Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters, and do not profit from the writing of this story.
This is my first and modest attempt at a Lord of the Rings fic, and I can assure you that I proceed with trepidation. The idea for this story came to me some weeks ago, and its constant presence in the back of my mind has forced me to finally put it down into words.
Strictly speaking, the story is non-canon, in that Lothiriel, Tolkien's intended partner for Éomer, does not feature here. I do not wish to offend anyone who prefers for fics to remain in line with Tolkien's intentions, as I also have tremendous respect for the phenomenal work he created. However, the female character in my story took such a hold in my mind that I had to give her precedence.
The names given to secondary characters are of Germanic origin, while the name of my feature character, Mila, is of Slavic origin. This is intentional, as she is of slightly different ancestry than the Rohirrim, even though she was born and raised in the land of the Mark.
The timeline begins just before Éomer and Theodred set off for the battle that ultimately leads to Theodred's death. It will continue on from there.
In any case, I hope you will enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing it!
Hessa
The Wind Blows Strong, and still the Grass Grows
A deep, dark night had settled itself over the land of the Mark and in its uncompromising fashion, had attempted to leave the city of Edoras without light. Thankfully, the moon was visible through the thin clouds so that a pale, ghostly light gave some respite.
Welcome as it was, such an abundance of light at the crepuscule was scarce these days. Indeed, with the passing of each day it seemed that the threat of a looming shadow edged ever closer within the land. The nights had, of late, become more and more an embodiment of that shadow.
A baby's wail suddenly brought Mila from her momentary, if distracted, repose. She had been taking advantage of the moon's presence to gaze into the mountainous horizon. They were treacherous those mountains, for their beauty and grandeur tricked the mind into believing their heights were somehow attainable.
Leaning against the doorjamb of the stone dwelling, Mila continued to wipe her hands with the warm, wet cloth she held. The night was not so cold as to require a number of layers beneath her cloak, but not yet so warm as to travel the nights in only a work dress and smock.
"One never tires of that sound, hm?" said a voice from close behind her. Turning a bit to see who it was, Mila smiled
"Indeed not. Though I suspect our young mother might suffer her nights to it at first" she answered, making the elderly woman laugh, a deep resounding sound in the night's stillness.
"Too right, lass! I still remember my own sleepless nights, holding my babes in my arms. I thought I'd never sleep again" she said, shaking her head in mirth.
"Still, their cries tell us that they live and are well. You did well tonight lass, and I thank you. My daughter-in-law was wrought with nerves before you came. You've truly been blessed in your touch, as have we in your presence within the land" the woman said gently.
"No thanks are needed. It was my honor…grandmother" Mila said, feeling the woman's happiness in her voice.
Smiling at the term, the woman placed her hand on Mila's shoulder and squeezed gently before returning to her son, daughter-in-law and newborn grandson.
It had been as straightforward a birth as one could hope for. Still, it was the young woman's first and her fear was evident when Mila had arrived, midwife's kit in hand. Her travail had advanced rapidly, and within a few short hours, her son had joined the world, albeit screaming.
Mila had arrived in Edoras only a year ago, but it had taken only a few births and already many began seeking her out when their time came. Even though the times were dark, there were still children to bring into Arda.
Sighing, Mila went back inside to check on her patient. The mother was sleeping, having finally succumbed to her fatigue. The new father and his mother were so engrossed in the child that they almost did not hear her enter.
After assuring them that she would return the following to look in on the now sleeping mother and fending off the young father's many exclamations of thanks and praise, Mila made her way through the streets to return to the cottage where she resided, which was more isolated than the other homes. Although she had, protested the young father had thrust cloth made of the finest Rohirric wool into her hands. Fingering its beautiful texture, Mila allowed herself a small smile.
She had not much cause for such lightness of heart in the past months, but she was thankful for each birth that she attended. Perhaps it was a foolish thought, but each new life she brought into the world helped to staunch her pain, if only for a little while.
These were indeed dark times, and no one knew that better than Mila.
She had never seen an orc, nor known of their appearance before a year ago. However, when she had returned from her journey to a nearby lake to gather reeds and saw the foul, reeking creatures setting her village in flames, she knew them for what they were.
She stood there for so long, frozen to the ground, knowing that she could not surge forth and look for her family as she so longed to do. They would kill her and what good would she be to them then?
Dimly, she wondered why she had not been spotted, and it was only after they had left, after the carnage, that she had realized she was standing in the tall grass.
The creatures had set fire to every building and home, surrounding her in suffocating smoke. She cared not. Her face covered in soot and ash, she ran to her own home and to the homes of her brothers, searching in vain for a way past the flames and into their fiery tombs.
Gone. They were all of them lost, as dust to the earth. Her heart went with them.
Having awoken later than she normally did, Mila hurriedly dressed to welcome the new day. Having quickly glanced out the high window that lit her quarters, she could discern clouds and a grey horizon. So it would be one of those days…
Walking down the steps from her quarters and into the main room, Mila hastily ran her fingers through her dark, russet locks but stopped when she saw the goings on at the hearth. Suppressing a groan, she let the guilt wash over her. She had promised to help Bearnas with the laundering, a heavy tiresome job, but had slept through the early morning.
