Lady of Gondor Ch Twenty-One - The Long Night
(Warning: Return of the King spoilers; fairly graphic description of wartime situations.)
Mid-March 3019; Dunharrow
---------------------------------
The next morning Éowyn arose early and walked to the armoury. There she found a helm just large enough for her. She looked at the name inscribed inside the rim: "Dernhelm." He had been one of the soldiers who guarded the women and children of this valley, but while the battle of Helm's Deep raged some of the Dunland men had attacked the other mountain strongholds, and Dernhelm had died protecting Dunharrow. _What would you think_, Éowyn wondered, _knowing that I will ride to war wearing your helm? Would you be proud? Most likely not. You died to protect your way of life, where the men ride off to war and the women stay home and weep. But not I._ She wiped the blood from the helm and placed it over her golden hair, now pinned tightly against her head, then fastened her sword to the girdle she wore around the waist of her britches. Now properly dressed in the uniform of a Rider of Rohan, Éowyn went to go join the soldiers preparing to ride to Gondor.
When Théoden and Éomer rode off towards Minas Tirith they had with them two more soldiers than either of them guessed. Besides Éowyn, Merry also rode off to war against the king's command. He had pledged his sword to Théoden at Helm's Deep, but Théoden had ordered him to stay at Dunharrow where he would be safe, using the excuse that he would be a burden and would slow down the rider who had to carry him since he was too short to ride anything bigger than a pony. But Merry rode in secret under the cloak of Dernhelm across the plains and through the woods all the way to Minas Tirith.
They made their way to Minas Tirith at last and fought in the Battle of Pelennor Fields. It was there that Théoden finally shook off the last hindrances of old age as he stood upon the fields of Gondor. He rode across the fields of Pelennor until at last he stood before the Witch-king, the lord of the Black Riders. There death found him, as his horse bolted and collapsed on top of him.
Merry guessed that this Witch-king might be somehow related to the Black Rider that chased his friends across the Shire and had driven them into the Old Forest (which hobbits almost always avoided), and perhaps was the very one that had attacked his cousin Frodo at Weathertop and had been washed away in a flood outside Rivendell. Mellamir knew nothing of all this, but perhaps she could have explained to him why she shuddered at the mention of the name "Angmar" and told him the purpose of the curses that lay on his knife. But it would not have made any difference, if he had known more of why he should fear this witch king; he feared him, and as the elf Gildor had told him way back in the Shire, that was enough.
The Witch-king stooped to carry off the king's body, but Dernhelm stood guard over it. The Witch-king ordered her to move or be killed herself, or worse; yet still Dernhelm refused and said that whoever defiled her king's body, be he man or living undead, would pay for it with his blood. "Fool!" the Witch-king bellowed. "Do you not know who I am? No mortal man can slay me!"
Then Dernhelm took off her helm and tossed it aside, and Merry saw that it was Éowyn. The Witch-king lowered his mace on Éowyn's shield, cloving it in two, breaking her sheild-arm, and bringing her to her knees. All the others around simply stood there, frozen in their fright. _Éowyn ... _Merry thought. _And Théoden dead. What can I do? Just a bag to burden some Rider?_ He started to move but felt fear wash over him like icy water. _No_, he thought to himself at last, _one so fair and brave should not die; or at least she should not die unaided_. He crawled along the ground and as the Witch-king moved to make his final blow Merry took out his small blade and stabbed the Witch-king just below the knee. The Witch-king let out a great cry of anguish, and Éowyn drove her own blade into him. Then as the Witch-king faded and his shadows blew away into the wind, the woman and halfling who had at last killed that great terror collapsed on the field. The battle raged on around them, and it was some time before Éomer found them, and thought them dead.
~*~
Those were dark days in more ways than one, as much in Dunharrow as in far-off Gondor. The sun set that night Théoden arrived at Dunharrow and didn't rise again the next morning. That alone was scary enough for Tova: besides being a small girl still half-scared of the dark, the night reminded her of the night the Uruk-hai attacked her mother and sister, forcing her to run away from home. The other women understood exactly why it was that the army had rode away, but no one explained that to Tova; at least she didn't have a brother or father away in that cavalry. Mellamir was busy from the hour the sun would have risen to the hour it would have set, comforting the women and the children, distributing food (what little food they had; they sorely missed the harvest from the Westfold), and building fires. That first day after the men left Tova followed her everywhere until at last she fell asleep leaning against a bush outside of the lady Lailawyn's house, and Mellamir left her there while she went about her tasks. Everyone who passed by stopped to see this young girl, filthy and exhausted with no bed, but Lailawyn would not let anyone take her into their home because she didn't want to frighten the poor child by having her wake up in a strange house. After that Mellamir let Tova spend her time with Lailawyn's daughters; it was an arrangement Mellamir had had to use in the past, when Théodred died and she had to tend the fire so much of the time, and Tova knew the family and liked them well enough. With Lailawyn looking after Tova, that was one less thing for Mellamir to concern herself with.
