Éowyn

Éowyn's journal in the Houses of Healing.

Apologies for the long break.

Disclaimer: None of J.R.R. Tolkien, Ann Brashares or Katherine Paterson is mine.

Year 3019, March: 21

Evening / dusk

Last evening, the Warden indeed came to inform me that he had received order to remove me to another room. I gladly accepted his guidance while he expressed his worries.

"Lady," he said, "I sincerely hope changing the chamber is not to your inconvenience. The Steward himself has given me the task; your conversation earlier this day did not anger him? He asked after you, and I referred him to the Halfling, Master Merry, but beforehand the lord Steward gave me this order and it is on his word I enact; I am compelled to tell you that the room appointed is fairly small and simple in comparison-"

The Warden is a man who makes a trivial remark sound like an imposing and rehearsed speech, but I found that this one had an interesting information: apart from careful but not very subtle probing about the relationship between the Steward and myself, the Warden had included that the man who had granted my wish was making inquiries about me to Merry, who, as I concluded, was alive.

Merry! Lost in my own reflections I had forgotten that he, too, was brought here – and I had neglected to express my profound gratitude and respect. I did not know about his current condition. How severely was he wounded? He was well enough to be trusted to speak with the Steward, but I wondered nevertheless. I would pay him a long due visit as soon as I could; not only out of politeness and a sense of duty I felt as a representative of the throne of Rohan, but because Merry and I had fought together as equals and I cared for his well-being.

"So it is possible to visit Merry?" I asked, and the Warden nodded his consent, whereupon I assured him of the other matter he had spoken of, stating it had been my own wish the Steward had enacted on, silently thankful the Warden knew naught of my childish longing for an eastward-facing window.

He seemed only marginally relieved, and in an outburst of confidence, I stressed that even if differences existed, the Steward and I had parted in friendship. A white lie to console the Warden and myself.

I insisted that my armour, still carrying the familiar faint stench of blood and body odour of the battlefield, be brought. Perhaps this is again a childish action, but I would not leave my sole belongings behind; especially when a spare armour might, in little time, become a sought-after object in this city, and to me means to self-appreciation and honour.

As a metal case, ready to be brought to a last use it lies in a corner of my room which is, as announced, smaller; the only furniture the bed, a small table beside it, and a chair.

Otherwise, the room is empty, and the view is directed to the window, the window facing East: and there the wideness of the plain stretches out in front of the eye, the sheer beauty of never-ending freedom.

It is almost frightening to see the vast extents of the destruction I partook in. Thin smoke arises from dark heaps of corpse and debris on a field where death occurred thousandfold. They are the remains and the foreboding of war, and the horizon boundary for the eye but not for uncertain knowledge.

Looking out into the fading light, melancholy befell me, and it seemed to indicate a darkness passing over us all.

Yet when I woke up after an almost undisturbed sleep with the first rays of sunlight illuminating my room, I could not help but sense a dimmed happiness in my soul at seeing another sun rise. Pushing away the guilt I felt for being at ease, I gave way to lower needs: my mind was screaming for fresh air; apart from the short interlude in the garden, I had been imprisoned in this building for far too long a time; and, remembering the Steward's invitation, I was dressed in the colour I chose: perfect, spotless white, and went outside.

However, despite the prospect of a peaceful walk in the gardens, I could not refrain myself from merely looking over the wall to the East, where the sun was still low, but glowing fiercely, and the misty clouds dipped in an orange-red hue.

Compared to this, the view out of my room seems hardly anything special, almost small, confined. This morning, I could not think of adequate words beyond magnificent to describe the sight from the garden's walls. I felt like I was seeing beyond to a shining world – huge and terrible and beautiful and very fragile, in its essence untouched by gloom but wholly alive.

The light morning breeze was blowing my hair out of my face, my fingertips touched the top of the wall ever so slightly: standing and watching, I inhaled the fresh air which was still cool from the night.

The city below had awakened, smoke rising from the houses, quite like that rising from the field, but here, indicating life, not death: the same situation but reverse meaning.

The wind carried the echo of voices and the low rumbling of wagons, but the sounds were dimmed and far away. It was quiet area in the busy city where I was, and I was thankful.

I did not hear someone approaching.

"My Lady?"

I turned to face the Steward standing, at a small distance, next to me.
Casting my eyes to the ground, I inclined my head slightly, in acceptance and returning of his greeting.

"It is early in the day," he remarked casually and turned to the horizon.

"A soldier's habit," I replied, and he added,

"which applies to both of us."

During our last conversation, he had made it clear that he desired to spend time with me; that was my impression, at least. And for the last days' solitary confinement, I was willing to comply, hoping also to improve his opinion of my behaviour he must certainly tend, even though he seemed not one to judge quickly.

Accustomed to the rough speech in war I had been unsure of myself when I had first approached the Steward; and, at first unaware, then with growing appalledness, I had intuitively employed both the court's conduct as I knew it from Edoras and a freer speech as I listened to the past days, for the soldiers say what is on their mind.
They might have called my expressions too affected (including a couple of curses) while a lady or lord must have felt them as utterly indecent, even though they would never say this to my face.

