Chapter 2: Making Acquaintances

The battle rages on above the women and children in the caves. Some of Éowyn’s bitterness seems to slide off her shoulders as she walks among the women, offering what little comfort and assurance she can. Most of the women sit against the walls, holding their children close, trying to comfort them. Some tend to those who are not well and weak from the long journey to the fortress, trying to make them comfortable.

Éowyn comes to a small group of eight women; all eyes are downcast in fear, listening. Most of them look young, two or three years over twenty. Two of them seem to be of middle age. Blond, brown, black, and red hair tumbles down their backs.

“What are your names?” Éowyn asks them.

They all look up at her with their blue, green, brown, grey, and hazel eyes full of surprise and murmur, “My Lady.”

“I am Mowen,” says the black-haired woman, her grey eyes swimming with tears.

“Laesien.”

Another looks at Éowyn and says, “Ethoethien.”

“Larewen.”

“Tralede.”

“Neisa,” shyly answers another girl.

“Thathien.”

“And I’m Freda,” says the last woman. Her hands rest lightly on her large belly.

Éowyn gives them a small smile.

“My Lady,” says Mowen. Éowyn meets her grey eyes and nods for her to continue. “Do you think the fortress will hold?”

Éowyn chooses her words carefully. “I do not know. We have to hope that we will survive the night. But there is the possibility that the fortress would fall.” She thinks back to when Aragorn had come to Helm’s Deep, saying that an army of 10,000 would reach them by nightfall. They do not have half as many men fighting on the fortress walls as they speak. It seems hopeless – they surely will not hold through the night.

“What will we do if the fortress falls?” Neisa asks, her blue eyes wide.

“We will have to take the secret passage that will lead us to the mountains,” Éowyn answers, a slight edge to her voice. She herself will not use the pass if the need comes. She will not abandon her king and uncle. She as a shieldmaiden will not leave him.

“You do not desire to leave if it comes down to it,” Thathien observes.

Éowyn in surprise meets Thathien’s gaze. “Yes,” she answers quietly, “I would stay. But I would send the others to take the passage. I would rather fall with my King than leave him.”

Tralede takes one of her hands. “We would need you to lead us to the mountains. We could not make it on our own. You give us courage to hold on to what hope remains.”

Éowyn is speechless and is only able to gaze at Tralede in amazement.

“She’s right,” Larewen says. “You are a shieldmaiden of Rohan. But you being with us will help us to keep holding our heads up. We need you.”

Éowyn sighs. “Thank you for believing in me, even though I do not.” She holds each of their gazes one by one.

“We are at your service, if we may be of use,” Ethoethien says. The others quickly nod their assent.

Éowyn gives them a genuine smile. “Thank you,” she says. She makes to move on, and then she pauses and looks at Freda. “How long?”

Freda smiles. “Less than two months,” she answers.

---

Éowyn holds a little child in her lap. His mother once again thanks her for her help before turning her attention back to tending an old woman. Éowyn gazes at the sleeping child’s face. It seems amazing to her that the child can sleep peacefully despite the noise above them. She leans against the wall and closes her eyes.

Chapter 3: Calming and Preparations

The explosion is deafening. Dirt showers down on the refugees. The ground shakes under them. Children cry out in terror. Women cling to each other.

Éowyn hands the frightened child to his mother and attempts to stand. She leans against the trembling wall for balance. She wonders what happened.

“We all are going to die!” A woman’s scream interrupts Éowyn’s thoughts.

She part walks, part stumbles to the woman as the cavern settles. She places her hands on the woman’s shoulders.

“Please, do not panic! We have a chance to survive,” Éowyn tries to calm the woman.

“We will die, child! We are trapped!”

Other women and children watch them, eyes wide.

Éowyn cringes. She has not been called a “child” for a long while. She shakes the woman gently. “We are not trapped!”

The woman meets her firm gaze, tries to register her words.

“We are not trapped,” Éowyn repeats, more gently. “There is a way of escape if it comes down to it. There is a secret passage that would lead us into the mountains. Someone will warn us if all seems lost.”

She watches as the woman’s eyes seem to clear. She adds, “I do not think the fortress is lost yet. It sounds like they are still fighting.”

Straining their ears, they can make out the faint clashing of blade against blade.

The woman draws a deep breath. Éowyn lets go of her shoulders and steps back. She gazes reassuringly at the woman and goes back to sit in front of the doors.

Will the fighting never end? It seems like ages has past. How many are dead? Does the King still live? Gimli? Legolas? Lord Aragorn?

Please, Éowyn silently prays to the Valar. Keep those dear to me safe. Théoden, Éomer, Aragorn. Please bring them back to me.

If she leads the refugees through the passage, it will be the second time that she has led them to safety – the second time she will abandon those she loves.

She straps her sword around her waist and double-checks the basket. She listens intently at the noise above them. And waits.

Chapter 4: Memories and Fleeing

A small, sad smile was on Éowyn's lips as she led her and Lord Aragorn's horses. The sky was clear. A refreshing breeze played on her face and through her hair. The day was lovely. But the day did not reflect on all the weary people. They had fled their homes and were making for the refuge Helm's Deep - they would be safe there. They had to leave many of their belongings behind.

The sunshine did not lift Éowyn's spirit. She rebuked herself for these feelings of despair and heartbreak. She was stronger than this. She was a fighter. But she was tempted to drown in these feelings.

He is in love with an elf, she thought to herself. She remembered the jewel he wore round his throat. It was of pure silver with a small diamond. Never had she seen a jewel that was so simple yet so breathtakingly beautiful at the same time. It was a symbol of their bonding together.

What was she like, the elf maiden that possessed his heart? Was she beautiful? She must be, more so than the jewel. She must be worthy of his love. Éowyn sighed. What chance did she have with Aragorn? She could not compare with an elf. Not one who had loved Aragorn for many years.

Éowyn squared her shoulders. A determined frown came over her face. She would try - no, she would - forget what she felt for the ranger. She would forget how she had longed to stay in his arms when he held her when they first met. She would forget the shock that went through her when she looked into his eyes for the first time. She would forget how he seemed to see right into her soul when she had shown him she had more than "some" skill with the sword. She would forget the way he smiled and stared at her the other day. She would forget.

"Wargs! We're under arrack!" The cry was echoed and spread like wildfire. Panic broke out.

Aragorn rushed towards Éowyn. She dropped the reins of his horse and stepped aside, allowing him to jump on. She did so with her gaze on the ground, the frown still on her face. Aragorn noticed and half paused before jumping onto his steed; Éowyn did not notice.

"Éowyn!" She turned and watched Théoden gallop up to her. His eyes were full of worry, his hair in his face. "You must lead the people to Helm's Deep," he said.

"I can fight!" Éowyn protested strongly.

"No!" he snapped. He looked down at her. "You must do this, for me."

Éowyn held his gaze stubbornly for a second, then turned away and rushed to the women. "Stick together!" she called over the sound of pounding hoofs. "Make for the lower ground!"

She turned and watched the men galloping away to meet the wargs. She found Aragorn, who held her gaze for a moment. She could not read his expression. Her face was full of wishful ness. She should be riding to meet the attack, too. She stood still as a statue, unmindful of the women and children running past her. Her hair flew about her as she watched Aragorn turn his horse and ride off. Éowyn stayed still for a second more, and then directed the others, bitterness in her eyes.

