Note: I realized that my chapters were a bit long. Very inconvenient to take pee breaks. I broke them down separately, and redid the chapter titles into a poem. Please R&R. Enjoy!
-Kero (6.30.06)
Chapter 2: Into Awakening
When the daylight finally arrived, or rather, when what was to be the morning hidden behind a dark, cloudy shadow over the sky finally came, Éowyn sat up in bed, still stiff and sore from her nigh of fitful sleep. There was a window in her room, but it faced a low wall and beyond it, stone streets and houses of the same gray-white tones. It had the eerie dreariness of a stone prison.
I wonder if they have gone yet? She asked herself. Éowyn felt as though she had overslept and her head felt stuffed with straw. Though the light was dimmed by the unnatural shadow over Gondor, she knew it to be mid morning already, and her brother and Lord Aragorn would have already left. Her brother had hinted to her when at her bedside that after they saved the beseiged City, they would meet Sauron before his Black Gates. She shuddered at the thought. Still, she wanted to be with them at the end, but it would be too difficult for her to dress herself, let alone catch up with them. Again, she felt left behind and her heart ached with self-pity.
A middle-aged woman shuffled into the room. She curtsied towards Éowyn and brought a water pitcher and basin with fresh towels to the table. Her soft steps were a comfort to Éowyn, as they reminded her of a kindly nurse who used to care for her when she was a child. Éowyn watched the woman take away the dirty towels and bowls, and bring in a fresh bowl of something that was pleasantly fragrant. It was the same scent that brought her out of her fevered dreaming that night when Lord Aragorn had healed her body with some mysterious power in his hands. The smell of it cast aside her self-pity and depression. Its fragrance reminded her of happier times in her childhood.
"What is in that water bowl there?" asked Éowyn softly.
"'Tis kingsfoil, milady, or athelas, as the herb masters call it."
"I see. The Lord Aragorn used it to heal me." Éowyn pursed her lips thoughtfully. "What is your name, then?"
"I am Ranna, a servant in the Houses of Healing," the woman said gently.
"Will you be attending me?"
"Aye, milady, with several others. The Lord who healed thee bid us care for thee well. The Warden of the Houses has kept a close watch. For it is known throughout the City that you are a woman of renown and honor. They told us that you slew the Witch King." She said the last sentence in an excited whisper. The woman's face glowed with amazement.
"Oh I see," said Éowyn quietly. Éowyn sat back on her pillows. Her thoughts of her enemy made her cold again, and she pulled the blankets up closer to her. The foe was formidable and she knew it for the Lord of the Nazgûl by the thorny crown upon its head; the Witch King of Angmar had fallen before her. The one whom "no man could kill." Éowyn laughed ruefully at the irony.
Now, she was faced with the reality of living through the experience, and having to confront what path lay before her now. Would she die here in a foreign city defending herself until her last breath or will she survive this war to end all wars? Truthfully, she felt in her heart that they were all going to be trampled beneath such formidable odds. Éowyn fell silent and looked out the window. There was nothing for me in life that I wanted to go back to. What am I meant to do?
"I cannot see the Eastern border from here," she sighed. "Only streets." Again she felt as trapped as when she was in her uncle's house.
Perhaps Ranna saw the look on her face and felt that she should do something about it, for it was true that Ranna, though having no children of her own, was very motherly towards those she came upon.
"If it please you, milady, your friend, Master Meriadoc is nearby. Shall I call him to you?"
"Yes. Please do. I would like that very much," said Éowyn eagerly.
Éowyn was all smiles when she saw Merry again. They were fellows in arms after all and fast friends. She was glad to see a familiar face again, but disappointed when he told her that it had already been a few days since her brother and Lord Aragorn left the City. Éowyn had actually been sleeping for two days after Lord Aragorn had visited her and the healers had treated her shattered arm.
Ranna exclaimed that the lady was grown thin from her lack of nourishment but Éowyn would not have Ranna feed her and so fed herself some porridge as Merry kept her company. They spoke awhile, and Merry entertained her by explaining all the admirable traits of pipeweed when Ranna finally politely ushered him out because the Warden instructed them all to take care of the Lady Éowyn and she was not to leave her bed for seven days yet, nor was she to be disturbed for long periods at a time. Éowyn was very distraught at that idea.
"Cannot you do anything about such an order? The Warden does not need to know my affairs," sulked Éowyn.
"Nay, milady. Those are the strictest of orders from the Lord that healed you. You were touched by the Black Breath and seldom do men come back from that, let alone walk about and do as they please as if nothing had happened." Ranna's face had grown stern. Éowyn almost smiled at the fact that Ranna so resembled the nurse she had from long ago, when her mother was still living.
