A Note From Sun Queen (and Ivory Moon too): Hey everyone! Thanks for the reviews. I realize that some people might not understand the significance of the title. No one has asked about it, but I figured that I should define what a valkyrie is. They were originally amazon-like war-goddesses from Norse mythology, who rode over battlefields on their winged horses or dragons, slaying and carrying away the wounded or the honoured dead. Later, they were 'romanticized' into beautiful, vulnerable swan-maidens, and basically became the glorified waitresses in Valhalla, or damsels in distress for heroes to rescue. *mumblemumble damned-male-chauvinist-myth-and-opera-writers! mumblemumble* Anyways, I think the earlier valkyries were much stronger, more appealing characters, which is where I drew the title for this story from: think strong, kickass goddesses who didn't need any guy to come along and rescue them. Go girls!
I also took a bit of liberty with Tolkien's canon. Since they didn't really talk much about Eowyn's past, I put her in Minas Tirith for a couple of years. Live with it. And for those who don't know, finishing school is where young ladies would learn wifely arts, such as spinning, weaving, singing, how to tend their houses, and basically how to sit and look pretty so they could attract good husbands.
One more thing, I swear I'll get Jaidru out of Gondor by the next chapter. Yeah, I know, promises, promises. Please bear with me, this is gonna be a long fic.
Chapter 4: Eowyn
There is an old proverb in Gondor: "Take nothing for granted, lest you anger The Golden Lady." This was Dame Fortuna, the mythical Golden Lady of Chance, presiding over her Balance Scales and the Wheel of Fate, who can give both give and snatch away all the glory in the world.
I really should have taken her seriously.
At any rate, Dame Fortuna must have been pissed as hell at yours truly, because when my sister died, sweet Valar, did she ever drop the heavy end of the hammer on me.
One morning, soon after my sister's burial in the family crypt, my parents called me into the hall. I was dressed, as usual, in an old, sturdy dress, suitable for whatever adventure I'd set my sights on for that day. Unfortunately, it could never be.
I can still remember my father, sitting in a patch of morning sunlight, dressed in his court finery, a tunic of black mourning-velvet with golden trim and hose. A black cap adorned his head, covering his now-scanty blond hair. Usually an easy man, this morning his brown eyes were resolute, and his face was severe.
And my mother...she was sitting beside him, emotionless, lines that I had never noticed now deeply carved into her face; rigid and cold, like an ice-carved statue that even the morning sun couldn't warm.
They bade me to sit, and I did, fidgeting, tugging at the hem of my dress, careful that they didn't see the dagger knotted under my skirt. I felt as though I was looking at two giants, not my parents, and I felt a tremor in my stomach. Whatever they had to say, I knew it would not bode well for me.
My father looked me in the eyes and cleared his throat. "Drusilla, now that your sister is gone, things have changed." He said 'gone', not 'dead', as though she might walk through the door at any moment. My mother stiffened. "Now that she's gone, your mother and I, that is, your entire family, have different expectations of you."
Uh-oh.
He continued, "Now, your sister was betrothed to somebody very important, and it is vital to the honour of this family that we carry through with the marriage contract."
Oh crap.
"For this reason, you will be taking Bethany's place, and you will marry her intended after your sixteenth birthday."
Oh, a million times crap. Time to leave, 'Dru. Get out of the chair, and run like hell.
He must have seen my eyes widen in horror as I began to inch back, for he glared sternly, and said, "Sit down, Drusilla." Reluctantly, I obeyed.
My mother began to speak, her voice as emotionless as her face. "You will become a lady, Jaidru, a proper member of the Steward's Court. Too long have we let you run wild like a perfect little Amazon. You will attend the finishing school where your sister Abby studies, where you will learn the proper behaviour so you will not disgrace your family."
I was appalled. This was a far cry from the distant, regal mother with whom I exchanged words once or twice a day. She was cool, yes, and often didn't acknowledge my presence, but she had never said anything so unkind to me before. All I could figure was that the Beth's death must have hurt her enough to change her.
Unfortunately, it had strengthened her resolve, for much as I wailed, begged, wept, and threatened, my parents stood firm. Abby was already engaged; it wasn't her duty. I would become a lady, and take Beth's place in court.
I had run from the hall, from our home, through the streets, and out the Gate of Kings, the main entrance to the city, tears streaming down my face, so I barely see. I was quite a distance down the road, before I stopped, gasping and sobbing.
