I remember well when Eowyn first came among us. She was a child then, a fair thing with long hair the color of spun gold and eyes that snapped with hidden fire. How I envied the way she rode on that fine grey pony, head erect and shoulders back, a queen in the making. You would have thought she’d just returned from conquering countries or slaying dragons instead of the truth: Orcs had slain her father and their mother succumbed to grief. She and her handsome brother, Eomer, were orphans, alone and not alone, as is often the case with royalty.
“Have you ever seen anyone so grand in your life, Maebh?” my mother asked in her breathless fashion. “Won’t it be nice to be making pretty garments for a change?”
My mother was a laundress, seamstress, and sometime spinner at Meduseld and, as one of the staff, had been ordered to assemble and be presented to the new arrivals. My father remained at his place in the foundry, where I had been until my mother came to fetch me.
I studied the new girl. I was older than her and I too had blond hair, but mine was curly and constantly in knots. As one of the few daughters in a compound filled with sons, my dresses were usually muddy and I could just as easily be found mock-fighting with the lads, watching my father at his work, or helping my mother at her tasks.
Life as a castle servant is a strange thing. The arrival of Eowyn and Eomer had been spoken of for weeks. Prince Theodred was beside himself with excitement at the prospect of having cousins live with him and told everyone everything he knew or suspected about them. We were quick to catch on to his enthusiasm and every detail was discussed, enlarged, added to, and ruminated on until it seemed that there was nothing we did not know. And yet we were strangers to them and destined to remain so.
“She’s shorter than I expected,” I said.
“She’s but a girl,” my mother replied. “You can play with her.”
I didn’t think a pristine statue of a child like Eowyn would deign to lower herself to play with me, but I let my mother think as she liked.
We had decorated Meduseld to welcome the orphans in a stately fashion and I was drafted to help serve at the welcoming banquet for them. I was too short to serve drinks, but not to carry in plates, which I did with the pages and squires. The grand hall was filled to capacity and the temperature was stifling with body heat. Ale was drunk, toasts were given, and it was all we servers could do to keep up with our tasks while dodging flailing arms and darting around the dogs that snapped up bits from the table.
Flanking their triumphant uncle at the head table, Eowyn and Eomer looked small and lost, though Theodred, sitting next to Eomer, did his best to distract them. When Theoden announced that Eomer would immediately begin his knightly training, the prince pumped his fist and cheered and Eomer smiled for the first time. The news pleased me more than it should. Eomer was a handsome lad, and I was a frequent visitor to the training sessions.
Eowyn was also pleased. Her face brightened and unexpectedly her eyes caught mine. Children connect easier than adults. We saw at once each other’s loneliness and isolation, she motherless in a new land, me a lone girl in a man’s world, and like recognized like. I grinned, then she grinned, and in that moment, we were friends.
***
Our association most likely would have ended there, had it not been for Eomer’s training. Like all castle-strongholds, there is a field set aside for warriors, knights, and squires to work their skills and, for convenience’s sake, it is not that far from the smithy where my father plied his trade. When I wasn’t being taught to follow in my mother’s work, I was either on the training field or in the blacksmith’s shop with my father.
I loved watching my father work: blending molten metals, pounding swords, shields, and even dishware into shapes. He taught me how to blend and mold daggers and knit tiny pieces of metal into chainmail. I learned arrow making too – strong, slender, and light, with tips so sharp a strong bowman could pierce armor. My father also taught me to etch, and as his eyes weakened, I took over a good deal of this delicate work. At least, I did until Felim arrived. But we haven’t come to him yet.
My days weren’t all work and training. I played with the other children of the palace, and I loved to spar with the small, blunted swords kept on hand for training purposes. I would fence with any squire who was willing, and I became adept. Theodred was the first to call me Shield Maiden and often would challenge me to duels. Soon the other boys followed suit and it was during one of these mock-tourneys that Eowyn first appeared on the training ground.
I didn’t see her at first, though I noted the immediate change in my opponent’s tactics. Unwilling to lose to a girl in front of a girl, he began to press me hard, and I nearly lost my footing. A quick feint and fast footwork sent him tumbling and I was declared the winner of the match. Eowyn’s high voice rang out among the others in congratulation, and she wasted no time in running over to me.
