Shieldmaiden
By Arien Evenstar

Éowyn knew Rohan was in deep trouble. From the moment Grima Wormtongue had come to Edoras, she had had this horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. Even after Gandalf the White had come and set her uncle free of Saruman, she still felt uneasy.

She paced back and forth in the great hall, musing over her uncle’s actions. She knew that Gandalf was right. Théoden would be leading the peoples of Edoras into a trap without realizing it; and when the hoards of Saruman came against them, they would not carry enough strength to defeat them.

“Milady?” a soft voice brought her out of her darker thoughts, and she turned to see an elder maid holding out a basket full of clothes. “Do you wish for me to bring these dresses for you, in case you need them?”

Éowyn shook her head, smiling faintly. “No thank you, Gwenda,” she replied, “I’ll only be taking this one,” she motioned to the dress she was currently wearing, “adding the cloak which I have already set out. But thank you.” After a short pause, she quickly added, “Hold a moment, I think I’ll take this one as well.” She pulled out the pure white gown and stuffed it into a sack. She honestly didn’t know why she was taking it; after all, her uncle had told everyone to take only what they needed. But it held some emotional attachment for her, as she had gotten it on her sixteenth birthday from her uncle, so she decided to bring it along.

Éowyn hurried down to the stables and helped the people saddle up their steeds and tack them up to the carts, which were being filled with food, water, and other provisions.

“Milady Éowyn,” she spun around to see the tall, graceful Elf, Legolas, she remembered, standing there.

“Lord Legolas,” she nodded. “Is there anything I might do for you?”

The Elf shook his head. “No, milady, but I wonder if there is anything I could do to help.”

“Yes, there is,” she answered, encouraged by his willingness to help, and showed him some tasks he might accomplish. She then hurried up the steps of the palace, turning around to stare down at the busy city, if only for a moment.

But as Éowyn gazed down at the bustling people, she could tell that they were all extremely frightened. Maybe the newcomers could help with that fear. Aragorn, the strange Ranger from the north, had already instilled some form of comfort towards the soldiers. He was a Captain that could lead an entire army to victory, she knew. Under his dirty, worn appearance, a noble, mighty lord was hidden.

Éowyn watched as the Elf, along with the Dwarf, helped place provisions in the carts and load up weapons and armor.

There might be enough weapons, Éowyn thought sadly, But there are not enough men to wield them. We are journeying to our end.

“Éowyn,” her uncle’s voice made her turn her head. “What is the matter?” Théoden slowly walked towards her.

Éowyn sighed. “Uncle, I fear that we do not have enough men to stop Saruman’s army. Even if we do journey to Helm’s Deep, Saruman still might bring his armies upon us.”

Théoden eyed her carefully. “Éowyn, Helm’s Deep is a safe place,” he reassured. “No enemy has ever set foot in the keep, or breached the wall. Do not fear.” He put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“I think we should send out riders,” Éowyn suddenly blurted out, turning red.

Théoden frowned. “Riders?”

“We must call for aid,” Éowyn persisted, “Uncle, Saruman’s arm has grown long. He is stronger than you think! We need assistance, milord.”

Her uncle’s eyes narrowed. “And whom do you think will come?” he soberly wondered. “Elves? Dwarves? We are not so lucky in our friends as the Lord Aragorn.” He slowly shook his head. “We do not need help.” He turned to leave.

“Gondor!” Éowyn cried, desperate for the survival of her people. “We must ask Gondor for aid!”

Théoden whisked around, growing cross. “Gondor?” he said in a low voice. Éowyn knew she had touched upon a bad subject and took a step backward. “Where was Gondor when the Westfold fell? Where was Gondor when our enemies closed in around us? Where was Gon…” he breathed heavily, checking himself. “No, Éowyn,” he stated grimly, “We are alone.”

But she would not give up. “Send me!” she begged in a last attempt to sway Théoden’s stubborn will. “I will go to Gondor.”

“No.” His answer caused her heart to drop. “You are needed here. I will not let you go on a fool’s errand. They will not listen to you.”

“But – ”

Théoden held up his hand. “I have spoken,” he dismissively told her. “I do not want to hear another word about it. Do not worry, Éowyn. Rohan will prevail.” He walked off to give orders to Gamling.

But in her heart, Éowyn did worry.

. . .

After helping the cooks carry some extra food to the wagons, Éowyn furiously strode into her emptied bedroom. She sat down in her bed for a second before getting up once more. “My uncle’s stubbornness will be the death of us,” she muttered, shaking her head. “We need help, even if he is not willing to admit it.”

Someone knocked at her door, and she called, “Come in!”

It opened to show Hama, who glanced around the room for a second. “Milady,” he bowed, “Your uncle says that we must leave before dusk. He orders for you to quickly finish packing.”

She nodded. “Very well.” He left; and she sat back on her bed, rubbing her aching forehead. She stood up and opened her chest, just wondering if anything was left that she did not remember to bring. The large wooden chest creaked as she lifted it open, and it only revealed a few cloths. Éowyn frowned as she noticed a shiny spot where the cloths parted. She stuck her hand inside the chest and drew out her sword.

As she studied the weapon, she knew then what had to be done.

. . .

First chapter! I’ll continue if I get positive feedback. No flames, please, they don’t help anyone.