Thus the mental battle, the battle of healing continues but this time it is Eowyn struggling to overcome her despair.
Author's Note: Hm, hm I just love foreshadowing. I hope everyone catchs my not so subtle foreshadowing! Again grammer and puncation are not my strong points thus I shall probably burn in the specail part of hell reserved for writers who make their work quite... well, flawed. Alas, it is my fate and since I have to desire to teach English (oh the horror) and since editors are just lovely I shall not correct this flaw but I shall confess, purging my soul: I can't spell or use commas correctly! There. (I just love to be all goofy with long words!)
Thanks to all my reviewers. I took heed to your advice. I love you all and would kiss you but I have quite a bad bout of "The Common Cold."
Read and review (as always) Lauren
Chapter 2 Eowyn
He clasped my hand, his face stained with tears, blood and filth. There was joy in his eyes, through tears I had not seen on his face since the death of our mother.
ÒEowyn, Eowyn,Ó he choked, bowing his blonde head.
ÒEomer! What joy is this? For they said that you were slain. Nay, but that was only the dark voices in my dream. How long have a been dreaming?Ó I asked, my breathing labored, my left arm still crippled and broken, and I reached up with my right arm, once numb, scarred by my final stroke at the Witch King and touched his cheek, the rough stubble of his sandy beard beneath my fingers.
ÒNot long, my sister, not long,Ó he murmured, grasping my pale fingers, bringing them to his lips in a gentle kiss. ÒI thought I had lost you. That there was none left in the world for me, no kin. That I was utterly alone. But you live and it is no dream. Eowyn, sister, tell me this is not the workings of a fatigued, sorrowful mind. I could not endure it, could not bear it,Ó Eomer muttered.
ÒNay, if is no illusion, no deception your drowsy eyes are playing on you, nor mine,Ó said I, my voice barely audible, cracking and breaking with emotion. Slowly, stuttering at first I asked the question that had haunted me since all went to shadow, all to total, complete umbra. ÒBut tell me, what of the King of the Mark?Ó
At this Eomer turned, staring out the window, not daring to meet my gaze.
ÒAlas! Do no tell me that it was a dream; for I know it was not. He is dead as he foresaw.Ó I said, contemplating anew what I already new but couldnÕt believe, what IÕd never let myself dwell on in my time of almost certain death. For that was what it was. I felt in my heart my approaching demise and even death did not shake the foundation of my will. Had I not gone riding into battle, seeking mortal peril, aching to be remembered as a doer of great deed, having won renown all the while blissfully sleeping under the earth? Alas, I still breathed, still lived... and that fact itself weighed down heavily upon my heart.
I viewed him, tall and clad in grey, possessing a great power, that though veiled, I sensed, as my salvation. I believed myself to be in love with him, and I cogitate that I still am. But my savior he was not. In truth he was little different than all the other men I have encountered in my life, perceiving me as strong and fair, I deem, able to withstand the anguish of battle but should not be forced to endure it. How they fail to understand me, oh, how they visualize the opposite of what I hold in my heart! In truth, thoughts of battle and possibly death are appealing to me, something I wish to taste. Alas. Oh, what I would give to be laid beside my uncle in the highest glory, a serene look upon my pale face, to be remembered as a woman of valor and courage beyond the match of any male.
ÒEowyn?Ó Eomer asks, clutching my hand, as if he is afraid I will slip away, like sand sifting through his fingers. ÒEowyn, Lord Aragorn, your healer, said a queer thing.Ó
Wordlessly I nodded, pulling my hand away.
ÒHe spoke of other healing that even he, with the blood of the ancient kings of Gondor coursing through his veins and with the hands of a healer, can not give you,Ó Eomer whispered, as if petrified to see of what effect his words, or rather AragornÕs, would have on me.
ÒWhat do you image this other healing he can not, will not, give me is?Ó I asked, my voice almost descending into mockery for I knew of what he spoke of. Love.
ÒItÕs... itÕs love,Ó he sighed. ÒNot the love of a brother, or an uncle, or a father but the compassion of another man. Someone who will give you the will to live, fair sister.Ó
ÒAnd who shall this man be, brother?Ó I cried, leaning forward in my fury. ÒIf the one man I love, or thought I loved, can not give me this healing then who else is there? Who else could possible love me? Or rather, who else could l love?Ó
ÒSomeone will come, little sister, and he will come unlooked for at a time when you least expected. And he will deliver you, he will be your salvation, not Lord Aragorn, however noble he may be. And you will love him, sister, more than I, more than Theoden King, more than anyone,Ó Eomer said. With that he rose, urging me to rest my weary eyes for my ordeal must have been exhausting and much to endure. He bent down and brushed his lips against my brow. ÒI love you, dear sister and my heart overflows with joy to see you alive,Ó he said and then strode out of the room, leaving me alone with my emotions.
