Reposting due to the Breach of January 2025.  Thanks to all who previously reviewed this story.  Thank you so much I appreciated every one of them and you!  I am now reposting this and after 21 chapters I am still loving my writing about Eowyn. I hope you will enjoy it as well.  

Ch. 1 – “I want to be a Shieldmaiden!”

Edoras, 3005 TA

Saelith looked at her through narrowed eyes. Éowyn just sat there on the bench near the stables with her rag doll, Eówara waiting for Éomer. “Just ignore her Eówara, maybe she will go away.”

Saelith eyed her jealously, “I heard that you told Cyneith that you wanted to become a shieldmaiden.” She laughed as if it was a very funny joke.

Éowyn sighed and tried to push aside a feeling of humiliation. She looked at Cyneith, Éowyn was very disappointed that she had said anything. Cyneith looked away with shame in her eyes. Éowyn knew she should have said nothing, Cyneith said she would not say anything but apparently that had not been the case. She looked Saelith in the eye, “What is wrong with that? They are brave and honorable.” She had stolen away from Guthhild, her nurse yet again some weeks earlier and made her way down to the lower reaches of Edoras where she saw them training through a crack in a fence. She had been enthralled.

“They’re peasants! Why would you want to do something that peasants do? But then again you were born in Aldburg not Edoras. Not much as more than peasants there anyways! At least that is what my mama says about her Papa!” she said confidingly to Cyneith, who at least had the good grace to look scandalized by the comment, “Saelith, you shouldn’t say such things!”

Éowyn saw red, “You take that back about my Papa! He was a good man!”

“Good enough to get himself killed!” Saelith retorted.

Éowyn dropped Eówara and ran at Saelith, tumbling her to the ground, pulling hair and getting in a few fist punches before she felt arms pulling her away from the other girl. “Stop it! Stop it! Calm down!” Éowyn heard her brother’s voice in her ear.

“Éomer! You should have heard what she said about Papa!” Éowyn said while still struggling against her brother’s hold.

Éomer looked at Cyneith, who was staring with wide fright-filled eyes. “Do you know what was said?” he asked sternly. Cyneith hedged a bit and then said, “Saelith did say a few things that weren’t very nice at all,” in a scandalized voice.

Saelith looked her and hissed, “Cyneith!” the warning implicit in that one word.

Cyneith stood up a little straighter, “You said you weren’t going to say anything about what I said!” She added emboldened a little, “And it isn’t right to talk about someone’s papa who died!”

Éomer looked at Saelith, “Is this true, Saelith?”

“Maybe.” The girl admitted looking daggers at Cyneith, but without an audience, either willing or unwilling the bluster had gone out of her.

Éomer tamped down his own anger and simply said sternly to Saelith, “I think you had better go home now.”

Saelith protested, “But what about my dress and my hair! What do I say?”

Éomer leveled an unsympathetic look at the girl, “Tell them the truth. And we will tell my uncle.”

Saelith just looked at Éomer, turned on the heel of her boot and left in a huff.

Cyneith approached Éowyn still being nominally held by her brother. She began hesitantly, “Éowyn…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. But I only said something because I was impressed that you wanted to.”

Éowyn looked at her, “Really?”

Cyneith nodded, “Forgive me?”

“Okay.”

They both recognized the bellowed words of Cyneith’s nurse, Aldwara. Cyneith’s looked sheepishly at Éowyn, “I best be off!” Éowyn nodded sympathetically. Cyneith ventured, “Friends?”

Éowyn gave her a small smile and a shrug, “Yes.” The other girl departed quickly before her nurse bellowed again.

Éomer let her go and placed her on the bench as he bent to pick up Eówara. He brushed off the doll as best he could and handed her to Éowyn who proceeded to give her a hug.

“Sorry that I dropped you like that, Eówara. But she made me mad.”

Éomer crouched in front of her, smoothing her hair and removing a twig that had become entwinned in her reddish blond hair. “I think we both gathered that. Can you tell me what started this all.”

“Saelith said something mean about Papa!”

Éomer tilted his head and smiled ruefully, “And that was wrong! But was there anything before that. Granted, Saelith is a nasty little minx but before that. What did Cyneith mean about something she said.”

Éowyn hesitated a few seconds because she knew what Éomer’s response was going to be. They had had this discussion before. “I was telling Cyneith that I wanted to be a shieldmaiden!”

Éomer sighed. He just looked at his ten-year old sister. “Ah that. You know that’s not possible.”

Éowyn looked at Éomer as he stood up and pick up his sword. He said, “Are you all right? Should I take you to Dunhild?” offering to take her to the healer who resided at Meduseld and had patched up many cuts and scrapes for them both.

Éowyn shook her head wordlessly as she balefully looked at her brother, who was on his way to training.

“Why can’t I come, too.” She blurted out. Éomer looked at his little sister with sorrowful eyes. “You know that you can’t. Why do you continue to ask?”

“Why can’t I?” Éowyn said petulantly. “Village women learn how to wield a sword. Why can’t I?”

Éomer sighed and walked back to his sister, “Sister, they learn because they have to. They do not always have the menfolk around to shield them. But you do. I will always protect you.” At fifteen Éomer took his responsibility to protect his sister very seriously. He recalled his father’s whispered words, fervent and with a tinge of desperation, “Protect your sister always. She will need you!” Those words sat wrapped around Éomer’s heart. They guided his actions.

Éowyn looked her brother and she swallowed what she was about to say. Even at ten, Éowyn could feel that to say that she could take care of herself would be to hurt Éomer’s feelings. She could not do that to him. So, she remained silent and just looked balefully at Éomer as he picked up his sword and training gear and headed for the practice field.

At that moment Guthhild her nursemaid, bellowed, “Éowyn!! Where is that child?!”

Éowyn closed her eyes and pursed her lips. It was time for the dreaded needlecraft. She sighed heavily and then made a decision as she watched Éomer walking away. She could not let Guthhild see her like this. She would know that she had gotten into a scuffle again and she was not in the mood to hear yet another lecture on how a lady should act. Besides it was time for needlecraft this morning and she simply could not face it today. Her fingers were still smarting from the disastrous lesson of the day before. Running in the opposite direction she found herself in front the door to her uncle’s study. She went inside and immediately heard a snarl from Brego, her uncle’s dog. The dog was eyeing her suspiciously. Try as she might Brego always made her nervous, which was very odd because normally she got along very well with dogs.

“Brego! Quiet!” came her uncle’s voice. She looked up and saw him walking from an adjoining room holding some pieces of parchment.

“I’m sorry, Uncle! I didn’t mean to disturb you!” Éowyn said more disconsolately than she meant to.

Théoden glanced at his young niece, distracted by the parchments in his hand, she seemed a little upset. “Éowyn, lytling! What is troubling you?” he murmured. Then he really looked at her noticing the disheveled clothing and hair, “Éowyn, what has happened to you?” King Théoden’s eyes flashing with concern.

Éowyn chewed her lower lip, “Nothing Uncle…”

Her uncle took a few moments to calm his raging blood after the thought that someone may have harmed his beloved niece. He softened his look and walked over a near chair upholstered in a deep color of green brocade. He put his parchments on the table next and sat down and opened his arms to his niece. “Come and sit, lytling.”

Éowyn rushed into his arms and while she sat in his lap, she poured out the anguish of her heart. “Nobody seems to like me, Uncle! They make fun of me!” For her tussle with Saelith was only the most recent time she had been teased about one thing or another. Éowyn snuffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve and looked at her uncle with big, sad blue eyes.

Théoden looked his little niece and the fear that had gripped his heart began to ease. Nobody had to die this day, his niece seemed basically unhurt. He smoothed a strand of hair of the little girl’s eyes, “Why do you say that, lytling?”

“They made fun of me when I said I wanted to be a shieldmaiden and learn how to protect my family! Then Saelith just laughed at me and said only peasant women became shieldmaidens. She claimed that somehow there must be peasant blood in me if I wanted to be a shieldmaiden. Nobody should say anything bad about my papa! That was why I hit her, uncle.” Éowyn looked up at Théoden, big blue eyes brimming with tears of indignation. “If I was a shieldmaiden, maybe I could have protected Papa!” Éowyn suddenly looked up at Théoden, “Not that I don’t love you Uncle. I do, very much.” She looked off into the distance, “But I do sometimes miss Papa and Mama.” She admittedly quietly.

Théoden was torn between laughing at her feistiness and despair because of her reason for wanting to be a Shieldmaiden. He settled for hugging Éowyn fiercely as his heart broke yet again for the little girl. “Oh my lytling! I love you, too. With all my heart.” He thought of Éomund and Théodwyn, both gone way before their time. “It is perfectly natural to miss your Papa!” he spoke into the little girl’s hair. He thought of the reason she wanted to become a shieldmaiden, wanting to protect those she loved. He pulled back to look Éowyn in the face, “I think it is wonderful and noble that you wish to become a shieldmaiden.” He did not have the heart to deny or discourage her. It was true. Only village women trained to become shieldmaidens. It was thought beneath the women of noble birth, but Éowyn was a child of light and spirit and he could not bear to see her unhappy or deny her this.

Éowyn’s face lit up, “Do you really, Uncle?” her face darkened, “But what about what Saelith said?”

