Misgivings, Part 3
"Siblings"
by Kati + Laur
Disclaimer: We just dabble. We do not own. (But we wish we did.)
Summary (Part 3): Eomer remembers the day that made him a man. And Eowyn wants to prove that she is an equal.
Eomer entered his chambers, preparing to leave with the others. Aragorn had wanted to leave before nightfall, enough time to eat and equip, and then they were to be on their way. He crossed to the other side of the room, where tapestries, used weapons, and antiques made their home. His eyes ran over the wall quickly, and he found what he had been looking for, something he hid a long time ago. No one else would know it's special meaning, except for him.
===============================
A blank grey day. Like many seen in the Rohirrim. But today was darker, and black heavy clouds loomed in the distance. A young boy of ten, with long scraggly blond hair sat on the steps of the palace of Edoras. The wild wind pulled his hair back, and stung his eyes. But they were small and focused, and never moved from the horizon. Columns of smoke rose from beyond the hills and the faint battle cries of his countrymen echoed through the valley.
"You said they'd be back by now. Why is it taking them so long to return?"
"Fear not, my dear boy. Your father and uncle have in each of them the strength of three men and the bravery of ten." A deep gentle voice from behind him spoke.
The boy spun himself around on the step and stared straight up at the old man before him, his deep blue eyes set into his young face were sad and lonely. "I don't understand." He twisted his neck to look at the horizon again. "Why is this happening?"
A grey beard bent down to the boy's level, and an old liver-spotted hand was placed on his small shoulder. "The greed in men's hearts is what makes war. It is the courage of others that rights their wrongs." The old man himself looked towards the horizon. "There is never an end to times like these. Only new beginnings." He looked once again at the fair-haired boy. "New leaders will be forged and new heroes will be made."
Despite the intensity of his blue eyes, they showed his confusion at the old man's words. All he understood was that he and his sister were in Edoras...and his father was not.
"The time will come when you will understand. Now you are too young to follow the ramblings of an old man." He said with a chuckle and turned on his old knotted staff and took quivering steps to the doors of the great hall.
But then he heard a noise. In the distance. His ears may have been old, but they were as keen and as sharp as ever. A horse. But just any horse. A purebred of Edoras.
The boy heard it too. But now there were two horses. Nay, three. Soon, the whineying of a dozen drowned out the screams and crackling fires in the distance. The men on the horses' backs entered the city, running up the steep sides of the hill.
"MAKE WAY STORMCROW!" The lead soldier shouted. The old man pulled the boy backwards out of the doorway and placed a protective arm across his chest. Shining armour walked with hastened steps past the wide-eyed pair as their blood covered swords clanged against the stone ground. Four of them held a cot, each struggling with the weight of the person within it. The wounded was covered in blood and it lay in dried up pools on his face. Fresh cuts bled new red fluid onto the expression of horror that was on his face. Though his eyes were closed and mouth showed nothing, no one could mistake the appearence of fear. As the troops rushed past, a flash of gold around the limp neck caught the boy's eye. Small and round like a disc. But the men were too fast. They moved too quickly; he could not see what was there.
"No. It couldn't be." The boy muttered to himself. He looked up at the old man beside him, but the grey one's own eyes watched as the men lumbered their way up the ancient stone steps.
The leading man pushed the doors of the hall open and motioned for the burdened men to enter. "Come Stormcrow. You are needed." The soldier pleaded with the old man. He motioned at the entrance to the hall and hurried inside himself to follow the other men.
A few grunts of contemplation crossed the grey man's lips as he stroked his long knotted beard. "Wait outside here, son." The boy with the deep blue eyes could only stand and watch as the old man's weathered grey boots shuffled across the floor and into the hall. The heavy doors shut behind the grey cloak -
except for a tiny opening. Just small enough for him to see the men inside. His silent feet crept over the to the heavy gold-laden doors. Kneeling on the cold stone, he peered inside, but only saw faint shapes of soldiers with shining scabbards. Then, he heard his uncle's voice inside the Great Hall. "It was an orc.", he sighed. "An arrow straight through his back."
"Is there nothing you can do for him?" Another soldier asked.
"No. His life cannot be placed in my hands, for there is no life here." The old man sighed. "He was slain on the field. Bringing him back here held no purpose. Eomund is dead."
