Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places
thereof
*****
"My story is one to be told in pieces and fragments, each one dependent on the last not to be understood, but to have any significance at all. I will speak these fragments as they occurred in my life, and hope you understand...."
Lady Eowyn had but one memory of her mother and none of her father. In her memory, her one memory, of her mother, Theodwyn is the picture of weakness. This was the last impression she left upon Eowyn. Over the years Eowyn would come to feel fear of weakness, anger towards her mother for giving her this fear, then hatred, being truly nothing more than an anger left to ferment.
Right then, none of that mattered. Right then, she was just a little girl. She was seven years old, clutching the covers of her bed. The branches of a tree scraped against her window and the moon threw illusions on her floor, a clawing hand reaching out to grab her from her bed. Something had drawn her from her sleep and for a moment she lay in bed, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.
A sound reached her ears from down the corridor, a sound she could not name. Silently she slipped from beneath the coverlet and padded bare-foot across the floor to the door. As her fingers alit on the brass knob a sound from within caused her to jump and turn to face the chamber. Eowyn's little heart pounded within her chest. What was that noise?
With a sigh, Eowyn realized that she had nothing to fear. For a moment she watched Nuevien, her dark-hair nursemaid, turn in her sleep. Eowyn's eyes narrowed. Her opinion of Nuevien was very low; although the woman had suckled Eowyn when the Lady was only a babe, as she grew to be a girl Eowyn thought her nursemaid much lacking. For example, at that moment the cat- like whinging sort of noise from down the corridor, which Eowyn moved to investigate, should have woken Nuevien. She slept on, and Eowyn swung open the door.
The corridor was not, as Eowyn had expected, dark, but lit dimly by torches placed at intervals along the walls. She stepped into a pool of light as a soldier a pool of blood, dread creeping up her spine. At the end of the corridor a door stood half open, spilling bright light out into the hall. People moved about within but Eowyn could not make out their forms. She knew this for her destination.
It all seemed the stuff of dreams. Who does not see in their mind's eye at night his or her self walking down a corridor to the light at the end? In these dreams, the sleeper knows their ending without a doubt and heads towards it, blinking from the light as the little Lady Eowyn did then. Sometimes if it is a nightmare the dreamer will not be able to reach the door. Usually this dream ends with a scream, and its host awakens in a cold sweat.
Though beads of water dribbled down Eowyn's neck, she doubted never her wakefulness. She felt a pounding in her throat so painful no dream could create it. Her eyes became dry and they watered, and for a moment her vision was obscured. Such details the mind did not manipulate for dreams.
At the end of the hall Eowyn's heart was pounding so loudly she was certain the whole of Rohan could hear, but no one paid her mind in spite of it. She slowly brought her face to rest against the doorframe. Within the chamber before her, she saw her mother and Marcariel, an older woman who had been working as Theodwyn's maid for many years.
Lady Theodwyn was beautiful. She sat now upon a cushioned stool in her linen nightdress, her porcelain hands folded in her lap. Golden tresses fell in waves down her back, past the seat of the stool, left free for sleep but not disheveled beyond a point or prettiness. She held herself perfectly erect and proud, as though the red and puffed up lips of her eyelids were not clear for any to see. In spite of her blatant weaknesses she did sit tall with pride.
Marcariel bustled about her Lady, but Eowyn did not so much as look at the servant, having eyes only for her mother. When tears slipped down Theodwyn's cheeks she seemed oblivious to them, above that weakness. There was something majestic about her mourning and her untouchable soul.
"Drink this, Lady, it will help you sleep."
Theodwyn looked to Marcariel and the bottle in her hands. "I cannot sleep. I must be awake for My Lord's return."
"It will help you with the pain, then," Marcariel said. Theodwyn took a drink from the bottle without question, hardly knowing her actions.
Eowyn would have stayed and watched, fascinated by this drama, but for her brother's discovery. "Eowyn! What are you doing out of bed?" Eomer scolded. Eowyn scowled at him. Eomer thought he was so big and important, just because he had eleven summers. His sister did not agree. "Come away from here, Eowyn. This is not the place for you."
"You have no power over me," she answered. "I want to see what happens."
Eowyn turned to look again but Eomer, whose eyes flashed quickly into the chamber, grasped her shoulder and prevented her from turning. "Why don't you go back to sleep? It is very late," he tried again.
"Let me go!" Eowyn hissed, twisting.
"Eowyn, listen!"
"No, let me go!"
They fought quietly and briefly. Eowyn moved to kick Eomer's legs out from beneath him but was not strong enough nor had her legs sufficient reach. She tried hitting him with her fists, and before Eomer managed to subdue Eowyn she landed an assault on his eye. Then Eomer caught his sister's fists in one hand and held her back with the other, and the fight had ended.
Eowyn twisted free again and ducked away from Eomer. "You cannot tell me what to do!" she hissed at him, then ran past him, away from the bright room. Once she had done this, Eowyn realized that she had neither the means nor the longing to go anywhere but to her own bed. She lay down and in moments fell into a restless sleep.
Lady Theodwyn was consumed by her grief ere the morning rose.
