***Trigger Warning***: This chapter describes Eowyn’s first day in the Houses of Healing when she still has lingering aftereffects of the Black Breath and includes a potentially upsetting reference or description of thoughts of self-harm. The section in question is in italics, setting it visually aside also with ~*~*~*~*~ markers. She is suffering from a nightmare.
Ch. 37 - It would have to be enough for now…
"Éomer! What joy is this? For they said that you were slain. Nay, but that was only the dark voices in my dream. How long have I been dreaming?" After many moments, allowing him to rein in his emotions, Éomer pulled away from the embrace to look Éowyn in the face. “You have not dreamed long, but think no more about it.” He wished with all his heart that he could wipe away the effects of the Black Breath if her murmuring had been any evidence of what she had endured, but he knew that he could not. She still looked pale but the death tinge to her skin was no longer in evidence. Éowyn stated in a faraway sad voice, “Uncle, he is dead, is he not. That I know was not a dream!”
Éomer replied in a full voice, “Aye, he is dead and held in the Citadel to great honor.”
Éowyn nodded though the image of Théoden underneath Snowmane tormented her. She saw Gandalf at her side, “It is more than I would have imagined during the dark days before you came, Gandalf!”
The old Wizard’s eyes crinkled in a kindly smile. “So good it is to see you in health, My Lady!”
Éowyn smiled her thanks but Gandalf noticed a shadow that remained in her eye. “What of Merry, the king’s esquire?” She asked, “If he lives, You should make him a knight of Riddermark, Éomer. For he is most valiant!” she stated with something of her old spirit returning, always thinking of others before herself.
Gandalf responded, “Be at peace, Éowyn. He lives and is being tended by Aragorn as we speak.”
Éomer saw Éowyn flush and then pale at the mention of Aragorn’s name. “Aragorn lives!?” She looked at Gandalf for an answer. Flooding into her mind came what he spoke in her nightmare vision and her falling on her knees at Dunharrow. Consumed by shame she almost did not want to see him again.
Moved by the tumultuous emotions that cascading across his sister’s face at the mention of Aragorn. Éomer spoke, “Aye! He healed you, brought you back from the abyss.”
Éowyn looked at Éomer, and in a soft voice she said, “No my brother…it was you I saw and it was you I ran to.” Éomer’s heart felt a touch at her words and wounded though it was from this day’s pain he felt it begin the long process of healing. He clasped Éowyn’s unbandaged hand and held her eyes. Éowyn smiled, though Gandalf again saw that it did not reach her eyes.
So many questions swirled in Éomer’s head. “I love you! Can you forgive me?” emerged as the two most urgent to be said. He bit his tongue on “What in Béma’s name were you doing there?”, as he did not want to lose his temper right now. He simply wanted to hug his sister and revel in the fact that she indeed did live. The hours in which he spent believing she was dead was a particular hell that he would choose to never live through again.
Éowyn watched various emotions flicker through her brother’s very open face. Her heart grieved for the torment she had inflicted. “I love you, too. And I am,” she paused, trying to words that would not hurt either her dear brother or deny herself, “here…” She took a deep breath as she tried not to think about all the memories and phantasms that were trying to inflict themselves upon her mind. She hugged Éomer praying that physical contact could chase away thought but to little success. “What is there to forgive?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.
Éomer held her tight, stroking her hair and he did not have the strength to list his numerous transgressions and simply settled for whispering, “It will be all right…my sister. I will make sure it will be.” He swore this oath with every ounce of his being.
Éowyn tried to take comfort in those words, knowing that they were based in love and worry. Her brother meant every word so big was his heart and she did take some comfort, but there was a hole in her heart that all brotherly concern could not assuage. That hole was growing or re-emerging if she were honest with herself. The shame she felt when she thought of Aragorn and her behavior and the fact that he was still living, What must he think of her? She allowed the hug that she felt Éomer so desperately needed but after her initial joy of realizing her brother had not died she felt herself growing numb. She had planned to die on the battlefield. What lay ahead of her now was a grey of not knowing almost as pervasive as the shroud created by the Witch King. Almost. She whispered to Éomer “I’m strangely weary and feel I need to rest.” But then she gave him a sharp look, “You, my brother need at least some rest. When was the last time you ate anything?”
