Author's Note: Hi all! I am still breathing and existing. I promise to have a more comprehensive note tomorrow, but it's really late, and I just want to get this posted.
Rest assured, it may have been four years but I have not abandoned this story. The Holy Spirit moved in me and inspired me to get back to writing. God bless!
Éowyn, Rohan, March 2, 3019
Éowyn diligently finished filling the goblets of each guest honored with prominence at the High table. Though with all of the recent losses to Saruman's machinations and monstrous Uruk-Hai the ranks of Rohirrim nobility had thinned significantly. Otherwise those who were absent had scattered across the Mark to tend to their besieged regions. There were several empty chairs that Éowyn was disheartened to pass over, such her dear cousin Théodred, valiant Erkenbrand of the Westmark and now the of the West-march, and Dúnhere of the Harrowfold. However, the seats that were occupied boasted distinguished and worldly visitants along with men of more humble origins, but extraordinary character, like Elfhelm, Grimbold, Háma, and Éothain. Each of the men had proven their valor and fealty a dozen times over. And it gladdened Éowyn greatly that her brother Éomer was surrounded by such comrades when the time came for him to ascend the throne in Théodred's stead.
Perhaps the most distinguished of all was the imposing ranger with the eyes of liquid steel, that could become impossibly gentle if so inclined. The Chieftain of the Dúnedain, shrouded in secrecy. His presence had impacted Éowyn so. If she were any other woman the electrical current of nerves surging through her limbs would have rendered her too clumsy to pour the vintage. However Éowyn's prolific experience as a Shield Maiden did her due credit in steadiness of hand. She wielded the pitcher as deftly as a broadsword and she took comfort in the fact that she didn't spill any wine on Aragorn's tunic. Prior to the feast Aragorn and his companions had been offered fresh vestments whilst their original garb was washed.
No work of Rohirrim weaving or sewing would perfectly fit the stately frame of Aragorn. Truly nothing other than the most luxurious and vibrant fabrics would befit him. Nonetheless, Aragorn graciously accepted the proffered clothing and donned it with kingly pride. The deep green and bright golds cut a commanding figure, starkly contrasting his darker complexion. She thought him a magnificent sight.
Éowyn went to set the pitcher down, and take her appointed seat at the left hand of her uncle, but the ill-tempered dwarf with the scarlet beard of braided bristles and ruddy cheeks had other plans. The creature had finished his entire goblet before anyone else even touched their cups!
He cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders to be better seen amongst the tall and stately shoulders of his compatriots, and winked at Éowyn to engage her attention. Oblivious to the consternation he had inflicted upon her, the dwarf lifted his cup and wagged it before hinting to gesture for a refill.
Éowyn bit the inside of her cheek in perturbance, but she did not let her upset marr her countenance. As the only remaining female member of the royal family, and in the absence of a Queen Consort, or senior lady of the court, the duty of hosting fell to her. She would rather be trampled underfoot by a horse than fail in her responsibilities. Théoden was the closest figure to a father she had so she would avail upon herself anything to prove him proud.
She resumed a standing position, made a quarter turn to retrieve a fresh pitcher from a servant dwelling in the fringes of the hall, and covered the distance to attend to the dwarf.
After she had replenished his stores and he took a deep pull of his drink, Gimli sent her a grateful look and a hearty wink. She bowed her head in acknowledgement. As Éowyn moved to return the jug to the attendant, she heard a great belch originate from the lips of the amiable dwarf. Try as he might, he failed to contain the sound with a gloved fist and his cheeks grew more inflamed than his fiery mane. Spittle fizzled between his tangled braids. The poor fellow was embarrassed!
Such a look of humanity and vulnerability endeared Éowyn's heart to the short creature immediately. She stifled a chuckle under her breath and composed herself prior to gaboring him with an encouraging nod that no one else had taken notice of the noise.
They linked eyes and an unspoken agreement flitted between them. The dwarf would not seek anymore drink during the meal and Éowyn would happily oblige his wishes. However, she possessed an inkling that once all of the courses had been served and the dishes cleared away, he would engage once more in drink-induced merriment. Rohirrim meals were rich and starchy, the perfect remedy for overindulging in mead or wine.