“You fight with boys,” she said, by way of introduction.
“Just in fun, my lady,” I said, though a bit starstruck. “We don’t mean any harm.”
“You will teach me?” she asked. Her shining eyes were on my short sword and her body was tense with repressed excitement.
“Teach you, my lady?”
“Call me Eowyn. I will be friends with you. What is your name?”
“Maebh.” It was all I could do to keep myself from saying “My lady.”
“Maebh.” She stumbled on the unfamiliar word. “Maebh. That’s a good name for an instructor. You will teach me, for the sword master refuses.”
“But…” It did not seem right for a lady to fight with swords. It was all right for me; I was a servant’s daughter, without class or higher responsibilities. “Are you sure you want to?”
Her gaze left the sword and latched on to me instead.
“I am sure I need to,” she said firmly. “I will not be helpless.”
Naturally, one doesn’t disregard an order from the lady of the house, and, in any case, I was desperate for female friends. We began that morning, Eowyn holding the sword with two hands, tripping over her long skirts, and I in my ragged short dress with the sword alternating between my right and left hands. Eowyn tripped on her skirt three times, always popping back up from the mud with determination and laughter. We parted amicably and I went back to my mother, feeling as though I’d broken a rule and gotten away with it.
I needn’t have worried. The king roared in laughter when he saw Eowyn, coated in sweat and mud, beaming with pride of accomplishment. The order for divided, shorter skirts filtered down to my mother shortly thereafter and our training and friendship continued.
Eowyn was quick to learn and soon assumed the title of Shield Maiden. Together we grew in skill and speed, and one day the sword master relented and began giving us lessons. It was a glorious time and I loved it.
There was a marked difference in the way we trained. I worked for fun, to escape everyday chores and to be outside in the sunlit training field. Eowyn trained as though her life depended upon it. She practiced footwork until it flowed like dance steps. She worked her blade until it flashed fire in the sun. Her tenacity and prowess soon won the admiration of all the squires, her brother included.
“You fight as though the world relies on you,” Eomer said one day, after a grueling duel that left both of them panting.
“How do you know it doesn’t?” she responded, with a confident toss of her head.
“Mind yourself, Eomer,” Theodred laughed. “Else she will outshine us all!”
Her ability with the sword was matched by her kindness. I’ve seen her drop her sword in the middle of a match to return a fallen chick to its nest and later, when the fever ravaged the servant quarters, it was her nursing that helped save the ones who survived, myself included.
For a few years, we were the best of friends, spending time together both on and off the sparring field. But time passed and things changed. Theodred and Eomer were sent away to train with other men. The king drafted tutors to teach Eowyn more refined arts and began to search for husbands.
Her new studies cut into her training sessions, something she resented. “He intends to pluck my wings and cage me like any other prized bird. I’ll not have it, Maebh. I’ll not have it!”
We had little choice. My workload increased and I too had less time for the training fields. I spent hours doing needlework and cleaning while Eowyn disappeared into the veiled world of leadership and privilege.
Then the fever came, and I was laid up. My mother succumbed and passed, and the fever took the remainder of my father’s eyesight. My hair was shorn and grew back wild, curly, and dingy brown. I felt, in many ways, that I shrank into my station even as Eowyn, tall, willowy, with hair like a golden halo, grew into her own.
When my father recovered, an apprentice was assigned to him, a young man from a nearby village. Thus I met Felim. Eowyn had many suitors, I only the one, and yet I never envied her. Felim and I were perfectly suited for each other. We married with little fuss, and were happy in our small, contained world. But outside, darkness was spreading across the land like a stain across a beautiful tablecloth.
The first real indication that we had that anything was wrong was when Theoden fell ill. It was a shocking thing, for he’d always been so strong. Eowyn’s tender side came to the fore. She devoted herself to caring for him, giving up her lessons, even the last vestiges of her military training, to running the house and caring for the king. And it was around then that Grima arrived.
