Chapter 25 - The White Lady of Rohan

NOTE: this chapter is dialogue-heavy and very much a chance for me to build both Éowyn and Elanor's characters. My apologies if you're getting anxious for shipping and/or action; it's coming, I promise. ;)

Elanor slept deeply and well for almost six hours, utterly exhausted from her break-neck adventures. When she woke, her tent was suffused in a warm glow.

For a few minutes, it was glorious to simply lie upon her camp-bed, swaddled in the cosy blankets and admiring the way the sunlight gleamed upon the canvas above her. The camp at Dunharrow was quiet, for it held but a fraction of the mustered army. Apart from the occasional snorting of a horse, it was quiet and tranquil.

I should get up, she thought, knowing it was close on midday and Éowyn would expect her for lunch. After another moment's inactivity, she heaved herself upwards. Her muscles had grown even stiffer from her nap; only the promise of food and feminine company drove her to her feet.

Her pack was lying on it's side, many of her clothing spilling out from her hasty retrieval of The Lord of the Rings. Most were crumpled and soiled, and she wrinkled her nose as she tossed these aside. Somehow, she had made do with only two outfit changes between Rivendell and Helm's Deep. As horrifying as that was to her delicate sensibilities, she felt no small amount of pride to have put aside her meticulous hygiene for the journey.

Georgia would be extremely proud, she admitted ruefully.

Having packed with extreme care, she still had two full sets of clean attire, tucked in the bottom of her pack. Both were unremarkable, being the shirts, tunics and surcoats she was accustomed to wearing amongst the Elves. Luckily for her, the Rohirrim were fairly relaxed in their styles of dress. If Éowyn's attire was anything to go by, women were permitted to dress in sensible clothing.

Bless the Elves for their fabric-making! These things are hardly crumpled!

Her two fresh outfits were both in surprisingly good shape, and she laid one upon her bed.

Moving to the opposite side of the tent, she surveyed the utilitarian washbasin. It was large and full of clean water, supplemented with a cake of coarse soap and a towel. In the corner nearby was a large wooden tub with more water, sitting directly on the grass.

After lacing the flap of her tent firmly closed, Elanor began to scrub herself clean.

An hour later, Elanor was following a Rohirric soldier towards the same pavilion she had breakfasted in. She had enjoyed the luxury of a thorough bathe, making the most of the plentiful supply of soap and water to scrub herself from top to toe. Whilst it certainly hadn't improved the tangled state of her hair, she felt infinitely better. Her curls were dealt with by a vigorous finger-combing, and neatly braided with the aid of a small and dirty mirror she had discovered. She had dressed in a long-sleeved shirt of soft cream and tan breeches, overlaid with a steel blue tunic. Compared to her old lifestyle, such a method of bathing was absolutely pitiful. After months living in a medieval society, a careful sponge-bath seemed luxurious.

As they approached the tent, Elanor noticed the sides had been rolled up to admit the midday sun. The air was still cold, but the warm rays certainly lessened the bite of the mountain air.

Éowyn was seated at the table when Elanor arrived, her eyes scanning swiftly over several documents. When she caught sight of her guest, she placed them to one side and stood.

Both women repeated the civilities of earlier that morning, and Éowyn dismissed the soldier who had escorted Elanor with a nod.

The Lady of Rohan gave her a cool smile.

"You appear refreshed, Lady Elanor. I take it you had good rest?"

"Very good," Elanor nodded, in reply. Éowyn moved to one end of the table, where their lunch was waiting. In a few deft movements, she had gathered up the various dishes and carried them to where Elanor sat.

"I hope you do not mind that we have none to wait on us," she said, offering the loaf of bread to Elanor.

"Not at all. I have spent many weeks in the saddle, sleeping rough and without ceremony. I think having a chair and table is quite overwhelming enough," Elanor smiled.

Éowyn responded in kind, though her lips scarcely moved and she seemed clouded with sorrow and responsibility once more. Her movements were not unfriendly, but neither were they warm. Had Elanor not been privy to The Lord of the Rings, she would have thought Éowyn extremely chilly and distant. As it was, she saw beneath the icy facade. Elanor realised she'd harboured secret hopes of finding a friend in the Rohirric woman, and she was determined to try and reach her for her own sake. It was not that Éowyn was unobliging or silent, but that all of her words were touched by a biting frost.

