"Ábéodan" - to announce/bid farewell
"winemaeg sweostor" - dear/loving sister
"æðelcyning" - King
More Old English in this chapter, so I wanted to put the vocabulary at the beginning. I hope you all enjoy the next chapter, though I warn that it is not a happy one.
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Chapter IV: Fatherless
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The day had come. Theodwyn was ready, but she feared her children (mainly Eowyn) would not make it through the ceremony. Eomer was focused on what needed to be done, but Eowyn had taken to sitting down a lot. She would just sit and stare at the wall, the table, the bed, the window- whatever was in her line of sight. She was not the energetic child of a few days ago.
Theodwyn walked into her son's bedroom. He was already awake and getting dressed. Exactly on time. She smiled softly as she watched him slip his boots on. She walked across the hall to Eowyn's room. A perfect angel lay in the small bed. She was on her back, elbows bent with her hands above her head. The white blonde hair encircled her tiny head like wings. Her pale face was so peaceful that Theodwyn did not want to wake her. Somewhere a rooster crowed. The day was not getting younger. She sighed and walked closer to the bed, reaching to touch Eowyn's shoulder.
'Eowyn. Eowyn, wake up.'
Her croaky voice answered, 'Why? It is so early...'
'We must prepare for the burial, dear.'
Eowyn gasped as her eyelids flew open and her storm-grey eyes found her mother's blue ones.
'Aye, Mumuh. Today is the day.' She sat upright and slid her legs to the edge of the bed. Theodwyn put her daughter's shoes on those tiny feet.
'You must soon learn to do this for yourself, little one,' she said.
'Oh, yes. I will learn to do many things alone now.'
'Oh, my love,' Theodwyn pulled her into a tight embrace, 'you will not be alone. Your brother and I will take care of you.'
'Will you teach me to fight, then?' she asked excitedly.
'I think your cousin would be delighted to teach you,' she said, smiling. 'Come, let us get you dressed. Dawn approaches.'
When everyone was dressed and fed, Theoden King came to the door. He had come the night before, but refused to stay with his sister, for he did not wish to be a burden. Instead, he and his son stayed in a tent that was erected a short distance from the house.
'It is time, sweostor.'
They all strode out of the house and toward the many Mounds of the Dead. The tall White Mountains loomed over them. A fresh stone tomb had been built for the Lord of Aldburg to rest in. Five people were now walking slowly toward the mound: a noble-looking man, a younger but taller man traipsing by his side, and two children, one boy and one girl, almost dragging their feet before the men. The leader of this bereaved company was a beautiful and fearsome woman wearing all black, nearly white hair streaming out behind her. They gathered at last around the tomb. Every head was turned to face the road, waiting.
One hundred and nine armoured men came marching toward the mounds. All was silent, but for the pounding of their feet. It seemed that even the birds felt sorrowful, for they did not sing. Just behind the recently depleted eored, four men were carrying a pallet; and on the pallet lay a man in full armour, surrounded by his personal possessions. The eored split so that half stood on one side of the tomb, and half on the other. When they were aligned and the pallet was being brought down the narrow road, Theodwyn began to sing:
Nú on théostrum licgeth Eomund se léofa
hoe'letha holdost.
Bealocwealm hafað fréone frecan forth onsended.
Giedd sculon singan gléomenn sorgiende
on Aldburge thaet he ma no waere
his dryhtne dyrest and maga deorost.
As she sang, her strength ebbed away, and she became more emotional. At the last note, she closed her eyes and felt the hot tears streaming down her face. His body had reached the mouth of the tomb, where she stood. She bent her waist and kissed his forehead one last time. Her children reached out and gripped their father's bare arm, as was custom. Eowyn was crying profusely, but without making a noise. Eomer's face was dry. His eyes were steady on his father's countenance. His ears burned red, his jaw clenched.
When Theodwyn stood straight and the children released their father, he was laid in the tomb and over him was raised a great mound.
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'Thank you for being here today, brother.'
Theoden breathed deeply.
'Theodwyn. I love you. And I grew to love your husband. A mighty warrior was he, and loyal to his king. I am sorry he is gone, but I came here for you. Whatever you could possibly need I will supply, sweostor. Tell me how I may assist you and your children,' Theoden replied.
'We will not require much, except that Eowyn wishes to learn the ways of the sword. I think her father told her a few too many stories of the Shieldmaidens of the North,' Theodwyn smiled at the memory of Eomund putting Eowyn to bed at night.
