Chapter Text
Letter - Éowyn to Rowena
6th January 3019, Edoras
Dear Rowena,
I wish to offer my sincerest words of grief and comfort after the passing of your dear Folcred. I cannot imagine your sorrow; brothers are an incessant cause of worry and exasperation - but above all the source of much hope and comfort. I shudder to think of what blow it would be to suffer the loss of Éomer. I wish you strength and courage.
Théodred has urged me to write to offer our condolences - he is deeply grieved and shocked at the loss - we shall never forget that Folcred was slain defending him - he will visit your mother as soon as he can - but it is also the occasion for me to bid your help, having for many months debated renewing our acquaintance to request your assistance.
You surely know how Wylfrun has been overwhelmed since the passing of old Wynna. With two young children, her husband called out in the country for weeks at a time - and in her fruitful but indisposing condition - your sister is sorely unable to fulfill her duties as the only healer in Edoras.
The men here are going mad, ever quarreling under the poisonous influence of - you know who - sowing discord and spoiling the efforts of all. The town is emptying - hunger and sickness spread. Every day am I wrought with worry for my cousin and my brother, the only ones still able to federate and retain good men - that is, those not yet driven away from court. They are followed and eavesdropped on, both here and in their bases in Hornburg and Aldburg, when they are not away in the wild clashing with orcs and foul creatures within our very borders. And my uncle the king is everyday ailing deeper into untimely decrepitude.
I am not enough for the tasks laid before me - and Lady Bréda’s insufferable good mood and little understanding are of no help. We need your skill. Your staying so long in Glamsbjerg by your mother has undoubtedly increased your science in healing; with the passing of your brother - and her now being unprotected - as well as indigent - I cannot believe that you would have any good reason to stay unmarried and idle in so remote a place. Therefore I urge you to come make yourself useful in Edoras.
Be swift, my friend. Find a robust escort - even the plains are unsafe - and do not delay.
Lady Éowyn
PS. Your father’s kin has not always been welcome at court - and might never be again - but Folcred’s sacrifice might earn you tolerance in the King’s muddled mind. Come, in any case - it is a gamble I must make.
17th January 3019, Edoras
Éomer. Éomer.
Rowena’s heart rang with the name at every step of her weary mare. The crunch of chips of ice underfoot mingled with the tinkling of cattle bells and the clinking of chain mail. Muddy water spurted over the wilted grass around hooves and boots, pooling in the footprints behind. Sulking merchants and shepherds trudged silently in the cold sludge. Only the guards escorting the caravan, in turns riding ahead to look over ridges or knolls, exchanged a few words signaling that the way seemed safe. Rowena sat half dreaming, looking down along Mjuka’s shoulder, past the puffs of mist rolling from her nostrils. For long hours since the morning, she had watched her hoof break ice, crush grass and splash mud.
Éomer.
Two days before, when they had started upon the grassy path that stretches south out of Glamsbjerg and joins in Grimslade the great road east along the lower slopes of the White Mountains, the travelers had exchanged songs to lift hearts and stories to stir laughter. But on this third day on the road, after uneasy nights in the damp and freezing camps, songs and laughter had turned scarce.
Rowena ached from the long, slow journey in the saddle, for she had not often left Glamsbjerg in the two years since her family had withdrawn there. Rare had been the occasions for a leisurely ride; she had shared old Mjuka with her mother and sister after misfortune had forced them to part with their best horses.
Folcred’s passing the month before had deepened their sorrow beyond measure, but the modest purse they had gotten from selling his war horse and his armour had granted them the means to pay their most pressing debts. They still had enough left to purchase warm clothes for all three, wood to keep their hearth burning for the rest of the winter, and they had bought another small, hardy mare. Her mother had then managed to part with the trusted Mjuka for her journey to Edoras, however long her stay there might be. But the beautiful, spirited mare she had reared, trained and ridden as a young girl was lost forever.
She steered her mind away from bitter recollections of the happy, careless days of her youth, from before she had known loss, disgrace, and privation. She curled her numb fingers in the scruffy short mane, saying a prayer in gratitude for her humble companion.