The attendant took the wine jug and withdrew from the table once more to stand at attention under the arches flanking the sides of the Great Hall.
Finally Éowyn was able to reclaim her seat with her uncle to her right, and Aragorn to her left. Her heart became all aflutter and her mouth grew dry. How unbecoming of a Shield Maiden of the Riddermark To be struck dumb by a mere man! Never before had anyone wielded such power over her mind and heart.
She endeavored to take a quick sip of her own vintage to ward away the xerotes, but once the earthy and fragrant taste touched her tongue she took an extended pull. If the men could garner liquid courage, why should she prove any different?
The Shield Maiden closed her eyes momentarily to compose herself, readying to enter the fray of conversation.
Although she did not act quickly enough as her uncle stood up, rose from the head of the table and clanked a spoon to the side of his cup for quiet in the hall. Every individual in attendance, especially those who were men-at-arms of Éomer, their spirits rejuvenated to see Éomer restored to his standing. Despite having been offered the same imported wine as those seated at the High table, the common folk elected to consume the domestically brewed ale and mead. Perhaps it was a matter of pride in one's country, which Éowyn could relate to.
The riders heartilty held their tankards and cups aloft in eager anticipation of what their restored Théoden King would proclaim. Bubbling amber liquid sloshed beyond the contents of their containers to the floor and their riding leathers, but they paid it no heed. Their undivided attention directed towards Théoden Ednew.
Once the clamor had dulled, the king lowered his goblet and spoke with authority.
"As I can sense from the impassioned voices and general merriment reverberating in these halls, this is a moment of celebration. A time to look to the infinitely hopeful future of Rohan, rather than dwell on the endlessly woeful past. We have a new heir. However, it may grieve my fatherly heart to have buried my one and only beloved son. We must rejoice that a man of such courage, steadfastness and wisdom as Éomer shall take my son's place. The line of Eorlvshall continue on, mayhaps not as was foreseen, but endure it will!" Théoden declared to the crowd, with raw emotion.
He was met with a resounding cheer. And he permitted his subjects to engage in the buoyant mood for a moment, nodding his head in assent until they quieted.
"The Horse Lords of The Mark shall remain in perpetuity, the descendants of Eorl inhabiting this Golden Hall. We mustn't forget the sacrifices and services performed to assure our survival. Those mighty and charitable deeds done by those long gone. It is our ancestors I speak of! It is our duty to honor our forefathers, praising their actions and striving to reach their example.
This glorious evening, it is the memory of my father and mother I wish to rekindle. A tale of a triumphant return, the origins of a great king and love found in exile. I speak of King Thengel and my lady mother, Queen Morwen Steelsheen, daughter of Gondor!"
Aragorn's eyes rippled with familiarity and veneration at the mention of Éowyn's grandmother. Melancholy and respect commingled in equal measure upon his face, it was a battlefield.
And Éowyn had no doubt in her heart that the man had seen many battles in his lifetime, but perhaps this was the one he had never been able to win. A constant state of internal warfare
Éowyn also felt her emotions warring. One part curiosity, one part wonder, and a more stout part of sorrow. She so desperately wanted to ease his conflict, but it was not the right moment. She hoped the opportunity would arise sooner rather than to investigate what weighed on him so strongly.
She turned her attention back to her uncle who was once again wrestling with the exuberant and noisy enthusiasm of the Rohirrim. Théoden gestured for silence but the crowd did not acquiesce for quite some time.
In the meanwhile, Éowyn indulged in a few more swallows of wine to dull the anxiety that appeared whenever her uncle recounted the epic tale of his parentage. It had been many a year since she had last heard the well trodden words.
Her uncle's ailing mind and paranoia had distracted him from sharing the story he loved so dearly.
