Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings.
The Sisterhood of Helm's Deep
Éowyn glanced around the cavern, looking for a place to store their baskets of supplies. "Over there," she said, holding her basket with one hand and pointing with the other. "Under that outcropping. They'll stay dry there."
The women and children that followed her under the earth deposited their baskets. The only noise in the cavern came from the shuffling of their tired feet on the rocky ground and the constant dripping of water from the ceiling. No one spoke. Even the babies held their tongues.
Éowyn had wanted to fight in the battle that would soon begin in the fortress above, but Théoden King had sent her to take charge of the caverns. She grimaced. She was not like the other women, soft and frightened. Lord Aragorn himself had complimented her on her swordplay, yet here she was, hiding underground.
She put her basket down and drew the four old swords she had stowed within it. The weapons master had given the best swords to the fighters, but he allowed her to take her pick from the leftovers. They were all five scratched and rusted, and the crossbar of one had somehow twisted up, but at least they were weapons. She sat down and began to polish the sharpest blade with the hem of her skirt.
Her brother Éomer had often told her that war consisted of waiting for a long time and fighting for a short one, but she hadn't fully understood him until now. A damp patch was spreading across her back. Her ankle itched, but she couldn't reach through her boots and woolen stockings to scratch it. A firefly landed on her arm.
She wasn't sure how long she had been sitting there before the ceiling of the cavern began to shake. Were those the footsteps of Saruman's great army? The repulsive orcs and the fearsome Uruk-hai? But they sounded so rhythmic! Perhaps the invading army had been trained better than they expected.
And then the footsteps stopped, and no other noise took its place.
Éowyn wished for the thousandth time that she was on the ramparts.
After another age, something banged against the door to the caverns. Éowyn jumped and nearly sliced a finger off with the sword in her lap. Was it an orc? Surely the Rohirrim hadn't been defeated so quickly? Or was it already the next day? She couldn't tell.
"Open up!" a high-pitched voice shouted. Well, it clearly wasn't an orc. "It's Haleth! I have news!"
Éowyn set the sword down and got up to admit Haleth. He stood in the doorway, his overlarge mail shirt clanking against his knees, gesturing frantically.
"The elves have come from Rivendell and Lothlórien to aid us!" he said. "The armies of Saruman are still in the distance, but we expect the fighting to begin soon. They seem to have siege towers with them." He paused for breath. "Lord Aragorn bade me tell you, my lady." With a short bow, he turned and scrambled back down the passageway.
"Thank you, Haleth," Éowyn called.
So the footsteps had been from the elves! She was glad of the news—and that Lord Aragorn had thought of her—but seeing little Haleth dressed for battle only made her angrier. Why was Théoden drafting half-grown boys and calling on long-forgotten alliances with the elves when she had been sent away? She should be up there fighting! She wanted to defend her people!
Some of the women began to murmur amongst themselves. Éowyn went back to her corner and resumed polishing. Perhaps she could sneak up to the armory later, outfit herself, and join the battle.
The ceiling shook again, and this time she was certain that Saruman's army was approaching. She wondered if their weight would cause the cavern to collapse.
Sometime after, she thought she could hear the clang of metal upon metal and the screams of the dying. One of the babies began to cry. Some of the mothers did as well, no doubt picturing their sons and husbands in the thick of the battle.
Although the shadow of a worry occupied the back of her mind, she thought her men could hold their own. Théoden, now free of Saruman's spell, was renowned throughout the Mark, throughout Middle-Earth, even, for his skill in battle. Éomer and his riders, though not at Helm's Deep, were a formidable force. And Lord Aragorn…well, he had been pushed off a cliff by a Warg and fallen unconscious into a rushing river, and he had been fine.
She just wanted to fight alongside them!
But she was not allowed to, so she sat and waited some more. Time seemed to disappear underground. She could have been down there for minutes, hours, days…
An odd sniffling noise crept into her ears. Éowyn looked up from her work to see a girl a few years younger than herself rubbing her eyes and trying her hardest not to cry. Still sniffling, she wiped her nose on her dirty sleeve and crawled into a little nook across from Éowyn.
