II. The High Line

Toven leaned against the elevator wall, his skin prickling with the awkward silence. Éowyn was standing at the other end of the small space, her hands clasped and her shoulders back. Last night, she'd been a little freaked out about the elevator, especially the automatic doors, but now it was difficult to read her expression.

He'd thought it a convincing performance, acting so unfamiliar around modern technology, but now he wasn't sure what to think. She'd looked genuinely insulted by his earlier comments, and there had been uncertainty in her eyes, as if she truly was in over her head.

He let out a small sigh. He'd been in a similar position when he was younger, and if there hadn't been people in his life willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, he wasn't sure where he'd be right now.

The elevator doors opened, and he gestured for her to step out first. She gathered her skirt in both hands as she stepped over the gap and onto the first floor.

"We should probably get you a change of clothes first," Toven said. He would have asked Quinn for something, but Éowyn was quite a bit taller than her.

"What is wrong with what I am wearing?" Éowyn asked with an imperious arch of her brow.

"There's nothing wrong with it. But people don't normally dress like that here, and it's better if we don't draw attention to ourselves." He led the way to the front door of the building and pushed it open. Maybe Éowyn wouldn't mind the stares, but he didn't want to deal with that today. "I know a thrift shop a few blocks away. They should have something there you can change into."

"Is clothing so easily obtained here?" Éowyn asked, falling into stride next to him as they set off down the sidewalk.

"It is ridiculously easy," Toven replied. "This city is big enough that you can buy just about anything here."

Éowyn lifted her head to look at the Manhattan skyscrapers, the tops of which were visible in the near distance. "When I first arrived in Minas Tirith, I was in awe. I had never seen such a massive city before, nor had I imagined that men would be capable of building something so grand. But this place is…" She shook her head. "I am not sure there is a word for it."

Toven smiled slightly. He remembered arriving here as a teenager and just standing with his head back, trying to take in the sheer size of the buildings around him. "So, what is this Minas Tirith place like?"

"It is a great city made of white stone. There are seven levels, each smaller than the one below it, and at a top there is a white tower that stretches to the very clouds. I did not see much of it before I was spirited away, but it is truly a sight to behold." She smiled slightly, her gaze faraway as if she was seeing the place in her mind's eye.

Toven was tempted to say something along the lines of, Wow, that sounds like a very real place, then decided against it. "Well…you're a princess, aren't you? Your kingdom wasn't like that?"

"The Golden Hall of Rohan is a kingly structure in its own right," Éowyn said, tilting her chin up slightly. "But my people love more the open fields and windswept plains of our land, and we are not so inclined to the building of great monuments as our brethren in Gondor."

"Well, sometimes keeping it simple is better." Toven lifted his gaze to the skyscrapers. He hadn't been anywhere more open than a soccer field since coming here, and a windswept plain sounded really nice at the moment.

They reached the thrift shop, which stood on the first floor of a red brick building with its name spray painted with stencils above one of the wide windows. Toven reached for the door, which was crowded with colorful paper flyers, and stepped back to let Éowyn enter first.

The inside smelled slightly musty, with racks and shelves crowded with clothing and organized by size. The owner, a lanky man with a topknot and a chin piercing, waved to Toven, who waved back.

Éowyn had stopped just inside the door and was looking around the room in slight bewilderment. Toven touched her elbow to try and nudge her into motion.

"You should try…" He blinked. He wasn't about to guess her size. "Um, just find something you like."

"I'm not quite sure where to start," Éowyn replied softly.

Toven shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He enjoyed shopping for clothes about as much as he enjoyed walking on broken glass. Quinn should have been the one to do this—even if she had a knack for picking out the weirdest items in the store, at least it was fun.

He walked over to one of the racks and picked an item at random. He held up a slim, olive green shirt. "Do you like this?"

Éowyn's cheeks darkened slightly. "I think that is much too small for me."

It probably would have been just form-fitting on her, but maybe she didn't like tight clothes. Toven shrugged and put it back.

They spent the next few minutes quietly browsing the racks. Toven tried to keep an eye out for anything medieval-looking, hoping that would make her more comfortable.