Théoden looked at her, “I said ‘Pish’ to what Saelith says,” He knew of the child, she was the daughter of his First Marshal, Heregar. Heregar was a good man but he had married a rather vain and selfish woman and it did not surprise him that their daughter would say such things. He might have words with Heregar later but he would deal with that if the problem arose. “Peasant indeed!” He said out loud, “You are the daughter of Kings!” Éowyn smiled, “But remember, Éowyn, as the daughter of Kings, you should not put on airs or lord it over people no matter how much you think they deserve it. That is not how one acts. Am I clear?” Éowyn looked earnestly into her uncle’s eyes and nodded while gently chewing her bottom lip. “Good girl!” he said as he wiped almost dried tear tracks off his niece’s lightly freckled and currently dusty cheeks. “Now then about your training.”

“Really Uncle, do you mean it?” Éowyn cried happily.

“Yes,” Théoden smiled, “I wish you learn, if that is what you want to do.”

“I do, I do!”

“Well then, but I do have one request,” said Rohan’s King.

“What?” Éowyn said, not knowing what to expect.

“That we keep this in the family. No one else need know.” Théoden said conspiratorially, “It will be our secret,” He did not wish to open the child up to wagging tongues and more hurtful gossip, and he still wish to allow the child to dream. “I shall ask Théodred to teach you.”

Éowyn mouthed a silent “O” for she idolized her cousin, “Yes, Please.” Her face clouded up again, “But Guthhild would want to know where I was. She is after me every second, always trying to teach me needlework and other things.” Her little face held a mutinous scowl.

Théoden hid a sympathetic smile. He had seen some of his niece’s handiwork. It was…problematic was a kind way of describing her abilities in the “womanly arts.” “Well, she is your nurse.”

“Yes, sir,” came the dispirited reply.

Théoden, still valiantly trying to hide his smile, “I’ll tell you what. What portion of your lessons would you like to dispense with?”

“Needlework!” came the enthusiastic assertion. “All I seem to do is poke my finger with that blasted needle,”

“Language! Éowyn.” Théoden admonished albeit gently. “You should not use such words.”

“Yes, Uncle. I do try. But sometimes they just slip out!” Éowyn ended with a little more spirit.

Théoden let forth a cough that sounded more like a laugh. He cleared his throat and began again. “Well on days when Théodred is available to teach you I shall tell Guthhild that during your needlework time you are to spend time with your cousin instead. She does not need to know the reason why.”

“Thank you, uncle. Thank you!” She gave him a big kiss on his whiskered blond cheek.

Théoden laughed. “It won’t be all the time, you’ll still have needlework at least part of the time!”

Éowyn beamed, “But not all the time!”

Théoden laughed again.

“Beg pardon My King,” Théoden looked up from his niece, slightly aggrieved their time had been disturbed. But he nodded his consent for the rider to continue.

“Beg pardon once again, My King. But the Marshals are in the meeting room, they await your presence.”

Théoden’s eyes fell upon the forgotten parchment on the near table and he let forth a sigh, “Yes, of course, Déorgar. Thank you for reminding me. Forgive me.”

Déorgar was a bit flustered at hearing his King apologize to him. He was new to Edoras and to the King’s service and did not know his King’s ways, he stumbled out, “There is no need, My King.”

Théoden turned his attentions back to his niece, “Éowyn, are we in agreement?”

Éowyn looked at her uncle and felt so special that he was asking for her consent. She felt very grown up, “Yes, Uncle!”

He kissed her forehead and gave her a hug, “Up you get!” he said as he placed her feet on the ground. “It will be our secret!”

Éowyn giggled. She dropped a little curtsy to her uncle and to Déorgar. She scurried off to find Éomer to tell him the secret. He would keep the secret. He could be trusted.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lytling (Old English): A little one, a young person or child (Rohirric was based on Old English, so I looked up a few Old English words.)

Ch. 2 - "In my heart this is right!"

Edoras, 3005 TA

Théoden was true to his word. As Théodred returned from the Eastfold, the king had sent a messenger to his son to meet him before evening meal. The young rider approached Théodred, “My Prince,” Théodred motioned for the rider to continue, “Your Lord Father wished you to attend him before the evening meal. There is something he wishes to discuss with you and the Lord Éomer.”

“Indeed?” Théodred raised a dark blond eyebrow. “Curiosity abounds. At what time did the King say?”

The young rider answered, “Half an hour before, My Lord!”

“Thank you, Aldor! Tell the King I shall attend.” Aldor bowed, fist on heart and retreated.

Théodred watched the rider leave and pondered what his father had to say…and with Éomer called to attend as well. “Curious….” He murmured to himself as Fasthelm unpacked his saddlebags.

“Shall I ready a bath for you, my lord?”

“Hmmmm….” Théodred was shaken from his musings, “Oh yes, Fasthelm. I wish to wash the road off! Thank you!”

Fasthelm bowed, fist on heart, “As you wish, My Lord!” and departed to prepare the bath.

Théodred sat on the bench at the foot of his bed and started unbuckling his bracers as he pondered the King’s request. He shook his head. He would find out soon enough.

Freshly bathed and properly attired in a new tunic of green and gold and dun colored breeches, Théodred walked to his young cousin’s door and knocked. Éomer opened the door and a look of delight crossed his usually somber face. “Cousin! You are back! So good it is to see you!” and Théodred found himself enfolded in an enthusiastic bear hug.

He laughed, “It is good to see you as well, cousin!” He looked at his young cousin. Éomer was seven years his junior but the age difference did not seem to matter. He was a serious lad, current greeting notwithstanding, with much responsibility laden on his young shoulders too early, but once one saw past the gruff façade there was goodwill and humour to be found. One just had to be patient enough to find it. “So how have things been progressing here…Have you pulled together enough courage to talk to Ealith?” Théodred teased his young cousin about a tavern maid he had found particularly buxom and beautiful. He delighted in the fact that Éomer blushed and stumbled out the denial, “No,” coupled with the excuse, “it hasn’t been the right moment.” Théodred laughed and said, “You MAKE the moment!”

Éomer blushed more and then said a little more seriously, “We had a moment of a different sort here yesterday.”

Théodred’s eyebrows came together upon hearing that, “What has happened, cousin?”

“Saelith has been picking on Éowyn.”

Théodred’s demeanor changed immediately. All the protectiveness of a growly mother bear lit within him. He did not like it when anyone treated either of his cousins poorly, especially little Éowyn, who was only ten. “What happened?”

“Apparently Saelith had a few less that glowing opinions about Papa and Éowyn disagreed.”

“Only ‘disagreed’?”

“Well there was also hair pulling and fist punching involved and by the time I could separate them Saelith did look a little worse for wear!”

“Good for Éowyn! Saelith is a nasty little one. She is too like her mother. Ahem…I mean she shouldn’t be fighting.” He intoned ineffectually.

“Agreed on ALL counts, but the fighting began when Saelith laughed at Éowyn because she wanted train to be a Shieldmaiden.”

“Ah…”

“Yes! She wants to train.”

“But it is not done! Has she been told—”

“Yes, repeatedly.”

Théodred just shook his head, “she is a stubborn little piece of business!”

Éomer just sat there on the bed nodding.

Just then a whirlwind entered the room, “Théodred! You are home!!!” Éowyn ran at her cousin and engulfed him in an all-embracing hug. “So happy you are back!” He spun her around and set her down on her boot tips.

“And I am so glad to be home! Perhaps I should go away more often if I am guaranteed a welcome like that every time!” Théodred ruffled her partially undone plaits.

Éowyn turned serious, “I wouldn’t want that! I hate it when you go away!”

Théodred smiled and sat on the bed and motioned for Éowyn to climb into his lap which she readily did. “I know you do, lytling. But it has to be done sometimes. Now what is this that I hear about you and Saelith?”

Éowyn exclaimed, “She said mean things about Papa! And…well…I just got angry!”

“Well, officially I should say you shouldn’t be fighting but unofficially,” Here Théodred’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “She is a nasty, little swine!”

Éowyn laughed and Théodred put his finger to his lips, “Shh-sh! We shouldn’t say such things! Though it is true!”

Éowyn tried to look contrite and failed miserably. “She did deserve it though, she laughed at me when I told her I wanted to be a shieldmaiden! I saw them training down in the lower edges of Edoras.”

Théodred eyed his young cousin, “Éowyn…what were you doing in the lower reaches of Edoras…alone. Did you evade poor Guthhild again?” Éowyn had a habit of doing just that when it came time for her to do something she did not want to do.

Éowyn tried to feign innocence, but as she was basically an honest child she was unconvincing, “Maybe…It was time for needlecraft and I didn’t want to.” She exclaimed in way of an explanation.

“Poor Guthhild, she is going to begin to think that you don’t like her,” Théodred tried to argue.

“Well I don’t…” Éowyn relented a little, “At least not when she is trying to make me learn to sew, or do needlework. Shieldmaidens don’t need to know that stuff!”

Théodred countered, “Yes they do. And besides.” Here he tried to soften the blow, “Éowyn. Only village women can train to be Shieldmaidens. It is not for Noble born ladies.”

Éowyn jumped off his lap and shouted, “Why does everyone keep telling me that!” she had her hands fisted up into little balls at her sides. “If I had been one maybe I could have ridden at papa’s side and saved him! Why does nobody think that?” She ran off in tears down the hallway that lead to the stables.

Éomer and Théodred just looked at each other. Both were taken aback by the fervency of her words and the reasoning behind for it.

“And that is why I wished to speak with you both,” both cousins looked at the door and there standing in the doorway was King Théoden.

