Chapter 8: Her

[ Setting the scene: while King Théoden and his army ride to battle at Helm’s Deep, Éowyn leads the remaining people of Rohan on a retreat to the refuge of Dunharrow.]

3 March 3019 (Third Age), Dunharrow

Éowyn first noticed the young pair on the slow trek to Dunharrow. Their wide, fearful stares. Their glassy-eyed acceptance of an unknown fate. And their sadness. So very much sadness. She’d seen variations of these and other desperate emotions all day, and while she wasn’t inherently inclined towards nurturing, she was of the House of Eorl, she was leading this company, and she knew her duty. The people looked to her for guidance, for strength, and for support; she had to provide all three.

If only there was someone to strengthen me, she sighed. She was as tired as she’d ever been — not from lack of sleep, though she hadn’t had much, but from the soul-draining weariness of retreat — and still battling her resentment at being given this charge. Her thoughts repeatedly flew to Helm’s Deep, for she was worried about her brother, her uncle, and...

And Aragorn. Though I doubt he’s worrying about me.

Her attention snapped back to the here and now. She’d been looking directly at the couple as they rode, and at some point during her reverie they’d met and held her gaze. She wondered how long they’d locked eyes, and if they wondered why she was staring at and through them.

Well, I have to talk to them now.

They were man and woman... or, she hesitated, perhaps only boy and girl? ... though at close quarters they seemed on the precipice of both. They rode together atop an emaciated brown horse. She appeared to be of a height scarcely less than Éowyn’s, with thick golden waves of hair cascading around her shoulders, but that’s where any resemblance ended. Her threadbare clothing, stained and torn in places, strained mightily to conceal her overtly voluptuous figure. Soft cheeks, plump red lips, fulsome breasts that threatened to explode through her cotton shirt, shapely thighs wrapped about the horse’s flanks ... she was a girl of an incredible beauty and breathtaking sexuality, both of which shone through her obvious toils and traumas. She looked young, prodigious curves aside, yet wore a mask prematurely burdened with care.

In front of her was a young man of similar height, a slender yet muscular frame, and the rich skin tone of one who toils under the sun. Her arms encircled his waist, her breasts hardly flattening at all as they pressed against his shoulder blades. In him, the fleshiness of youth had given way to the sharp definition of hard-worked muscles. Yet unlike she with whom he rode, he was cloaked as much by wariness as weariness. He was as handsome as his companion, and for a moment she wondered if they were lovers, for she clung to him with an intimacy beyond mere practicality. Studying their faces as she drew Windfola alongside, however, she settled upon a different truth.

Not lovers. Brother and sister.

“The ride is long, but we are nearing its end.”

Startled, the girl found her voice first. “Lady Éowyn, I... we thank you for leading our people to safety.” She looked like she was barely holding back tears.

“I’m but a fellow traveler on this road. Is there aught I can do for you?”

She hesitates. There’s something she wants, yet fears, to say.

“Lady Éowyn, you need not trouble ... I mean, you have so many to worry about...”

“So many for whom nothing I could possibly do matters, save that there might at last come an end to this war ... and that outcome is beyond my current charge. The days will bring what they bring, and at the moment my only purpose is to follow a line on a well-worn map to its end. If there’s something I can actually do, I will feel relief at being useful at last.”

Another pause. The girl glanced at the back of her brother’s head, but as Éowyn’s eyes followed, she realized that he’d not yet stopped studying her. Sadness dulled the blue brilliance of his irises, as it did his sisters’ even more intensely cerulean eyes, but there was something else. Something guarded and unreadable.

The young woman continued. “Though we thank you for your generosity, Lady Éowyn, there’s nothing that ... nothing you...”

A tear held back by her long eyelashes formed, grew heavy, and escaped to begin its slow-winding path down her cheek.

As comfortingly as she could, Éowyn touched her arm. She didn’t flinch, but the contact released a few more tears from bondage. “What is your name?”

