This is the first bit I've published on ff.net, though I am working on some
longer pieces. This is just a little one-shot based on footage from the
RotK trailer that didn't appear in the film. Hopefully it will show up in
the extended edition. Anyway, if you like it, review. If you don't,
well...I'm happy to get constructive criticism. Anything else is just a
waste of all our time.
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me and I'm not making any money off of this. I'm just taking a couple of them out for a spin. Hammal is mine, and yes, I did pull that name out of my ass. The two-thirds figure is also from my nether regions. I wrote this pretty late at night, no beta, and I didn't feel like researching. Deal with it.
Grief and Hope
Pellenor Fields:
The battle was over. The last of the ghost warriors had gone to their well- earned rest. The enemy had retreated. Now all that was left to do was help the wounded and bury the dead.
Eomer stood before the ruined gates of the white city with Aragorn, Galdalf, Legolas, and Gimli, discussing where the dead should be put until transport to their homelands could be arranged. As of yet, he was operating under the assumption that his uncle, King Theoden, was wounded and had yet to be found by their warriors. Until such time as the king turned up, he was de facto leader of his people. Those that were left. Eomer's heart was heavy with the knowledge that no fewer than two thirds of the brave souls who had answered the plea of Gondor now lay dead on the once green fields of Pellenor.
He had watched many of them fall, first to the orcs, then to the Haradrim and their monstrous oliphaunts. Many had simply been crushed under the gigantic feet of the beasts. Eomer doubted they would be able to be identified. He sent a silent prayer to the gods that his uncle was not among them, as well as a thanks that his dear sister was safe at Edoras, away from all this sorrow and death.
Eomer was pulled from his council with the last of the Fellowship by the approach of one of his captains. Hammal was one of his oldest friends, the son of a Rohirric noble. They'd gone through all their training together. They'd fought many battles together, lost many comrades together. Never had Eomer seen such an expression of sorrow on Hammal's face, shrouded as it was with dirt and sweat. His normally blonde hair was the same filty brown, and his silver and leather armor was dull with dirt and splattered blood, red and black. He walked slowly to Eomer, two other soldiers following behind. Eomer felt fear sieze his heart when Hammal met his eyes. He was trying to suppress tears. Hammal never cried.
Hammal was carrying his uncle's helmet.
A knot of grief lodged in Eomer's throat as Hammal stopped in front of him and knelt on one knee, head bowed.
"My king," he said, offering the helmet to Eomer.
All conversation behind him stopped. Eomer vaguely registered Aragorn's hand on his shoulder as he reached with shaking hands to take the helmet from his friend. Eomer held it in his hands, staring at the gold and silver, the etched horses racing around the perimeter. This was not his. It was not his destiny or his choice. He was never meant to be king.
But it was not over yet. Another soldier, this time running full tilt towards the assembled leaders, came to a panting halt just behind Hammal. "My lord," he began, gasping for breath.
Hammal rose to support the man and Eomer took his other side. The man looked, if at all possible, even more grief-struck than Hammal had. Eomer dreaded to hear his message, but nodded at him to continue anyway.
The messenger looked around fearfully at the men, then leaned in close to Eomer, whispering in his ear. Eomer reeled back from him in shock, his face paling under the accumulated grime of the battle and eyes wide in disbelief. He took two staggering steps back, flinching away when Aragorn and Gandalf tried to support him. Chest heaving, Eomer looked off in the direction from which the messerger had come, dropping his uncle's helm into the muck.
No. It was not possible. It just...couldn't be.
Eomer glanced wildly at the concerned faces of his fellow warriors, then took off running.
Aragorn and Legolas immediately gave chase while Gandalf called for Shadowfax, Gimli anxiously at his side. Hammal took the now-sobbing messenger by the shoulders and gave him a strong shake.
"What did you tell him?" he demanded.
The man just shook his head and cried harder.
Hammal shook him again. "What is it?"
The soldier looked into Hammal's eyes and whispered shakily, "Eowyn."
Hammal closed his eyes for a moment, grief flooding him. He should have known. They all should have. Eowyn was not called shield-maiden for nothing. They should have known. He released the soldier, who collapsed to his knees, and called for a horse from one of his subordinates. Turning to Gandalf and Gimli, he simply said, "They have found Eowyn among the dead."
Gandalf's face tightened in surprise and sympathy, while Gimli's blanched under his auburn beard. Thankfully, Shadowfax and another horse arrived quickly and the three were off after their kings.
