Glorfindel found me this morning as I was drawing water from the well.
He asked me if I wanted any help, but I refused. I could manage this simple task, I didn't need people to do things I was perfectly capable of. I struggled with the coarse rope, and hauled the heavy bucket to the surface, sloshing water all over my feet.
"You should have let me" Glorfindel insisted, grabbing one of my hands, and turning it upwards, the palm was hard and calloused from the rope and the sword fighting, there were even a few blisters from the bucket handle.
"So different to Arwen's" he said softly, stroking the blisters with a finger. I pulled my hand away angrily.
"Perhaps you'll be able to tell us apart at last" I retorted as I picked up the bucket and headed back to camp. He walked next to me, apologising.
"Let me finish" he continued "I was going to say that they were more beautiful" I shot him a withering glance.
"Then your eyesight is failing" I shot back. "Arwen's hands are smooth and soft" I finished a little enviously.
"Exactly" Glorfindel called triumphantly "That's because she has never laid a finger to help anyone else. Your hands tell a story. They tell of your generosity and willingness to work hard. Those qualities are more beautiful than any amount of smooth fingers." I stared at him, one eyebrow raised slightly, then continued walking in silence, I didn't know what to say to that.
"I missed you" he said softly. I stopped short, dumped the bucket and faced him, hands on hips.
"That's enough" I cried. "Go back to Imladris and tell her this stuff. I'm sick of you getting us confused."
"I'm talking to you, Sardwen" he replied. "I realised soon after you left, that chasing Arwen was the worst mistake I've ever made. As soon as I heard that your brothers were joining you, I had to come to explain…" he brushed a strand of hair from my face. "..And apologise" he finished.
"You can start by carrying the bucket" I snapped back and stormed off. Perhaps I was being a bit harsh, but I kept remembering how he had always been on Arwen's side. It would take a while for those prejudices to fade.
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I managed to tear Éowyn away from outside Aragorn's tent long enough to introduce her to my brothers. It went really well, Éowyn started asking intelligent questions about their horses - always a good move. Elladan in particular is totally batty over his animal, and Éowyn learnt to ride before she learnt to walk. They were all laughing about how I managed to miss out on those skills. Elrohir shared stories from when he was trying to teach me, Éowyn contributed by telling them how many times I had managed to fall off during her lessons. By now, I was incredibly embarrassed. I really, really wish I could ride as well as they can.
"Don't worry" Elladan smiled when he saw my face. "Some people click faster than others. I expect one day it will just come, and you'll be catching up for lost time" I smiled disbelievingly, edging a little further away from his horse's big yellow teeth.
A thought suddenly occurred to me, one that I had placed out of my mind.
"Arwen?" I asked "Has she left for the Grey Havens? Have they all gone to Valinor? They haven't left me behind have they?" Elrohir's smile faded and his eyes looked sad.
"They are preparing to leave." He admitted at last after an uncomfortable silence. "I fear they will not stay long after this battle - especially if things do not go well…"
He left the remainder unsaid, but we all knew exactly what he was thinking. The battle of Helms Deep had been an extremely costly victory. Now they were facing the entire army of Mordor. The odds did not look good.
Just then, Glorfindel and Niralan came over to say that everyone was preparing to leave. I refused to meet Glorfindel's eyes and smiled at Niralan instead, before turning to Éowyn to introduce them. She smiled and greeted them, but her gaze remained on Niralan for a little longer, a strange smile on her face.
"Have you known Sardwen long?" she asked. Niralan laughed
"We used to get into trouble together, years ago" he replied "I remember she once tricked me into painting cheerful smiles on the statues in the corridors."
"That was your idea!" I cried indignantly, "nothing to do with me!" .
"Your memory must be fading" he answered with a laugh, a huge grin spreading over his face. "As if I could possibly come up with an idea as wicked as that. Defacing ancient culture, indeed!"
"Well, they did look far too serious…" I admitted with a mischievous smile.
Glorfindel sidled up and placed a hand on Elrohir's shoulder
"We've got to go" he said simply, "Aragorn wants to set off immediately."