The boy gasped and used all his might to push open the doors to the Hall. His words were quick and jumbled as he ran over to his corpse's side. His small pale fingers traced the outline of the cold jawline and pushed a few strands of bloodied blonde hair out of the dead man's face. The face of his father.
Tears welled up in the boy's eyes. And soon, he could not stop them from falling. They streamed down his face and fell on his father's own bloodied sword, laid neatly at his side.
After all his centuries upon the earth, this was a moment that would stay with the old man forever.
He knelt down and took the boy gently by the arm. The boy fought back, wanting to stay by his father's side, but the grey one persisted. And he led a heartbroken, sobbing orphan to his room.
It seemed like days the boy had been crying. The furs on his bed were covered with wet patches of his tears. His younger sister laid beside him on the bed. While he cried, she only seemed to sleep. She was only six years old. She did not understand what was going on. She did not understand that their father would not be there tomorrow, or the next
day, or the day after. While everyone wandered around the castle making arrangements for the burial, he seemed the only one who realized that his father would never be coming back.
"Eomer?" A voice called from behind the door.
"What is it?" His tired and weak voice managed to reply.
The door to his back creaked open, filling the room with a ray of bright light that blinded the boy's eyes. "Eomer. Did I disturb you?" His uncle asked.
"No." The boy flung his head back onto the pile of furs he was using as his pillow. He was angry at his uncle. He didn't understand why, but he was. After all, he was there. Couldn't his uncle saved his father while they were in battle? The boy knew that there was something that could have been done. But nothing was. And now his father would take his place with his own fathers, underneath the earth.
"I understand you are sad, Eomer." His uncle tried to speak words of comfort, but each syllable fell short of solace. "Your father was a brave man. Full of spirit." Even the boy's uncle thought that the words sounded empty and hollow at a time like this. He reached over to his side, where a heavy, polished sword hung. He unbuckled the steel blade from his belt and adjusted the scabbard beneath the hilt. He held it in presentation to his nephew. The long sword rested carefully in his hands, out-streched and a few inches from the boy.
"I was told to give this to you." He continued. "It belonged to your father. He wanted you to take it if..." His voice trailed off. It was probably better that he did not finish his
sentence anyway.
The boy's eyes scanned the black leather of the scabbard. His uncle motioned with his full hands for him to take the blade. A small trembling hand lifted the steel from his uncle's palms and it was placed on his own lap. He stared at the sword a few moments. What was he waiting for? The boy didn't know. He was hoping something magical would happen. But the room was still and silent but for the loud breaths of his sleeping sister, and his own breath, heaving inside his chest.
He ran his hand across the smooth soft casing and slowly removed the it from the shining blade. He sank slightly under the weight of the scabbard. He waved the sword in front of him as he tried to get an idea of how much it could have weighed. He traced his fingers along the intricate engravings that went from the hilt to tip. Small carvings of vines and small flowers, all of which were painted with gold. The uncle watched in silence as his nephew examined the steel within between the boy's tiny fingers.
"You are destined for tremendous things, Eomer." His uncle finally spoke. "I know this. Your father knew it too." He pointed to the sword. "That is a sword of great men, just like your father was."
===============================
He had never used it. It was not until this moment before him that he knew that his father's prophecy was true. Eomer was indeed meant to do great things. He would no longer be that scared little boy, but now, he would take his place as a man, and do his father proud. He threw the ancient blade and his tattered black leather scabbard over his shoulder, and started searching his room for any other item he may need on his journey.
Behind him, a white haze passed his room, then slowly, Eowyn retraced her steps, and walked in, hovering in the doorway. She watched her brother rush about, shifting through his things.
"Eomer, what are you doing?" said Eowyn.
Eomer felt his heart jump. Not hearing his own sister enter, he turned to her and smiled weakly. "Eowyn, what are you doing?"
Eowyn's mouth didn't change from his usual omnious expression. She stepped further into the room. "I believe I asked first, brother," she began. Her voice sounded questioning to Eomer, untrusting. her eyes running over the things he had at hand: a sword, a leather sack apparently full of things, his mail on under hisleather strappings. A terrible thought dawned upon her. "You're leaving." She said flatly.
"It is of great importance that I go, Eowyn--"
"Where are you going?" She shouted. "You returned only a short time ago."