Eomer sprinted across the field, jumping over dead and injured orcs, men, and beasts. His mad flight was fueled by desperation. It couldn't be true. She couldn't be dead. She was injured, but she couldn't be dead. He couldn't lose the last of his family. The gods would not do that to him.
Wind whipped his blond hair into a tangled cloud behind him as he ran, eyes half blinded with tears. Finally, he found a small group of Rohirrim gathered around a body. A motionless, terrifyingly still body that was far too slim to be a warrior's, with a long mane of sun-kissed hair. A sword was still clutched in the tiny hand.
Eomer burst through the quiet men who scattered immediately, not wanting to witness the breaking of their honored commander. Eomer stood in disbelief, panting and sweating, at the form of his sister, sprawled against the body of a dead horse. Not five feet away was the helmet and mace of the Witch King of Angmar. But Eomer paid them no attention.
Aragorn and Legolas caught up with the new King of Rohan just as he fell to his knees next to Eowyn, tears streaming down his face. Gandalf, Gimli, and Hammal were not far behind. They dismounted and stood with the other two, watching silently as Eomer reached out a shaking hand to reverently brush a stray lock of hair away from his sister's pale face. As he felt how cool her skin was, Eomer's last spark of hope died. A low keening began in his gut and worked its way up through his lungs and throat until it burst out of his mouth in a wail that sent shivers up the spines of all those who watched.
Eomer fell forward over the body of his beloved sister, gathering her into his arms and rocking her slender form. He reared back, cradling her, another scream of pure desolation aimed skyward at the gods who had betrayed him.
Aragorn made to go to Eomer, but Hammal's hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"Nay, my lord. He cannot grieve for them all, but we can let him grieve for his sister, at least. She fought bravely. She was-a true-warrior-of Rohan-" Hammal's voice broke under the weight of his own sorrow. As Eomer was his battle-brother, so too had Eowyn been a sister to him. Now his king had no one. Aragorn enfolded the man in a swift embrace.
"Not all hope is yet lost. I see no wounds." Aragorn turned again to Eomer, now silently rocking his sister's body, stroking her hair and staring blindly into nothing.
Gandalf also approached the stricken king. "I also believe there may be hope. If she were truly the one to kill the Witch-King, which now seems most likely, then I believe she is still alive."
Gandalf and Aragorn knelt beside Eomer, Aragorn gently covering one of Eomer's hands with his own. "May we examine her, Eomer?"
Eomer looked up at them blindly, stilling in his movements.
Legolas and Gimli stood slightly apart from the others, not wanting to interfere with the wizard and the kings. They were both looking around for others survivors, albeit half-heartedly, when Legolas's keen sight spotted a tattered grey cloak of Elvish make peeking out from underneath the body of a dead orc. He took a hesitant step towards it, drawing Gimli's attention.
"What do you see?" Gimli asked.
Legolas shook his head briefly, unable to answer. Fear and hope struck him at once as he swiftly ran to the fallen orc, Gimli huffing and puffing right behind. Legolas shoved the disgusting creature off the cloak to reveal the still body of Meriodac Brandybuck.
Aragorn gently took Eowyn's body from her brother's embrace and laid her flat on the ground. He and Gandalf leaned close, looking intently for any signs of life. Her sword arm was ice-cold, and she was seemingly still, but Gandalf faintly felt her ribcage move under his seeking hand. Aragorn felt the barest breath stirring against his fingers. Their eyes met, guarded but hopeful.
Legolas and Gimli inspected Merry's body for damage, but could find none. Except that his sword arm was cold as ice, and his fingers were black with some sort of ash, but there did not appear to be any kind of burn. He still breathed, though shallowly.
"Eomer," Aragorn said quietly, "Eowyn yet lives."
His soft voice penetrated the fog in Eomer's mind. He looked up at Aragorn intensely. "She's alive?" he whispered.
"Aye, my friend. She lives. But we must get her to the halls of healing, or she may still pass." Aragorn stood and moved away, calling for a litter to bear her back to the White City. He was quickly flagged down by Legolas and Gimli and went to inspect Merry.
Gandalf stood and joined Hammal, whose tears still flowed, but now over a face bright with joy. The old wizard clapped a hand on the soldier's shoulder and said, "Have a hope, my friend. There are yet miracles in this world."
Hammal smiled at him. "This is one I could not have dared hope for, for my lord's sake. He has lost so much already."
