I need to talk about Tolkien and racism again. If you're not interested, skip to the the end where I talk about Elfhelm.
The Wild-men of Drúadan Forest are frequently cited as another example of Tolkien's supposed racism. White skin = good. Dark skin = bad. And even when you have good non-White people, like the Woses, they're still shown as primitive and stupid, clearly backwards compared to the Men of Rohan.
Except, once again, Tolkien doesn't actually mention skin color at all. I would be willing to bet quite a lot that, if I could ask him about it, he would say that they were White. The name Woses actually comes from old English/Scandinavian/German legends of wild men living in the forest, who were called “wosemen” in old English. But Ghân-buri-Ghân is almost always depicted otherwise, because, well, racist assumptions are pretty well baked into human society. You get different flavors of it in different cultures, but it's always there.
Tolkien was a man of his time. He talked about skin color and nationality in different ways than we do today, but he also despised Hitler, “should regret giving any colour to the notion that I subscribed to the wholly pernicious and unscientific race-doctrine,” (Letter 29), and quite artfully told a Nazi-era German publishing house interested in translating The Hobbit where they could shove it when they asked him to provide proof that he wasn't Jewish. He had nothing at all good to say about the Nazis (and lots to say that was bad) yet still White supremacists try to claim him as their own. It pisses me off to no end.
Moving on. Elfhelm. He's one of those characters that almost nothing is known about but I'm really interested in. He seems to be 3rd in command of the Rohirrim behind Éomer, though he's never explicitly referred to as being Second Marshall of the Mark. Mostly I want to know what the deal is with him and Éowyn/Dernhelm. I can only assume that he knows who Éowyn is. It's no secret in his company that Merry is riding along with them, even if they all treat him as an extra piece of gear Dernhelm is carrying that happens to be able to walk and talk. Which gives us this great moment, when (after tripping over him in the gloom) Elfhelm tells Merry that they expect the order to move to come soon:
‘But my lord sends word that we must set ourselves in readiness: orders may come for a sudden move. … Pack yourself up, Master Bag!’
And of course the chapter ends with this moment, a Crowning Moment of Awesome if ever there was one:
At that sound the bent shape of the king sprang suddenly erect. Tall and proud he seemed again; and rising in his stirrups he cried in a loud voice, more clear than any there had ever heard a mortal man achieve before: Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden! Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter! spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered, a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises! Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor! With that he seized a great horn from Guthláf his banner-bearer, and he blew such a blast upon it that it burst asunder. And straightway all the horns in the host were lifted up in music, and the blowing of the horns of Rohan in that hour was like a storm upon the plain and a thunder in the mountains. Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor! Suddenly the king cried to Snowmane and the horse sprang away. Behind him his banner blew in the wind, white horse upon a field of green, but he outpaced it. After him thundered the knights of his house, but he was ever before them. Éomer rode there, the white horsetail on his helm floating in his speed, and the front of the first éored roared like a breaker foaming to the shore, but Théoden could not be overtaken. Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Oromë the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young. His golden shield was uncovered, and lo! it shone like an image of the Sun, and the grass flamed into green about the white feet of his steed. For morning came, morning and a wind from the sea; and darkness was removed, and the hosts of Mordor wailed, and terror took them, and they fled, and died, and the hoofs of wrath rode over them. And then all the host of Rohan burst into song, and they sang as they slew, for the joy of battle was on them, and the sound of their singing that was fair and terrible came even to the City.
I really don’t have anything to say about this, though I will say that I kinda want to get a spear and a horse and go charge something.
Next time, “None of Woman Born Shall Harm Me” Macbeth meets the Witch-king beyond the Walls of Night and buys him a pint in commiseration.