“My birth name is Ælflæd, my Lady, but I’m called Elfi by my friends and my...” Another choked-back sob. “ ... my family. My brother is named Théngelim, a diminutive meant to honor the King’s father, with whom our grandfather rode for a time. He shortens it to Théo.”

Her guess about their relationship confirmed, Éowyn knew the next question would be more difficult, and asked it with as much gentleness as possible.

“And what of your family?”

Elfi’s tears now flowed openly, and she pressed her cheek against her brother’s suddenly rigid back. “Our mother died this winter, from a lingering illness. Our father...” A shuddering intake of breath preceded words rent by grief revisited and raw. “Our father has neither returned nor sent word since the attack that took the King’s son. We don’t know if he lives, and we...” She could bring herself to say no more, and clutched her brother even more fiercely.

Éowyn squeezed the girl’s arm, reassuringly. “If it’s within my power to bring you news, I will do so, Ælflæd.”

“My Lady ... I don’t know what to say, except thank you.”

“Then say nothing. For, alas, I understand your uncertainty and loss all too well.” The memory of her deceased parents grew dimmer each year, but it would never truly fade, while the death of Théodred — whom she’d adored in her youth and with whom she’d been exceptionally close since adulthood — was all too fresh a wound. “I swear to you that whatever help I can offer is yours.”

The girl buried her face between her brother’s shoulder blades for a moment, appearing as if she wished she could crawl inside and thus escape the harshness of the world. Instead, she lifted her head and looked at Éowyn with more openness than before. Her eyes glittered with tears and gratitude mingled. “My Lady, I beg you: call me Elfi.”

“Elfi. But then you must call me Éowyn.”

Her eyes widened. “My Lady, I couldn’t!”

“Of course you can.” Her gripping hand gentled, tracing a comforting path across the girl’s tensed shoulders until their horses were flank to flank. Their steed should be retired to a grassy meadow, not bearing a double burden up these difficult hills. They likely have little, and this retreat may cause them to lose everything. She sighed. Another bitter cruelty of war. Her determination to do what she could to help them increased. “You said that your friends call you Elfi, and asked me to do so as well. Thus, by your own admission, we’re now friends. And my friends call me Éowyn.”

“But, my Lady,” she sputtered.

Offering as supportive a smile as she could manage, she countered, “Elfi, I insist: call me Éowyn! Now, tell me of yourselves. Where do you come from?”

Relieved to be speaking of something other than grief, Elfi answered. “Neither our farm nor its neighbors’ bear any recorded name or belong to any village, at least to our knowledge. But we’re a morning’s slow ride north of Edoras, in a fertile valley of the Westemnet. We tend our land and a few animals, and though it’s terribly hard work without ... without...” She barely held back the resumption of tears. “Well, it’s perhaps more than two alone can manage. Yet what other choice do we have?”

Her story continued, adding to Éowyn’s dismay at the desperation of their plight, but it was suddenly interrupted by a short horn blast from ahead and above. It was one of the advance scouts, signaling an imminent change in the terrain. She studied their path, matching it to her memory of their route.

The ground grows rockier, and when we emerge from these trees we’ll be approaching the southern end of the Harrowdale. Soon this company will have to manage the long climb to the plateau, and I should arrive in the vanguard to order the encampment and the distribution of resources. Again, she sighed. And, also, so I can make a continued show of “leadership,” despite my wish to be doing almost anything other than skulking in the mountains like a glorified nursemaid.

“Alas, Elfi, I must rudely pause our converse, for I’m needed elsewhere. I promise I shall find you when we’ve reached the safety of Dunharrow, after you’ve had a chance to get settled. Perchance I’ll bring news, but in any case we can again speak as friends, for I would bid you finish your tale.”

Removing her hand, she offered Elfi one last comforting smile and edged her horse forward. Her focus drifted to Théo, who’d said nothing at all. She’d felt his eyes on her the entire time, but she’d managed to give her full attention to his sister.