Éomer shook his head, opening his mouth only to shut it again. Éowyn pinned him with a look. “All right, I shall find something.”
That small burst of energy, such as it was, exhausted Éowyn. “I must sleep,” Éomer kissed her on the forehead and left her bedside. Éowyn did indeed try to sleep. She was bone weary but her mind would not shut down. Repeatedly she would close her eyes only to be greeted by Grima leering at her. Or Aragorn saying, “I could never love you, you deserted your people.” Words that hurt more than her pride would give voice to. She was adrift. She could see no future. Only grey. At least as a warrior she could fight for what she believed in. Those few blissful days when she was leading her people to Dunharrow and she had won the respect of her boys. They weighed heavily on her heart. Had any of them survived the carnage? She closed her eyes and saw their faces looking upon her after the skirmish with the Warg-riders. She had been seen for what she knew she was. Her boys had seen; Aragorn had seen and she had been accepted. She could not go back to a life of quiet desperation. She had lived it too long. She tried to get up; she struggled into a sitting position. But the effort used to achieve even that consumed what little spare energy she had and she almost collapsed. One of the apprentice healers saw her and rushed over.
“Oh, My Lady, you mustn’t! Master Healer says you must stay in bed!”
Éowyn crinkled her nose in dissatisfaction with what she heard. “Pish, I say” but without much force behind it. In truth she was feeling very weak and let the young healer help her to lay back in bed. “Can you do something for me?” She paused for a name,
“Alyrin, my lady.”
“Alyrin, can you seek the name of the injured. I must know.”
Alyrin looked unsure but nodded.
“Can you write?”
“Yes, My lady. I can write.”
“Aye, good. It will ease my mind greatly if I can just know.” She sighed, “Then maybe I can get some rest.”
“Aye, my lady. I will get parchment and pen.”
Éowyn nodded; her body already relaxing. Her breathing becoming deeper and slower. “Thank you, Alyrin!’
By the time Alyrin returned, Éowyn had fallen into a deep sleep but this time, the young healer observed that her breathing was deep and even and her face looked peaceful and relaxed. She settled the parchment and pen on the little side table for later. Alyrin looked at her, how beautiful she was, even now, “You just sleep My Lady! That is what is needed.”
She departed and thought to ask the Master Healer about Éowyn’s request. She found him in his office with the wizard Gandalf, Aragorn the healer and Lord Éomer. They were partaking of wine and bread and cheese that the Master had in his office. She froze up in the august company. She was from the Lebennin sent by her village to study healing and return to her village as their resident healer. She was unused to the Lords and Ladies that she was encountering here in Minas Tirith. “Pray your pardon, Master Healer. You are busy, I shall return later.”
“No please stay,” Éomer with the gentle blue eyes stated, “Alyrin? Is that right?”
Alyrin gulped, “Yes, My Lord.” as she bobbed an unsteady curtsy. She had not eaten since dawn. There had been no time, the wounded kept coming.
Éomer rose from his chair, “Please sit, you are not well.”
“No, My Lord,” Alyrin averred, “I am fine.”
“Do not argue,” Éomer stated firmly, “sit.” He soften the request with, “please.” He guided her to his chair. Alyrin did not fuss a second time. Aragorn stood up and walked the few steps to her chair, the Master Healer’s office was not a large one. He felt her forehead, satisfied with her temperature, he looked at her thoughtfully as he asked in a soft voice, “When was the last time you have eaten?”
Alyrin looked into grey eyes that held comfort and safety, the hands of a healer; the hands of a king, Iorweth had said earlier that day. She could well believe it. “I had some bread, broth and some wine at dawn. After that…” She paused, “The wounded, they just kept coming, there was no time.”
Aragorn reached for his bowl of bread and cheese, “Eat this,” Alyrin looked at him to defer, “Eat this, I will get more.” She took the bowl and started wolfing it down. She had not realized how hungry she was. Master Healer held out a cup of wine which she gratefully accepted. She sipped it quickly. After the first wolfing bites she looked up at Éomer, “I looked in on your sister, she seems to be doing better.”