Gandalf nodded as Eomer leaned down to place a gentle kiss on Eowyn's forehead, tears of relief and hope also streaming down his face. "I believe more are possible. Come, we have much work to do."
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me and I'm not making any money off of this. I'm just taking a couple of them out for a spin. Hammal is mine, and yes, I did pull that name out of my ass. The two-thirds figure is also from my nether regions. I wrote this pretty late at night, no beta, and I didn't feel like researching. Deal with it.
Grief and Hope
Pellenor Fields:
The battle was over. The last of the ghost warriors had gone to their well- earned rest. The enemy had retreated. Now all that was left to do was help the wounded and bury the dead.
Eomer stood before the ruined gates of the white city with Aragorn, Galdalf, Legolas, and Gimli, discussing where the dead should be put until transport to their homelands could be arranged. As of yet, he was operating under the assumption that his uncle, King Theoden, was wounded and had yet to be found by their warriors. Until such time as the king turned up, he was de facto leader of his people. Those that were left. Eomer's heart was heavy with the knowledge that no fewer than two thirds of the brave souls who had answered the plea of Gondor now lay dead on the once green fields of Pellenor.
He had watched many of them fall, first to the orcs, then to the Haradrim and their monstrous oliphaunts. Many had simply been crushed under the gigantic feet of the beasts. Eomer doubted they would be able to be identified. He sent a silent prayer to the gods that his uncle was not among them, as well as a thanks that his dear sister was safe at Edoras, away from all this sorrow and death.
Eomer was pulled from his council with the last of the Fellowship by the approach of one of his captains. Hammal was one of his oldest friends, the son of a Rohirric noble. They'd gone through all their training together. They'd fought many battles together, lost many comrades together. Never had Eomer seen such an expression of sorrow on Hammal's face, shrouded as it was with dirt and sweat. His normally blonde hair was the same filty brown, and his silver and leather armor was dull with dirt and splattered blood, red and black. He walked slowly to Eomer, two other soldiers following behind. Eomer felt fear sieze his heart when Hammal met his eyes. He was trying to suppress tears. Hammal never cried.
Hammal was carrying his uncle's helmet.
A knot of grief lodged in Eomer's throat as Hammal stopped in front of him and knelt on one knee, head bowed.
"My king," he said, offering the helmet to Eomer.
All conversation behind him stopped. Eomer vaguely registered Aragorn's hand on his shoulder as he reached with shaking hands to take the helmet from his friend. Eomer held it in his hands, staring at the gold and silver, the etched horses racing around the perimeter. This was not his. It was not his destiny or his choice. He was never meant to be king.
But it was not over yet. Another soldier, this time running full tilt towards the assembled leaders, came to a panting halt just behind Hammal. "My lord," he began, gasping for breath.
Hammal rose to support the man and Eomer took his other side. The man looked, if at all possible, even more grief-struck than Hammal had. Eomer dreaded to hear his message, but nodded at him to continue anyway.
The messenger looked around fearfully at the men, then leaned in close to Eomer, whispering in his ear. Eomer reeled back from him in shock, his face paling under the accumulated grime of the battle and eyes wide in disbelief. He took two staggering steps back, flinching away when Aragorn and Gandalf tried to support him. Chest heaving, Eomer looked off in the direction from which the messerger had come, dropping his uncle's helm into the muck.
No. It was not possible. It just...couldn't be.
Eomer glanced wildly at the concerned faces of his fellow warriors, then took off running.
Aragorn and Legolas immediately gave chase while Gandalf called for Shadowfax, Gimli anxiously at his side. Hammal took the now-sobbing messenger by the shoulders and gave him a strong shake.
"What did you tell him?" he demanded.
The man just shook his head and cried harder.
Hammal shook him again. "What is it?"
The soldier looked into Hammal's eyes and whispered shakily, "Eowyn."
Hammal closed his eyes for a moment, grief flooding him. He should have known. They all should have. Eowyn was not called shield-maiden for nothing. They should have known. He released the soldier, who collapsed to his knees, and called for a horse from one of his subordinates. Turning to Gandalf and Gimli, he simply said, "They have found Eowyn among the dead."
Gandalf's face tightened in surprise and sympathy, while Gimli's blanched under his auburn beard. Thankfully, Shadowfax and another horse arrived quickly and the three were off after their kings.
Eomer sprinted across the field, jumping over dead and injured orcs, men, and beasts. His mad flight was fueled by desperation. It couldn't be true. She couldn't be dead. She was injured, but she couldn't be dead. He couldn't lose the last of his family. The gods would not do that to him.