---

Being inside the fortress of Helm's Deep was a welcoming relief to the tired women. Many graciously thanked Éowyn for her leading them to the fortress. Éowyn acknowledged them half-heartedly. She was anxious for those who fought.

The fortress was bustling with activity as the men arrived. Éowyn quickly surveyed them and was dismayed to see so few had returned. Women rushed to the men, searching for their loved ones. There were tears of joy and sorrow for those returned and those lost. Éowyn caught Théoden's eye and he approached her.

"We are victorious, all have been slain. But we have lost many for their courage," he said, as though having read her thoughts.

Her eyes swept over the tired and wounded men more carefully and slowly. She saw the elf, Legolas, walk by. His head was downcast, unmistakable sorrow in his every step.

"My Lady."

Éowyn turned toward the voice. Gimli, the dwarf, bowed his head in respect. She felt her heart sink. She found herself blinking back tears as she met eyes which were full of sadness.

"Lord Aragorn - where is he?" she asked in a low voice.

She saw that Gimli was also trying to keep tears from falling. "I am sorry," he said, his voice shaky. "He fell."

---

Éowyn draws a shaky breath. Will Aragorn fall for good this time? she wonders. Will we all fall?

The battle rages on above them. Another noise, a noise like banging, faintly reaches her ears. "My Lady!" She barely hears the voice.

She jumps up and presses her ear against the doors. "Yes?!"

"You are to take the women and children to the mountains," Gamling's voice floats through the thick doors.

"Where is the king?" Éowyn demands.

"He commands you to take the passage!" Gamling's voice is becoming more urgent.

"But -"

"Please, my Lady! The king lives as of yet. The fortress will not hold much longer. He wants you to take them to safety."

Éowyn bites back the remark on the tip of her tongue. They are to flee. "I will do as the king wishes. Give him my love," her voice shakes.

"Yes, my Lady. May the Valar protect you," Gamling says.

"And you," Éowyn answers and turns from the door.

Mowen, Laesien, Neisa, Tralede, Larewen, Ethoethien, Freda, and Thathien rush to her.

"Get them all up. Take all that can be carried of those few baskets of food, for we will need them," Éowyn gestures to some baskets of tomatoes and apples against a wall. "Threaten those who refuse to go. Carry those who are too weak. And get the torches."

The women nod and rush to do as Éowyn instructed. She stops Freda.

"Hold on to this," she says, handing the girl the battered basket. Freda's eyebrows rise in puzzlement at the weight of the basket. Éowyn ignores her inquiring her look and goes to Mowen. "I am going to scout ahead. Can you be among the last to leave?"

Mowen understands. "Yes, though I have no weapon if the need arises for one."

"Here." Éowyn hands her dagger to her. She goes to the baskets that are filled with food and pushes them aside. She then pushes against the stone and a door slowly swings open.

She looks at the women and sees that nearly all are to their feet. She then goes through the doorway and into the dark passage.

Chapter 5: Trapped!

Éowyn walks cautiously along the passage. She can barely see because of the darkness that surrounds her. She keeps her left hand on the cold wall for some guidance. Rocks stick out of the walls, making the passage narrow and walking difficult. She can feel herself turning a bend. She looks behind her, peering into the darkness. She does not even see any light from the torches; she has gone far ahead. She rounds the bend and continues through the passage.

A few minutes later she stops suddenly and listens intently. What was that? Éowyn is certain she has heard something – what, she does not know. There is silence except for her soft breathing. She feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. A shiver runs down her spine. She presses her back against the wall and softly walks forward. When she comes to a rock, she ducks behind it. She unsheathes her sword slowly and quietly.

The silence is deafening. The walls of the passage seem to hold their breath… waiting… There! A faint noise reaches Éowyn’s ears. Her heart races in her chest. Her hands tighten their grip on the hilt of her sword. The silence and darkness are destroyed.

A faint red glow appears on the walls. Éowyn now recognizes the sound she hears: it is the clear sound of heavy feet drawing nearer. The light brightens as it also approaches.

Who can it be? Éowyn wonders, her eyes widening in alarm. She watches the bend ahead fiercely. The footsteps round the corner; the passage is flooded with the light from the torch.

The orc stops and peers ahead. It is dressed in armor, a torch held in its left hand and a sword in its right. It starts forward and draws closer to Éowyn’s hiding place.

Éowyn hesitates for a second as the orc is unknowingly almost upon her, then leaps into action. She rushes from behind the rock. The orc is completely surprised by her appearance. A growl of surprise and rage comes from its throat. It swings its sword towards the woman. She ducks; the blade only swipes air. Another howl – this time of pain – escapes its lips; then it crashes to the ground, a gash in its armor.

Éowyn stares with large eyes down at the lifeless orc before her. Her sword and hands are stained in dark blood. Her breath comes in short gasps. She frowns. Where had the orc come from? Was it alone? Would she and the others be able to get to the mountains?

Growls and shrieks cause Éowyn to snap her head up. Light from torches makes the walls glow faintly as feet pound rapidly down the passage and approach the bend. More orcs! Éowyn realizes. She glances down at the creature at her feet.

“A scout,” she hisses to herself angrily.

The orc’s cry must have alerted the others. Now they will sweep upon her and then upon the nearly completely defenseless women and children…

Éowyn gasps. They cannot go back; the fortress may have already fallen. And if they do try to go back, the orcs will surely overtake them. Their only chance is to face them. The reality of their situation dawns on the Lady of Rohan.

Chapter 6: The Battle Begins

Footsteps from behind Éowyn cause her to whirl around. She grips her sword tightly.

“Lady Éowyn!” an urgent call reaches her ears.

Éowyn watches in surprise as three torches draw closer. It is a dozen women; among them are Laesien, Thathien, Tralede, Larewen, Mowen, Freda, Neisa, and Ethoethien. They look in horror at the dead orc, then at Éowyn. They then become aware of the approaching growls and footsteps.

“Where are the others?” Éowyn asks.

Larewen gestures behind her. “They are not far.”

Éowyn frowns, trying to decide what to do. They cannot go forward. They will have to wait for the orcs to come to them.

Éowyn surveys the twelve faces that look at her; fear and uncertainty shine in their eyes.

“Tell the others to be quiet and not come any further. Put the children in the middle, so there are women before and behind them. Have those that have anything that can be used for defense to stay at the front. If –” Éowyn trails off a moment, composes herself, and continues, “—if some of the orcs break past us, or we all fall, I wish for the others to have a chance to try to defend themselves. Have some women start leading the children back if all seems lost.” Éowyn once more falters. All hope does seem lost. There is nowhere to turn. Whichever way they flee, they will run into death’s open arms. There is no refuge this time. Fighting and fleeing will only delay them in facing their final fate.

The women all nod understandingly and look upon their Lady with total acceptance and trust, leaving their fate in her hands. Éowyn is almost overcome with emotion at the trust and loyalty in their eyes. However, she remembers their situation and quickly orders four of the women to run back and deliver her instructions. They hurriedly turn back down the passage, their torch getting smaller and smaller.

Éowyn turns and faces ahead, the passage becoming brighter from the torches that are just round the bend. She holds her sword in front of her and tenses. The other eight step up closer to her and ready their daggers and torches.