But his gaze was no longer directed at her face. Instead, he was intently studying features somewhat lower on her body. As soon as he realized she was moving his eyes snapped upward, then quickly and guiltily away, cheeks coloring as he feigned devoted interest in some invisible detail of the road ahead.

She felt her own flush as she spurred Windfola onward. This is hardly the first time I’ve been so baldly appraised. It’s not even the first time today. Nor do I expect it to be the last, today or any other day. So why does his attention unsettle me so? As she encouraged her mount to a faster pace, she was confronted by the obvious answer. Perhaps it’s because what his curiosity portends is no longer theoretical. I’m now fully aware of the possibilities that arise from such looks.

She sped up, easily outpacing their ragged column. I admit that I find him quite attractive. Alas, this is neither the time nor the place for such foolish distractions.

Éowyn paused at the tent’s entrance ... though “tent” was too grandiose a word for what was essentially a stretched-hide version of a simple wilderness hut, erected from stores long laid aside for just this sort of emergency. Hundreds of them now clustered on the high plateau of the Firienfeld, and scores more were under hasty construction as waves of refugees scaled the winding path to their camp.

This particular structure, though, was situated apart from the rest, in a narrow glade surrounded by a peaceful grove of firs, as far from the inflowing traffic as space would allow. She’d seen to this isolation herself, for a meager measure of privacy seemed the very least she could do for the overburdened siblings.

She felt considerable guilt at the relative grandiosity of her own lodgings — multiple rooms, solid walls, a comfortable bed, even a rough private bath — but her suggestion that orphans and abandoned children be housed with her had been urgently contradicted by her small coterie of aged counselors. They protested that the demands of leadership meant she’d require as much uninterrupted sleep as possible, something that a house full of terrified younglings would likely render impossible. They also stressed that she needed to maintain her air of authority. Of the House of Eorl she might be, worthy of the respect of the people ... but she was still a woman, and to be seen surrounded by children would only reinforce the latter perception.

With regret and ever-lingering frustration at the assumptions burdening her gender, she conceded that they were right. Instead she took to the deepening twilight, visiting as many refugees as she could, helping to place the most vulnerable — frightened children whose parents were either off to war or missing altogether — with adults willing to take them in. It was emotionally exhausting, and physical fatigue was taking its own toll, but she had just one more stop to make before her rest. She’d left it for last, hoping to end a long and depressing day on a more personal note.

Resolute, she pulled back the tent flap. And gasped.

Elfi reared up in shock.

The tiny shelter was barely large enough for its two tangles of bedding and a few jealously-guarded items. Éowyn had to duck and crouch to enter, and at full extension Elfi herself nearly touched two of the tent’s opposing walls. Indeed, Elfi had been quite stretched out when she entered. Though not, it seemed, in a prelude to sleep...

Elfi’s crumpled blanket exposed the immensity of her bounteous chest, and Éowyn did her best to retain her equanimity at the sight. She’d certainly seen unclothed women before, though this was the first time she’d knowingly startled anyone in the act of self-pleasure. Still, it was difficult to not be taken aback by the abundance laid bare. Elfi’s breasts were almost a parody of perfection ... full, round, and impossibly firm for their size, topped by prominent nipples that practically begged to be suckled.

With her own gasp of realization at what she’d inadvertently put on display, Elfi clutched at the blanket and drew it to her neck. She was quivering with embarrassment, and in the dim light of Éowyn’s lantern her face glowed a brilliant red. “My Lady! I’m ... I’m so terribly sorry. It was late, and I forgot you were coming, and I thought ... I ... oh, no, no, no...”

Éowyn allowed herself a low chuckle. “Elfi, please put aside your anxiety. These are desperate days, and in such times we may all justifiably take thought for our wellbeing.” Why am I teasing her in this fashion? Shouldn’t I strive for more dignity?

“Oh, but My Lady, I can’t ... I mean, you must be...”