'So who will reign as Chief Marshal?' she asked, trying to steer the conversation away from her own problems.
'I know not. I honestly cannot see why there needs to be a Marshal just to protect Edoras. I am perfectly capable of doing that myself,' he said seriously.
'I am sure that you are, brother,' she said sarcastically. He shot her a look that would have frightened many brave men. However, that was precisely the reaction Theodwyn wanted. She smiled and gave him a shove. Theoden could not hold back the laughter bubbling inside him.
'Oh how I have missed you, sister,' he laughed. 'Not many people would dare speak in that manner to their king.'
'I missed you, too, brother,' she said.
'My offer to help you move to Edoras still stands,' he said casually.
'Thank you, but I would prefer not to make too many changes in my children's lives right now,' she said genuinely. 'We will stay here, at least for a few years.' She did not reveal how much she would have liked to stay with her brother, back in Edoras: a place of relief and stability. No, she would not succumb to this weakness; this want for comfort.
'Granted. I understand your wishes,' Theoden said. 'Ábéodan, winemaeg sweostor.'
'Ábéodan, æðelcyning Theoden.' She curtsied to her king. Then the two siblings embraced for many minutes.
She whispered in his ear, 'Thank you for coming, really. I love you.'
He whispered, 'I love you, too,' in his turn.
They broke apart, and Theoden bid farewell to his niece and nephew. Theodwyn turned to Theodred.
'Ábéodan, my lady,' Theodred said, bowing his head to her. She chuckled at his formality.
'Ábéodan, my little prince,' she said, pulling him into her arms. He was indeed no longer "little" as she called him, having four-and-twenty years under his belt, but she still saw the young boy she had cared for in his light eyes. 'There is no need for such frivolity, my brother-son.'
He nodded and gave her a small smile, 'Sorry.'
She sensed his double-meaning. Blood drained from her face, but she tried to hide her grief.
'Do not weep for my children and me, Theodred. We will be strong. Enjoy your life, and worry not,' she told him, resting her hand on his cheek.
'Come along, son,' Theoden said, clasping Theodred's shoulder. 'Let us leave these people in peace.'
They mounted their steeds and rode into the distance. Theodwyn felt two small hands tightly grab hold of her own. The family turned and walked into their house; a house which now felt emptier than before.
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When Theodwyn had sent Eomer to bed, and put Eowyn to sleep, she walked into her own room, exhausted. It had been raining all day, so they were mostly stuck inside. She hoped the storm would not last another day, for she did not know how much longer she could keep the peace between Eomer and Eowyn. She tired of being the cook, maid, seamstress, healer, peacekeeper, disciplinarian, and comforter.
She was tired of being both mother and father.
Her bed was now her nighttime sanctuary. She sat on the edge of it, ripping off her muddy boots. There had been a few leaks in the thatched roof that day. She unlaced her over dress and let it fall to the ground. She thought about leaving it there, but decided to at least lay it over the chair in the corner. She took her hair down from the twisted braid that sat atop her head.
Sitting on the bed again, she combed her fingers through her blonde locks, untangling the mess. She was too tired to re-braid the hair, so she simply let it fall and crawled under the Warg-skin blanket laying on the bed. She rolled over and once again found only a cold, empty pillow staring back at her. Tears fell onto the cushion beneath her head.
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A man was at the door.
'Come in; please come, sire,' Eomer said. He entered the house and followed the boy through the main room and into another room, where he saw a woman lying in a double bed and a young girl dabbing at the woman's forehead with a damp cloth.
'You see? She is sick,' the boy said. 'Can you help her?'
'Allow me a closer look, boy, before I make my decision,' the man replied. His voice was gravelly and his hair mostly white. The wrinkles around his eyes were not from laughter. This was a coarse man, his heart hardened by many years of watching people suffer to their deaths.
He had been a young man, ready to help people with the herbs his master taught him to use, when the plague ripped through the town in which he was working. It departed as quickly as it had come, but left a long trail of decay in its wake. There was nothing he could do to help the children. Their bodies were too weak to stand a chance against the fatal sickness. Since then, he has continued his practice, but without much hope for his patients. Afterall, everyone dies eventually.
He made his way to the bed. There was no hope. He had seen the grief in her eyes in many of his other patients. He felt her forehead, hands, and heartbeat. She seemed to only have a cold, but he knew she would not survive this. There was something missing from her heart. A flame had been snuffed out from behind those light eyes that could not be rekindled. He turned to the children.