It was not that Éowyn took displeasure in hearing the history, but she was never quite comfortable. A disconcerting weight would settle on her heart and at moments it was difficult to breathe. The words had some impact on her beyond reason or explanation. She had never been up to the task of uncovering the root of her affliction but she had always remained unsettled, resolute to one day understand why recounts of King Thengel and Morwen Steelsheen stifled her breath and stole her composure.
Like her grandmother's epithet, Éowyn would steel her own nerves for what was to come.
Aragorn, Rohan, March 3, 3019
Time swept by quickly in the hours since the company had ascended the stairs of Edoras and been welcomed into the Hall of Meduseld. It had been less than a day since Estel and his companions transformed from foe to friend in the glazed and stormy eyes of Théoden. With Gríma Wormtongue departed from the King's retinue, he had been restored to soundness of mind. However his newfound clarity had indeed not dulled his sharp sense of cautiousness and mistrust to outsiders.
The beleaguered King had recognized Gandalf Grey Cloak, now transfigured into the brilliant Gandalf the White, garbed in cloud and sunlight. But he had known not of any other. Receiving word of his son's death and the revelation of Gríma's true allegiance and deceptions had honed Théoden's sharp prudence into a razor blade of suspicion. It took several minutes to convince him that Gandalf and his compatriots had only the purest of intentions, not shielding mischief or treason in their hearts.
Once Théoden had accepted the wizard, dwarf, elf and man to be no threat the true hospitality of Rohan was extended. Food, water and rest were proffered with no hesitation. The icy reception thawed to warm welcome was jarring for Aragorn to comprehend but he loathed the notion of offending his weary and mourning host.
He took all aid with grace but he truly wished for a spare moment alone, to ponder the tumultuous events of the past fortnight. His mind spun with concern for the foolhardy Hobbits spirited away to Saruman's lair, Samwise and Frodo braving the dreadful and foul terrain of Mordor, of Boromir's terrible passing and of Evenstar awaiting him devoutly in Imladris.
Aragorn had not found the peace he sought until at Gandalf's urging he came across the Lady Éowyn, the King's niece, mentoring young Rohirrim girls in swordsmanship. Then everything stilled and peace was found.
Gone were the thundering thoughts, desperate doubts and slithering shame from his mind. All Elessar could do, and desired was to witness the White Lady of Rohan instructing her charges.
That was all there was. Until she had noticed his trespass. Then he was shocked from his stupor and announced himself as coherently as he could muster.
After the initial exchange, time had galloped away again with Aragorn's equilibrium. Perhaps the most curious sensation had been the most disorienting. A visage of a woman Aragorn never had the privilege of meeting, took Éowyn's place in his sight. The woman was majestic and commanding, imposing her will with cutting grey orbs and a mane of basalt curls rippling around her face.
A soft echo, an unintelligible whisper of meaning punctuated the momentary appearance of the noble lady and the collapse back into Éowyn's image
"Steelsheen".
Since that moment, Aragorn had navigated the world in a state akin to a daze. His body remained corporeal, and the world perceptible but his spirit wandered elsewhere. He stayed untethered until his eyes found those of Éowyn again at the high table, and she filled his cup with not only wine, but rationality.
Suddenly, Aragorn remembered where he was and his purposes. The designs he carried with him to Edoras, the burden of his exile and his looming elevation to Isildur's heir.
Until the Lady sat down to his left and Théoden addressed his fellow countrymen, Aragorn ruminated on all the tribulations he faced. When the king commenced regaling the hall with history of his forefather, Thengel and his foremother did Aragorn truly heed his surroundings.
Morwen. Morwen Steelsheen! That sobriquet again, this time emanating from the Horse Lord's lips. A woman of Gondoran heritage. And Théoden's mother. And Éowyns grandmother!
How could he have been so obtuse! Of course, Éowyn stood apart, she must have favored her grandmother. Aragorn reeled at the realization, chastising himself for his ignorance.
"My lord, are you quite well?" a timid voice inquired.
The query wavered with a breath and then ended, but her eyes remained focused on him.
Confusion, empathy and fear swam in the iron swirls.