We called him Wormtongue, for he had a diabolically marvelous way of planting ideas in one’s head so that you thought they were your own. His ascent was sharp and once ensconced in the king’s ear, there he remained. Rohan’s reputation and defenses went to the wayside under his unofficial reign, and the honor of Theoden himself was brought into question. As the king’s health worsened, Grima’s influence grew. There were rumors of curses and poisons and talk of a marital alliance between him and Eowyn, but she soon put an end to that.
“As though I’d allow him to lay a hand on me,” she’d snorted when I asked her.
Worn from her duties and frustrated by her own helplessness, Eowyn would come to the servant’s quarters to talk with me. She knew, as I did, that the world outside was darkening, but we did not know by how much. Eomer and Theodred patrolled the borders, fending off orcan raids and keeping the kingdom as secure as possible without true support from the sovereign. The occasional messages that Eomer sent were light on details. I suspected then, as I do still, that Grima interfered with Eowyn’s correspondence.
I worried about Eowyn. Her spark had dwindled, her energy was sapped, and her once fierce defiance of convention was wearing thin.
“I’m tired all the time,” she complained.
“Worry ages a body,” I replied.
“I wish Eomer were here.”
It was, I think, the first and last time I heard her wish for a man’s aid.
Eomer did return, and for a brief moment her flame was restored. She shed ten years of responsibility when that young man walked through the door, but it was preciously short-lived. I remembered catching a brief glimpse of his white face as he stalked into the king’s room to make his report. It didn’t take long before news filtered downstairs to us: Theodred was dead, and the world was going to war.
Theoden’s response was immediate: he arrested Eomer and drove the boy from his sight.
The entire castle mourned the loss of the loveable prince. Eowyn was beside herself with grief and fury. She raged and ranted to me, her hands balled into fists.
“What can I do?” she demanded. “Spring him from prison?”
That was impossible, of course. Theoden still held absolute sway and the prince’s death seemed to shove him further under Wormtongue’s control. No one could stand against his machinations.
“I will not stand by idle!” she roared when I said as much. She was pale and shaking, her grey eyes bright with unshed tears and fury. “I cannot, Maebh! I must do something, something to shake the shame of dishonor from our realm. Give me something to do!”
So I did. I went to the corner where I hid things, and pulled out our practice swords, dull and heavy items. I handed her one and she stared at it, then at me, uncomprehending.
“Revolt is impossible,” she said.
“Especially with that,” I laughed, though it was no light matter. “We prepare, my lady. This situation will not remain forever and when the change comes, we will be ready for it.” When she still hesitated, I said with more confidence than I felt, “It is what we can do, Eowyn.”
She nodded and followed me out into the training field.
***
We worked in secret. It would not have done for Grima to know what we were doing. Eowyn’s time was divided between tending Theoden, visiting Eomer, avoiding Grima’s wandering hands, and renewing her acquaintance with the sword and me. We kept Eowyn’s training clothes in my hut and practiced regularly, fighting until we were breathless and sore. Eventually, others learned of it and began their own sessions, and soon a small, defiant army was forming. Servant and serf, warrior and washwoman. All were anxious, you see. We knew that Wormtongue was merely a symptom of a larger disease, though no one was brave enough to come right out and say it.
No one, that is, until Gandalf returned.
Wizards are rarities in these parts and certainly few carry the weight of legend that Gandalf the Grey – I should say, the White – bore. He had come once before, when he was still the Grey, and had been rudely thrown out by Theoden – even then, Grima’s grip was tight. This time, however, Gandalf’s powerful and confidence was such that we knew, even from the brief glance that we had of him from a distance, that the whole world was about to change.
And so it proved. He and the little band of mismatched, road-weary warriors strode into the throne room and transformed it. How this occurred, we down below were not privy to. One minute, Grima is all but king, the next Théoden was calling for his sword and his nephew and offering his military services to Gandalf. Wormtongue was cast out, Eomer released, and Rohan breathed freely.
Eowyn was revived and not simply because of her family’s release from bondage. There was a man in Gandalf’s group, tall and lean with grey in his shaggy hair. He was from the west and though he dressed as a Ranger, there was something about him that set him apart from the others. I’d have thought he was royalty had I not known different, but he certainly was a leader. Gandalf commanded everyone’s respect, but Aragorn had their loyalty.