I sat down by a rustling beech tree, overcome with misery. This wasn't how my life was supposed to turn out, not as a dainty little trinket on the arm of some old lord. I took a deep breath, and screamed.
Every drop of rage, fear, and despair in my child's heart was wrung out of me in that scream. I screamed my fury to the unfeeling sky and plains, to a world where the sun would rise, and the stars would shine, regardless of whether Drusilla Teegana lived or died, or was married against her will.
A storm of crows blew out of the tree, squawking their annoyance at the teary child who had startled them. I watched them bitterly; brainless birds, they were free, and I was not.
Fly away, heartless crows. Don't dwell on your little kindred, whose wings have just been broken.
I saw a figure in the distance; sweet old Jai, coming after me. Even in the distance, I could see tears on her face, too. And it was at that moment that I swore I'd get out of here, no matter what it took. These wings would soar, or I would die. There was nothing in between.
I wrapped my arms around her, and she let me cry.
**********
They had taken away all my old clothes, my little wooden practice sword, but I'd hidden my dagger beneath my mattress, so they never found it. They took away any remnant of my old life, cleaned me up, and dressed me up in finery. Today I would start in Mistress Merial's Finishing School For Young Ladies, housed in a palatial building on the sixth level of the city. I was determined to kick and scream the entire way. Maybe, just maybe, if I made life hell for everyone, my family would give up on the whole idea.
But I knew, deep in my heart, that this wasn't so. Marriage contracts are sacred bonds, and my family would sooner kill me than lose their honour over my refusal. I had heard such tales, of wayward daughters and their gruesome ends, and to this day, they make the hair on my neck stand on end.
So I was scared. Terrified really, and ashamed that I was so weak. I was utterly conflicted, torn between defiance and fear. For the first months of finishing school, I went along with the Mistresses, the other girls, and I did as I was told. And how I hated myself for it.
Then Eowyn came.
**********
It was a bright spring morning, and I was eleven years old, the morning she arrived. I was dutifully working on my tapestry, under the watchful eye of Mistress Gwenefar, when Mistress Merial, the crabby old lady who owned the school, sailed into the room. I had always secretly thought she looked like a nasty old horse, who'd sooner kick you than look at you.
At her side was a pretty blond girl. Her skin was pale, her hair fell in shining braids down her back, and she walked with the demure step of a perfect little princess. She smiled politely, revealing her perfectly straight teeth. I hated her instantly.
"Ladies," announced Mistress Merial, her voice never raising nor lowering, the mark of a well-bred woman, "This is Lady Eowyn, of the ruling family of Rohan." Here her voice dropped just a notch, becoming ever so slightly condescending. Proper Gondorians were better than our horse-raising cousins, after all.
"Welcome, Eowyn." Gwenafar dropped into a curtsy. She was my least favourite Mistress; she had a high, whining voice, and the tendency to smack my knuckles hard when I asked too many questions. Ladies are meant to be seen and not heard, after all.
The next thing I heard was: "I would like you to sit here, next to Drusilla." Noooooo! I was stuck sitting next to Little Miss Perfect! Wonderful, just plain wonderful. She sat in the chair next to mine and folded her hands in her lap, looking truly saintly. I wanted to strangle her. Instead, I gritted my teeth and continued working on my tapestry, as Mistress Gwenafar of the Whiny Voice left the room to fetch her some sewing materials.
I heard the croaking an instant before the screeching started. The was a enormous, warty brown toad lurching about the table, tangling up embroidery threads! I grinned and clapped my hands in delight; finally, something to liven up the day! The other girls were screaming, jerking away, as the toad let out a satisfied 'buurr-APPPP!' and knocked over the large ceramic inkwell, spilling a black stain over the half-finished tapestries.
The girls were gone, and I could hear their screams echoing down the corridor. Pretty soon, some one would come running to see who had been murdered. I glanced around, looking at the ruined tapestries, the tangled silk threads, the ink that was dripping off the table to stain the carpet. I grinned; such a lovely scene of chaos-what the hell?
Eowyn was there, sitting in her chair, her innocent smile still in place. Then, she turned, winked at me, and scooped the inky, croaking toad back into the pocket of her gown. I glanced down, and muffled a snort when I saw she also had a big brown rat concealed there.
Suddenly, Little Miss Perfect didn't seem so bad after all.
To Be Continued...