How was it that Tolkien described her? Fair and cold… like a morning of pale spring that is not yet come to womanhood… he's got a knack for capturing people in a few words… or is she like this because he wrote it so? Gee, that could be a philosophical quandary!

Still, it was easier to focus on drawing Éowyn out than the homesickness and multitude of other problems fluttering in the back of Elanor's consciousness.

"King Théoden is your uncle, isn't he?" she asked, though it was a question she already knew the answer to.

"Yes; my father was Éomund, and my mother Theodwyn, sister to the king. I have dwelled in my uncle's house since I was a small child, when my parents died." She spoke with detached neutrality, seemingly unaffected by the sorrowful memories.

"I am sorry for your loss," Elanor said, gently. "I know something of that feeling."

Éowyn lifted her grey eyes from her meal, studying her companion with a calculating stare.

"I also lost both my parents," proffered Elanor, after the silence grew heavy. "I believe I told you that I come from an island to the south, and until but recently I dwelt there with my mother, father and sister." When Éowyn seemed to expect an explanation for their deaths, Elanor said shortly, "We were waylaid upon the road by wild-men."

"A foul people, more animal than human."

"Indeed."

"And you have wintered with the Elves since then?"

"Yes. In Rivendell. It is beautiful there," Elanor smiled, thinking on the wondrous gardens and merry faces of the Elves therein.

Much nicer than thinking of how my parents and sister were killed! Bit of a grisly story, but that seems to be the way of things here.

"And what of the beauty of the south?" Éowyn asked, cool grey eyes moving beyond the pavilion to the view which stretched below. "The Riddermark is wild, and it's people noble and proud. Great plains we have, and mountains also; mighty tree, endless grass, swift-flowing river. You have seen but a glimpse of the magnificence of the Westfold, and ere long the Eorlingas ride east, to war." At this she paused, and in her profile Elanor could read deep longing. "And yet, mighty men and tall come hither from the North in your company, Lady Elanor," she continued, smoothing her features and turning back to the other woman. "Pray, tell me of these Rangers of the North, for greatly do I desire to hear of those so lordly as they make the greatest amongst the Rohirrim appear as children."

That, she realised, was code for, "tell me about Aragorn." For an instant, Elanor was tempted to tell Éowyn a few home truths, particularly with regard to her foster-sister's romance with the king-to-be.

But will bluntness do anything more than chip and crack ice? You'll only destroy her trust if you charge ahead and tell her she should stop mooning over Aragorn and that she's going to fall in love with Faramir soon anyway!

"The Dúnedain?"

"Yea, Lady Elanor; and of your Elvish companions I would hear more also, for those whom claim kinship with you as foster-brothers are proud and stern also."

"The Dúnedain are, I believe, the remnants of the North-kingdom of Arnor, once associated with Gondor," began Elanor, slowly. "I did not travel much in the north, so I don't know very much about where the Dúnedain live, exactly, or if they have cities at all. The land is decaying, and even though many of those men claim kinship with the Steward of Gondor and the old line of Kings, they are—well, what is left of the kingdom is a group of hardened men in grey cloaks. It is not bright or splendid, as of old. They defend the free lands to the north from evil. There are several hobbits who travelled with the company who live nearby, under the protection of the Rangers."

Éowyn nodded slowly, though she frowned slightly. "Hobbits? You surely do not mean halfling folk? I have not heard of such a people, save in myth and legend!"

"The very same. Except they aren't out of legend, but quite real, and I am well acquainted with several of them," Elanor laughed, as she made use of the pause to consume another mouthful of her lunch. "In fact, one of them—Merry—is on his way here with King Théoden as we speak."

"Indeed?" Éowyn inquired, appearing moved by a measure of interest.

Elanor nodded as she chewed and swallowed. "Quite. They are a cheerful, hardy folk, and very tough, for though they look small one should not underestimate them," she added, wondering how near she dared approach the concept of Merry going to war with Éowyn.