“Your friends stand with you!” Laesien shouts over the screeches to Éowyn.

“Thank you – my friends,” Éowyn whispers in reply, though none can hear her.

“For Rohan!” Neisa shouts proudly.

“For the King!” Freda proclaims.

The shouts are echoed.

“Rohan will forever be in your debt.” Éowyn’s voice reaches their ears.

The nine women then stand taller and prouder, waiting for the enemy. Their fear slips away as a fierce desire to protect perhaps all that is left of their people burns in their hearts. They are led by the shieldmaiden of Rohan.

Then the attack comes.

The passage is flooded with light as the orcs charge round the bend and towards the women. They do not slow their pace even though they are surprised by seeing the wmoen blocking their way and their weapons. But they will all be dead shortly. One orc growls in rage, having caught sight of the fallen orc.

The women cannot tell how many orcs there are, but they are obviously outnumbered. Their swords are long and deadly. Their evil grins are hideous, causing some of the women to drop their eyes in horror. Their beating eyes hold nothing but menace.

Éowyn lunges forward with a cry and stabs an orc. The others rush into the battle and swing at the beasts with their metals of steel and fire.

The smell of the orcs makes Éowyn feel nauseated, but she wills herself to be strong. She kills orc after orc with her sword. The clashing of blades is deafening among the blood-curdling screams of orcs as they fall. It is impossible to tell how many they have killed and how many yet remain; otherwise, they themselves will meet the same fate as their enemies.

Something caches her eye, and she swings her gaze to her right. Ethoethien lies on the ground and tries to back away from the orc that towers above her. Her progress stops when she slides up against the wall. She looks up at the advancing creature, panic in her face. Éowyn freezes, watching in horror. She has no way of reaching her in time.

“Éowyn!” Tralede screams a frantic warning.

Éowyn throws herself to the ground and the orc growls in rage as his sword just misses her. She rolls onto her back and blocks the sword with her own. Her jaw tightens as she struggles to keep the orc’s sword at bay. Her arm is getting heavy, though, and she moves more slowly now. It is hard for her to fight while on her back. Her enemy also realizes he has the upper hand. He brings his blade down which she manages to block. He quickly brings his sword down again.

Éowyn is not ready. She rolls, and a sharp cry of pain flees from her lungs. She drops her sword. She breathes in short gasps and brings both hands tightly to her side. She feels warm sticky blood that flows from her wound and onto her hands. She feels lightheaded.

She lies on her side and then rolls slowly onto her back. Steadily she lifts her gaze up to the orc towering above her triumphantly. It readies itself, about to bring its sword down for one final blow.

Éowyn leans back on the floor. Please, she prays, let the others survive – and the women and children. Protect them. She wonders if Théoden and Aragorn are already dead. And what has become of Éomer? “I fear neither pain nor death.” The words she had shared with Aragorn come back to her. She does not fear what is about to happen to her. But she fears for the others. Oh, may the Valar help them!

All these thoughts races through her mind in mere seconds. She looks into the eyes of her enemy and waits. She does not close her eyes; instead she watches the blade glisten in the firelight… Then of their own accord, her eyes close.

Chapter 7: The Battle Ends

Éowyn is filled with peace as she waits for the end. A great screech startles her, and her eyes open in time to see the orc that had towered above her topple to the ground and gaspingly draw its last breath. A dagger is buried in its neck.

She blinks slowly in surprise and looks around. Thathien stands several feet away, weaponless, her eyes large as she stares at the scene. Her throw was true and made its target. Éowyn slowly tries to sit up, still holding her side. Her other hands comes up to her brow as her head pounds, and she feels momentarily dizzy. Thathien rushes over, draws the dagger from orc, and then helps Éowyn to stand, while watching for any orcs that may attempt to sneak up on them. Éowyn sways slightly and then gains her balance. Thathien picks up Éowyn’s sword and hands it to her. She accepts it gratefully, and then she draws her hand from her side and, not minding the blood, places it around the hilt of her sword.

“Thank you,” she manages in a whisper.

Thathien nods, and then turns, her dagger clashing with a sword.

Éowyn grips her sword tightly, tensing. She looks to where she had last seen Ethoethien, but she is not there. Éowyn quickly scans the scene and see that only a few orcs are left. She does not see Larewen or Freda or Neisa anywhere. Suddenly screams and cries and shrieks are heard, echoing through the passage from behind them. Éowyn pales. Some orcs must have gotten past them!

Screams… The same screams and cries that haunted her in her dreams. The defenseless…. The hopelessness…. No! Her dream cannot become a reality! She will not allow it. She will not fail…. A new anger rages through her, and she throws herself into the battle again.

As her sword clashes with others, she stumbles among the corpses on the ground. If they can just kill these last few remaining orcs and help the others…. Everything starts to blur for Éowyn. She will lose it soon; she knows it. She is battling an orc, pushing it back farther and farther. Each swing of her sword and each step she takes are more painful than the last.

A roar resounds off the walls, and a burst of heat warms Éowyn. She glances behind her and sees that some of the corpses have caught on fire somehow. The flames are spreading rapidly among the other bodies. The orc has also paused in dismay, giving Éowyn her chance. Using what strength she has left, she lifts her sword in both hands and quickly sends the beast’s head flying in one direction while its body falls to the ground.

Éowyn brings her sword down slowly. She breathes heavily, her body covered in sweat. The unnatural heat brings Éowyn back to her senses. She quickly turns to the fire – it has spread more and will soon block the passage.

“Éowyn!” voices from the other side shout urgently.

Éowyn starts running toward the fire, hoping to get past the wall of fire before it cuts her off. Her side aches, but she tries not to break her pace. She stumbles over some of the bodies, which the flames start licking. Mowen and Laesien grab her and drag her over the bodies, just ahead of the flames. They race ahead of the fire and stop when they reach Tralede and Thathien and Ethoethien.

Éowyn nods thankfully to Mowen and Laesien and then surveys the scene. All the other orcs are on the floor, lifeless. Soon they are all kindling to the fire.

The battle is over.

After watching the flames for several moments, Éowyn then turns her attention to Thathien, Ethoethien, Tralede, Laesien, and Mowen. Their dresses, hair, and faces are covered with dirt and blood and sweat. Their wounds appear to be only scratches -- nothing life-threatening, it seems. Some of them have tears streaming down their faces; others are pale, numb, and in shock from their ordeal. All are exhausted. Some sit on the ground or lean wearily against the walls.

The smoke and smell of the burning bodies cause them to start choking. Éowyn wishes also to sit, but they must move away from the flames and fumes and ash and terrible smell. With a sudden jolt, she remembers the others.

“Hurry!” Éowyn says, and runs as well as she can down the passage back the way they had originally come, trying to ignore the pain in her side. She chokes a little on the smoke. They cannot go to the mountains. Not with the bonfire. They will have to go all the way back to the caves. But they will not be up for another battle if the event occurs. But it is no good staying in the passage. Éowyn checks to see that the others are starting to follow, and they take off down the passage as fast as they can.

Chapter 8: Victory and Failure

Éowyn has been rushing along the passage for a few minutes and now was following the torches that flicker in the darkness and grow larger as she nears. One of the lights starts towards her.