'Where is your father?'
'He is dead,' the boy answered immediately. The girl's bottom lip trembled at the words. It must have happened recently. The man nodded his head at the cold statement, understanding now why the light had left the woman's eyes.
'I see. I need you to leave this room now,' he told them.
'We do not want to. We do not wish to leave her side,' Eomer said firmly.
'You will do what I say, boy, and respect your elder,' he growled. The boy's face grew red in anger and he set his jaw. The man stared him down and squared his shoulders. After a moment of silence, the boy looked at his mother. Finally his face fell and he trudged out of the room, pulling the little girl with him.
The healer turned back to the woman and bent over her. She had fallen asleep since he first entered the room. He took the rag, dunked it in the bucket of cool water, and dabbed her forehead. Her eyes opened slowly and she breathed deeply.
'How long did I sleep?' she whispered.
'Not long, lady. Perhaps a minute,' he said.
She nodded and closed her eyes again. He needed to tell her.
'My lady,' he said.
'Theodwyn, sir,' she said, somewhat forcefully.
'Theodwyn, you are dying,' he said. Her eyebrows raised slightly, but she did not open her eyes.
'I thought as much,' she said simply.
'I must urge you to think of your children, then.' Her eyes opened at last.
'I have, sir. I have had much time to think of such things, for I do not lie here idly.' She coughed and heaved a breath. 'I know I do not have long on this earth. My brother will take them in. He had offered to care for us after my husband died after all.'
'Good. Now who is your brother, and where does he reside, that I may send him word of your fate?'
She smirked at him.
'He lives in Edoras.'
'And his name?'
'Theoden, sire. Theoden King.'
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'My king.'
A messenger had come. Hama had escorted him through the door and brought the man in front of Theoden's throne. The king had been breaking his nightly fast when Hama entered the room and told him of the visitor. Theoden was hungry and wished the messenger would leave, but Hama said he had come from Theodwyn, and he could not have denied his sister. He hoped she would come to Edoras at last. When he entered the throne room, the messenger was waiting for him.
'What message have ye?' Theoden asked, trying to hide his excitement.
The messenger stretched out his hand, which held a tight scroll with a red ribbon wrapped around the middle. Yes, the message had been sent from Aldburg; from his sister. Theoden eagerly took the yellowish parchment and dismissed the messenger with a nod of his head.
Theoden pulled the ribbon off of the scroll and began to read.
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Dearest brother,
I hope all is well. The children are dealing with Eomund's death quite well. Eomer has become less vocal, but has also grown into a strong young man. Eowyn is young and lives one day to the next. It has been four months and she no longer mourns, except on occasion. I cannot say the same for myself. I must confess that both my mind and my body have fallen ill. This is the reason for my correspondence. Eomer found a medicine-man, who consented to writing this letter for me as I am too ill to write myself, to examine me. I am not to survive this illness. I beg you to please care for my children. This will be difficult for them, and they need a family. I will be honest with you, brother: I am afraid: afraid of what this will do to them, and afraid that they will perish without me. I wish I had courage; the courage to trust. But death is a funny foe. I do not fear the pain of death, for I go to Eomund and my forebears. I do not fear dying; I fear that my children will never have children of their own; that our house will go down in flames, for I have dreamt it will be so. I hope that you will consider raising my children until Eomer reaches manhood. I know you have many responsibilities, and I do not wish to worsen your burden. I ask only that you will think on it. I do not know when this letter will reach you, or even if I shall be alive when it does, but I do hope to see you again, one last time.
Farewell,
Theodwyn
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She had signed the letter herself and her name was not as neatly written as the rest. It was even harder to read now, for the king's tears had blotched the ink. He let the parchment fall to the floor as he wiped his face with his hands. His most beloved sister, the youngest of his family, would soon be gone from this world. He could not believe it; but he had to, for he could not leave her to die alone.
'Hama, ready my horse.'
'What is it, my lord?' the man asked. Theoden's eyes were sad, but determined.
'We ride for Aldburg.'
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'Ábéodan, my lady,' Theodred grinned at his aunt, trying to make her feel better with a joke. But his eyes gave him away. Thankfully, she did smile.
'Something about frivolity, right?' she replied sleepily.
'Aye,' he laughed genuinely. 'I have been planning what to say the whole ride here, and your answer has completely befuddled me.' It was hard to keep his voice level. 'I suppose that is why I loved spending time-' he closed his lips tightly, barely holding his tears back. But Theodwyn knew what he meant to say. She was glad they were alone.
