Chapter XVIII: "Wish Me Joy"
07 August, 3019
We were finally back in Edoras. Éomer saw to it that the Golden Hall was filled with light as never before—not a door nor a window that could be opened was shut; and a blazing fire threw golden illumination everywhere. It caught in my hair, making it as red as Weynia's; in Hilandia's hair, making the grey disappear. But in Arwen's hair, it gave her dark hair a chestnut shimmer, and she seemed even lovelier.
But everyone seemed better—lovelier—more wonderful than ever before. Perhaps it was seeing so many I cared for in my own home; perhaps it was the relief of the war's tension.
We went to the mounds, where we placed Théoden in one of the barrows. The Riders rode around the mound in formation—a curious, but ancient, tradition to honour fallen kings—while we sang a song of Gléowine's that he had written on the way home from Gondor. A portion went like this—
Out of doubt, out of dark, to the day's rising
He rode singing
in the Sun, sword unsheathing
Hope he rekindled and in hope
ended;
Over death, over dread, over doom lifted
Out of loss,
out of life, unto long glory.
It was undoubtedly Gléowine's finest, and a good ending tribute to the minstrel: he was not to write another; he died soon after.
Éomer, Meriadoc, and I stood at the foot of the mound—Faramir had offered to stand beside me as the body was taken into his final resting place, but I had told him in no uncertain terms that no man that had not known my King was welcome to comfort me. "Some griefs must be shared to understood," I had said… and if he had not understood my loss, he understood what I meant.
My brother and Meriadoc had tears running down their cheeks in torrents, but I was shaking with the vigour of my grief. It was not what I had had that I regretted—what I had not had. If Théoden had lived, who knows what we might have shared? With his acceptance that I was as equally deserving of his affection as Éomer, I might have gone on to become second marshal—under my brother, who of course would have been first—and live in Rohan with my husband.
Yet all I had were bittersweet memories of years of servitude—repaid with a brief month of love.
The song ended on a low note. Filling the silence that threatened to fill the plains, Meriadoc cried: "Théoden King! Farewell! As a father you were to me, for a little while. Farewell!"
I laid my hand on his shoulder, and he looked up at me. Our eyes met. We feel the same pain, you and I. The unspoken message in my eyes reflected in his.
Memories raced through my mind—and heart. I could hear my uncle's voice, every word he'd ever said to me.
"And you, Éowyn—is all well with you?" "You are grieved, daughter." "And take comfort in this, daughter…" "Welcome Éowyn, sister-daughter." "Go, Éowyn, sister-daughter—the time for fear is past!" "You look like my mother, Morwen from Lossarnach—you have grown since you came." "—The time for fear is past!" "It is fit that you see my counsellor reckoned with." "—The time for fear is past!" "Farewell, sister-daughter! Yet maybe we shall return to the Golden Hall!"
The time for fear is long past, my King.
Hilandia was loudly wailing, though Weynia and Aldor tried to muffle it. She held onto Chänna, who was also wailing. The two seemed to almost be attempting a doleful duet. Through all the pain, it was almost humorous.
They became silent when it was time to go inside for the feast. Faramir and I sat together at last, but we did not speak. I was still too choked with grief to attempt speech, and he did not dare.
When I received a prearranged signal from Háma, I stood and fetched a filled goblet and presented it to my brother, that we might drink to the memory of the kings. A minstrel and loremaster stood to recite their names:
Eorl the Young
Brego Builder of the Hall
Aldor brother of Baldor the Hapless
Fréa
Fréawine
Goldwine
Déor
Gram
Helm that lay in in Helm's Deep
Fréalaf, Helm's sister-son
Léofa
Walda
Folca
Folcwine
Fengel
Thengel
And last, Théoden
With ever sip, Éomer toasted the ancient king. And at Théoden's name, he drained his cup. Standing beside him, I took the empty goblet and called to Hilandia and Weynia to fill every cup with wine, and all that were there rose and cried: "Hail, Éomer, King of the Mark!"
And thus the feast ended—or so I thought.
But then Éomer, who had taken his seat again, stood once more and said, "Now this is the funeral feast of Théoden the King, but I will speak ere we go of tidings of joy, for he would not grudge that I should do so, since he was ever a father to Éowyn my sister. Hear then all of my guests, fair folk of many realms, such as never have been gathered in this Hall: Faramir, Steward of Gondor and the Prince of Ithilien, asks that Éowyn Lady of Rohan should be his wife, and she grants it full willing. Therefore they shall be troth-plighted before you all."
"Éomer!" A surprised grin formed on my lips. Those around me laughed merrily at my embarrassment.
Blushing, Faramir and I stood before the whole company. Éomer took my hand and presented it to Faramir, and cups were drunk in our honour. Then Faramir kissed me—the hand he had been given, then my cheek, and lastly my lips. This was met with applause. When we parted, Éomer said: "Thus is the friendship of the Mark and Gondor bound with a new bond, and the more do I rejoice."
As the company rose to toast us, Aragorn stepped forward. Clapping my brother of the back, he said, "No niggard are you to give thus to Gondor the fairest thing in your realm." Then he turned to me, and our eyes met. He was close to me—very close. But there was no tingle of girlish emotion, no surge of bitterness… just peace. I felt peace.
He was asking me with a piercing gaze, Are you yet healed, Éowyn?
I answered him in words. With a smile, I gently put a hand on his shoulder. "Wish me joy," I begged, "My liege-lord and healer!"
The smile on his face—barely more than a smirk—widened until I wondered the top of his face didn't fall off. His eyes shone with joy… and with tears too, I think. It was so from his very soul that I could not believe that I had once thought he'd despised me. "I have wished thee joy ever since I first saw thee on the steps of this House, Éowyn. It heals my heart to see thee now in bliss."
If his face radiated joy, mine must have mirrored and reflected the same emotion. "Many thanks," I whispered, my voice catching on joyful tears of my own. He took my other hand and put it to his lips, then returned to his bride with a nod.
I turned to Faramir, who had witnessed the conversation. He caught me in an embrace that took my breath away. "Mine…" he whispered. "You're mine…"