Éowyn took a pair of jeans from the rack and examined them. "I have never worn trousers before."

"Why not?"

"Well, they are typically worn by men, and it would have been improper for me to do so." Still, she held onto the jeans, fingering the belt loops as if she was sensing an opportunity.

"Plenty of women here wear them," Toven said. "They're more normal than dresses, actually."

Éowyn gave him a considering glance but said nothing. She kept the jeans folded over one arm as she continued looking.

He was immensely relieved when she finally found something she liked. A few minutes later, she emerged from the curtained changing room dressed in jeans and a black shirt with yellow flowers embroidered on the sleeves.

"Am I appropriately dressed, now?" she asked with a slight tilt of her head.

"Yeah. You look good." Toven cleared his throat. "Appropriate."

She was dressed like any other woman they would pass on the sidewalk—even the boots she'd been originally wearing didn't stand out too much—but she held herself differently, with a quiet dignity in the line of her shoulders and the angle of her chin. Like she really was a princess.

"Let me get the tags so we can pay." He reached out then stopped, silently asking for permission. Éowyn obligingly brushed her long blonde hair away from one shoulder so he could unpin the worn paper price tag from the collar of her shirt, then the belt loop of her jeans.

Toven led the way to the register and handed the tags to the cashier, who tapped the calculator on the counter with practiced movements.

"That's gonna be forty six dollars."

While Toven was still reaching for his wallet, Éowyn pulled out a small cloth purse and placed a single coin on the counter.

"Will this be enough?"

The cashier stared at the coin for a beat. "What is that?"

Fighting against a jolt of panic, Toven slid the coin off the counter and back into Éowyn's hand. "Sorry. She's visiting from…Estonia, and I haven't taken her to an ATM yet."

The man's gaze fell to the white dress folded neatly in Éowyn's arms. "Did you want a bag for that?"

"That would be great." Toven tossed the correct amount of bills on the counter and grabbed the recycled paper bag.

As soon as they were out of the store, Éowyn turned to him. "Why did you not let me pay back there?"

"Because no one pays with gold coins here, and telling people that you're carrying it is a great way to get yourself robbed," he shot back.

Some of the indignation left her expression, but her brow remained furrowed. "You and Quinn have already done me a great kindness by taking me in. I do not wish for you to have to pay for my expenses as well, if I can pay for them myself."

Toven sighed. "We'll figure that out later." He gestured for her to start walking down the sidewalk. "I'm not even sure what the exchange rate would be for whatever you're carrying. Was that actually real gold?"

"Of course," Éowyn said, sounding slightly offended. "I did not expect to have to spend any coin on my journey to Minas Tirith, but, well…" She glanced over at a passing car. "I did not expect to find myself here, either."

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I was the one who suggested we go to the thrift shop, so I paid for it. I can take care of whatever we decide to do today. If you really feel like you have to pay me back, we can discuss that later."

"And what are we going to do today?"

Toven thought for a moment. She was new to the city, and he didn't want to overwhelm her. When the idea finally came to him, he smiled. "I'll show you when we get there."

Éowyn shot him an inquisitive glance, then nodded. "All right."

She trusted him, too. He had to remember that.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Éowyn spoke again.

"Toven?"

"Yeah."

"Where is Estonia?"

His lips twitched. "I actually have no idea."

Toven let out a sigh of relief as they reached the top of the stairs and stepped onto the shrub-bordered walkway. They were only a handful of stories above ground, but the constant din of the city seemed to fade a little here, and the air smelled a little fresher.

"What is this place?" Éowyn asked, stepping up beside him.

"It's called the High Line." He pulled her out of the way as more people came up the stairs. "It used to be a railway, but it was turned into a park a few years ago."

"And what do you do here?" Éowyn asked as they began walking.

Toven shrugged. "Enjoy the scenery, I guess." He pointed to a reddish-brown shape nearly obscured by the ferns and grass. "You can see the remainder of the train tracks there."

"This place used to be like the subway?" Éowyn asked, pronouncing the last word carefully.

"Sort of."

Toven had only suggested they take the subway in the interest of time, and Éowyn had seemed to handle the crowded space fairly well. He'd held her hand to make sure she didn't get lost—or maybe she had reached for him—and they'd let go once they'd reached the surface.