"He's going?" Éowyn cried, and fled towards his tent. I gave my brothers a hug and wished them luck.
"Don't get hurt, any of you" I instructed severely as if I was a schoolteacher. The wind was rising in strength, rattling the tent canvas against the tent poles and tugging at my dress and hair. Clouds covered the newly rising sun and I shivered slightly, feeling a few splashes of rain on my cheek.
"See you later, Sardy" Niralan called. I blinked in surprise, I hadn't heard that name in a long time. It reminded me of years ago when we spent so much time together at Imladris, the brief time at home when I had been happy. The memories contrasted greatly with the ominous black clouds slowly rolling overhead.
"Take care of yourself" Glorfindel added, looking back at me tenderly as he struggled to control his horse that stamped nervously. Then with a clatter of horses hooves and a flurry of mud clumps, they were gone. I watched until they all galloped out of sight amongst the tents before returning to my own. I felt cold now, pulling a shawl around my shoulders. I had this horrible feeling that I wasn't going to see them again.
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Éowyn stumbled in through the tent flap, as if she was half blind. She flung herself onto her bed and began to weep as if the world had come to an end. I didn't know what to do. I've never been sympathetic enough to be a natural comforter. I stood there awkwardly for a couple of minutes, then left the tent until she managed to calm down. I know that I hate people seeing me cry, perhaps Éowyn is the same.
I stood outside, shivering with the streaks of rain carried in the wind. As soon as I could no longer hear anything, I returned inside and sat next to her on the bed.
She looked up at me, her eyes red and puffy, damp strands of hair sticking to the side of her cheek.
"He's going through the Paths of the Dead" she whispered. Her voice a low, hoarse croak. I had never heard of such a place before, but even the name sent a shiver down my spine. I feared again for the safety of my brothers and my friends.
"He's a fool" she added bitterly, but tears appeared at the corners of her eyes again. "The Paths of the Dead…" she repeated as if still trying to believe it herself. "They will not allow the living to pass. They are walking into a trap… a deadly road. Why wouldn't he listen to me?" The shivers of horror increased as I heard more about the place. I edged a little closer to Éowyn and placed an arm awkwardly around her. She turned and buried her head in my shoulder and sobbed occasionally. We sat there in silence, rocking to and fro for a long time.
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Théoden arrived this evening. Éowyn rode out to meet him, she had dressed herself as a rider and braided her hair carefully out of the way. I knew that she was hoping to prove herself as capable to her uncle. She was longing to be allowed to travel with them as they rode on to battle.
The twilight darkened into the velvety blackness of night. The small pavilion in the centre of the camp had a small section curtained off. I entered it nervously, it was richly decorated with broidered hangings and skins were strewn across the floor. I sat next to Éowyn at the small table along with her brother and the king. I felt incredibly out of place and tried my hardest to become invisible.
Éomer glanced at me, frowned, then cleared his face when he saw Éowyn's expression. I turned away and suddenly noticed a little hobbit next to the king. It was Merry, I couldn't believe it. I wondered what had happened to him since the night the Orcs were killed by the riders. Was it just me, or did he look taller? I made a mental to talk to him later. According to Mithrandir, he had spent a lot of time with the Ents. I'd love to find out what he got up to.
I listened anxiously to the answers to Merry's questions about the Halls of the Dead. Each new description made my heart grow heavier. I played with my food, shifting it round and round my plate. I tried to estimate how far Aragorn and co. would have made it along the road. Had they entered the forbidden, dark doorway yet? How many would make it through? I shuddered and tried to turn my mind to more cheerful things.
Just then, the curtained partition was thrown aside and a guard announced the arrival of a messenger from Gondor. I looked down at my plate, even the name of Gondor still contained painful connotations of what could have been. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a tall man enter. I heard Merry choke back a cry of surprise, and I looked up quickly. My mouth dropped open, and I felt as if my stomach had fallen to my feet.
It was not possible, he was dead.
No one could survive what he went through - I knew he was dead!
But then I'd thought that Mithrandir had died as well, and he'd turned up unharmed.
