Ch. 21 - The Glint of Spears Fading in the Distance
“Now indeed is there hope for victory!” Éomer exhorted. Éowyn looked at her brother, clad only in breeches and shirt but a fire shone in his eyes and at that moment Éowyn believed anything was possible. Théoden’s next words stalled her hope laying over the newly emergent light with the ever present theme of worry but this time the worry harkened back years to an erstwhile concern as Théoden proclaimed, “I myself shall go to war, to fall in the front of the battle, if it must be…”
These words were ringing in her ears when Aragorn’s voice cut through the worry that was threatening to overcome hope. She thrilled to hear, “Forth Eorlingas!” cried in that voice that was quickly becoming dear to her heart and she breathed again.
She looked up and saw two approaching. One welcome and one wholly repellant and loathsome. Grima ambled after Hama looking ever pathetic now that he was cast from favour. Hama approached the dais holding a sword; its sheath in gold and inlaid emeralds upon it.
He knelt, “Here, Lord is Herugrim, Your ancient blade. Loth was Grima to render up the keys.”
“You lie!” spat Grima. Quickly looking the supplicant once again, he continued, “And this sword your master himself gave into my keeping.”
Éowyn looked at her uncle almost fearfully that he would take Grima’s side as he had done often in times past. But Théoden’s next words laid that thought to rest. With strong voice he questioned Grima, “And he now requires it of you again. Does that displease you?”
Came the wheedling voice that made Éowyn’s blood boil, “Assuredly not, Lord. It is as I feared. These people mean ill.” Éowyn made every effort to control her emotions as Grima tried to worm his way back to the influence so recently overthrown. He did not or could not see that his influence was gone and any attempt to re-establish it would only meet with failure and scorn.
She heard Théoden say in a voice fighting off emotion, “Let food for my guests be set on the board in the room beside me.” He looked at her with an understanding smile and nod. She took the welcomed errand for the Godsend it was. Anything that took her from Grima’s presence found much favour with her, even if it was work she often chafed at doing, woman’s work. As she left to see to the noonday meal, her heart soared to hear Théoden’s reply to words that so often before held him in thrall. “If this is bewitchment it seems to me more wholesome than your whisperings. Your leechcraft ere long would have had me walking on all fours like a beast…”
Before entering the boardroom where the King’s meals were taken she paused briefly. She breathed deeply trying to take it all in. So much had happened and all for the good but it left her mind reeling. One more breath to bring at least a semblance of calm and she entered the boardroom. “Wine!” she called, “The best we have. It is time to rejoice!”
“Oh aye, My Lady?” exclaimed Wilda, one of the maids who served at table when called upon. “Then it is true. The rumours are true?”
Éowyn smiled, “What have you heard, Wilda?”
“That Grima was sent sprawling on the ground, Gandalf has come and the King is himself again and Grima the snake, begging your pardon, My lady.” Wilda stopped, afraid she might have spoken out of turn.
“Those spoken words merely show to you to be an excellent judge of character, Wilda. For he is a snake!” Éowyn replied fervently. “And aye to everything. I have seen with my own eyes and can hardly believe myself. But it is true.” Éowyn smiled joyously. Those in the boardroom gathered around as she spoke. “The King is himself and Grima holds no sway. My brother has been released and cleared of the besmirchment that Grima tried to smear. Things are changing. I know it will be good.” Éowyn smiled. “Now the King is coming to his board and will be bringing honored guests. Bring our best that can be brought quickly. Let us rejoice now for what we have.”
The board held feasting beyond the normal midday meal. Éowyn served her uncle at table and continued to revel in his return. The tone of conversation she heard only in portions did concern her. Ill tidings beyond the Mark’s border. Everyone at table then listened as Gandalf held forth with the tale of woe that had been her life for roughly the past five years. She had lived through her uncle’s decline, she did not wish to listen to its recap. She left the board to retrieve from the kitchen more of the fine Dorwinian vintage that Théoden set aside for special occasions. Returning she heard that the conversation had drifted to armaments needed. She knew that much existed, the armoury being a beloved home to her after the stables and training field in her younger and happier days.