Éowyn sat on the corner of the blanket, yet the young woman seemed to shrink away. “Elfi, look at me.” It was an unnecessary request; Elfi’s shining blue eyes were as wide as full moons. “I’m as much of a woman as you. Well,” she smiled, “not quite as much.” She heard Elfi’s quiet gasp, and continued to wonder at the unexpected devilishness that had slithered into her tongue these last few moments. “But certainly you don’t think that you’re alone in,” she gestured, “this, do you?”

“You...”

“Of course, Elfi. Me.” I’ll neglect to reveal just how often, of late.

“No, I meant ... but ... my Lady, you’re so refined and beautiful ... well, I mean, you’re as strong as any warrior, but ... you must have many ... I mean, I’ve always assumed there’s someone, or more than ... oh, I’m saying everything wrong...” Defeated by a rush of confused thoughts, she hid her face between her hands, though her deepening blush remained evident. This also had the disconcerting effect of allowing the blanket to slide back down her body, revealing a mighty expanse of cleavage.

For the moment, Éowyn did her best to ignore the view. “Elfi. Elfi!“ She repositioned herself at Elfi’s side, grasping her chin and prying it from her hands. She met the woman’s frightened stare, and it melted her heart. “Elfi, you’re forgetting our agreement. We concluded that we’re friends. Didn’t I ask you to call me Éowyn?”

“Yes, my Lady, but I’m so...”

“And so, between friends there should be trust. Can I trust you, Elfi?”

“Of course, my Lady!”

“Éowyn, dear Elfi.”

She drew a quick, steadying breath. “Éowyn.”

“You really shouldn’t feel shame, you know. It’s completely normal.”

She shook her head vigorously. “I know. That’s not what I ... I mean, I’m not ... it’s just because you...” Elfi giggled, blushed, and quickly reverted to looking vaguely frightened. The movements shook the edge of her blanket downward, and her rose-hued areolae and swollen nipples hovered in plain sight. Éowyn couldn’t help a brief glance, though she masked it by pretending to be in deep thought. Well, not entirely pretending. I am debating. That I pleasure myself I’ve already admitted, though that should be no great secret to anyone who gives it sufficient thought. The details of my degradations I certainly won’t share. But I need to help Elfi move past her embarrassment, to make her feel comfortable again, and the sharing of a confidence might speed that process. Which leaves...

“Come: I’ll tell you one of my own secrets, and we will be rebalanced. I think you were attempting, perhaps somewhat inartfully,” Elfi turned even redder, though Éowyn smiled to take the sting from her words, “to suggest that I must have a regular companion. I don’t, and in fact I never have. ‘The Shieldmaiden of Rohan’ I have on occasion been called, in praise or mockery depending on the speaker, but I am maiden indeed. Thus, at whiles and of necessity I find myself doing the same, as all women would.” She fought down a wince of guilt at the evasive history she was spinning, but telling the actual truth was unimaginable.

Elfi’s jaw clenched with the effort to stay silent while she absorbed this confession. Then: “my La... Éowyn, I would never have guessed. It’s difficult to believe that one so flawless could ever be without all the partners she could wish. But if you judge this a secret, then it is in my keeping.”

Blushing at the compliment, she nodded. “I know, dear Elfi. We can trust each other. I’ve felt this since I met you. And who knows? We might be more alike than either of us could have guessed.”

“But Éowyn, I have another confession: now that I’m imagining it, it’s ... well, I beg your forgiveness for saying so, but thinking about you touching yourself is amazingly hot.”

Éowyn felt an immediate flush, all over. Apparently, she’s gotten over her verbal struggle and her shyness. Is she actually visualizing me self-pleasuring? Is she telling me that it’s turning her on?

As if the mere act of exhaling was the final release for all her tension, Elfi’s body relaxed on the tail of a deep sigh. Again the blanket trundled downward, fully exposing every lush curve above her waist.

