Two decades before an armored Galadriel (Morfydd Clark) slashed her way through enemy hordes in Amazon’s The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power, Eowyn (Miranda Otto) made her silver screen debut in director Peter Jackson’s adaptation of The Two Towers. Already a fan favorite of women who were raised on J.R.R. Tolkien‘s work, Eowyn in the cinematic flesh was electrifying even before her “I am no man” denouement in The Return of the King. Her passionate, desperate fight for identity struck a chord with this particular 13-year-old girl’s soul so deeply that Eowyn has remained one of my fictional inspirations for twenty years and counting. This year Rings of Power introduced a Galadriel with shared traits both stylistic and thematic: swords and armor and rage, a fierce devotion to family, and a life spent chafing under the trivializing judgment of her people. Now that I’m a 33-year-old woman, Rings‘s Galadriel accorded me a new fictional hero in a familiar world — because with a Fellowship composed of nine men, Eowyn was my generation’s closest link to feeling included in Tolkien’s adventure. This time, in 2022, Galadriel is the undeniable protagonist.
Eowyn Lives In A Cage
The Eowyn introduced to audiences in Two Towers is a woman pacing back and forth inside a self-described cage. The facts do her sentiments credit: her cousin, Theodred (Paris Howe Strewe), sustained fatal wounds from the Uruk-hai, her brother Eomer (Karl Urban) is in exile, and she’s watched firsthand as her beloved uncle, King Theoden (Bernard Hill), deteriorates in mind and body between the duplicitous counsel of Grima Wormtongue (Brad Dourif) and magical possession by Saruman (Christopher Lee). These tragedies are just more in a long line, as both her parents passed when she was a child. If that wasn’t anguish enough, the role she’s required to fulfill as a lady of Rohan is also her greatest fear made manifest: a life trapped within the castle walls, where her greatest merit is serving drinks to powerful men. Not to mention the looming presence of Wormtongue, who wants her as a reward for his loyalty to Saruman and therefore preys upon her grief. Unfortunately, the slimy creep accurately and eloquently distills the sheer weight of Eowyn’s loneliness: “In the bitter watches of the night,” he describes, “when all your life seems to shrink. The walls of your bower closing in about you, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in.”
Eowyn’s indeed a wild thing when embodied by the nigh-miraculous Miranda Otto. For all of Eowyn’s nobility, Otto instills her with a constant sense of skittish tension, her body language cautious and defensive. Just take the feral fury in her eyes during the brief scuffle with Aragorn (Viggo Mortensen). The exceptions are rare and not easy to earn: the little smile when she raises a sword and runs one palm down the side before shifting into combat practice. Her laughter with Gimli (John Rhys-Davies) and the vulnerable hope of her infatuation with Aragorn. Her brother Eomer might adore her, but this poor woman has spent the majority of her life fighting tooth and nail for even a scrap of freedom. It’s no wonder she falls for Aragorn when he’s the first person to not only respect the mournful resilience inside Eowyn but offer her hope.
In The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, the author describes Eowyn as “not really a soldier or Amazon, but like many grave women was capable of great military gallantry at a crisis.” It’s not a stretch to assume that Tolkien based Eowyn on the women who served alongside him during World War I, especially those who laid claim to a sense of identity through service and strove to earn autonomous respect in the only ways available to them under a patriarchal system. Similar restrictions suffocate Eowyn; she isn’t empowered by the responsibility of protecting the women and children. It’s just another dismissal of her wishes and potential by the people who control her future. One could debate all day whether it was safer for her sake, but it’s still restrictive. Swap in the real world and any career field dominated by men, and Eowyn represents the universal experience of almost all women involved in said vocations.
Eowyn’s Struggles Made Her A Heroic Inspiration
As the female character with the most screen time as well as the one actively vying to jump into the fray, Eowyn was always the character I felt the closest kinship with. My adoration of Middle Earth never wavered, but there was still an unnamed sense of exclusion as I grew up with the novels and Jackson’s films in close succession. When I imagined joining the Fellowship on their quest, it meant inserting myself into the story as a teenage girl’s original creation. Eowyn and I always hovered on the sidelines, which, admittedly, is in large part the factor making her destruction of the Witch-king of Angmar so affecting. Through her, I saw what I could be. I felt undefeatable in her moment of victory. Yet I was never the recognized and respected main character. For a time, Eowyn and I could only go as far as the castle doors and watch as the wind buffeted the Rohan flag to a sovereignty denied us.
