Chapter Four

Théoden King at last arrived at Dunharrow to find all the valley a beehive of activity as warriors made ready to ride. Éowyn looked on in silence, but with a sore heart, as she watched the holbytla, Meriadoc—was that his name—beg the king to take him along into battle. Though short on stature, the Halfling certainly was not short on heart. Amazed, she heard him tell the king that if left behind, then he would run all the way perforce. Well she knew how he felt!

"Come now, Meriadoc!" she called, joining him where he stood forlornly. "I will show you the gear I have prepared for you."

The Halfling sighed and shuffled after her. "You waste your time, Lady. What good is gear when it appears I'll never see battle?"

Éowyn led Merry to a small tent and there showed him the helm, shield and other oddments she had found for him. The Hobbit brightened a bit but soon grew downcast. "Thank you, Lady, but I really don't see the point. It seems my path has come to a dead end."

"No path is certain. There," she gave Merry's helm a light tap and rose to her feet. "You look a proper Rider of the Mark now. Come, have a look." She turned him so that he could see his reflection in a burnished shield.

"Well, well, if they could see me back at Brandyhall now!" Merry laughed, turning this way and that.

Éowyn smiled grimly, "Go now, Meriadoc, off to the blacksmith with you. That sword of yours wouldn't cut a turnip, let alone an orc. Be off with you and have it sharpened."

Merry laughed, pulling his short sword from its sheath. "I guess it is a bit dull." Halfway to the tent flap he turned, "Lady, you saw Strider—I mean, Aragorn, before he left. Did he have any words for me?"

Éowyn bit her lip. She had not the heart to say him nay, so bright was the hope in his eyes. What harm was there in a little white lie? "Aye, Lord Aragorn bid me to tell you to, "Have hope; we will meet again 'ere the ending of all days." Though they were Legolas' words to her, she did not think the Elf would mind.

"Strider said that? Well then, I shall hold to that hope."

"So shall we all." Éowyn agreed and made her way back to her own tent. The king would ride to Edoras at dawn and she had much to do

x x x x x

"Helm, shield, sword, little sister? It would seem you will not be taken at unawares should the tide turn and the Enemy come to Dunharrow!"

Éowyn wheeled, automatically bringing her sword up as Éomer's own blade came down and the swords clashed, eliciting sparks in the dim light of the tent.

"Good, good," the Third Marshall of the Mark laughed, satisfied with Éowyn's quick reflexes. The Enemy would not find this female weak and defenseless at any rate.

Éowyn disengaged, tossing her sword back onto her cot. "It is late for sparring, brother. What brings you here? You should be sleeping for the King rides at sun up."

"I will turn in anon; I would speak with you first. I would take my leave of you now, little sister, without the eyes of all assembled upon us."

Éowyn turned her back, crossing her arms protectively. She had been dreading this meeting and now that the moment had come, her carefully rehearsed speech fled her mind. Her armor lay on the cot and without it, she felt weak, vulnerable; once again, the frail little girl her elder brother was forever watching over. Who now would watch and guard her if she set foot upon the path to which she was committed?

"Éowyn, what is it?" Éomer came forward laying his hand on his sister's shoulder; he was shocked to feel her trembling. Gently he turned her, enfolding her in his arms. "I will not say to you do not fear, for we both know well what we face and what is at stake. I will say to you—nay, I vow to you, to come home hale and strong if it is in my power."

Éowyn gripped her brother with all her strength. "Go with all my love and prayers for victory or else swift and valiant death but do not ask me for hope, for I have none left; I have given it all away."

"Hope may be found in the strangest of places. I never thought I would see the day that Saruman would be defeated, yet I saw the wizard brought low and his staff broken with my own eyes. I saw the might of Isildur's heir in battle. I saw Isengard destroyed by creatures out of legend. The Enemy may be strong, but we, too, have strength and allies unlooked for; for the first time I dare to hope. Take heart, little sister; we may yet see our way through this."

Éowyn drew away blinking back tears as she smiled grimly. "Then I pray our strength will be enough. Tell Uncle that I ride with him, that I will face the Enemy alongside him; that if he should fall in battle, then I will be right there beside him."

