The Strength Within
By: Frances
***
DISCLAIMER: I, of course, own nothing. ^_^
***
Faramyn, eldest daughter of Eowyn and Faramir, took a last look at the beloved lands of Rohan before turning and settling herself firmly in the saddle. Oh, what she would not give to stay there interminably! It was difficult, straddling two countries. The traveling was often insufferable and the heartache ten times more so. However, when the weather was nice and the horses pleasant, there was an undeniable peace about moving steadily through the beautiful mountain range she'd come to call home. The golden sun shining fondly upon the glistening valleys and wide planes... the distant pounding of wild hoofs upon the brilliantly green grasses... a cheerful cry of greeting from a swallow as it dove in and out of sight. Yes, all in all, there was no place Faramyn would rather be passing through than Rohan.
Although, it could not be denied... it was much more enjoyable when she was passing in the opposite direction- towards home.
Then again, she reminded herself, for every amount of pleasantness Rohan shone, Gondor surpassed the amount in impressiveness. There was positively nothing to compare to the beckoning cry of the great stone city from just beyond the horizon. She supposed in reality she loved Gondor every bit as much as she loved Rohan... just in different ways. When in Gondor, Faramyn felt overwhelmed by the history of her people. Her mother and father dwelled there, and it was where she grew up. There was implied strength in that place, as if all its sons and daughters should be powerful and great. The haunting gray outer buildings wore masks of battles gone by- intentionally, of course- to remind men and women alike what was expected of them. It was, by all means, inspiring. Meaningful, in its majestic grace and subtle charm. Faramyn knew she lived up to these standards, though. She needed not to be dogged constantly. Her mother had seen that the utmost care was given in Faramyn's training, so she was strong and proud. Though clumsy with a bow, her fingers were tools of precision and natural ability when it came to the blade. So excellent was she that she believed her skill would serve well, were she knighted; she often said so. Much like her mother, however, it anguished her that she would never taste the heat of battle.
"I am as powerful as any man in the kingdom," she had insisted to King Eomer once. "And twice as cunning. You know that I am! Why can I not be knighted?" She was only fifteen at the time, kneeling by her uncle's side, and he smiled.
"My dear, you are beautiful and indeed cunning. But yours is not a thirst for battle, merely glory. You do not see that you already cast to shadow all who are about you! What sort of king would I be if I did not keep such a jewel safely where she belongs?"
"But I belong on the fields with the swordsmen, fighting orcs!" she pleaded. "That is what I desire. What glory could I possibly gain from the experience?"
With twinkling eyes, the man patted her arm. "The same yearned for by your mother, sweetest Faramyn." He would say no more on the matter, though the meaning of his cryptic words was lost.
Now older and wiser, Faramyn understood. Eomer believed she wanted merely to prove that there was no such thing as "men's work".
Rubbish, all of it.
However, she loved the man so. He was a king amongst the greatest of kings, and admirable in all ways. Sighing wearily, she glanced over to her brother Boromir, (named after their deceased uncle) who rode beside her. Her two younger sisters, Ellanise and Terramyre, were already in Gondor. An annual festival was being held in honor of the success of the Fellowship. Eowyn and Faramir, alongside their son and daughters, were there to represent the late King Theoden, and Boromir... the Tall, the Fair, the Bold... How she wished she could have known him.
Also attending the festivities would of course be King Aragorn son of Arathorn, with his wife the elfin Arwen and all of their brood. There was Lastris, a man whom Faramyn had grown up with. He was a clone of his father to the very last detail- therefore he was attractive, levelheaded, and positively breathtaking in his sheer royalty. Behind him was Gilarelle who possessed her mother's haunting beauty and quiet grace. The youngest of them all was Eramor at sixteen years of age, and he was by far the most elfin. The three had feather-light footsteps and pointed ears, but Eramor had the subtle charm and patience, as well as the love of the woods. He stood, even at his age, nearly six and a half feet tall, and his presence commanded a gentle kind of awe.
Gimli son of Gloin would make the trip, and by his side would be Legolas of Mirkwood. The two were an amusing pair, and very easy to accompany. In fact, Faramyn recalled with a smile, Legolas had been her first fancy as a girl. He was handsome in his own right, and very polite. Undeniably captivating in so many fashions and overall very enticing, it took him only moments to snatch her heart. She now blushed at the memory, but grinned. How silly she had been... how carefree.
Boromir stopped trotting for a moment, shielding his eyes and glancing around the dimly lit plane. He turned his head and smiled at her boyishly. "Nightfall is nearly upon us. As certain as I am that you would enjoy an orc ambush, I would much prefer stopping here for the evening."
Faramyn laughed and shook her head. "Don't label me as battle-hasty, Brother. I may just save your life one day."
Rolling his eyes with a sigh, he nodded. "Right."
A scowl crept across Faramyn's features, but she shrugged. She would not become sullen now. There was a festival to look forward to!