She looked at the flagon in her hands and sighed at what her life had become. She filled her uncle’s goblet and received a smile and a gentle, “Thank you, my dear.” She smiled back and hoped that her smile had reached her eyes. Her uncle had dealt with his own private hell of late and did not need reminding of past hurts and mistakes. Next she reached for a silver goblet to refill and she met grey eyes. Eyes that captivated her and showed her the world beyond a life she felt trapped by, a world denied her but could be hers again. “Thank you, my lady.” Aragorn’s low voice broke her captivation. She felt color rise in her cheeks and she stiffly nodded saying, “You are quite welcome, my lord,” in a voice barely beyond a whisper. He smiled gently and a clearing of a brotherly throat was heard. Recovering herself she looked at Éomer. “Something caught in your throat my dear brother…”
“Aye! Thirst!” Éomer cast his eye to Aragorn who was busily drinking and back to Éowyn an eyebrow raised and a smug smile on his face.
That made Éowyn see red. “If you are thirsty then here! Have the whole flagon!” and proceeded to dump the nearly full flagon on his head. Éowyn slammed the empty jug on the table and ran out of the room. She found herself on the back balcony overlooking the stables. She gripped the railing and gently met the wind as it ruffled her skirts and flowed through her hair. She stood there for a few moments just allowing the chill wind to cleanse her.
So much had happened just in the past two days. From dull duty, routine and quiet despair to this tumult. A good tumult to be sure, but tumult just the same. Purpose was now flowing through Meduseld and Edoras. A muster was being called. Her blood stirred to answer but then she reminded herself that she would not be needed, not for the muster. Hers would be the woman’s lot, the farewelling, the waiting, the interminable waiting. She sighed and then breathed deeply, threw her shoulders back ready once again to do her duty…and find Éomer a clean dry shirt.
~*~*~*~*~
Éowyn entered Éomer’s set of rooms and saw Wulf, Éomer’s young attendant tending to her brother’s armor making it ready to be donned quickly. In entered Éomer, striding with purpose. He stopped short, seeing his sister with a somewhat penitent look on her face. “I’m sorry, brother.” Éowyn stated, “I should not have acted like such a harridan,” looking at his begrimed shirt that he had been captive in, now stained with wine as well.
Éomer, who had been angry and had thought to give her some of his angry words, saw the chagrined look on his sister’s face, but what was more he saw such conflicting emotions in her eyes, ranging from penitence to sadness and confusion. He quickly edited what he had been about to say. In a concerned voice he started, “I can withstand a little wine. I prefer drinking it however.” he gently teased as he stripped off his soiled and stained shirt throwing it on the bed.
Éowyn looked at him, the kind, concerned look in his eyes undid her completely and she burst into tears. Éomer was immediately alarmed because his sister, who was as tough as old boots, almost never cried. He looked at Wulf who had stilled his activity and was staring at the improbability of the Lady Éowyn distraught, “Wulf, can you give us a few minutes alone...”
Fist on chest, Wulf replied, “Aye, My lord!” grabbing the soiled shirt and made a relieved retreat and mindfully closed the door on his way.
Éomer hugged his sister whose sobs had only increased, worry flaring in his heart. “Shh-shh! My lytling. What is all this? Can you tell me?”
Éowyn took refuge in her brother’s arms drawing strength from the love being shown. He had not called her lytling in years.
She felt him guide them over to his bed where he sat her down and then drew a chair close. He held her hands in one of his as he smoothed a stray slightly damp lock of hair away from her forehead and placed it behind her ear. He kissed her hands held in his and asked once again, “What is wrong, dear sister! Tell me please.” He paused. “Tears of frustration that you didn't have more wine to pour on my head?”
Éowyn gave a tear-stained laugh at that. “Well you would have deserved it!” She paused, still looking down. Her tears seemed to abate somewhat.
Éomer lifted her chin with his finger, “Now can you tell me?”
Éowyn looked into kind, concerned blue eyes, “Crying is such a stupid response!” she berated herself. “I should be happy.”
“Aye well, you have always been a contrary little beastie, y’know.” Éomer confided with a teasing tone. Éowyn shot him a look. “Well you have.” Éomer needled her a bit more. Feisty he understood from his sister, tears he did not. “What is it?”
Éowyn hiccuped a little and wiped her nose on her sleeve, “So much has happened so quickly and yet not at all! You are released, Uncle has come back to himself and Grima has been cast aside. All tidings that bring joy to my heart.” She paused, unsure of how her brother would react to her next words. “And the muster is called and…I will not be allowed to answer it.” She looked her brother in the eye, uncertain of his response to her admission.