Éomer. Éomer. Éomer.
Rowena shivered. She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders and lifted her gaze. The air was chill, but a white sun shone in the pure, steely sky. In the south, the snow-covered peaks of the White mountains rose sharp and bright against the spotless sky, like the pointed helms of great warriors lined up to guard the plains. Spines and ridges drew blue shadows on the sparkling white glaciers. Beneath, great walls of rock shone slick and wet with streaks of melt water oozing from packs of ice above. Broken cliffs were slashed by cracks and ledges stuffed with mosses; crumbling boulders dotted the lower grassy slopes. Northwards the plains of the Westfold undulated over brown and ochre hills speckled with drifts of glinting snow. Naked bushes framed the grey iciness of frozen marshes and fens laying in the hollows, but not a bird was to be heard or seen.
Along the path and down every slope, wilted tussocks seemed a crowd of long-haired, golden heads bowed over the icy ground. Her heart sank thinking of her dear brother, another blond head fallen among tussock and fens, somewhere behind in the West. And the whole world seemed cold under the boundless sky, all of it golden brown, pure blue and bright white.
Looking ahead again, she strained to catch a glimpse of Edoras, but only low rolls of land appeared, crowned with grey rubbling stones. The city was still hidden behind the rocky spurs projecting from the mountains into the plains.
Éomer.
Again, she felt sick to her bones with dread, like every moment since she had decided to follow Éowyn’s summon. Each line of her letter had had her recoil in indignation, hurt, and horror. She did not wish to go. But she had not found grounds strong enough to justify resisting the wishes of her lady and stay in Glamsbjerg, although the fresh grief weighted her down and her mind staggered at the thought of coming out in society again.
She wondered how she would be welcomed in Meduseld, if any comfort could be procured there for her. What would be the worst? Facing the decline of the king, the lies of Gríma, the disparagement of the court, the low spirits of Éowyn, or the unthinkable weight of the work that awaited her in the capital?
Éomer. The worst would be Éomer.
Mjuka stumbled and caught herself, making Rowena jerk forward in the saddle. She wished she were brave enough, strong enough, proud enough to turn her horse, lift that sword she now barely dared to unsheathe, and face the empty plains and the roaming orcs, to make a life for herself, free of the shame and abasement that had long been her lot. She wished to give her life for the Mark, face danger, and be seen, admired and praised at last.
But would that be bravery? No, it would be recklessness. Bravery was this: riding at a walk, among sullen strangers, where she was needed but unwelcome. Rather than fighting orcs, bravery was enduring scorn and injustice, committing to an unseen and unsung sacrifice. Swallowing her pride before the inconsiderate, condescending words of her lady. Shushing the cries of her heart for the sake of duty.
And facing Éomer.
A clear voice rose from a woman at the back of the column, singing the praise of a sure-footed little mare. Rowena mouthed the words of the slow, swinging tune and welcomed the distraction with a pale smile.
Her father would have been proud of her, for following her duty, and her brother would have approved her choice too. Perhaps the example of their wisdom would be enough to guide her on the right path, and perhaps with prudence, she could subsist without the protection of their sword. There would be Elfhelm her brother-in-law, and Théodred! Ever since she had been a little girl, ever overcome with timidity, he had been kind to her, his distant little cousin, and he had visited Glamsbjerg a few times when his duties had brought him nearby.
A stay in the capital would shake her from having been cooped up in that remote hamlet for far too long. She would live with her older sister Wylfrun and her darling little nephews whom she had not yet met, and perchance Lady Bréda, Théodred’s fiancée, could become a true friend to her. Lady Éowyn herself might soften and warm up to her, if the differences of character that had kept them somewhat distant in their youth could be prevailed over; in these trying times, disparate natures could grow nearer for the sake of solidarity and mutual comfort.