"Boromir?" I breathed, so softly that no one else could hear.
The man knelt before the king and held out a black arrow, the tip dipped in bright red paint.
Then he spoke, and my hopes fell. It was the wrong voice, it wasn't Boromir. Just a man who looked so like him, he must be one of his kin.
I excused myself from the pavilion and made my way back to my tent. This was getting stupid. I couldn't spend my entire life always hoping for the dead to return. Mithrandir would have told me if there was any chance he was still alive. It was time to move on. He wouldn't want me to spend my entire life in a miserable limbo. I would put an end to it tonight, right now.
I blundered into my tent and groped through my belongings for Boromir's handkerchief. I had kept it safely all the way through my journey. I had held it sometimes at night when I had trouble going to sleep, but I didn't need it any more, I needed to move on.
I moved silently through the camp, and took down one of the burning torches from its holder. I found a large space of open ground and held the handkerchief above the flame. My hand was trembling, I couldn't hold it steady. My heart was screaming not to do it, but I ignored it and blinked back my tears.
Suddenly the bottom corner of the handkerchief turned black and a trickle of smoke winded upwards. As it burst into flames, I changed my mind. I dropped the handkerchief and stamped out the sparks. I couldn't bring myself to destroy it, it seemed almost disrespectful.
I walked a little deeper into the woods, the burning torch lighting my way, flickering shadows dancing on the trees. I stopped next to a fast flowing stream and sat down next to it. The trickling of water was the only sound in the stillness of night. I grabbed a few twigs and bound them together with a few strands of grass to make a simple raft. I laid the handkerchief gently on top and slowly lowered it into the water. The raft bobbed along in the current, quickly down the stream. I picked up the torch and followed to the first bend, then I stood alone in the darkness, watching the handkerchief float away out of sight. That was it, it was all over.
"Goodbye Boromir" I called after it, my heart felt lighter, as if a huge weight had been lifted. I turned silently and made my way back to the camp.
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Éowyn shook me awake again this morning, I had managed to wake up by myself for the last couple of weeks, I wondered why I had slept in, until I noticed that it was still pitch black.
"It's the middle of the night" I complained, snuggling back under my blankets. "Wake me up when it's morning"
"It is morning" She insisted, sitting on her bed, fastening her shoes.
"But it's still dark!" I pointed out smugly. "Morning means light…remember?" She ignored my sarcasm.
"We don't understand it either" she admitted. "I don't like it, I think it might be Sauron's doing. He's plunging all of middle earth into shadow."
I sat up instantly. Sauron? I didn't like the idea of that.
I quickly joined Éowyn, pulling on my clothes. I exited the tent as quickly as possible and looked up at the sky. It was dark, like a deep twilight. I could detect an oppressive atmosphere like the air before a terrible storm. It felt wrong, like an evil presence. I shivered as I realised how this battle was growing out of hand. When I had agreed to go to Helms Deep, I never dreamed that I was going to be caught up in an ultimate battle of good and evil. Especially not with an evil so powerful, it could destroy all.
I wished that I had never left Lothlorien, that I was still living peacefully out of the shadow. Then I remembered some of Mithrandir's words, it was almost as if hearing his reply in my head.
"So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for us to decide. All you have to do is decide what to do with the time that is given to you."
I smiled, as his warm comfort flooded through my body. I wasn't going to give up yet.
As soon as Éowyn emerged, we went to speak to Théoden. He was sitting in the curtained off section of the pavilion, planning his strategies for the battle. Bright, torches burned fiercely, dispelling the darkness. Éowyn practically fell on her knees before him, whilst she begged to be allowed to fight. He refused, just as Aragorn had. She begged and pleaded, but he sent us away as he prepared for battle. I could see by his face that he was troubled about her. He loved her as a daughter, and hated to deny her what she most wanted. However, I could also see he was afraid of what the battle might bring and hated the idea that a woman so young and beautiful could be slaughtered on the field.
