Chapter V: Left Behind
02 March, 3019
Aragorn seemed to avoid me after that: he would not meet my gaze; ever his eyes had a turmoil of worry. I, for my part, was in raptures in the realisation that I loved him. I loved him more and differently than I had ever loved Théodred and Éomer. I was in love—and now I felt even more guilt for my feelings towards Théodred. If he had felt the same passion when he looked at me as I did when I looked at Aragorn, he deserved more than the brotherly love I had offered, I ought to have forced myself to love him, or not deceived him by accepting his lovesuit.
Yet I had not refused him and I had not hated him—I had loved him dearly, as a brother. But I now knew that I could not have kept my true feelings secret, and I hated to think of the pain that it would have caused him to learn that I did not return his love.
But he was dead now, and all that was left was my love for Aragorn. Yes, love—born only moments ago—moments that felt like a lifetime.
The King went unassisted to the doors—I couldn't remember the last time he had walked, not hobbled, or having to be supported. The guards were waiting. I followed in his wake with Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli.
"Behold!" The King's voice echoed across the plains and bounced off the hills. Behold…! Behold…! Behold…! "And it seems like my last riding!" Riding…! Riding…! Riding…! "I have no child!" No child…! No child…! No child…! "Théoden my son is slain!" The words beat into my brain, awakening more pain and guilt: Is slain…! Is slain…! Is slain…! "I name Éomer my sister-son to be my heir." My heir…! My heir…! My heir…! "If neither of us returns, than choose a new lord as you will." You will…! You will…! You will…! "But to someone I must now entrust my people whom I leave behind; to rule them in my place." My place…! My place…! My place…! "Which of you will stay?" Will stay…? Will stay…? Will stay…?
No one spoke. No man wanted to be left. I wanted to go—was sure they could not leave me—they knew I could fight as well as a man!
"Is there no one you would name?" Would name…? Would name…? Would name…?
More silence.
"In whom do my people trust?" People trust…? People trust…? People trust…?
Háma spoke up staunchly. "In the House of Eorl!" House of Eorl…! House of Eorl…! House of Eorl…! His voice was deeper than Théoden's—the faint echoes melded with Théoden's reply. "But Éomer I cannot spare, and he is the last of the House!" Last of the House…! Last of the House…! Last of the House…!
I bowed my head to hide my anger at being forgotten again. I was a woman, not worthy to bear the name of Eorl. I had been forgotten again.
But Háma had not forgotten me—he had meant me all along. "I spoke not of Éomer, milord, and he is not the last," he said, not loudly enough to create an echo, taking me by the hand and leading me forward so all could see me. "There is Éowyn, daughter of Éomund, his sister. She is fearless and high-hearted. All love her, milord. Let her be a lady to the Eorlingas while we are away."
I blushed as the men gathered broke into applause. I wanted to for with them. I despaired for that loss—but not all had forgotten the sister-daughter of Théoden King! I was remembered—and loved by all! I smiled, though my heart nearly broke.
"It shall be so!" Théoden's words, as a fetter, echoed all around me—jeering at me: It shall be so…! It shall be so…! It shall be so…! "Let the heralds announce that the Lady Éowyn shall lead them!" Éowyn shall lead them…! Éowyn shall lead them…! Éowyn shall lead them…!
Théoden sat down, overcome by the effort. I looked to Éomer, hoping for some intervention that would allow me to follow the men into battle, but he shook his head. No, Éowyn, it said. I wrinkled my nose at him in irritation.
I looked at Aragorn, but he was watching Théoden.
At Hama's cue, I knelt before Théoden, and received a sword better than the one I had gotten from Théodred. This one was sharp, though it bore the signs of previous use, with all the signs of the Rohirrim emblazoned on it. I smiled again, hiding the sorrow I felt being left behind.
"Farewell, sister-daughter," he cried when I had risen, and examined the sword, and sheathed it, tying it at my hip alongside my other sword. Daughter…! Daughter…! Daughter…! "Dark is the hour, yet maybe we shall return to the Golden Hall." Golden Hall…! Golden Hall…! Golden Hall…! "But in Dunharrow the people may long defend themselves, and if the battle go ill, thither will come those who escape." Who escape…! Who escape…! Who escape…!
I spoke up, willing my voice to echo as my uncle and Hama's voices had. "Speak not so!" Speak not so…! Speak not so…! Speak not so…! My voice did echo, but the soprano light tones after Théoden's tenor and Hama's rumble were harsh to my ears. "A year shall I endure for every day that passes until your returning." Your returning…! Your returning…! Your returning…! As I allowed my eyes to meet Aragorn's, the words seemed to change in meaning. Instead they screamed, You're returning! You're returning! You're returning!
I smiled; he smiled: yet the smile was not in his eyes—it did not even seem to be a smile—merly a movement of the lips. It was a sad smile—such a sad smile. I realised in my heart that here was a man that had suffered much. Aragorn hurt—not physically, though scars on his arms and face bore testimony to the fact that that kind of pain was not foreign, either—but he… his very soul was in pain.
Let me rescue you, I thought to him.
For a moment—so clear had been the thought in my mind—I half-fancied I had actually said it out-loud. looked down to hide the hot flush covering my cheeks. Then I realised the impossibilities of this, and looked up. Théoden and Gandalf went down the steps, deep in conversation. Legolas murmured a congratulation to me that was hardly more than a sound. Gimli followed, taking three steps to his companion's one. Aragorn followed them, I assumed.
I didn't look up, but sank to the step, hardly able to hold myself up. The porch was deserted… the Lady Éowyn, "loved by all" was alone. But loneliness is easier to bear when your body is alone, than when three hundred eyes are upon you—I knew by experience.
Unable to hold it in anymore, I let all my emotions out—my worry—my joy—my love—my fear—my excitement—my tension—all of it erupted form my soul in the form of one tearless sob. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed, though no tears came. I was dry—my tears had been sucked from me, starting with Mother's death and ending with this disappointment. And now, when I knew that tears would help me the most, they would not come.
After a few moments of wallowing in my hopelessness, I emerged the pool of despair and raised my head. My eyes met Aragorn's once more. He was standing over me, staring at me with a look of intense pity. His eyes were filled with the tears I could not shed.
Startled, I stayed locked in his gaze before I recovered my senses. But then I leapt to my feet and, nodding to him, walked into the House as calmly as I could, trying to make up for the moment of weakness he had witnessed.