Eomer's shoulders slumped as he looked upon his sister's worried but nonetheless stern expression. Quietly, he said: "To attack Gondor. A great evil has been unleashed there. I leave with Lord Aragorn and his company before nightfall."
Eowyn blinked and stared at her brother. It took a moment of silence for it all to sink in. Overwhelming dread flooded her thoughts, yet she held back her tears. Her eyes shifted to his bag, and the anger started to boil over from underneath the surface. She stomped over to him, her jaw locked in emotional upset, and snatched it from his hand. Having untied it,
she rummaged through its contents. "A blanket, dagger, some armor, rations for one..." she listed off to herself, her words growing in bitterness as she continued. She drew the drawstring tightly closed and shoved it back into her brother's chest.
"And what? Nothing for me?"
Eomer expression changed into a blank slate. "What would I--"
"You know, silly jewels for the silly girl?" Her words dripped with anger.
He couldn't have been hearing this. There was no way she would suggest what he thought she was if she were in her right mind. He shook his head, his forehead folding as he took a step back from his sister. "No," he told her, his hand up, his voice low and determined, knowing what she wanted to do.
"How dare you--"
Eomer's voice sped up, his frustration beginning to show. He would not allow for his sister to join the company. "You will not dare think of coming along. Your place is here, tending to our country and our uncle. He's old, Eowyn, weak and our country is burdened. If we both leave, and neither of us are to return, that would do the damage of a poisoned-tipped sword shearing through Theoden. Neither would survive the blow."
Eowyn fumed, shaking off his hard grip. "And the fact that I am a woman has nothing to do with it?"
"You are my sister--"
"You know very well that I can fight with the best of them!"
"You will not!" shouted Eomer, then whispered, "I forbid it, Eowyn."
Eowyn held her lips in a trembling line, trying to regain control of herself. Her eyes searched the room for anything. ANYTHING that would be a sign. He eyes landed on Eomer's shoulder where she recognized the shining gold hilt and tattered leather scabbard that lay there. She reached over and pulled it off of her brother, with force that he, himself was surprised she possessed. "You think you're the only one in this whole country who lost Father!" She screamed between tears as she raised the sword and scabbard above her head. "You always thought that everything relied on you growing up. Well, it no longer does." She threw the sword back at Eomer, but he missed and it clanged against the stone floor and echoed out into the hallway.
"I will not allow you to be the only one that this broken family ever placed its hopes in. Father believed in us. Not just you, but me too." She reached around her neck and pulled out a golden disc. The carvings on the disc were vines and flowers that were identical to those etched onto Eomer's sword. She held the pendant farther out for him to see. he had forgotten all about it. "He believed in me too."
She let the pendant fall back to its proper position on her neck. "Don't leave me behind." Her voice reduced to sobs. "I want this to end. I want to make Father proud." She bent down and picked up the sword and gently handed it back to her brother.
Eomer hesitantly took it from her hands and positioned it once again around his shoulder. He stared at the gold disc around his sister's neck. "When did you get that?" His voice was shaky, and bewildered.
Eowyn pointed to the sword. "The same day you received that." She walked towards Eomer and looked pleadingly into his eyes. "We are both destined to do great things. We are both to be remembered as heroes and leaders to our land."
Eomer fell into silence, thinking quickly over the possibilities presented to him. He shouldn't do it -- it would risk her life if she dare came and hurt the family as well as Edoras if she were slain. Yet he knew she was most skilled with the sword -- and that gave him some hope that she would actually help their mission and survive. Glancing around the room,
his mind racing, he came to the dangerous conclusion.
He spoke in a low voice. "Go to the armoury and dress quickly, sister. But dress like that of a soldier. Hide any feminity about you."
Eowyn looked at her brother, bewildered.
"Leave, Eowyn. You must hurry. We haven't much time. I'll pack anything else you need. Just disguise yourself as one of my men and obtain your sword."
She stared in disbelief, then launched herself forward, throwing her arms around her brother's neck. She then ran out of the room toward the armoury. He turned back to the rest of his room, his eyes searching for the things she would need -- satchel, rations, and so on. He shouldn't let her go. He would mourn too deeply if she were hurt. But secretly he was relieved she was coming along. He smiled inwardly.