Upon her unexpected arrival in Edoras all those months ago, Mila had suddenly found herself with the additional worry of shelter. She had traveled with a group of people who had seen their village suffer much the same fate, but they all seemed to know someone in Edoras or have connections that could help with the procurement of lodgings. She had no such advantages, as her village had been on the far east border of Rohan in east Emnet and not far from where the Entwash flowed deep. She had never traveled to Edoras, nor anywhere that far west.
She'd been in the market, wondering how she would find food and rest, when Bearnas approached her. She took her in wordlessly, shaking her head as she held Mila's chin and looked into her tired face.
At first, Bearnas and her husband Eanraig, who was craftsman dealing in woodwork, told her she could stay with them as long as she wished if she agreed to help them with the daily chores, both in the cottage and in Eanraig's workroom. She did this gladly of course, happy that these benevolent people had accepted her into their home.
One night, as she passed The Stag's Head, the local inn and alehouse, she heard the unmistakable sounds of a woman in travail. Upon hearing the strain in the woman's voice as she screamed, Mila surmised that she had likely been at it for some time, indicating a possible difficulty. Ignoring the instinct that pulled at her to help was like a Rohirrim warrior ignoring the call to arms. A duty, no matter the nature, is difficult to disregard.
The woman in question, Mila would later learn, was a whore who worked in the rooms above the alehouse. There were a few other girls in the room with her, but aside from that, there was no midwife or healer.
Mila ensured that she was safely delivered and from that night on, she began being called upon more often. At first, it was only the women form the alehouse who sought her services. Eventually, the word spread and she began attending births quite regularly.
Though she never asked for payment, the new mothers or their family often insisted she take something for the service she had rendered them; foodstuffs, fine woven baskets, coin and pretty trinkets. She protested quite a bit at first, being unused to the custom. But eventually, she gave in, realizing that they would simply not be deterred.
And so Bearnas and Eanraig suddenly found themselves with an added source of income, something they had not anticipated nor required. They welcomed it however, as they were very proud to have such a talented woman in their household. They had grown accustomed to Mila's presence in their home and cared for her a great deal. Having never been blessed with children, they saw her as one of their own, even though she had already seen near to twenty five winters.
"Oh, Bearnas! Forgive me, I should have awoken sooner!" Mila said, feeling wretched.
Bearnas, using a wooden rod, was pushing the laundry down into the cauldron of hot water, which now rested on the stone of the hearth.
"Nonsense child! I heard the ruckus young Arnulf made, pounding on the door to tell you his babe was on the way. You needed your rest" she answered, pulling the sleeves of her dress higher.
"Still, let me help you bring it outside. I won't have you hang it to dry alone"
Together, they set to task of doing just that, both hoping the weather would stay dry for the day. Edoras, being on mountainous land and surrounded by a vast steppe, was always susceptible to wind, no matter the day. Though it sometimes made one irritable, especially when it blew one's hair into one's face all day, it also aided in the task of drying laundry.
"Had they decided on a name?" Bearnas asked.
"Nay, not yet, though they hoped to name it for her uncle. He was a Rider, though he fell in a raid in the Eastfold"
"Hmm" was all Bearnas answered. So much death and destruction had befallen on their people of late. She refused to think of the world such a child might be forced to grow face.
They were suddenly distracted in their work by the Éored that had just passed the gate into the city. Since the cottage was nearer to the lower levels of the rise, the path that led from the gate to the high hall of Meduseld passed just near their small lot of land.
The Riders of the Mark, when assembled in such a manner, were a fearsome sight to behold. Sitting proudly on their mounts and sporting the colors of Rohan, they exuded power and might.
Stopping to look, Mila could easily discern two riders at the front of the group whose armor distinguished them from the others. Théodred, the Kings only son and Second Marshal of the Riddermark, rode slightly ahead of the group. Next to him of course, was Éomer Éadig, nephew to the King and Third Marshal of the Mark.
It was only upon her arrival in Edoras that Mila first saw either of these men, though she had of course heard tell of them in her home village. Stories of fierce battle and brutal attacks, all of which, Mila often surmised, must have seen a great deal of embellishment. However, as she took in the vision of these men riding in full armor, she felt less certain.
She'd noticed him long ago, of course. It was hard not to, with a stance such as his. Perhaps it was his inherent nature, or perhaps his duty simply required it of him, but she perceived such calmness about him, a stoic temperament, which of course set off her curiosity.
She'd never formally met nor spoken to him-why would she? - and she suspected he had no knowledge of her existence. But being an observant person, Mila often found herself studying him from afar, wondering how he fared. The only family left to him was his beautiful sister Éowyn, though their easy and loving relationship was evident to all who saw them together.
As she saw the last of their riders take the turn that led to the Golden Hall, Mila's sigh brought her back to the task at hand.