“My Lady?” a woman’s voice breathlessly says uncertainly as the torch stops.

“Yes,” Éowyn answers, moving into the light.

The woman in front of her shakes uncontrollably, her face deathly pale, eyes wide.

“What has happened?” Éowyn demands. “Did some of the orcs reach you?”

“Yes, about ten; I could not really tell,” the woman answers. “They swept down upon us. We could barely push the children back and try to defend ourselves against the orcs. Then three of the young women came to our rescue and killed the orcs.”

Éowyn breathes a sigh of relief. They have been victorious. They are safe…for now. She silently thanks the Valar for their deliverance. But then she looks at the woman again. There is a strange sadness in her eyes. Éowyn’s stomach ties in a knot in a dreaded warning.

“What? What else happened? What are you not telling?” she demands in a hushed voice.

The woman looks at her, tries to speak, then lowers her head, sobs racking her body. She wordlessly gestures behind her. Éowyn pushes past her towards the other women.

She comes within the torches’ light and sees the ground littered with bodies. Her eyes take in the foul creature – all dark and large, with armor that did not protect them… Éowyn gasps as her gaze lands on a woman, in a pool of her own blood, the last breath long gone from her body. Éowyn’s horror grows as she sees several women lying among the orcs. She makes her way among the bodies. Her attention is drawn by a wailing sob. She lifts her eyes and sees Freda, kneeling on the ground, surrounded by women who watch sadly, tears on their cheeks. Freda bends over two bodies, stroking the hair of the women, uncaring of her dress and hands being marred by blood. The wails that escape her lips are heart-wrenching. Éowyn reaches her. She suddenly feels sick as she recognizes the two dead girls in the light, covered in their blood.

“Neisa. Larewen.” Their names pass softly over her lips.

Freda lifts her head and her grief-stricken gaze meets Éowyn’s disbelieving eyes. She strokes the girls’ faces tenderly.

“They fought nobly and without fear of their own safety,” Freda whispers brokenly.

“We had killed some orcs when more rushed by us. Larewen and Neisa immediately went after them. I was tempted to stay, to help you and the others. But the two of them could not fight those creatures alone. So I went after them. While I ran, I could hear that the battle had already started. Some had already fallen, both woman and orc. I do not know how the women were able to defend themselves before the daggers saved them. I had expected many more to be slain before we came.

“It was worse than when it was just the nine of us fighting. There were screams from the women and children. They did everything they could to protect themselves. Right before our eyes some fell, without any way of trying to defend themselves. Now that I think about it, I do not know how we were able to kill all the orcs. Neisa, Larewen, and I were so tired. I do not know when Larewen fell; but Neisa took the blow that was meant for me. I had lost my dagger, and an orc was about to run me through with his sword when I was pushed out of the way. When my vision cleared, I saw the orc was on the ground dead. I sat up and found Neisa next to me, bleeding heavily from a wound.

“She looked up at me, gave a choked sigh, and smiled weakly at me.

“‘You are all right,’ she whispered, resting a hand lightly on my stomach.

“‘You pushed me out of the way,’ I gasped. She nodded. ‘You took the blow that was meant for me!’

“She smiled again. ‘I could not bear to have this life destroyed.’

“I held her during her last moments. She told me to tell you that you should not let your heart be troubled by this. She said she was glad she could die defending her kin.”

Freda falters and starts sobbing anew. Mowen, Thathien, Ethoethien, Tralede, and Laesien, who caught up with Éowyn while Freda spoke, cry quietly. Éowyn only stares blankly at the floor. A wave of failure threatens to drown her. This was not supposed to happen. Her dream was not supposed to become a reality. She had stayed with the women reluctantly to lead and protect them. She had failed to protect them. Did any of the dead women leave behind a child? Was the child an orphan because the child had now lost both mother and father? If some of their kin had survived the battle, what would they think when they found out? They had fought thinking their women and children were safe in the caves, away from harm. But they now had lost someone from their family.

It’s your fault. If you had not lost your sword, caused Mowen to help you, the orcs would not have gotten past.

Éowyn tries to push the accusing thoughts from her mind. She cannot change the past. And they still had to go back.

Éowyn’s face becomes a mask, no emotion showing except through her body. But she controls herself. She does not break like the others. She steps forward. “These women have greatly honored Rohan and its king. May what they did this day not be long forgotten.” Her voice is solemn and steady.

Heads nod and voices murmur in agreement.

“We must go back,” Éowyn continues. “The passage to the mountains is blocked because of a fire. We cannot stay here. We must have everyone’s wounds attended, and we must bury the dead.”

It does not take very for the company to turn back. The gravely wounded are assisted, and the dead are carried on cloths. Éowyn leads with Thathien and Ethoethien. She does not know what has happened since she and the women had fled the caves. If it came to them needing to fight again, Éowyn knows they will not be able to last.

Ahead of them torches appear. Éowyn tenses but then relaxes with relief when she recognizes the voice of Gamling calling out to them.

Chapter 9: Back in the Sunshine

It has been three days since the battle of Helm’s Deep. When the men of Rohan and elves of Lórien suddenly, and unexpectedly, had victory over Saruman’s forces. Gandalf had come – with Éomer! And with him were his men, those who went with him when he was banished. They had swept down on the dismayed armies and slain all. But the victory had come with a heavy price. For many men and elves also fell during the long battle.

It has been three days since Éowyn, along with Mowen, Laesien, Neisa, Tralede, Larewen, Ethoethien, Thathien, and Freda had defended the women and children from a surprise attack of orcs. Blood had been spilt under the ground for their valor and bravery. Only three days ago… But to Éowyn it seems like it has happened only yesterday – and forever ago. She has not had peace or rest since the time they had all been preparing for the battle.

When Gamling and the men with him had led the women and children out of the passage and caves, there had been many men waiting anxiously for them outside, looking for their loved ones. Éowyn remembered the shock and horror that filled the faces of those who recognized the women that had perished. She had witnessed both joy and grief that hour, when she saw the sun again. When she had walked away from the doors, she heard women telling of what they had experienced in the caves and passage. Éowyn could not bear to listen and had gone to look over the destruction of the fortress. Everywhere she looked there was death. One of the outer walls of the refuge was only rubble. And while she walked along the dead, never did she recognize the face of Lord Aragorn or his companions.

Éowyn helped tend to the wounded. She saw more death. She did not rest, despite her own tiredness and her wound which grew more painful as time passed. She tried not to worry about it by keeping herself busy. She had not even taken time to see her uncle and brother.

The tale of her and the others has been spreading quickly from mouth to mouth. Of her courage and leadership, and how if she had not been there, many more lives would have been lost. She had proven that she was a shieldmaiden. These praises, however, did not quiet the accusing voices that haunted Éowyn’s thoughts. She could have done something to save everyone, including Larewen and Neisa. She has failed her people – and her king. She has failed. It would have been better if she had died during the battle instead of being spared.

---

Éowyn slowly climbs the steps to the Keep. She has not changed out of her dress which is dirty from mud and blood; her hair also has dirt and blood in it. She has not had any food or sleep since the end of the battle, for many people has been in need of her assistance.