Théodred spoke first. “What do you mean Father? It has always been the practice that village women need to learn to defend themselves given the circumstances in which they live. Their menfolk serving with an Eored they need to know the basics of defense to protect themselves and their families. But those that live within Edoras it has never been deemed necessary or proper.”

“Yes, Théodred. I know that. And that has been the way. But did you hear what Éowyn said? I did and my heart aches. I think she should be given some form of training.”

Éomer looked at his uncle, “Uncle, are you saying that you do not believe in my ability or commitment to protecting my sister?”

Théoden looked at his nephew, just on the verge of manhood at almost fifteen, who stood looking at him with the eyes of doubt.

Théoden sought to quickly allay the hurt he saw in those eyes that reminded him so much of Éomund, his father, “No. No, Éomer. I have absolutely no doubt of your heart, abilities or commitment to your sister. I have great faith in you.” Éomer visibly relaxed. Théoden smiled. “It is for Éowyn herself that I am concerned. If she were to train in at least the basics, it might give her an outlet for her grief. You have had your training to give your life structure. She has not. It might give her a purpose to work toward and help to channel her energy instead rising to whatever bait Heregar’s daughter or others might want to throw at her.”

Théodred nodded, saying, “It is sound thinking, Father, but for the gossip and scandal it will cause. Might it not cause more fodder for discussion?”

“I have thought of that. And yes, I do believe that could be the result and that is the last thing I want for Éowyn. So, I propose that you teach her in private, when you can. Start with the basics and see how apt she is. I have already discussed this with Éowyn, she is very excited about the prospect. Archery can taught to her without undue comment as it can be a noble lady’s pursuit. It is swordplay that will have to be done in secret.”

Théodred looked at his father, “If you think this is best course of action I will of course do as you bid.”

“I do not know if it is good to break with tradition in this way, but I would see her smile again. The memory of my sister speaks in my heart that this is right.”

He looked at Éomer, who had been quiet through most of this discussion, “What say you, my nephew. Does my plan meet with your approval.”

Éomer looked at his uncle somewhat in surprise that he should seek his approval. He saw in his uncle’s eyes no mocking or disregard but a genuine desire for his opinion on this matter. Though he was still young his uncle was seeking to hear his thoughts. Éomer felt proud and humbled at the same time, but he straightened his shoulders and drew himself up as he said, “I wish to see my sister happy. If you think this course of action will achieve this, then I agree with you. I also would like to see my sister smiling again.”

Théoden hid a smile as he solemnly nodded to his nephew. The boy was becoming a man; it was important that Théoden acknowledge that in whatever decisions he could allow him to take part in. He must steward the raising of his sister’s children and help them both to grow as she and Éomund would have wished. It was a responsibility he took most seriously.

“Very good. In this we shall move forward.”

Ch. 3 – A Young Heart finds purpose

Éowyn ran to the stables, tears obscuring her vision. She could hear murmuring on either side of her with the occasional mention of her name but she was too upset to care. They could think what they like. She entered the stables and felt immediately comforted by smells and sounds that surrounded her. Gamhelm, the Master of the Horse saw her enter and one look told him that she was upset. His shoulder slumped in sympathy for the little girl, but he quickly pasted a smile on his face when greeting her.

“Hello! Lytling. And how are you this fine afternoon?”

Éowyn looked at Gamhelm. He was a big, burly man who always had a smile on his ruddy face. He always made her feel happy with his jovial nature. But this day not even he could bring a smile to her face, “Oh Gamhelm! Why was I born a girl! Girls don’t get to do anything fun or important!” she burst out.

Gamhelm looked a little non-plussed by the strange declaration from one of his favorite people to frequent his stables, “Well my lady, I can’t rightly say. The Valar decide these things and we have no say.”

Éowyn dirt-stained face screwed itself into a scowl and she folded her arms, “It’s not fair! And now I am constantly told that I can’t even be a shieldmaiden!”

Gamhelm was about to say that of course she could not because she was noble-born, niece to the King. But Éowyn took one look at him and said, “Not you too, Gamhelm! Don’t say it.”

Gamhelm bent his head in a nod, “Sorry, Lytling, I won’t say it.”

Éowyn look at the big, burly blond man, and smiled, “I’m sorry, Gamhelm. I didn’t mean to be cross with you! Uncle says we should not ‘take our frustrations out on those who do not deserve it,’” she finished sounding like she was quoting directly, “It’s not your fault I’m not a boy.” She ended wistfully.

“Oh, my lady! I like you just as you are! You are a lovely lass! You are.”

Éowyn gave him a big hug. She was feeling much better. “I love you, Gamhelm! I don’t ever want to get married,” She wrinkled her nose at the prospect, “but if I have to, I want it to be someone just like you!” She hopped up onto his worktable and picked up a horseshoe that was on the table next to her, looking through one of the holes the horseshoe nails are driven through just to see what she could see.

“Oh my lady, Stop with the nonsense. You will marry some grand lord with a fancy title. Not someone like me!”

“Oh but I don’t want that!” she wrinkled her nose again, “I would want someone who I can sit with and talk about horses all day long!”

Gamhelm laughed, “Well, my lady! I do say THAT would be a fine thing! But look here, My lady,” Éowyn stopped looking through the hole in the horseshoe and looked at him solemnly as he seemed to be looking serious for a change, “I will tell you one thing, my lady. When you do get married make sure your man has a gentle heart. Tis most important.”

Éowyn nodded for it seemed to be a very important point to him, “But how will I know that, Gamhelm?” she asked.

“You’ll know because you will see it in his eyes. Remember that,” He said solemnly. Éowyn nodded again and he playfully tapped her nose and his mood changed and he was once again his jovial self, “At least that’s what my Gamwyn tells me. She knew I was the one when she looked into my eyes. And we’ve been happily married for years now.”

Éowyn smiled. She had met Mistress Gamwyn many times when she would come to the stables to bring Gamhelm his midday meal, and a fair few times she had an extra spice cake just for her. She hopped down from the table, leaving the horseshoe behind.

“Do we have any turnips today? I want to give Wildefýr a little treat.”

“Look in the box, My lady. I do believe there are one or two of them in there.”

She skipped over the treat box and amid the carrots, she did find one or two turnips. She chose the biggest one and walked over to Wildefýr’s stall. Wildefýr nickered when she saw Éowyn, “Hello, girl,” she whispered as she nuzzled the horse’s neck. Wildefýr started nuzzling Éowyn’s overlay pocket where she had placed the turnip. “What’s that, girl? What? You think I have something in my pocket. Now what would that be?” She quickly took the turnip out of her pocket and fed it to her horse. “You are such a smart horse.” She stroked her black mane. “Ah, my girl. The life of a horse I think is so much easier! Unlike me I bet you’ve never wished you were a stallion.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

After the discussion with his father Théodred talked with Éomer and it was decided that Théodred should go and find Éowyn to tell her the good, albeit to be kept secret, news. Finding her would not really be an issue. He knew that whenever she was very upset she headed straight for the stables to visit with her horse, Wildefýr. Gamhelm would know where she was. He had been entrusted with her safety by the King whenever she was near the stables and he took his charge very seriously.

Théodred walked up to the stables and nodded to Gamhelm, who in nodded with his fist on his heart, “My Prince!”

“Good Master Gamhelm, is she here?”

“Yes, My lord. Lady Éowyn is back with Wildefýr as we speak.”

“Thank you Master Gamhelm, can you give us a few moments please.”

Gamhelm bowed, “As you will, My lord.”

Théodred walked back to Wildefýr’s stall and turned the corner just in time to overhear the last part of Éowyn’s conversation with her horse. He would never comment upon what he had overheard for secrets whispered to one’s horse were sacrosanct among the Rohirrim. But though he would never speak of it, it broke his heart, nonetheless. Éowyn had been wishing she had been born a boy. He waited a couple of seconds and then called her name. She immediately turned around, “Cousin!” she exclaimed brightly and then her face clouded, “Are you here to lecture me more on why I can’t become a Shieldmaiden?” she finished, looking up at him through veiled eyelids.

“No, I’m not. In fact, I have been speaking with Father and I now think that you should be trained but only by me. I would not trust anyone else with so precious a student.”

Éowyn ran into his arms, “Oh Cousin! You have made me so happy!” She near shouted into his ear.

“Easy…you don’t want to deafen your instructor before lessons begin!”

Éowyn laughed, “Sorry, Cousin.”

Théodred laughed. “But I agree with Father. We should keep the lessons a secret. We don’t want to make the others jealous.” Éowyn nodded. “And,” he looked at his mischievous little cousin squarely in the eye, “No bragging on your part. That is not our way. Do you promise?”

Éowyn, wide-eyed, nodded, “I won’t say anything!”

“Good,” Théodred said approvingly, “I will tell you now. I will not go easy on you. The purpose to train is to fight. A disservice is done if the training is not done properly.” Éowyn nodded solemnly. “Very well, we will begin tomorrow.” He held her gaze solemnly for a few seconds more and then he smiled. Éowyn hugged he again.

By the end of the second week she wanted to strangle him. Théodred had spoken true when he said he would not go lightly with Éowyn’s training. It started out easily enough but at the end of the week she was exhausted and sore. The next week was even worse. They drilled in footwork and balance and Éowyn really did not know what this had to do with sword fighting. She was convinced her cousin was making everything purposefully hard and seemingly pointless because in truth he did not want to teach her. And nothing she did was ever good enough. At the end of the second week she was sullen and in a bad mood, convinced her cousin was picking on her. Théodred knocked her door and at first Éowyn did not answer. She had worked herself up into a right foul mood and she thought mutinously that he could just go away. She sat in her window seat overlooking the courtyard and brooded. The knock came again. “Éowyn, open up. Please. I want to talk to you.” He sounded so reasonable, but on the training field it was another matter. The door opened a crack.