[end part 3]
"Siblings"
by Kati + Laur
Disclaimer: We just dabble. We do not own. (But we wish we did.)
Summary (Part 3): Eomer remembers the day that made him a man. And Eowyn wants to prove that she is an equal.
Eomer entered his chambers, preparing to leave with the others. Aragorn had wanted to leave before nightfall, enough time to eat and equip, and then they were to be on their way. He crossed to the other side of the room, where tapestries, used weapons, and antiques made their home. His eyes ran over the wall quickly, and he found what he had been looking for, something he hid a long time ago. No one else would know it's special meaning, except for him.
===============================
A blank grey day. Like many seen in the Rohirrim. But today was darker, and black heavy clouds loomed in the distance. A young boy of ten, with long scraggly blond hair sat on the steps of the palace of Edoras. The wild wind pulled his hair back, and stung his eyes. But they were small and focused, and never moved from the horizon. Columns of smoke rose from beyond the hills and the faint battle cries of his countrymen echoed through the valley.
"You said they'd be back by now. Why is it taking them so long to return?"
"Fear not, my dear boy. Your father and uncle have in each of them the strength of three men and the bravery of ten." A deep gentle voice from behind him spoke.
The boy spun himself around on the step and stared straight up at the old man before him, his deep blue eyes set into his young face were sad and lonely. "I don't understand." He twisted his neck to look at the horizon again. "Why is this happening?"
A grey beard bent down to the boy's level, and an old liver-spotted hand was placed on his small shoulder. "The greed in men's hearts is what makes war. It is the courage of others that rights their wrongs." The old man himself looked towards the horizon. "There is never an end to times like these. Only new beginnings." He looked once again at the fair-haired boy. "New leaders will be forged and new heroes will be made."
Despite the intensity of his blue eyes, they showed his confusion at the old man's words. All he understood was that he and his sister were in Edoras...and his father was not.
"The time will come when you will understand. Now you are too young to follow the ramblings of an old man." He said with a chuckle and turned on his old knotted staff and took quivering steps to the doors of the great hall.
But then he heard a noise. In the distance. His ears may have been old, but they were as keen and as sharp as ever. A horse. But just any horse. A purebred of Edoras.
The boy heard it too. But now there were two horses. Nay, three. Soon, the whineying of a dozen drowned out the screams and crackling fires in the distance. The men on the horses' backs entered the city, running up the steep sides of the hill.
"MAKE WAY STORMCROW!" The lead soldier shouted. The old man pulled the boy backwards out of the doorway and placed a protective arm across his chest. Shining armour walked with hastened steps past the wide-eyed pair as their blood covered swords clanged against the stone ground. Four of them held a cot, each struggling with the weight of the person within it. The wounded was covered in blood and it lay in dried up pools on his face. Fresh cuts bled new red fluid onto the expression of horror that was on his face. Though his eyes were closed and mouth showed nothing, no one could mistake the appearence of fear. As the troops rushed past, a flash of gold around the limp neck caught the boy's eye. Small and round like a disc. But the men were too fast. They moved too quickly; he could not see what was there.
"No. It couldn't be." The boy muttered to himself. He looked up at the old man beside him, but the grey one's own eyes watched as the men lumbered their way up the ancient stone steps.
The leading man pushed the doors of the hall open and motioned for the burdened men to enter. "Come Stormcrow. You are needed." The soldier pleaded with the old man. He motioned at the entrance to the hall and hurried inside himself to follow the other men.
A few grunts of contemplation crossed the grey man's lips as he stroked his long knotted beard. "Wait outside here, son." The boy with the deep blue eyes could only stand and watch as the old man's weathered grey boots shuffled across the floor and into the hall. The heavy doors shut behind the grey cloak -
except for a tiny opening. Just small enough for him to see the men inside. His silent feet crept over the to the heavy gold-laden doors. Kneeling on the cold stone, he peered inside, but only saw faint shapes of soldiers with shining scabbards. Then, he heard his uncle's voice inside the Great Hall. "It was an orc.", he sighed. "An arrow straight through his back."
"Is there nothing you can do for him?" Another soldier asked.
"No. His life cannot be placed in my hands, for there is no life here." The old man sighed. "He was slain on the field. Bringing him back here held no purpose. Eomund is dead."
