Chapter 6: The Shoes of Drusilla Teegana



It was late one night, and I was burning the midnight oil, sword practising and frantically waiting for Eowyn. It was now well past my fifteenth birthday; I had developed my woman's body, so I had to strap my breasts down each night before I took out my sword to practice.



My marriage was looming, less than a season away. It was high spring, and I was to be married on Midsummer's Day. So, needless to say, I was approaching panic.

Then, as though my situation wasn't already bad enough, my parents had finally revealed the name of my intended.



There is a custom in Gondor, dating back the time after the Last Alliance. The bride of the future Steward is chosen at birth from a powerful and noble family, a betrothal contract is signed, then the secret is concealed until the girl reached a marriageable age. Back in the olden days, this was seen as necessary security for the producer of the royal heirs, but in more recent times, it was seen as an outdated custom. Nevertheless, there was always some giggling ninny in finishing school who would proclaim that she was 'destined' to be the Stewardess of Gondor, Lady of Minas Tirith and all that rot.



Of course, there was a new girl with an equally valid claim to the throne every week, so Eowyn and I never paid them any mind.



Back to the point, I had to get out of Minas Tirith as soon as I could. A Steward's wife has no freedom; she lives in the Palace, sits in the Court, but has no voice in the ruling of the White City. Her sole purpose is to bear male heirs, so the dynasty of Stewards may continue their reign.



I couldn't bear the thought of it. As my parents had told me the news that day, I had averted my gaze to the floor, so that they couldn't see the horror in my eyes. I had learned that ladies must never show undue emotion, but by casting my eyes down, I also hid my rage. It was then that I noticed my shoes.



Now, the shoes of a stylish lady are made of silk, usually adorned with gems, beaten metal, or bits of dyed leather. My current pair were made of pale grey silk, ornamented with glossy white seed pearls.



I had never seen the sense of such footwear; certainly, these shoes were beautiful, and added to the flair of my gown, but they were silly, impractical things. All it took was an unoticed pebble in the street, and they were ruined beyond repair. Indeed, after a week of most cautious walking, they needed to be replaced anyway, as the soles would completely wear away.



You're probably wondering why I'm spending what is likely my last hour on earth ranting on about a pair of shoes that I owned when I was younger. Bear with me, there is a point to this tale. You see, I knew; I knew in my heart, with every fibre of my being, that if I became the Steward's wife, I would 'become' these shoes: a dainty, delicate thing, something that the slightest pebble thrown by life would ruin beyond repair.



My window creaked, and Eowyn climbed through, her hair tied back in pale gold braids, her nightgown covered by her dark cloak. I watched her idly from my chair by the bed.



"You know, one night, I'm gonna lock that window, just to piss you off." Eowyn just glared at me as she hung up her cloak. "What's wrong with you?" I asked.



Eowyn sat down beside me, and took one of my hands in hers. Her eyes were rimmed in crimson, and she took a deep breath before she began. I was already dreading what I knew was coming.



"Dru...I'm going back to Rohan. I have to leave."



I didn't think I could trust my voice, so I kept my lips pressed tight together. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I'd scream.



Eowyn pressed on. "You see, I've been putting it off for a long time...my family's wanted me to come home for months and months, but I truly didn't want to go...my father is ailing, and he needs me by his side...it's my duty to go..."



I could finally control my voice. "What about your duty to me?" I asked, cold fury permeating every word.



"What?" My friend looked confused, and a bit angry.



"You'll go back to Rohan, back to your horses, back to your swords, back to whatever man you want to marry..."



Eowyn was starting to get angry. "That's not true-"



But I cut her off. "You'll leave me here, and I'll be chained to the Steward of Gondor, like a finch in a cage."



Her anger had dissolved into shock. "The Steward?"



I squeezed my temples, suddenly very weary. "Boromir, 'Wyn. I'm marrying Boromir, heir to the throne of Gondor."



"Oh, sweet Valar..." Eowyn trailed off, her tone filled with horror. "No wonder you're so angry."