"I come here sometimes as part of my job," Toven continued. "I work as a groundskeeper for some of the parks in the city."

"That is an honorable charge," Éowyn said with a small smile. "There is so little greenery here. It is good that you help preserve what is left."

Toven wasn't sure there was anything particularly honorable about fishing Starbucks cups out of bushes and yelling at kids to stop climbing on various things, but it was kind of nice to hear.

"There are much bigger parks upstate—to the north of here," he said. "I've always wanted to be a park ranger for one of those. It's nice and quiet most of the time, and there are some really beautiful views."

"Why haven't you joined the rangers, then?"

Toven shot her a sideways glance, then shook his head. "For one thing, I couldn't just leave Quinn. She's…well, you've met her."

Éowyn stifled with a laugh. "Would she come with you?"

"I wouldn't ask her to do that. She loves it here, and I…" He shoved his hands in his pockets. He owed her too much to ask her to leave. "What about you? Are you going to leave home once you get married?"

"I will most likely live in Minas Tirith, yes," she replied, her lips tightening at the corners.

"You don't sound thrilled about it."

Éowyn looked up at him, her gaze assessing. "May I speak plainly with you?"

Toven wondered if living as a princess meant she always had to keep her guard up to a certain degree. At least he didn't have much interest in that kind of politics, especially for a place he knew nothing about.

"You can say whatever you want."

With a small sigh, Éowyn squared her shoulders. "I love my country, and I wish to serve my people so that they can be happy. But my ability in this regard is limited to marriage, while the men of Rohan are able to seek renown in battle."

"So women aren't allowed to fight?"

"I have some skill with the sword. The women of Rohan know that battle may find them regardless of their readiness. But it is forbidden for me to ride out and seek it." An undercurrent of bitterness seeped into her voice as she spoke.

Toven wasn't sure going to war was much of a privilege, but then again he didn't know what the people of Rohan were fighting for.

"We have a story about that, here. This woman decides to go to war in place of her injured father. She disguises herself as a man and joins the army, and saves the kingdom in the end."

Éowyn brightened. "I should like to hear that story sometime. Are the women of this country forbidden to fight, too?"

"No, they're allowed to join the army. Or some of them, anyway. Going into war isn't the heroic act a lot of people think it is, but…" It probably wasn't best to get into a discussion about imperialism and the military industrial complex with someone he'd just met. "Getting back to the original topic, I just hope whoever you're marrying is a good person."

"Thank you, Toven." She smiled at him and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. "I wish you good fortune in your own marriage."

He huffed out a laugh. "Well, that's not happening any time soon. I'm not dating anyone right now."

"Dating?"

"It's what you do before you decide to marry someone. It's how you decide if a person is right for you." He tilted his head. "Maybe you should take your prince on a date when you get back."

The corner of her lips tilted upwards. "I will have to marry him regardless."

"Well, if he turns out to be a dick, at least you know how to use a sword."

Éowyn laughed. "It has been a long time since I have been able to speak so candidly about these things with someone else." She quirked an eyebrow. "And to think this morning you accused me of being a thief."

His cheeks warmed. "That…wasn't personal. I have a habit of assuming the worst of people. But I'm usually wrong."

She searched his face with keen eyes. "Your trust has been broken before."

"Of course. It happens to everyone." He looked away. "Um, are you hungry? I know a good pizza place nearby."

Éowyn tilted her head. "I do not know what that is."

"It's the one thing you have to try when you come to New York," Toven said, then added with a smile, "You'll see when we get there."

When they returned to the apartment, Quinn was blasting music from the kitchen. Éowyn hesitated in the doorway, and Toven put a reassuring hand on her elbow. He closed the door once they were both inside and walked into the kitchen.

Quinn waved at him from the stove, where the smell of cooking meat was rising. He motioned for her to turn down the music, and she reached over to the portable speaker, which was sitting dangerously close to an open can of salsa.

"You guys enjoy your day out?" she asked, leaning against the counter.