"I must speak to the Warden then. He will hear me out, even if I have to force him to listen to me," said Éowyn with a grunt. "I want to get dressed," she declared to Ranna and her otherwise empty chamber. At that, Ranna knew that the lady could not be gainsaid, and went to fetch others to help in the task. Three other women came into the room, armed with linens, clay pots and other bundles that Éowyn could not discern. They applied a soothing balm over the places where she had been badly bruised or cut and wrapped gauze to cover the areas. Much of her body was healed in a very short amount of time by Aragorn himself, but there were some lingering ailments. Her arm was still in a sling. They wrapped linens around her slender neck to keep the wounds there clean and untouched. She did not recall when she was caused to be wounded there, but she assumed that the cuts on her head and neck were caused by flying splints from her wooden shield that shattered.
When they wanted to dress her as well she bluntly refused and told them that she could dress herself. The servants exchanged troubled glances but did as they were told and left the room. Ranna stayed behind only to help Éowyn gingerly drape the white shift over her head. Then she stepped aside and watched as Éowyn spent the next half hour putting the rest of the Gondorian undergarments on and getting into the white linen dress the servants picked for her. The White Lady of Rohan looked at her reflection in the water basin and saw a porcelain pale face with blue eyes staring back at her. They had washed her hair earlier while she was resting and it cascaded down one side in shiny waves of gold. She did not look wild and unruly now, though she was certain she did look so when she was on the battlefield, and wondered what the people of such a refined country would think of this northern shield maiden dressed in Gondorian attire.
Éowyn could not recall who was the first to call her the White Lady. Since she came of age, her duties were bound to the Great Hall and oftentimes out of boredom or frustration she would go outside to top of the main stairs and watch the wind play upon the plain below, or look up to the mountain range. Éowyn preferred the color white because it was pure and emotionless, and she would stand there against the wind and the world, wishing she were elsewhere. She became something of a myth even in Rohan, as people seldom saw her except when she was standing outside the Hall.
"I shall not be a complete embarrassment to my House, shall I?" she asked herself doubtfully. She did not notice Ranna's efforts to stifle a smile. Éowyn was about to leave the room barefoot when Ranna reminded her to put on her soft, fur-lined black leather slippers, and a gray cloak for warmth. Éowyn smiled and thanked her and went on her way. She was told that the Warden was in his office down the hall and the other servants could not help but stare as she walked past but no one dared stop her from going. In the dark halls she stood out like a golden haired ghost amongst the darker haired Gondorians. Éowyn wondered what they all thought of her, this wild woman from the north who was obviously so stubborn and proud to be out of bed, despite her slight limp. Did she seem like a hero to them?
More like a bother, she thought. Or an oddity.
Éowyn found the Warden exactly where they said he would be and as expected, he was firm, yet polite, about Lord Aragorn's orders. Her diplomatic talents abandoned her then, and she resorted to grimly staring down the Warden eye to eye. The Warden sighed and responded that truly the charge of the wounded belonged to the Houses of Healing, but the Houses like any other establishment in the City was governed by the Steward. He suggested that she should appeal her case to him. Éowyn gave him a curt nod and followed him out of the office and into the garden, where she was told the Steward was to be found; for he was also recuperating from his latest wounds and maladies. He had been shot with a poison dart of the Haradrim, the Easterlings who served Sauron and was just now able to walk about.
When Éowyn first saw the Steward, she was taken aback at his appearance. She was half expecting some old man with a large belly dressed in rich robes but the Warden pointed her to a tall, lean man with long raven hair who was much younger than she expected. He was dressed in a velvet, black tunic with simple silver embroidery that hung down to his knees over a comfortable white cotton shirt. As Éowyn approached, she could tell that he had been hurt, for his face seemed unnaturally pale and little gaunt, as though he too had been near Death for days. When he turned to face her, his blue-gray eyes were a feature she could not avoid noticing. They were stunning and so very clearly defined. When she finally came to address him, she was suddenly timid about maintaining his gaze, for Éowyn had never seen such eyes. They seemed capable of seeing right into her very soul but at the same time were tender and understanding.
But, Éowyn was determined to speak her mind. She wondered what the Warden as thinking about his two charges as he left them in the garden; these two dignified people of pale pallor who were obviously in need of bed rest but insistent upon walking about, heedless of their hurts.
However, getting her way proved to be more difficult than she hoped. Though young, this Steward had all the authority of a king and leader. The way he moved, the way he spoke, everything about him was regal. Suddenly, Éowyn felt like a country goat herder asking a noble lord for a favor. The words he spoke were gentle and wise, and she knew he would not be moved by her persistence, though understanding was abundant in his eyes. He too was bound to the Houses, though he would have gone out with Lord Aragorn if he could. Éowyn knew almost immediately that her endeavor would be fruitless, but her pride would not yield.
"I cannot let you leave the Houses of Healing, Lady. I hear that you were hurt as badly as I, if not worse, and even now I lack my full strength. I will not let you leave here and throw your life away," he said gently.
"My life is worth nothing, now, if I do not go. I am meant to be there in battle with my brother," she said sternly.
"Are you so eager to die?" asked Faramir, not understanding her need to throw her life away. "Can I not persuade you otherwise?"
