~@-/Pains in the Heart\-@~
I don't own Middle-earth or anything in it, Tolkien is the master, blah, blah, blah...
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Common Welsh Green: Of course it's building up to something.
Lúthien Tinúviel: *shrug* I'm still not happy. They could've made TTT a bit longer - including what was in the TTT book - and left room for the Grey Company etc. And you haven't explained the Arwen-dying thing (cos let's face it, it was pointless). I felt that the Witchking scene was butchered in that most of the dialogue was cut from Éowyn's breakthrough scene. She said, "I am no man," in the movies. In the books she said, "But no man am I: you look upon a woman. Éowyn I am, Éomund's daughter..." but then the movies never had any mystery as to Dernhelm's identity. Merry just says, "my lady," which was really disappointing for me cos when I first read LotR I was like OMG it was Éowyn!!!
Mousie2: There's nothing about Aragorn and Éowyn, just him telling her she loves "but a shadow and a thought" in Dunharrow and then he hits the PotD minus the Grey Company. Éowyn doesn't kill Gríma - in fact we never see him or Saruman - and the wedding is never shown. The Witchking scene has been edited into oblivion - poorly acted, poorly cut - not good, basically. I hope "Hope in Minas Tirith" is ready soon.
Necole: You posted twice. Ugh, the Eldarion scene was utter crap -why was Aragorn old in it? Well, on with the story...
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Keep reviewing, people!
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--+-- Minas Tirith --+--
Éowyn bade them farewell in the fashion of the Rohirrim: she drank from a cup of wine, and then gave the cup to Éomer. He took a sip as well, and smiled reassuringly as she took it back. "Worry not, dearest of sisters," he said quietly. "You will not let down the House of Eorl. We shall return."
"Fare thee well, Men of the Mark!" cried Éowyn. They roared in response. "Thou shall do thy country proud, supporting Gondor in her need."
As she said this, Éomer mounted his horse. He cried, "To Aragorn! Forth, Eorlingas!" They roared again, and the earth shook under the thudding of hooves. Éowyn closed her eyes, so she knew not that guards (labouring to repair the wall) stopped as though turned to stone, awestruck by her beauty as she stood with the wind of the passing horses throwing her hair behind her, her silver skirts swirling in the breeze.
When at last the vibration beneath her feet ceased, she opened her eyes again and was nearly blinded by the glare of the sun on Anduin. She turned slightly northward; out of the haze was framed a single rider. She followed its progress and she saw that he bore no packages other than a thick piece of paper. He tilted his head as he dismounted and walked by. Then the messenger paused.
"Excuse me, lady," he said, "but are you the White Lady of Rohan?"
"Yes," replied Éowyn, surprised. He held out small paper parcel.
"A message for you from across the river."
Her heart leapt: Aragorn was writing to her already. But when she peeled away the seal and unfolded the letter, it was not Aragorn's firm thick hand that met her: instead, it was a wispier, narrow script and she skipped to the ending. Her suspicions had been correct. The letter was from Faramir.
"Thank you," she whispered to the messenger. He bowed quickly and set off again. Without reading the message, she slid it into a small pocket, turned, and walked back along the twisting road to the Citadel.
--+-- Ithilien --+--
Aragorn groaned when he caught the position of the sun. He had slept over- long, and the day was drawing on. He hauled himself off the ground, massaging the small of his back, where he had lain on a root. Arwen's banner was propped against a tree and a gentle breeze washed the camp. Osgiliath was a league to the west; Aragorn had called for a stop when he began to doze in the saddle around midnight. He glanced up at the rocky hills to his right and smiled: the scout post that had twinkled in the night was totally camouflaged.
And suddenly a young soldier was bobbing at his shoulder. "Highness," he gasped, "you have risen."
"Yes," frowned Aragorn. "Why did no-one wake me?"
"We knew not that it was your will."
Aragorn sighed and sent the soldier off with word that they would set off immediately. He rolled up his blanket and stowed it in a saddlebag. Then he drew a slice of bread, some cold meat and his water bottle out of another bag and broke his fast. Within the hour, the Elvish banner was above him again and they had begun the hard climb into the Emyn Arnen.