She takes small gasps of air. Her side is screaming for the attention it has needed long ago. She holds her side with her hand while trying to keep her strength to reach the hall and find a healer. Her eyes are downcast, concentrating on putting her wearied feet on one step at a time. As she slowly makes her way up, she bumps into someone coming down. She sways despite the bump not having much force, for she is weakening. Strong hands grab her shoulders gently and steady her.

“My Lady,” a voice says.

With great effort, Éowyn raises her head slowly and meets a pair of blue eyes.

“Legolas,” is all she manages to say, even though she is thankful to see him alive, and vaguely wonders if Gimli and Lord Aragorn are also alive and well.

“Are you well?” Legolas’s face shows his growing concern. He takes in her dirtied dress and hair. With a deep frown he notices her hand holding her side. She blankly blinks in response. Her face is pale, pain shows in her eyes, which she is unable to hide. And it is his holding her that keeps her upright and steady.

“I –”

The effect is too much for Éowyn. All her strength has been spent. Her voice fades. Her eyes roll back. She collapses and Legolas catches her in his arms. His eyes widen when he sees the side of her dress soaked in blood – her own.

He turns and carefully rushes up the stairs as fast as he can. He must get her to her room and have a healer look at her. He is about to rush down a hallway when he senses eyes on his back. He glances over his shoulder and sees Aragorn looking at him questioningly. The ranger gives the elf a nod. Legolas holds his gaze for a few moments, debating what to do; he returns the gesture and disappears down the hall. He will talk with Aragorn later.

Chapter 10: Fall of a Shieldmaiden

Legolas leans against the stone wall, his arms crossed in front of his chest. The worried frown on his face settled there a long time ago. He flicks his gaze to the closed door in front of him. He can clearly hear the movements of the people moving about in the room.

Legolas rests his head against the wall, closes his eyes, and remembers how he ended up standing outside the Lady Éowyn’s room. Waiting…

---

He had not seen her at first when he started down the stairs of the Keep. When he did see her, it was impossible to avoid hitting her. When they hit, the blow had been light. But the Lady Éowyn had swayed, close to falling, as though they had run into each other with more force than they had. Legolas had immediately reached out to steady her. He had been slightly surprised by her sway. Lady Éowyn had struck him as being strong and unwavering, like a queen. There was a coldness and fire about her. She had become strong from the many sorrows she had witnessed. She was a leader and a fighter. Her reaction to his bumping her was totally a surprise to him.

When she raised her head at his voice, he saw clearly the pain she was trying to hide in her eyes. Her expression was one of great grief. She looked so tired and weary. He guessed she had been helping the healers tend to the wounded. How many had she tried to save only to see them take their last breath? he wondered. Had she gotten any rest since emerging from the caves with the women and children? Or had she been working nonstop? All that she had seen since returning from the ground must be what had caused her such grief and exhaustion. However, it was when his eyes fell on her hand holding her side that he wondered if his assumptions were totally correct.

She then suddenly collapsed. Legolas managed to catch her and not fall down the stairs. His concern then gave way to deep worry when he saw the red staining through her dress. He started up the steps as fast as he dared. Questions started whirling through his mind. What had happened? How did she get hurt? She had not been in battle. Had she gotten a healer to tend to it? When he reached the top of the stairs, he rushed to her room and called for a healer.

---

Legolas purses his lips together. When he first brought Éowyn to her room, there had been one healer. Now there are several behind the closed door. No word has been said yet of her condition. Legolas opens his eyes and regards the two men pacing back and forth in front of the door.

Théoden and Éomer have been pacing ever since the two women left who told about the battle that took place in the caves. Both have worried expressions on their faces. Legolas studies them. They both escaped injury during the battle. It must be unsettling to think that Éowyn, who was supposedly in a safe location, is in worse condition than the two of them, Legolas ponders. What will they do if anything happens to her? Éomer has already lost his parents; he probably refuses even to consider the possibility of his sister dying right now.

Théoden was completely silent as he listened to what had happened in the caves from the two women; he has yet to speak. He just paces, his mind racing in circles. This should not have happened. Éowyn was supposed to have been safe, not leading a battle, he thinks bitterly to himself.

The door opens, causing the men and elf to snap out of their thoughts and turn their attention to the woman standing in the doorway. Her face is grave and a little uncertain. She glances at the three motionless figures in the hallway.

“How is she? Éowyn?” Théoden demands, the worried look on his face growing.

The woman takes a deep breath. “She…she is still unconscious.” There is a long pause. “We fear she may not last for long.”

Éomer staggers against his uncle. “No…” his anguished whisper trails off. His knees buckle. Théoden grabs him by wrapping his arm around his shoulders to keep him upright.

“If you wish to see—”

Théoden nods curtly. He and Éomer slowly make their way into the crowed room. Legolas takes a step toward the door and pauses. Instead he turns and walks down the hallway. Now is a good time to find Aragorn, he decides firmly.

---

Aragorn and Gimli stand on part of the Deeping wall that remains standing. Both puff softly on their pipes and look at the view. The ground in front of the fortress is littered with the bodies of dead orcs and of men who fell in battle. Aragorn lifts his gaze to the sky. Black clouds roll over each other. But for a brief moment, there is a break in the clouds, and the stars twinkle down on the earth for a few minutes before they are blocked out by the dark sky.

Aragorn feels himself relax. This is the first time he has been so still and quiet. The last three days he was always moving and sitting in on discussions. To have a small smoke and time to think is refreshing. And he has more time to privately grieve for those who lost their lives. He has seen war before, but it is not always easy facing so much death. He wonders about those who died and what family had they left behind. How many women discovered they had lost a husband, a father, a brother, a son, a friend when they came out of the caves?

Thinking of the women causes Aragorn’s thoughts to turn to the Lady Éowyn. He has not seen her since she went into the caves with the other women. He knew she was angry at her staying with the women. She wanted to fight. Her devotion to her people touched him. But he had been relieved when the doors closed behind Éowyn. He could not fight and worry about her safety during the battle.

He had wanted to go to the caves as soon as the battle was over, Éowyn’s well-being being foremost in his mind at the moment. Other matters called to him, and he delayed in going to the entrance of the caves. When he finally made his way there, the doors were closed. A man nearby said the women and children had all come out already.

Gimli grunts, “Here is the crazy elf.”

Aragorn is drawn out of his thoughts by dwarf’s voice. He looks at Gimli and then in the direction of the dwarf’s sweeping hand. The tall elf strides purposefully toward them. He wonders what his friend has been doing; it has been several hours since he saw Legolas briefly before he ran off.

Aragorn and Gimli regard the silent elf when he reaches them. There is a sadness in his eyes that is different from the sadness he has expressed over those who had fallen. He looks troubled

“So you finally appear?” the dwarf growls, “I was starting to wonder if you would come out of hiding.”

Legolas does not even smile at the jesting, his expression becomes grave. “I was waiting with the king and Éomer outside Lady Éowyn’s room.”

Lady Éowyn’s room? Aragorn tries to make sense of the elf’s statement.

“Why were you there?” Gimli asks curiously before Aragorn can voice the same question.

Legolas takes a deep breath and then speaks. “The women started to go to the mountains after it seemed like the fortress would not hold. They met a group of orcs who had come from the mountains. A battle broke out. Only a handful of the women had daggers to use against the beasts. The orcs were all killed. But some of the women were also killed, including two who had fought against the enemy. Éowyn was also wounded… It is uncertain how long she will last,” Legolas finishes, his eyes resting on Aragorn.

