A/N: A shorter chapter than usual, but I felt it ended where it needed to end.
Ch. 33 - Absent the sun, Rohirrim hearts did not sing…
March 10 3019 TA
Morning came but down in the valley below the Firienfeld amid the tents of the soldiery one would be forgiven for not realising it for it seemed to be no dawn. A pall had been cast across the skies and it felt to be an unnatural darkness. A rider in Gondorian garb rode through the camp having gained passage to enter the Harrowdale valley. He made for the Stairs of Hold.
After having climbed the Stairs he met with another Rider on guard. “I must speak with Théoden King on some urgency.” Given passage he rode at such pace as was allowable amid the carved stone walls. Reaching the entrance he alerted the Rider on duty that he needed to see Théoden with latest developments.
That was how Merry encountered this second Gondorian rider, speaking with Théoden. He had not yet donned his newly acquired armour thinking to wait until such time for departure as he scurried to fulfill his employment as King’s esquire and visited the kitchens to obtain mulled wine for King Théoden.
He entered the room set aside for Théoden’s use on the words, “It comes from Mordor, lord.” Merry walked up and handed the goblet to Théoden who took it wordlessly. Merry stood attendance at Théoden’s chair as the Gondorian soldier continued, “‘It began last night at sunset. From the hills in the Eastfold of your realm I saw it rise and creep across the sky, and all night as I rode it came behind, eating up the stars. Now the great cloud hangs over all the land between here and the Mountains of Shadow; and it is deepening. War has already begun.” All were silent. Merry’s heart went still.
Théoden took a sip of the mulled wine. It tasted sweet. He savoured it as the last lingering taste of the world as he knew it slipped away. He spoke, “So we come to it in the end. The great battle of our time, in which many things shall pass away. But, at least there is no longer need for hiding. We will ride the straight way and the open road and with all our speed.” his voice growing stronger with each word. He looked at Éomer, proud and strong, and was so glad that he was once again at his right hand. He proclaimed, “Then call the heralds, Éomer! Let the Riders be marshalled!”
Éomer bent his head, first on chest, “At once, My King!” Within minutes the trumpets rang out over the field and echoing throughout the Cavern itself.
Éowyn heard the horns sounding, “It is time!” Her heart thrilled briefly though it was soon tempered by sorrow that she would not be leading her boys. Joy mixed with sadness; once again the refrain of her life. She sighed.
“Finished!” Gamhelm stated as he buckled the last buckle on her borrowed corslet.
Éowyn looked at her three co-conspirators, “Thank you all.” She bit her lip as she tried to control her raging emotions. She clasped arms and somewhere in the middle of the reserved clasping a hug between all four happened.
“Well this butters no parsnips,” Gamhelm exclaimed thickly, borrowing Holdlith’s phrase. He cleared his throat of excess emotion that might have crippled him in this moment. “The horns have gone. I have saddled Windfola for you, My Lady.”
“Oh Gamhelm,” Éowyn exclaimed, “Your horse!” For a man of the Mark to give his horse to another was the height of sacrifice and love.
“Now I won’t be needing him now, will I?” Gamhelm averred, “He’s fast and he already loves you! No more to be said.”
Éowyn whispered through a choked throat, “Thank you, I will care for him as you would!”
“I know you will!” Gamhelm said huskily. “Now let us be off! Can’t let them leave without you!”
Amid the bustle of the stables Éowyn was able to make her way to Windfola’s stall and bring him forward. In her non-descript corslet and helm chosen specifically to obscure as much of her face as possible she was able to make her way through the busy stable. In the radial courtyard she saw Théoden and Merry speaking. She heard only a little of their conversation but she could see that Merry looked most upset and she clearly heard him arguing to be included, “Then tie me on to the back of one, or let me hang on a stirrup, or something,’ said Merry. ‘It is a long way to run; but run I shall, if I cannot ride, even if I wear my feet off and arrive weeks too late.” But again her uncle stated, “Rather than that I would bear you with me on Snowmane,’ he said. ‘But at the least you shall ride with me to Edoras and look on Meduseld; for that way I shall go. So far Stybba can bear you: the great race will not begin till we reach the plains.”
A voice interrupted her thoughts, “You there! I see by your badge you are of Elfhelm’s Eored.” Éowyn looked up to the captain who spoke to her. She spoke low, “Aye!”
“They are massing on the valley floor. You had best get on!”
Éowyn nodded and with fist on heart. She made for the entrance, only to look back and see Merry watching her leave. “I will find you, Merry!” She whispered under her breath, “I will!!”
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The horns sounded and the massed Eoreds moved off. Once again Éowyn’s soul thrilled to be off but once again that was suborned by the subterfuge by which she was riding and the sorrow that she was not leading her boys. In borrowed armor and horse she did not look left or right for fear that she would be discovered and sent back to the Hold. That thought harrowed her very soul. She could not go back.
They passed by both Underharrow and Upbourn and Éowyn spared a few glances for the gathered villagers. Mostly women, children and older men as was always the case. She knew their pain, their sorrow and what they would endure while they waited to see if their loved ones would return. Silently they bore witness fists on hearts as the companies passed by. The awesome responsibility to do right by these good people weighed upon Éowyn further. The losses they would bear in this battle win or lose must never be forgotten. She took a deep breath to quell the memory of those lost already.
