remained frozen to her chair for moments that seemed hours until she heard a scraping sound from far off only to realise it was she who had pushed her chair back. She quickly made her way through the narrow passages to the rooms that had been given to Aragorn and his company.  

She saw him through the soft glowing light provided by the stones of floor and wall.  He looked otherworldly as if the veil had already claimed him.  She called, “Aragorn!”  She approached him, “Why will you go on this deadly road?”* she said, unaware of how desperate her words sounded.

Aragorn turned at the sound of his name and saw a vision of ice and fire coming towards him.  Ice for the white of her dress; the fire for the emotions residing in her eyes, demanding explanation.  Searing pity at her obvious pain ripped through him.  The passion in the words if not the actual words themselves deserved explanation.  

He took her hands within his.  “Because I must!  Only so can I see any hope of doing my part in the war against Sauron. I do not choose paths of peril, Éowyn.” Speaking her name, Aragorn’s voice caught.  “Were I to go where my heart dwells, far in the North I would now be wandering in the fair valley of Rivendell.”

Éowyn heard those last words, pondering their meaning.  She tucked those in the back of her heart, understanding would have to come later. Aragorn watched her fight an internal battle and saw some sort of resolution in her eyes. Éowyn reached back for the one guiding light in her life that had brought both pain and purpose to her existence.  “If you must go, then let me ride in your following.”  Her eyes then became tired and full of memory, her voice speaking thoughts aloud almost as if she were unaware of their escaping into the world, “For I am weary of skulking in the hills, and wish to face peril and battle.”*  She looked resolutely into grey eyes filled with compassion … and denial.

“Your duty is with your people.”

“Shall I always be chosen?”  Éowyn spoke bitterly, “Shall I always be left behind when the Riders depart, to mind the house while they win renown, and find food and beds when they return?”* Her heart raced as she spoke trying to make some room for herself in the world continually denied her with the one man whom she felt could understand her.

“A time may come soon,” Aragorn spoke compassionately, “When none will return.”  Éowyn only heard “...none shall remember the deeds” over the cry in her heart… “last defense of your homes. Yet the deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised,” above the ringing in her ears. 

Éowyn felt a part of her die a little inside. Always the same answer, “All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house.”  She turned eyes of incredulity and indictment upon Aragorn, “But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more!”  At this she broke the gentle clasp of Aragorn’s hands. “But I am of the House of Eorl!  A Shieldmaiden!  I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death!”*

To Aragorn the blaze in her eyes reminded him of the warrior women of old.  The tales that Glorfindel told in lessons, tales of women of great renown fighting for their people.  He grieved for so valiant a heart in pain. “What do you fear, lady?”

Éowyn looked at him.  Her heart laid bare the words tumbled from her mouth, words of night and loneliness that were becoming her reality.  “A cage,” her eyes blazing as she poured out her soul, “To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.”

“You are a daughter of Kings!  A Shieldmaiden of Rohan!  I do not think that will be your fate!”

Éowyn took hope from those words, but the next blotted out that nascent hope.  “But I say to you, my lady.  Stay! There is no errand in the South for you.”

“Neither have those others who go with you.  They go only because they would not be parted from you – because they love you…”  Éowyn was horrified at how much of herself she had just revealed not only to Aragorn but to herself.  She gave him one last look and fled.  

Gamhelm had appointed himself her guardian and watcher after the fell news of the Paths had dropped. He had sent Gamwyn to bed after some debate.  She agreed that one could follow secretly far easier than two. He kept a respectful distance so she would not be able to level any nursemaid charges at him but he knew that he had to keep watch.  A presence was felt at his elbow; he looked to his side and there stood Holdlith.  Her speaking glance told him that she had appointed herself guardian as well.  Apparently there would be two watchers tonight for he knew no words would dissuade the old woman from this path.  Gamhelm smiled at her stubbornness.  So many were watching out for his daughter.  

They heard the words spoken between Aragorn and Éowyn and were torn between the violation of privacy and their need to protect their dear lady.  When Éowyn fled Gamhelm made a move to follow but Holdlith’s hand at his elbow stayed him.  “Nay, let me.  This is my place.” She whispered looking him in the eye.  Gamhelm nodded and allowed her past him.  He looked up and saw Aragorn standing there, the pained regret in his eyes softening Gamhelm’s opinion of what he had just heard.  The old stableman felt compelled to speak though what he was going to say was beyond him.  

He cleared his throat and immediately Aragorn looked in his direction. “Master Gamhelm?”  he stated as Gamhelm stepped from around the corner where he bore witness with Holdlith.  Wariness appeared along with the regret in his grey eyes.  

“My lord,” Gamhelm nodded his head.

“Still about at this late hour?”

“Aye,”  Gamhelm stated.  Always straight forward in his approach to life, a quality that Théoden had always appreciated and indeed it was his trustworthy nature that caused Théoden to appoint Gamhelm to look after his dear little niece, knowing that Gamhelm would always tell him the truth.  “I heard what was said between you, too.  I apologise for nothing for it is my King’s charge to always look after my lady.  And it has always been my great privilege as well.”