The boy gasped and used all his might to push open the doors to the Hall. His words were quick and jumbled as he ran over to his corpse's side. His small pale fingers traced the outline of the cold jawline and pushed a few strands of bloodied blonde hair out of the dead man's face. The face of his father.
Tears welled up in the boy's eyes. And soon, he could not stop them from falling. They streamed down his face and fell on his father's own bloodied sword, laid neatly at his side.
After all his centuries upon the earth, this was a moment that would stay with the old man forever.
He knelt down and took the boy gently by the arm. The boy fought back, wanting to stay by his father's side, but the grey one persisted. And he led a heartbroken, sobbing orphan to his room.
It seemed like days the boy had been crying. The furs on his bed were covered with wet patches of his tears. His younger sister laid beside him on the bed. While he cried, she only seemed to sleep. She was only six years old. She did not understand what was going on. She did not understand that their father would not be there tomorrow, or the next
day, or the day after. While everyone wandered around the castle making arrangements for the burial, he seemed the only one who realized that his father would never be coming back.
"Eomer?" A voice called from behind the door.
"What is it?" His tired and weak voice managed to reply.
The door to his back creaked open, filling the room with a ray of bright light that blinded the boy's eyes. "Eomer. Did I disturb you?" His uncle asked.
"No." The boy flung his head back onto the pile of furs he was using as his pillow. He was angry at his uncle. He didn't understand why, but he was. After all, he was there. Couldn't his uncle saved his father while they were in battle? The boy knew that there was something that could have been done. But nothing was. And now his father would take his place with his own fathers, underneath the earth.
"I understand you are sad, Eomer." His uncle tried to speak words of comfort, but each syllable fell short of solace. "Your father was a brave man. Full of spirit." Even the boy's uncle thought that the words sounded empty and hollow at a time like this. He reached over to his side, where a heavy, polished sword hung. He unbuckled the steel blade from his belt and adjusted the scabbard beneath the hilt. He held it in presentation to his nephew. The long sword rested carefully in his hands, out-streched and a few inches from the boy.
"I was told to give this to you." He continued. "It belonged to your father. He wanted you to take it if..." His voice trailed off. It was probably better that he did not finish his
sentence anyway.
The boy's eyes scanned the black leather of the scabbard. His uncle motioned with his full hands for him to take the blade. A small trembling hand lifted the steel from his uncle's palms and it was placed on his own lap. He stared at the sword a few moments. What was he waiting for? The boy didn't know. He was hoping something magical would happen. But the room was still and silent but for the loud breaths of his sleeping sister, and his own breath, heaving inside his chest.
He ran his hand across the smooth soft casing and slowly removed the it from the shining blade. He sank slightly under the weight of the scabbard. He waved the sword in front of him as he tried to get an idea of how much it could have weighed. He traced his fingers along the intricate engravings that went from the hilt to tip. Small carvings of vines and small flowers, all of which were painted with gold. The uncle watched in silence as his nephew examined the steel within between the boy's tiny fingers.
"You are destined for tremendous things, Eomer." His uncle finally spoke. "I know this. Your father knew it too." He pointed to the sword. "That is a sword of great men, just like your father was."
===============================
He had never used it. It was not until this moment before him that he knew that his father's prophecy was true. Eomer was indeed meant to do great things. He would no longer be that scared little boy, but now, he would take his place as a man, and do his father proud. He threw the ancient blade and his tattered black leather scabbard over his shoulder, and started searching his room for any other item he may need on his journey.
Behind him, a white haze passed his room, then slowly, Eowyn retraced her steps, and walked in, hovering in the doorway. She watched her brother rush about, shifting through his things.
"Eomer, what are you doing?" said Eowyn.
Eomer felt his heart jump. Not hearing his own sister enter, he turned to her and smiled weakly. "Eowyn, what are you doing?"
Eowyn's mouth didn't change from his usual omnious expression. She stepped further into the room. "I believe I asked first, brother," she began. Her voice sounded questioning to Eomer, untrusting. her eyes running over the things he had at hand: a sword, a leather sack apparently full of things, his mail on under hisleather strappings. A terrible thought dawned upon her. "You're leaving." She said flatly.
"It is of great importance that I go, Eowyn--"
"Where are you going?" She shouted. "You returned only a short time ago."
