Chapter 4, IN which: More of the story unravels and the Elves arrive in Edoras.
Author: Sabine Hawks
Disclaimer: One again, same as Chapter One. Don't own some of 'em but please don't reproduce!
Feedback: Yes please, it's a great encouragement!
Dead, dead and rotting. Eowyn inspected the horse carcasses with growing dread. This was not going to be a pleasant summer. The grasses were yellowing from a weak rainy season and nothing had been done. Peasants were losing precious livestock to the elements and no aid was being given. She bristled; Eomer was at this very moment sulking in his chambers doing what she feared most--nothing.
"The bridels and saddles can be replaced, Birra, but these geldings--I'm so very sorry," Eowyn could say little to comfort this woman. Her family needed those horses to transport the baskets of produce to market every week's end, to train their sons for battle, to transport them on journeys to friends' houses--they needed those horses for more than Eowyn could compensate.
She left the row of cottages with a sinking heart. The stench of those dead horses permiated the land for acres and reminded her ceaselessly of the dilemma she faced. Eomer was King now and she had given up her claim to ruling Rohan when she married Faramir. She loved the Steward of Gondor, but seeing her home in disrepair and her people suffering--that forced her to challenge her decision. What could possibly keep Eomer so ignorant of the Rohirrim and their plight--had he honestly misjudged the seriousness of the drought?
Her long fingers curled around her cloak as it whipped about her in the building wind. She approached the strong mare at the top of the hill and spoke to it softly as she mounted. Eowyn road a horse properly, ignoring her skirts and the stupid social expectations about riding side-saddle. No woman of Rohan would conform to such ridiculous ideas. To strengthen that claim, a sword hung at her side and she wore short pants of soft leather under her gown. Her shoes were sturdy, nothing like the fancy slippers worn by the ladies of Minas Tirith. The ladies who tittered whenever she passed them in the corridors...
To hell with them, she thought, she was a shield-maiden of Rohan and had no need to fulfill their expectations. How they had squirmed when Faramir announced their engagement publically. A foreign woman claiming the most sought-after man in Gondor. It seemed all the powerful men of that land preferred strangers to their boarders. Aragorn wedding that Elf and his Steward taking a Rohirrim as his bride--she wondered if the Gondorian women had lost all hope of marrying well from that double dose of bad luck.
As she broke over the ridge that hid Edoras from her view, she felt an odd chill envelop her. It was not the wind, for the breeze had died down moments earlier, this was cold panic squeezing her heart. Eowyn's fair face contorted at the strange feeling, her hand pawing at her chest. Where had this pain risen from? And just as quickly as it had seized her, the ache left her body and floated off to torment another victim. As she relaxed back into her seat, released from cold fear, she spied a silvery glow growing on the horizon.
For a moment, Eowyn mistook the shimmer for an enormous gem, but soon the phenomena split in two, taking on the distinct shape of separate figures. The memory of that biting chill in her chest provoked her to ride hard to meet them, some alien motivation taking root. As she road closer, the warming spring air throwing her golden hair over her shoulders, she vaguely recognized the riders as two women.
Two women adorned in silver? No Rohirrim she knew of chose that particular color, especially not within the peasant class. This propelled her curiosity further, and as her heels dug into the flanks of her horse, she wondered what business these strangers had within her lands. No, her brother's lands--her home.
"Hail strangers to Rohan!" Eowyn called out when they were within her sight. Tall, blonde, at ease on their horses--they could have been Rohirrim but for the purity of their skin, the starry light that flickered off of their garments and the jewels set in their hair. Eowyn's mouth twisted into a scowl: Elves.
"Heri ruve," Linelei murmured to Narcirya silently as the woman approached. Her friend nodded gravely while her eyes began to shine with forced welcome. Narcirya looked straight ahead, bringing her silvery gray steed to a stop at the crest of the hill. The blonde rider was nearing, calling out to them in the common tongue. Narcirya knew no address appropriate for this occasion.
"Aaye, wende," she greeted as the female rider slowed her horse before them. "Greetings, horse maiden, you ride with great speed to meet us," Narcirya's voice was even and calm, her chin high as she examined the mortal. Eowyn fumed under such scrutiny.
"I am Eowyn daughter of Eomund, Shield-Maiden to Rohan, sister to her King, Eomer," she announced, reigning her horse expertly so that it stood centered in front of the other riders.
Linelei watched as Narcirya effortlessly ignored the mention of their purpose. Instead, the Elf nodded her head gracefully, "We come peacefully, with intentions of visiting your King, he stayed within our lands briefly last spring." She kept any fringe information hidden, instead watching the human with cautious, alert eyes.
Eowyn listened, motionless, and looked between the two travellers quickly, "You have arrived at a time when the King can be spared least. His people suffer the burden of a dry spring and King Eomer cannot spend a moment dallying needlessly." The Rohirrim backed her strong words with an even more confident posture.
"Truly, and yet hospitality decrees that he at least meet with us, for we have ridden long and far and do not seek to be repaid for the kindness given to him in Lorien. That debt shall be forgotten if we are allowed an audience with the King," Narcirya's reply came devoid of emotion, almost mechanical. Linelei could not conceal her smile, admiring the strength and diplomacy of her companion.
Eowyn was caught by this trap, unable to ignore the mention of hospitality. She would be damned before any Elf could report that the Rohirrim were barbarians without the slightest understanding of politeness. Bringing her horse to attention, Eowyn maneuvered so that she could ride directly towards the gates of Edoras.
"You will follow me to the royal stables--"
But before any reply could be made by the Elves, a midnight black mare was bearing down upon them. The rider arrived in a thundercloud of dust, his steed braying ominously as it reared a few meters from Eowyn. Its heavy hooves shook the ground as it regained normal stance. The rider threw back his cowl and the noble face of Lord Faramir was revealed. Eowyn's hand eased on the hilt of her sword at the sight of her husband, but no smile or sign of welcome appeared.
Faramir did not notice, however, for his eyes were trained on the two Elves. The one closest to him had nocked an arrow and aimed it at his heart within the space of a blink. Her pale gray eyes were fixed on him, unwavering as she kept the arrow points at his chest. A man of great intelligence and perception, it took little or no time for him to recognize the Elf of Eomer's recollection. Her posture suggested great dignity and weight, a stance one could only adopt if they felt powerful within a country. And the speed of her movements--swifter than any human's. Not only that, but her beauty was blinding, and being a man after Eomer's heart, he knew true depth of being when he saw it. He guessed immediately the nature of their visit, but he said nothing to Eowyn of it.
"These travellers are to stable their horses and report to my chambers without interruption," Faramir announced dryly. Eowyn's gaze was harsh, unforgiving as she looked at her husband. Her indignity at being over-ruled in her own land was obvious, yet she did not rebuke his orders. Instead, she eased her horse into a steady trot and followed behind Faramir as they made for the Golden Hall and Edoras.
