Eorl the Young

“The Red Arrow Has Not Been Seen in The Mark in All My Years.” Rohan Receives The Call for Aid From Gondor. The Importance of Strong Ritual.

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The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins) pp. 781-783

The arrival of Hirgon, the messenger of Denethor, is one of those beautiful set pieces beloved of story tellers and story hearers of the Middle Ages. Those who know the story through Peter Jackson’s films will remember how the message comes to Rohan by means of lit beacons upon the mountain tops, It is a beautiful scene as the message seems to leap from one mountain to another, but a message of such import requires more than the efficiency and speed of lit beacons. It requires the power that can be conveyed only by ritual, by due ceremony.

We will live in an age that has been, in many ways, de-ritualised. Because we do not require rituals as entry points to significant aspects of life, such as long term relationships, it is easier to do without them altogether, In many ways one can understand, and sympathise with, the critique of the way in which past generations abused those rituals and the institutions they underpinned. I think of the forced marriages within my own family history and the story of unhappiness that followed, an unhappiness that continued for generations, and I do not blame the generation of my children for their caution in either entering an institution that has been socially enforced and the rituals that underpinned that institution. I also regret the commercialisation of the ritual of marriage and the sense that in order to marry a couple and their family will have to spend a considerable sum of money to fulfil social expectations. But when the ritual connected to marriage is drained of all its potency something of great import is taken from the institution and the life that the institution is meant to sustain. Perhaps we might say that we have forgotten that marriage exists for the sake of human flourishing and that human flourishing does not exist for the sake of institutions, even those as important as marriage,

But let us return to the scene in which Hirgon, the messenger of Denethor, appears at the camp of the Rohirrim bearing the Red Arrow. We note the pride with which he holds himself even as he pays all due respect to the King of Rohan and to the people that he leads. He is the servant of the Steward of Gondor, a mighty lord. We note also the importance that the King of Rohan attaches to Hirgon’s mission.

“The Red Arrow!.. The Red Arrow has not been seen in the Mark in all my years! Has it indeed come to that?”

The Red Arrow is the visible and outward sign of an inner reality. It serves to remind Théoden of the oath made by his mighty ancestor, Eorl, to Cirion, the Steward of Gondor, at the tomb of Elendil, that in return for the gift of the land of Calenardhon he and his descendants would always come to the aid of Gondor in its need. And we also note that Gondor has never abused this oath. As Théoden himself declares, “The Red Arrow has not been seen in the Mark in all my years!” Denethor was not in the habit of seeking the aid of his closest ally as a matter of course, such as the fight for the crossing of the Anduin at Osgiliath for example. He asks for it now at Gondor’s greatest need, but not before.

So Hirgon kneels before the King of Rohan and declares his mission.

“Gondor is in great need. Often the Rohirrim have aided us, but now the Lord Denethor asks for all your strength and all your speed, lest Gondor fall at last”

There will be some negotiation. Rohan’s pride requires it. Théoden cannot and must not be taken for granted even though it is already his intention to come to the aid of Gondor. When he rides into battle he needs everyone of those who follow him to do so willingly and so each one of them needs to know that their lord does also and that he is held in the highest honour by Gondor and not regarded as a mere vassal. Perhaps certain alliances of our own time would be the stronger if the most powerful of their members were to remember this.

All of this is made the stronger by the enacting of strong ritual. Those who stand by their king see how he is treated by Gondor and how he in turn treats the messenger of Denethor. They see the respect with each addresses the other, and that story will be passed between every warrior who gathers to make the ride to Minas Tirith and will give strength to each one of them. That is what strong ritual is able to give.

“The Way is Shut… It Was Made by Those Who Are Dead, and The Dead Keep It, Until The Time Comes.” How Can We Know the Proper Time for Things?

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The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 775-781

The words in the title for this piece were spoken long before the events described here. Brego, the second King of Rohan, went up the steep path out of the Harrowdale with Baldor his son, that had been cut from the rock in an age long before the arrival of the Rohirrim, the Eorlingas, to the lands where now they dwell. At the door in the mountain they met an ancient man who spoke the words to them before breathing his last.

As we have seen, Baldor decided to dare the door and was seen no more until Aragorn discovered his body within the mountain on the Paths of the Dead, and since that time no one had dared try the door until Aragorn does.