The worried blue eyes soften a bit, “Aye, she is. Thanks to Aragorn here.”
Alyrin nodded, “I spoke to her a bit,”
Éomer sighed a fierce sigh, “She was supposed to be sleeping!”
Alyrin took that as an critique of her actions, “I didn’t wake her!”
Éomer’s eyes softened again, “It is not you, Alyrin. I’m sure you did not. It is just that my sister is a very stubborn woman!” he asserted.
Alyrin relaxed a bit and said, “She wanted to know the names of the injured here. She had me fetch parchment and pen. I think she was going to give me a list but by the time I returned she had fallen asleep.” She looked at Master Healer, “It was a good sleep. Her breathing was deep and even and her face looked relaxed.” They had discussed the different kinds of sleep and what they could mean for a patient.
Master Healer looked kindly upon Alyrin, who was a quick study and would make a very good healer for her village, “That is very good news, Alyrin.”
Encouraged by his good words, Alyrin asked further, “Should I get the names of the injured for her.” She enquired of the Master Healer who looked little doubtful.
Éomer spoke, “She probably wants to know if her boys are injured or alive…”
Aragorn looked pensive, “I think we should look first. Just so we know what to expect.”
Master Healer nodded in agreement, “Alyrin, eat first, finish your bread and cheese,” He instructed because he knew that in her eagerness to please she would fly the moment he gave an instruction, “And after that go to Gwerion and seek the list of the injured. Éomer, do you think you can give Alyrin a list of those whom she should look for?”
“Aye, I believe I can,” Éomer stated, inwardly glad he was not to be the one to peruse such a list. He did not think he was ready to confront such a task. He would have to face the reality of who had lived and who had died soon enough, but he hoped it was not cowardly of him to ask for a precious few hours of not knowing.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Éowyn looked around the battlefield and saw nothing but dead bodies. She scanned the entire boundary contained by the ruin of the Rammas Echor and saw no one left alive. “You have all died and left me here.” She grabbed for a sword that lay in the hand of a fallen Gondorian soldier and tried to end it all right there, but the sword blade transformed itself into a red ribbon and would not cut. “Why have you all left me to look after beds for no one. Why?” She screamed. “This is not my life, This cannot be my life!!”
~*~*~*~*~*~
She awoke to a gentle hand upon her forehead, and a cool compress in the hand of Alyrin the apprentice healer. “Shh! Shh! My Lady!” she said soothingly, “It was all a dream.”
Éowyn drew in a deep breath, trying to calm her raging heart. “It seemed so real.” She looked at Alyrin, “I am sorry to have caused you so much trouble.”
“No trouble, My Lady!” Alyrin smiled, “You are here to recover yourself but there are bound to be a few bumps along the road. So says Master Healer.”
Éowyn looked at Alyrin and envied the calm, serene look in her eyes, “Thank you, Alyrin. You are too good to me.”
“Not at all, My Lady. Now I have been speaking with your brother, the Master and Aragorn the Healer,” Éowyn went still at Aragorn’s name afraid of what might have been said. She looked at Alyrin, saw no recrimination in her eyes and she relaxed somewhat.
“What did they say?” she asked in what she hoped was a casual tone.
“Well, My Lady. Lord Éomer reasoned why you were probably wanting with the list names and we have some answers for you.”
Éowyn was immediately filled with anxiety and dread. She sat up quickly and felt a rush of dizziness strike her but she fought her way through it. “What did you find?”
Alyrin moved to place a pillow at Éowyn’s back allowing her to lean back and then to the corner of the bed and motioned someone forward. Háláf entered with a concerned look on his face and a bandage around his forearm and Aethelred followed, looking worse for wear but otherwise unhurt and a similar alarmed look in his eyes.