“Go away!” she shouted.

Silence. And then, “I’m opening the door.”

More Silence. Éowyn relented and said, “Fine. You can open the door.”

Théodred opened the door fully and saw his little cousin sitting in the window seat, clearly brooding. He walked in and sat on the bed, “It is time to train.”

He saw Éowyn stiffen, “I’m not going! You clearly don’t want me to.”

Théodred paused, “Why don’t I want you to.” He countered.

“Because you are always yelling, always finding fault.”

“And this to you says that I don’t want teach you. And I don’t want you to learn?”

“Yes!” Éowyn continued to purposefully look through the window and not at her cousin.

“I did tell you it would not be easy. I did tell you that, did I not.”

“Yes.” Came the small voiced admission.

Théodred took a very deep breath to calm himself. “Éowyn, you are my cousin and I love you very much and that is precisely why I am hard on you.”

Éowyn then looked at Théodred confusion evident on her face. “Why is that? I don’t understand.”

Théodred paused to gather his thoughts. He did not as a rule explain himself to fledgling riders. It was their job to learn to obey and his job to train them to fight and survive to fight another day. But for his young cousin he would make an exception and he was struggling to find the right words. He had seen her growing more and more sullen as the days passed. She did have an aptitude for training but she also had an attitude that had to be changed. She seemed to think it was a game. Which it most definitely was not. “Training to learn how to fight, how to protect your loved ones,” he began, “is a very hard thing to do. Father is right. It is admirable that you want to do this thing. But it is not easy. And you cannot be allowed to think it is easy. I think you are old enough to understand that. We train and train hard so that in battle we react as we have been trained, before fear takes hold, or anger. It is our skills that can keep us alive.” He paused, “If I don’t prepare you to the best of my ability, if I don’t push you to improve to the best of your abilities, which by the way are considerable, then I have failed you. You are too precious to me to allow for that kind of failure.”

Éowyn looked at her cousin, not quite understanding everything he had just said, but she was beginning to see that he did have faith in her. She felt her wounded pride begin to slip away. “So,” she said haltingly, “you are hard on me because you have faith in me?”

“Yes.”

At that one word, Éowyn’s heart soared, she smiled and she got up off of the window seat and quickly plaited her hair into a single queue and said, “That’s all right then” and started heading towards the door. She turned around and saw that Théodred was still sitting on the bed. “Well come on! Isn’t it archery today? We don’t have much time before Guthhild will be expecting me for knitting time!”

Théodred laughed, “The Horrors!”

“Yeah well, you haven’t seen me with a couple knitting needles in my hand. It isn’t a pretty sight.”

They stood on the archery range a few minutes later. Éowyn stood with her light practice bow on the shooting line. She nocked her arrow, pulled the bowstring, calmed her breathing and let fly the arrow. It hit the target but it was a little off center. She looked at Théodred with a new and burgeoning understanding, expecting a critique rather than fearing one. Théodred did not disappoint, critiquing, albeit with a slight smile this time, “Elbow straight and loose the arrow by simply opening your hand. You were snatching your shot.”

Éowyn simply nodded. She nocked the next arrow, pulled the bow, took it down and readjust her arrow. This time more cognizant of where her elbow was, she pulled the bowstring. She stilled her breath and simply loosed the arrow. It flew more true, finding the center of the hay boss with a satisfying thwack.

“Excellent!” She heard her cousin’s critique. And purpose filled her young heart.

The archery session continued and Éowyn began to feel a sense of satisfaction a sense that she was achieving something. She had gone to retrieve her arrows when she looked up and noticed that the sun was past its zenith. "Blast!" She exclaimed and started to pull her arrows from the hay boss with ferocity.

Théodred cautioned her, "Easy…you're going to lose a tip if you pull them like that."

Éowyn looked chagrined, "I was having so much fun I lost track of time, it is past midday and I have to be in the solar for knitting! Blast!"

Théodred took pity upon her, "I will pull the last of your arrows. You hightail it up to the solar before Guthhild starts bellowing."

Éowyn kissed her instructor-turned-older-cousin on the cheek, "Thank you cousin! Thank you!"

"Yes well, don't make a habit of it. I might not be so nice next time!" he laughed as she scurried off hoping to avoid the lash of her nurse's tongue.

"How is she doing?" Théodred looked to his side and saw his father walking up.

Théodred nodded his head in approval, "She is good, she definitely shows an ability that can be honed and worked on."

"That is good," Théoden said, "Very good."

Théodred looked at Théoden, "Father, what is to come of this? She will never be able to put these skills to use!"

Théoden turned to his son, "What is to come of this? In truth, son. I do not know. We shall follow this path until another may present itself. But I do know one thing. Purpose can heal a heart in grief and that in itself is a blessed thing."

Ch. 4 – Two halves that are not whole

Edoras, 3010 TA

In a glade in the forest near Edoras as the crisp cold air of early winter blew with the promise of snow but with none yet on the ground, Éowyn leaned over catching her breath as she and Éomer had been engaged in some spirited sparring, the cold air invigorating her. In the five years she had been training she had really come to love these times she spent with her cousin and later on her brother as well. While she had come to realise what Théodred said when she began to train was true, that this was not a game and she was not to think of it as one, she really enjoyed the focus and the purpose it gave her. Her confidence grew as she became better and better at what she was being taught. During their sparring she knew that both her cousin and her brother did go easier on her because of her size and age, she could only spar with them due to the fact that no rider her age knew that she was being trained, but that mattered little. Earlier in the week she overheard the two talking before she arrived for training, Théodred ask Éomer what did he really think of Éowyn as a fighter and her brother said that she was good, better than some of the young Riders down on the main training field.

Éowyn had broken into their conversation at that point, “So I’m good, you say?” Both Théodred and Éomer started a bit. Both looking curiously relieved that it was that portion of the conversation she had overheard and not the previous few minutes because they had been discussing the fact that she would never be allowed near a battle.

Éomer had rolled his eyes, she remembered, “Yes,” he admitted, “but I should not have said because now your head will grow ten sizes too big and there will no doors you will able to get through anywhere in the Golden Hall.”

Éowyn smiled at the memory of the conversation.

“My sister is smirking. That is never a good sign.” Éowyn turned to him and made a face.

“Just thinking about what you were saying the other day about my being better that some of the Riders my age.”

Éomer looked skyward, “Valar be merciful! My sister hears one compliment and it goes to her head! You cannot best me yet, little sister.”

“Well, I may not be able to out fight you, but I can certain outshoot you!”

“Say you so!”

“Yes!” Éowyn was enjoying needling her brother.

Théodred held up his hand, “Children! There is only one way to settle this! Toe the line!” Éowyn skipped to the line and Éomer grumbled about uppity little sisters as he toed the line as well. The makeshift shooting range was not ideally set up. It was not quite long enough as the practice range in Edoras, but if truth be told, in battle the opportunities to shoot optimally presented themselves rarely. The range suited in that respect. Théodred intoned, “Standard competition rules, six arrows each. Three rounds of six. Éowyn will shoot the first and Éomer the second, proceeding from there in the same order! Make ready!” Éowyn nocked her arrow, “Shoot in your own time!”

Éowyn pulled her bow, steadied her breathing and loosed the arrow and a soft thwump was heard as the arrow land near center, Théodred shouted, “In the black!” Éomer shot him a look and Théodred looked back with a smile that bordered on a smirk. Éomer let fly his arrow also in the black. The arrows flew and the competition was heated. Both children of Éomund had a competitive streak that was intense; neither liked to lose. Suspiciously timed sneezes just as an arrow was loosed was a familiar ploy on both sides. Éowyn had taken the first round on a score of 55 to 47. Éomer edged her in the second round 52 to 50. Éomer looked at Éowyn, “Third volley. You think you can win,” he challenged. Éowyn, with her competitive juices fired up, responded with one word, “Watch,” Éomer’s eyebrows shot up and he smiled.

Théodred warned, “I don’t know, cousin. She has that look in her eye again…” as Éowyn toed the line and pulled the bow and let fly the arrow which landed in the center of the black, “In the black!” Théodred crowed as Éowyn looked at Éomer in triumph.

Éomer replied, “Nice shot, Volley isn’t over yet, though.”

Éowyn laughed, “Less talk, more shooting, brother mine!”

Éomer laughed and then let fly his arrow just inside the second ring for seven.

“Don’t worry, brother. You still have five more shots!” Éowyn teased.

“Less talk, more shooting!” Éomer shot back.

The volley continued.

Having retrieved their first three arrows of the last volley, Théodred informed them where they stood. “Éowyn is at 127 and Éomer is at 124! Three arrows to go! Toe the line!”

Éowyn stepped up, pulled and loosed. Third circle for six. She scrunched up her face in chagrin.

Éomer let fly into the black, though not quite centered for nine.

At the last arrow to shoot Théodred recounted the score. “Éowyn, 139…..Éomer 140.”

Éomer said to his sister, “Last arrow, Sister dear, no pressure!” Éowyn shot him a look.

She concentrated and another curiously timed sneeze sounded but she still got the shot in just off the black.