She had studied and exercised her skill tirelessly for years, and she would now work with redoubled zeal; her value was bound to be acknowledged sooner or later. She might succeed, perhaps the king could be cured, and there would be recognition. Or if there was no saving him, Théodred would soon accede to the throne, and the Mark would be renewed.
But there would be Éomer.
Rowena’s mind went blank. Mjuka sighed deeply, and she sighed in response. The velvety ears pivoted to her. She shook her feet in the stirrups to warm them up somewhat and listened to the soft creaking of the saddle, and to the constant thumping, splashing and crushing of the hooves.
But the caravan now passed the crest of a hill, and suddenly Edoras was before them. Rowena felt short of breath; they were already nearer than she had thought. There it was, with the gold thatched roof of its great hall shining blindingly in the sun, as she had so often heard it described. She averted her gaze, for although she was eager to behold the seat of the kings of her people, the sight burned her eyes. And there would she find the man for whom she had long yearned, but above all dreaded to see.
Yes, the worst of all would be to meet Éomer again. Everything else, contempt, privation, loneliness, exertion, she could bear valiantly. But the weight of regret, the grievous error of having given him up, that was deeply harrowing. She was now to see again a countenance once so ardently beloved. How was she to guard her heart against a renewed flare of that blaze she had in vain striven to extinguish over five years of absence? She was soon to look at him again, to breathe the same air as him again, to hear again this voice that had consumed her heart. Perhaps she could not avoid burning again; but hope, treacherous hope had to be fended off at all costs, for a return of his affections was utterly impossible.
Dear, blessed Éomer.
The caravan was arriving within less than a league from the ford of Edoras. As Rowena tried to recall what was wrong with turning back and facing the orcs alone, a young merchant-daughter rode up to her.
‘Miss, will you sing the song again? The one about the sad lady and the evil bird? I could not remember it all after hearing it only once.’
‘It is a gloomy song for a young girl! Do you not want to learn something happier?’
‘I know all of ours,’ the girl said with stern innocence, ‘and you don’t look like you sing happy songs. Please, Miss, I’d like the one with the evil bird, once more before we arrive. It started with the horse drinking at a river…’
Rowena nodded and hummed the first phrase, trying her voice. Then she took a deep breath, straightened in the saddle and sang.
I led my horse to the river;
A wren’s complaint, I hearkened long.
He called at me, in a whisper:
‘Your true lover they will bury.’
‘What say you now, evil creature?
Ere the sun rose, fast he held me!’
But when I rode on the heather,
Horns a’ringing…
‘Lord Théodred! It is Lord Théodred and his Lady!’
The guards had suddenly exclaimed, pointing ahead at a group of riders fast approaching. Roused from their lassitude, the merchants erupted in anxious exclamations. ‘Why is he coming to us? Lord Théodred himself! Is he warning of some danger ahead? Quick, hide that bottle! Why is he not in Helm’s deep? There’s mud on your face, wipe it off, wipe it off! Have we offended the king? We’re going to see the king’s son! Oh! The lady is so elegant! Her dress alone must be worth eight live sheep! Look, it’s the king’s son!’
As the riders came closer, Rowena counted six royal guards in flashing polished armour, with bright green surcoats. They rode strong, swift horses. At their head was Théodred, thin, tall and handsome with his pale hair tied back. Lady Bréda was beaming at his side. Her great cloak of crimson velvet flowed over the haunches of a swift, slender mare whose chestnut coat lustred in the sun.
Théodred came forward and rode up to one of the caravan’s guards, who offered a diligent salute. ‘Are you arriving from Glamsbjerg? Is Rowena daughter of Wylfric with you?’
The escort squinted back at the column and hesitated for an instant before pointing at Rowena. Théodred exclaimed joyously.
‘Rowena! Trot up! Come ride with us! You are most welcome in Edoras! Most welcome! Come on, come on!’
All heads turned to her, and the merchant girl had a loud gasp. Rowena hushed her and promised to sing her song in full if they chanced to meet again. She pushed Mjuka to a trot up to Théodred, her saddle bags flapping heavily.
