Chapter 3
Journey to Edoras
Late August, 3002
I sat in a cramped carriage between Éomer and Éomer's trunk. A sliver of window was still visible on my right side, allowing me to glimpse the vanishing settlement of Aldburg behind me. Bircwine sat across from us, atop a trunk and surrounded by two more. She dabbed at her face with a green-tinged sleeve and cleared her nose loudly, her bloodshot eyes squinted in grief. Her mistress was dead, and now she must leave Aldburg and her fellow, Hunig. They had planned to wed in the early Autumn. I would have been happy to leave her in the Eastfold, for she reminded me of my mother and father constantly, always comparing us to them. But Éomer insisted on bringing her.
I craned my neck to see more of the lush plains rolling by. Though the land was very flat, the carriage bounced and jolted us back and forth. We headed for the road that connected Minas Tirith with the courts of Edoras. The road lay due South, but we still had the River Entwash to cross and so many more leagues of green grasses and wildflowers...
Éomer began to snore loudly. I sighed, feeling a strange mixture of sadness, excitement, and security. I was, of course, still pained by the loss of my parents. But I was with Éomer and Bircwine in this carriage, the coachman out front with two of the King's knights, in leather armor, clutching swords at their sides. I had never felt safer.
Yet the mystery of what lay before me was intoxicating: our fædera, uncle, had sent for us the be brought to the Courts. It was to be our home now, the city Edoras, of which men constantly spoke. Papa was always giving the news from Edoras at the supper table, his voice rising excitedly when somethig the King had said pleased him. Mother would always smile at the mention of King Théoden, for he was her brother. And now Éomer and I were to live in his house with his son, the Prince Théodred.
The sun was setting pink over the plains, I saw out my window. The horses had slowed to a strolling walk. I heard the soft voices of the King's men conversing, probably of the Sorcerer in his tower to the North-west and Mordor to the East. I drifted off to sleep...
The King stood on the plains before us. I was dressed in Mother's regal crimson gown, holding a star in my hands. I threw it into the sky but Éomer caught it and ran ahead of me. I ran too, but tripped on my skirts and fell down, down, into the arms of the King, who had no face but dragged me to a great house where a man stood. It was Papa! I ran to him, but then he changed, now a man with greasy yellow-gray hair and mossy teeth, wrapped in sweaty furs. He grabbed my arm and pulled me over to him--
There was a roar, so close to the carriage. My head snapped up from its resting place on Éomer's trunk. I saw one of the King's men spring up from the ground. He loosed an arrow into the distance; I could not see his target but heard its low, guttural laugh as it dodged the arrow and loosed its own, which flew through the air with an audible hiss and thunk as it hit the wooden carriage. The iron tip just barely stuck through above my head. Biting down a scream I clung to Éomer's arm, his grey eyes alert and awake. Bircwine was stiff with fear, face pale and teeth chattering.
The Uruks have come from the North, these are no Orcs... she stared out the window. Still I could olnly see the archer, who had now drawn his sword. With a sudden, quick motion I saw him thrust forward and heard the Uruk's moan of pain. I almost pitied him, alone without his horrible kin in the East Emnet, dying. Until I heard him cough and splutter out,
Die, Strawheads! You and your country are not long for this world!
He had used the old Dunlending taunt about the Rohirrim's golden hair. Well, he certainly could have done better than that, I thought. Strawheads, pssht. I fingered my hair protectively. It was much preferable to his matted stringy head, which now lay where I could see it. He was not so hideous as the Aldburg boys had made the Uruks out to be. Then I realized they had probably never seen an Uruk before and had made it all up. We were all too familiar with the smaller, sinewy version of this great beast, the Mordor Orc. I shuddered. Tonight had been a close encounter.
Our crossing of the River Entwash was easy, and the lands that were still to be corssed between the River and the Road went by quickly. The Road made travel much easier, and soon we were passing small villages filled with cheerful folk going about their daily tasks. They were all so loose in their movements, laughing with one another and chattering absentmindedly. I heard the weaver-women chanting loudly to the rhythm of their looms as we passed. Children ran after one another in the grasses and young men could be seen in the nearby fields racing on their horses. So this is the Westfold, I thought jealously. They have no idea what dangers lie so close to them. They do not know death like we do in the Eastfold.
These villages, I soon learned, were the very outskirts of Edoras. The population grew denser as we curled around the edges of the Ered Nimrais and approached the great hill where the city stood. My heart jumped. We were almost to my new home.
I wondered if we were to live in the great building on the very top. I assumed so, for it looked grander and more majestic than any I had ever seen before. Its thatched roof gleamed in the morning sun like pure gold. The carriage lurched and threw us back to our seats as we made the ascent up the hill past the gates of the city. I saw clouds of my favorite flower, simbelmynë, atop great mounds alongside the paths. Éomer pointed out the tiny window, noticing the direction of my gaze.
The mounds of the Kings of Rohan, he explained. They say the simbelmynë grows thicker upon the mounds of the dead royalty than anywhere else in Rohan.