Aragorn listened somberly as the stableman unpacked his heart. “And what have you to say to me?”

“She is a lady of great spirit who has had more placed upon her shoulders than is good for anyone, but I fear she is nearing a breaking point.  I worry for her, my lord. I know that my King does not want her to fight.”

“Then why was she trained then?” 

“Oh…now that, My Lord, is a long tale in the telling and it has shaped most of her life.”

“If you are willing to tell; I am willing to listen and I sense that sleep will be elusive this night.”

Gamhelm nodded and they made their way to sit where they would not be disturbed.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Éowyn ran until smaller passageways necessitated she slow her pace.  She eventually found herself at the shimmering lake.  She gazed at the shifting colours for a few moments.  When she realised that not even the shifting luminescence could sluice away her pain she slumped against the wall staring blankly forward.  She just felt so tired, so tired of fighting.  All her life she was told what she should be;  what she needed to be.  What she could not be.  She was so tired of it all.  She heard a rustling to one side and she looked and saw Holdlith gently lowering herself down.  Éowyn looked for a chair so that her old friend could be more comfortable.  She made to move but Holdlith waved her off.  

“No need!  My dear.  These old bones still have some spring in them.”  Holdlith looked at her friend.  Éowyn nodded and returned to her eyes to the waters.  Even distraught, she was trying to help someone else, Holdlith thought.  The old woman knew she would marry and find happiness.  Her visions were never wrong.  She just hoped that that someone would realise what a treasure he would be getting.  But that was still only in the future and she knew from experience Éowyn would not hear talk of love.

Holdlith patted her hand in empathy and companionable silence.  Éowyn looked at her friend, “I am so tired, so tired of trying.”  She burst into tears, Holdlith was unsure if they were tears of frustration, worry or sorrow.  Holdlith surmised a combination of all three, not that it mattered as all needed comforting.  She smoothed Éowyn’s hair as she rocked her back and forth, murmuring, “You just cry and let it all out.  There’s nobody here but us.” Her heart breaking for her young friend.  

She rocked Éowyn gently as many moments passed.  As she listened, her lady’s tears lessened and Holdlith’s heart eased.  While holding Éowyn and humming an old Rohirric lullabye her vision misted as the seeing unbidden fell upon her again.  She saw before her a battle on a field in front of a white stone city, flames licking at various levels.  Around her was fierce fighting, Rohirrim horse and foul Orc streaming all around.  She saw King Théoden swinging a bloody sword, mouthing words and then she heard a shriek in her mind’s eye and physically flinched, prompting Éowyn to look up, “Holdlith?” but the lady did not hear.  She saw Théoden’s horse buckle and fall over with his master still in the saddle.  Then she saw blackness looming over her king incongruously a crown perched aloft the inky malevolence, a huge flail in hand beginning to swing. A flash of reddish hair, words only as sounds indecipherable and her lady skewering the head with her sword and the crown toppled unto the blood-soaked ground.  This horrific vision faded and at a balcony stood Éowyn and a man with kindly blue eyes looking at her with such an expression of love.  The vision was gone as fast as it had come.

“Holdlith, what happened,”  She heard Éowyn’s voice, somewhat panicked. “You have seen something, haven’t you?  Tell me!”  

Holdlith came back to herself and tried to speak in a controlled voice.  She instinctively knew she could not tell Éowyn all of what she had seen because it might alter her course and from what she saw it was very important that events happen as they did in her vision.  But she had to tell her something.  “I saw a battle raging. Rohirrim horse and scores of Orcs.  But I do believe it will all go well in the end.”

“Did I –?”  Éowyn looked so hopeful.

“I’m sorry, My dear.”  She lied, “the vision did not reveal itself in that way.  I could not see.”  But she feared in her heart that Éowyn’s uncle would not survive the battle she saw and nobody deserves the knowledge of a loved one’s passing. “I could not say.” That much was at least was true.  She truly could not say.  Éowyn had to choose her own path and not allow visions to choose it for her.

“Your visions are most frustrating and non-communicative!”  Éowyn fumed.

“That they are, my child.”  Holdlith murmured, “I am sorry…”

Éowyn immediately followed with, “I am sorry, Holdlith.  I did not in anyway mean to –.”

Holdlith stopped her from finishing the sentence, “I know…I wish I had more to tell you!  But I do not.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

After a night in which an exhausted sleep hung heavily upon her, Éowyn awoke early determined to farewell Aragorn and his men properly.  She tried to slip from the straw pallet without waking up Holdlith, who had fallen asleep on the pallet holding her.  She felt a pang of guilt and sympathy for her dear old friend who insisted on coming back to her room with her.  Éowyn had only made a nominal protest because in truth she had been very glad of the company.  As soon as she stirred however, Holdlith’s eyes fluttered open.

“I am sorry to have awoken you, dear Holdlith…”

“Not to worry, my dear…I was merely resting my eyes.”  Holdlith demurred.

A flash of mischief in blue eyes and then, “Curious then because I heard a strange winnowing sound…”

“That’s enough out of you, child. I do not snore.”