Éowyn tells the company of how Aragorn has passed through the door, “into the shadow from which none have returned”. Éomer’s heart falls as he hears his sister’s words.

“He is lost. We must ride without him, and our hope dwindles.”

But it is Théoden who reminds his companions of the story that we have read, the story of the words spoken to his forefathers, that the Dead keep the way, “until the time comes.”

Has that time come?

We know that Aragorn and the Grey Company have indeed passed through the Door, and that the Dead did not prevent him from doing so but heard his voice and followed him to the Stone of Erech where he called them to fulfil the oath that once they made to Isildur and then broke it. We know that the time has come, and Théoden himself says that Aragorn is “a kingly man of high destiny”, and one that might be able to do a deed that no-one else has dared. But Éomer is not persuaded. Perhaps such a man as Aragorn might be able to dare the Door but to what purpose? To him the way that Aragorn has gone is no more than a private quest, and maybe one that a great hero might endeavour, but surely there are other things to be done?

“Alas that a fey mood should fall on a man so greathearted in this hour of need! Are there not evil things enough abroad without seeking them under the earth? War is at hand.”

Éomer does not know the story that Aragorn does. Nor does he know that Aragorn made his choice because he believed that unless he did so he would not arrive at Minas Tirith in time, and that even if he did get there with the Rohirrim it would be fruitless because the Corsairs of Umbar would be able to sail up the Anduin unopposed and so the Rohirrim would come to a city that had already fallen.

But let us not think of such things now. The question I wish to consider here is the one posed in the title of this piece. How can we ever know the proper time to undertake a particular action? As Éomer says rightly, the only way to find out if the time has come to try the Door is to try it.

The whole of The Lord of the Rings is a story of grasping opportunities as they arise. At the heart of this, of course, is the One Ring itself. Suddenly, and entirely unexpectedly, the Ring that all had believed to be lost appears in the hands of a hobbit. Some, like Gandalf, were prepared for the reappearance of the Ring. No-one expected the Ring to appear in the manner that it did. Gandalf knows that the only thing to do with the Ring is to destroy it. What even he does not expect is that he will find a willing ally in the person of Frodo Baggins, and that this hobbit of the Shire is at first excited to make a journey out of the Shire, and then, against his own wishes but for the sake of his fellows, to offer his very self as Ringbearer.

Everyone at the heart of the story knows that the stakes are so high that everything must be risked in order to destroy the Ring and that every other ambition, however noble, must be set aside for that purpose. So, Aragorn risks everything for this ultimate purpose, while Éomer does not yet know of that purpose and so thinks in terms of important but lesser things, such as his fealty to his king and faithfulness to an ancient oath. Later he will be invited to the Final Debate and learn of higher things. For now, this is enough for him to act as he must do.

“Speak Not The Soft Words of Wormtongue in My Old Ears”. Théoden Thinks About Ageing and Death in Harrowdale.

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The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) p. 775

As Merry turns his thoughts to Frodo and Sam at the end of the journey from the Hornburg to Harrowdale, Théoden makes ready for the great ride of the Rohirrim to Minas Tirith. Éomer is glad that this journey is over, but Théoden now thinks only of what lies ahead.

“This journey is over, maybe… but I have far yet to go. Last night the moon was full, and in the morning I shall ride to Edoras to the gathering of the Mark.”

Théoden may be thinking of the battle that lies ahead but Éomer has different thoughts in mind. What he sees in front of him is an old man. Perhaps the days when Théoden was confined to his chair in the golden hall of Meduseld have had a greater influence upon him than he realises.

“If you would take my counsel,” he says to the king, “you would then return hither, until the war is over, lost or won.”

In other words, though Éomer does not speak them out loud, you should take no part in the battle that lies ahead. It is time for you to rest, old man.

Théoden is seventy-one years old at the time of the events of The Lord of the Rings, and I am the same age as he was then. Would I listen to Éomer’s counsel and leave the battle to younger men? Or would I listen to Théoden who replies to his nephew, gently but firmly.

“Nay, my son, for so I will call you, speak not the soft words of Wormtongue in my old ears… Long years in the space of days it seems since I rode west; but never will I lean on a staff again. If the war is lost, what good will be my hiding in the hills? And if it is won, what grief will it be, even if I fall, spending my last strength?”