But Mellamir's own personal darkness was the worst of all. When she lived in Fangorn Treebeard had taught her to listen to the birds and animals, and now she was glad for that skill, as the birds flying through the air above the Harrowdale sang the news, one to the other. They sang of the Prince Imrahil carrying her brother's near-dead body through the city; of the flames and her father's last cry; of the death of the man who had been more a father to her than any other as his horse fell on him; of one hobbit finding the other and dragging him to the Houses of Healing where Mellamir herself had awoken so many years before; of a wind that blew away the dark and brought mysterious ships; and of Éomer, whom she loved more than any other man, running from the White Tower to the Houses of Healing, crying his sister's name at the top of his lungs. But these were only phantoms of the truth, for even the birds could not see clearly through the dark, and no one around would have believed her news. The women of Rohan put even less trust in birds than Éomer had put in dreams.
Mellamir had no way of knowing how many days had passed in the outside world, but finally the sun rose again. She had slept maybe six times but guessed more than a week must have passed, since she would work herself until she almost collapsed, not having any sun to tell her when it was time to sleep or eat. The people had long since devoured all the fruit and vegetables from that area, and finally on that morning the women of Harrowdale ate the last of their bread. Mellamir, Tova, and as many other women and girls as she could gather went out to the field, carrying any knives and baskets they could find. They cut the grass as near the ground as they could -- waste not, want not -- and gathered it into the baskets, then took it back to Dunharrow and handed it out. So it was fulfilled what the sages wrote long ago, "In the dark days you will live as the beasts of the field; on grass you shall feed your young."
This went on for five days, until they had eaten all the grass that they could find within a day's hike of Dunharrow. It was the seventh day after the sun had returned, and the women still needed food. Mellamir talked long with Lailawyn and the other women about what to do.
"We have come to it, at last," Mellamir said. "You and your children are starving, yet not far from here stand ten horses. They are lean, for we have eaten their grass, but they may feed us yet for a few days. Who will come with me and slaughter one?"
The women were silent for a long time. At last Lailawyn answered matter-of-factly, "We do not eat our horses."
"In normal times, yes, I understand, for they are noble beasts, but --"
"You do not understand, lady of Gondor," Lailawyn answered, a note of hostility creeping into her voice. "My husband was killed by the Orcs several years ago. These Orcs came not from Saruman but from Sauron himself, and they attacked because we refused to trade horses to Mordor. We do not eat our horses."
"It is the choice between that and starving," Mellamir replied once again, as if that should settle the matter. "So who will go with me? Or will your husband have died for naught?"
Lailawyn nodded slowly. She understood. That morning Mellamir and three women went to the fields. There they killed two of the horses and carried the meat back to Dunharrow. This meat they boiled in a soup and served to the people, along with moss the children gathered from the nearby woods. Thus the women and children of Rohan survived for four days until all the horses were slaughtered.
The fifth day was the day of the fiery sky. That afternoon, in the seventh hour, the ground shook and the people heard crashes far away in the distance. Then suddenly the sky turned a brilliant red, starting on the eastern horizon and spreading across the rest of the sky, redder than the hottest fire. Suddenly Mellamir saw a great forest -- no, trees moving! Huorns! -- and then those same Huorns, gashed deep, and some of them burned black as charcoal. And then she was in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith where she saw Éowyn lying, pale as death, and Aragorn bowing beside her, crying into her cold hands. And then two hobbits -- not the two she had met in Isengard, though they wore similar cloaks -- crawling up a tall mountain, one on the others' back; and finally one lay near the top of the mountain, his hand badly bleeding, the other trying desperately to wake him, and an eagle circling overhead.
And then Mellamir was back in Dunharrow. It had all been a dream, or a vision, and she didn't know what it meant. But she knew what she had to do. She had to get to Minas Tirith, but she didn't know how. Was it safe to cross the plains, all by herself? Even if she had a horse; but she had killed Rimsul to feed the people.
She looked north, up to the mountains that she knew stood between her and Fangorn, and she thought of all he had taught her of Manwë and Elbereth and the other Valar. She closed her eyes and said quietly to herself, "Oh, Powers beyond the Seas, I have never needed you like I do now. But now I do. Please, help me." She did not really know what she expected, but certainly not the answer she got: a man riding full speed out through the mountains.
