#come on this is stern fierce Eowyn

[torchwood-99]

And this is even when Gandalf literally spells out that one of the reasons she's depressed is because she'd been forced into a feminine role that didn't suit her.

Sometimes I still think about that "Eowyn is only depressed because she rejects femininity. That's why she's happier when she becomes a healer and Faramir's pretty little housewife." post and I just want to throw up.

Tell me you didn't understand her character and Tolkien's whole message without telling me, I guess. Also why are we still at war = masculine and healing = feminine???

[theemightypen]

miserable + "They're wrong about you"!

Lothiriel truly never thought to find herself in this position.

After he’d broken her heart–and their all but certain betrothal–two years previously, Eomer, son of Eomund, Third Marshal of the Riddermark, had not been high on the list of people she would expect to find herself defending. Even now, with the truth behind his sudden change of heart revealed by Eowyn–Wormtongue’s quest for Eomer’s estrangement from his uncle had not been limited to things in the Mark, it would seem–she cannot bring herself to forgive him in full.

Oh, she understands it had been an impossible situation. He could never have married without the blessing of his uncle and king. And that combined with Wormtongue’s less-than-subtle hints of harm befalling her should he maintain the connection had pushed him to it. But he had lied. Painfully so, saying that he did not love her, that she had been little more than a passing amusement, too young and too flighty to have truly won his heart–

Well. It still stings, even now.

But that does not–cannot–matter now, not with the murmurs flying unchecked before her.

“He is handsome enough, I suppose,” Lady Candis whispers, “but Elbereth knows all of those Northmen are savages.”

“I heard tale he has a terrible temper, as well,” Lady Himmeth says. “Likely as much a brute in the bedroom as he is on the battlefield!”

His shoulders–broad as ever, much as she hates to find that she remembers that, that she can still be affected by the sight of him–are stiff, rigid with the effort of not reacting. It is highly likely the women are unaware of how keen his hearing is, but the fact that they are saying such things at all rankles her to the core. Eomer and his people had sacrificed so much so that Minas Tirith might stand, that all of Middle Earth would not fall into darkness, and yet they still spew such venom!

It does not help that she knows, perhaps better than anyone, that their statements are false. Oh, Eomer has a temper, fierce and bright, but he is no raging monster! He is kind, despite it all, and brave and intelligent. And gentle–Valar, how gentle he had been with her, before it had all gone so wrong.

Lothiriel knows Eomer well enough to recognize the signs of his discomfort, even if he is not exactly the same man she had loved so ardently two years before. Hardly a surprise, considering the death of his cousin, his uncle, and sudden ascension to the throne. But his discomfort is tinged with something else–

It is misery, she realizes, that keeps him silent. Misery and loneliness, and Valar help her, she cannot stand idly by while these two vipers have it in their power to wound him.

“Tell me, my ladies,” she says, gratified when both women jump, clearly having not noticed her quiet approach. “What would your brothers say, to hear the King of the people who saved their lives so maligned?”

“Lady Lothiriel,” Lady Himmeth recovers first,  her dark eyes alight with spite, “I am surprised to hear you defend him! Especially considering the rumors surrounding the pair of you. I wonder if it was not just your heart he rode off with two years ago, if you still can find it in you to speak well of him.”

Lothiriel looks at her evenly, even as her stomach twists with anger. Before she can even open her mouth, however, a tremor of awareness snakes up her spine. Eomer is suddenly beside her, looking as stern and foreboding as she has ever seen him. It jars, sharply, with the memories of the gentle suitor he had been, and even with the cruelty of their last meeting. Her heart gives a painful–and shameful, she thought she was passed this, over the loss of what could have been, over him–lurch.

“Say what you will about me, my lady,” he says, voice tight with barely controlled rage, “insult my home, my horse, my temper. But you will not speak of the princess in any way other than with respect.”

Lady Himmeth turns bright red and Lady Candis appears to want to sink into the floor. “We beg your pardon, Your Grace,” the younger woman murmurs. “And yours, Princess Lothiriel.”