Éowyn had never, despite the reticence demanded by her public persona, considered herself much of a prude ... even before her recent “awakening” ... but she was more than mildly surprised at both Elfi’s bawdy words and her lack of concern regarding her nudity. Even her sudden entrance had caused more unexpected surprise than paroxysms of modesty. Most Rohirrim weren’t as constrained by image and the demands of dignity-for-show as Éowyn, but they nonetheless tended towards reserve and propriety when it came to such matters. And isn’t her brother also meant to occupy this tent? What if it had been him who entered without warning?

“I’m not.”

The tangential nature of the declaration brought Éowyn out of her reverie. “You’re not what?”

“A maiden.”

Éowyn’s eyes narrowed, just a bit, at a troubling notion.

“Elfi, how old are you?”

“Eighteen, but only for a few more weeks. I know I don’t necessarily look it.” She paused, glancing downward. “Well, I mean that I know my face looks young, even though the rest of me doesn’t exactly suggest baby-faced innocence.“ She smiled. “But the women of my family have always appeared youthful. For example, my mother...” Instantly, the smile on her face disappeared, and she fell into silence.

“How old is your brother?” Éowyn asked, trying to route around her sudden mood change.

“Théo is twenty, almost twenty-one.” Her face, having morphed from lighthearted insouciance to impenetrable sadness, now took on an unexpectedly wistful look.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know for sure.” She gestured. “Out there, somewhere. He said he needed to go for a walk to clear his head. I know he’s in no danger, but...” The strange expression intensified.

Into Éowyn’s mind came a different concern. “Elfi, it’s now me who must apologize for the inquisitiveness, but: is your brother... ?”

A quick parade of emotions passed across the young woman’s face, arresting Éowyn’s question before its conclusion. Nor did it escape Éowyn’s notice that Elfi’s nipples immediately puckered, growing even harder as the procession continued. She looked away before answering. “No, my brother and I have never...” She trailed off, leaving the tantalizingly unfinished thought dangling.

That’s not at all the answer I was expecting. She’d been about to ask why Théo was here, rather than counted among the Riders in training. For he was of the right age, both his father and his grandfather were apparently Riders, and he seemed able-bodied enough. Her curiosity was piqued, but a sudden instinct cautioned her against further interrogation.

Elfi’s eyes met Éowyn’s, and when she spoke her voice was resolute. “But I love him.”

“Of course you do. As I love my brother Éomer, more than anyone.”

“You do?” There was an unmistakable note of eagerness, even excitement, in her voice. “Have ... this is none of my business, of course, but have you ever been with him?”

It took Éowyn a few moments of confusion to realize what Elfi was actually asking, and it took considerably more moments and a decidedly concerted effort to restrain her surprise. She shook her head, wondering at the strange path this conversation was taking. “If I understand your meaning aright, no. That is: no more than the curiosity of childhood play, the kind in which many siblings likely engage. Certainly not since then. Still, I suppose that some part of me holds him as my ideal of manhood, and I hope someday to find a mate his equal.” Éowyn wondered if what she’d just said was strictly true, given certain recent arrivals to Rohan.

Elfi nodded, but her voice grew both firmer and sadder. “I’ve not said this correctly, then. I’m sorry for the confusion. When I say that I love Théo, I mean that I’m in love with him.”

Éowyn could no longer hold back her instinctive reaction. It wasn’t that she was shocked, exactly — she’d certainly heard whispers of such things, and in fact her initial impression of the pair had been that they were coupled — but she’d never before been confronted with it in person. Understandably, her thoughts immediately fled to Éomer. Have I ever considered him in that way? The answer, though it came quickly, was strangely unsatisfying. I’m not fundamentally repelled at the notion, though I expected I would be, but it makes me uncomfortable. In theory, I suppose I can imagine him as a lover ... but in practice, I’d never be able to go through with it. Nor do I find the thought enticing. I’m certain he would feel the same way, and that this is a path we’d never tread together.