She shot a look at her brother who feigned innocence, “What? my nose tickled.”

She voiced a disbelieving “Um-hmm.”

“Quiet, I am about to take my shot.”

She and Théodred watched him take aim and loosed just outside the second ring for six.

Éowyn whooped, “I won!” she hugged Théodred. Competition over, Éomer looked at his little sister with a smile on his face, “Well done, very well done!” Éowyn returned the smile. “Nice last shot.” He said.

“Somebody was trying to distract me!”

“Exactly, and that is why it was impressive, through distraction you still managed to get off a good shot. That is difference between the range and battle. I am proud of you.” Éomer said suddenly serious.

Éowyn looked at her brother and felt his pride in her. She smiled, and at a loss for words, she said, “Thanks.” And gave her brother a hug, feeling very happy.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Later that evening…

Éowyn sat in the Great Hall listening to the roaring hearth fire crackle. It always made her feel warm and safe because it meant she was surrounded by family and friends readying themselves for storytelling time. It was one of her favourite times when the inhabitants of Meduseld gathered together at night during winter and while the wind howled outside; they were all warm and snug listening to tales told by the loremasters and skalds. Tales of daring, tales of bravery. Heroes battling great odds to complete their quests. She and Cyneith would sit on velvet cushions near the foot of her uncle’s throne, woven blankets throw over their knees listening to the skald’s poetry. She had remained friends with Cyneith, who proved a loyal friend though she did dwell a little too much on clothes and frippery and which of the young riders she found handsome. Still she was a good friend.

Sipping from a mug of mulled wine, Éowyn had her drinking arm pulled on by Cyneith, causing Éowyn to spill a little, “Cyneith! You made me spill.”

“Sorry, but Elfred is about to begin with “Sister mine, she waits for me,” Cyneith enthused. “I love this one so much!” She got all dewy eyed when she thought of the ballad that sang of love unrequited that would always wait for that one true love. Éowyn rolled her eyes and shook her head in amusement.

“I saw that eye-roll, Éowyn! It is a lovely ballad. You have no romance in you!” Cyneith teased, using her familiar refrain when she sought to tease her friend.

“Shh! Elfred is about to begin!” she said to distract her friend from that familiar theme. She was glad that her friend distracted so easily when Elfred was the skald for whom she harbored a secret wish to be swept up and sung one of his ballads as they rode away on a flight of fancy. Thus distracted, she did not notice the furrowed brow that had taken up residence on above Éowyn’s troubled blue eyes. Éowyn tried to push aside the little kernel of concern that she was unmoved by these tales. She did not want to contemplate the idea and in her growing concern she did not want Cyneith delve a little too deeply, though she knew her friend was only teasing her. Cyneith did not have a spiteful bone in her body.

She sat listening to the ballad thinking that this time she might be moved by the plight of the maiden Heloise, she waited and waited, wasting away because the Rider did not return her love. Usually when she heard this particular ballad she always thought “Hogwash!” and secretly considered the maiden to be a ninny for pining away. Her reaction was no different this time, but she looked at Cyneith who was awash with emotion and she looked at other ladies of the court and they seemed to be enraptured as well. She began to wonder if there was something wrong with her.

The ballad ended to rapturous applause no one seemed to notice her tepid clapping. The next chords stuck by the skald had her full attention. It was “The Tale of Helm Hammerhand” and it told the story of the legendary king who saved his people and died in their service. The last line of “he went out in the night so cold, never to return….” always struck a chord within her. He gave everything to his people and he paid the ultimate price. It always brought a tear to her eye. She could not think of a more glorious way to die than in the defense of her own people.

“Not again, Éowyn!” Cyneith exclaimed quietly but loud enough for King Theoden to hear.

“What? You cry over your ballads, I will cry over mine. Helm was so brave to sacrifice himself like that.”

Cyneith just laughed, “You are silly, but I like you anyways.”

Éowyn smiled, looked at her friend, “And I like you, too.” And she did. Cyneith was a simple soul, a sweet heart that accepted her friend’s oddities with nothing more than gentle teasing and no judgment. Her only real female friend at court. All the other ladies at court thought her odd though this was never stated overtly for fear of the King’s wrath.

Theoden heard this little exchange and was thoughtful. Éowyn’s tears over Helm Hammerhand. He knew that it was tales of battle that stirred her. And he had encouraged it. Allowing her to train; allowing her to hone her skills as a Rider for which she had indeed shown great aptitude he added thoughtful. He had encouraged it and enlisted both Théodred and Éomer’s approval and cooperation in the endeavor. It had all been done to help a little girl through her grief. And it had worked miracles. Éowyn was a confident young girl who was blossoming into a caring young woman. But while training had achieved the desired goal he was beginning to wonder where could this go? What reckoning would have to be paid? Just then Éowyn looked up at her uncle and smiled radiantly. He smiled back, stroking her hair and put aside these questions in his mind for another day.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next morning Éowyn sat on a bench in the stables talking to Gamhelm, the Master of his King’s horse. She sat there kicking her boots on the dirt covering the stable floor. She was looking pensive as she scuffed the dirt. Gamhelm sat working on a repair to a saddle and glanced at her a couple times but did not say anything. He knew that whatever it was, she would say it when she was ready. A few more minutes passed and then, “Gamhelm? Do you think there is something wrong with me?”

“Now my lady, why would you think that?” the big, burly man inquired.

“Oh, I don’t know. Cyneith and the other girls just talk about jewelry and what they are going to do with their hair and which of the young Riders they fancy. I smile and say things but I don’t really care. I mean jewerly just gets in the way when I’m shooting and rings just affect the grip on my sword. A single braid keeps my hair out of my face during swordplay.”

Gamhelm mused a bit, he had been told in utmost secrecy that Éowyn was training to become a shieldmaiden. It was decided by Théoden that the horsemaster needed to be told so when Éowyn rode out with equipment he would know why and not question it. He was a very good secret keeper. He looked at the furrowed brow over the pale blue eyes and said in response, “Well my lady, I don’t rightly know why young girls take an interest in such things. I mean Cyneith is a sweet girl, don’t get me wrong and the rest of them. Well, I honestly do not know why you take time with them. That Saelith, she’s piece of a work.”

Éowyn started playing with an old piece of leather thong that Gamhelm had taken off the saddle he was working on. She twirled it around her index finger, saying “I don’t know. I don’t really like Saelith. Not since I was ten and she said mean things about Papa. But I guess I take time with them so I don’t feel alone or too different. But I just don’t see things the way they do. Last night at the storytelling the love ballads were just boring. Pining away for love? Really? Does that happen in life or just in stories. Cyneith loves those songs and thinks that actually happens.”

“Just because she does, doesn’t mean you have to. There is no reason you should,” Gamhelm was trying to give the best counsel he could because it was obvious that this was truly troubling her, but unfortunately for Éowyn, he only had sons and truth be told the feminine mind was beyond him. So, in an effort to cheer her up he said, “Would you like to continue working on the new saddle we are making for the King?”

“Would I? Yes!” Her face lit up with excitement. She loved working in leather, Gamhelm said she had some real touch for leather work. She loved it because she could create wonderful pieces for her family with her own hands. It gave her a wonderful sense of accomplishment.

They sat there peaceably working on the saddle and Éowyn lost track of all time until she realised with a start that it was time for her daily lessons in cooking. She jumped as if she were on a spring, gave Gamhelm a quick hug and ran up the slope to the Meduseld kitchens. She ran by a horse drinking trough, stuck her hands and quickly rubbed her hands together and tried to smooth back her hair by wetting it down. She had to try look at least presentable for Thilda hoping to fend off another lecture. She slipped in and stood next to Cyneith. Thilda, the cook turned around and saw two where there had been one previously. She looked at Éowyn and sighed, “So kind of you to join us, my lady Éowyn. What excuse you have for us this time?”

“Sorry, Thilda, I just lost track of time. I ask that you pardon me.”

Thilda pressed her lips together by way of reply and a faint “Mhmmmm!” was heard. “Yes, well.” She held her tongue mindful of the fact that her recalcitrant and unethusiastic student was the beloved niece of the king. “Today it is a basic lamb stew.”

Éowyn and Cyneith shared a look as Thilda’s back was to them. Rohirrim daughters were as tradition dictated were taught to cook and spin and weave by their mothers. But both girls had lost their mothers tragically early. Cyneith’s mother was lost to a wasting fever when she was five and Éowyn had lost hers she always suspected to a broken heart as she died within a year of losing Éowyn’s father to an orc attack. She suspected that was why she and Cyneith had gravitated towards each other, their shared loss forming a bond. This is why they were being taught cooking by Thilda.

Éowyn did not excel at cooking. She did try to follow the directions that Thilda gave them but between the potatoes that squirted out her hand and onto the floor as she tried to peel them and the eggs that ended up with broken yolks and bits of shell needing to be fished out of various mixing bowls, she was nothing short of calamitous. She was determined to get it right, though. But Thilda’s heavy sighs did not help matters. The only saving grace was that usually she and Cyneith could laugh about it afterwards.

First, they had to brown the lamb so Thilda said. Éowyn added butter to the hot pan and sat and watched it melt holding the handle of the pan with a holder which then reminded her of a particular grip of a sword that she and Théodred had been going over the day before and as she was pondering that, Thilda bellowed, “It is burning!” Éowyn shook from her reverie and was greeted by the smell of burnt butter and then the cloth holder caught fire which Éowyn immediately flung onto the floor but in her haste her hand upended the mixing spoon that was in the other pot flipped that up into the air.