"A people of great valour, then?"

"Well, not exactly. Many have accomplished feats which are incredible considering their size, for they're less than four feet tall, as a rule. But they are hardly a warlike people. In fact, those hobbits I do know who ventured far afield were regarded as shameful and peculiar."

For a moment the two women looked at each other, before Éowyn said simply, "The Rohirrim are a warlike people, Lady Elanor, and none so much as the House of Eorl."

"I can see as much."

Éowyn turned to gaze outwards from the pavilion once more. "And I am fated to see it's ruin and disgrace," she whispered, so low that Elanor barely caught it.

And now we come to the crux of the matter.

"Disgraced, Lady Éowyn?"

The woman laughed bitterly, the sound colder than a howling gale. "Aye indeed, Elanor of Imladris."

Elanor hesitated, before throwing caution to the wind.

"Do you speak of your uncle's sickness?"

For half a moment, she thought Éowyn might slap her. A cold fire kindled in her eyes, flickering bitter and grey, before being extinguished as swiftly as it had come. Then she rose from her chair, moving with proud grace until she stood facing Harrowdale. Her back was tall and straight, like an iron rod. She remained there, her hands clenched at her sides, before she sighed.

Worried that she had offended her, Elanor pushed back her chair and was just moving forward when Éowyn spoke again.

"From whence does hope come, lady?"

Elanor halted mid-stride, caught unawares by the question.

Why on earth is she asking me these things? I'm a complete stranger!

Yes, and one of the few people she is able to speak with! Remember, she's tended her uncle and king for years with little joy or company, and she doesn't have any female immediate family. Is it so crazy she talks to someone who's done the things she longs to do? Travelled far from home? Accompanied a war party south? And turned down the chance to ride with Aragorn? Remember, he forbade her from going! Even Elladan and Elrohir would have allowed you to go, if you really wanted to!

Éowyn turned, her steely eyes boring into Elanor.

Seized by a sudden impulse, she moved forward until she stood eye to eye with the Rohirric woman. Éowyn had the advantage of height, but Elanor was only an inch shorter. Resisting the peculiar urge to laugh, she reached out and grasped the other woman's shoulder:

"There is always hope."

If she had expected a great display of emotion from the stern shield-maiden, she was to be disappointed. Éowyn gave a brief nod and Elanor removed her hand.

"And yet, the light of hope is dim and distant in these times," the former said, one side of her mouth quirking slightly. "It seems you are closer to it's source than I."

Well, you know, it helps having read a book which tells precisely how this whole thing will work out. Also, I just quoted one of Aragorn's most famous movie lines, and you didn't bat an eyelid. Georgia would be killing herself laughing right now…

"I am sure that there is good to come," Elanor smiled, green eyes twinkling as she recalled the last time she'd watched The Lord of the Rings with her sister. "And I hope you can believe as much too."

Éowyn's eyes were grave, but she smiled then.

"You are well-assured, Lady Elanor."

"There are many mighty men who fight on our side, Lady Éowyn," she reminded her, "and Lord Aragorn is but one. The Dúnedain cannot be counted by mere numbers, for they are valiant, and though I am quite biased towards my foster-brothers, the Elves are still mighty in this age. Not to mention there is a host of Rohirrim assembling to march to war!"

"To war! The province of men, where they might freely seek renown," cried the shield-maiden, and Elanor quickly attempted to steer the conversation out of such dangerous territory.

"Renown in battle is not everything, Lady Éowyn. Come, sit; we haven't finished eating, and I confess I am hungry after travelling on short rations for several weeks."

Éowyn smiled slightly at that.

"You are as stern as steel, Lady Elanor, to travel so far with such a mighty company."

Elanor could not help the laughter which bubbled up.

"Stern as steel? No indeed! That's an apt description for yourself, I'm sure. I, on the other hand, have been out of my depth since I departed from Rivendell, and am profoundly thankful to find myself here safely with you." Even if you are going to sneak into the army in two days and either leave me here alone, or drag me on with you!

