~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~
Why do I keep writing a frigging disclaimer? You *know* I'm not Tolkien. You *know* I don't own the characters or the places - hell, I don't even own the pens in my pencilcase! I found them on the floor in the Chemistry lab - a Biro and a Staedtler! And the end of the Biro is *chewed*. How gross is that? But I haven't seen *my* pen since that Halloween maths exam...
-------------------+-------------------
Don't flame me!
-------------------
-------------------
-------------------+-------------------
--+-- Faramir's Cell --+--
Faramir hastily picked himself up off the floor, where he had lain limp by the gully. Low voices were muttering outside the door to the cells, and he heard the gate shudder open; Aragorn, Éomer, Prince Imrahil, Legolas Thranduilion, and Gimli son of Glóin. Behind them, the hobbits Meriadoc and Peregrin peered in. Faramir wished they wouldn't. The small gate in the cage-like front wall opened. Éomer pushed through first. He drew his sword.
"I swore that I would kill you if you laid another hand on Éowyn," he snarled. "You have done more than that, though, haven't you?"
Aragorn flung out an arm to block Éomer's passage. "This is my fight now."
"She is my sister," protested Éomer; "I shall avenge her honour myself."
"This is out of your hands," Aragorn insisted. "Someone once said to me, 'A king will have his way in his own hall, be it folly or wisdom.' This is my hall, and it may be that it is my folly. Son of Denethor! Do you repent of your crime?"
"I do," said Faramir, to the floor. His voice shook with remorse, and he did not dare look Aragorn in the face.
"And do you give up all claim to the Lady Éowyn?" he continued. Faramir looked up this time.
"I do not repent of my love of the Lady," he said.
Aragorn nodded curtly. "So be it." He drew Andúril; fear crowded Faramir's eyes though he did not look away. Then the King strode out of the cell and into the small room beyond the cell area. "Húrin!" he called. Húrin, the Warden of the Keys, came to the king. "Fetch this man a sword and escort him to the training area."
--+-- The Houses of Healing --+--
Éowyn could not get to sleep. She feared the content of her dreams: Faramir's attack had been bad enough once. What was this 'business' of Aragorn's?
A fist of dread tightened on her heart. Suppose he did something drastic? Where was Faramir? Even after what he had done, Éowyn did not want to see Faramir hurt, or killed... no, Aragorn was not so rash. That was what she loved about him. It was what she had loved about-
He was a monster in her eyes, but he had not always been so. She recalled the Houses of Healing, and their time together when Aragorn was away. But then glimpses of a fist smashing into an end table, and of a face coldly glaring into hers, desiring to maim her beyond recovery...
Why had he changed? What had driven him to madness? Rejection could not do that. Éowyn suddenly wanted to learn more about her attacker, listen to him, help him. And then she realised what she was thinking. She was a Shieldmaiden no more. If this had happened in another time, back in Rohan, she would have - a flash of Andúril, swept out of its sheath, had just passed before her eyes, blinding her as it gleamed in the gloom. She knew at once what was happening - maybe her brain had known before she could process it. Aragorn was going to kill Faramir.
--+-- The Training Room --+--
Faramir stepped onto the floor, cold fire in his eyes. He remembered this room; here he had learned to fight, alongside the other Rangers of Ithilien and Guards of the City. He remembered also the conditions of such fights as these; only one of them would walk away today. They fought for the love of a fair lady, who lay sleeping... another curl of guilt squeezed his heart. But even if he won, she would never have him now, but it was a matter of principle: this fight would not decide who would have Éowyn, but who was worthy of her.
It was as Faramir mused that Andúril swung, gleaming, out of nowhere. It was about to strike Faramir's chest when he tugged the heavy guardsman's blade into place; the swords clashed with a jarring ring that reverberated along Faramir's arm. Aragorn's move had been more powerful than expected - powerful enough to kill him with that one stroke.
Andúril whirled away and made to slash at Faramir's abdomen; again, he parried. This time, the blow was even stronger, and the sword was almost shaken from Faramir's hand. The honed edges scraped as both men pulled back. Again and again, Aragorn struck; again and again, Faramir had trouble keeping up, surprised at Aragorn's vigour for a man that had not slept. Faramir had at least gained a few hours in the cell.
--+-- The Houses of Healing --+--
She stumbled out of bed, not caring to put on a robe. She opened the door and was blinded and tore down the corridor like a deer, each bare foot slamming into the floor painfully, rhythmically. Perhaps she was too late. At last she stumbled out into the courtyard. The cobbles hurt her feet, and the morning cold slapped her; it stabbed into her pores like a thousand frozen needles, but she had to keep going.
He would have been locked up; Éowyn ran into the Guard House. The walls and floor were of rough stone, and a sharp pebble pierced her foot when she entered. A sudden clash of swords echoed into the foyer. But which hallway?
--+-- The Training Room --+--
Faramir lunged, almost stumbling with the force behind his sword; he drove the sword straight between arm and chest. His sword plunged deep into the wooden bench behind Aragorn; Aragorn winced as he felt blood slide down his arm just above the elbow. Faramir had just barely missed. Aragorn's arm bore a deep slice.