Éomer paused before answering as a new sear of pain ripped through his heart. Warring emotions flowed through him all fighting for expression. “Again, I am so sorry we deceived you and gave you false hope.” He looked away, the always poorly healed wound on his soul ripped open afresh.
“No, brother! I have made peace with your actions. You acted out of love. How could I hate you for that?” She turned his head so hold his gaze once again. She saw recrimination in his eyes. “This is my path and I must find a way through. It is not for you to berate yourself. Please.”
Éomer blinked and seemed to acquiesce, “Selfishly I admit, I rejoice that you will not see the ugliness of war. My heart needs to know that as I ride you are safe. But well I know this does not sit right with you.”
Éowyn smiled while pain sat on her heart. A yearning never to reach fulfillment. But she knew her duty to not send the men forth with such thoughts. She wiped the last of futile tears and stood, lifting Éomer from the chair. She straightened her shoulder and said in a strong voice, “Go forth, and Béma protect you, my brother. The love of a sister goes with you!” hugging him with fervency. Éomer once again marveled at his sister’s resilience and kissed the top of her head. Éowyn then went to the door and called Wulf back into the room knowing that he tarried just outside the door but respectfully out of earshot, the soiled shirt still in his hand. And they both proceeded to arm Éomer. Donning each piece Éowyn within her heart repeated the supplication, “With a sister’s love Béma, protect him!”
~*~*~*~
They entered the hall where assembled were the King, Gandalf and the other three honored guests among others. Éowyn noted that they had already been to the armoury and Gimli was bearing Théoden’s shield from his youth and smiled. Then she noticed a glint of silver and her eyes were drawn to Aragorn arrayed in Rohirrim chain and once again her heart was in her throat. A touch at her sleeve and a whispered, “My Lady!” she looked to her left and there was Wilda with the cup of farewell filled with the special wine used to bid good health. She had forgotten the ritual, so bound up in her emotions, but somehow Wilda remembered and ventured where she should not have been to bring the cup to her. She shared a look of gratitude with the bright young maid servant. “Thank you, Wilda.” she whispered back. Wilda bobbed her head, hand on heart and then quickly scurried back through the door that went through the boardroom and onto the kitchens. Éowyn watched her go and made a note in her mind to make sure that Wilda incurred no reprimand for helping her.
The king rose and Éowyn hastily invoked the silent blessing prior to the one to be spoken aloud, “Béma grant those who watch and wait with the patience and courage needed.” It was called the women’s chant taught to her long ago at her mother’s knee. The men never heard it as it was only ever spoken in the heart. She stepped forward presenting the large silver cup adorned with gold and knotwork emblems representing hearth, home and protection. It symbolized what the Éored rode out to protect and in turn be protected on their errand of arms. She presented it first, holding it in both hands, as was custom to her uncle, proclaiming in the tongue of their people brought from the north, “Ferthu Théoden hal!” or “Health to your spirit” in the common tongue. “Receive now this cup and drink in happy hour. Health be with thee at thy going and coming!” Théoden drank of the cup and Éowyn then offered to Gandalf and Legolas repeating the exhortation. When she proffered the cup to Aragorn she looked into his eyes drinking deep the kindness and hope she saw there.
Aragorn received the cup of welcome and farewell, listening to the exalted words and noticed the light shining in Éowyn’s eyes. He smiled tentatively and felt the trembling of her hands as his touched hers on the cup. They locked eyes, “Hail Aragorn, son of Arathorn!” Éowyn spoked enthralled.
“Hail Lady of Rohan!” Aragorn returned respectfully, but his heart was troubled as he began to understand meanings. He did not smile as his heart was promised to another.
Éowyn received the cup from him, her hands still trembling, still feeling the electricity she had never felt before. He had not returned the smile but somehow amidst swirling emotions that fact paled and retreated into the background of her mind.
The ritual of the farewell cup done, the king led the small band the length of the hall and to the great doors of Meduseld to look upon Edoras itself.
Théoden King proclaimed to all gathered, Lords, chiefs and heralds, those forming for the muster, “Behold! I go forth and it seems like to be my last riding. Théodred is slain,” Éowyn saw pain brief slash across his face. Pain at Théodred’s passing which she felt keenly herself and pain that there was no time for grief in this rapidly moving new world. Théoden forced his way through grief because the times demanded it and continued, “I name Éomer, my sister-son to be my heir.” If both should fall Théoden King instructed the people should choose as they would. “But I must now entrust my people that I leave behind, to someone to rule in my place. Which of you will stay?” No man spoke. Éowyn looked out among the leaders and chiefs and the gathered townsfolk. She could understand the reticence because she too felt the call, forever denied. “Is there not one of you? In whom do you trust?”
