A/N: This is an answer to the challenge posted by Spirit of the Dawn on Emyn Arnen. I could not find the actual challenge, so I could only go by the plot line that Maggie posted. If anyone knows what it was, then I'd be glad to hear it, but I'm probably not going to change what I've already decided on doing. This is what Maggie posted on this challenge:
Eowyn joins the Rohirrim in the Battle of Pelennor Fields, but it's her, not Gandalf, who winds up finding Faramir as he's about to be burned alive by Denethor. How does she get there? What does she do? Does she still slay the Witch-King? What is her role during the War and immediately after? How does it this one change in events affect her relationships with the Fellowship, her family and Aragorn?
I know I should be working on STCMT, but I had to do this. It wouldn't stop nagging. I hope you enjoy it. R/R!
Jewel: In His EyesWe rushed forward, and I felt joy threatening to spill over very soon. I cleanly sliced off the head of the first Orc I came to, and my pleasure at escaping my duty into war came forth. I burst out into a Rohirric battle song, the sound filling me up and forcing me to keep my pace. I sang as I killed. To most ladies, and even some men, though only the weak at heart, this may seem heartless. Indeed, maybe it was. Many have called me heartless, but many who may call me heartless now have not the right to, for they would, and perhaps do, do the same in my position.
I glanced up at the marble city. Its brilliance could only be compared to the sun, and that became my secret name for the city. Anar. I had learned the word a long time ago, when my nursemaid was a Gondorian woman who spoke fluent Elvish. She had told me some amazing stories. When I asked her how she learned them, she merely answered, "I used to tend to a child some years back. He was your age. I don't think I ever saw his nose, it was so lost behind them books." I always dreamed of this boy, imagining what he was like. Of course, I always imagined that he grew out of his bookishness, for I didn't think I could ever love a man who was could not also protect me, but at some point, I forgot all about him.
My nursemaid on the other hand, Tasarie was her name, I remembered vividly. She was a sweet woman, and I learned much of what I know from her. She taught me many Elvish words. I remember one time she taught me Gorn, for tree. I said, "I don't care for trees. Down with trees. Teach me the word for killing! That's my destiny, you know." So she complied to my wishes. Ironically, I still remember the word for tree, but I no longer remembered what the word kill was. Of course, I had things to remind me of trees. My love's name meant Royal Tree, after all.
Thinking of him made me look for him. Where could he be? Perhaps he was not here yet. Perhaps he would not make it. Perhaps he was already among the causalities of this battle. My love, where are you? I searched the sea of warriors for a sign of his dark hair and his tunic amid the shining helms and glittering armor. Briefly, I happened to glance up to the city again. Then I looked back up. I could not believe my eyes. Surely, that was Aragorn there, up in the city. I couldn't tell what he was doing, but it seemed that he was walking ceremoniously through the city with a long procession behind him. I could not be, yet my heart reached out there. It had to be. I identified his noble stature, I knew it had to be.
I leapt off of Windfola, fortunately we were in the midst of the battle already, so I could do so without drawing attention to myself. I thrust the reins in Merry's hands shouting, "Control her!" I thought nothing about leaving the poor hobbit alone in the middle of the battle when I had told him that I would protect him. There was something more urgent that needed to be done.
Why wasn't Aragorn in the battle, fighting? He belonged there. What was he doing in the city? I thought of these things as I forced my way through to the gates. That is why I was going to him. To bring him to his real place. We did not need him leading a parade; we needed him to fight.
I reached the gates after much struggle. I was lucky that it really didn't take me very long, for it could have taken me hours to reach those gates. As I came upon the gates, another question entered my mind. How did Aragorn get IN the city? It was clearly going to be a struggle. Fortunately, I was small, and none cared what the Rohirrim were doing, just as long as the mass as a whole were helping. So I managed to scale the wall fairly quickly without any questions asked. I also had my cloak, which, while not one of the Grey Company's Elvish cloaks, it was a good camouflage in the white city.
Finally, I was in. I darted up, level to level along with the other men. They didn't care what I was any longer. We were all just trying to save ourselves and the women around us. At least, I pretended to be doing that. In reality, I was just trying to reach Aragorn. I raced up to the top of the city, and tried to find the procession. As I was running and looking forward, I tripped over something. It seemed to be a barrel of some sort. When I glanced up, I saw a man standing at half my usual height. Of course, as I was on the ground, he actually, had to look down at me, which must have felt strange for him.
"Pippin!" I exclaimed,
He looked at me strangely. "I'm sorry sir, I'm in a hurry, but I don't believe I know you."
I yanked off my helmet as quickly as I could.
"Eowyn! Oh Eowyn, please help! I can't find Gandalf anywhere! They're going to burn Faramir. Please stop them. HURRY!"
