The Longing of Éowyn
As the day wears on, I watch you, son of Arathorn,
You, with your sharp features, clear eyes,
You, with your alert bearing, even voice, and compassionate heart,
heavy with the burden of your coming trials. I hear
the measured tones of your gently commanding voice; I feel
your vigor as your blade strikes mine, for neither of us yields; I smell
your sweat, for you ride so close to me;
and then
I see the pendant hanging from a perfect silver chain about your neck, and reality returns.
Your gaze wanders toward the horizon, lost in a daydream.
I need not ask what the dream is, for the stardust in your eyes is universal;
I can almost see
her riding with you,
Dark tresses flowing behind her like liquid night,
Figure slim and filled with joy of life,
Secret smile for your eyes alone,
Slightly parted lips inviting your earnest kisses
(which you give her without a thought-- it is so natural, after all),
And there I stand: I,
the cold, the ungainly, the unfeminine.
Watching you both,
I wonder what I could have been thinking,
Imagining that a man,
Destined to be king of all men,
Beloved of the very evening star herself
who swore that her love would never fade,
A man able to inspire love and loyalty with a flourished sword and a battle cry,
would ever have anything to gain from the love of
one more woman.