Éowyn studied her for a moment, though much of the sharpness was gone from her glance. "Do not count yourself so low, Lady Elanor. You are evidently held in high regard by your companions."

Elanor laughed again. "Perhaps, though they would have to say that whilst I was around. Now I am going to be frank with you; I have precious few female friends, save my foster-sister. I have not seen my blood-sister in months, and I am rather tired of being called 'Lady Elanor' at every moment. My closest companions have just departed on a perilous errand, and if you could call me plain 'Elanor' I would appreciate it very much. I am in dire need of a friend."

"You know much of the world," remarked Éowyn, after a brief pause. The pair had returned to the table, and Elanor had dropped her gaze to her meal after her speech. She hoped fervently she hadn't discomfited the other woman by the display of vulnerability. "You have travelled far, and are wise in speech and glance." Éowyn paused, and when Elanor glanced up from her bread she was wearing a weary smile. "Few friends have I possessed in recent years, for my uncle's illness has made me a thrall at his bedside. To Gandalf do I owe great thanks, for he has freed me from the burden that duty pressed upon me. And yet—" She broke off.

Elanor didn't quite know what to do, amazed that Éowyn was being so forthright.

"I asked you to share a meal with me, for I believed you to be one whom I might speak directly to. You do not speak of frivolities," she added, an almost playful smile tugging at her lips. "I am grateful for that, and should be glad to count you a friend."

"Frivolities?" laughed Elanor. "Perhaps in past, but not anymore. Surviving is trouble enough!"

Éowyn returned to her own meal then, expression considerably lighter than before.

She's still going to take a while to thaw out, but at least she's willing to act as friends!

"Your brother is a Marshal, isn't he?" Elanor asked, taking some more bread and ham.

This brought Éowyn's warmest smile yet. "Indeed; Éomer is Third Marshal of the Mark. He has earned such an honour, for he is a shrewd commander, and leads the men well. Have you met him already?"

"Yes, at Helm's Deep, but only briefly. I came on with the Grey Company, but I should like to speak with him again." She bit into the bread and ham, chewing and swallowing before she spoke again. "I envy you a brother. I had only my younger sister, Georgia. You would have liked her a great deal."

"Would you tell me of her?" Éowyn asked.

"She is…" Elanor paused, wondering just how to sum up her little sister to the noble lady before her. In truth, Éowyn had been Georgia's favourite heroine for many years, and there was a certain resemblance between the two. Both had spirit and fire, and wouldn't stand for being left behind while the men went out to fight. They were both physically capable and fearless, something Elanor had always envied her sister for. She hadn't been uncoordinated exactly, but Georgia had the grit, determination and vigour which would have appealed to Éowyn. Elanor half-wished Georgia was there instead at that moment, for she would have handled the Lady of Rohan far better. Not to mention she knew Éowyn's story inside and out, and had always idolised the tall blonde woman.

"She is quick and merry," Elanor managed at last, managing a small smile past the flood of melancholy recollections. "She has great spirit and strength, and is courageous and clever. We're almost opposites actually; she is spontaneous and carefree, and I like planning and organisation and structure." She laughed ruefully at that, her eyes unfocused as she dwelt in memory. "I was always second-best in every contest to Georgia, and she formed friendships so easily. She is also clever, and extremely beautiful; curly hair, but darker than mine, and she has hazel eyes. A little shorter, but wiry, and nimble. Goodness, I always envied her for her figure! Kind too, always thinking of other people, and generous almost to a fault."

"You speak as if she lives still," remarked Éowyn quietly, as Elanor faltered.

She smiled blearily.

"To me, she does. She was irascible and feckless at times, but always the—always the most lively person at any gathering." When Éowyn was not forthcoming with another comment, Elanor smiled. "Just before... well... I was frustrated that Georgia was taking so long to farewell a group of friends, when I wanted to continue. I cannot believe that she is gone, nor say 'was' or 'used to be'."

Careful, you're wandering to dangerous territory!

"That is a sad tale."

"Yes, though I have been fortunate in the friends I have found."