‘Rowena, dear, how glad I am to see you! How was your journey? Have you been safe? You must be weary, you poor thing!’
Rowena stammered a response and blushed. Despite the tiredness in his eyes, his kind, beautiful face was lit up with laughter. He led her to his company, which had stopped a few paces away.
‘Are you still as shy as when you were little? Come on, lift up your head, we are most obliged and grateful that you have accepted to come help. I am delighted to introduce you to my dear betrothed, Lady Bréda, daughter of Lord Erkenbrand. I trust that you two will be great friends, and will look after each other like your own kin.’
Lady Bréda welcomed Rowena’s salute and smiled with friendly warmth.
‘My Théodred told me that you are wise and a learned healer.’
‘I have long studied with my mother, my lady.’
‘Folcwena is without a doubt the best healer in the Mark, and Rowena is her most serious disciple. We are glad that you have come! Wermund, get Rowena’s luggage from the caravan, we will ride faster.’
‘My lord, there is no need,’ she said gesturing at her saddle bags. ‘This is all I have.’
Bréda had an exclamation of pity.
‘Well, let us go then,’ said Théodred. He invited Rowena to ride between him and Bréda, and his guards ahead and behind matched the brisk walk of their horses. After a few moments in silence, Théodred sighed.
‘Rowena, I am… wretchedly sorry for Folcred. You have my deepest condolences.’ His voice shook with emotion. ‘I do not know what to say to you, his sweet sister. He was brave until the last moment. He leaped into danger to save my life, though he did not have to. He was so good to everyone, I miss him all the time, with his big smile and his jokes. What a shame, it is unbearable, really, to lose a young man of my kin like this. He can lay proudly by his fathers, but I wish we had had him with us much longer.’
‘Thank you, my lord. We all miss him a lot. And we shall never forget all you did for him, too. He loved you so much.’ Rowena took a deep breath to ward off the tears that were stinging her eyes.
Théodred shook his head. ‘I did too little for him, and for all of you. What a wretched fate! And yet another misfortune for your family. I am truly, truly sorry.’
Rowena nodded quickly. She felt unable to speak any more, for fear that it would break open the fragile gates that contained her brimming sorrow.
‘Oh! I kept this for you.’ He reached at his side for a small purse and fumbled with its contents. ‘I wanted to keep it safe, and I knew you would treasure it. He wore it always.’
He handed Rowena a delicate copper brooch depicting a horse and a wolf entangled together: the insignia of the Wolf clan, worn by Wylfric before his son, and by Wylfhelm before him. Rowena could not contain herself any longer: she shattered down in sobs and blubbering thanks. Mjuka stumbled to a halt. As Théodred turned away in an attempt to hide his own tears, Bréda offered her handkerchief and reached over to stroke her back. She took the brooch from her hand and started attaching it to her coat, but Rowena shook her head, hiccuping with sobs.
‘I should not wear it… Our line has ended now. The clan… the clan is…’
‘The Wolf clan is well alive in its daughters,’ said Théodred wiping his eyes, ‘and you can wear its mark proudly. I bear the Royal Eagle, but I too am a Wolf through my mother, and I shall never let the Wolves down. Come on, let us continue our way and get you warmed up.’
Rowena strove to compose herself and pushed Mjuka forward again. They were at last approaching the ford over the Snowbourn river. Their horses’ hooves clacked on flat stones as the slow water rose up to their knees. The lowering sun felt mellow on her back. Théodred softly sang an air that evoked memories of long-gone summers he had spent training in Aldburg when Rowena and her siblings were still children. Tears kept wetting her cheeks. He smiled at her and rubbed her arm.
‘I know that you, Éofleda and your mother have nothing left, no protection nor support, now that Folcred has fallen. I will be your brother, gentle Wena, I will dry your tears. Bréda will be my wife, but you are my sister now. You will be safe and well in Edoras. Éowyn will welcome you warmly, and by chance Éomer just arrived from Aldburg for a few days.’