He also had Eowyn’s heart. It wasn’t the first time she’d fallen – the first had been brief and painful – but still she was not the type to fall in love easily. Respect, admiration, and a release from long captivity no doubt played their parts, but the emotion was real, for all that created it. She fell and he did not notice.
Rohan went to war. Theoden decided to personally lead his forces, leaving Eowyn in charge in his absence. It was a wise decision, as Eowyn had practically been running the country during the king’s illness. But still it sat ill with Eowyn.
With the declaration of war, everything changed. Rohan was no longer safe and could expect to be invaded by Sauron’s forces at some point. Felim and his workers toiled day and night preparing, repairing, and creating armor and weapons for the departing warriors. My discovering my pregnancy at this time proved fortunate – Felim was exempted from following the army and remained home.
Gandalf, Theoden, Aragon, Eomer, and the others took their leave, a fine band of resolute men, but so small in number that I know I wasn’t the only one who fretted about their safety. Eowyn stood tall and stoic as she watched their departure. Her eyes, though, gave her away; we were performing an important task at home, but she longed for more. The pale, helpless look that had disappeared with Gandalf’s appearance had returned and my heart was touched.
“You do well to remain here,” I said. “We have need of you.”
“I understand my duty,” she said. “Yet I cannot help but feel I am called elsewhere. My heart… it is not bound to this place.”
Eowyn was a natural leader and we found ourselves looking to her, not only for instruction, but also for reassurance. She put together a team of leaders and managed everything with competence, kindness, and regal poise. During the day, she was a pillar of strength. At night, when she thought no one was watching, she would prowl the outer defenses, always looking towards the distant battlefields where her heart and mind were.
Refugees and wounded began pouring in. Somehow we found places for everyone. I put my seamstresses to work making clothes, bandages, and tents. Eowyn focused on increasing food and supplies, while training nurses in healing and others in defense. Anyone who could hold a sword or work a bow was drafted into the defense army. Eowyn herself kept up her practice on the training field, although I, as my pregnancy advanced, found myself slowing down.
Only on the training field did Eowyn appear to relax, her fire and confidence restored until she looked like the queen she was always meant to be. There, on that muddy bit of ground, dressed in dirty, unflattering divided skirts, and wielding a sword like she had been born with it in her hand, she seemed the most herself.
“I don’t want to wait for the enemy,” she said privately to me once, in a sudden fit of impatience. “I want to find him and stop him where he is.”
I understood, but there was little do be done about it. What little I could do, I did with Felim. Once we knew that he would not be going with the army, I told him of a private project that needed doing. He seemed skeptical at first, especially when I told him that it was not to be mentioned to anyone, not even Eowyn.
“It’ll take time and material away,” he said. “Are you sure it’s worth the risk?”
Early on, Eowyn had issued an edict, declaring certain materials were not to be used for private means without severe consequences. I thought I knew where we could get the material where it would not be missed. In any case, so sure was I in my purpose that I was willing to risk imprisonment to see it through.
“It must be done,” I insisted. “And it won’t be done if we ask for permission.”
I’d married well, for he relented and began the work.
Life on the defensive is tedious and stressful. We lived for word from the front, even as we dreaded the possibilities. When a group of riders appeared on the horizon one day, we were initially terrified. It was Eowyn who identified them.
“It is the Grey Riders,” she said, her grey eyes shining. “Aragorn returns!”
Before we could respond, she rushed to change into one of her best frocks, a white garment that made her radiance even brighter.
Aragorn rode in with his usual odd company. They were weary and worn, but not defeated and welcomed the opportunity to break bread among friends. Eowyn made no attempt to conceal her pleasure at seeing the Ranger again – he had to have been blind not to note her regard. But blind he must have been, for he gave her not the slightest encouragement.
The Grey Riders made for pleasant, lively company and it was from them that we learned of the victory at Hornburg, in Helm’s Deep. Eowyn listened with breathless excitement at the heroics of her brother and guardian, and I could see that the itch to leave grew with each detail. She was relieved and happy as we all were to know that Theoden and Eomer were safe. She was less pleased when she learned of Aragorn’s destination: the Paths of the Dead.