Théoden speaks more gently to Éomer than Jesus did to Peter when Peter tried to counsel him not to lay down his life in Jerusalem. Jesus told Peter to “get behind me, Satan!” But Théoden is just as firm in his intent and conviction as Jesus was. Do not try to prevent me from doing what I have to do, he says to his nephew. “The soft words of Wormtongue” were spoken in order to prevent Théoden from taking action against Saruman. They may have been cloaked in expressions of concern for an old man, offering kind advice to him not to overdo things, to conserve his strength, to look after himself, but Wormtongue’s true intention was to rob that old man of his capacity for any action at all.

And what of Théoden’s words to Éomer? What is the point in my hiding in the hills while my men go into battle? If we lose then death will come to me soon. If we win and I fall in the battle, what sadness will it be that I fell? My death in victory or defeat will be a good death, far better than any that might await me in the future if I only hide away in the hills.

And so it proves. The funeral of Théoden after the events of the War of the Ring is the most glorious of any King of Rohan. The memory in which he will be held thereafter will bring pride to the hearts of all his people.

And what do his words speak to all of us as we grow older? To those of us in our later years? Perhaps we should begin with caution. It is one thing in any of us to speak bold words, but it is another to fulfil them. If Théoden had, through weakness, delayed the ride of the Rohirrim to Minas Tirith, asking them to give him time to rest instead of riding on, his words would have no meaning at all. He must spend his strength with the best of his men, showing leadership at their head and not in the rear. If it is a feeble old man who leads the charge at the Pelennor Fields that might inspire pity but not courage. The leader that inspires others is one who lays down their life for the people. At the battle Théoden seizes a horn from his banner-bearer and blows such a blast upon it that it bursts asunder. He may be advanced in years but what strength he has he spends for those who follow him.

It may be given to few of us to lead a charge in battle in our later years but the call to pour out our lives and not to preserve them into decrepit senility as Wormtongue tried to persuade his master to do is a challenge to each one of us.

“May I Not Now Spend My Life as I Will?” The Lady Éowyn Longs to Break Free From Her Cage.

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The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 765-767

The journey that Aragorn takes with his friends and with the Dúnedain takes him from Edoras to Dunharrow where the Lady Éowyn greets them. She has taken the women and children of Edoras to the comparative safety of the stronghold high in the mountain valleys and there she has been fulfilling the task to which Théoden assigned her, to command the people in the absence of her uncle, the King, and her brother, Éomer.

Her first reaction on seeing the coming of the Dúnedain and the sons of Elrond is one of awe for never before in her life had she laid her eyes on “mightier men” than these. She wonders why they have arrived before the rest of the Rohirrim and when Aragorn tells her that he must depart after breaking his fast in the early morning she assumes that it was to see her that he has come in haste.

“It was kindly done, lord, to ride so many miles out of your way to bring tidings to Éowyn, and to speak with her in her exile.”

But it is not for this reason that Aragorn has come to Dunharrow although he courteously replies that such an errand would not be regarded as wasted by anyone. Aragorn has come to Dunharrow because the entrance to the Paths of the Dead lies close by.

Éowyn’s first reaction on hearing of Aragorn’s intent is one of horror. She has been raised on stories of the Paths of the Dead and of what lies beyond the door near Dunharrow that were intended to prevent any from attempting to pass them. She knows the story of Baldor, the son of Brego, the second king of Rohan, who stood at the feast that consecrated the Golden Hall of Meduseld and vowed that he would tread the Paths of the Dead; and she knows that Baldor never returned from that journey. All her people know the story and all hold the door that Baldor opened with dread.

But Éowyn has a desire that goes deeper than her fear of that path. She fears being left behind. And most of all she fears being left behind by a man who has captured her heart. For much of her life she has stood but a few feet away from the malicious whisperings of Wormtongue as he spoke them into Théoden’s ears and she had to watch her lord and her people as they declined into a pale shadow of what they had once been. I once wrote of how Théoden had to look upon the image of Eorl the Young, his mighty forefather and founder of the kingdom of Rohan, as he rode from the north to rescue Gondor at a time of need. We know that Théoden felt deep shame as he thought of the might of his ancestor and how at the moment of his death the thought uppermost in his mind was that because of the manner of his death in battle, doing what Eorl had done, riding to the aid of Gondor in their time of need, that he would be able to face him without shame. And Éowyn has looked upon Eorl herself and felt the same shame and she has felt the shame of her position, to be a servant to an old man, a decrepit king of a degraded people.

