~@-/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. 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?
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Don't flame me!
-------------------
Mousie2: Always happy to help! But don't forget to keep writing 'Hope in Minas Tirith'!
Common Welsh Green: Indeed I am.
-------------------
As the great Father Jack Hackett once said: "Where's the rest o' yeh?" Read! And, moreover, review! Another shortie.
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--+-- Éowyn's Chambers --+--
"Éowyn?" said Aragorn. He opened the door a cautious crack. The bathroom door was ajar; it was dark inside. He pushed the door open further; there she lay, curled on the bed with the white dress draped across her arm. Aragorn smiled gently. He smoothed a chunk of hair back behind her ear. She looked like a child, he thought, with her golden hair lying across the quilt and a look of deepest peace on her face. His breath caught in his throat, and the smile sickened.
This angelic figure would be his wife. Having seeing her like this: virginal, innocent - how could he ever look at her as a woman again? How could he ever desire her? In his own land, she would be seen as a girl, scarcely come to womanhood; he was more than thrice her age. Despair fell on Aragorn. He was more than thrice her age already. She would die when she was as old as he.
He had put it out of his mind in the Houses of Healing, too beside himself with joy to let the words sink in, letting his tongue flap freely. She would die, and he would be left alone. For the last seven score years of his life, he would be alone; the way of the Dúnedain was that of the Elves: they did not take second partners. Throughout the ages, second marriages had only ended in disaster. The tension between the sons of Finwe had been the ultimate cause of the War of the Jewels.
Éowyn stirred, and Aragorn faltered. He left the room quietly as he could.
--+--^--+--
Éowyn opened her eyes blearily, sensing the artificial pressure of the hair behind her ear. She caught a glimpse of black hair before the door shut. Aragorn. She smiled lightly before her eyes slammed shut again.
--+-- Emyn Arnen --+--
Fatigue weighed down Faramir's limbs; every step shook and sagged. He wanted to sleep. The only main settlement on the rocky cliffs of the Emyn Arnen was a scout-post that looked out over Ithilien to the north; the Tower of Ecthelion was but a pale chip shining in the distant blue bulk of the White Mountains.
He pushed Éowyn out of his mind as he climbed the carved steps, resolving to build a new palace in the fertile forest. But for now he was content to sleep anywhere. He slammed the doors open. "Lord Faramir!" cried a scout. "Did you get our message?"
He had not yet formulated an excuse: the truth would hardly suffice. "I will deal with that in the morning," he said.
"But my lord!" cried another man, "what is the king's counsel?"
"About what?" frowned Faramir.
"The Haradrim are invading our southern borders!"
"I have been sent to watch affairs in Ithilien," said Faramir. It was partly true. "I knew nothing of this, but doubtless the King will send a rider in the morning. We can do nothing until then."
But dread was growing in Faramir's heart of hearts. If the Haradrim marched through the day and night without stopping, they might reach Minas Tirith by sunrise tomorrow.
--+-- The Dining Hall --+--
"Where is the king?" demanded Bergeron.
"I will not be spoken to like this," said Éomer coldly, "especially not while I eat. But as for the king: he sleeps, for he has had a restless night. Why?"
"It is an invasion. The Haradrim are coming."
Éomer sat up. "The Haradrim?"
"Yes," said Bergeron; "the Rangers of Ithilien are too few to stay a host."
"I see." Éomer was loath to wake Aragorn, but it was necessary. He rubbed his own eyes, wondering whether he would lie in bed ere the week was out.
===================
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. 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!
-------------------
Mousie2: Always happy to help! But don't forget to keep writing 'Hope in Minas Tirith'!
Common Welsh Green: Indeed I am.
-------------------
As the great Father Jack Hackett once said: "Where's the rest o' yeh?" Read! And, moreover, review! Another shortie.
-------------------+-------------------
--+-- Éowyn's Chambers --+--
"Éowyn?" said Aragorn. He opened the door a cautious crack. The bathroom door was ajar; it was dark inside. He pushed the door open further; there she lay, curled on the bed with the white dress draped across her arm. Aragorn smiled gently. He smoothed a chunk of hair back behind her ear. She looked like a child, he thought, with her golden hair lying across the quilt and a look of deepest peace on her face. His breath caught in his throat, and the smile sickened.
This angelic figure would be his wife. Having seeing her like this: virginal, innocent - how could he ever look at her as a woman again? How could he ever desire her? In his own land, she would be seen as a girl, scarcely come to womanhood; he was more than thrice her age. Despair fell on Aragorn. He was more than thrice her age already. She would die when she was as old as he.
He had put it out of his mind in the Houses of Healing, too beside himself with joy to let the words sink in, letting his tongue flap freely. She would die, and he would be left alone. For the last seven score years of his life, he would be alone; the way of the Dúnedain was that of the Elves: they did not take second partners. Throughout the ages, second marriages had only ended in disaster. The tension between the sons of Finwe had been the ultimate cause of the War of the Jewels.
Éowyn stirred, and Aragorn faltered. He left the room quietly as he could.
--+--^--+--
Éowyn opened her eyes blearily, sensing the artificial pressure of the hair behind her ear. She caught a glimpse of black hair before the door shut. Aragorn. She smiled lightly before her eyes slammed shut again.
--+-- Emyn Arnen --+--
Fatigue weighed down Faramir's limbs; every step shook and sagged. He wanted to sleep. The only main settlement on the rocky cliffs of the Emyn Arnen was a scout-post that looked out over Ithilien to the north; the Tower of Ecthelion was but a pale chip shining in the distant blue bulk of the White Mountains.
He pushed Éowyn out of his mind as he climbed the carved steps, resolving to build a new palace in the fertile forest. But for now he was content to sleep anywhere. He slammed the doors open. "Lord Faramir!" cried a scout. "Did you get our message?"
He had not yet formulated an excuse: the truth would hardly suffice. "I will deal with that in the morning," he said.
"But my lord!" cried another man, "what is the king's counsel?"
"About what?" frowned Faramir.
"The Haradrim are invading our southern borders!"
"I have been sent to watch affairs in Ithilien," said Faramir. It was partly true. "I knew nothing of this, but doubtless the King will send a rider in the morning. We can do nothing until then."
But dread was growing in Faramir's heart of hearts. If the Haradrim marched through the day and night without stopping, they might reach Minas Tirith by sunrise tomorrow.
--+-- The Dining Hall --+--
"Where is the king?" demanded Bergeron.
"I will not be spoken to like this," said Éomer coldly, "especially not while I eat. But as for the king: he sleeps, for he has had a restless night. Why?"
"It is an invasion. The Haradrim are coming."
Éomer sat up. "The Haradrim?"
"Yes," said Bergeron; "the Rangers of Ithilien are too few to stay a host."
"I see." Éomer was loath to wake Aragorn, but it was necessary. He rubbed his own eyes, wondering whether he would lie in bed ere the week was out.
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