Title:
The Life of a LadyAuthor:
UtenakunBook:
The Lord of the RingsSummary:
Imrahil, having just saved Éowyn's life, takes a moment to wish her well.Rating:
GDisclaimer:
Tolkien was writing way before me.Notes:
This was written for the Henneth Annûn fanfiction ML in July. It was in response to the 'Banner Challenge' (write a story having something to do with a standard of Middle Earth), and was supposed to be 500 words or less. This is way less. XDWhen Éowyn was carried off the Pelennor Fields, Imrahil proved she still lived by holding his polished armguard-- "vambrace"-- to her lips, which showed the mist of her breath.
_
"'To health? …It may be so. At least while there is an empty saddle of some fallen rider that I can fill, and there are deeds to do. But to hope? I do not know.'" ~ Éowyn, ch. 8, Book V, The Return of the King
The field was empty of all save shattered weapons and churned mud, the healers were near exhausted, and pyres burned day and night. Yet hope and joy swept through Cormallen unchecked, even amidst the toll of war; the Shadow was defeated, a King tended the wounded in the White City, and Faramir, it was said, would live.
Imrahil felt relief as surely as any man, felt hope spark in his heart and lift his eyes eagerly towards the future, where before he might have shuddered and turned away. Yet he could not find it in himself to rejoice quite so loudly as his men. The truth was, war-- even victory-- weighed heavy on his heart, and he could not forget the men he had lost. Nor one who still lay in the Houses of Healing, the noblest lady he had ever known. If Éowyn could not recover from her battle with the Witch-King, it would be a terrible weight to the already heavy price he knew they had paid for victory. Imrahil had saved her life, when all others had believed her dead, but now he heard news that she lay as sadly as ever in the Houses of Healing. And if she could not regain herself, might it not have been better to let her die honorably on the field of battle? Might he, perhaps, have wronged her by bringing her back to a life she no longer cared for?
"My lord--" a soldier approached, saluted, "My lord, our standard was torn irreparably in battle."
Imrahil frowned slightly, surprised he would be consulted on such a minor issue. "What of it? Surely another banner can be made to the same design." But then, an idea occurred to him, giving pause to his brusque dismissal. Éowyn was beyond his charge now, but surely there was still something he could do for such a valiant lady. With his words, he stopped the soldier mid embarrassed retreat. "Or no. Have our standard remade as it was, yet add a small silver vambrace in the corner."
"A vambrace, my lord?" The soldier echoed, puzzled.
Imrahil smiled, eyes focused beyond his soldier's face. "A vambrace. In hopes that the life of a lady may yet be saved."