"Fengel!" she shouted, recognizing him as an old friend of Éomer's who had ridden with him to Gondor. "Where is Lord Éomer?"
"Silence, my lady. I have urgent news." He paused, caught his breath, then continued, "Éomer sent me to find you. This was ten days hence. I rode to Pelarnir in Lebennim, then through the Paths of the Dead. Lord Aragorn released the dead from their curse, so the paths are now open. He sent me with this message: Sauron attacked Minas Tirith, but we fought him back. Denethor died of madness in a fire, and Théoden was killed by the witch king. Éowyn, Faramir, and Merry are all also near death, and they lie in the Houses of Healing in your city. Éomer has led the Rohirrim in battle to the Black Gates of Mordor, accompanied by Aragorn and all the armies of Gondor, and also with Elladan and Elrohir, his company of rangers, Legolas, Gimli, Pippin, and Gandalf -- yes, they are all safe, or were when I departed. I bring you a horse. Éomer asks that you ride to Minas Tirith as soon as you can, if not sooner, to nurse your brother and his sister. Gondor is as safe now as anywhere, even though the great gate has fallen."
"The great gate!" Mellamir cried. "It must have been a terrible battle, then. Worse than you are letting on."
"Aye," Fengel replied. "But the time for fear is past. You see the red in the sky." He motioned vaguely all around, for indeed the whole sky was still tinted with red. "Either all is won, or all is lost. Ride! Ride to your brother."
"But what of the people? They need food..."
"Look around you, Lady Mellamir," Fengel answered. "The animals that fled are already returning. And I bring three horses laden with grain. Éomer knew that you did not have food, and he has sent a gift from Gondor, for Saruman has not been burning their crops like he did ours. They are just over that last mountain; I wanted to bring you the news before I took the time to lead them over. Now ride!"
Mellamir did not need to be told again. She left Fengel to watch over Dunharrow and made for the Paths of the Dead. The stone pillars that had marked the entrance were now crumbling, but they were as dark as they were when Aragorn had rode through them two weeks earlier.
_Only stories_, she thought to herself. At last she steled her courage and rode toward the entrance. When her horse did not hesitate, however, her chest relaxed. "Giddyap!" she said, and her horse rode full speed into that long-forbidden pass.
(Warning: Return of the King spoilers; fairly graphic description of wartime situations.)
Mid-March 3019; Dunharrow
---------------------------------
The next morning Éowyn arose early and walked to the armoury. There she found a helm just large enough for her. She looked at the name inscribed inside the rim: "Dernhelm." He had been one of the soldiers who guarded the women and children of this valley, but while the battle of Helm's Deep raged some of the Dunland men had attacked the other mountain strongholds, and Dernhelm had died protecting Dunharrow. _What would you think_, Éowyn wondered, _knowing that I will ride to war wearing your helm? Would you be proud? Most likely not. You died to protect your way of life, where the men ride off to war and the women stay home and weep. But not I._ She wiped the blood from the helm and placed it over her golden hair, now pinned tightly against her head, then fastened her sword to the girdle she wore around the waist of her britches. Now properly dressed in the uniform of a Rider of Rohan, Éowyn went to go join the soldiers preparing to ride to Gondor.
When Théoden and Éomer rode off towards Minas Tirith they had with them two more soldiers than either of them guessed. Besides Éowyn, Merry also rode off to war against the king's command. He had pledged his sword to Théoden at Helm's Deep, but Théoden had ordered him to stay at Dunharrow where he would be safe, using the excuse that he would be a burden and would slow down the rider who had to carry him since he was too short to ride anything bigger than a pony. But Merry rode in secret under the cloak of Dernhelm across the plains and through the woods all the way to Minas Tirith.
They made their way to Minas Tirith at last and fought in the Battle of Pelennor Fields. It was there that Théoden finally shook off the last hindrances of old age as he stood upon the fields of Gondor. He rode across the fields of Pelennor until at last he stood before the Witch-king, the lord of the Black Riders. There death found him, as his horse bolted and collapsed on top of him.
Merry guessed that this Witch-king might be somehow related to the Black Rider that chased his friends across the Shire and had driven them into the Old Forest (which hobbits almost always avoided), and perhaps was the very one that had attacked his cousin Frodo at Weathertop and had been washed away in a flood outside Rivendell. Mellamir knew nothing of all this, but perhaps she could have explained to him why she shuddered at the mention of the name "Angmar" and told him the purpose of the curses that lay on his knife. But it would not have made any difference, if he had known more of why he should fear this witch king; he feared him, and as the elf Gildor had told him way back in the Shire, that was enough.
