~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~
I don't own Middle-earth or the people in it. You don't *seriously* need a disclaimer by now? Not that you read them. Do you? Sad, sad children. I could be calling the load of you S-O-Bs and you wouldn't know the difference. (I'm not calling you S-O-Bs by the way.) Just read the story. Read the fruit of my fingers. Don't waste time on the disclaimer. ... You just don't get the hint, do you?
-------------------+-------------------
Don't flame me!
-------------------
Lúthien Tinuviel8: Thank you for reading on! No, I haven't checked Chap. 16, but I keep meaning to (as you do) and you're probably the first person to ever call me "on top of things"! I'm just looking at it now... right at the bottom of the page, about the Kinslaying? Nah, that's intentional - this is for those unfamiliar with Gondorian history:
The Rohirrim are descended from the Northmen; Valacar the 20th King married a northern princess, and people in Gondor were pretty p-o-ed that their next king was half-'barbarian' and not pure Númenorean, when young Eldacar took the throne, a civil war started. Eldacar was exiled and his heir Ornendil was executed by the usurper Castamir. After ten years, Eldacar returned to claim the throne and the line of kings continued, but there were considerably less Gondorians to rule after that war.
ANYWAYS Aragorn is very difficult to write in this story. Thank you - I don't want the whole story to pivot on Faramir's punishment.
Common Welsh Green: Lol, yes *I* can.
Writerbrat: Yeah, but Merry came under the Black Breath and never saw Éowyn in the Houses of Healing before Aragorn healed her. Pippin remembers what she looked like "in a swoon". What's wrong with Faramir?! I redeemed him! :)
Necole: No, he's not turning into an ass.
-------------------
Where's the rest o' yeh? Read! And, moreover, review! I've just uploaded a little parody called "The Meeting of the Ways" - it's an argument between Gollum, Yoda and Dobby. I take notions sometimes. Sorry this one took so long, I just couldn't get the words out.
-------------------+-------------------
--+-- The Training Room --+--
Benches lined the walls of the training room, reserved for the teachers who judged the ability, and the students who judged the men. It was said that a man's sword-style said volumes about his character, but teachers will just as easy pass a crooked man who kills his opponent through dirty tactics, as they will an upright citizen and honourable player who knocks his foe out.
But the two who sat there then judged nothing.
"Please, just talk to me," said Aragorn. "I didn't know your choice would be so difficult."
"Matters of the heart are rarely clear-cut," sighed Éowyn. She was silent for a moment. "I might have loved him, had I never met you."
"Éowyn, if you would rather be with him, I understand."
"There is nothing to understand," she insisted. "You are here with me now: you, and not Faramir. The choice in my heart was whether or not I wanted him dead. I feared that - that you would get the wrong idea if I chose to save him. My feelings for him could never surpass what I feel for you."
"Yet the feelings are there," said Aragorn despondently.
"Why can you not accept this?" cried Éowyn, on the verge of tears.
"Because I love you," said Aragorn simply, "and I do not want to see you unhappy."
With that, he took Éowyn's hand, and kissed it, and left, bound for his chambers for a wash and a rest.
--+-- The Fields of the Pelennor --+--
Faramir laughed, feeling the thrill of the wind on his face, and the rhythmic thudding of his galloping horse, and the reassuring gentle slap of the flat of his sheath against his upper thigh, and the nudge of the saddle- bags. This was where he belonged, just as much as the City. Faramir smiled, thinking that this delight he would share with the future Stewardess of Gondor, whoever she might be.
Soon the wall of the Pelennor was behind him, and a shadow passed over his heart. In the corner of his eyes, he glimpsed the sheen of the rising sun off Minas Anor, so that all the world beyond seemed dim and dusty. Freedom lay ahead, and yet how much was too much? Faramir rode the seven leagues to Osgiliath, and crossed the makeshift bridge (a chunk from the deck of one of the Corsairs of Umbar). Turning south, he perceived the black mass of the Emyn Arnen. He slowed to a trot, absorbing the fair airs of Ithilien, feeling content at last.
--+-- The Training Room --+--
Éowyn watched him go. The darkness was beginning to fall on her: the horror of what she had been through. Shock and desperation had numbed the pain earlier, but now as she sat in the well-lit hall, she felt again this hot flesh against her, the searing pain as he had plunged into her, the imprint of his hands on her buttocks. Her heart felt as though it had seized up, dried up, and she withered, losing control for a moment, slipping to the floor.
Shaking, she climbed to her feet; suddenly Aragorn was behind her, supporting her. He placed one arm around her waist, and held her hand. "You have been through much," he said; "I cannot comprehend what you are going through."