Pippin's voice was so urgent that my eyes went as wide as saucers and I took off at my fastest run.
I will take a moment to alert the reader that I can run faster than anyone else in Rohan. I had to be able to. One girl among a horde of boys? I had to have at least on advantage.
I didn't know where to go, so I followed my senses. I heard yelling, so I followed that noise first. Then I saw a servant carrying a pitcher, hurrying in the same direction. I sniffed the air. There was no mistaking that smell. It was oil.
"Excuse me sir, where are you taking that pitcher?"
He looked confused, but then pointed at a building up ahead. I nodded my thanks, and then raced off towards the building. I realized that it was a funeral procession I had seen. Aragorn was leading a funeral for some man named Faramir. He must have been a very noble man to be worth this immediate burial headed by the future king himself. But why was I trying to stop it? I didn't know yet, but if I didn't find out, I would still continue. WE NEEDED ARAGORN ON THE BATTLEFIELD!
At the door, there was a man standing there, refusing anybody entrance. I saw that these people were more servants carrying wood and oil. So Pippin had recruited another helper. Oh well, there was nothing to be done about that now. I had to do what I had to do.
"Excuse me sir, is this the funeral for Lord Faramir?" I asked sweetly of the man blocking the doors.
"It might as well be the funeral of us all, but yes, that was it's original purpose," the man snapped.
I clearly wasn't going to get past him nicely.
I drew my sword from its sheath and said, "I was sent to bring this to him. It was his childhood sword. He wanted to have it at his funeral."
"Sorry miss, no one's entering these doors alive."
I had planned for this. It was merely a way of distracting him. "Very well," I said, and I turned away from him. Using my quickest movements ever, and I will once again remind my readers that I was very fast, I swung around again, swinging my sword with me.
He blocked.
He was almost too good for me, but fortunately, I had misjudged his height, so I was swinging towards his torso rather than his head, which was where I had been aiming. As he blocked my false swing to his chest, I swung at his head with the flat side of my sword. He was unconscious almost immediately. As he fell to the ground, I realized that I should have thought more about the hard stone landing that he would receive. But it was too late now. I leapt over his form and flung the doors open, running into the long hall that greeted me.
"Aragorn!" I cried.
But it was not Aragorn waiting for me. It was an impatient man dressed in heavy fur robes. His dark hair was sprinkled with grey strands. He glared at me.
"So Rohan has come at last, has it, I thought I would never see the day when you Northern cowards would finally answer Gondor's call. You always thought you were too good for us, didn't you! Ah, but perhaps, upon seeing this fabulous city, which was built by my ancestors, you see where our pride lays. What do you want, scum? Are you here to announce your brave and honorable arrival? I will not hear it, for Rohan has never answered Gondor's call, and we shall not heed your pride here! You are not wanted here, woman-rider of the Rohirrim!" the man proudly declared.
My anger bubbled up. "As a matter of fact, Gondor never answered Rohan's pleas for aid. Rohan has done everything that Gondor required of her. Anyone who says otherwise must be quite mad."
I heard whispers and gasps around me, but it did not stop me. "Honorable arrival, Milord? I think not, for we do not come for glory, any longer. We come so that we can fight for our people in the last stand of the Men of Middle-Earth. Why do you stand here yelling at people instead of doing something useful? Why don't you go fight yourself, or heal, if you are unable to fight, or command? Something worthy of respect!"
It was at the end of this rather outrageous that one of the whispers that had reached my ears finally reached my brain. "Did she just call the steward mad?"
I groaned inwardly. So this was the steward. I had just yelled at the steward. Now I was going to be sent to prison, and I would never have a chance for glory! At least I did something worth my while though, I had attempted to put the steward in line. But was that what I was to be remembered for? Abandoning my post for a ridiculous tirade against the steward of Gondor?
Frankly? Not really.
It was then that I noticed the young man on the stretcher between us. He was sweating, but besides that he did not seem alive. And indeed, it was hot enough in the room that even a dead person might sweat, for while I had been yelling at the steward of Gondor, the servants that had rushed in after me had built up a blazing fire.
It was no ordinary fire though. It was a pyre.
"What is happening? What is the use of that fire there?" I screamed.
The steward merely smiled at me, then he turned to his servants. "Faramir and I burn now! For we shall lead the people in all their actions to the end! We lead them in life, and we shall lead them in death! I cannot rule my own domain, so I shall at least rule my own life and death! Bring the oil!"
Servants brought forth oil. One of the jugs was handed to the steward, and the other was poured over the young man on the stretcher. I realized then was happening.
"No! He is still alive! Can you not tell, Oh mighty idiots of Gondor, at least do not burn this man! That man there may be sick beyond help, but this man merely needs healing to recover!"
They lifted the stretcher up and carried it over to the blaze. It was now or never.