Apart from Éowyn, the girl was the only person sitting alone. Éowyn got to her feet and went over to her. She needed to do something other than sit and wait, or she feared the cavern would drive her insane.
"Hello," she said, sitting down next to the girl. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Éowyn."
The girl looked up from beneath a tangle of brown hair. "My name is Félewyn," she said. "You're the White Lady of Rohan." It was a statement, not a question.
"I suppose," Éowyn said. "I don't feel like much of a lady now."
Félewyn looked up at her with gray eyes rimmed in red. "My father and brother are fighting above," she said, "and my betrothed, Léonere."
"I understand," said Éowyn, touching the younger girl's arm in solidarity. "My uncle is fighting, and my brother is chasing orcs." She dared not mention her love for Aragorn.
Félewyn's soft voice dwindled to a ragged whisper. "I heard them discussing their odds earlier. They do not expect to live, never mind win." She rubbed her nose again. "My father and Léonere are strong. Perhaps they will make it, though our forces are outnumbered. But my brother, my poor Féleden…" She broke off, scrunching her face up in an effort not to cry. "He is Haleth's friend. I have watched them from the cradle, caring for them and playing mother to them, and today I watched them arm for battle. They are mere children. They know nothing of fighting, and they have no chance of surviving."
She lost her battle and began to cry in earnest. Éowyn stroked her rough hair as she imagined an older sister might, but she did not murmur any words of comfort. Saying something such as, "Everything will be okay," or, "Don't worry, they'll be fine," would be lying outright.
The sounds of the battle above continued to filter down. Occasionally, she felt a crash. A siege tower falling? A battering ram? She couldn't tell.
Félewyn's cries quieted down, and she huddled under Éowyn's arm. "Thank you, my lady," she said. "It is kind of you to sit with me when I know you wish to fight."
Éowyn didn't know how to respond to that, so she said the first thing that popped into her mind. "I can teach you."
Félewyn looked up. "You can if you like," she said, "but I do not know what good it will do. We cannot join the battle."
"No," said Éowyn, "we cannot. But we both feel useless sitting down here, and besides, swordplay will give us something else to think about." She raised her voice and addressed the entire cavern. "Anyone who wishes to join us may. I brought four swords."
Only one other woman, a young mother called Éohild, stood up to join them. She placed her sleeping child in the arms of the woman next to her and took the sword Éowyn proffered. "My husband is up there," she said. "He's a farmer. By the end of tonight, I will probably be better with a sword than he is."
Éowyn smiled and took up her own sword. "These are short enough for you to grip with one hand," she said. "Usually you would hold a shield with the other hand, but our resources are limited today." She dropped into the ready position with the sword held out. "This is the proper way to hold your sword."
Félewyn had good posture, but Éohild's arms were stronger. Éowyn corrected their forms as needed, bending their knees and loosening their white-knuckled grips. "Good," she said. "Stand sideways, so you present a small target." Once they had complied, she added, "Now we wait. You must become accustomed to the feel of your sword and the position of your body before you attempt anything else. This stage normally lasts a few days, but with any luck we won't be down here that long."
She tried to make it sound like a joke, but neither of her pupils smiled.
"Once it feels natural," she continued, "you begin practicing routines by yourself, as though you were learning to dance. Only when you can do them perfectly will you be allowed near another student."
But they didn't have that much time, so she began teaching them the routines then. They started with a slow, easy one, intended to help them see their swords as extensions of their arms. Éowyn moved them to separate sides of the cavern, so they would not injure each other or anyone around them and watched their progress. With time, Félewyn could be a competent swordswoman, but she feared Éohild would remain in the practice stage.
As they started a new routine, another woman stood up. "I would like to join," she squeaked. "If my lady would like it."
"Of course," Éowyn said. "Your name, mistress?"
"Seledrith," she said with a curtsy. She looked to be about Éowyn's age. "I am told I am good at dancing, so perhaps I can catch up."