Enter Morfydd Clark’s Galadriel. Ever since the first promotional photos, Amazon never left room for doubt concerning the protagonist of Rings of Power. Clark’s turn is as far removed as one can imagine from the Galadriel embodied by the radiant Cate Blanchett: younger, harsher, a serrated blade suffering from unresolved trauma that spans centuries. Whether she’s directly defying the Elven King Gil-galad’s (Benjamin Walker) order to return to Valinor or tempestuously sparring with Halbrand (Charlie Vickers) and Queen Miriel (Cynthia Addai-Robinson), she’s a fire as brazen as Mount Doom itself. And it’s all in the name of her murdered brother, Finrod (Will Fletcher), because her love for him is just that resilient; an avenging ardor tied up so tightly with a personal need for revenge that it’s almost impossible to separate the two notions. Defeating the reclusive Sauron will protect the wider world, yes, but it’s the loss of her brother that keeps Galadriel committed to her hunt when all others fall into complacency.
Galadriel’s insistent drive for vengeance makes her imperfect (as all characters should be), but the response of the Elves still leaves much to be desired. Her soldiers mutiny and abandon her in the frozen wastelands of Forodwaith, Gil-galad essentially tells her to shut up and calm down, and her closest friend Elrond (Robert Aramayo) pleads with her to obey the King for the sake of her reputation. Nevertheless, Galadriel listens to her heart and defies all odds. And, surprise! The woman dismissed as too emotional was right. Sauron survived and lives right under her own nose. And much like Wormtongue to Eowyn, we have another villain who understands our heroine on a piercingly deep level others are incapable of: “All others look upon you with doubt,” Sauron tells her in the scene that sparked a million spectacular fanfictions.
Galadriel made a seemingly legitimate connection with another weary soul, now much like Eowyn to Aragorn, and it’s Galadriel’s belief in Halbrand as a messianic savior that helped him reach Celebrimbor’s (Charles Edwards) Forge. The Dark Lord would’ve found the Eleves regardless, so Galadriel isn’t to blame. Yet the beauty of her hero’s journey is how it balances her mistakes with the acknowledgment that her instincts proved correct (and the latter is oddly vindicating since Sauron returning to power obviously isn’t a win). By season’s end, she finds the peace necessary to healthily move forward from Finrod’s death and assume the reasonability of serving as a Ringbearer — something her judgment was once too clouded to achieve.
Eowyn and Galadriel’s Similarities Go Deeper Than Just Appearance
Eowyn and Galadriel’s surface-level similarities as warrior women with anger issues are clear from the jump, but their thematic struggles also mirror one another, just under a slightly different umbrella. If Eowyn endures Tolkien’s version of restrictive sexism, what Galadriel encounters is quieter and more insidious for it. The limitations and trivializations tossed her way aren’t based solely upon her gender but nevertheless, strike a chord familiar to many women. How many are deemed too emotional, or too angry, or aren’t moving on from grief fast enough (as if such a thing exists)? Eowyn embodied anger, certainly, and gave us a moment that sustained our underfed selves for decades. I wouldn’t speak an ill word against her, but the difference between Eowyn as a secondary character to Galadriel as a leading character was more impactful than I could’ve fathomed. Galadriel’s thematic battles are on the same level as ancient myths and legends. The audience doesn’t have to wait for Eowyn’s “I am no man,” as beautifully triumphant an arc as that is. Galadriel exists already empowered.
At the same time, a hero of any gender might face the same conflicts present in Rings, which makes Galadriel’s arc even more potent. Womens’ stories can be just as epic as those belonging to any of Tolkien’s males; there’s a place for us in a world so beloved it feels grafted onto our souls. Her rage in particular is cathartic. Grieving’s a messy process, and Finrod’s death endures for Galadriel, poisoning the well of her heart every day; not even the shores of Valinor would “fix” her wounds. It’s only when she faces the man responsible for the loss that she’s able to find closure. And it means the world for a piece of beloved media to reflect a portrait of grief I’m intimately familiar with.
Young girls needed Eowyn in 2002 when much of the world around us was unknown and uncertain. In a world of continued oppression and terror, we still need her. We also need Galadriel, no matter what age they are. Eowyn carved out a place for a re-envisioned lady of Lothlorien, paving the way for when a woman is the face of one of the most popular, hotly debated, and highest-budgeted shows in history. Eowyn walked so Galadriel could run — so that countless women no longer felt sidelined by their favorite fandom. It’s a dream come true. By the light of Eärendil, it feels good.
