~@-/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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I can't believe it's been nearly a month since I last updated! I've been busy
with skiing, coursework and Harry Potter forums, but I'm back!
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Common Welsh Green: I'm sorry you feel that way. Hope you prefer this chapter.
Lelegurl9: I felt I had to show Faramir's point of view, so he wouldn't seem like such an asshole.
Lúthien Tinúviel8: I never said I would give her to Faramir – but I didn't say I wouldn't either. You'll just have to see. Yes, his reasons were idiotic, but hey – he's an idiot, not evil. I just saw ROTK again (literally, I'm just through the door and I'm typing to still the travel-sickness) but I'm still not pleased. The Mount Doom scene and Arwen's 'death' really bug me. Thank you so much for the tip!
Writerbrat: I love those three tracks (Minas Tirith, The White Tree and The Steward of Gondor) – they're even saved onto my computer so I can listen while I type! Went to see ROTK again yesterday and I kept saying stuff like, "Oh, that's track 2: Hope and Memory!" when Merry and Pippin are in Meduseld heading for the stables. Back to the story: I wanted to flame myself for that chapter! It was crap!
Aurdomiel, Ravenstar: New and different? Meh, give me old and similar any day. Yes, Éowyn goes to Faramir, but it's not for another dozen chapters at least (I have it all planned out up to Chapter 43 – 3am inspiration).
Necole: You'll just have to see what happens with Faramir moohoohahaha... B)
Philstar22: Glad you like it!
MC6: Faramir came out more evilly than I intended. But he will be redeemed! I take it you're a HP fan? I ship H/Hr myself, what about you?
Thalionsul: I'm updating right now! :P (BTW like the name – you've read the Sil?)
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Keep reviewing, people!
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--+-- Minas Tirith --+--
"Suilannon le," said Éowyn slowly. "Éowyn ess nîn."
"Excellent, excellent," Dior nodded. "Go on."
"Telin o Rohan; im hiril o Barad Nim, Minas Tirith."
"Perfect!" exclaimed Dior. "But you need to work the 'ch' sound into 'Rohan' – telin o Rochan. That is my only criticism."
Éowyn smiled. She was learning the basics of Sindarin, the Noble Tongue, and found it easy. "It just slides off the tongue," she had said.
Dior was thrilled. Never before had he taught such an eager student – but most had known at least the small tales and fables of Gondor while Éowyn did not.
* * *
By the high seat of the King stood two smaller chairs. The one to the King's right was low and black, but a throne in its own right; the seat of the Stewards. To the left had been placed a chair that had stood in the dining hall: a grand and richly carved wooden dining chair. It was for Éowyn, as long as she would rule.
A woman was led before Éowyn as she sat in this chair; she was escorted by Guards of the Citadel, one of whom muttered something to her. She was clad all in black and wore a black veil: she was in mourning.
"Brennil nín," said the woman, curtseying before descending to one knee. Éowyn smiled: the Guard must have told her to speak only in Sindarin, under Dior's orders. "Amatyultare ess nîn – Belegaroniell. Herven nín, Máneharno-" she stopped. "If you will pardon my boldness, I am told that the Lady is only learning the Edhellen..."
"You may continue in the Common Speech," laughed Éowyn, "but I thank you for your understanding."
Amatyultare looked surprised, for she had expected anger in return not thanks. She bowed her head. "My husband, Máneharno, was killed some days ago by falling rocks from the Rammas of the Pelennor as he rode to where our home once stood. So I come to make a request of you: that those able-bodied men left in the City should work to repair the Rammas. If the City is indeed attacked, we should at least have an outer wall."
"You have done well, daughter of Belegaron. I shall follow your counsel." Éowyn turned to a Guard who stood in the shadow of a pillar near her seat. "Send word to the Captain of the Guard: all men who can be spared must help rebuild the Rammas."
"Milady," said one of the Guards, bowing, "whence shall we find the stone?"
Éowyn thought for a moment. "Use the rubble from the City. In this way we shall complete two tasks at once."
"Yes, milady," said the Guard and he scurried out.
--+-- Ithilien --+--
The soldiers of Gondor stood ranged in the courtyard as Éomer's forces arrived.
"What is the plan?" Éomer asked Aragorn, his helm under his arm. He led Éomer to the map.
"We shall ride to the southern border," he said, tracing their route with his finger, "and wait if the Haradrim have not yet come there. When the battle is over, then we must get to the coast, where Imrahil shall be waiting for us."
"You sound confident," said Faramir with a wry smile as he approached the table. Éomer gripped the hilt of his sword. Aragorn touched his arm to stay him.
"Without confidence, what plan could we have?" Aragorn pointed out. He adjusted his breastplate. "We had best get moving. The Haradrim will not stand and discuss tactics. They are coming to slay, not play fair."
The Host of the West rode east once more; the rush of the wind invigorated Éomer, yet at the same time his heart was made heavier with every thud of the hoof. He prayed that he was not leading his people to their deaths. And Éowyn – what would befall her if they did not return?
Aragorn was thinking the same thing, though his confidence was greater. He clenched the reins when he thought of Éowyn, standing alone on the Walls of the Citadel, watching in horror as the City burned below her, and the ships cluttered the Anduin so that a fleet like a wooden city was moored in old Osgiliath.
And there it was: a red cloud in the distance. The Haradrim were in sight; they would meet within hours if both continued to gallop. So Aragorn called his men to a halt when they were still not come to the border, and he called their captains to him to finalise the formations to be used in the battle. They would have to gain the upper hand quickly, so as to come to the aid of the seamen in time. Everything rested on this battle, including the fate of Minas Tirith.
A lump came into Faramir's throat as horse cantered back to the Ithilien Rangers, as he thought of the slaughter that must ensue; but it soon melted away, replaced by steely determination, the raw desire to stay alive. He looked to Aragorn.
"Battle stations!" shouted the King again. "The enemy is in sight!"
A regiment of the Rohirrim marched forwards, pikes ready. The Haradrim drew ever nearer. Aragorn could see the glimmering gold that adorned their lords, and the soldiers, now marching before the cavalry, were as a red haze topped with mahogany. A shrieking cry rose from the Haradrim, and the second Host of the West shuffled nervously.
"For Gondor!" shouted a man behind Faramir; then the Rohirrim began to shout: a mingling din of deep Rohirric voices and clear cries from the vales of Gondor. Aragorn suddenly yelled, "For the West!" and all the men shouted it. And with that, Aragorn urged his horse on; his men jolted into action. Éomer cried, "Forth, Eorlingas!" and followed suit. Legolas' archers rode in a line, forcing Faramir's men forwards. A bubbling blood-lust rose in Faramir and he hollered, charging on with the force of Gondor behind him.
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Éowyn says, "Greetings. Éowyn is my name. I come from Rohan; I am Lady of the White Tower, Minas Tirith."