Éowyn nodded, and refrained from pushing the issue. "Georgia is a peculiar name, not one I have heard before. What is it's origin?"

"Gosh, I don't know," she laughed, harrying her nostalgia away. "Though it is the feminine form of George. We have had many kings with that name."

"I see. Who rules your land, La—Elanor?" She smiled fleetingly at the almost-slip.

"We have a queen at the moment; Queen Elizabeth."

Imagine if I had to try and explain the prime ministers… especially the Gillard-Rudd and Abbott-Turnbull leadership scandals.

"A queen?"

"Yes, we have been ruled by a queen for over sixty years," Elanor smiled, seeing the excitement that such a statement inspired in her new friend. "She is a sweet, little thing, and very old now. Her grandson has married recently, and has two heirs."

"It is peculiar that women are permitted to rule in your land," mused Éowyn.

"I suppose it is, though I was raised believing it to be normal."

Éowyn would have made the best 21st-century feminist… if I ever get back, maybe I'll take her with me…

"You are fortunate."

Elanor grinned. "Indeed I am, though amongst the Elves women are considered equal in every respect. Elleths, female Elves, are more inclined towards healing and such rather than battle, but they are well-trained nonetheless."

Éowyn looked deeply envious at this, and she shook her head. "I admit I begrudge you such luxuries. Come, though; we have lingered long, and the day grows older!"

"Yes, we've been here for quite some time," Elanor replied, pushing her plate away. "I have not seen my horse since I arrived last night. Would I be able to go and visit him now?"

"Naturally; I shall take you to him."

The two women departed the pavilion, walking stride-for-stride. Éowyn angled to the western side of the meadow, and Elanor caught sight of a group of tethered horses. It took her a moment to locate Fundanár, for the Rohirrim had many chestnuts and bays amongst their mounts. She discovered her doe-eyed gelding at the end of the second line, after weaving amongst the unfamiliar horses for a few minutes.

Fundanár raised an intelligent head when Elanor drew near and nickered low. He had a white blaze stretching from forelock to muzzle, and his ears pricked eagerly.

"Here is a magnificent steed, worthy of a prince!" cried Éowyn, though she held back as Elanor greeted her horse. "Truly, the mounts of the Elves are worthy of admiration, even amongst the Horse-lords!"

Elanor smiled broadly, a proud flush staining her cheeks as she pressed her hand against Fundanár's forehead. He pushed against her affectionately, shifting slightly on his slender hooves. She felt a deep sense of satisfaction in having such a wonderful horse, and an even greater enjoyment knowing she had improved dramatically in her horsemanship. For once, she felt confident that she could have bested Georgia in a contest.

"He is beautiful, isn't he? I was given him to ride when we left Rivendell, and he has been an invaluable companion on the journey." She turned to Éowyn, smiling. "Please, come meet him. He is as gentle as a lamb, and as clever as a fox!"

Having received permission, Éowyn moved forward with a pleased expression. She rubbed the gelding's forehead, before slipping her hand down his neck and to his shoulder. Moving around him, she inspected his legs, back, shoulders and hindquarters.

"What do you think?" laughed Elanor, glad to find some more common ground with the woman.

"He would rival the destriers of the greatest riders," Éowyn admitted, with a half-grin. "What is he called?"

"Fundanár, which means 'thundering fire' in the tongue of the High Elves," replied Elanor, glad she had spent some time perusing a few Quenya translations before leaving Rivendell.

"An apt name; he is the colour of flames upon the hearth." Éowyn's gaze flickered up and down his tall form.

Fundanár snorted at this, his mane flopping carelessly. The woman's words were true, for he was a bright blood chestnut, and the light gleamed pleasantly on his silky coat. His mane was slightly lighter, having flaxen highlights. Elanor had never seen such a glorious chestnut coat before, though she supposed it was because of his Elvish ancestry.

"You are most fortunate to own such a steed," admitted Éowyn, a touch of envy in her voice. "Horses are prized above all else in the Riddermark, and many a Rider should give his right hand to own this one. Be careful, or my brother may just take him from you!"