“As you should,” Lothiriel says, latching onto her anger to prevent herself from feeling anything else. “And consider yourselves lucky that you are more wrong about Eomer King than you could possibly understand.” At that, she turns to face him fully. His eyes are as dark as ever and bear into hers with the same intensity as they had two years previously.

Oh, Valar, it hurts. It hurts to see him so close, it hurts to still be so angry at him, it hurts to not be able to rage at him the way she wants, or to kiss him as she used to.

But to reveal that would break her and that Lothiriel will not allow.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she says, sinking into a flawless curtsy.

Lothiriel turns on her heel as soon as she has risen, not giving him or either of the women time to speak. Elphir catches her eyes from across the room, his face a study in worry, and she makes her way towards him.

“Lothiriel,” he starts to say and the concern in his voice nearly undoes her.

“Don’t,” she whispers. “Please, Elphir, a drink.”

“You know, the point of these balls is to enjoy yourself,” comes Eowyn’s voice.

Eomer grits his teeth. “I am aware of that, Eowyn.”

“Then why do you look as if you’ve been kicked in the arse by Firefoot?”

He turns his head to glare at his sister. “I do not.”

“Well, you’re doing a remarkable impression of an Orc’s scowl, then,” she says, unaffected by his glare after years of being on the receiving end of it. “What has upset you?”

Eomer swallows, thickly, and risks a quick glance across the room, towards dark hair and bright eyes that are as every bit as beloved now as they were two years ago. Her back is to him, of course, but he would know her anywhere. In any world.  

Eowyn follows his gaze.

“Oh,” she says, in a completely different tone. “Oh, Eomer.”

“Don’t,” he manages to choke out. “I have no one to blame but myself.”

Eowyn frowns. “Is it truly so hopeless? I told her of Wormtongue’s machinations myself and she seemed to believe me.”

“I broke her trust. And her heart,” Eomer mutters. “Thoroughly enough so that she would have no cause to care for me again. Wormtongue had little to do with that.”

She squeezes his hand. “Perhaps. But both hearts and trust can be mended. If you are willing to try.”

There is nothing he would try harder for, but that matters very little if Lothiriel is unwilling.

“Try,” Eowyn insists. “I do not think it is as impossible of a feat as your thick head is making it out to be.”

Eomer snorts, despite himself. “Thank you for that ringing endorsement.”

“And,” she adds, something dangerous in her voice, “you will not forgive yourself if you do not.”

[sovinly]

Thoughts on Eowyn?

Oh man, so many thoughts! Thank you so much, you are EXCELLENT. Here goes!

(Tumblr ate my answer andI accidentally copied over my copy of at 50-60% of it, so I am RETYPING ALL OFTHIS)

Éowyn is one of my top favorite characters, and always hasbeen, for many reasons.

I loved that there was this… cold, fucked-up woman who wasstriving for a heroic end because it was a satisfying conclusion. Because shewanted to have worth.

Like… here, we have this woman who is stern and capable andhas lost so much, her parents and hercousin to death, her brother to banishment, her uncle to sorcery. There is theservant of a sorcerer in the king’s hall (and with the absence of her mother,her aunt, an older sister, a female cousin, herhall in part by rights) and she cannot do anything about it.

She desires Aragorn not just because he recognizes her, butbecause he offers leverage – not just to keep her from ever being so powerlessagain, but for her kingdom. Because her kingdom is besieged, falling, stillstumbling in the ruin of attacks by a powerful enemy (and with a more powerfulenemy lurking behind him, whom they have spurned), because the king is aging,the heir is dead, and her brother is banished. Because he is wise and good andknows her lands.

And he only offers her pity and understanding and it hurts, even if pity isn’t used in theway we use it now, not because it’s hurt feelings but because she wants to beequal. She wants to be cared for. She wants somany things, and because she thinks she can’t have anything, all she canwant is death.