'Come, Theodred,' she said as she pulled his head to her shoulder. She felt something wet and slightly cold through her nightdress. His shoulders were shaking. She shushed him, stroking his hair. She wanted to tell him to stop weeping; to control himself and be a man. But she soon felt her own tears rolling silently down her cheeks. She sighed. She really would miss him. She would miss his shining face looking for her approval, the way his round eyes saddened when she bid him farewell, and the splitting smile that graced his face when he caught sight of her again. Now that Theoden had promised to raise her children, she hoped Theodred would befriend them as easily as he had befriended her.
'Theodred,' she said, and he sat upright. 'Theodred, you will love my children, will you not?'
'With all my heart,' he said immediately, wiping his face.
'And you will play with them, and teach them?'
'Aye-'
'Even Eowyn? She has always wanted to learn the sword.'
'She has? Would she not rather-' he began. Theodwyn's eyes bore into his. They were the same shape and color of his own. He had never realized that before.
'Of course, I will teach her.'
'Thank you, Theodred.' The woman sighed, closed her eyes, and laid back into her pillows. She seemed relieved.
'I will take my leave now, and let you rest,' he told her. He kissed her brow solemnly. She looked up at him and smiled, 'Ábéodan, little prince.'
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'Eomer, my son, come.'
The boy walked tentatively to his mother's side. Her brow was furrowed in pain. He wished he could comfort her, but there was nothing to be done. He simply sat on the edge of her bed and waited for her to speak. At last, she opened her mouth, but only a cough escaped.
'Did you wish to speak with me, mother?' he asked, once her fit had subsided. She took a deep breath.
'Aye, son. I want you to know that your mother-brother will take you and your sister to Meduseld, to the Golden Hall. You cannot argue,' she said quickly, seeing his face. 'I am going to-,' here she coughed a few times, 'I am going to die, and soon, Eomer. When that day comes, you must follow your king. And do not neglect your sister in your grief.'
He nodded. 'Of course, Mother.'
'Good. You are a brave boy, Eomer. To lose one's parents is never easy, but I am thankful for the time we have shared together.' She coughed several more times. 'Know that I will take my love for you to the next world, dear one.'
He nodded again, wishing all the more that she would not leave him. His eyes must have betrayed him, for she said, 'Quiet now, soldier. And do not weep for the dead; they have run their course. Though I cannot say what lies beyond the veil, I do hope to see your father again; that he greets me-,' she coughed again. 'Greets me whole and healthy, as I fade from this world.'
She coughed heavily. He fetched her some water. After a while, she spoke again.
'To speak truthfully, son, I was scared. Aye, I was afraid, though I could not tell you why. Fear simply stung my heart.'
Eomer took her hand in his. It was cold. He held it tightly and looked back into her face. She was smiling.
'But I have lost that fear, Eomer.'
'How?' He realized his voice was full of hope. He scolded himself. He sounded like a child.
'I wish I could tell you, so that you could feel the same-'
'I am not afraid,' he said defiantly.
His mother frowned at him.
'Eomer. Why would you not be afraid? Bravery is useless in a fearless man.'
Eomer did not know it, but that sentence would stay with him to the end of his days.
'Remember my words, son: sometimes, courage means you wait for reinforcements.'
He shook his head, 'What if no one comes to your aid?'
Theodwyn tried to sit up. Eomer helped as he could. Her chest heaved from the effort, but she answered him still.
'Then, you attack with every ounce of strength in you. You take as many devils to the grave as you can manage.' There was a spark in her eyes he hadn't seen in many months. His mother was fierce, even while she lay dying.
'Like your father.' The spark had gone, and now she seemed just as tired and ill as she had a few moments ago.
Eomer reached out his hand to hers. Her eyelids drooped. He watched her sleep for a while, but there was food to be caught and prepared.
'Mother,' he murmured. She did not move. 'Mother, I must go now.' She did not seem to hear him. He squeezed her hand and it gave a slight twitch, but still she did not wake.
He quickly reached for the wet cloth beside her to wipe her sweaty brow. But he realized her brow was not sweating. In fact, it was quite cold. And her skin was paler than usual. He continued to dab her forehead out of habit. Her eyes fluttered and she parted her lips. Eomer dipped the rag back in the water and squeezed it above her mouth. Droplets cascaded onto her tongue and down her throat.
Theodwyn's eyes flew open and she cried out, 'Eomund, Eomund!'