Éowyn looked around again. All were silent until, to her left, Hama spoke. “In the House of Eorl.” She looked at Éomer who looked shocked that Hama should name him to stay.
“But I cannot spare Éomer, nor would he stay. And he is the last of that House.” Éowyn felt a dagger’s worth of pain enter her heart at those words. Théoden had not meant them unkindly but in war it was the way of things. Éowyn looked forward unseeingly as quiet despair began to flow afresh within her. Hama’s next words came as a strange balm to her wounded soul.
“I said not Éomer and he is not the last. There is Éowyn, daughter of Eomund, his sister. She is fearless and high-hearted. All love her. Let her be as lord to the Eorlingas, while we are gone.”
She looked at Hama as his words healed and hurt at all the same time. To be honored and respected, recognised for all she had done and yet she still would be waiting. She looked at her uncle then. He looked at her with mingled emotions of soaring pride that her qualities were seen and seering shame that he had not been the one to consider her as regent to her people.
“It shall be so!” Théoden said with a voice choked with emotion as he locked eyes with his beloved and so worthy sister-daughter. In a stronger voice he proclaimed, “Let the heralds announce to the folk that the Lady Éowyn will lead them!” Éowyn saw Théoden motion Wulf forward and whisper in his ear. Wulf, fist to chest, bowed to his king and scurried off on his mysterious yet apparently urgent errand.
Éowyn watched the heralds dispatched and she sighed as a voice broke into her thoughts. “There is no better choice! Hama spoke well.” Éowyn looked into the eyes of her brother.
“I will strive to do my best for this honour. Duty will allow no less.”
Éomer looked into her eyes. She saw so many unspoken words in the earnest blue depths. Éomer sighed, leaving off everything that could be said. There was no time. He kissed her forehead and whispered, “I love you. Be safe.”
Éowyn held herself stiff, afraid that at anything less, she would break, “I will be fine.” She assured him. “You look after yourself and” a betraying crack in her voice that would not be denied, “Come back!” Éomer nodded only, either he had no words or could not speak without betraying too much emotion.
Wulf came carrying a sheathed sword and bag of some sort and ran up to Théoden. Théoden intoned, “Éowyn, come forth.” She stood in front the king now seated. “Kneel,” she did as bade, “Receive now this corslet of mail.” Éomer stood forward to arm his sister. She brought her hair forward and Éomer buckled the back. “And this sword!” said her uncle. She looked at his outstretched hands and she saw her sword, made by her hands so long ago. She received the sword with trembling hands and swirling emotions. She drew the blade and placed the point downwards into the floor. The weight of responsibility and the weight of the chain commingling. Théoden leaned forward and placed his hands on hers. He could feel the trembling and smiled and gave her a look of confidence saying, “Farewell, Sister-daughter! Dark is the hour, yet maybe we shall return to the Golden Hall. But in Dunharrow the people may long defend themselves, and if the battle goes ill thither will come all who escape.”
Words were ripped from her very soul, her intended stoicism falling by the wayside. “Speak not so! A year shall I endure for every day that passes until your return!” Her focus falling upon Aragorn. He caught her gaze soaking up the pain in her eyes and tried to give back solace, “The King shall come again. Doom does not await in the West but East.”
“We must away!” Théoden announced and with one last look at his dear sister-daughter. Éowyn stood and nodded stiffly, her stoic facade back in place. Sword point embedded in stone steps, she remained stock still. She then stood watched from the top of the stairs as her uncle, brother and all that mattered to her prepared to march to the Fords of Isen. They mustered and rode forth with a cry of “Forth Eorlingas” and “Our King and the White Rider!” Pride and pain commingling as Éowyn viewed them departing. She waited and watched as they rode out over the plain, the glint of spears fading over the distance but still she stood, alone before the doors of the now silent house.
~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: There a few verbatim passages from Two Towers that I had quote. I used more of the LOTR text than I usually do but it was unavoidable. I also did not mark the passages because I felt like it harmed the flow of the story. But I am remarking upon it here.