Aragorn feels his stomach twist in knots. Thoughts spin numbly in his head. Éowyn…wounded. It is uncertain if she will live. It seems impossible to believe. But a glance at Legolas tells him what he has heard is very true. Éowyn is supposed to be safe, not possibly dying. The thought chills him to the bone. He had thought her safe while he had been fighting to protect the fortress. Unbeknownst to him and many others, she had been fighting a battle to save her life and the lives of others.

He then wonders what she had done since she and women came from the caves. Did she get any rest? Did she have her wound tended to, or did she come from witnessing death in battle to seeing those whose wounds were most severe die? How did she find the will and strength to go on?

“Where is Lady Éowyn’s room?” Aragorn asks. He needs to see for himself what condition she is in. She is one person he does not wish to see pass from this world. She is young, so strong and brave. He does not want this shieldmaiden to fall.

Legolas gives directions without hesitation. Aragorn nods his thanks and then leaves in a brisk walk. No, he does not desire to help bury another person who is important to him.

Chapter 11: Awakening from the Darkness and into the Light

She is alone. She is falling and falling… She gasps for breath as the blackness swirls around and under and above her, drowning her.

She hears shrieks, growls, cries, screams. She is no longer alone. A white light suddenly pierces the darkness and grows larger and brighter, blinding her.

When she can see again, she wishes she couldn’t. On her left are the women and children, huddling together, trembling with fear. On her right are orcs charging toward the helpless women. She gasps. There are Mowen, Laesien, Neisa, Tralede, Larewen, Ethoethien, Thathien, and Freda – looking as frightened as the others. They have no daggers, nothing to use to defend themselves against the oncoming creatures.

Unable to cry out, she can only watch in horror as the distance between the two groups lessens to nothing…

---

The pain makes breathing nearly unbearable. The orc’s aim was truer this time. She holds her side, threatening to let the darkness ensnare her. Shrieks make her want to stop her ears. But she cannot do anything against it.

“Éowyn! Éowyn…come back to the light…”

The calm, pleading voice pierces the horrifying screams that ring in her every sense and float around her. The voice is comforting in the terror and darkness that surrounds her. She struggles against the blackness that tries to tighten its hold on her.

“Hear my voice. Return to those who love you…”

---

Éowyn slowly becomes aware of her hand being gently caressed. Where is she? What has happened? A great breath of air flows through her body. She feels terribly stiff. Slowly she moves first her free hand and arm, then each leg. She winces as her aching side protests to her moving. She gently touches her side and discovers it wrapped in bandages.

She slowly opens her eyes uneasily. Sunlight streams through the window in her room, causing her eyes to blink against the brightness. For a while she stares blankly up at the stone ceiling. She has been called out of the darkness and back into the light. Who was it? she wonders.

“Éowyn?”

Éowyn blinks in shock, and then slowly turns her head. She silently stares at Lord Aragorn in disbelief. He’s alive. The words race through her mind over and over. His face looks worn and haggard. He peers anxiously into her face.

“How do you feel?”

“Sore,” Éowyn says quietly, feeling suddenly very tired and weak. She returns her gaze to the ceiling. “How long have I been unconscious?”

“Three weeks,” Aragorn immediately says.

“Three weeks…” she murmurs in shock.

What has happened during those weeks? How are Mowen, Thathien, Laesien, Tralede, Freda, and Ethoethien? What has been done with the bodies of those who died?

“Everyone has been very worried about you…” Aragorn’s voice breaks into her thoughts.

Éowyn flicks her eyes back to him. Her breath catches in her throat as she sees the intense emotion in his grey-blue eyes as he stares at her, though she cannot read what the emotion is. She is suddenly aware of the warmth that comes from his fingers as he strokes her hand, sending a shiver down her spine.

Suddenly she realizes that it was he who called her back from the darkness. Why? He does not love her as she loves him. He does not need to love you to be concerned about you! her mind argues. He was concerned about your well-being. He cares for you like a daughter or sister, but nothing more. Remember, his lady waits for him.

Éowyn forces herself to stop drowning in Aragorn’s eyes. Her gaze lands on the jewel that lies on his chest. She remembers Legolas telling her about the jewel. How Aragorn has loved the elf-maiden for many years… Why would the ranger accept her love? A love that is not as old as the love of which his lady has for him?

This moment between them now will never happen again. It is only happening because of the pity he feels towards her. A pity she does not desire. And she cannot help but wish it is not because of pity that he is so close. She suddenly recalls the promise she had made to herself on the way to Helm’s Deep. A promise she is not keeping at the moment. In this maddening moment both of them has let down their defenses; otherwise, they would not be in this position…they would not be touching each other in such a physical and mental way… Éowyn builds her walls back up first.

Éowyn pulls her hand free from Aragorn’s grasp – ignoring the sense of missing warmth – and turns her head away, drawing the covers closer. She feels Aragorn’s unwavering and pondering gaze on the back of her head.

“I am tired, my Lord” she says simply, formally.

There is a long silence. Then:

“I will let the king and your brother know that you are awake, my Lady,” Aragorn says quietly. Éowyn tries to ignore a feeling of disappointment that washes over her with his calling her “Lady” instead of just “Éowyn” as he had done earlier. He then leaves the room without making a sound.

Éowyn looks at her hand which Aragorn held, gives herself a mental slap, closes her eyes and falls into a restless sleep.

Chapter 12: Divided

Aragorn quietly shuts the door behind him, and then leans his forehead against the cool wood. His hand finds its way to where the Evenstar rests against his skin, and his fingers circle around the jewel. He breathes deeply. His other hand tingles, missing the warmth and smoothness of Éowyn’s hand which he had held.

He should not be feeling this way; he should not feel so torn, so divided – yet he does. He tightens his hold further on the jewel. You love Arwen. You love her. She promised to bind herself to you. She refused to take the Evenstar back. She loves you! Yet even these thoughts do not stop the ranger from thinking of the maiden who is in the room he has just left. But she may have already sailed to the Undying Lands, another part of his mind argues. She may be lost forever to you now! Aragorn turns and with his back against the door, slides slowly, soundlessly, to the floor. He is pulled by memories, twisted by wonderings and doubts.

He has loved Arwen for many years, before Éowyn was even born. Their love would stand the test of time. And even though Elrond is not willing to let his daughter become a mortal, Arwen longs to share her lifetime with Aragorn. She would give him everything, including her immortality. But he had told her it would not work. He told her to go with her people to the Undying Lands. He would release her from whatever promises she had made. She had been hurt and confused by his sudden rejection. He offered her back the Evenstar. She did not take it. It was his, she said; it was a gift.

Aragorn thinks back to the last time he saw Arwen in the flesh. The Fellowship was leaving Rivendell to start its quest to destroy the Ring. He was the last one to go through the archway. He had glanced one final time at her. She was surrounded by her brothers and several ladies-in-waiting. Her dark hair blew in the gentle breeze. Her face was full of sadness and flushed. Her blue eyes were slightly red. He had given her a small, final nod before turning and joining the Fellowship.

But that was not the last that he has thought of Arwen. Throughout the Fellowship’s journey he brought up in his mind the image of her face. Just remembering her gave him comfort and strength during the long, tiring months. And she has haunted many of his dreams.