The Witch-king stooped to carry off the king's body, but Dernhelm stood guard over it. The Witch-king ordered her to move or be killed herself, or worse; yet still Dernhelm refused and said that whoever defiled her king's body, be he man or living undead, would pay for it with his blood. "Fool!" the Witch-king bellowed. "Do you not know who I am? No mortal man can slay me!"
Then Dernhelm took off her helm and tossed it aside, and Merry saw that it was Éowyn. The Witch-king lowered his mace on Éowyn's shield, cloving it in two, breaking her sheild-arm, and bringing her to her knees. All the others around simply stood there, frozen in their fright. _Éowyn ... _Merry thought. _And Théoden dead. What can I do? Just a bag to burden some Rider?_ He started to move but felt fear wash over him like icy water. _No_, he thought to himself at last, _one so fair and brave should not die; or at least she should not die unaided_. He crawled along the ground and as the Witch-king moved to make his final blow Merry took out his small blade and stabbed the Witch-king just below the knee. The Witch-king let out a great cry of anguish, and Éowyn drove her own blade into him. Then as the Witch-king faded and his shadows blew away into the wind, the woman and halfling who had at last killed that great terror collapsed on the field. The battle raged on around them, and it was some time before Éomer found them, and thought them dead.
~*~
Those were dark days in more ways than one, as much in Dunharrow as in far-off Gondor. The sun set that night Théoden arrived at Dunharrow and didn't rise again the next morning. That alone was scary enough for Tova: besides being a small girl still half-scared of the dark, the night reminded her of the night the Uruk-hai attacked her mother and sister, forcing her to run away from home. The other women understood exactly why it was that the army had rode away, but no one explained that to Tova; at least she didn't have a brother or father away in that cavalry. Mellamir was busy from the hour the sun would have risen to the hour it would have set, comforting the women and the children, distributing food (what little food they had; they sorely missed the harvest from the Westfold), and building fires. That first day after the men left Tova followed her everywhere until at last she fell asleep leaning against a bush outside of the lady Lailawyn's house, and Mellamir left her there while she went about her tasks. Everyone who passed by stopped to see this young girl, filthy and exhausted with no bed, but Lailawyn would not let anyone take her into their home because she didn't want to frighten the poor child by having her wake up in a strange house. After that Mellamir let Tova spend her time with Lailawyn's daughters; it was an arrangement Mellamir had had to use in the past, when Théodred died and she had to tend the fire so much of the time, and Tova knew the family and liked them well enough. With Lailawyn looking after Tova, that was one less thing for Mellamir to concern herself with.
But Mellamir's own personal darkness was the worst of all. When she lived in Fangorn Treebeard had taught her to listen to the birds and animals, and now she was glad for that skill, as the birds flying through the air above the Harrowdale sang the news, one to the other. They sang of the Prince Imrahil carrying her brother's near-dead body through the city; of the flames and her father's last cry; of the death of the man who had been more a father to her than any other as his horse fell on him; of one hobbit finding the other and dragging him to the Houses of Healing where Mellamir herself had awoken so many years before; of a wind that blew away the dark and brought mysterious ships; and of Éomer, whom she loved more than any other man, running from the White Tower to the Houses of Healing, crying his sister's name at the top of his lungs. But these were only phantoms of the truth, for even the birds could not see clearly through the dark, and no one around would have believed her news. The women of Rohan put even less trust in birds than Éomer had put in dreams.
Mellamir had no way of knowing how many days had passed in the outside world, but finally the sun rose again. She had slept maybe six times but guessed more than a week must have passed, since she would work herself until she almost collapsed, not having any sun to tell her when it was time to sleep or eat. The people had long since devoured all the fruit and vegetables from that area, and finally on that morning the women of Harrowdale ate the last of their bread. Mellamir, Tova, and as many other women and girls as she could gather went out to the field, carrying any knives and baskets they could find. They cut the grass as near the ground as they could -- waste not, want not -- and gathered it into the baskets, then took it back to Dunharrow and handed it out. So it was fulfilled what the sages wrote long ago, "In the dark days you will live as the beasts of the field; on grass you shall feed your young."
This went on for five days, until they had eaten all the grass that they could find within a day's hike of Dunharrow. It was the seventh day after the sun had returned, and the women still needed food. Mellamir talked long with Lailawyn and the other women about what to do.
"We have come to it, at last," Mellamir said. "You and your children are starving, yet not far from here stand ten horses. They are lean, for we have eaten their grass, but they may feed us yet for a few days. Who will come with me and slaughter one?"