Elanor chuckled, scratching Fundanár's jaw. "He shall have to answer to Lord Elrond then, for I doubt he is truly mine."

"He is of a different bloodstock to our horses. See his slender lines?" Éowyn ran a practiced hand down the inside of his leg. "He is far less sturdy than our warhorses, though he is large enough."

Elanor nodded, for the gelding was well over sixteen hands in her estimate. She turned to survey the other horses picketed nearby; all were powerful beasts, as tall as Fundanár but heavier set, as Éowyn had remarked.

"All the Elvish horses are built so, though the Elves are lighter and carry less armour than men, I suppose," Elanor shrugged, reaching out to scratch a docile grey standing nearby.

"Indeed."

They stood in silence for a time, Elanor delighted to have found the other woman's soft spot. After a few minutes Éowyn met her gaze across Fundanár's withers.

"Would you like to meet Windfola, Elanor?"

"Certainly," she replied, with a sparkle. Éowyn turned and led her further along the picket-lines, halting before a mighty grey.

As they approached, Éowyn gave a low whistle. The big grey stallion raised his head, and Elanor marvelled at his size and strength. Where Fundanár was slim and graceful, Windfola was broad across the chest and with great, muscular quarters. He reached his nose out towards Éowyn as she approached, greeting the horse with quiet dignity.

Realising that the Rohirrim were precious with their horses, Elanor waited at a distance until Éowyn turned to her.

"He is proud, but gentle," she said, one arm resting upon his neck.

Elanor approached at an even pace, holding her palm outstretched to the mighty stallion. He was a dark iron-grey, but something in his build and bearing reminded her of movie-Shadowfax.

"He is wonderful," she admitted, truthfully. As much as Éowyn had gushed over Fundanár, she realised that Windfola was easily his equal.

"He is one of the mearas, the descendants of Felaróf."

"Then it is no wonder!" Elanor laughed. "Though I did not know of any mearas besides Shadowfax, Gandalf's steed."

"It is a wonder you know of the mearas at all, Elanor—you are indeed full of strange knowledge," frowned Éowyn. "None may ride the descendants of Felaróf save the King, and his heirs. Snowmane, uncle's horse, has a greater lineage than Windfola, and a closer kinship with Shadowfax, the greatest of their number in this age."

"Well, Windfola is magnificent," said Elanor, decidedly, hoping to distract Éowyn from her unusual knowledge of all things Middle Earth. Feeling rather mischievous, she added, "He would easily carry two riders."

Éowyn frowned thoughtfully, her grey eyes clouded. Then she nodded. "Perhaps, were the riders not laden with overly heavy armour…"

Grinning into Windfola's neck, Elanor felt a rush of triumph. At this rate, Éowyn would still be charging into battle with Merry before her, despite her interference. As much as she hated seeing the other woman so unhappy, she knew it was integral that Éowyn kill the Witch-king outside Minas Tirith. Apart from saving Boromir, she could think of no other changes which would benefit the story. The prospect of egging the other woman on to fight was not a pleasant one, however.

People die in war, and much as been changed; if I alter things too much, Éowyn may not survive the battle. And as understanding as my foster-family is, I can imagine even merry Glorfindel holding me to account if I were responsible for her death…

Making her mind up to speak with Éowyn about it more directly later, Elanor continued rubbing Windfola's dappled neck. A soft smile touched her face, her troubles far away as she enjoyed what little pleasure was left in the world.

And there you have more on Lady Éowyn!

I hope you like her characterisation thus far. It's hard to find a balance; I want her to be the kind of fun girl-friend Elanor could be light-hearted with, but to remain true to the books there's a certain coolness that she has to carry as well. However, rest assured that there is plenty of fun to be had between Éowyn and Elanor in future! What's a Girl in Middle Earth without her confidante? :P

I am sorry that this chapter is so much dialogue, and so little action; there will definitely be more of that later. I think you may even get a bit of Glorfindel POV in the next chapter! Huzzah.

Anyways, this scene takes place on the 8th March, and the Rohirrim depart on the 10th. Action and adventure coming soon!

Thanks for your patience,

Finwe.