Eomer's shoulders slumped as he looked upon his sister's worried but nonetheless stern expression. Quietly, he said: "To attack Gondor. A great evil has been unleashed there. I leave with Lord Aragorn and his company before nightfall."
Eowyn blinked and stared at her brother. It took a moment of silence for it all to sink in. Overwhelming dread flooded her thoughts, yet she held back her tears. Her eyes shifted to his bag, and the anger started to boil over from underneath the surface. She stomped over to him, her jaw locked in emotional upset, and snatched it from his hand. Having untied it,
she rummaged through its contents. "A blanket, dagger, some armor, rations for one..." she listed off to herself, her words growing in bitterness as she continued. She drew the drawstring tightly closed and shoved it back into her brother's chest.
"And what? Nothing for me?"
Eomer expression changed into a blank slate. "What would I--"
"You know, silly jewels for the silly girl?" Her words dripped with anger.
He couldn't have been hearing this. There was no way she would suggest what he thought she was if she were in her right mind. He shook his head, his forehead folding as he took a step back from his sister. "No," he told her, his hand up, his voice low and determined, knowing what she wanted to do.
"How dare you--"
Eomer's voice sped up, his frustration beginning to show. He would not allow for his sister to join the company. "You will not dare think of coming along. Your place is here, tending to our country and our uncle. He's old, Eowyn, weak and our country is burdened. If we both leave, and neither of us are to return, that would do the damage of a poisoned-tipped sword shearing through Theoden. Neither would survive the blow."
Eowyn fumed, shaking off his hard grip. "And the fact that I am a woman has nothing to do with it?"
"You are my sister--"
"You know very well that I can fight with the best of them!"
"You will not!" shouted Eomer, then whispered, "I forbid it, Eowyn."
Eowyn held her lips in a trembling line, trying to regain control of herself. Her eyes searched the room for anything. ANYTHING that would be a sign. He eyes landed on Eomer's shoulder where she recognized the shining gold hilt and tattered leather scabbard that lay there. She reached over and pulled it off of her brother, with force that he, himself was surprised she possessed. "You think you're the only one in this whole country who lost Father!" She screamed between tears as she raised the sword and scabbard above her head. "You always thought that everything relied on you growing up. Well, it no longer does." She threw the sword back at Eomer, but he missed and it clanged against the stone floor and echoed out into the hallway.
"I will not allow you to be the only one that this broken family ever placed its hopes in. Father believed in us. Not just you, but me too." She reached around her neck and pulled out a golden disc. The carvings on the disc were vines and flowers that were identical to those etched onto Eomer's sword. She held the pendant farther out for him to see. he had forgotten all about it. "He believed in me too."
She let the pendant fall back to its proper position on her neck. "Don't leave me behind." Her voice reduced to sobs. "I want this to end. I want to make Father proud." She bent down and picked up the sword and gently handed it back to her brother.
Eomer hesitantly took it from her hands and positioned it once again around his shoulder. He stared at the gold disc around his sister's neck. "When did you get that?" His voice was shaky, and bewildered.
Eowyn pointed to the sword. "The same day you received that." She walked towards Eomer and looked pleadingly into his eyes. "We are both destined to do great things. We are both to be remembered as heroes and leaders to our land."
Eomer fell into silence, thinking quickly over the possibilities presented to him. He shouldn't do it -- it would risk her life if she dare came and hurt the family as well as Edoras if she were slain. Yet he knew she was most skilled with the sword -- and that gave him some hope that she would actually help their mission and survive. Glancing around the room,
his mind racing, he came to the dangerous conclusion.
He spoke in a low voice. "Go to the armoury and dress quickly, sister. But dress like that of a soldier. Hide any feminity about you."
Eowyn looked at her brother, bewildered.
"Leave, Eowyn. You must hurry. We haven't much time. I'll pack anything else you need. Just disguise yourself as one of my men and obtain your sword."
She stared in disbelief, then launched herself forward, throwing her arms around her brother's neck. She then ran out of the room toward the armoury. He turned back to the rest of his room, his eyes searching for the things she would need -- satchel, rations, and so on. He shouldn't let her go. He would mourn too deeply if she were hurt. But secretly he was relieved she was coming along. He smiled inwardly.
[end part 3]