And now into her life has come this man. A son of kings surrounded by knights of whom she could only dream. Indeed she probably has dreamt of men like this, men so unlike those among whom she has grown up. Can we blame her for nursing a fantasy within her heart that this man might lift her high above all other women and might set her free.

“What do you fear, lady?” Aragorn asked her.

“A cage,” she said. “To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall and desire.”

Éowyn longs to break free from her cage, to spend her life, not as others command her, but as she will.

“May I not now spend my life as I will?”

We will be thinking about Éowyn and the story of her life over the next few pieces on this blog and we will think about Aragorn’s answer to her question in the next week, but perhaps we might want to begin with compassion. Compassion for the life that she has been forced to live behind the bars of her cage. And that is a good place to begin.

“The Beacons of Gondor Are Alight, Calling for Aid. War is Kindled.” Gandalf Speaks of The Ancient Alliance of Gondor and Rohan.

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The Return of the King by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991) pp. 731-732

Following the events at the borders of Mordor that we read at the end of The Two Towers, with Frodo taken by orcs to the tower of Cirith Ungol and Sam shut out before its doors, we return to the ride of Gandalf and Pippin from the wreck of Isengard towards war in Gondor. Peter Jackson’s film gives the impression that this is some sort of punishment for Pippin following the incident in which he gazed into the Palantir of Orthanc and was seen by Sauron, and there is no doubt that part of Gandalf’s purpose in taking Pippin with him was to put as much distance as possible between Pippin and the Palantir; but Tolkien describes a more complex, even tender, relationship between the ancient wizard and the young hobbit. There is a sense in which Gandalf actually needs Pippin’s company as he approaches the great crisis of his time in Middle-earth. We remember Gandalf’s words to Merry as Théoden’s company rode from Isengard after its fall, “All Wizards should have a hobbit or two in their care- to teach them the meaning of the word, and to correct them”. (The Two Towers p.768) They were words half spoken in jest, but they hid a deeper truth. Gandalf lived a life devoted to the care of the peoples of Middle-earth, even having pity for the slaves of Sauron, but perhaps none of those people were more important to him than the people of the Shire, holding a special place in his heart. After all, none of the peoples of Middle-earth apart from hobbits knew of his skill as a maker of fireworks, and it was hobbits who taught him the pleasure of pipe smoking, an art that requires a measure of stillness if you are to practice it properly.

So, as they ride to war in Gondor, Pippin grounds Gandalf in the true purpose of their journey together. Not to achieve some great plan, some strategic action for a geopolitical end, but an act of mercy to bring succour to a beleaguered people in Minas Tirith. Bearing his ring of fire, Gandalf will warm the hearts of the defenders of the West in their greatest need, and Pippin will warm his heart.

Gandalf brings fire to Minas Tirith, but as they ride suddenly they see fire on the tops of the mountains of Anórien. Pippin is afraid, “are there dragons in this land?”

Gandalf replies with even greater urgency: “On, Shadowfax! We must hasten. Time is short. See! The beacons of Gondor are alight, calling for aid. War is kindled.”

It was in the year 2510 of the Third Age that Eorl the Young, Lord of the Rohirrim, made his great ride from the northern lands at the head of his men and won the Battle of the Field of Celebrant over a host of orcs and easterlings who had come from Sauron’s fortress of Dol Guldur in the south of Mirkwood to assail Gondor. After the battle Eorl met with Cirion, Steward of Gondor, at the secret tomb of Elendil and they swore an oath to one another. Cirion gave the fields of Calenardhon to Eorl and his people as a possession until the “Great King” should return, and for his part Eorl swore this oath:

“I vow in my own name and on behalf of the Éothéod of the North that between us and the Great People of the West there shall be friendship for ever: their enemies shall be our enemies, their need shall be our need, and whatsoever evil, or threat, or assault may come upon them we will aid them to the utmost end of our strength. This vow shall descend to my heirs, all such as may come after me in our new land, and let them keep it in faith unbroken, lest the Shadow fall upon them and they become accursed.” (Unfinished Tales by J.R.R Tolkien, George Allen and Unwin 1980 pp. 301-305)

The beacons of Gondor are lit before Gandalf and Pippin arrive in Minas Tirith, not as an accident but because of the order of Denethor, and Théoden will come “to the utmost end” of his strength, because he holds the oath of his ancestor to be sacred.