“Oh my lady!” Háláf whispered, as he sat down and clasped Éowyn undamaged hand with his one good hand. “I thought you were dead!” His eye reminding her of the little boy she once knew, “I was carrying your bier when Prince Imrahil noticing you were still breathing,”
Éowyn heard these words and instantly felt shame for the pain and torment she had put her young friend through.
“Oh my dear friend,” Éowyn caressed his dirt begrimed cheek, “I am so sorry for all you have been through!” She smiled to ease Háláf’s anxiety and then placed a kiss upon the boy’s forehead. “But as you can see I am well.” She affirmed as much to herself as to the two boys.
She reached out to Aethelred who quickly sat on the side of the bed as he clasped her hand. She looked into the eyes of both her boys, “Now the more important question, how do you two fare? I see a bandage, Háláf?”
“It was merely a scratch. It bled little, but healer wanted to cover it all the same!” Háláf said while casting his eyes downwards presumably to inspect Éowyn’s bedcoverings.
“Was it? Or are you saying that for my benefit?” Éowyn brought his chin up with her hand.
Háláf looked up at her with suddenly older eyes, “Possibly. But what about you? Are you as well as you say? Or is that just meant for our benefit?”
Éowyn realized then that her boys were not boys anymore. They had been through hell. She sighed and gave a more truthful answer, “I am as well as can be expected.”
“Well then, I will say the same.” He smiled a weary smile.
“Aethelred, you are uninjured. But how are you really?”
Aethelred looked down and then back up with eyes filled with remembered horror. “It is not something I think I can speak of as yet.”
Éowyn looked with compassion on the young man, “I doubt any of us can, my friend.” She asked the question she had been afraid to ask. “How are the others?”
At this Aethelred visibly brightened, “All have survived, My Lady. Háling and Leoulfwine are here in the Houses but their wounds are not considered serious and the others have escaped with only minor injuries. Éowyn’s heart gladdened at the news of survival but she noticed that the phrase “unscathed” had not been used. She mused about how no one would escape this battle without having been changed even if they had not sustained physical damage.
“Seeing you two has done me a world of good. Can you see Háling and Leoulfwine and tell the others I would see them.” Háláf nodded tentatively but she could tell he was trying not to say something. “Háláf, is there something you need to say?” Háláf pursed his lips. “You can say anything to me, you know that.”
Háláf still looked pensive and then blurted out, “If you are here, why didn’t you lead us?” The question lay out in the open and Éowyn paused, taken aback by the force of the boy’s question. “I shouldn’t have asked…” he blundered out, “But WHY?” his eyes held torment that seared Éowyn’s soul. “I saw you dead…”
Éowyn sat and tried to formulate an answer. The boy deserved that much but she was not even sure how to answer him. Anything she might answer would only sound trivial in the face of the boy’s suffering. She had always been honest with Háláf and the others. She would try now. “I am not sure I can explain sufficiently, but I will try. I owe that to you both.” She looked them both unflinchingly in the eye. “I was told by my uncle that I would not be going. He would not allow it. When I spoke to you, Háláf, I had just come from his room. I was going to obey him but by morning I realized that I could not. Every bone in my body screamed that I had to ride. My leadership over you had been taken from me. I had no say. Open defiance was not possible. I took the ignoble route of subterfuge. I am not proud of what I did, but it was necessary. My only regret is that I could not lead you. I did not lie when I said it would have been the proudest moment of my life to have led you all in battle but it was taken from me. As everything else has been taken from me.” She spat that last thought out viciously. She was caught short by the stunned looks on her boys’ faces. She stopped and took a deep breath and tried to gain what equilibrium she could, “I am so very heartily sorry for the torment I have caused you.” She looked at Aethelred then at Háláf, “Can you forgive me?” she ended plaintively.
The stunned look left both boys’ faces to be replaced by one of commiseration as Háláf said, “If you can forgive us for doubting you.”
Éowyn wiped the tears that had spilled from Háláf’s wide blue eyes, “Aye, I think we can do that for each other.” She caressed Aethelred’s cheek as he wiped his eyes. Éowyn smiled through her tears, “You two go and rest and eat. I will be fine.” She ended with a lie. They nodded with the lie unchallenged. It would have to be enough for now.