They reached Edoras by midday. Éowyn was struck by the realization of how quickly a moving army can travel as opposed to a train of people, horses and wagons. The refugee trip took two days. They were only in Edoras long enough to eat a brief lunch as could be cobbled together quickly because they chose not to travel with cook staff and the Meduseld kitchen staff had traveled to Dunharrow and remained there still. They raided the stores of Edoras of everything that could travel and keep well enough. Théoden took this unusual decision to travel as light as possible as Hirgon assured him there would provisions enough to provide for the Rohirrim army when it arrived at the White City. Speed was of the essence and proper provisioning would have taken the better part of a day.
Éowyn had been tasked with helping to raid the stores. She spared a thought for Thilda, who for all her faults kept an immaculate kitchen. She would be horrified at the wanton mess the Riders were leaving. Eowyn would have chosen to not enter Meduseld and interact with the other riders but she could not disobey a direct order. Well this time! she amended in her head. She inwardly sighed. Subterfuge did not come naturally to her. It went against every bone in her body. She so wanted to unveil herself and fight with her boys. She ached to do it, but she could not and it left her feeling hollowed out inside. She was stuck with this lie and she had to find a way to live with it. It was so very disorienting to walk the empty halls of Meduseld not as herself. Happy or sad she had called this hall her home since she was eight years and now she was meant to be a stranger. It was unsettling. Keeping herself within this subterfuge she was coming to realise would be a difficulty.
While collecting stores in the kitchen, Éowyn saw the king sitting in the boardroom eating his abbreviated meal while speaking with Éomer and the captains of the Eoreds. Merry stood attendant. It felt so strange to not serve them and then join them. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched. But she shook herself and with effort began gathering up her parcels when she heard a scraping back of chairs. Théoden had spoken words that were obscured by the general noise of departure. Then she heard Merry’s voice, “‘As for that, who can tell? But why, lord, did you receive me as sword-thain, if not to stay by your side? And I would not have it said of me in song only that I was always left behind!”
“I received you for your safe-keeping,” answered Théoden; “and also to do as I might bid. None of my Riders can bear you as burden. If the battle were before my gates, maybe your deeds would be remembered by the minstrels; but it is a hundred leagues and two to Mundburg where Denethor is lord. I will say no more.” Théoden said with a finality Éowyn had come to know over the years that would not brook argument or denial.
Merry bowed and stood at the board while others parted around him. Some gave him sympathetic looks Notably Elfhelm and Éomer, who placed a gloved hand on his shoulder and gave the hobbit a commiserating smile. Éowyn’s heart broke for him; she knew the pain. In fact she was still living through it. The room emptied, Éowyn took her chance and quickly approached Merry, hood over her helm, and whispered, “Where will wants not, a way opens, so we say,” she said. Merry turned around and saw under the hood the Rider that he had noticed when leaving Dunharrow. “You wish to go whither the Lord of the Mark goes: I see it in your face.”
“I do,” said Merry.
“Then you shall go with me,’ said the Rider. ‘I will bear you before me, under my cloak until we are far afield, and this darkness is yet darker. Such good will should not be denied. Say no more to any man, but come!”
“Aye, Sir Rider.” Merry affirmed, “I thank you!” He stated as the Rider picked up the parcels he had dropped within the kitchens next to the board room. “But to whom do I owe this kindness?”
Éowyn stopped and looked at Merry. “Do you truly not know?” Merry shook his head, the brown mop curls bouncing. “Call me, Dernhelm. I ride with Elfhelm’s Eored.” She then spirited him away to an alcove where she had used as a child to dodge her nurse, Guthhild. It was not much more than a hole in the wall with a curtain but it was private. Merry followed as Éowyn drew the curtain. She pulled her hood back and took off her helm.
“My Lady!” Merry spoke in a whispered voice.
“Shhh! Merry. I am not Éowyn here. I am Dernhelm. I will take you and you will ride under my cloak and we will both go. My uncle has said, ‘No!’ But I must! Now let us go.” Merry noted that her eyes were sorrowful at the mention of her uncle. A private sorrow that he felt he dare not inquire about. Merry shook his head as solemnly as he knew how to be. Éowyn guided him to Windfola and Merry with difficulty mounted the grey beast. Éowyn mounted after him and wrapped her cloak about him.
Joining Elfhelm’s Eored near the front of the column Éowyn stared straight ahead, a protective arm around Merry. She heard a single trumpet and saw the king raise his arm. She knew by custom the twelve men of the King’s guard would step off first followed by the King and at his right hand would be Éomer. She had farewelled the men many times and when then she would recite the woman’s lament in her heart as was tradition. But what struck her was the silence, the heaviness of spirit that was unusual. She had thought it was only in her own heart, but it was not. She looked to the skies and saw no sun, only grey. Absent the sun Rohirrim hearts did not sing but they were resolute nonetheless, riding to the aid of a friend; rising to defeat the darkness or die trying.
~*~*~*~*~