If I had stood upon a mound I would have been knee-deep in the joyful white blossoms. But then, my knees were a mere seven years' s distance from the ground. I thought it strange that such a happy flower should grow on the mounds of the departed.
Through the cobbled streets the carriage twisted. I felt encased in wood and stone. It was so different from the open arms of the Eastfold that I suddenly felt a surge of doubt. How could I lived encaged in this city like a beast behind bars?
Look at that! Éomer exclaimed, shaking my shoulder and pointing ahead. The immense building stood atop the highest part of the hill, directly above the narrow street we trundled through presently. I saw its pillars, engraved with intertwined dragons and grasses in a decorative knot design. Men in gleaming helmets and leather armor, spears in hand, stood before a pair of great wooden doors. It seemed from a distance that every inch of the building was carved elaborately with designs of intricately woven strands curling and bending. I could not see the golden roof now from the carriage's position below the high cliff. To my surprise, the carriage came to a rolling halt and with one last smack of the back of my head on the wooden seat, we had arrived.
Creakily I stood and banged my head on the low ceiling of the carriage. The King's man who had not slain the Uruk opened the door and was hit by a trunk that had been leaning against it. In this clumsy way all three of us left the carriage where we had spent the past couple days.
We were led up a wide stone stairway further along down the path that looked directly up to the pillared structure, the knights standing stock-still with their piercing eyes gazing down at us. With a nod from the knights at the door to our escorts, we passed through the immense entryway to a great hall with a high ceiling. Its very size took my small breath away. Tapestries hung on the walls, some of ancient Rohirric stories I knew from songs and others that were completely new to me. In the center of the hall was a glowing hearth, whose smoke drifted lazily to a small patch of blue sky inthe ceiling, as small as my little fingernail in its height. On either side of the main open space were more engraved pillars, behind which were the tapestry-laden walls.
Before I could really take in the size of the main portion of the hall, the knights led us to the end of the room, where a few stairs led up to a dais. A kindly-looking man with dusky blond hair and a golden headpiece sat in an elaborately engraved oak chair, his hands folded placidly. His eyes lit up as we approached, as if we had surprised him with our arrival. I knew full well he had expected us; why would a King laze around in a chair all alone otherwise? He smiled, and I suddenly felt very small. I glanced nervously at Éomer, but he did not return my look and instead walked up and bowed to the King. He motioned for me to come as well. I gave an awkward tilt of my head forward, trying to imitate Éomer.
You were supposed to curtsey, goose, he hissed, trying to suppress a smile. I flushed and stared at the stone floor while Bircwine dropped into a graceful curtsey. The King began to chuckle softly as my face grew hotter and hotter.
Do not feel ashamed, child. I am your fædera, and I shall not judge you based on your curtseying abilities. I looked up for a moment, and saw that he smiled still. He put his hand on my shoulder, looking into my face.
Éowyn Éomundsdohtor. You are the image of your mother's mother. My mother, Morwen of Lossarnach. He switched his gaze to Éomer. You, Éomer Éomundssunu, you are more like to Éomund himself. A strong warrior you will one day be. He leaned back, reminiscing.
Folk have said I resemble my father, Éomer piped up suddenly. He gave me a look, prompting me to say something.
I, ah... yes, that is quite true, Éomer. Oh, why did I not have something to say! Anything just to prove to the King we were not deaf and dumb. I looked down at the floor again. Awkwardly quiet moments passed, until the King looked out from his reverie and broke the silence.
I sense that you both are still quite nervous. Very understandable; this room is quite daunting, is it not? he waved his hand in front of him. I nodded vaguely. Ah, look, children, now you may meet with my son, the Prince Théodred. Théodred, here are you cousins--nay, your brother and sister, for they are as good as son and daughter to me. A young man had entered the hall from an archway inthe corner. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with the same dusky blond hair as his father. A trace of stubble grew on his face. He smiled as he saw us, and sank into a deep bow. This time I attempted a return curtsey and almost lost my balance. I noticed Bircwine blushed profusely as Théodred bowed to her as well. So much for Hunig.
he said jovially, and clasped our hands. Let that be the first and last bow between us, brother and sister. Much too stuffy for kin, in my opinion.
He had a way for making us feel at ease. After barely a few minutes, the King (who had insisted that we address him as Fædera Théoden and not Your Highness) had brought us to the dining room where we ate our midday meal. We were conversing easily soon enough, for Fædera Théoden and Théodred had bombarded us with questions about life in the East Emnet. It was pleasant to speak of what we knew while dining with two men who seemed to chew, swallow and digest our words along with the food they ate. Fædera Théoden especially wished to know about his sister and how she had lived before her untimely death. Though we all shed many tears, I found the pain ebbing away as I spoke of her ritual of braiding my hair every morning, how she raged the time Éomer had led me to the Wall on the back of Berhtberie once and back, how she would always beg of me to act like a proper lady. We laughed, and I felt suddenly welcome in a new and much grander house.