(I’m so disappointed by the way the movies treat her,honestly. She’s stripped of so much agency and context, she becomes hollow andsuffering, and her pain, not her fierce and burning desire take up muchof the story. She’s painted as naïve and honestly pretty selfish in a lot ofplaces, and it’s so frustrating.Because, in Irish and Norse myth, and so subsequently in Rohirric culture, herheroic aspirations have context and value; her cool capability and frustrationhas a thousand echoes. And they go “Nah, mate, she’s a Sad Lady with Many TearyExpressions who Just Wants to Fight but only because she Doesn’t Understand [Love].”I feel, actually, that the fundamental letdown of the films is theirunwillingness to allow for nobility: many secondary and tertiary characters whoare there as foils are stripped of their nobility and gentleness and it’s… ugh,it’s really frustrating. They’re still fun adaptations and good cinema, but thatpart makes me so sad.)

Okay now for a cut, because this ended up being 2k of Feelings, and that’s a lot:

Anyway, Éowyn is competent and capable and wise, but she isangry and exhausted and in so much pain. By rights, why shouldn’t she have aplace on the battlefield? So she goes, and she fights, and she doesn’t die. It would have beenperfectly narratively satisfying, however tragic, if she had, but she doesn’t. Sheis proud and noble and wise, and she earns her place in the halls of herforefathers, but she lives. She livesand she resents it.

Her pain is as legitimized by the narrative as any otherhero’s. The darkness hanging over her, not just the shadow of the enemy but theshadows of isolation and helplessness and depression and PTSD, is not madelight of. She struggles to make sense of her place in the world when she feels shouldbe dead, or dying in the subsequent battles. And it’s alright that for her,healing isn’t about rest, or even kindness, or idle, quiet contemplation.

She’s allowed to be restless and frustrated and desolate. It’sallowed, that she finds herself again through connections and friendships andconversation. Through walking and experiencing and chafing still at all therestraints placed on her. Éowyn is so tired of restraints, is as stubborn and indomitableas any male hero who does his best to abandon bedrest. Her desire to help, to rideto glory and honor, is not a bad thing.The desire to be heroic and recognized is not a bad thing. (She already is: the irony is how little she sees it.)

But she realizes that it isn’t the only thing. And shedecides to heal.

I see… a lot of conversation about how Éowyn is lessened by herending, that her desire to heal and grow and not die a vainglorious death issomehow sexist. But I really don’t think it is, at all. Not just because itgave me hope: hope to see someone recover from such aching, intimate desire tobe done with the world. Hope to seeher find recognition and companionship and more than anything else understanding.

It’s because the hands of the king are the hands of ahealer, we see it over and over again, are told it is the mark of a just and true ruler, and I don’t think it’s a mistakethat we see those lines in such close proximity to Éowyn too. Narratively,Éowyn is as valued, is as upright and distant and wise as any of the maleheroes, and her declaration tells us explicitly that she reaches that same pinnacle of worthiness. It isn’t because shefought, or because she killed the Witch King, or because she was willing to diefor her king, or because she decided that she didn’t want to pursue death: it’sbecause of all those same heroic qualities and that she decides she doesn’tsimply want glory or death or to be the vanguard of the enemy’s death, shedecides that she wants to build and heal and better the world that has curtailed so much of her.

(And her appointment with Faramír to the reparation ofIthilien, and the appendices, make it further clear that this is what we’re being told.)

Let’s move, though, for a moment, into some of the stuffthat I didn’t really have the context for when I was reading these books as akid.

So, my woman Carol Clover (I love herrrrrrrr and her work onboth Icelandic sagas and film analysis is SO GOOD she is SO SMART

Which, obviously, there is some… very sexist andmisogynistic stuff underlying these traditions (Jóhanna Katrín Friðriksdóttir,who is also amazing, talks about the romance sagas and how the shield-maidensand specifically the maiden-kings are… horrifically punished for holding powerand authority, thaaaanks changing social values and continental influence, butanyway). But the thing is, these traditions of women carrying power and takingon these roles, is there, both in the influential source material and in thetexts.