I leapt atop the stretcher, causing it to be too heavy for the men to lift. They dropped us with a thud. I then whipped my sword upon them as I had their comrade earlier. One by one, they each fell to the floor quickly. I then flung myself on top of the young man, and kept him from the steward. "What do you want with him? Leave him alone!" I yelled to the man.
"Do not force him to suffer any longer, Woman-rider! The boy has suffered enough in his lifetime!" the steward declared back to me.
"If his life weren't worth something to him, then he would have given up living it by now, wouldn't he? He wants to live! Let him do as he chooses!"
"He cannot last long!"
"He will last as long as he chooses!"
Just then, our conversation was interrupted by a moan from the man underneath me. At first I thought that it was only him groaning from my weight, for I had started bearing down on him so that the steward would not try to take him from me. I was about to start yelling again, when I caught a word on the man's voice.
"Father…"
The steward's gaze softened, and he came towards the young man.
"Father…"
"I'm here, my son, I'm here. Look! He calls me! Let me take him with me! Be not a monster who separates us forever!"
Rage and anger burned in me. This was the young man's father! How dare he do as he had done!
"He calls you to life, you southern bastard! Answer him, answer him! You intended to murder your son because you were too cowardly to face death on your own. Will you turn towards your son, and the life that he offers, or death?" I screamed. It was now vital to scream, for the fire had risen to such a noise that no one could hear anything over it.
The steward blinked, and looked at me. Though he had spoken to me, he did not seem that he really knew that I was there. He was absorbed in the son that he had tried to kill. Now, he again got that crazy look in his eyes. Pulling something out from under his robes, he leapt atop the blaze.
"Denethor of Gondor shall die nobly, at the time he chooses, like the great kings of old!" Saying so, He held the object up over his head. It was a great stone which reflected the flames in its depths.
No, it was a different fire there, I suddenly knew by the way my mouth had gone dry that it was Sauron's eye, looking for me, looking for him.
I glanced down at him, wondering if there was a way in the world that I could lift him up and carry him to safety. What was safety in this time and place? I could hear faint sounds of the city being attacked, and I knew it wouldn't last long now.
Then, the young man's eyes opened. He looked upon his father going up in flames. If he had the strength, I was sure he would have called out, but instead he merely watched while I figured out how I was going to get him out of there.
Suddenly, those clear grey eyes were on me. My mouth went dry—because of the heat in the room of course, I was still in love with Aragorn—and I said to him gently, "I'm trying to get you out of here."
He nodded and said hoarsely, "As you wish, White Lady."
I was about to ask him if there was any way in the world that he could walk, when I suddenly wondered why he called me that. My skin was burned from the harsh ride, and I was dirty and gritty, both from my toils in the White City, and because of my lack of bathing for many days on end. The closest thing to white on my body was the silver horse that was embroidered onto my tunic. I looked back at him, to ask him, but then I saw that he had already passed out again. Oh well.
I attempted to pick him up. He was heavy, but he was lighter than most men, and I was stronger than most women. I still ended up half dragging and half carrying him, but it was better then sitting there staring at the steward as he combusted.
I looked down through the city, and saw that the Orcs had already broken through the gates. I looked beyond and saw that the black-sailed Corsair ships were coming. We were lost, and I knew it. But I decided to protect this man for as long as possible.
As I walked away, I glanced behind me, realizing that the guard who had blocked my passage was gone. I wondered at this. Why did he not try to help me? I then continued on my way to find some sort of safe hiding place that could protect my charge and me.
I saw shops and homes, but I could not seem to find a place to hide. I stopped myself and thought. Where is the most logical place to hide from all of these orcs?
I decided that the only place I could go was to the highest point of the city.
I took off.
Up, up, and up I went. My legs tired quickly, and my arms tired even more quickly, but I pushed myself onward. I found myself inside the famed citadel. Where to go from there? I had to find a way up. I raced up the first stairs that I came to. I could no longer carry Faramir, so I had to drag him up the stairs and through the halls. The entire time I was thinking, "That's got to hurt."
But there was nothing I could do about it. He already owed his life to me, so if he was unhappy with the bruises with which he would wake up, then he might as well go burn himself.
Up. It was all I allowed myself to think. I wanted to think how much easier it would have been if I had just stayed at home. How much easier it would have been if I had just said that Aragorn can do whatever the hell he wants, and I don't give a horse's hoof. But I wouldn't let myself. Finally, I realized that I had to be on the last flight of stairs. Surely the only thing that could attack us here were Nazgul. Not that I was wishing for that of course.
Then I knew what I would do. I gently set Faramir down, and ran back down the stairs that I had just mounted till I got to the bottom of the staircase. As I had guessed, this was the Tower of Ecthelion. For some reason, the door had been open, but that was all I needed. I had heard about the steward's secrecy, and I knew that the only thing that would break down that door was the coming of the Dark Lord himself. No mere orc could do it.