But now his thoughts are haunted by yet another face – that of a white angel. An angel with hair like a golden river. And pale grey eyes that seem to look into the very depths of his soul. She is Éowyn, niece of the king of Rohan. And a shieldmaiden of the Mark – and Helm’s Deep.

Somehow, somewhere, she stole a piece of his heart, though not completely reluctantly on his part. Somewhere – maybe when he first caught a fleeting glimpse of her outside the golden hall; or when he held her back when Gandalf threw out Saruman and Théoden was free; or when she bested him in sparing; or on the way here to Helm’s Deep, when she smiled and laughed, acting like a young girl; or when he last saw her, standing calmly and firmly like a statue while all chaos surrounded her, before riding off to battle the wargs – somewhere his defenses had been broken through.

After his fall from the cliff, his thoughts and dreams were haunted by her face, by how she looked when she heard about his indirect reference to Arwen. A shadow had come across her face, and it was pale once more. And there was a pained sadness in her eyes that made his heart ache. But also he saw Arwen; she restored strength and determination in him. He still had her love, even if he would not accept her, she told him. And his heart was secretly glad. Ah, to rejoice over one lady and to be sorrowful over another! To be divided is cruel!

When he arrived at the fortress, his eyes had searched for Éowyn in vain. And in the deepest part of his heart he despaired. But then he remembered Arwen and rejoiced when he held the Evenstar in his hand again. Later that day, he finally saw Éowyn directing women and children to the caves before the battle. She had met his gaze for a moment. Her face was emotionless and cool, like dew that had not yet been melted by the warm rays of the sun. She had gave him a short nod before turning away. He had watched her angrily retreat to the caves; she wanted to stay and fight.

During the battle, Aragorn drew strength from the fact that Éowyn was not in harm’s way. When the battle ended, he had wanted to go immediately to the caves and assure himself that she was all right. But there had been other matters to attend to first. It was not until three days later that he was able to see her when Legolas approached him and Gimli and told what few details he knew about what the women had faced when trying to flee into the mountains and of Éowyn’s wound.

Aragorn had rushed to Éowyn’s room where he found her anxious brother and uncle. He had worried like the others when it was uncertain how long she would stay with them. But the Valar had been merciful and gave her back to them.

And just the last few moments he had spent with her just now… He had let his defenses down, for a moment he had forgotten about Arwen. As he had gazed into Éowyn’s clear eyes and caressed her hand, he had had the sudden desire to kiss her. But she had unknowingly saved him by withdrawing her hand and turning away. He had been relieved and disappointed at the same time.

Aragorn shakes his head and stands up. He glances at the closed door and rubs the Evenstar again. Is it possible to love two women at the same time? He tries to push thoughts of the Evenstar and the shieldmaiden concerning his heart from his mind as goes to give Théoden and Éomer the glad tidings concerning Éowyn.

Chapter 13: Grace from the Grave

Éowyn’s face has a slight smirk on it. The day is clear and sunny, but Éowyn is far from feeling cheerful with the weather. Many things are the cause of the dark cloud over her. She has been kept in bed to make sure she has mended from her wound. It has been a week since she finally woke and a month since the battle…

The smirk disappears as Éowyn sighs. She has finally been given permission to get out of bed – only for short periods of time and she is not to tire herself. She has felt caged in her bed and room and longs to go for a simple walk around the fortress. But Théoden has forbidden her to leave her room without an escort. Éowyn sighs again and stares up at the stone ceiling.

Someone softly knocks on the door.

“Come in,” Éowyn calls out.

The door slowly opens to reveal –

“Tradele!” Éowyn exclaims, her face lighting up.

The girl comes in the room and drops a curtsy. She regards the shieldmaiden with concern. “How are you?” she asks.

“I am eager to breathe in the fresh air again. I am all better, I believe. So the healers have said. I can now go out but not for long and unattended,” Éowyn answers, also examining the woman. Her face becomes concerned. “How are you? And how are the others?”

Tradele approaches the bed and sits on the edge at Éowyn’s beckoning.

“We are mostly fine, I think. All our bruises and small wounds have healed. But nearly all of us lost someone close to us who fought in the battle,” Tradele blinks back tears.

Éowyn watches her closely and wonders how she and the others are dealing with what they had done that night. Some of them had never fought before. And some of them had never seen death as they did in the caves. Éowyn worries about how they are holding up.

Tradele breaks into Éowyn’s thoughts. “But I have had many nightmares about the night. I dream sometimes that we all died,” her voice trembles. “Other times we all survive, but we go on into the mountains.”

Éowyn rests a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Tradele meets her gaze.

“But I believe I will eventually find peace. It is when I think of you that I consider myself to be well off. I cannot imagine what you must have felt, defending the women against the surprise attack. Deciding what we were to do.” Tradele shakes her head in amazement. “I could not be so calm through it all. I would have broken under the pressure and racing emotions.”

“I-I-I thank you,” Éowyn says, at a lost for words. Inside she is tortured with thoughts and emotions that go against the praise she has just been given.

A long silence passes between them. They silently support and offer comfort to the other.

“What of Neisa and Larewen?” Éowyn speaks of their fallen companions.

Tradele gives a broken sigh. “They were nearly buried with all the others that died. The king commanded all those that had died – both men and women – be put in a great pile since there was not time or room to give each one his own grave. Then dirt was used to cover the bodies. We all begged for Neisa and Larewen to be given their own burials, not to be included in the pile. The men refused and nearly took the bodies from us by force. The Lord Aragorn and his companions, the Elf and Dwarf, tried to help us by reasoning with the men. But it was to no avail.

“We were in despair and reluctantly were about to give up our cause when the king himself came to see what the commotion was about. We pleaded our case about how we wanted to bury them ourselves, and that they were among those who fought against the orcs in the caves. The king was silent for a long moment and then granted us leave to give Neisa and Larewen their own graves.” Tradele pauses and wipes a few tears of both gladness and sadness from her eyes. “Never had I been so thankful for anything in my life before. He then assigned several men to help carry and bury the…” Tradele pushes down the unwanted words about to escape from her lips, “…Nesia and Larewen. We thanked the king before he went off. We were surprised when the Lord Aragorn and his companions, the Elf and Dwarf, said they wished to accompany us if we allowed them.

“We discussed where would be an appropriate place to lay Nesia and Larewen and then decided to bury them outside the fortress. So we went out the refuge and walked along the walls to where the mountain and wall met. There we buried them, close to the place where they gave up their lives. As soon as the men had finished putting the dirt back in place, they returned inside the fortress. We, however, stayed at the graves for a while and held our own service for them. The Lord Aragorn and his friends also paid their respects. They asked us to tell the tale of Neisa and Larewen’s part in the battle. So we told them everything.”

Éowyn tenses. How was the story told? she wonders. Tradele rests her fears.

“We told them what had happened, and also what we all had done in the attack.”

Éowyn relaxes and allows a ghost of a smile to cross her face. She is extremely grateful that at least Tradele and the others understand how she feels and do not make her seem as though she alone won the battle.

“Take me there,” Éowyn says suddenly.

There is puzzlement in Tradele’s eyes, not understanding.

