Disclaimer: Being the untalented, unimaginative person that I am, I have no ideas of my own. All these ideas stem form the wonderful books by J. R.R. Tolkien or the equally wonderful movies by New Line Cinema.
Author's Note: This is just a little scene that I thought of one night. It is part movie part book so maybe slightly OOC. If you read this and you like it, PLEASE REVIEW!! PLEASE!!! Hey, review even if you don't like it. I feel so alone…
Oh yes, prologue is from RotK. Enjoy!
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"What do you fear, lady?" he asked.
"A cage," she said. "To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire."
"And yet you counseled me not to adventure on the road that I had chosen, because it is perilous?"
"So may one counsel another," she said. "Yet I do not bid you flee from peril, but to ride to battle where your sword may win renown and victory. I would not see a thing that is high and excellent cast away needlessly."
"Nor would I," he said. "Therefore I say to you, lady: Stay! For you have no errand to the south."
"Neither have those who go with thee. They go only because they would not be parted from thee—because they love thee." Then she turned and vanished into the night.
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She ran blindly. In silence at first, until she had slipped away from him. From the man who would leave her, like the others had left her: abandoned in an empty tomb. From the man who had given her a glimpse of the world outside her cage, a view of the sky through a wall of stone. From the man who cared nothing for her, though he had taken her heart.
The darkness hid her tears but not the sound of her sobs as she tore through the halls, tripping over her skirts in her haste. She cursed them silently. They were her chains, symbols of her captivity, symbols of her duty, her worth. What worth? She asked herself bitterly, hot trails of water burning her cheeks are they coursed down her face. I have none here in this prison that ceased to be my home the day my father died. I am the shadow of a king who has scarcely acknowledged my existence,
The sobs racked her body harder now, and she fled quicker through the twists and turns in a maze of passages. Her feet hit the ground hard, their sounds echoing loudly in the harsh air, mirroring the painful beating of her heart. She could feel the blood throbbing in her ears and the heat on her face.
Gasping for breath, she finally reached her rooms and slammed the doors behind her with a satisfying bang. In a motion of despair, she threw herself onto a chair and cried bitterly for all that she had lost and all that she never had. She wept long and hard, her hair wild and her throat tight, until she'd used up all her tears and then she sat quietly, tired and drained.
A frosty moon shone faintly through the glass. Beautiful, yet colder than ice, it looked down upon its kingdom. And Eowyn, sitting by her window, gazed upon it like one drowning might gaze at a raft. Wiping away her tears she stood and swallowed hard, for there was a lump in her throat and an ache in her chest. So caught up was she, in the frosty night, that the tentative knock at her doors was not heard.
"Lady?"
She would recognize that voice anywhere. Taking a deep breath, she called out, "Please Aragorn, I wish to be alone. Take your leave and rest, for you have a hard task before you." Her voice was cold and distant, but she could not prevent the slight tremor at the end. Inwardly she cringed, for her words were bitter and harsh.
There was silence and she sighed, thinking that he had left.
"Lady…Eowyn…" his voice softened and she stiffened.
"I do not desire your pity Aragorn, nor your comfort. Your words were true, and I was foolish for not seeing them before." she moved towards the window, and laid her hand on the sill.
He sighed, "Perhaps they were, but that does not make them easier to bear." He appeared beside her at the window and she nearly jumped in surprise. "I do not come to offer my pity, you have no need of it." He turned to her then, and the expression on his face was a mixture of respect, sadness and some other emotion that she could not name. "I do offer my comfort though. I give it to you as one warrior to another." She opened her mouth to protest, but he raised his hand and continued, "It is what keeps us going in times such as these."
She looked down, pondering his words. The silence lay heavily between them, and she searched her mind for a reply. He made no move to go, but stood quietly beside her in the silver glow. As she raised her head, a glimmer at his throat caught her eye and she reached out her hand to gently touch the pendant hanging there. Still he made no move, but he shuddered slightly as she traced the intricate patterns and delicate lines lightly.
"Who is she?" she asked softly, curiously, "the woman who gave you that jewel?" her voice held to anger or resentment, only wonder at something so fair.
He raised his head then, and smiled faintly. "She is the daughter of an Elven king. Her name is Arwen." And she laughed without joy as he finished talking.
"You love her." It was said flatly, without emotion. She pulled back her hand and turned away. "I was a fool not to have seen it before." Dimly, she heard him answer her question, but there was no need. I loved him, and he had another. I loved him…she paused. Did she? What would you know of love? A small voice in her head whispered. She tried to speak then, but choked on her words.
"Lady, hear me now," he was speaking softly but firmly, "you are fair as a lily and regal as a queen. You have the love of your people and the respect of your soldiers." She bit her lip and fought the tears prickling at her eyes. "Eowyn…" he touched her arm gently, "any man would gladly die for your love."
Any man but you. The sorrow and humiliation had been replaced with something else. An anger kindled slowly within her. What right had he to offer condolences? He knew nothing of her grief. She stood tall, and turning towards him, she spoke in a voice so cold and so desolate that he stepped back slightly.
"Leave. Go now and leave me to my thoughts. There is no comfort you can offer me, Aragorn son of Arathorn. My people are forced to flee their homes, my king goes off to his last battle, and the eastern darkness is drowning the sun. Hope has forsaken these lands." She closed her eyes to the expression on his face, and felt her heart freeze within her.
He turned slowly and walked out of her room, his last comment barely reaching her ears.
"Hope will never abandon you."