Toven began rifling through the rack near the sink, searching for a clean glass. "It was nice." He looked up as Éowyn joined them in the kitchen. "Did you want something to drink?"

She nodded with a smile. "I enjoyed it very much," she said to Quinn. "It feels as though it would take a lifetime to explore this city in its entirety."

"That's actually not far from the truth." Quinn spun the spatula in her hand. "What did you guys do? The normal touristy stuff, or what?"

"I took her to the High Line, and we got pizza afterwards. Then we just walked around a little," Toven said, filling up both glasses with water.

Éowyn moved over to the speaker and picked it up. "What is this?"

"Oh, be careful with that," Quinn said. "There's a bunch of tiny musicians in there, and they'll fall over if you move it too much."

Éowyn turned to her, eyebrows raised. "You have them in this city, too?"

"Wait, what?" Her mouth dropped open, and she stared until a smile crept onto Éowyn's face. "Oh. Ha, you got me!"

Éowyn placed the speaker back on the counter and accepted the glass of water Toven handed her. "I may have been born in a place quite different from this one, but I was not born yesterday."

Toven was impressed with how quickly she'd adapted to moving through the city. After he'd explained the signals to her, she'd picked up using a crosswalk after a couple of tries. She'd also spent a good half hour fiddling with his phone, studying how the buttons and touchscreen worked. It was something of a relief to see that she wasn't completely overwhelmed by everything.

"I'm making Crunchwraps," Quinn said, turning back to the stove. "Do you want one?"

"What is it?" Éowyn peered over at the steaming pan, where she was stirring ground beef.

"It's meat, cheese, lettuce, chips…plus some other stuff, I usually change it up depending on what I have around. Toven, you want one?"

"Sure." He turned to Éowyn. "I told her to stop buying so much fast food, so she just started making the same stuff at home."

"And I'm good at it," Quinn said. "Now I can eat Taco Bell without having to be drunk, hungover, or filled with self-loathing."

"You have some strange customs here," Éowyn said. "But I would be glad to eat anything you prepare tonight."

"Hell yes. And then maybe you can teach us about weird customs from your home."

While they ate, Quinn brought out a large whiteboard with stickers cluttered around the edges and drew a line through the middle. On one side she wrote, "New York."

"Hey, what's your kingdom called again?"

"Rohan."

"How do you spell that?"

Quinn asked her that several more times as Éowyn told them about the Mearas, the noblest of all the horses that lived in Rohan. She told them about the éored, the companies of mounted riders that patrolled the borders. Apparently her brother had been the leader of one of those before he became king. As she described daily life in her kingdom and spelled out words in her native language, a shadow of longing deepened on her face. Toven felt his heart twinge. Even if she had resigned herself to living in another kingdom after she was married, at least there she would have the opportunity to visit her home again.

"Wow. I feel like I learned a lot." Quinn leaned back to look at the board once she'd filled it completely. The "Rohan" side was marked with smudges where she'd erased and rewritten misspelled words, and the "New York" side was filled with random things like "Froot Loops," "skateboarding," and "giraffes."

As Quinn gathered up their dishes and disappeared into the kitchen, Toven turned to Éowyn and said, "Thank you for sharing all that with us. I hope we didn't annoy you with all the questions."

"Not at all," Éowyn said with a shrug. "You have shown me a great deal of patience today, and now I am returning the favor."

"That is a very generous statement," Toven said with a small laugh. The music in the other room changed, and he looked up as Quinn walked in with the speaker held over her head like a boombox. "Is that the Skyrim soundtrack?"

"Is this the kind of music you listen to in Rohan?" she asked Éowyn, swaying her hips to the violin.

"Not quite." Éowyn stood up. "But I can show you a dance that I know."

"Sweet." Quinn tossed the speaker to Toven, who caught it with both hands.

"Hey, you just killed all the tiny musicians," he said.

"We'll have a funeral tomorrow," she replied as she pushed the coffee table aside to create more floor space.

Éowyn took Quinn's hand and guided her through the steps. The dance was much more sedate than Toven had expected, involving a sort of skipping motion and a few spins. The dance was clearly meant for both partners to mirror each other, and Toven could see why Éowyn had chose this one to teach.