"I will tell him, though he already knows you ride with us in spirit. Take care, little sister; guard thee well should the Enemy come to Dunharrow. Show no mercy. And for the love of Béma, keep your elbows in!"

Éowyn laughed amidst her tears at the old jest and recited the familiar litany of many a sword practice. "Eyes on your enemy's, elbows in, keep moving."

"Aye, shieldmaiden, the Enemy will not know what hit him."

x x x x x

"My Lady? I saw the light and came to see if you were well."

Éowyn looked up from her seat on the cot. Éomer had left an hour past. All lay in readiness for the morrow but she could not sleep, nor did she bother to try.

"Child?"

"I am well, Ælfeorh; I just cannot sleep."

"Of course not, who can?" the older woman replied. "May I join you then in your vigil?"

"Aye, your presence as ever is a comfort."

The older woman settled herself on the cot as Éowyn studied her. She had known this woman all her life, first as nurse, later as surrogate mother. Stout, stubborn and not a more devoted servant could Éowyn wish for. The years had left their mark, silvering hair and wrinkling skin but the shoulders remained unbowed and not a soul young or old would fail to jump when this woman barked.

"So, child, when were you planning on telling me? Or were you going to leave me a scroll to find in the morning?"

Éowyn started, "Tell you, tell you what?"

Ælfeorh's shrewd blue eyes narrowed. "Do not play me for a fool, lass, you were never adept at dissembling."

Éowyn sighed, at least now she could save herself the trouble of writing a missive. "I ride on the morrow with the king."

"Of course you do. With all Rohan mustering at Edoras, there will be much to do."

Éowyn raised her eyes, fixing her old nurse with an unwavering gaze. Ælfeorh studied her moment, her face tightening as it drained of all color.

"Oh child," she breathed, taking Éowyn's cold hands into her own. "I know you too well so let us come right to it. I know what is in your heart. I watched in silence all these years as Gríma Gálmód-son withered your heart with his poison. I watched your eyes fill with light at the coming of Aragorn, Lost-king, only to drain once again, more devoid of hope than before as he rode for the Dwimorberg.

"I know you dream of high deeds and none can fault your heart, but I beg thee, do not do this. Do not throw your life away. Stay here among those who love you. Your sword will be needed here to defend your people. The King takes all the able-bodied with him to fight in foreign lands. Who will stand with us? Who will stand for Rohan when the Enemy comes hither?"

Éowyn hardened her heart. "You will, Ælfeorh, Æfheorte-daughter, you will protect our people."

"Nay, my Lady, I could not!"

"Aye, you can and you must for there is no one else I may trust with this task, no one else I have faith in."

Ælfeorh dropped her head as tears coursed down her weathered cheeks. "Ah, you place too much upon me."

"I place naught which you cannot manage—and manage better than I. All will follow you."

"Then there is nothing I can say to stay you from this course?"

"Nay, nothing."

Ælfeorh sighed, untying a small pouch hanging from her belt. "I thought as much. Here, you best take this then. Your mother wanted you to have it. She charged me to give it to you on your wedding day, but seeing as—" her voice trailed off.

Éowyn opened the pouch with trembling fingers, drawing out a golden brooch studded with gems. She gasped as the ornament gleamed in the firelight. The brooch was cunningly fashioned in the likeness of a Great Worm devouring its own tail. Small emerald eyes, winked at her in the flickering flames of the brazier.

"It is beautiful."

"Your father gave that to your mother as her bride-gift. It represents life from death, the sacred cycle of renewal. Wear it into battle and mayhap the love of those whom bestowed it will protect you."

Éowyn threw her arms about Ælfeorh. "I will wear it and never forget all you have done for me. I love you as a mother, Ælfeorh. Weep not for me unless they be happy tears, for I know what I must do. I am free now at last to defend my people as I was meant to."

x x x x x

Ælfeorh (Elf-spirit): Original character. For the purpose of this story she is Elfhelm's mother.

Ælfheorte: Elf-heart