Gandalf has warmed the heart of the King of Rohan, enabling him to lead his people to a mighty victory over Saruman, and Théoden will come to Gondor’s aid. Now can Gandalf warm the heart of the people of Gondor to resist until aid comes to them?

“Upon One Form the Sunlight Fell. A Young Man Upon a White Horse”. Eorl the Young in the Hall of a Broken King.

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The Two Towers by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991, 2007) pp.660-668

The hall of the King of Rohan is an unhappy place. In Peter Jackson’s film, The Two Towers, this is effectively depicted by giving Edoras the sense that it is a barren place where nothing grows with a harsh wind sweeping through it. As Gandalf and his companions arrive at the doors of Meduseld they are met first with suspicion and are even refused entry. But at last word comes that they are to be permitted to enter and so they approach Théoden in his darkened hall.

Tolkien tells us that “The hall was long and wide and filled with shadows and half lights”. The travellers need a few moments to allow their eyes to adjust to the darkness within but as they do so they begin to see that “the pillars were richly carved, gleaming dully with gold and half-seen colours”.

This is the world within which the King of Rohan lives. A “half-seen” world. He spends his days seated upon a gilded chair, “a man so bent with age that he seemed almost a dwarf”. Théoden is a broken man, one so given to age that it feels as if there is no life left in him. It is a theme displayed within the Grail legend that when the King is wounded, robbed of life and of fruitfulness, the whole land becomes a desert, incapable of sustaining life.

One thing within the hall seems to break through this barren darkness.

“Many woven cloths were hung upon the walls, and over their wide spaces marched figures of ancient legend, some dim with years, some darkling in the shade. But upon one form the sunlight fell: a young man upon a white horse. He was blowing a great horn, and his yellow hair was flowing in the wind.”

This is Eorl the Young, the first King of Rohan, who rode out of the North at the head of his men to the aid of the armies of Gondor who were hard-pressed in battle upon the Field of Celebrant. After victory in the battle Eorl and Cirion, Steward of Gondor, swore oaths to one another at the tomb of Elendil upon the hallowed Hill of Halifirien. Cirion gave the plains of Calenardhon to Eorl and his descendents to be their land in perpetuity, swearing the same oath of alliance that Elendil had sworn to Gil-galad before they went to war with Sauron together at the end of the Second Age. Eorl promised that if ever Gondor were in great need again Rohan would ride to their aid “and whatsoever evil, or threat, or assault may come upon them we will aid them to the utmost end of our strength,”

It is this image upon which Théoden has to gaze from his chair from day to day. This image of youthful vigour and the story with which Théoden would have been raised from his youth stands in judgement over his aged and decrepit form and over the people who once rode to glory behind their lord and now sink into shame behind this dying king. It is Saruman who will name this shame. “What is the house of Eorl but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among the dogs?”

Théoden feels this shame deeply every day. At the end of his life when his body lies broken beneath his horse at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields he will name it, ” I go to my fathers. And even in their mighty company I shall not be ashamed. I felled the black serpent. A grim morn, and a glad day, and a golden sunset.”

Théoden lives in shame each day that he looks upon his mighty ancestors but although shame cripples the one who feels it shame is always hated. The one who feels it never comes to accept it. At any moment the one who feels shame can cry out in angry protest against it. No one, least of all the one who feels shame, can predict when this moment will come. Nor in the story that Tolkien tells can Wormtongue, the King’s chief counsellor, who is deliberately dragging Théoden into the misery and degradation that he now feels in order that he will not make effective resistance to Saruman in the war that now rages.

“Where Now The Horse and The Rider?” Aragorn Sings of The Brevity of Human Life.

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The Two Towers by J.R.R Tolkien (Harper Collins 1991, 2007) pp. 660-665

After a hard and weary crossing of the plains of Rohan Gandalf and his three companions arrive at the feet of the White Mountains and to Meduseld, the hall of Théoden amidst the courts of Edoras. Legolas is the first to see them clearly and Gandalf asks him to describe what he can see.