"Okay." Quinn pushed her hair out of her face once they were finished. "Now I gotta show you some traditional American dance moves. The lawn mower. The sprinkler. Raising the roof." She demonstrated each one with a mock-serious expression, and Éowyn put a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

Quinn turned to Toven and mimed tossing a lasso over him, and he obligingly stood up from the sofa and let himself be pulled towards the other two.

"Hey, I gotta go to the bathroom. You two keep the party going." She danced out of the room.

Real subtle, Quinn. Toven shifted his weight, floundering in a brief moment of awkwardness. "Those aren't actually traditional dance moves here."

"Then would you teach me some real ones?" Éowyn looked up at him, a sudden shyness shuttering over her expression.

"Um…" He tried desperately to think of the very few dances he knew, but it was hard to remember anything at the moment. Why the hell was he feeling so flustered? "I only know one, really."

Toven held out his left hand and Éowyn clasped it, her fingers curling around his. He hesitated, then placed his other hand on her waist, and hers went to rest on his shoulder.

"And now we just…spin in a circle, I guess." His face flushed. "I don't know any actual dances."

"I believe this meets the most basic requirements," Éowyn said as they began to move. "Where did you learn this dance?"

"Just by watching other people. This is mostly meant for weddings, or prom for younger people. But I've never been to either."

"I have never been to a wedding, either. My brother is yet unmarried, and my cousin was too before he passed. Mine will be the first of my family's generation."

This was the second relative she'd mentioned that had passed away. Toven thought back to how she'd spoken about mounted riders and battles and wondered just how dangerous her kingdom was.

"Do you want to get married?" he asked. "I know you wish you could do more than that, but…"

Éowyn was silent for a long moment, her gaze far-off. "I would have rather it been my choice," she said softly. "It is possible I will find happiness regardless, but that will depend on the nature of my husband."

Toven found his thoughts fixated on this stranger, the faceless man Éowyn was meant to marry. He felt something like protectiveness rear its head within him, and he shook it off.

"Anyone would be lucky to have you," he said. "And I hope your prince figures that out."

A blush spread across her cheeks. He noticed for the first time that she had freckles, light enough to be nearly invisible against her pale skin.

"May I ask you a question in return?"

"Go ahead."

"Why do you and Quinn have such short hair?" The hand that was resting on his shoulder lifted to touch the strands behind his ear, and his skin tingled where her thumb brushed against his neck.

"Is it not normal for men to have short hair in Rohan?"

Éowyn shook her head. "The men of my country rarely cut it above their shoulders."

"Well, it's normal for men to keep it short here. As for Quinn, I think she just prefers it that way. She changes her hair whenever she feels like it. I've had to stop her from getting a lot of impulsive tattoos, too."

"Tattoos?"

"It's a permanent marking on your skin." He moved his hand from her waist and turned it to reveal the three words inked in graceful letters along the inside of his forearm.

"Know no shame," Éowyn read aloud. She ran her fingertips along the words, then looked up at him, a silent question in her eyes.

"It's…from a story that means a lot to me," Toven said. "It serves as a reminder of sorts."

He could tell that wasn't a complete answer to the question she wanted to ask, and he looked away. It already felt like he was oversharing.

Éowyn put a hand on his cheek, gently turning his head so he was facing her again. At some point they had stopped dancing, and now they were standing in the center of the room, holding each other.

"I have not known you very long," Éowyn said, her gray eyes gentle. "But I do not believe you have any cause for shame."

His throat tightened. "Thank you."

He had to remind himself that they hadn't known each other for very long at all, that the day they'd spent together was only the barest brushing of spheres, the first nanosecond of an eclipse. But he wanted to know her, and he wanted her to know him.

It gave him the sensation of plummeting down a long drop.

"I…I'm gonna go take a shower. It's getting late."

He tore his eyes away from hers and left the room.

The tattoo Toven has is inspired by a quote from Black Sails, which is a fucking amazing show. Imagine Game of Thrones but with gay pirates and the writing never gets bad.

Anyway, thank you for the reviews (except for the NovelStar people, y'all can go to hell). Hopefully I'll have the next chapter up soon!