Rowena flinched at the name: she knew that the encounter could not be avoided but, thinking that his charges should keep him in the East most of the time, she had not expected to meet him so soon.
‘I… very much look forward to seeing Lady Éowyn.’
Théodred’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
‘How is the king?’ said Rowena to keep him from thinking too long about her reaction.
‘Not well,’ he answered. His countenance darkened. ‘He seems to decline with every day. I have hope that you can help him, but be careful around Gríma. And you too, my Bréda, I will never repeat it enough. If you cannot avoid him, guard your mind against his poison. Do not heed anything he says, and closely consider what you let him hear. He will try to find your weakness and use it to break you, like water seeping through a fissure and cracking rocks open with frosty persistence. You women must hold fast together, if you are to resist him.’
Rowena nodded and nervously grasped at a strand of Mjuka’s mane.
‘It is getting late, I should not have prolonged this ride this far, but it has been so long since we got to enjoy the sun! And how few precious moments I have to spend with my too patient Bréda! I am glad to have been here to welcome you to Edoras. I must go meet my men presently. We still have much to do today, for I intend to leave for the West again at dawn. We should hasten back.’
‘My lord, I am terribly sorry, but I do not believe that Mjuka can go any faster than this, she is quite tired.’
‘Good old Mjuka, of course, I should have thought of her. Then I must leave you ladies to the care of my guards for the rest of the way. Bréda, my love, will you show Rowena up to the hall? Do not delay, Lady Éowyn is expecting her. I will see you again tonight, dearest.’
He pressed Rowena’s hand and rode around to kiss Bréda’s cheek and whisper a compliment in her ear. He called on two of his guards to follow him and darted ahead.
They quickly disappeared behind a roll of the road. Bréda sighed tenderly. Rowena was agitated with many questions and worries, but she could not decide on what was proper and timely to ask. She was anxious to find out how much comfort she would find in the friendship of the future queen, and how much trust she could put in her.
But Bréda, cheerful and familiar already, filled the quiet of the windless afternoon with chatter of this and that, her horse, her father and cousins in the West, her wedding coming in the spring. She was young but had the poise and ease of manner that only the combination of a high birth, fortune, and remarkable beauty can confer. Rowena, only half listening but nodding eagerly, marveled at her embroidered crimson gown closed with clasps of silver, the ornate leatherwork on her horse, and her complicated braids studded with gold pins. Her flawless complexion was still blushing from her lover's kiss. She had the looks and serene expression of a true lady. Rowena could only measure how superior her fortune, consequence and prospects were to hers. Yet in birth, as daughters of great lords, they had been equals.
She wondered if the feeling that stirred her gut at the sight was envy. She too had known contentment, and the high regard of all, but her fortune had fell vertiginously. She had lost everything. From where she was, with life promising her glory, love and comfort, Bréda could fall; a turn of fate and it could all be lost. Rowena herself, at that low point, had little chances of climbing, but at least she could not sink much lower: there had to be some peace to be found in that thought.
At last, Bréda questioned her silent companion.
‘Théo said that you would stay with Elfhelm. Will you want to go and change into something else to appear before the king? Surely you have something proper?’
‘I only have healer’s dresses, my lady.’
Attempting to avoid dwelling on the matter, Rowena seized the opportunity of Bréda’s awkward silence to inquire into what was weighting on her mind.
‘My Lady, if I dare to say, Lady Éowyn wrote that life in Edoras had been grim lately. Is it true?’
Bréda paused and thought. She glanced around at the guards around them and lowered her voice beneath the reach of their ears.
‘I suppose that Edoras has seen better days. But I trust Théo and Papa, and Éomer and Elfhelm. Us ladies worrying does no good, there is not much we can do. Éowyn has a lot to handle, and I help as I can. That is, as much as she will let me. Théo said that you coming would help tremendously. For me, I do not know. I am not aware of the affairs, I cannot understand them and it is not my place to meddle. Théo told me not to give way to worry, and I try not to be scared, for his sake.