It was lonely, without Halbarad or Éomer to talk to. Gimli sat on a feeble horse not far behind, droning about Aglarond again. Éowyn soon appeared in Aragorn's thoughts and he drifted into daydream, seeing her in a wedding gown, her face bright and happy, her hand in his. Stirred by a desire to return to her, Aragorn spurred on his horse, almost galloping up the sloping road into the Emyn Arnen.
Once all were racing into the hills, it did not take long to reach the post. It was the only remaining wing of the fortress of the House of Húrin, the house of Stewards of which Faramir was descended. That castle had once encircled a spire of rock that rose sharply from a broad shelf; a geological anomaly, like a mast on a ship. But years had passed, and the fortress had fallen into disrepair, until at last only the northwestern wing of it still stood facing Osgiliath and Minas Tirith. The rubble had been used to build stables and outhouses, and to mend failing walls.
Faramir was busy at a broad table, which was smothered by a vast map of Middle-earth. He had drawn a fine pencil line across the part of South Gondor where he believed the Haradrim were riding. He had drawn more lines labelled with the times at which he estimated that they would arrive. Completely absorbed in his work, he had not noticed the arrival of the King's men until the door burst open and a rush of air ruffled the edges of the map. He straightened quickly with a stab of pain, for he had been poring long over the map.
"My lord," he winced. "Your room is prepared."
"I fear that your efforts were wasted, Faramir," said Aragorn briskly; "we will not stay long. Éomer should arrive within the hour, in fact I am surprised that he is not here already."
"Would your Highness care to eat ere the Rohirrim come?"
Aragorn frowned. "No, but perhaps my men will. We left the woods in haste and not all have broken their fasts. However, I wish to speak with you, Faramir. Alone." Faramir's hand twitched automatically towards his sword- hilt, but he caught himself in time. The King smiled. "No, Faramir, that will not be necessary. There will be plenty of time for swordplay tomorrow."
Faramir led Aragorn up the winding stair into a tower, where they would not be heard. When the door was shut, Aragorn said, "You know why I wish to speak to you." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes," said Faramir.
"Then begin."
--+-- Minas Tirith --+--
"She is a fair lady," murmured one man in the street, "but she is not Gondorian..."
"A wild princess of the North," muttered his companion. "She was commanded to remain at home, but she disobeyed her lord and kin."
"One such as this is to be our Queen?"
Verily the blood of Númenor did not run true in Éowyn's veins, but from her grandmother Morwen she had inherited some gifts, like her figure and air - and also her hearing. And so it was that though the men spoke quietly, and on the other side of the street, she heard them. Tears glistened in her eyes and tickled her nose. She was suddenly aware of the weight of the empty pocket, devoid of news from her love.
One such as this... wild... not Gondorian... Queen... 'Is that truly how they see me?' thought Éowyn. But the trials that had marked her life had taught her to harden her sadness, to turn it into steely resolve; her strides became quick and firm as she marched back into the Citadel with clenched fists and incontestable determination.
It chanced that she met Prince Imrahil hurrying about the palace, and she stopped him despite his frantic protests of busyness. "I want to learn the history and ways of Gondor," she said, face set. "To whom should I speak?"
"Go to Rath Pethron in the Sixth Circle of the City; ask there. I am sorry that I can be of no more help, my lady, but I am in supreme haste."
So Éowyn made her way down to the Storyteller's Street and was directed thence to the house of Dior, one of the greatest loremasters in the City. He was a man of high blood and in his youth had taught even the sons of Denethor the tales of their homeland.
"My lady!" said Dior when he opened the door, surprised. "May I inquire as to the nature of your visit?"
"Yes," said Éowyn, still determined. "I wish to learn the lore of Gondor and you were recommended to me."
"I see." Dior thought quickly, for he feared to incur the King's wrath.
"It is the King's will that I learn the ways of this land," added Éowyn, seeing his discomfort.
"In that case, when would you like to begin?" said Dior.
"Tomorrow," replied Éowyn. "Could you meet me at eleven of the clock in the study?"
"Yes, my lady. I shall see you then."