We said goodbye to him formally, and I gave an elvish blessing, wishing the stars of hope to shine brightly in the darkness and bring him victory in battle. I waited whilst Éowyn embraced him warmly, then we returned miserably to our tent. I flung myself back on the bed and stared up through the dark gloom at the canvas roof
Then suddenly, an idea struck me. It was such an outrageous, untraditional idea, that I dismissed it at once. Then I saw Éowyn's face, cold and frustrated, her eyes full of sorrow and longing to fight, and the idea resurfaced stronger than ever.
"That's it then" she sighed, drawing her sword from her sheath and throwing it to the ground with a clatter. "Never will I be able to fight and prove myself. I will always be stuck in this stupid cage" She flung her arms up in the air and kicked the sword viciously. Then she seemed to crumple in on herself, sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped around her legs, face buried in her knees, blonde hair streaming down her back.
"I might as well give up" she muttered through mouthfuls of material.
I sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders.
"I have an idea" I announced, "it probably won't work, but if you're that desperate to fight, it might be worth a try." She turned her face towards me, strands of hair sticking to her damp red cheeks.
"What?" she asked. "I'll try anything." Reluctantly, I explained. Her face remained expressionless until I had finished. My heart sank. What was I thinking of, I must be going out of my mind. I turned aside in embarrassment, but she grabbed hold of my shoulder.
"That might just work" she said slowly, thinking over everything I said. "At the very least, it's worth a try" She rose to her feet and pulled me up
"Come on" she insisted, "We've got a lot of work to do."
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"Ouch" I cried as the pin dug deeply into my head. Éowyn apologised and tried again. I shuddered, trying to ignore how much she was tugging. At last she was satisfied and held up a mirror. All my hair was pinned firmly in place. I shook my head violently, but it remained fast bound. She passed me a helmet, and I eased it onto my head slowly.
"There!" Éowyn cried triumphantly, "Instant lack of hair, you look like a man already!" I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or an insult - but she was right. From a distance, I probably would pass for a soldier.
"Here" she called, handing me some bandages.
"What are these for?" I asked "We're not wounded yet, are we?" She laughed.
"Course not, but in case you'd forgotten, we've got to fit into suits of armour designed for men, Therefore, certain parts of the body need to be bound firmly into place like your hair. I turned aside blushing madly as I unwound the bandages. I knew I should have kept my idea to myself, this was just too humiliating.
"By the way" Éowyn added. "Thank you for sharing your idea, it means so much to me - the chance to fight. I know you're not so keen, I owe you a big favour." I stared at her, could she read my mind? Still, I didn't mind so much anymore.
A few minutes later, we were ready. We checked each other over, tucking last stands of hair out of sight, and adjusting clothing. We were ready to set off - riding off to battle, Responding to the desperate plea of the red arrow. The horses were waiting, Éowyn was riding her grey steed, Windfola. I would be attempting to stay upright on a chestnut horse called Andante. My stomach was churning already, even after all the time I'd spent practising, he was still likely to bolt if Éowyn moved too far away.
"I'll ride by your side" she promised, looking at my face. "Everything will be fine, I promise." I wasn't sure if her promise would guard against enemy attack.
I mounted Andante and looked around uneasily, the riders were about to leave, there was no turning back now. Then I spotted a forlorn little figure standing alone, watching the horses leave.
"Éowyn… sorry, Durnhelm" I called, forgetting her new name already. "Let's take Merry with us, he also knows what it is like to be left behind." Éowyn turned to look at him and nodded.
"You're right" she replied "I can bear him under my cloak." She nudged Windfola gently and rode over to speak to him.
Everybody turned out to watch us leave. The entire camp was emptied, women and children lined the road to say goodbye to their loved ones. Occasionally I could hear a soft murmuring or a low weeping. But generally they stood in silence.
Finally a single trumpet sounded and Théoden raised one hand in the air, all eyes were fixed on him as he made his way slowly through the people. He sat tall and proud on his white horse, his face frozen to hide any true emotions.
We followed him down the silent, depressing corridor of people. Lines and lines of young men, riding out to battle, leaving their mothers, wives and children. All prepared to die for their king.