“Be still!” Thilda said, once again. She stamped on the cloth holder to make sure it was extinguished. The wooden spoon clattered to the floor and spattered on the lower hem of Éowyn’s dress.

Thilda stood with her booted foot still on the burnt holder, apparently trying desperately hard to reign in her temper. “Use another holder and take the pan off the flames.” She said to Éowyn in a controlled voice. Éowyn quickly complied making sure she grabbed a holder first. She was shaking, not from the burning of the butter and the fact that she was caught daydreaming again, not from the fact that she had almost set herself on fire and not from the clear evidence that Thilda was ready to throttle her but from all three at once. She stood there burning with shame. She could not do this; she did not know why but her mind wandered when she was supposed to be paying attention. Thilda did not make it any easier always barking, always finding fault. When Théodred was harsh or critical or even Éomer who taken over some of her training, she knew that it came from their heart because they genuinely wanted her to improve. She did not have the same feeling from Thilda.

Thilda broke the silence, “Right,” she bent and picked up the burnt holder and placed it on the counter, “Let’s start again, if we can do this without burning the hall down!” She said purposefully not looking in Eowyn’s direction.

Éowyn gulped air and tried to think past what had just happen, but she could not do it. She untied her apron and looked at Cyneith and murmured, “I have to go! I can’t stay here.” Cyneith looked at her friend with a sympathetic look and nodded.

Éowyn left the kitchen’s at a brisk pace and heard Thilda calling after her, “My lady, where are you going? Come back here!” But she just kept walking. She needed some air. She found herself on the front steps of the Golden Hall feeling the invigorating north wind blowing the loose strands from her plait this way and that. The wind felt good, she imagined it to be blowing her cares away. She did not know why she let Thilda get her so upset and flustered. She felt torn in two different directions. Who she knew herself to be and who others expected her to be. She could not be both. These two halves could not make her whole. She sighed and re-entered the hall, weighed down by the sure knowledge that she would be expected to apologise to Thilda. Better behaviour was expected of her and she was bound to give it.

Ch. 5

3012 TA

Éowyn walked down the path from the Golden Hall along to where Cyneith’s family lived. It was time for the weekly visits to the lower reaches of Edoras. Éowyn, complete with basket in hand, called on Cyneith. She appeared promptly and then said, “Oh are we going today?”

Éowyn inwardly sighed and gave a self-evident shake of her basket laden with various bits and said, “Yes.”

“All right let me get my wrap.”

Éowyn stood outside and waited as a brisk wind blew. She pulled her wrap around her to guard against the early spring wind. It had been Éowyn’s idea to visit those on the lower circles of Edoras to see how all were faring. She, as the niece to King Théoden, felt it was incumbent upon her to keep up the tradition of caring for those who were in need. And the only way to do that was to visit homes and talk with people. She had begun only because she saw a need, she did not expect to enjoy it as much as she did. But it had turned out she had a genuine ability to relate to people and to put them at their ease. She had asked Cyneith to come along for some companionship and help distributing the goods. Cyneith was a little clumsy and a bit awkward around what her father termed the “lesser folk” but she had a soft heart and was good company.

Of late one of the young riders, Háldred had been appointed by Théoden to accompany them to carry the heavier baskets and to be on hand to fetch and carry. He walked up the path towards Éowyn, “My lady,” he said cheerfully, fist on chest, “I am here to serve as your beast of burden!”

Éowyn laughed, “Good morning, Háldred! I see you stand ready for service.”

“As always, my lady,” the young rider replied briskly, “Are we waiting on the Lady Cyneith?”

“As always, Háldred!” Éowyn stated with a knowing smile.

“Ready!” Cyneith burst out as she walked briskly through the front entrance of her home with her wrap trailing behind her.

“Here, my lady,” Háldred offered quickly, “Let me help you!” as he grabbed for the falling shawl. Cyneith cooed and Éowyn rolled her eyes. Cyneith was a shameless flirt and her ploy for attention was so transparent. Or it was apparently transparent only to her as Háldred earnestly helped the girl with her uncooperative shawl. Éowyn watched, amused at first but with a slightly odd feeling as she continued to watch them fuss over the wrap. “Oh, come along, you two!” she said purposefully interrupting them. “There’s work to be done,” she said lightly. “Háldred, pick up that chicken. It is for our very first stop.” Háldred eyed the chicken in the small wooden cage and the chicken eyed him back as if daring him to pick up the cage. Éowyn noticed the hesitation on the young rider’s part and sighed, “Honestly Háldred, it’s just a chicken!”

“Yes well…it was eyeing me.” Éowyn gave him a withering stare and amid flaps and squawks the young rider picked up the cage.

They walked down to the lower levels of Edoras. All houses within Edoras were of the same basic design, heavy wooden framed buildings with slanted roofs, the vast majority of which were thatched. Only the Golden Hall had a mix of thatch and wooden shingles. Further down the hill from Meduseld the houses decreased in size and signs of affluence. Just off the path to the left was their first stop. A little house that was in need of a rethatched roof, Éowyn made a mental note of such and walked up and knocked on the lightly carved heavy wooden door. She waited a few minutes and she heard some shuffling inside and then the door opened to reveal a woman who looked like a few too many cares always resided on her shoulders, “My lady, the Valar bless thee!”

“Holdlith! Are you any better?” Éowyn enquired, for the older woman had been frequently bothered by a touch of the breathing sickness.

“Yes, My lady. I have been feeling better lately. But you know. It comes and goes. Please come in.”

The three entered the well swept but sparsely furnished wooden house. Holdlith fussed about and insisted that the two young ladies sit in her only two chairs. Éowyn stated matter-of-factly, “Háldred, set the chicken down over there!” The young rider did as he was told and then dutifully stood off to one side. Éowyn said cheerfully, “First off, I was talking with Ceolwyn, the court healer about your breathing sickness and she gave me a few things that might help when you have your spells.” She reached inside her basket and pulled out a blue ceramic jar stoppered with a wide shallow cork. “This is a Lobelia salve that you place right here,” she patted her chest right above her heart. She placed it right into Holdlith’s hands. “And this,” she withdrew a little ceramic bottle from the basket and placed it on the worn wooden table, “this is a tincture of Lobelia. She said if you are feeling wheezy to put a small spoonful of this under your tongue hold it there for a few seconds and then swallow when you feel a spell coming on. Also,” at this Éowyn’s eyes sparkled just a little, “This is a jar of honey, Ceolwyn said to take two small spoonfuls at night when you are feeling as if a spell is coming along and it should help lessen the severity of the attack.”

“Well my lady! I think I can manage that!” Holdlith said with vigor and Éowyn smiled knowing that the older woman’s sweet tooth would see this particular remedy followed to the letter.

“Secondly,” Éowyn continued, “We had a spare chicken up at the Hall. So, there she is for your pot!” She gestured to the wooden cage at which the chicken gave a single loud and indignant cluck.

“Oh my lady!” Holdlith said, “Thank you, but I couldn’t.”

Éowyn, expecting this refusal and countered with, “Well, Háldred brought it all the way down here and it was pecking and clawing at him all the way. And he doesn’t want to take it back up to the Golden Hall. Do you Háldred?” Éowyn gave the young rider a look that he quickly caught onto.

“Oh no, my lady! I don’t want anything to do with it anymore. So Mistress Holdlith, if you could take the beastie off my hands….”

At this the woman smiled at Éowyn, “In that case, my lady, I suppose I must.” And she then insisted on serving her best cider set aside for special occasions. She handed the cider to the seated ladies in what Éowyn knew to be her best mugs. Mugs that had been well crafted in their day but were showing their age through much apparent use. Cyneith sniffed at the cider doubtfully when Holdlith’s back was turned as she insisted that Háldred have a mug as well. Éowyn silently indicated with her eyes to drink it and not to make a fuss. Cyneith made a face but proceeded to do as Éowyn fervently gestured as she overheard Háldred at first politely demur and then give to the older lady’s insistence, as not to be rude.

Holdlith sat at the edge of her bed, the only other place to sit in the small cottage. Éowyn offered her chair but Holdlith waved her off and said happily, “You are my guests therefore you merit the best!” Éowyn smiled as the older woman started talking about the story behind the mugs they were drinking from. It was why she knew they were her best mugs. They were carved by her father and given to her mother as a winter solstice gift. It was a story she had heard a few times before, but the retelling of the story always put a smile on the older woman’s face so Éowyn dutifully listened the story once again as if it were her first time.

Cider finished, Éowyn placed the empty mug on the table and stood, “Holdlith, we best be continuing on. Thank you for the fine cider and the good company.”

“Thank you, my lady and to you as well,” She said looking at both Cyneith and Háldred as well, smiling a crooked but happy smile.

Éowyn grinned, “If you need anything, you just send a messenger up to the Golden Hall and I will see to it next week.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Mistress Holdlith said bobbing a shallow curtsy.

As they stepped far enough away from the house as to be out of earshot, Cyneith chimed up. “What was all of that about the chicken? I thought we brought the chicken for her specifically.”

“Yes, but sometimes sparing someone’s dignity is just as important as feeding their stomach.”

Cyneith nodded as if she understood and Éowyn left it at that as they carried on to the next house.