As well as certain behaviour, good education and upbringing must include polite conversation; that would be the rule in every country. I hoped Lord Faramir would attribute impoliteness to "a soldier's habit".

"Sire, I heard you have paid Master Merry a visit."

I made a point looking at him and he blushed slightly, nodding.

"How does he fare? For I have yet failed to do my duty."

Lord Faramir searched my face.

"One should think it more than a mere duty."

From any other, I should have understood this remark as plain rudeness, especially coming from a new acquaintance, almost a stranger, as the Steward of Gondor was to me. Reproving a lady on the second meeting would require worse than dreadful manners, which the Steward quite evidently did not possess.

His eyes were full of honesty and his apologetic smile told me he was being fair. He was conveying that he had asked Merry about me; and I knew now that Merry had informed lord Faramir of all he knew. Perhaps the Steward was aware that I was already informed of his inquiries; nevertheless, I was impressed by his integrity.

I wished to make a favourable impression on the Steward.

Perhaps I have politics in the back mind being a representative of Rohan.
Perhaps I needed to prove that I was amiable.

However it is; Gondor intimidates me. How could Rohan compare with this magnificent city? The first sight of Minas Tirith had filled me with awe, and I remembered this thought, I felt shame: shame for my country, my descendance, my blind pride, my behaviour-

Had I had any of these feelings any earlier, I should not have stepped out of my room, but as it was, I was involved in a conversation with the Steward of Gondor, the mightiest ally of Rohan.

Treading softly on unknown ground, I would not ask the delicate question why he stayed in the Houses of Healing. The Warden had hinted at sickness, but I could perceive none, neither physical or mental. The matter would be uncovered elsewhere.

Determined to ask questions about him – for I did not want to speak about myself with the Steward of Gondor – I asked where he had been and what experiences he had made. It was a vague question, a typical one between soldiers. Where do you serve, what is your rank and position? Any kind of evasive answer would suffice.

The Lord Faramir answered gravely.

"I was Captain in Ithilien. We scouted and attacked legions who followed Saurons summons; it was known terrain to us, and we were prepared, but their number exceeded ours greatly; thus, our success was limited.
Once we met the two Hobbit friends of Merry on their journey, Frodo and his companion, the gardener-" here his eyes twinkled almost mischievously, and he paused, reminiscing,
"and I learnt of their task and burden."

Another pause, heavy, growing earnest:

"My elder brother was dead, and much of what had been his duties were now mine. And my lord father befound it necessary to hold Osgiliath because of its strategical position, but I succeeded not, and retreat was difficult. I am told one third of the surviving company was lost- it is bitter. A poisonous dart had wounded my and I knew nothing."

He smiled, a twisted smile.

"And thus, I am here, called by my king, recovering and blessed by your presence. Lady, what has brought you here?"

I coloured; I was puzzled. Had he not spoken with Merry about me?

"My Lord, but you have certainly heard of it!"

"Lady Éowyn, your own account I deem different from that of Master Merry; and to hear it from your lips will delight me."

Uncertain how to reply to such a compliment – was this common in Gondor? I would not know – I chose to ridicule the situation and turned to a tree nearby and exclaimed:

"The Lord Steward seems to be investigating the case of crime committed by the niece of his allies'-"

He chuckled as I choked. My uncle- it had slipped from my tongue. My treacherous mind had slipped back into the assumption that nothing had changed; habits overcoming knowledge in an impulse.

Suddenly, with surprising solemnity, the Steward's voice came through to me.

"Let us walk." he said and offered his arm which I took automatically, and we moved along the wall.

He spoke slowly, grasping for the words to voice his thoughts, and his carefulness was full of true emotion.

"Accepting death of a beloved one never is easy. The initial blow may never –never- be cured completely. Do not expect it to be Remember King Théoden and bear in mind that he died the most honourable way a man can; and that he proved himself valiant and worthy of his people, as a true leader should."

He paused, and started again,
"And that you, Lady, have enabled his peace with your life. It is naught but a consolation; your loss is not lessened but it is a happy thought among the sad."

The words lingered in the air and filled the silence as we walked through the garden. I pondered over them.
Was the loss he was talking about Rohan's loss of its king or could he have alluded to my envy: that it had not been me who had died saving my people? He could know, for he, too, was a warrior; and I had perceived the bitterness when he spoke of the poisonous arrow.
I dared not ask.

"But, my lady: protecting your people and defeating the Witch King is already quite at the end of your story-"

The moment of gloom had passed, and I took the hint.

There's an expression stolen from The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants and not quite a sentence from Bridge to Terabithia, both very touching and wonderful YA/children books. You can guess where they're hidden, or ask and I'll give you directions or you can choose to not bother at all.

Care for a review? An honest, even ever-so-short review really cheers me up. Thanks.