Eomer was startled by her outburst and he accidentally dropped the wet cloth onto her pillow. She didn't seem to notice. She was staring at the opposite wall with a look of horror on her face.
'Mother!' he cried, but she gave no sign of hearing him.
After a moment, her face changed from horror to confusion. It seemed she was having a silent conversation with someone. As the worriedness faded from her eyes, she broke into a smile. She nodded to the wall and closed her eyes. Her body relaxed into the pillow and she promptly fell asleep.
Eomer was very confused, but he really needed to hunt. Still, he wasn't comfortable leaving his mother alone. He called Eowyn to tend to her until he returned.
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'Eowyn, come help me,' Eomer called from the entrance of the house, holding his kills in his hands. He did not hear her bare feet slapping the packed dirt to his aid.
'Eowyn!'
No, he thought. Not her. Not her, too.
He dropped the rabbits and fish he had caught and ran into his mother's room. He saw Eowyn's white-gold hair spread on the bed, covering her face. He could see something bright red smeared on her neck, contaminating her pure, white skin. But the next minute, it had gone. He had imagined the blood. He could see the steady rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed. The child must have been in a deep sleep, since she did not stir at his call. How irresponsible. He hoped his mother was not in need of anything, but she was sleeping as well.
Now relieved, Eomer walked to the bedside and shook Eowyn awake. As soon as she opened her eyes, he recognized that she had been crying. He was used to seeing her weep after their father died. He knew the signs.
'Eowyn, father is gone. That cannot be changed,' he said, trying to comfort her.
She shook her head. He did not understand.
'What do you mean?'
'Not father.'
'You are not upset about father?'
She shook her head again. Her lip began to quiver and she looked at Theodwyn. She burst into tears and collapsed onto the bed. Eomer slowly turned to look at his mother. Could it be?
He lunged to take her hand. It was as cold as…
His eyes filled with tears, but he angrily wiped them away. He had tried to prepare for it, but he never imagined that he would not witness the death of either of his parents.
A horse galloped along the road just outside. For one wild moment, he thought his father had finally come home. He was going to make everything alright. His mother was going to wake up and hug him tightly. They were going to be a family. As the vision faded and reality began to take hold of his thoughts again, Eomer realized that he had no family left. Eowyn sobbed particularly loudly.
Yes I do, he thought. I have a sister who is depending on me. And I will never lose her.
'Eowyn.'
She looked up at him, her eyes and nose very red.
'Come here.'
She sniffled and curled up in his arms. She seemed so small.
'I will always protect you. I will never leave you, sweostor.'
'I know, Eomer.' And I will protect you, she thought.
They sat there, holding each other, for what seemed like an age.
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After the funeral, Theoden and the two children rode back to Edoras. One was twelve, somewhat scrawny still, his straw-like hair tickling his shoulders. Sitting in front of him, cradled by his arms, was a girl of eight years. She was lean, tall for her age, and her skin shone pale against the brown of her brother's tunic. Her nearly white hair was messily braided on the sides of her head. She had obviously done it herself. Yet in her face was the beauty of innocence. Despite the dirty clothes and wind-swept hair, she had a regal presence that gave her an air of strength, certainly passed down from her grandmother.
The people of Edoras welcomed the riders solemnly, having now heard the fate of their king's beloved sister. Some of them had brought flowers to lay before the feet of the king's horse as he led the procession. The boy behind him did not look at the people's faces. He stared ahead like his uncle, focusing on his riding. In contrast, the girl searched the crowd, not for any one person, but for mothers and fathers- to see them holding their children. It gladdened her to see families together, and she softly smiled when she found them.
At last they arrived at the steps to the Golden Hall. The king dismounted first, giving his horse's lead to a nearby guard. After Eomer dismounted Frostfoot and helped Eowyn down, too, Theoden held his hand out to them, and Eowyn accepted it. Eomer walked to his sister's other side, his shoulders squared. His royal blood now revealed itself too. The three of them climbed the tall stair. The doors were opened from the inside, and the children gazed at the wondrous sight. Eomer was torn between amazement at his new home and longing for his old life.
He stood in the doorway, lost in grief, until a small, cold hand grabbed hold of his fingers and pulled him forward. He looked down at the top of his sister's head, and he loved her with all of his being. He would never lose her, never allow her to leave him. He would not be left alone; he would not lose this last member of his family.
This he solemnly swore.
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Take a deep breath before we dive into the next chapter. I promise no more grief for quite some time.