The blood-lust was ebbing. Aragorn was starting to think. He could not kill his Steward. He hesitated, not wanting to strike an unarmed man; the sword was still stuck in the wood.
"Strike him, Aragorn!" called Gimli from the sidelines. "You don't get points for being fair!"
"Remember what he did," said Éomer coldly.
It was at that moment that Faramir wrenched the sword free, and swung it up with force enough to knock Aragorn's head off. It shimmered in the air about to hit its mark...
"Strider!" shouted Pippin.
But it beheaded naught but air. Aragorn had moved quickly. He was behind Faramir by now; the Steward shrank away, shocked, but stumbled and at the same time tried to duck a blow that never came. He twisted to the ground and fell on his back. Propped on his elbows, his hand scrabbled desperately for the sword. He stopped. Andúril's point was resting on his breast.
"I hoped it would not come to this," said Aragorn solemnly, without any trace of delight, "but I have taken up Éomer's mantle, and as such I must keep his promises."
--+--^--+--
There was a dull thud as of metal hitting wood. Éowyn could hear it - it was on the other side of the wall, but this corridor ran far before it turned. She turned right immediately, and began searching desperately for a passage that could take her to the door. She turned right again as soon as she could, but it led only to a flight of steps.
Fleeing down the passage again, she heard a roar of effort further down. Tears began to flood her face. "Wait, wait, please wait," she sobbed. "Aragorn, Faramir, don't..."
Éowyn stopped to mop up the tears; she could see nothing through them. And then it leapt out of the shadows: the passage she desired. It cut back into the wall diagonally, so that she would not have seen it otherwise. Flickering torchlight made the shadows within dance. A sword lay discarded just within view.
By instinct, Éowyn snatched a sword as she ran into the hall. "Don't!" she screamed. The duellists looked round. Aragorn's sword was on Faramir, who lay on the ground. "Don't kill him!"
All eyes were on her and the sparse cloth of her nightgown. There were about half a dozen people standing just behind her, where she had come in through the opening. Aragorn straightened up, lowering his sword to his side. He looked between Faramir and Éowyn and an odd look crossed his face.
He took a breath as though to speak, but hesitated. "Do you love him, Éowyn?"
Éowyn was taken aback. "What?"
"I said, do you love him? If that is the case then I will not hinder you, nor will I kill him. I want you to be happy," Aragorn hesitated again, then continued sadly, "and if that is not by my side then so be it."
"I-"
"Éowyn, do you love him or not? It is a simple question, to decide a man's fate. Choose swiftly!"
===================
Why do I keep writing a frigging disclaimer? You *know* I'm not Tolkien. You *know* I don't own the characters or the places - hell, I don't even own the pens in my pencilcase! I found them on the floor in the Chemistry lab - a Biro and a Staedtler! And the end of the Biro is *chewed*. How gross is that? But I haven't seen *my* pen since that Halloween maths exam...
-------------------+-------------------
Don't flame me!
-------------------
-------------------
-------------------+-------------------
--+-- Faramir's Cell --+--
Faramir hastily picked himself up off the floor, where he had lain limp by the gully. Low voices were muttering outside the door to the cells, and he heard the gate shudder open; Aragorn, Éomer, Prince Imrahil, Legolas Thranduilion, and Gimli son of Glóin. Behind them, the hobbits Meriadoc and Peregrin peered in. Faramir wished they wouldn't. The small gate in the cage-like front wall opened. Éomer pushed through first. He drew his sword.
"I swore that I would kill you if you laid another hand on Éowyn," he snarled. "You have done more than that, though, haven't you?"
Aragorn flung out an arm to block Éomer's passage. "This is my fight now."
"She is my sister," protested Éomer; "I shall avenge her honour myself."
"This is out of your hands," Aragorn insisted. "Someone once said to me, 'A king will have his way in his own hall, be it folly or wisdom.' This is my hall, and it may be that it is my folly. Son of Denethor! Do you repent of your crime?"
"I do," said Faramir, to the floor. His voice shook with remorse, and he did not dare look Aragorn in the face.
"And do you give up all claim to the Lady Éowyn?" he continued. Faramir looked up this time.
"I do not repent of my love of the Lady," he said.
Aragorn nodded curtly. "So be it." He drew Andúril; fear crowded Faramir's eyes though he did not look away. Then the King strode out of the cell and into the small room beyond the cell area. "Húrin!" he called. Húrin, the Warden of the Keys, came to the king. "Fetch this man a sword and escort him to the training area."
--+-- The Houses of Healing --+--
Éowyn could not get to sleep. She feared the content of her dreams: Faramir's attack had been bad enough once. What was this 'business' of Aragorn's?
A fist of dread tightened on her heart. Suppose he did something drastic? Where was Faramir? Even after what he had done, Éowyn did not want to see Faramir hurt, or killed... no, Aragorn was not so rash. That was what she loved about him. It was what she had loved about-
He was a monster in her eyes, but he had not always been so. She recalled the Houses of Healing, and their time together when Aragorn was away. But then glimpses of a fist smashing into an end table, and of a face coldly glaring into hers, desiring to maim her beyond recovery...