Culturally, narratively, Éowyn has every right to want to goto war for her realm, especially at the start of her appearance in thenarrative. Her father is long-dead, her cousin and near-brother has been slainby their long-standing enemies, her brother is banished, and her uncle the kinghas been ensnared by sorcery (which comes with its own Irish and Nordicbaggage, honestly). And then these strangers come and restore the hall of theking and then war looms. So Éowyn goes to war, disguises herself and picks uparms, and notable, this is important, noone notices or says anything, which I have to imagine to be culturallyimportant.

So Éowyn rides to war. She fulfills every heroic narrativeand role and she is proven right. Sheis there and because she is a woman, not despite it, she slays the Witch Kingand fulfills prophecy, and she is right.Because of her kind wisdom, Merry is there to strike a devastating blow and anancient blade, and she is right. Sheis right to go, because she defendsher uncle and king from defilement and dishonor when no one else can. Heractions, her near-sacrifice, mean that Théoden is able to speak once more withMerry, with Éomer (and so to formally pass on and endorse his kingship, whichis important).

Éowyn is of the line of Eorl, satisfies in every way andmanner the narrative of the Rohirric hero, earns beyond doubt her grace andglory and renown. She closes the gaps in killing the Witch King, in defendingthe king, in bringing Merry to the battle. The narrative validates her: she isindeed a great and worthy hero, has done deeds beyond telling and compare, herpresence is right.

But her death isn’t. Her diminishment isn’t. So she lives,and struggles, and tries to figure out how to be a person who has lived pastthe end of the tale.

There’s a lot, too, in how Tolkien communicates heroism anddescribes worthiness – a lot to unpack, and I don’t really have time to do thathere. The point is… the point is that Éowyn is exceptional, but she is alsohuman. She���s allowed to be human. And that humanity, that sadness anddesperation and suicidal impulse and desire to be valued and seen and worthy, that struggle to cope and keep going,that drive to find refuge in conversation and conviction and moving and doing…it’s important. It’s so important.

Éowyn’s story has always resonated with me. Éowyn has alwaysresonated with me. I won’t go much into her relationship with Faramír, becausethis question wasn’t about him, but that resonates with me too. Here are twohurt, tired people who have been through so much, not just the poison of theenemy but the traumas of human existence. Here are two people who thinkthemselves worth very little, who have been constrained and shoved aside, buthere are their convictions. Here is their nobility and their wisdom and graceand fierceness, here is their kindness and their striving and their hope. Hereare two people, who are exceptionally good,even if they don’t know it.

It isn’t just that Éowyn is the embodiment of a mythictrope, or a twist on it. It’s not just that she’s a female characterappropriately placed in the narrative who evades so many shitty, awfulstereotypes and misunderstandings. It’s not just that she’s complex andinteresting.

It’s that she was so fucking sad and so trapped, by suicidal impulse and social constraints, andshe did the right thing, she did amazingthings anyway. It’s that I cried when I first (and subsequently) read theReturn of the King, because I didn’t think she would live. I didn’t think heremotions would be wrestled with. I didn’t think she would get to heal. “Thenthe heart of Éowyn changed, or else at last she understood it,” and I havenever recovered from that line, because that’s it. That’s it.

It’s that one of my clear sense memories is sprawling halfin the doorway of my childhood closet, the afternoon sun filtering down ontothe plain carpet, and sobbing my heart out because I had hope. There was hope, because of Éowyn, because of that chapter,and I hadn’t known that I could hopeto survive the isolation and the strictures and the loneliness and my owndistant, cold heart. Because I knew I would cling to that, in the years tocome, and I did. I still do. Éowynand her story are burned deep in my heart and my blood and it chokes me,sometimes, that hope. That healing, even when I am healing.

It’s that here was this fantasy, this epic tale, and it wasfull of hope and nobility and sadness (not just tragedy, plain human sadness),and I found myself there. It found me.

So, yeah.

I love Éowyn a lot, and I think I’m due a reread, now.