“Take me to Neisa’s and Larewen’s graves. I desire to see them,” Éowyn explains.

“Are you certain you are up for going out? It is a bit of a walk. And will not someone worry…?” Tradele asks uncertainly.

Éowyn waves her hand. “I have been caged in here for too long and need to get out for a while. As for others worrying… I desire to visit the graves and have some privacy. I do not want for someone to stand right behind me while I pay my respects.”

Tradele still looks unsure but is silent. Éowyn slowly rises from the bed and gets a cloak from the chest against the wall. She wraps it around her and brings the hood low, putting her face in shadow and her gold hair of sight. She turns to Tradele. “Please, lead the way.”

Silently the women slip out the door and move through the hallways like shadows. When they merge into the sun and the sounds of the people drift up to them, they pause. Éowyn slowly takes in the sight. It does not look all that much different from four weeks ago. Éowyn breathes in the air and follows Tradele down the stairs and out the gate of the fortress. They go past many piles of things that are black and burnt.

“The orcs were all burned,” Tradele says in answer to Éowyn’s unspoken question.

Éowyn pauses and picks some wild flowers that grow by the wall before she resumes following Tradele. She shivers. The wind whistles and whips about the two women. The mountain towers high above them as they stop at the foot of it.

“Here,” Tradele says softly. She motions to two mounds of dirt right where the stone and wall meet. “We also buried the daggers they had used…”

“No better way of laying them aside,” Éowyn says in approval.

She walks closer to the graves and kneels before them. How could I possibly stand before their graves? They have achieved valor by the ultimate price. They have proven their honor and allegiance to their king and people.

Éowyn turns toward Tradele. “Please, leave me.” Tradele does not move, clearly uncertain at leaving the king’s niece alone… Éowyn silently holds up the dagger that she had tucked under the girdle of her dress. Tradele’s face relaxes, and she nods before turning to leave. Éowyn’s voice stops her. “Please do not tell anyone of my whereabouts. I wish to be alone.” Tradele silently nods once more before again turning and walking away. This time nothing stops her.

Éowyn holds the flowers over the graves and slowly opens her hands, letting them tumble from her fingers to the dirt where they softly land without a bruise to their delicate petals, but are now sparkled with flecks of dust.

Éowyn lowers her head, and tears blur her vision before cascading down her cheeks. She draws a shaky breath. How long has it been since I cried over something like this? I have cried because of the loss of Father and Mother. I have cried because of the loss of Theodred. I have cried because of Grima and his hold over Uncle and Rohan. I have cried tears of joy when Uncle was finally free… Never have I cried because of what some women – about my age and much lower of my status – did one night for others, for me. Éowyn stares at the graves, digesting her thoughts. Then with thoughtfulness in her eyes, she starts to sing softly:

“Rivers of red and brown,
eyes of green and blue.

“Huddling together in
fear and worry,
wondering about those
who fought above them.

“Would they ever see their
loved ones again?

“Both girls uncertain,
but willing to help when
the time came to flee.

“They offered to stand
against the enemy
when the way was blocked.

“They may have never held
a weapon before in their
hands.

“They may have been uncertain
of what exactly to do,
but they knew they would do all
in their power to protect those
who could only stay back and wait.

“They ran to meet the enemy
despite their fear,
looking it in the face.

“Orcs rushing by,
they did not hesitate to follow,
driven by the helpless screams.

“They did not show mercy to the
creatures.

“They achieved valor with the
ultimate price,
they fell among those who had
fallen by their hands.

“Never to know that their loved
ones who had fought above
had won and were alive.

“Their eyes closed,
not knowing what fate befell
those they were trying to
protect,
and those who fought with
them.

“They fell in the darkness,
but maybe they knew the dawn
was near.

“Many do not know what a sacrifice
they paid.

“They are not treated with the honor
they deserve for what they did.

“Many will never know what they
did during those hours of darkness;
instead praises are lavished on others.

“But those who fought with them
will not let their memory die;
they will tell of their brave deeds.

“Rivers of red and brown,
eyes of green and blue,
shall be seen no more.

“Buried in the cold earth,
their faces are now only a
memory.

“But I shall always remember
them and what they did.”

Éowyn lifts her head and feels some of the guilt she has carried slips off her shoulders. She smiles, a true smile, as a gentle wind plays through her hair. She sits quietly at Neisa and Larewen’s graves for some minutes before she rises to her feet.

“Thank you,” she whispers simply.

She turns and walks away, preparing herself for the scolding she will get from her brother and uncle; they have probably been searching for her by now. But she does not care. She feels freer now.

Epilogue

Éowyn stood in the doorway, feeling just a little shy. Freda turned her head toward her; a bright smile lighted her face.

“My Lady! Éowyn!” Freda’s eyes twinkled. “Forgive me for being unable to curtsy.”

She flicked her gaze to the three bundles that lay next to her on the bed. Éowyn mutely shook her head and slowly entered the room. She tried not to stare. Never had she seen such young babes before.

Freda met Éowyn’s gaze. “Never had I experienced such pain. But when I saw them…they were worth it,” she breathed.

Éowyn approached the bed and gazed on the tiny faces, all which slept in slumber, content and peaceful, not knowing of the fear and darkness that existed outside their mother’s protective arms. Already at three weeks old, red and golden curls framed the babes’ faces.

“They are beautiful,” Éowyn said softly. “They are a miracle.” A miracle that cannot be prevented by evil – a miracle of life.

“Would you like to hold one of them?” Freda asked, watching Éowyn’s expression.

Éowyn looked up with large startled eyes, unaware of her thoughts being on her face. Uncertainty and shyness settled on her features – unnatural emotions for the Lady of Rohan to show.

Freda nodded towards the babe on her lap. “You may hold her.”

Éowyn slowly lifted the babe up and settled her into her arms. For a long while she stared at the tiny nose, mouth, ears, and fingers. Yes, this was a miracle. Gently she touched the curly hair, the rosy cheeks, and fist.

“What are their names?”

“They are named after three women who are very important to me,” Freda sais, pausing as Éowyn raised her head; she continued, “Neisa, Larewen, and Éowyn – that the story and memories of them may never completely die.”

It then seemed to Freda as though she beheld Éowyn as she would be free of all sorrow, fear, coldness, and dark memories. The lady’s face glowed; her eyes were clear and sparkling; the color in her cheeks matched those of little Larewen’s. She had left the darkness and has grasped onto hope.

---

The memory of that time seems like a dream now. She had indeed held onto hope during that time. She had fantasies of what her future might be – now dashed. She grieves for those who have left her, who have gone to their doom. She had been rejected – both her heart and freedom; and by the same man. She was denied the chance for valor and honor. Despair claimed her once more.

She rides tall and proud among the riders of Rohan. Her face is pale and cold like one who knows she shall stand her last, who welcomes death. She rides in silence. The hobbit, Merry, is thoughtful but has not spoken since they met. She is grateful. But they share a bond – both desire to follow their king.

Lady Éowyn. A daughter of kings. A shieldmaiden of the Mark. The White Lady of Rohan. A shieldmaiden of Helm’s Deep. Ice blossom. A frozen lily. Many names has she been called. Many things has she been compared to. But she no longer knows those names. For that is not she. A new name she calls herself now. A name that suits her far better than any other she has ever had.

Dernhelm.