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I don't own Middle-earth or anything in it, Tolkien is the master, blah, blah, blah...
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Common Welsh Green: Of course it's building up to something.
Lúthien Tinúviel: *shrug* I'm still not happy. They could've made TTT a bit longer - including what was in the TTT book - and left room for the Grey Company etc. And you haven't explained the Arwen-dying thing (cos let's face it, it was pointless). I felt that the Witchking scene was butchered in that most of the dialogue was cut from Éowyn's breakthrough scene. She said, "I am no man," in the movies. In the books she said, "But no man am I: you look upon a woman. Éowyn I am, Éomund's daughter..." but then the movies never had any mystery as to Dernhelm's identity. Merry just says, "my lady," which was really disappointing for me cos when I first read LotR I was like OMG it was Éowyn!!!
Mousie2: There's nothing about Aragorn and Éowyn, just him telling her she loves "but a shadow and a thought" in Dunharrow and then he hits the PotD minus the Grey Company. Éowyn doesn't kill Gríma - in fact we never see him or Saruman - and the wedding is never shown. The Witchking scene has been edited into oblivion - poorly acted, poorly cut - not good, basically. I hope "Hope in Minas Tirith" is ready soon.
Necole: You posted twice. Ugh, the Eldarion scene was utter crap -why was Aragorn old in it? Well, on with the story...
-------------------
Keep reviewing, people!
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--+-- Minas Tirith --+--
Éowyn bade them farewell in the fashion of the Rohirrim: she drank from a cup of wine, and then gave the cup to Éomer. He took a sip as well, and smiled reassuringly as she took it back. "Worry not, dearest of sisters," he said quietly. "You will not let down the House of Eorl. We shall return."
"Fare thee well, Men of the Mark!" cried Éowyn. They roared in response. "Thou shall do thy country proud, supporting Gondor in her need."
As she said this, Éomer mounted his horse. He cried, "To Aragorn! Forth, Eorlingas!" They roared again, and the earth shook under the thudding of hooves. Éowyn closed her eyes, so she knew not that guards (labouring to repair the wall) stopped as though turned to stone, awestruck by her beauty as she stood with the wind of the passing horses throwing her hair behind her, her silver skirts swirling in the breeze.
When at last the vibration beneath her feet ceased, she opened her eyes again and was nearly blinded by the glare of the sun on Anduin. She turned slightly northward; out of the haze was framed a single rider. She followed its progress and she saw that he bore no packages other than a thick piece of paper. He tilted his head as he dismounted and walked by. Then the messenger paused.
"Excuse me, lady," he said, "but are you the White Lady of Rohan?"
"Yes," replied Éowyn, surprised. He held out small paper parcel.
"A message for you from across the river."
Her heart leapt: Aragorn was writing to her already. But when she peeled away the seal and unfolded the letter, it was not Aragorn's firm thick hand that met her: instead, it was a wispier, narrow script and she skipped to the ending. Her suspicions had been correct. The letter was from Faramir.
"Thank you," she whispered to the messenger. He bowed quickly and set off again. Without reading the message, she slid it into a small pocket, turned, and walked back along the twisting road to the Citadel.
--+-- Ithilien --+--
Aragorn groaned when he caught the position of the sun. He had slept over- long, and the day was drawing on. He hauled himself off the ground, massaging the small of his back, where he had lain on a root. Arwen's banner was propped against a tree and a gentle breeze washed the camp. Osgiliath was a league to the west; Aragorn had called for a stop when he began to doze in the saddle around midnight. He glanced up at the rocky hills to his right and smiled: the scout post that had twinkled in the night was totally camouflaged.
And suddenly a young soldier was bobbing at his shoulder. "Highness," he gasped, "you have risen."
"Yes," frowned Aragorn. "Why did no-one wake me?"
"We knew not that it was your will."
Aragorn sighed and sent the soldier off with word that they would set off immediately. He rolled up his blanket and stowed it in a saddlebag. Then he drew a slice of bread, some cold meat and his water bottle out of another bag and broke his fast. Within the hour, the Elvish banner was above him again and they had begun the hard climb into the Emyn Arnen.
