I am not sure where this is going, so please be patient. I'll post more when I've finished it. I realise it's not strictly Canonical – I've given Eowyn a sister, the Lady Heledhwen (it means ice-maiden). Please feel free to tell me what you think of it – just no death-threats, thank you!
The gate was impressive: an imposing edifice that towered above her, and to either side great walls and roads of stone that ran deep into the living rock of the mountain. Rohan was nothing like this, this White City. But Heledhwen had no time to admire the sights – she had business.
The gatesman did not see it this way.
"Who goes there? Stand forth, stranger." His voice was rife with suspicion.
"I am the Lady Heledhwen of Rohan. My uncle the Lord and King Theoden has sent me hither on business with your Steward."
"A woman?" the gatesman snorted. "Thinks Theoden that we are need of nurse-maids? Why does he send us a girl, when what we have need of are mighty men of arms?"
Heledhwen spoke, and her voice was icy. "I have come to arrange the matter. But if you let me not through your gates, you will hope in vain for the men of Rohan, for they will not come save I speak with the Lord Denethor."
Her speech seemed to have some effect on the recalcitrant warden, for he grudgingly opened the gate and let Heledhwen ride past, into the city. The roads ran to and fro and overlapped one another, and for a time Heledhwen was confused by them, for in Rohan they had no such things. There were few on the streets, and from them she could ask no guidance, for they merely stared in amazement at the blue-clad lady and her white horse, unused to such things. Horses were used very little in Gondor.
It was completely dark by the time Heledhwen reached the House of the Steward. Wearily she rode to the gate and knocked.
"Who are you, and what is your business in this realm?" asked the gate-keeper. Heledhwen sighed. She was weary of gate-keepers. She repeated her name and errand, and reluctantly the warden let her pass into the courtyard. She rode bravely up to the tall doors and dismounted.
Very soon another door opened – one that Heledhwen had not seen before, for it was small and cunningly hidden in the stonework. A man, not tall but richly dressed, came hurrying out to her.
"My lady. I am Arandur, the steward of this house. I beg pardon – we have no quarters prepared for a woman." Heledhwen detected a hint of derision in this last statement.
"I need no special quarters, Arandur, merely a place to sleep," she replied.
"Nevertheless, I will have a different room prepared for you immediately. The stabler will tend your steed. Follow me," Arandur said, leading her quickly through the door.
He led Heledhwen into a long, dark corridor with high ceilings and walls of stone. On these there were hung many beautiful things – rich, colourful tapestries, and paintings of men and women. Heledhwen guessed they were nobles, for their faces were beautiful, but very stern and sad.
"Please wait here, my lady, until I have everything in readiness." The steward bowed hastily, and walked quickly down the long hall, his footsteps echoing loudly on the cold stone floors. Torches suspended from the ceilings and walls cast a claret light in the hall, but it looked warmer than the air felt. Heledhwen shivered, drawing the warm velvet of her blue cloak tighter about her.
She was so lost in studying the painting, in fact, that she did not hear the question until the second asking.
"I said, what do you here? Turn, stranger," commanded a deep voice from behind her. Heledhwen turned around.
"I am the Lady Heledhwen of Rohan, daughter of Eomund," she said coldly, surmising the stranger. He was simply dressed, in a burgundy tunic of silk and a black leather doublet and trousers. His boots were well-worn and stained with much travelling. His face was as weathered as his boots: tiny lines feathered the corners of his eyes and mouth, and above his left eye he bore a small scar.
"Then you should know better than to ignore questions – especially when they are asked by your hosts." The man spoke firmly, and his face was stern. Heledhwen did not like him.
"I did not
hear you," she replied just as firmly. "And now I shall ask who you are, to be
so daring in your address."
"Boromir is my name, heir to the Steward Denethor of Gondor." Heledhwen detected a noticeable air of arrogance in his speech. It irritated her.
"Very well then, heir to the Steward Denethor of Gondor," Heledhwen rattled the title off mockingly, "Can you tell me what I have done to warrant your anger?"
"We did not expect you. I am –" he cleared his throat, as though the words were distasteful "I am…sorry…that I spoke so harshly. But you are two days early in arriving, and we do not welcome strangers of late." His face was grim as he spoke these words, and Heledhwen knew why.
"My horses are fleet of foot and move swiftly. But come, I know that is not truly the reason you mistrust me. You did not expect a woman," Heledhwen replied, her voice tinged with sarcasm. "But my uncle could spare no men" – her voice was bitter as she spoke –"and has sent me. I assure you, I shall do as well," she remarked coolly.
"I doubt it not," the stranger replied, a faint smile turning up a corner of his mouth and making his pale green eyes twinkle. "But where is your entourage? The gatesmen have seen no parties today."
"I came alone," Heledhwen replied. This clearly surprised the stranger.
"Alone? Is not that rather reckless for a Lady?"
Heledhwen laughed in contempt. "I am no feckless maiden, my lord. Much of my childhood was spent on horseback, and I am not unused to travelling." She folded her arms across her chest. Her milky white hands were unadorned, not bejewelled in the Gondorian fashion, but Boromir could see faint traces of calluses on her palms, lending credence to her claims.
"I meant no offence, lady. Merely that I am amazed at your…courage." Stupidity had been the first word that jumped to his lips, but Boromir thought it best not to provoke the lady. She seemed hot-tempered enough.
"Then you are forgiven," Heledhwen said, and for a brief moment Boromir thought he saw her smile. She was very beautiful when she smiled, he thought.
"You have been admiring our gallery, I see," he remarked, moving closer to her.
Heledhwen turned toward the wall again. "Yes. She is very lovely," she said, gesturing at the portrait. "Who is she?"
Boromir did not reply immediately. "She is…was, rather…my mother." His voice was soft and sad, as though the memory pained him.
Heledhwen turned to look at him, then looked again at the portrait. "You look like her…the eyes are the same. What was her name, my lord?"
"Finduilas. She came from the south lands, from Dol Amroth." His words were strained, as though it was a great effort to speak them.
"I have heard the tale of Finduilas of Nargothrond. She met a sad end," Heledhwen paused for a moment, studying the portrait again. "This Finduilas looks sorrowful also."
"I remember very little of her, for she died when I was but a child. But she died very young, when my father was not yet ready for her departure. It haunts him now, and he will not speak of her, nor allow others to do so." His voice was deep and husky with grief, and Heledhwen thought she saw a single crystal tear glitter in his green eyes.
But it vanished quickly, and when he spoke again her voice was as coolly formal as before.
"But it is late, and you are weary. I shall have someone show you to your quarters." He quickly stepped out one of the side-doors in the long hall, leaving Heledhwen alone. He returned in a moment, with a young girl scurrying behind him, trying to keep pace with his long strides.
"This is Fingelas. She will be your maid for your stay here. Go and rest – I doubt you will much enjoy your audience tomorrow." His eyes looked grim and tired. Boromir bowed quickly, then turned and walked briskly down the corridor out of sight.