*****
To be continued
*****
"My story is one to be told in pieces and fragments, each one dependent on the last not to be understood, but to have any significance at all. I will speak these fragments as they occurred in my life, and hope you understand...."
Lady Eowyn had but one memory of her mother and none of her father. In her memory, her one memory, of her mother, Theodwyn is the picture of weakness. This was the last impression she left upon Eowyn. Over the years Eowyn would come to feel fear of weakness, anger towards her mother for giving her this fear, then hatred, being truly nothing more than an anger left to ferment.
Right then, none of that mattered. Right then, she was just a little girl. She was seven years old, clutching the covers of her bed. The branches of a tree scraped against her window and the moon threw illusions on her floor, a clawing hand reaching out to grab her from her bed. Something had drawn her from her sleep and for a moment she lay in bed, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.
A sound reached her ears from down the corridor, a sound she could not name. Silently she slipped from beneath the coverlet and padded bare-foot across the floor to the door. As her fingers alit on the brass knob a sound from within caused her to jump and turn to face the chamber. Eowyn's little heart pounded within her chest. What was that noise?
With a sigh, Eowyn realized that she had nothing to fear. For a moment she watched Nuevien, her dark-hair nursemaid, turn in her sleep. Eowyn's eyes narrowed. Her opinion of Nuevien was very low; although the woman had suckled Eowyn when the Lady was only a babe, as she grew to be a girl Eowyn thought her nursemaid much lacking. For example, at that moment the cat- like whinging sort of noise from down the corridor, which Eowyn moved to investigate, should have woken Nuevien. She slept on, and Eowyn swung open the door.
The corridor was not, as Eowyn had expected, dark, but lit dimly by torches placed at intervals along the walls. She stepped into a pool of light as a soldier a pool of blood, dread creeping up her spine. At the end of the corridor a door stood half open, spilling bright light out into the hall. People moved about within but Eowyn could not make out their forms. She knew this for her destination.
It all seemed the stuff of dreams. Who does not see in their mind's eye at night his or her self walking down a corridor to the light at the end? In these dreams, the sleeper knows their ending without a doubt and heads towards it, blinking from the light as the little Lady Eowyn did then. Sometimes if it is a nightmare the dreamer will not be able to reach the door. Usually this dream ends with a scream, and its host awakens in a cold sweat.
Though beads of water dribbled down Eowyn's neck, she doubted never her wakefulness. She felt a pounding in her throat so painful no dream could create it. Her eyes became dry and they watered, and for a moment her vision was obscured. Such details the mind did not manipulate for dreams.
At the end of the hall Eowyn's heart was pounding so loudly she was certain the whole of Rohan could hear, but no one paid her mind in spite of it. She slowly brought her face to rest against the doorframe. Within the chamber before her, she saw her mother and Marcariel, an older woman who had been working as Theodwyn's maid for many years.
Lady Theodwyn was beautiful. She sat now upon a cushioned stool in her linen nightdress, her porcelain hands folded in her lap. Golden tresses fell in waves down her back, past the seat of the stool, left free for sleep but not disheveled beyond a point or prettiness. She held herself perfectly erect and proud, as though the red and puffed up lips of her eyelids were not clear for any to see. In spite of her blatant weaknesses she did sit tall with pride.
Marcariel bustled about her Lady, but Eowyn did not so much as look at the servant, having eyes only for her mother. When tears slipped down Theodwyn's cheeks she seemed oblivious to them, above that weakness. There was something majestic about her mourning and her untouchable soul.
"Drink this, Lady, it will help you sleep."
Theodwyn looked to Marcariel and the bottle in her hands. "I cannot sleep. I must be awake for My Lord's return."
"It will help you with the pain, then," Marcariel said. Theodwyn took a drink from the bottle without question, hardly knowing her actions.
Eowyn would have stayed and watched, fascinated by this drama, but for her brother's discovery. "Eowyn! What are you doing out of bed?" Eomer scolded. Eowyn scowled at him. Eomer thought he was so big and important, just because he had eleven summers. His sister did not agree. "Come away from here, Eowyn. This is not the place for you."
"You have no power over me," she answered. "I want to see what happens."
Eowyn turned to look again but Eomer, whose eyes flashed quickly into the chamber, grasped her shoulder and prevented her from turning. "Why don't you go back to sleep? It is very late," he tried again.
"Let me go!" Eowyn hissed, twisting.
"Eowyn, listen!"
"No, let me go!"
They fought quietly and briefly. Eowyn moved to kick Eomer's legs out from beneath him but was not strong enough nor had her legs sufficient reach. She tried hitting him with her fists, and before Eomer managed to subdue Eowyn she landed an assault on his eye. Then Eomer caught his sister's fists in one hand and held her back with the other, and the fight had ended.
Eowyn twisted free again and ducked away from Eomer. "You cannot tell me what to do!" she hissed at him, then ran past him, away from the bright room. Once she had done this, Eowyn realized that she had neither the means nor the longing to go anywhere but to her own bed. She lay down and in moments fell into a restless sleep.
Lady Theodwyn was consumed by her grief ere the morning rose.
*****
To be continued