--+-- Éowyn's Chambers --+--
Aragorn sat her down on her bed and went into her bathroom. He began to turn the screw, pulling water up through the pipes in the walls of the Tower of Ecthelion. When he had turned it enough, he let the water flow into the bath.
"A bath shall make you feel better," he said. "I will send a servant with fresh towels and clothes; I shall return later."
His words were brief, but soft and to the point. Éowyn nodded; he gave her a reassuring smile and left. She heard his footsteps echoing through the hall outside, and then began to undress. She stood naked before the bathroom mirror, her long golden hair tickling the small of her back. She still looked like the maiden of Rohan who had once stood behind King Théoden, through his slip into dotage, ever shuddering at the licentious glances of Wormtongue. Yet that was not who she was now.
She was Éowyn, Lady of the Shield-arm, sister of the King, soon to be Queen of Gondor. She had changed. She no longer looked to the sword for glory. The sword brought only misery and suffering: there was nothing to be gained from taking a life, even if their death was just.
Éowyn slipped slowly into the bath, her skin enveloped in the blissfully hot water, seeping through her like the wind in the grass: refreshing, but comfortable. Faramir was alive, but far away; Aragorn was here, and they would be married. Éowyn looked at the rim of the bath; characters were carved there, elvish characters. She was stirred by a sudden desire to learn the Noble Tongue, and be able not just to read it, but also to write it and speak it as well. She surmised that most Gondorians could at least understand Elvish either spoken or written. Their Queen would be the same.
--+-- Aragorn's Chambers --+--
Aragorn was worried about Éowyn. How would she react to being Queen? It was only now that he understood how the public would see her: a china doll, perched by his side, whose only purpose is to produce an heir. Éowyn was not that person; she would hate that person with all her heart. But there was no way to change that. Arwen would have been content to be seen that way, content to be that woman, but Éowyn was far too independent to be constrained by the limitations of Gondorian aristocracy. She would be torn to pieces from inside, it would kill her. Was this really what she wanted?
Exhausted, Aragorn sat heavily on his bed. He was dimly aware of a pillow under his head. Then he slept.
===================
LOTR won the Big Read last night! According to a big bookie's: "Tolkien fans are amongst the best-organised group of supporters on the Internet and for two days, our website was under siege." Go us! We beat Pride and Prejudice; His Dark Materials; The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy; and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
I don't own Middle-earth or the people in it. You don't *seriously* need a disclaimer by now? Not that you read them. Do you? Sad, sad children. I could be calling the load of you S-O-Bs and you wouldn't know the difference. (I'm not calling you S-O-Bs by the way.) Just read the story. Read the fruit of my fingers. Don't waste time on the disclaimer. ... You just don't get the hint, do you?
-------------------+-------------------
Don't flame me!
-------------------
Lúthien Tinuviel8: Thank you for reading on! No, I haven't checked Chap. 16, but I keep meaning to (as you do) and you're probably the first person to ever call me "on top of things"! I'm just looking at it now... right at the bottom of the page, about the Kinslaying? Nah, that's intentional - this is for those unfamiliar with Gondorian history:
The Rohirrim are descended from the Northmen; Valacar the 20th King married a northern princess, and people in Gondor were pretty p-o-ed that their next king was half-'barbarian' and not pure Númenorean, when young Eldacar took the throne, a civil war started. Eldacar was exiled and his heir Ornendil was executed by the usurper Castamir. After ten years, Eldacar returned to claim the throne and the line of kings continued, but there were considerably less Gondorians to rule after that war.
ANYWAYS Aragorn is very difficult to write in this story. Thank you - I don't want the whole story to pivot on Faramir's punishment.
Common Welsh Green: Lol, yes *I* can.
Writerbrat: Yeah, but Merry came under the Black Breath and never saw Éowyn in the Houses of Healing before Aragorn healed her. Pippin remembers what she looked like "in a swoon". What's wrong with Faramir?! I redeemed him! :)
Necole: No, he's not turning into an ass.
-------------------
Where's the rest o' yeh? Read! And, moreover, review! I've just uploaded a little parody called "The Meeting of the Ways" - it's an argument between Gollum, Yoda and Dobby. I take notions sometimes. Sorry this one took so long, I just couldn't get the words out.
-------------------+-------------------
--+-- The Training Room --+--
Benches lined the walls of the training room, reserved for the teachers who judged the ability, and the students who judged the men. It was said that a man's sword-style said volumes about his character, but teachers will just as easy pass a crooked man who kills his opponent through dirty tactics, as they will an upright citizen and honourable player who knocks his foe out.
But the two who sat there then judged nothing.