"Yes, my Lady. I am alright. I was just lost in my thoughts when your uncle pulled me from my reverie. He is speaking of King Thengel and Queen Morwen of Lossarnach, no?"
Aragorn attempted to convey his earnestness through the inquisition.
Éowyn trapped and seized his keenness.
"Indeed. My Lord is correct. It is a story well worn into the walls and of this hall. It resonates and vibrates in every crevice and corner."
Aragorn detected a tone of displeasure.
"Does that offend my Lady?"
She opened her mouth to answer when Théoden resumed his account and she was interrupted.
"Almost a century ago, my father departed from the Mark to venture and witness those things beyond the plains and hills contained in our humble but proud country. He was a restless youth. And what he found enamored and enchanted him. He stayed away for many years.
Mayhaps it was a shirking of duty or terror for the crown looming over his head that deterred Thengel's return. Or both. But I choose to believe it was love. The love he found with my mother, Morwen and love for the life they had endeavored to build in Gondor."
"It was a time of contentment and multitude. A mingling of revered and ancient bloodlines. The likes of which has not been seen since."
The King took a moment to regain his composure. Tears threatened to slip from his eyes and drape down his gaunt cheeks. Théoden caught them with his calloused palms and steadied his breath.
He laughed breathily.
"I apologize. This story just moves me more each time I recount it. I feel as if I lived in those precious moments. Sometimes I wish I had. Nonetheless, we are people of the present. But we should not shy away from revisiting the past. Now where was I?"
"Oh yes. The lineages that weave together the royal blood that flows through my veins and those of my sister-son and daughter. We are scions of not only King Eorl, but also kin to the Prince of Dol Amroth, and distant relation to the Prince of Imrahil. The union of Thengel and Morwen was a joining of ancient kingdoms. The progenitor of a new alliance. One of hope.
One I hope might come to pass once again. When it is most needed."
With that Théoden finished. He urged his countrymen to partake in as much food and drink as their bellies could hold jubilantly. All vestiges of sadness dissipated. Then he sat down and followed his own counsel.
Aragorn turned to resume his exchange with Éowyn. She was pallid and withdrawn. Her face as pale as the stars retreating from dawn.
He was disturbed. Elessar leaned down for the Lady to better hear him. He scanned their surroundings and once he was satisfied no villain would eavesdrop, he began.
"My Lady? It is now my right to ask: are you quite alright?"
She remained catatonic for many moments. Staring off to a world invisible to everyone else.
From a far off place she answered.
"Yes my Lord. It's only a temporary affliction I swear to thee. The tale moves my heart and that of my uncle. But in separate manners. I am also taken captive by the past. I lose all reconciliation of time and space. My heart aches and grows immobile whenever Thengel and Morwen Steelsheen are spoken of."
"Why? I anticipate you will ask? I truly do not know. I am at the mercy of whatever force overpowers my sovereignty. I cannot describe it any other way."
Éowyn then looked unsure. She tilted her face down to avoid the eyes of Aragorn. She was still peaked but the hints of a blush warmed her ivory cheeks.
She was embarrassed to have so freely shared her vulnerability. The White Lady of Rohan was turning pink.
"I apologize wholeheartedly, Aragorn. I do know what overcame me. I spoke without regard or rationality. Forgive me for the ramblings of a sheltered and naive girl. I acted out of turn."
That would not do at all. She had no justification to feel ashamed.
"Not at all my Lady. I find your lack of reservedness to be a pleasant deviation. I have passed so many decades with the Elven people, masters of stoicism, that I have forgotten what it meant to be forthright and unencumbered. I am honored by your honesty."
"Might I ask what about the tale distresses you? If you can discern the root?"
Éowyn was once again about to speak when the doors to the hall spilled open.
As if portending they were to be interrupted and frightened to not share her piece, Éowyn rushed out.
" I fear a cage. To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them and all chance of valor has gone beyond recall or desire. I will never roam or live as Thengel did."
With that she stood up and rushed from the table to the doors to see who had intruded.
She did not hear Aragorn say, "I do not think that will be your fate."