As quickly as I could, I swung the door shut and bolted it. Then I ran up the stairs again, going much faster now that I was relieved of my burden. I passed Faramir, and rand up to the top of the stairs. As I had hoped, there was another door here. I took a look at the door before I shut it. It was not as well made as the first door, but it would do. Clearly, the steward had something major to hide.
What could it be? I wondered. I entered the room slowly, more cautious than I had ever been. The room was covered in mighty windows, several of which were open to let in the not-so-fresh air. Already, Gondor was polluted with orc-sent and that of dying men. In the center of the room stood a large pedestal that was covered in a deep blue—almost black—velvet cloth. I circled the pedestal carefully. On my second circling, I noticed some silver embroidery at the bottom.
Finduilas an, it read.
It was a beautiful cloth, but I did not understand what its purpose was. I pulled it off of the pedestal, and shook it out. I realized that it was intended to be a cloak. A man's cloak. It was never finished. It was hardly even begun. I looked back at the embroidery, and noticed that it was not finished. It meant to say Finduilas and someone. Who was Finduilas? It was a fair name, I had to admit to myself.
I glanced back at the pedestal, and noticed scorch marks on the marble. What was this? I didn't have time to ponder it, for at that moment, a loud shriek filled my ears.
Nazgul!
I ran to the window, and realized just how huge the window was. The monster could easily enter the tower if he saw me.
Then I noticed that he had a man in his clutches. Was it a man or a corpse? There was no way of telling. I readied my sword and drew back, for if the Nazgul had seen me, he was sure to be excited to have another victim.
Then I thought, FARAMIR!
I raced over to the door, and slammed it shut, I knew that there was no way I could bar it from the outside as I wanted to, but I bolted it from the inside anyway. I wanted to cause the Nazgul as much trouble in getting to the young man with grey eyes as possible. I also looked around for something else to block it. I quickly dragged a giant book off of a shelf and ripped off the cover, which was almost as thick as my arm. I thrust this cover into the bolt to jam it.
I think it worked. I spun around to see the Nazgul had indeed landed in the small room, but for a different reason than I had thought. It was not so that he could attack me, but rather so that he could get an annoying pest off of the back of his beast.
I wanted to call out to Merry, but I held my silence. I had to do this in the best possible manner. Fortunately, neither the Nazgul or his beast had seen me yet, so my presence was still unknown. I picked up the back cover of the now coverless book, and flung it to the other side of the room. Fortunately, the monster did not catch onto my movement, only the cover. It moved quickly to the spot, and I raced forward and sliced its neck in two.
The Nazgul himself was distracted, which is what I wanted. I would protect Faramir and Merry, and that poor corpse that was being carried by the monster. For if Merry felt such a dedication to that man, then so did I, though I did not have the time to look at him.
I grabbed the pedestal off of the ground, and flung it at the Nazgul, He did not expect this; he expected me to go for him like any other human being, so he was not prepared to block it. As he tried to duck the pedestal, I rushed forward, and drove my sword straight forward. At the last moment, however, I slipped on the beast's tail, and lost control. I flung my sword just in time. The sword flung true, thankfully, as I didn't want Merry's death on my conscience, and the Nazgul's head flew off his shoulders. Merry, at the same time, had rushed forward, and stabbed the Nazgul in the back. The Witch King was dead.
Finally.
Merry screamed and fell unconscious. I went over to him, and looked over him. At first, I feared that he was dead, but then I realized that he was not yet dead. He was still breathing. I picked him up gingerly, and crossed the room over to the door. I then yanked the book cover out of the door with one hand—maybe it wasn't that great of a jam after all, but anything that I could have done to give the Nazgul any bit of hell, I would do—I swung the bolt open, and kicked the door open. I then went down the stairs to where I had left Faramir, and set Merry down next to him. After checking to make sure that they were both still alive, I went back up into the room. I went over to the man that the beast had been carrying, and to my horror learned who it was.
It was Theoden.
I forced myself to retain my tears for now, and I carefully dragged him down the stairs as well. I then went back up one final time. I collected the unmade cloak, the two book covers, ripped off two more book covers, and then left the scene that would haunt me forever. I closed the door, jammed the outside bolt with both the front and back book covers of the first book, and then went all the way down to the bottom of the stairs and jammed that bolt too. Might as well, I thought. I then went back up the stairs to where the three men lay, and covered the living ones with the cloth and settled myself down. Now it was up to me to wait out the rest of the battle on my own.
I allowed myself to mourn for Theoden, and all the other lives that had been lost. I cried until I fell asleep.
There we were, a dead king of the Rohirrim, a sleeping warrior-princess, a wounded man of Gondor, and a conscious hobbit staring at the ceiling of the stairway.