"Please, just talk to me," said Aragorn. "I didn't know your choice would be so difficult."
"Matters of the heart are rarely clear-cut," sighed Éowyn. She was silent for a moment. "I might have loved him, had I never met you."
"Éowyn, if you would rather be with him, I understand."
"There is nothing to understand," she insisted. "You are here with me now: you, and not Faramir. The choice in my heart was whether or not I wanted him dead. I feared that - that you would get the wrong idea if I chose to save him. My feelings for him could never surpass what I feel for you."
"Yet the feelings are there," said Aragorn despondently.
"Why can you not accept this?" cried Éowyn, on the verge of tears.
"Because I love you," said Aragorn simply, "and I do not want to see you unhappy."
With that, he took Éowyn's hand, and kissed it, and left, bound for his chambers for a wash and a rest.
--+-- The Fields of the Pelennor --+--
Faramir laughed, feeling the thrill of the wind on his face, and the rhythmic thudding of his galloping horse, and the reassuring gentle slap of the flat of his sheath against his upper thigh, and the nudge of the saddle- bags. This was where he belonged, just as much as the City. Faramir smiled, thinking that this delight he would share with the future Stewardess of Gondor, whoever she might be.
Soon the wall of the Pelennor was behind him, and a shadow passed over his heart. In the corner of his eyes, he glimpsed the sheen of the rising sun off Minas Anor, so that all the world beyond seemed dim and dusty. Freedom lay ahead, and yet how much was too much? Faramir rode the seven leagues to Osgiliath, and crossed the makeshift bridge (a chunk from the deck of one of the Corsairs of Umbar). Turning south, he perceived the black mass of the Emyn Arnen. He slowed to a trot, absorbing the fair airs of Ithilien, feeling content at last.
--+-- The Training Room --+--
Éowyn watched him go. The darkness was beginning to fall on her: the horror of what she had been through. Shock and desperation had numbed the pain earlier, but now as she sat in the well-lit hall, she felt again this hot flesh against her, the searing pain as he had plunged into her, the imprint of his hands on her buttocks. Her heart felt as though it had seized up, dried up, and she withered, losing control for a moment, slipping to the floor.
Shaking, she climbed to her feet; suddenly Aragorn was behind her, supporting her. He placed one arm around her waist, and held her hand. "You have been through much," he said; "I cannot comprehend what you are going through."
--+-- Éowyn's Chambers --+--
Aragorn sat her down on her bed and went into her bathroom. He began to turn the screw, pulling water up through the pipes in the walls of the Tower of Ecthelion. When he had turned it enough, he let the water flow into the bath.
"A bath shall make you feel better," he said. "I will send a servant with fresh towels and clothes; I shall return later."
His words were brief, but soft and to the point. Éowyn nodded; he gave her a reassuring smile and left. She heard his footsteps echoing through the hall outside, and then began to undress. She stood naked before the bathroom mirror, her long golden hair tickling the small of her back. She still looked like the maiden of Rohan who had once stood behind King Théoden, through his slip into dotage, ever shuddering at the licentious glances of Wormtongue. Yet that was not who she was now.
She was Éowyn, Lady of the Shield-arm, sister of the King, soon to be Queen of Gondor. She had changed. She no longer looked to the sword for glory. The sword brought only misery and suffering: there was nothing to be gained from taking a life, even if their death was just.
Éowyn slipped slowly into the bath, her skin enveloped in the blissfully hot water, seeping through her like the wind in the grass: refreshing, but comfortable. Faramir was alive, but far away; Aragorn was here, and they would be married. Éowyn looked at the rim of the bath; characters were carved there, elvish characters. She was stirred by a sudden desire to learn the Noble Tongue, and be able not just to read it, but also to write it and speak it as well. She surmised that most Gondorians could at least understand Elvish either spoken or written. Their Queen would be the same.
--+-- Aragorn's Chambers --+--
Aragorn was worried about Éowyn. How would she react to being Queen? It was only now that he understood how the public would see her: a china doll, perched by his side, whose only purpose is to produce an heir. Éowyn was not that person; she would hate that person with all her heart. But there was no way to change that. Arwen would have been content to be seen that way, content to be that woman, but Éowyn was far too independent to be constrained by the limitations of Gondorian aristocracy. She would be torn to pieces from inside, it would kill her. Was this really what she wanted?
Exhausted, Aragorn sat heavily on his bed. He was dimly aware of a pillow under his head. Then he slept.
===================
LOTR won the Big Read last night! According to a big bookie's: "Tolkien fans are amongst the best-organised group of supporters on the Internet and for two days, our website was under siege." Go us! We beat Pride and Prejudice; His Dark Materials; The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy; and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.