“I see a white stream that comes from the snows,” he said. “Where it issues from the shadow of the vale a great hill rises upon the east. A dike and mighty wall and thorny fence encircle it. Within there rise the roofs of houses; and in the midst, set upon a green terrace, there stands aloft a great hall of Men. And it seems to my eyes that it is thatched with gold.”

As the road draws near to the gates of Edoras it passes under many grassy mounds covered with white flowers. These are the barrows in which the kings of Rohan lie. There are sixteen of them, “seven mounds upon the left, and nine upon the right”, and the first was raised 500 years before this time. To Legolas it is but a little while but to the Riders of the Mark this seems so long ago “that the raising of this house is but a memory in song, and the years before are lost in the mist of time.”

There are many barrows in England, none of which are made beautiful by Evermind. They are thousands of years old and “lost in the mist of time” and yet to Legolas this would still be but a little while.

This contrast between the immensity of time itself and the brevity of each human life within it is one of the major themes within Tolkien’s works. Elves and Men feel this contrast in different ways but both feel its sadness. Elves are immortal unless they suffer violent death and yet they live amidst change and decay. The three Rings that Celebrimbor forged in the Second Age and hid from Sauron were an effort to mitigate the effects of Time. They have done much good and Gandalf himself bears one of them, using it secretly to warm human hearts wherever he goes, but they are ultimately a futile effort to prevent what is inevitable. And for humankind, while they feel deeply the immensity of time they feel also how short each life within time is doomed to be.

Aragorn has been here before. In the days of his lonely wanderings in Middle-earth after learning from Elrond his true identity as the heir of Isildur and Elendil he served both the Steward of Gondor and the King of Rohan, preparing in hope for the day on which he would claim the throne. Thanks to the way in which he has inherited the longevity of the Númenorians he has already lived a long life by the time he returns to Edoras. He is older than Théoden and none of the people who now live in Rohan have any memory of him from the days of Thengel, Théoden’s father. In his time among the Rohirrim he mastered their language and now he begins to sing from the Lay of Eorl, words “laden with the sadness of Mortal Men”.

Where now the horse and the rider? Where  is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?
Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow. 
Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning, 
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?

Tolkien draws here from the poetry of the people who created kingdoms in England after the departure of the Romans in 410 A.D. Like the Rohirrim they felt the brevity of life deeply, the tragedy of what it is to be human, to be aware of the immensity of time and space, of the possibility of the eternal, and to know that life is too short to explore the potential of all this. He knew the story that St Bede recounted in his history of the English people, of Bishop Paulinus standing before the King of Northumbria and telling him of the Christian faith. And of how, after Paulinus had finished speaking that Coifi, the high priest replied and spoke of how to be human is to be like a bird in winter flying from the dark and storm outside the hall of the King and enjoying, for a brief moment, the light and warmth within before returning again to the cold and dark outside. “So man appears on earth for a little while,” Coifi concludes, “but of what went before this life, or what follows, we know nothing.”

And so the scene is set for the encounter between the travellers and Théoden in Meduseld, upon whom, with the malicious aid of Wormtongue, this tragic sense of life lies so heavily.

The King and The Healing of Éowyn

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Aragorn moves from Faramir’s bedside to Éowyn’s and there he hesitates a moment.

“Few other griefs amid the ill chances of this world have more bitterness and shame for a man’s heart than to behold the love of a lady so fair and brave that cannot be returned. Sorrow and pity have followed me ever since I left her desperate in Dunharrow and rode to the Paths of the Dead; and no fear upon that way was so present as the fear for what might befall her.”

And now in that uncertainty he crushes the leaves of athelas into the bowl of steaming water not knowing whether he can call Éowyn back from the darkness that seeks to claim her or if he can to what she will return.

Last week we saw how when Aragorn anointed Faramir with the water and the healing herb how the fragrance that filled the room evoked the deepest longing of Faramir’s heart. Now as Aragorn “laves her brow” with the water and her right arm “lying cold and nerveless on the coverlet” a new fragrance fills the air about them.

“It seemed to those who stood by that a keen wind blew through the window, and it bore no scent, but was an air wholly fresh and and clean and young, as it had not before been breathed by any living thing and came new-made from snowy mountains high beneath a dome of stars, or from shores of silver far away washed by seas of foam.”