Early afternoon saw them complete their rounds and they were all ascending the hill upon which Edoras had been gradually built. It had been a satisfying morning and Éowyn was smiling. She said something to that effect to the other two when she noticed that they had not seemed to hear her. They seemed to be in a world all of their own. Cyneith belated said something in response but Éowyn brushed it aside with a rather forced lightness, her earlier good mood evaporated. She felt a bit churlish, neither Cyneith nor Háldred had done anything wrong. They were simply enjoying each other’s company while on a task that was set for them. But all the same Éowyn suddenly felt alone. She sighed. She hated feeling like this, set apart while life seemed to go by without her. She just did not feel the way that Saelith or even Cyneith did toward the many young riders who came to train at Edoras. She respected their abilities and she remembered that Éomer had said in one of their secret training sessions, that she was better than many of the young Riders who trained on the grounds near the outer portions of Edoras. But even reveling in that thought she did not consider herself in competition with the younger Riders. But she just did not simper over them either. She headed off a bit faster than the other two. Cyneith noticed and called out to her, “Éowyn! Where are you going?” Normally after one of their trips they ate a bit of midday meal and discussed the morning and what needed to be done for the next week.

Éowyn shouted back without turning around, “I just remembered I was to meet with my uncle in the afternoon! Must dash,” She lied. It was not true but suddenly she could not be around the two feeling how she felt. As she gained the Golden Hall she found that her steps were in actuality leading toward her uncle’s private study. She found herself at his door and all of a sudden, she felt silly running to her uncle every time she felt blue. She was not a little girl anymore. She was about to walk away when the door abruptly opened and a few councilors stepped across the threshold of Théoden’s private study. A quick startled breath by Éowyn as they rushed by and Théoden looked up to see his niece standing hesitantly in the doorframe.

“Éowyn? My child, what is the matter?” her uncle inquired, concern written on his face. Éowyn’s heart sank; she had not realised that her worry was written on her face, but apparently it was.

She sighed, “I should not bother you; you are busy.”

Théoden put down his parchments and waved off Thewlis, his elderly attendant. “My Lord--,”

Théoden raised his hand to silence his attendant. “The marshal is not here yet. I can spare a few minutes, Thewlis.” The elderly attendant hesitated. “Mark me!” The King commanded. Thewlis bent gingerly, fist on heart, nodded to Éowyn and departed, closing the door behind him.

“I should not have disturbed you, Uncle.” She walked in from the doorway and sat on the smaller chair her uncle had pulled close to his large carved chair. “Thewlis—"

“Will be able to handle whatever will come his way. He is quite capable.” He took her hands gently into his and looked into her eyes, concerned to see tears just starting to form, “Now tell me what is the matter.” He said gently but firmly.

Éowyn looked at the kindly expression in her uncle’s pale blue eyes and felt embarrassed to be admitting to exactly what was troubling her. She started with a chagrinned smile, “We made our rounds today, Cyneith and I and young Háldred.”

“Did Háldred misbehave…” Théoden declared, starting to bristle.

“No, no. Uncle.” Éowyn quickly insisted, “He was very kind and useful.”

Théoden debristled and started to listen again, “We had a wonderful and useful time. Mistress Holdlith needs her roof re-thatched by the way,” Éowyn said before she forgot.

Théoden smiled. Éowyn never stopped thinking of others even when she was upset, “We will see to that, but please continue.”

“There wasn’t much else…I was very happy until I noticed that Háldred and Cyneith looking at each other. And suddenly I was all alone again. Oh Uncle, why don’t I look at the young Riders and start to act like I’m soft in the head. I look Cyneith and Saelith and the others cooing at them and I just don’t understand. Why am I always the odd one out?”

Théoden was at once relieved and despairing. First, he was glad Éowyn did not seem at all interested in the young Riders. If one of them so much as touched her, he would be forced to geld him, and he would hate to harm one of his own people. He had an inner chuckle over Éowyn’s description of young love, that she would have to “start to act like I’m soft in the head.” But her words also held a long-term pain as well, the pain of separation, “Why am I always the odd out?” she had just said. It had been this way since she had come to Edoras as an eight-year old girl who had lost both her parents. She and Éomer had both come to live at Edoras, but the transition had been easier for Éomer. He was older and as a boy he had training and duties and responsibilities to fill his days. But Éowyn had not. She was still a child and one that had been raised in less stilted and formal conditions in Alberg than existed in Edoras. The other girls of the court made her feel as an outsider. He reflected on one such incident that caused him employ a different solution. With the intent to give the then ten-year-old girl a focus in life he sanctions her starting to train as a Shieldmaiden, something only village women trained for. It was thought below a girl of noble birth which is why it had been conducted in secret and still was unknown to all but Théoden, the stablemaster and her cousin, Théodred and her brother. And she had blossomed. She was growing into a confident, young women, but it was not sustainable. The girls her age were started to be married off and sooner rather later Éowyn was going to ask to sworn into the ranks the shieldwomen, sworn to protect their families at greatest need, when the menfolk were gone off to fight. But that could not be for Éowyn. Both his son Théodred and Éomer tried to tell him a reckoning would come but he always pushed the thought to one side. Éowyn was happy, that was enough for him.

“Why am I different? Why do I not fit in?” Théoden shook from his thoughts and looked at his beloved niece. It was the age-old question. And one Théoden did not really have an answer for. “Were you jealous that Háldred was paying attention to Cyneith and not you?” He ventured. He hoped it was something as simple as jealousy, but it was not. He had suspected as much, but the wistful could dream for an easy though unsavory reason.

“No, I was happy for them, just it made me feel left out again. I just don’t seem to fit anywhere!”

Théoden took a strand of his beloved niece’s reddish gold hair from behind her back and smoothly placed it on her shoulder. He could not have loved her more if she were his own child. She had such a kind heart, warm and intelligent. He was glad she was not an empty-headed ninny, cooing at every young Rider training at Edoras. “You will find your way, dearest daughter. I see it in your eyes.”

Éowyn just looked at her uncle and she wanted to believe him but in truth she did not. She smiled just the same though, for she as always wanted to set his heart at ease.

~*~*~*~

Ch. 6 – The Reckoning

3014 TA - Edoras

In the act of trying to decide between three different choices of color, Cyneith fluttered between the bolts of fabric, unable to choose which between the dark red, the deep blue or the pale green for her wedding dress. All were wool and finely woven, though the different fabrics were woven in different patterns and techniques designed to either reflect or absorb the sunlight in different ways. Color was very important in a wedding dress as it marked a girl’s passage into womanhood. All three had been given by other noble families for her to choose from. As Cyneith’s mother had passed years earlier and no fabric had been made and set aside as was tradition, the other noble families took pity upon the girl and offered up what they could. Another girl might have looked on the gesture as condescending or a suggestion that she was pitiable. But Cyneith’s good heart did not see the offers in that way. She saw only the kindness in the gesture.

Éowyn smiled at her friend and tried to share in her excitement, but inside, she was weeping. She was about to lose the only friend her own age she had in Edoras. Cyneith was marrying Háldred and Éowyn’s heart was breaking. Still she endeavored to look excited. She was genuinely happy for Cyneith. Her friend was kind-hearted and never judged her for some of the opinions that Éowyn held, that others often labeled as odd or unusual. Háldred had grown from a gangly boy into a fine young Rider and a pleasant-spirited young man. His training was over, and he would be returning to his father’s holding in the Eastfold and would be taking Cyneith home with him as his bride. Cyneith’s sigh and declaration broke into her musings.

“They are all so pretty and everyone is so kind to give me this choice!”

Éowyn laughed. “Well, you have to choose one! Guthhild and Thilda have to set to work if they are to have the dress ready by next month. How about the pale green with the gold and green trim? That will go very nicely with your hair coloring and your fair skin.” She placed some of the unbolted fabric across Cyneith’s shoulder and laid a little trim on top to illustrate the point.

Cyneith turned to look at her reflection in a floor length silver metal mirror, a gift from her overly indulgent father. She tilted her head one way and then another as she pondered, lips pursed. “Hmmm!” She paused and squinted her eyes slightly as she pondered. “I think you are right, Éowyn! The green is best! We will go with that!”

Decision made; the fabric was given to a not-so-patiently waiting servant to be trundled off to Guthhild to begin construction. Éowyn gave the servant a commiserating smile as she sent her off on her errand. The two girls sat together for a while sipping the honey mead that was Cyneith’s favorite. Éowyn sat and listened to her friend talk about this arrangement for the wedding and that arrangement for the feast to follow.  She was indeed happy for Cyneith but the more she nattered on the more separated Éowyn felt. All of the girls she grew up with in Edoras were married. Cyneith was the last.

Éowyn realised that time for training was nearing so she got up off of Cyneith’s large bed and said, “I promised Éomer I would meet with him at this time.” She was out the door so fast that she did not see the befuddled look on Cyneith’s face at her abrupt departure. She ran down the pathway far enough from Cyneith’s home stopping in an alcove. She tried to quell the sudden overwhelming desire to cry. Why she felt this way she did not know. She drew in a few deep breaths and steadied herself with the knowledge that some good hard swordplay would set her to rights. It always did. Training was her refuge; it had been since the day she picked up a sword when she was ten years old. There she felt confident. There she felt proficient and respected. Cyneith would marry in a month’s time and soon after that she would ask her uncle if it was time that her training finish. She could then call herself a Shieldmaiden at last.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was the night before of Cyneith’s wedding day. The wedding eve feast in which both families came together to begin the solemnity of the wedding had come to an end. It was tradition after that for the bride and her attendants to spend the night together before the wedding. It was the last night before the girl became a bride and entered fully into womanhood. They sat in Cyneith’s bower, again drinking the honeyed mead and relaxing. Éowyn looked up and saw that Saelith was staring at her. Éowyn took a large swallow and tried to ignore her old nemesis. Saelith was not going to allow that to happen. She looked away purposefully.