***
A/N: What do you think? Too fast-paced, maybe? Leave me a review! (Or a flame- "whatever floats your boat," I always say. ^_^)
***
DISCLAIMER: I, of course, own nothing. ^_^
***
Faramyn, eldest daughter of Eowyn and Faramir, took a last look at the beloved lands of Rohan before turning and settling herself firmly in the saddle. Oh, what she would not give to stay there interminably! It was difficult, straddling two countries. The traveling was often insufferable and the heartache ten times more so. However, when the weather was nice and the horses pleasant, there was an undeniable peace about moving steadily through the beautiful mountain range she'd come to call home. The golden sun shining fondly upon the glistening valleys and wide planes... the distant pounding of wild hoofs upon the brilliantly green grasses... a cheerful cry of greeting from a swallow as it dove in and out of sight. Yes, all in all, there was no place Faramyn would rather be passing through than Rohan.
Although, it could not be denied... it was much more enjoyable when she was passing in the opposite direction- towards home.
Then again, she reminded herself, for every amount of pleasantness Rohan shone, Gondor surpassed the amount in impressiveness. There was positively nothing to compare to the beckoning cry of the great stone city from just beyond the horizon. She supposed in reality she loved Gondor every bit as much as she loved Rohan... just in different ways. When in Gondor, Faramyn felt overwhelmed by the history of her people. Her mother and father dwelled there, and it was where she grew up. There was implied strength in that place, as if all its sons and daughters should be powerful and great. The haunting gray outer buildings wore masks of battles gone by- intentionally, of course- to remind men and women alike what was expected of them. It was, by all means, inspiring. Meaningful, in its majestic grace and subtle charm. Faramyn knew she lived up to these standards, though. She needed not to be dogged constantly. Her mother had seen that the utmost care was given in Faramyn's training, so she was strong and proud. Though clumsy with a bow, her fingers were tools of precision and natural ability when it came to the blade. So excellent was she that she believed her skill would serve well, were she knighted; she often said so. Much like her mother, however, it anguished her that she would never taste the heat of battle.
"I am as powerful as any man in the kingdom," she had insisted to King Eomer once. "And twice as cunning. You know that I am! Why can I not be knighted?" She was only fifteen at the time, kneeling by her uncle's side, and he smiled.
"My dear, you are beautiful and indeed cunning. But yours is not a thirst for battle, merely glory. You do not see that you already cast to shadow all who are about you! What sort of king would I be if I did not keep such a jewel safely where she belongs?"
"But I belong on the fields with the swordsmen, fighting orcs!" she pleaded. "That is what I desire. What glory could I possibly gain from the experience?"
With twinkling eyes, the man patted her arm. "The same yearned for by your mother, sweetest Faramyn." He would say no more on the matter, though the meaning of his cryptic words was lost.
Now older and wiser, Faramyn understood. Eomer believed she wanted merely to prove that there was no such thing as "men's work".
Rubbish, all of it.
However, she loved the man so. He was a king amongst the greatest of kings, and admirable in all ways. Sighing wearily, she glanced over to her brother Boromir, (named after their deceased uncle) who rode beside her. Her two younger sisters, Ellanise and Terramyre, were already in Gondor. An annual festival was being held in honor of the success of the Fellowship. Eowyn and Faramir, alongside their son and daughters, were there to represent the late King Theoden, and Boromir... the Tall, the Fair, the Bold... How she wished she could have known him.
Also attending the festivities would of course be King Aragorn son of Arathorn, with his wife the elfin Arwen and all of their brood. There was Lastris, a man whom Faramyn had grown up with. He was a clone of his father to the very last detail- therefore he was attractive, levelheaded, and positively breathtaking in his sheer royalty. Behind him was Gilarelle who possessed her mother's haunting beauty and quiet grace. The youngest of them all was Eramor at sixteen years of age, and he was by far the most elfin. The three had feather-light footsteps and pointed ears, but Eramor had the subtle charm and patience, as well as the love of the woods. He stood, even at his age, nearly six and a half feet tall, and his presence commanded a gentle kind of awe.
Gimli son of Gloin would make the trip, and by his side would be Legolas of Mirkwood. The two were an amusing pair, and very easy to accompany. In fact, Faramyn recalled with a smile, Legolas had been her first fancy as a girl. He was handsome in his own right, and very polite. Undeniably captivating in so many fashions and overall very enticing, it took him only moments to snatch her heart. She now blushed at the memory, but grinned. How silly she had been... how carefree.
Boromir stopped trotting for a moment, shielding his eyes and glancing around the dimly lit plane. He turned his head and smiled at her boyishly. "Nightfall is nearly upon us. As certain as I am that you would enjoy an orc ambush, I would much prefer stopping here for the evening."
Faramyn laughed and shook her head. "Don't label me as battle-hasty, Brother. I may just save your life one day."
Rolling his eyes with a sigh, he nodded. "Right."
A scowl crept across Faramyn's features, but she shrugged. She would not become sullen now. There was a festival to look forward to!
***
A/N: What do you think? Too fast-paced, maybe? Leave me a review! (Or a flame- "whatever floats your boat," I always say. ^_^)