The news struck us all like a death knell. There are places too dangerous for even the noblest of warriors to venture and the Paths of the Dead was so highly feared that some thought even to mention the name was to bring a curse down on the speaker’s head.
Eowyn’s expression was stone. “Is it then your errand to seek death?” she demanded. “They do not suffer the living to pass.”
“They may suffer me to pass,” he said, quietly. “No other road will serve.”
It was a clash of two wills of equal strength. Eowyn was adamant and he would not be swayed. Finally the elf and the dwarf intervened and turned the conversation. The matter was not finished, however; I could tell from Eowyn’s expression that she had more to say. Later, after the feast was over and the men had taken themselves to their quarters, Eowyn disappeared.
I could guess where she had gone. I slipped out of the hall and ran down to the hut I shared with my ageing father and my husband. Felim was there, asleep in his chair, waiting for me. He awoke to my touch.
“The riders leave in the morning,” I said. “Can you finish tonight?”
I was asking a great deal. Felim had put in a full day’s hard labor, and this was no easy task for a man alone. But by then, he had come to accept that it was, indeed, important.
“I can,” he said and good man that he was, stood, ready to begin.
“I’ll return as soon as I can to help,” I promised.
I would have gone with him then, but instinct drew me back to Meduseld, to Eowyn’s private chamber. I waited with her maid until the Lady of Rohan returned. From her stiff manner, pallor, and the humiliation in her eyes, we knew all was not well.
“Are you all right?” I asked, going to her side.
But she was in no mood to be comforted. She brushed off my gesture and turned her back.
“I offered,” she said. “And I was refused. I would be alone now.”
Her voice broke. She, Eowyn of Rohan, been refused and the pain was cruel.
We did as she requested. I do not know how she passed the night, but I know how I did: In the foundry with my husband, working and etching until dawn touched the sky.
***
The Grey Riders were mounted and ready to leave before the sun even crested the ridges to the east. Whatever drove Aragorn on the foolish quest to the Paths of the Dead, it filled him with an eagerness that belied the occasion. Not many had assembled to see them off – the perceived recklessness of their venture filled most with superstitious fear. As for myself, I was present for two reasons: I did not fear the dead so much as the living and I wanted to be there for Eowyn.
I was tired and dirty from my night’s work, so I stood at a distance. When Aragorn made to mount his horse, I thought, she isn’t coming.
But then Eowyn appeared, head held high, shoulders back, defiance and grace radiating out of every move. Yet she was not dressed as the Lady of Rohan. She wore the garments of a rider, right down to the battered old sword that we used for practice. I wondered if she’d had time to sharpen it.
“Aragorn,” she said, and I could hear the tears in her voice. “Wilt thou go?”
“I will,” he said.
He was a stone of a man and I hated him for what he could do to my friend. I hated him more when she threw herself on her knees, the proud Lady of Rohan, begging this itinerant Ranger to take her with him, only to be refused again. Her humiliation was mine. I wished the curses of the Paths were true, even as I watched him raise her to her feet and reverently kiss her hand. The anger that seized me was temporary and sympathetic, but it would not abate until the Ranger and his men had disappeared from view.
Eowyn watched them go, a stone maiden with clenched fists, waiting until they were gone. Then she turned and I caught a brief glimpse of her face and the tears streaming down her cheeks. She stumbled into the house, and I let her go to grieve in private.
***
Though I spent the day in my hut, sleeping, I got little rest. My dreams were of Sauron and of battling warriors, surrounded and drowning in a spreading, smothering darkness. I awoke with my heart pounding to find the hut empty and that night had fallen. I fell back against the pillow and lay still, listening to cricket song. My child moved within me, and I wondered what sort of a world I’d be bringing her into.
I heard the jingling sounds of harness and the soft clop of muffled hooves long before the knock at the door. When I opened it, Eowyn stood before me, holding the reins to her favorite mount. She was dressed as a ranger, her fair hair rolled and tucked so tightly to her head that at a distance she might be taken as a man. I knew from her stance, from the very look in her eyes, that she was going even before I spotted the packs on the horse’s back.