“Cyneith! Married life is quite agreeable,” Saelith spoke as if she had been married far longer than the year she and Haere had been wed. “Haere hates to be parted from me. I think we were made for each other.” She giggled. “Of course,” she slipped a sly look at Éowyn, “not everyone can marry for love, like me and my dear Haere! Some who can’t find someone will simply just have to take whoever is chosen for them.”

Éowyn swallowed some mead a little too quickly and to her mortification started coughing uncontrollably. Cyneith rushed to her. “Éowyn! Are you all right?” Her pretty face wrinkled with concern as she patted Éowyn on the back gently.

Éowyn simply nodded. She cleared her throat and was breathing more or less normally within a few moments. She side-glanced Saelith, wishing she had her knives on her. Saelith feigned innocence. Éowyn told herself that she was here for Cyneith because this meant so much to her. She would not rise to Saelith’s baiting.

Saelith said, “I’m sorry. I did not mean any harm.” Her voice dripped with insincerity or at least it seemed that way to Éowyn.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Éowyn said in a low restrained voice trying to keep her temper.

“After all, as I remember, you only wanted to be a Shieldmaiden and not get married at all.”

Éowyn jumped up at that remark, all vestiges keeping her temper gone as she flew at Saelith who was shocked at how quickly she could move. Éowyn had her in an arm hold they had been practicing earlier in the month in training session. And just as quickly she released her. “You are lucky that I am not.” Yet, she added in her thoughts. “I need some air.” And she left Saelith rubbing her throat and looking daggers at her.

“Peasant!” She spat out at Éowyn’s retreating back.

Éowyn just kept on walking and did not even dignify her remark with a response. She leaned against a wall that was outside of Cyneith’s home and let the brisk night wind of late October whip through her. She hugged her arms around her with the same thought circling around her head. Just what is wrong with me! She knew that Saelith lived to get a rise out of her. She had done it ever since Éowyn and Éomer had come from Aldburg to live with their uncle after their mother had passed. What she never knew was why.

“Éowyn?” Éowyn heard Cyneith’s concerned voice at the doorway.

“I’m out here,” Éowyn answered in a tired voice. She heard the door shut and then quick footsteps to join her leaning against the wall.

“Here,” Cyneith said starting to wrap Éowyn up in what appeared to be a large man’s cloak, “it’s my papa’s. We can both fit.” Éowyn did not object because she was starting to shiver ever so slightly. “I’m sorry for what Saelith said. You know how she is.”

“I blissfully had forgotten until she forced me to remember!” Éowyn chuckled ruefully. “She just gets under my skin so easily. I still do not know why it bothers me so or why she does it!”

“Because she is a mean and spiteful cow!” Cyneith said vehemently in a way that was so unlike her normally kind mien.

“Now that’s an insult to most cows I know!” Éowyn quipped.

“True, True! And cows are far more useful than Saelith will ever be!” Cyneith stated and both girls dissolved into laughter.

After calming down a bit, Éowyn wiped mirthful tears from her eyes. “Oh Cyneith, I am going to miss you!”

Cyneith looked at her in a teary-eyed stare. “I am going to miss you, too.” They hugged under the cloak, which was not an easy task.

“Why did you ask Saelith to be attendant anyway? You don’t even really like her.”

“Oh that. Well, Aldhild was heavy with child and Papa insisted that it would curry favour with Saelith’s Papa if I were to choose her as second attendant.”

“Oh,” Éowyn began with a small voice, “then I guess putting her in an arm hold then wasn’t the best plan.”

Cyneith looked at her in all innocence. “What arm hold? I didn’t see anything.”

Éowyn gave her a quick hug and kissed the side of her face. “You are the best!”

Cyneith just laughed. “Come on, let’s go inside! It is getting too cold out here. And we will just pretend like nothing happened. It will drive Saelith mad!”

Éowyn laughed. “That sounds like a plan I might hatch! I’ve been a bad influence on you!”

“Nonsense!” Cyneith declared. The two girls quickly dashed inside as a light snow began dusting the hay strewn streets of Edoras.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The wedding ceremony for Cyneith and Háldred was beautiful. Éowyn watched the couple drink mead from the same cup and speak the words of joining as her uncle King Théoden, in what he called his most joyous duty as Chief Celebrant, looked upon them. She felt happy for them. Two good friends of hers were joined as husband and wife. Éowyn wiped tears away, tears of joy and of sadness. She was losing a good friend and she once again felt alone. She could not imagine joining as Cyneith did. She did not feel that way for any of the young Riders. She saw girls of vibrant energy become young mothers. To her eyes they seemed overly tired and bound to live a life so different from what she wanted. She saw her mother fade away after her father died. She did not have the will to carry on. Éowyn could not understand how she could leave them. How she could not even try to stay with them? If love made you desert those that loved you, how could that be a good thing? Éowyn took a deep breath and determinedly pasted a happy smile unto her face for Cyneith’s sake. But after the day’s festivities she would re-dedicate herself to training to become a shieldmaiden which she had let lapse somewhat to help her friend plan her wedding.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

During the ceremony, in which Théoden had taken great joy to officiate, he stole a few looks in his niece’s direction. She was teary-eyed, which of course was only to be expected. However, towards the end of the ceremony and during the feasting that followed he noticed a steely determination that she was hiding behind a pleasant smile. Théoden knew his niece well and he feared what that determined look presaged.

The next morning he found out. Éowyn came to his study early, before his council meeting began. She looked bright and eager and clearly had a reason for her visit. He felt a pit of dread forming in his stomach.

“Uncle, when can I end my training and formally become a Shieldmaiden?” Éowyn asked, her eyes fired with purpose.

Théoden felt as if he was teetering on a precarious precipice. There was no way she could become a Shieldmaiden; it simply could not be done. His deception had been kindly meant and had worked for so long but Théodred and Éomer had been right. The reckoning had come, and the bright hopeful look in his beloved niece’s eyes slashed through his heart. He did the only thing he could think of. He stalled for time. Delaying the inevitable, he said, “Let me speak to the training master and explain the situation. We can then go from there. Will that be satisfactory?” He ended hoping for the best.

Éowyn nodded enthusiastically. “That would be fine!” She bounded over to her uncle and kissed him on his whiskered cheek. She smiled and left the study.

Théoden buried his head in his hands. He had no idea what he was going to do. His beloved niece, whom he could not have loved more if she were his own daughter, had trusted his word that she could become a shieldmaiden. It had seemed such a harmless lie seven years ago when she was a lost and angry young girl. Training had turned her into a confident young woman who was loved by all in Edoras. Théoden was at a loss.

Deorgar entered the room ostensibly to inform that the council meeting was convening, but Théoden stopped him before he could say anything. “Bring the Prince and the Lord Éomer here to me immediately!”

“But my lord, the council—”

“Deorgar! Now. There is an issue I must speak with them about urgently. The council can wait. There are no pressing issues that cannot wait for half an hour.”

Deorgar placed his fist on his heart and said, “At once, my lord.”

Théoden stared after him and then turned to a side table and poured a goblet of wine to calm his racing heart. He noticed that his hand shook as he lifted the goblet. He downed the dark red liquid in two gulps and poured himself another as he waited for his son and nephew to arrive.

Théoden’s steward did not have to go far to fulfill his errand. Both Théodred and Éomer were in the council chambers awaiting the King’s arrival. They sat together looking over a few parchments when Deorgar approached them. He bowed to them both and stated in a lowered voice, “My Lords, the King wishes to see you both in his study immediately.”

Théodred’s dark blond eyebrows shot up at the curious request. “Did he say what it was about, Deorgar?”

The steward shook his head. “He did not. He only requested your lords’ presence immediately.”

Éomer nodded. “Thank you, Deorgar. We shall attend.” He slipped a puzzled look at his cousin who returned the look.

Théodred looked at the councilors. “My lords! If you will pray excuse us. We shall return shortly.” The councilors exchanged puzzled looks as Théodred and his cousin left the chambers.

It was a short walk from the council chambers to Théoden’s study. They walked in almost before Deorgar could announce them.

Theodred saw his father toss back a goblet of wine and he could just feel the tension flowing from him. Concerned, he said, “Father, you wish to see us?”

Theoden looked at his son and then at his nephew. “Yes,” he said quietly as he placed the goblet on the side table and poured wine into goblets for both his son and his nephew before informing them of the reason they were summoned.

“Éowyn was here earlier, asking about when she would be deemed ready to end her training and become a Shieldmaiden.”

“Oh no,” Théodred said softly.

“Oh yes,” Théoden answered just as softly.

Éomer gulped his wine in an attempt to quell his temper. He was not successful. With the impetuousness of youth, he shouted, “I told you from the start this was a bad idea!” With great effort he dampened his temper. His heart ached for his sister. “What is to be done? It is not possible that she can be made a Shieldmaiden!”

“I am well aware of that, nephew!” Théoden snapped.

From the door came a small voice. “What do you mean you are well aware of that?” All three men turned at once and saw Éowyn standing there. Her eyes wide and staring, all color drained from her white cheeks causing her light freckles to stand out against the paleness of her skin. “Uncle?”

~*~*~*~*~*~