It was lonely, without Halbarad or Éomer to talk to. Gimli sat on a feeble horse not far behind, droning about Aglarond again. Éowyn soon appeared in Aragorn's thoughts and he drifted into daydream, seeing her in a wedding gown, her face bright and happy, her hand in his. Stirred by a desire to return to her, Aragorn spurred on his horse, almost galloping up the sloping road into the Emyn Arnen.
Once all were racing into the hills, it did not take long to reach the post. It was the only remaining wing of the fortress of the House of Húrin, the house of Stewards of which Faramir was descended. That castle had once encircled a spire of rock that rose sharply from a broad shelf; a geological anomaly, like a mast on a ship. But years had passed, and the fortress had fallen into disrepair, until at last only the northwestern wing of it still stood facing Osgiliath and Minas Tirith. The rubble had been used to build stables and outhouses, and to mend failing walls.
Faramir was busy at a broad table, which was smothered by a vast map of Middle-earth. He had drawn a fine pencil line across the part of South Gondor where he believed the Haradrim were riding. He had drawn more lines labelled with the times at which he estimated that they would arrive. Completely absorbed in his work, he had not noticed the arrival of the King's men until the door burst open and a rush of air ruffled the edges of the map. He straightened quickly with a stab of pain, for he had been poring long over the map.
"My lord," he winced. "Your room is prepared."
"I fear that your efforts were wasted, Faramir," said Aragorn briskly; "we will not stay long. Éomer should arrive within the hour, in fact I am surprised that he is not here already."
"Would your Highness care to eat ere the Rohirrim come?"
Aragorn frowned. "No, but perhaps my men will. We left the woods in haste and not all have broken their fasts. However, I wish to speak with you, Faramir. Alone." Faramir's hand twitched automatically towards his sword- hilt, but he caught himself in time. The King smiled. "No, Faramir, that will not be necessary. There will be plenty of time for swordplay tomorrow."
Faramir led Aragorn up the winding stair into a tower, where they would not be heard. When the door was shut, Aragorn said, "You know why I wish to speak to you." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes," said Faramir.
"Then begin."
--+-- Minas Tirith --+--
"She is a fair lady," murmured one man in the street, "but she is not Gondorian..."
"A wild princess of the North," muttered his companion. "She was commanded to remain at home, but she disobeyed her lord and kin."
"One such as this is to be our Queen?"
Verily the blood of Númenor did not run true in Éowyn's veins, but from her grandmother Morwen she had inherited some gifts, like her figure and air - and also her hearing. And so it was that though the men spoke quietly, and on the other side of the street, she heard them. Tears glistened in her eyes and tickled her nose. She was suddenly aware of the weight of the empty pocket, devoid of news from her love.
One such as this... wild... not Gondorian... Queen... 'Is that truly how they see me?' thought Éowyn. But the trials that had marked her life had taught her to harden her sadness, to turn it into steely resolve; her strides became quick and firm as she marched back into the Citadel with clenched fists and incontestable determination.
It chanced that she met Prince Imrahil hurrying about the palace, and she stopped him despite his frantic protests of busyness. "I want to learn the history and ways of Gondor," she said, face set. "To whom should I speak?"
"Go to Rath Pethron in the Sixth Circle of the City; ask there. I am sorry that I can be of no more help, my lady, but I am in supreme haste."
So Éowyn made her way down to the Storyteller's Street and was directed thence to the house of Dior, one of the greatest loremasters in the City. He was a man of high blood and in his youth had taught even the sons of Denethor the tales of their homeland.
"My lady!" said Dior when he opened the door, surprised. "May I inquire as to the nature of your visit?"
"Yes," said Éowyn, still determined. "I wish to learn the lore of Gondor and you were recommended to me."
"I see." Dior thought quickly, for he feared to incur the King's wrath.
"It is the King's will that I learn the ways of this land," added Éowyn, seeing his discomfort.
"In that case, when would you like to begin?" said Dior.
"Tomorrow," replied Éowyn. "Could you meet me at eleven of the clock in the study?"
"Yes, my lady. I shall see you then."
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