His voice was even and almost melodic, and it seemed to calm her with every rational and logical explanation he uttered. This man before her was well-read and a thinker, someone she was not used to confronting. By the way he chose his words, she could tell that this was a diplomatic gentleman who knew the world well and even suffered in it, perhaps, but through it all he remained kind, whatever life he had led thus far.
Éowyn knew enough of warriors, being raised among them, to see that this was a man who could not be outmatched by any rider in the Mark; perhaps even her brother Eómer. It was strange for her to find a warrior that was so gentle and refined in demeanor. She let her guard down and her countenance fall and furrowed her brows and wondered how to make a graceful exit after he had clearly put her in her place.
Out of regret and wounded pride, hot tears rolled down her flushed cheeks and Éowyn was a mortified that she should cry now of all times in front of a stranger. Her tears moved him. As a consolation, the Steward allowed her to change her room to one that faced East, and she was allowed to roam about the Houses and its garden as she pleased.
And then he said something that she did not expect.
"If I may say, my Lady, you are most fair." He looked at her rather shyly as he said it, but he did not drop his gaze. Éowyn could feel the color in her cheeks.
"I hope that I can see more of you here in the Houses, for your fairness is like the sun against these colorless walls. Please come and walk with me sometime. I would want for nothing if I had your company." His words were so gracefully poetic. Those words wistfully reminded her of tales sung in her uncle's hall of handsome heroes who wooed maids with beautiful songs. It would be difficult to find a warrior in Rohan to say such things to a woman. She could not help but blush. How could she possibly be beautiful while wrapped in all her bandages?
His eyes seemed to unveil her sorrow and distress that she had been trying so desperately to hide. Yet the pity in his eyes greatly unnerved her for she desired no man's pity. Éowyn gracefully took her leave of the Lord Faramir that day, but as she walked back into the Houses it was not the Eastern border she was pondering but a pair of blue-gray eyes filled with pity and something else she did not understand.
Throughout that afternoon, Éowyn purposefully did not go into the gardens, though his invitation was still standing. She instead went with Ranna to the herbalists in the Houses, who spent nearly the rest of the day entertaining her by telling her all about Gondorian herb lore. But when she saw the sick chamber that contained many Rohan soldiers, she suddenly thought of her uncle. They told her that he was lying in state in the great hall of the City where Gondorian and Rohirrim honor guards kept vigil. But she did not want to see him. Her eyes welled up with tears and she remembered the words her uncle said to her before they parted as liege lord-king and lady-niece at the Rohirrim encampment. He was kind but firm about leaving her behind, as if he had sensed that she would try to come after them.
Her duty, he said, was to her people and she would better serve him and them by staying behind so that there was someone to lead them in their time of little hope. If he and her brother were destined to never return then it was up to Éowyn to defend the people for a last stand and die with her sword raised defending the elderly, the women and the children should that time come; and if she should live through another siege upon Helm's Deep then she was to continue the blood line. She knew very well that this was her duty. This was what her family would want her to do, what she has been trained to do. All her years of quiet tutoring and studying the ways and the lore of her homeland, the craft of attack and self-defense, the ways of riding and fighting had led to this. Defending the bloodline.
But alas, she could not do it. Éowyn could not be left behind. Not again. She would not stay back while the ones she loved went face forward into a willing death and left her alone in dreaded silence. When she disguised herself as Dernhelm she was determined that never again would she be left behind if she could help it. Her choice was to defend her people as the men of her country defended it. This was what she had told Gehric, her uncle's eldest councilor, when she left. She gave him the authority to rule in her stead. If she had to die, she said, she would rather it be on her terms.
Her eyes welled up in tears again, spilling over and down her cheeks as she was helping the wounded Rohirrim change their bandages. The men gratefully accepted her ministries and thanked her kindly, though most were surprised to see her. But after a few hours of tending the wounded, the smell of dying and blood overcame her, and she departed for the open air of the gardens. With the Warden's permission, Éowyn helped Ranna and some other servants strip bandages and fold linens and bedding.
She scorned herself for being so weak, but the thought of the battlefield was still too near for her. Her brother was right. The battlefield is a terrifying place to be. She would go back to the sick ward, perhaps, when she felt stronger. She passed by the empty gardens on her way to load a basket full of supplies.
On her way back, the first thing she noticed was that there was someone standing near the eastern wall. Lord Faramir was looking towards the border as he sat alongside the rim of a stone fountain with sprays of water falling beside him in graceful arcs. Though she could not see his face clearly, she knew that it was stern and grim, and those stunning eyes were trying to discern or comprehend something, and for the first time since waking, Éowyn felt pity for someone other than herself.
The first thing she decided was that she would not go to him. She did not think either of them could give the other much comfort at a time like this, and so resorted to quietly moving towards another part of the wall in the garden which also faced East, but her presence was hidden by a sturdy bush with many branches. She hoped that he would not see her and he did not. Éowyn took a gloomy glance at the foreboding eastern horizon, with its jagged peaks stabbing into the reddish glow hovering over the Black Land. Quietly, she returned the supplies to Ranna and then went to her new chamber that the Warden picked out for her with windows facing East.