“I’m leaving, Maebh,” she said. “I ride out tonight.”
I nodded, instinctively stroking my swollen belly. “To the Paths of the Dead?”
“Nay. To Theoden and Eomer.” She hastily added, “The house of Rohan is in shame, Maebh, and the world grows dark and cold. I am the daughter of the House of Eorl. I cannot stand by and let the world fall. I will not.”
“And you think that they shall not simply send you home again?”
She flinched, but raised her chin. “They may try,” she said.
I nodded. It seemed that our entire lives had been mere staging to bring us to this point, when the Shield Maiden assumed her true role. For a moment, I wondered if I, too, ought to go. Then my child moved and I was reminded of other, more personal obligations. My role, the one I had joyfully assumed long ago, was still here in Edoras.
“I leave Jereth in command,” Eowyn said, her hands nervously running through the reins. “I’ve left no duty undone.”
“No one dare say so in my presence,” I said. “But a knight should not leave without her armor.”
I opened the door wider, and her eyes grew round, for there in the middle of the room was the finished product of Felim’s and my labor. There was suit of mail with a breastplate, both slender and delicate enough to fit her frame, yet strong enough for war. We’d created a helmet and a shield as well, both etched to match.
The pride of all was the sword: light and strong, sized to her hand and arm strength. When Eowyn unsheathed it, it glinted even in the dull light of my room. It was a lovely blade – sharp as a razor and, though it was a folly, I’d etched delicate designs upon the blade.
Eowyn stared at the sword as though it were the most marvelous thing she’d ever seen.
“I ordered that all metals were to be used for the war effort,” she said at last.
“And so these will be,” I replied. “You were always destined for the battlefront, my lady. This cage was always only temporary.”
She looked at me then and her grey eyes filled. I turned away, for if she cried, I would too. I think we both knew, somehow, that this parting was permanent – she would never again return to rule at Edoras. But the present parting was painful enough without adding the weight of years.
Silently we dressed her in her new armaments and strapped the sword to her side. They fit well – I was, after all, my lady’s seamstress. I followed her out into the night and stood by as she strapped the helmet onto her pack.
“I’ll go as Dernhelm,” she said. “No one will know me.”
“And let no man turn you away,” I added.
Her eyes glinted in the moonlight. She took both of my hands, and I forced a smile.
“Bring honor back to our house, lady,” I said. “Strike a blow for your fellow Shield Maiden. My only wish is that I could come with you.”
Eowyn seem to choke on words. She squeezed my hands hard and mounted her horse. She pulled the sword and it shone strong and new in the moonlight.
“I dub thee Maebh,” she said of the sword and looked at me. “And thus, your name shares in the coming glory. I’ll carry both you and Theodred with me.” She paused and then said, “You were my teacher and my friend. I will never forget either service.”
The lump in my throat made it almost impossible to speak. “The honor was mine, my lady.”
A noise from behind alerted us to people approaching. With a final smile towards me, Eowyn drew her dark cloak across her shoulders and disappeared into the night.
And thus, rode she into legend. Maebh was shattered at the Battle of Pellenor Fields, slaying the Witch-King of Angmar, the one of whom it was said no man could kill. Thus was honor restored to Rohan and the House of Eorl, and I able to tell my growing brood that their father and mother did their bit to free the world from darkness.
On Theoden’s death, Eomer became king, but Eowyn never really returned to Edoras. She married Faramir, a man nearly as fine as Felim, and left with him for his kingdom. When she did visit, with their young son in tow, I saw that she’d grown again, from an impatient, powerful warrior to a queen and mother. The role suited her just as well. On seeing me, she grabbed both of my hands and her grey eyes filled.
“Maebh,” she said. “My teacher, sword-bearer, and friend.”
I cannot conceive of a higher honor than that.
There are moments, when I see youngsters working on the training fields or my own daughters wrestling in the mud, and I think back with fondness and certain melancholy to my childhood friend. Gandalf once said that we all have our small parts to play. I like to think that my sword and shield saved Eowyn from death and maybe that was so. But in any case, though my part was small indeed, I account myself the luckiest of women for having played it.