Wind whipped his blond hair into a tangled cloud behind him as he ran, eyes half blinded with tears. Finally, he found a small group of Rohirrim gathered around a body. A motionless, terrifyingly still body that was far too slim to be a warrior's, with a long mane of sun-kissed hair. A sword was still clutched in the tiny hand.
Eomer burst through the quiet men who scattered immediately, not wanting to witness the breaking of their honored commander. Eomer stood in disbelief, panting and sweating, at the form of his sister, sprawled against the body of a dead horse. Not five feet away was the helmet and mace of the Witch King of Angmar. But Eomer paid them no attention.
Aragorn and Legolas caught up with the new King of Rohan just as he fell to his knees next to Eowyn, tears streaming down his face. Gandalf, Gimli, and Hammal were not far behind. They dismounted and stood with the other two, watching silently as Eomer reached out a shaking hand to reverently brush a stray lock of hair away from his sister's pale face. As he felt how cool her skin was, Eomer's last spark of hope died. A low keening began in his gut and worked its way up through his lungs and throat until it burst out of his mouth in a wail that sent shivers up the spines of all those who watched.
Eomer fell forward over the body of his beloved sister, gathering her into his arms and rocking her slender form. He reared back, cradling her, another scream of pure desolation aimed skyward at the gods who had betrayed him.
Aragorn made to go to Eomer, but Hammal's hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"Nay, my lord. He cannot grieve for them all, but we can let him grieve for his sister, at least. She fought bravely. She was-a true-warrior-of Rohan-" Hammal's voice broke under the weight of his own sorrow. As Eomer was his battle-brother, so too had Eowyn been a sister to him. Now his king had no one. Aragorn enfolded the man in a swift embrace.
"Not all hope is yet lost. I see no wounds." Aragorn turned again to Eomer, now silently rocking his sister's body, stroking her hair and staring blindly into nothing.
Gandalf also approached the stricken king. "I also believe there may be hope. If she were truly the one to kill the Witch-King, which now seems most likely, then I believe she is still alive."
Gandalf and Aragorn knelt beside Eomer, Aragorn gently covering one of Eomer's hands with his own. "May we examine her, Eomer?"
Eomer looked up at them blindly, stilling in his movements.
Legolas and Gimli stood slightly apart from the others, not wanting to interfere with the wizard and the kings. They were both looking around for others survivors, albeit half-heartedly, when Legolas's keen sight spotted a tattered grey cloak of Elvish make peeking out from underneath the body of a dead orc. He took a hesitant step towards it, drawing Gimli's attention.
"What do you see?" Gimli asked.
Legolas shook his head briefly, unable to answer. Fear and hope struck him at once as he swiftly ran to the fallen orc, Gimli huffing and puffing right behind. Legolas shoved the disgusting creature off the cloak to reveal the still body of Meriodac Brandybuck.
Aragorn gently took Eowyn's body from her brother's embrace and laid her flat on the ground. He and Gandalf leaned close, looking intently for any signs of life. Her sword arm was ice-cold, and she was seemingly still, but Gandalf faintly felt her ribcage move under his seeking hand. Aragorn felt the barest breath stirring against his fingers. Their eyes met, guarded but hopeful.
Legolas and Gimli inspected Merry's body for damage, but could find none. Except that his sword arm was cold as ice, and his fingers were black with some sort of ash, but there did not appear to be any kind of burn. He still breathed, though shallowly.
"Eomer," Aragorn said quietly, "Eowyn yet lives."
His soft voice penetrated the fog in Eomer's mind. He looked up at Aragorn intensely. "She's alive?" he whispered.
"Aye, my friend. She lives. But we must get her to the halls of healing, or she may still pass." Aragorn stood and moved away, calling for a litter to bear her back to the White City. He was quickly flagged down by Legolas and Gimli and went to inspect Merry.
Gandalf stood and joined Hammal, whose tears still flowed, but now over a face bright with joy. The old wizard clapped a hand on the soldier's shoulder and said, "Have a hope, my friend. There are yet miracles in this world."
Hammal smiled at him. "This is one I could not have dared hope for, for my lord's sake. He has lost so much already."
Gandalf nodded as Eomer leaned down to place a gentle kiss on Eowyn's forehead, tears of relief and hope also streaming down his face. "I believe more are possible. Come, we have much work to do."