“That’s not what I heard…

“My Lady!” Háláf’s voice interrupted the merriment, Fist on heart, head bowed.

“Aye, Háláf?”

Háláf spoke quickly, “The Lord Aragorn and his company are making ready to leave!  I thought you would want to know.”  His eyes full of an emotion that Éowyn could not define.  The borrowed joy of the last few moments evaporated.  Holdlith viewed the scene with regret.  Éowyn had laughed so little these last few weeks that the old woman valued every moment of levity to be had.  She had observed the look of painful love and loyalty on Háláf’s face as he spoke and the cold steel that went through her lady as his words fell upon her.  She sighed.

“Aye, Háláf.  Thank you.” Éowyn stated with strained formality. Holdlith watched as Háláf bowed and then cast a look of concern on his lady as he left.

Turning eyes of fierce intensity upon her friend, Éowyn said, “Fetch my corslet and sword and a suitable cup for farewelling.  I mean to farewell the men.”  Holdlith stared at Éowyn briefly, her countenance doubtful of the wisdom of this course of action given the night’s tempestuous emotions, “Be quick!”  Éowyn paused, then answering the doubt unspoken written across her friend’s face, “I know what I am doing!” she said more softly.

Holdlith made to get up off the straw pallet but was unsuccessful in her first attempt, Éowyn came around to her side offering her hand to assist.  “I must do this.”  as she pulled gently to assist the woman.

Holdlith muttered, “Straw pallets and old bones were not made for one another!”  as she straightened her back with some effort.  She looked at Éowyn. “I know you must.  I am here for you,” She avowed as she touched Éowyn’s cheek affectionately.  And will be there to pick up the pieces after it all falls apart, she thought ruefully, as in her heart she did not think this was one of her lady's wisest decisions.  But Holdlith would support her and be there in the aftermath as always. She made her way to the armoury as quickly as she could.

Éowyn remained in the simple woolen white gown of the night before and tried to smooth out the night wrinkles.  She had none of the finery she would have normally worn for such an occasion but that did not matter.  Soon Holdlith returned with the required elements.  The older woman quickly buckled the back of the corslet praying to Béma with each buckle done that events be kind to her lady.  As Éowyn buckled on her sword Holdlith poured the wine from a hastily gathered skin into the makeshift farewell cup.  Éowyn reached for the cup but Holdlith deferred, saying that she would bear the cup until it came time and they departed.

~*~*~*~*~

Aragorn sat atop his horse outside the entrance to the cavern stronghold, weary in both mind and body but also resolute.  He was thinking about everything that Gamhelm had told him over their night of sipping ale and storytelling.  Indeed Éowyn had had much sadness in her life.  He thought of the old man who told the tale, hale and stouthearted.  Éowyn was very fortunate to have such a good man looking over her.  Théoden chose well for her companions.  

Legolas rode up, “The company is ready to move.  We should go.” he said quietly, words full of purpose.  

Aragorn nodded assent and was about to touch Brego’s flank when he caught out of his eyes a vision of resolute beauty.  Éowyn, arrayed in a shining corslet of copper and silver over a white dress, coming toward him bearing a cup.  She stood a step away from Aragorn atop Brego, looked him in the eye and drank deeply of the cup, saying after, “I drink to your good fortune in war.  Béma protect those who protect our people and our way of life.”  She purposefully handed the cup up to Aragorn, bowing as he received the cup.

Aragorn drank deeply, “Farewell, Lady of Rohan! I drink to the fortunes of your House, and of you, and all of your people.  Say to your brother:  beyond the shadows we may meet again!” *

At the mention of her brother tears filled her eyes.  Tears of frustration.  Éomer would never allow her to fight.  That much was known.  It would be done out of love, to protect her but he would cage her all the same.  Éowyn received the empty cup and heard herself saying, “Aragorn, will you go?”

“I will,” Aragorn stated flatly.  Those two words unleashed panic within Éowyn’s breast.  

Again she asked, “Then will you not let me ride with this company, as I have asked?”

Aragorn looked on her desperate visage, everything Gamhelm said coursing through his mind.  His heart broke to deny such a valiant lady but he could not.  “I will not, Lady,” he said, sorrowing at every word he pronounced, knowing how it would fall upon her spirit. “For that, I could not grant without leave of the king and of your brother; and they will not return until tomorrow, But I count now every hour, indeed every minute. Farewell.”* he ended softly.

As he spoke, Éowyn could only hear the sound of a key turning on a lock.  She fell on her knees, cup falling from her hand, “I beg thee!”*

Aragorn was out of the saddle and at her side. He gently pulled her up.  His eyes filled with unshed tears.  He kissed her forehead as he held her hands in his.  “Nay, My lady!” he did not trust his voice to say more.  He sprang into his saddle and motioned for departure.

Holdlith had been watching from inside the stone entrance and saw Éowyn standing stock still, her fists clenched as she watched the riders travel to their deaths.  The older woman could see the dried tears on her lady’s face and her heart broke for her dear one.  No one else saw.  Holdlith thanked Béma for that, at least her lady’s dignity was still intact, if not her heart…

~*~*~*~*~

* Quote from ROTK book.