Why had he changed? What had driven him to madness? Rejection could not do that. Éowyn suddenly wanted to learn more about her attacker, listen to him, help him. And then she realised what she was thinking. She was a Shieldmaiden no more. If this had happened in another time, back in Rohan, she would have - a flash of Andúril, swept out of its sheath, had just passed before her eyes, blinding her as it gleamed in the gloom. She knew at once what was happening - maybe her brain had known before she could process it. Aragorn was going to kill Faramir.
--+-- The Training Room --+--
Faramir stepped onto the floor, cold fire in his eyes. He remembered this room; here he had learned to fight, alongside the other Rangers of Ithilien and Guards of the City. He remembered also the conditions of such fights as these; only one of them would walk away today. They fought for the love of a fair lady, who lay sleeping... another curl of guilt squeezed his heart. But even if he won, she would never have him now, but it was a matter of principle: this fight would not decide who would have Éowyn, but who was worthy of her.
It was as Faramir mused that Andúril swung, gleaming, out of nowhere. It was about to strike Faramir's chest when he tugged the heavy guardsman's blade into place; the swords clashed with a jarring ring that reverberated along Faramir's arm. Aragorn's move had been more powerful than expected - powerful enough to kill him with that one stroke.
Andúril whirled away and made to slash at Faramir's abdomen; again, he parried. This time, the blow was even stronger, and the sword was almost shaken from Faramir's hand. The honed edges scraped as both men pulled back. Again and again, Aragorn struck; again and again, Faramir had trouble keeping up, surprised at Aragorn's vigour for a man that had not slept. Faramir had at least gained a few hours in the cell.
--+-- The Houses of Healing --+--
She stumbled out of bed, not caring to put on a robe. She opened the door and was blinded and tore down the corridor like a deer, each bare foot slamming into the floor painfully, rhythmically. Perhaps she was too late. At last she stumbled out into the courtyard. The cobbles hurt her feet, and the morning cold slapped her; it stabbed into her pores like a thousand frozen needles, but she had to keep going.
He would have been locked up; Éowyn ran into the Guard House. The walls and floor were of rough stone, and a sharp pebble pierced her foot when she entered. A sudden clash of swords echoed into the foyer. But which hallway?
--+-- The Training Room --+--
Faramir lunged, almost stumbling with the force behind his sword; he drove the sword straight between arm and chest. His sword plunged deep into the wooden bench behind Aragorn; Aragorn winced as he felt blood slide down his arm just above the elbow. Faramir had just barely missed. Aragorn's arm bore a deep slice.
The blood-lust was ebbing. Aragorn was starting to think. He could not kill his Steward. He hesitated, not wanting to strike an unarmed man; the sword was still stuck in the wood.
"Strike him, Aragorn!" called Gimli from the sidelines. "You don't get points for being fair!"
"Remember what he did," said Éomer coldly.
It was at that moment that Faramir wrenched the sword free, and swung it up with force enough to knock Aragorn's head off. It shimmered in the air about to hit its mark...
"Strider!" shouted Pippin.
But it beheaded naught but air. Aragorn had moved quickly. He was behind Faramir by now; the Steward shrank away, shocked, but stumbled and at the same time tried to duck a blow that never came. He twisted to the ground and fell on his back. Propped on his elbows, his hand scrabbled desperately for the sword. He stopped. Andúril's point was resting on his breast.
"I hoped it would not come to this," said Aragorn solemnly, without any trace of delight, "but I have taken up Éomer's mantle, and as such I must keep his promises."
--+--^--+--
There was a dull thud as of metal hitting wood. Éowyn could hear it - it was on the other side of the wall, but this corridor ran far before it turned. She turned right immediately, and began searching desperately for a passage that could take her to the door. She turned right again as soon as she could, but it led only to a flight of steps.
Fleeing down the passage again, she heard a roar of effort further down. Tears began to flood her face. "Wait, wait, please wait," she sobbed. "Aragorn, Faramir, don't..."
Éowyn stopped to mop up the tears; she could see nothing through them. And then it leapt out of the shadows: the passage she desired. It cut back into the wall diagonally, so that she would not have seen it otherwise. Flickering torchlight made the shadows within dance. A sword lay discarded just within view.
By instinct, Éowyn snatched a sword as she ran into the hall. "Don't!" she screamed. The duellists looked round. Aragorn's sword was on Faramir, who lay on the ground. "Don't kill him!"
All eyes were on her and the sparse cloth of her nightgown. There were about half a dozen people standing just behind her, where she had come in through the opening. Aragorn straightened up, lowering his sword to his side. He looked between Faramir and Éowyn and an odd look crossed his face.
He took a breath as though to speak, but hesitated. "Do you love him, Éowyn?"
Éowyn was taken aback. "What?"
"I said, do you love him? If that is the case then I will not hinder you, nor will I kill him. I want you to be happy," Aragorn hesitated again, then continued sadly, "and if that is not by my side then so be it."
"I-"
"Éowyn, do you love him or not? It is a simple question, to decide a man's fate. Choose swiftly!"
===================