Éowyn handed her the fourth sword, and, after she took a moment to adjust to its weight and feel, Seledrith did the first routine almost perfectly.
"Well done, Mistress Seledrith," Éowyn said. "Welcome to the class."
All of a sudden, a huge boom echoed through the cave, startling everyone. "Stay calm!" Éowyn said. "Especially those with weapons."
She didn't know what had made the noise, but a nagging voice in the back of her mind told her that it didn't bode well for the Rohirrim and the Lórien elves.
Shaking her head, Éowyn ignored the voice and demonstrated the next routine. It had been one of her favorites to learn as a young girl, more graceful and powerful than the others. Éomer had taught her then, letting her practice with his wooden swords.
The three women tried to imitate her, but this routine was also more difficult than the first. She repeated the demonstration a few times for the group and then worked with each individually. Félewyn often inserted her own steps, whether by design or by instinct Éowyn remained unsure. Éohild held the sword as though it had always been in her hand, but she often stumbled over the footwork. Seledrith, unused to holding a weapon, almost cut herself a few times.
They were far from perfect, but Éowyn could not help but smile at their efforts. They were not as soft and frightened as she had thought.
When they had moved on to the fourth routine, the footsteps above seemed to come closer. "Perhaps we should move on," Éowyn said, more to herself than the women.
She made two tall stacks of baskets. "This is about where an orc's head would be," she said, pointing to the shorter stack, "and this an Uruk-hai's. If you were to attack one now, you would aim for the throat." She indicated the space directly below each basket. "They will be armored, and your swords are not sharp enough to pierce metal. Besides, stabbing the heart is more difficult than it looks. The ribs get in the way." Seledrith looked slightly green, but Éowyn continued. "Try to stab or slit the throat. Do not try to hack off the head; it is messy and requires a great deal of strength."
The three women took turns stabbing the bottoms of the baskets. "Remember that they will be holding weapons," Éowyn said. "You cannot simply march up and stick a blade through them. You will have to sneak up on them and dodge the weapon before you get that chance."
"We cannot duel?" Félewyn asked. Though she panted between words and wiped heavy droplets of sweat from her brow, her eyes shone brighter than they had since the battle began.
Reluctanly, Éowyn shook her head. "You have come a long way in the past few hours, but you are still beginners. I would not even allow you to fight each other, never mind a fully trained orc. Focus on the kill, not on the fight."
Félewyn frowned and threw herself even harder into the routine.
As they continued to practice, the noise grew louder and seemed to be nearer. Éowyn called out instructions and reminders at intervals, partly to help the women and partly to drown out the sounds of the battle. She tried to keep her mind focused on the task at hand.
Félewyn approached the baskets for her turn. She aimed for the throat of the supposed Uruk-hai, darting in and nimbly drawing the blade across. "Well done," Éowyn said.
The door to the cavern began to shake. Something was banging against it, and Éowyn doubted it was Haleth returning with more news. "Ready yourselves," she said to her pupils. "You may get the chance to practice what you've learned."
Félewyn burst into tears.
Éowyn stared at her in shock. She had been doing so well and toughened so quickly. Why was she crying again?
Before she could move to comfort her student, a real Uruk-hai burst through the door, tall and ugly, a white hand imprinted on his face and a rusty sword in his hand. The women and children huddled at the far side of the cavern screamed as he roared at them, shaking his weapon. He must have gotten through a chink in the defenses, Éowyn thought, for none followed him.
She prepared herself to strike, but before she could move, Félewyn ran behind it and drove her sword into his throat. Dark, sticky blood spurted out onto the cavern floor, and the Uruk's eyes widened in shock. He fell forwards with a sickening thump.
Even when the battle reaches down here, Éowyn thought, I still do not get to fight.
But, as Félewyn wiped the tears from her face and the blood from her blade, Éowyn knew what she was thinking. If they could take down an Uruk-hai, then the men fighting above had at least a chance of winning. It was a small chance, but it was there.
"Well done," she said. "Would anyone else care to join?"