If in Faramir’s case the fragrance evokes his longing, I believe, for “that which is beyond Elvenhome and will ever be”, in Éowyn’s case it is surely something in relation to her desire for her people that is sensed here. Gandalf has reminded Éomer of the words that Saruman spoke to Théoden, words and insinuations that Wormtongue spoke more subtly but no less destructively.

“What is the house of Eorl but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among their dogs?”

What would Éowyn long for more than something entirely opposite to the “reek” that fills her nostrils? Something that would take away her sense of shame, the shame that for a moment she dreamed that the mighty warrior who enters her prison would save her from. I picture Éowyn gazing at the same tapestry of Eorl in his youthful glory, the tapestry that so crushed the spirit of Théoden, and as she did so I believe that it took her to the place of utter purity that the fragrance evokes. Of course the historical ride of Eorl out of the North would have been with real horses whose sweat would have mingled with that of their riders but not so the myth that is seen in and through the tapestry. That is an evocation of something eternally new and clean and unsullied.

Tolkien had a deep love for what he termed Northernness which in the form that has come to us through the mythology of the North is ultimately bleak and without meaning. But he discerned something that lay beyond that, something that he could see in the myth of the death of Baldur and in the longing of those who wept for him. When Tolkien spoke of true Northernness it is the clean cold air from snowy mountains of which he speaks that blows away the stain of our failure and shame. This is the truth that lies deep within Éowyn’s soul and that is called forth as Aragorn calls her from her dark valley. Aragorn is right when he says to Éomer that Éowyn “loves you more truly than me”. Éomer belongs more truly to that which Éowyn most truly desires. But Éowyn’s story does not end here. We shall see when we return to her at a later point in her stay in the Houses of Healing that her desire can lead her to something new and entirely unexpected and yet remain true to her original vision.

Théoden Bound and Ashamed

/ stephencwinter / Leave a comment

Gandalf and his companions enter Théoden’s darkened hall whose majesty lies half hidden in shadows. Around them upon the walls hang many woven cloths and “over their wide spaces marched figures of ancient legend”. To one in particular their eyes are drawn even before they look upon the king himself because in the dark the light of the sun has fallen upon it through an opening high in the roof. “A young man upon a white horse… blowing a great horn… his yellow hair flowing in the wind.”

“Behold Eorl the Young!” said Aragorn. “Thus he rode out of the North to the Battle of the Field of Celebrant.”

That we should look upon Eorl before we see the king is no accident. Eorl is forever young and Théoden is old; very old indeed. He is a man “so bent with age that he seemed almost a dwarf.” Eorl is bathed in sunlight while Théoden is hidden in the shadows. Tolkien means us to gaze upon Eorl in his majesty because that is where Théoden himself looks and what he sees acts as a constant reproach to him. Eorl rides to battle, to victory and to glory while Théoden sits helplessly by as he hears daily of defeat, of the death of his only son in battle and of the impending doom of his house and of his people. Almost his last words just a few weeks later at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields will be, “I go to my fathers. And even in their mighty company I shall not now be ashamed.”

Théoden has been ashamed, literally crippled and shrunken by shame even as Wormtongue’s whisperings have steadily weakened his resolve. Faced by the dangers that surround him he has withdrawn behind the diminishing safety of his own walls yet even there the image of his mighty ancestor rebukes him. Age must come to us all if we live long enough to see it and many find that the world about them becomes a more fearful place. Tove Jansson, writer of the wonderful Moomintroll stories, summered for many years on an island some way off the coast of Finland. One day she stepped out of her hut on the island to gaze upon the sea and she was suddenly afraid, a feeling she had never known before in that place. When she left her island as the summer ended it was to be for the last time. She never returned there again.

Théoden is freed from the prison of his own walls by Gandalf. We will think more about that next week. He will then throw himself into life for a few brief and dangerous days before finally falling in battle before the walls of Minas Tirith. Those for whom the most important thing in life is to achieve security will find Gandalf’s behaviour reprehensible and Théoden’s foolish. What kind of care for the aged is it that counsels leaving safety and care and going into battle? Yet Gandalf’s counsel will enable Théoden to break free from fear and from shame and to die a free man. Who would deny him this? And which of us are in danger of denying freedom to ourselves and building darkened prisons for our own souls?