‘Before we met Papa had said that he would be good for me, and he was oh, so right. I could not imagine a more caring lover in the entire world. So I do my best to be strong for him. You know, I love him so much. Yes, I adore him furiously. He is a little older than what I would have imagined my husband to be, but I only see how kind he is, to everyone. I cannot wait for us to be married, I could die with impatience. But with him in charge of most of what happens in the Mark, I do not think that there is too much for us ladies to worry about. The Mark has been through much worse before, surely? Well, at least I suppose so.’
Rowena stayed silent. Bréda sighed singingly and continued.
‘But I understand that you must be terribly afraid, without a father or a brother. I have no brothers, nor sisters for that matter. But I have my father, and Théodred. Upon my word, we must absolutely find you a good man to marry! Of course, I snatched the best one in the Mark, but there are heaps of good ones left, all the more given that no one expects a ranked or titled match for you. I suppose that you cannot pretend to one in any case. My father would not have let me marry anyone, naturally, therefore I had very few suitors to consider. No, there was only Théo really… Although I'm sure he would have agreed to Éomer if I had wanted him. But for you, any good rider will do, all we need is to make one of them like you.’
‘My lady, I do not come to Edoras with any intention of-'
‘Tatata, just you wait until you see them! Once your heart elects its champion, I promise that I will help you to corral and secure him. The éoreds of the marshals are often here, and then of course you have all the king’s guards and companies, and many of their unmarried heáfdu are prodigiously handsome. Oh, and they are gallant, it is perfectly delightful! Yes, we will find one for you and then you too will get to be safe and happy. Just as in love as I am with my Théo. If only we could have balls! Do you sing?'
‘A little, yes, when a song fit to my spirits comes to me. But, if I may ask, how is it at court, what of Gríma?’
‘Oh, he is a bother indeed. But like my Théo said, it is best to ignore him. That is what I do, and he leaves me in peace.’
Rowena squirmed in the saddle. Out of all the nervous apprehensions she had turned over and over in her mind before coming to court, this was not how she had imagined Théodred’s wife to be like.
But Edoras now rose high before them. The capital was much larger than she had imagined; she could not count the houses and buildings, as they seemed to be built so close together that they might as well have sprung on top of one another. She thought of the way mushroom crowded on tree stumps, in the forests near Aldburg where she grew up. How steep was the hill, how abrupt the passages between the houses, and how many people must be living there, cramped between the palisades and the sheer cliffs rising close within their bounds!
At the foot of the city, on either side of the road, the funeral mounds were dotted with the blooms of Simbelmynë that still poked through the yellowed grass. At last they passed the great gates. As their horses climbed the stone road that led up the hill, all bowed to Bréda: children, soldiers and women; lords and paupers. They ascended a winding, stony path that wasn’t quite a street, but was lined with wooden houses, tethered horses, heaps of hay, bundles of wool, and somber, reverent guards.
Meanwhile, each plumed helmet emerging from a side passage, each order shouted at a distance and echoing in the quiet, each grey horse clad in military tack startled Rowena: she was now near Éomer: his appearance could surprise her at any moment. And they arrived at the sunny, deserted place that laid before Meduseld. A mere glimpse of its richly engraved columns, its towering beams and the mighty stonework of its foundations was enough for Rowena’s already pounding heart: she lowered her gaze as if the royal hall were to crush her.
The guards dismounted and rushed to hold the young women’s horses, needlessly for Mjuka who could not have gone a step further. Bréda jumped off in a swell and rustle of her cloak and skirts. Rowena crumpled to the ground and staggered on numb legs.
Before her bags and her sword were carried away to Elfhelm’s house, she pulled out a white scarf and tied it around her head in the usual fashion of healers. Bréda however advised her to remove it and let her hair loose. Rowena shook off her braids and prayed that the dirt and grime of the travel would not show. She felt the lady’s pitied gaze up and down her poor dress of brown wool and the saggy pockets of her linen apron.
‘Well, let us go then,’ said Bréda with an encouraging nod.
And she led Rowena up the steps of the Golden Hall.