"Don't you see?" I begged. "It'll kill me, 'Wynnie. It's killing me slowly, and one morning I'll wake up dead, and I'll wonder when it happened." The dread, the panic, the rage I'd held inside finally came spilling out, and suddenly I was crying, weeping like a little girl, but I didn't care. "I'll be like a china doll, dressed in a pretty gown, sitting in my pretty Court with a pretty smile on my face...and I'll be dead inside, 'Wynnie. No feelings, no tears, no pain. Just an empty shell that used to be me."



Eowyn had let me cry, patting my shoulders, and swabbing away my tears with the sleeve of her nightdress. The comforting touch and the feel of fine linen on my face calmed me down, and my sobs dwindled away to hiccups.



Finally, she said, almost awkwardly, "Do you even like him?"



"Boromir? He used to pull my hair and tell me stories about Orcs to scare me as a child! I haven't seen him since he and Faramir left, and that was years ago..." The young sons of the Steward had been sent to Rohan almost three years ago, to learn to ride and fight properly. When they returned, Boromir would learn diplomacy and other kingly skills from his old father, Denethor, who would likely rule until he died.



Eowyn looked incredulous at my admission. "By all the gods, 'Dru, maybe you'll like him! Maybe you'll be happy!"



I knew my tone was bitter, but I made no attempt to soften it. "Save me the fairy tales, Eowyn. I'm not a child. I won't live happily ever after with my prince in a castle..."



She scowled at me. "Gods, Drusilla, you are selfish. Spare me your self-pity. Do you know how many women would kill for what you would thrust away?"



"What are you talking about?" Now I was angry.



"Do you know what my fate will be, when I return to Rohan?" she asked coldly. "No, of course you don't, so allow me to enlighten you. I'll never be married. I'll never know love. My duty will be to serve my father until he dies, as I will serve the next king, and the next, until all that is left of Eowyn, Lady of the Mark, is a bitter old woman filled with broken dreams."



"Then run away with me!" Suddenly, my anger was gone, evaporated like mist. "We planned it for so long, we can get out of here! Then no one will ever be able to tell us what to do again...those who would marry me off...those who would deny you the love you crave...it will all fade away like a bad dream." I looked her straight in the eyes, silently pleading. This was my last chance.



"Eowyn, I finally understand. I've stayed here for so many years because I wasn't brave enough to get up and walk away. I would find the strength to leave, if only you were at my side."



I thought it was a very heartfelt speech. Unfortunately, it was lost on Eowyn. She still watched me coldly. "That is where we differ, Drusilla Teegana. You would turn your back on your duty and run away, even as your City crumbled. I, on the other hand, will stand and embrace my fate. My family, my kingdom, my people need me, and I will not turn my back on them."



Somewhere during the course of this speech, my gaze had become as cold as hers. "'Tis late, my lady. Perhaps you should remove your esteemed self from my chambers."



"Perhaps I should," she agreed in an icy voice. "Goodnight, Lady Drusilla. Farewell."



As she climbed out my window for the last time, I cursed her quietly. "May my eyes be damned before I look upon you again."



**********



That was the last time I ever saw Eowyn, Lady of the Mark, the brave, the beautiful, the sister I wished I'd had. Her final words still rang in my ears, spinning tales of duty. Duty. I hated the word. Why I, arguably the one woman in Minas Tirith who would despise it, should have this duty thrust upon me was an utter mystery.



At any rate, as I lie here, cold, aching, and so utterly alone, I want to weep. I'm sorry 'Wynnie. I'm so, so sorry...



I'm sorry I cursed you, I'm sorry that you never found the love you deserved. I'm sorry you left thinking I was a coward who ran away from my duty. I'm sorry that I never came to say goodbye. My sweet friend...Nai tiruvantel ar varyuvantel i Valar tielyanna nu vilya. May the Valar protect you on your path under the sky.



I'm sorry for so much, but I'm not sorry I left Minas Tirith. Because right after I did, I met Selka. And then my life took a turn for the weird.





To be Continued...Review, please!