The women were silent for a long time. At last Lailawyn answered matter-of-factly, "We do not eat our horses."
"In normal times, yes, I understand, for they are noble beasts, but --"
"You do not understand, lady of Gondor," Lailawyn answered, a note of hostility creeping into her voice. "My husband was killed by the Orcs several years ago. These Orcs came not from Saruman but from Sauron himself, and they attacked because we refused to trade horses to Mordor. We do not eat our horses."
"It is the choice between that and starving," Mellamir replied once again, as if that should settle the matter. "So who will go with me? Or will your husband have died for naught?"
Lailawyn nodded slowly. She understood. That morning Mellamir and three women went to the fields. There they killed two of the horses and carried the meat back to Dunharrow. This meat they boiled in a soup and served to the people, along with moss the children gathered from the nearby woods. Thus the women and children of Rohan survived for four days until all the horses were slaughtered.
The fifth day was the day of the fiery sky. That afternoon, in the seventh hour, the ground shook and the people heard crashes far away in the distance. Then suddenly the sky turned a brilliant red, starting on the eastern horizon and spreading across the rest of the sky, redder than the hottest fire. Suddenly Mellamir saw a great forest -- no, trees moving! Huorns! -- and then those same Huorns, gashed deep, and some of them burned black as charcoal. And then she was in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith where she saw Éowyn lying, pale as death, and Aragorn bowing beside her, crying into her cold hands. And then two hobbits -- not the two she had met in Isengard, though they wore similar cloaks -- crawling up a tall mountain, one on the others' back; and finally one lay near the top of the mountain, his hand badly bleeding, the other trying desperately to wake him, and an eagle circling overhead.
And then Mellamir was back in Dunharrow. It had all been a dream, or a vision, and she didn't know what it meant. But she knew what she had to do. She had to get to Minas Tirith, but she didn't know how. Was it safe to cross the plains, all by herself? Even if she had a horse; but she had killed Rimsul to feed the people.
She looked north, up to the mountains that she knew stood between her and Fangorn, and she thought of all he had taught her of Manwë and Elbereth and the other Valar. She closed her eyes and said quietly to herself, "Oh, Powers beyond the Seas, I have never needed you like I do now. But now I do. Please, help me." She did not really know what she expected, but certainly not the answer she got: a man riding full speed out through the mountains.
"Fengel!" she shouted, recognizing him as an old friend of Éomer's who had ridden with him to Gondor. "Where is Lord Éomer?"
"Silence, my lady. I have urgent news." He paused, caught his breath, then continued, "Éomer sent me to find you. This was ten days hence. I rode to Pelarnir in Lebennim, then through the Paths of the Dead. Lord Aragorn released the dead from their curse, so the paths are now open. He sent me with this message: Sauron attacked Minas Tirith, but we fought him back. Denethor died of madness in a fire, and Théoden was killed by the witch king. Éowyn, Faramir, and Merry are all also near death, and they lie in the Houses of Healing in your city. Éomer has led the Rohirrim in battle to the Black Gates of Mordor, accompanied by Aragorn and all the armies of Gondor, and also with Elladan and Elrohir, his company of rangers, Legolas, Gimli, Pippin, and Gandalf -- yes, they are all safe, or were when I departed. I bring you a horse. Éomer asks that you ride to Minas Tirith as soon as you can, if not sooner, to nurse your brother and his sister. Gondor is as safe now as anywhere, even though the great gate has fallen."
"The great gate!" Mellamir cried. "It must have been a terrible battle, then. Worse than you are letting on."
"Aye," Fengel replied. "But the time for fear is past. You see the red in the sky." He motioned vaguely all around, for indeed the whole sky was still tinted with red. "Either all is won, or all is lost. Ride! Ride to your brother."
"But what of the people? They need food..."
"Look around you, Lady Mellamir," Fengel answered. "The animals that fled are already returning. And I bring three horses laden with grain. Éomer knew that you did not have food, and he has sent a gift from Gondor, for Saruman has not been burning their crops like he did ours. They are just over that last mountain; I wanted to bring you the news before I took the time to lead them over. Now ride!"
Mellamir did not need to be told again. She left Fengel to watch over Dunharrow and made for the Paths of the Dead. The stone pillars that had marked the entrance were now crumbling, but they were as dark as they were when Aragorn had rode through them two weeks earlier.
_Only stories_, she thought to herself. At last she steled her courage and rode toward the entrance. When her horse did not hesitate, however, her chest relaxed. "Giddyap!" she said, and her horse rode full speed into that long-forbidden pass.