Once I was alone, as I had been many times before, as the moon rose and stars loomed over me, I began to cry. And cry I did, tears streaming down my face, salty, tangy tears staining my face, scarring me. The Battle of Pelennor Fields was over but I still had much to suffer.
So I cried.
Author's Note: Hm, hm I just love foreshadowing. I hope everyone catchs my not so subtle foreshadowing! Again grammer and puncation are not my strong points thus I shall probably burn in the specail part of hell reserved for writers who make their work quite... well, flawed. Alas, it is my fate and since I have to desire to teach English (oh the horror) and since editors are just lovely I shall not correct this flaw but I shall confess, purging my soul: I can't spell or use commas correctly! There. (I just love to be all goofy with long words!)
Thanks to all my reviewers. I took heed to your advice. I love you all and would kiss you but I have quite a bad bout of "The Common Cold."
Read and review (as always) Lauren
Chapter 2 Eowyn
He clasped my hand, his face stained with tears, blood and filth. There was joy in his eyes, through tears I had not seen on his face since the death of our mother.
ÒEowyn, Eowyn,Ó he choked, bowing his blonde head.
ÒEomer! What joy is this? For they said that you were slain. Nay, but that was only the dark voices in my dream. How long have a been dreaming?Ó I asked, my breathing labored, my left arm still crippled and broken, and I reached up with my right arm, once numb, scarred by my final stroke at the Witch King and touched his cheek, the rough stubble of his sandy beard beneath my fingers.
ÒNot long, my sister, not long,Ó he murmured, grasping my pale fingers, bringing them to his lips in a gentle kiss. ÒI thought I had lost you. That there was none left in the world for me, no kin. That I was utterly alone. But you live and it is no dream. Eowyn, sister, tell me this is not the workings of a fatigued, sorrowful mind. I could not endure it, could not bear it,Ó Eomer muttered.
ÒNay, if is no illusion, no deception your drowsy eyes are playing on you, nor mine,Ó said I, my voice barely audible, cracking and breaking with emotion. Slowly, stuttering at first I asked the question that had haunted me since all went to shadow, all to total, complete umbra. ÒBut tell me, what of the King of the Mark?Ó
At this Eomer turned, staring out the window, not daring to meet my gaze.
ÒAlas! Do no tell me that it was a dream; for I know it was not. He is dead as he foresaw.Ó I said, contemplating anew what I already new but couldnÕt believe, what IÕd never let myself dwell on in my time of almost certain death. For that was what it was. I felt in my heart my approaching demise and even death did not shake the foundation of my will. Had I not gone riding into battle, seeking mortal peril, aching to be remembered as a doer of great deed, having won renown all the while blissfully sleeping under the earth? Alas, I still breathed, still lived... and that fact itself weighed down heavily upon my heart.
I viewed him, tall and clad in grey, possessing a great power, that though veiled, I sensed, as my salvation. I believed myself to be in love with him, and I cogitate that I still am. But my savior he was not. In truth he was little different than all the other men I have encountered in my life, perceiving me as strong and fair, I deem, able to withstand the anguish of battle but should not be forced to endure it. How they fail to understand me, oh, how they visualize the opposite of what I hold in my heart! In truth, thoughts of battle and possibly death are appealing to me, something I wish to taste. Alas. Oh, what I would give to be laid beside my uncle in the highest glory, a serene look upon my pale face, to be remembered as a woman of valor and courage beyond the match of any male.
ÒEowyn?Ó Eomer asks, clutching my hand, as if he is afraid I will slip away, like sand sifting through his fingers. ÒEowyn, Lord Aragorn, your healer, said a queer thing.Ó
Wordlessly I nodded, pulling my hand away.
ÒHe spoke of other healing that even he, with the blood of the ancient kings of Gondor coursing through his veins and with the hands of a healer, can not give you,Ó Eomer whispered, as if petrified to see of what effect his words, or rather AragornÕs, would have on me.
ÒWhat do you image this other healing he can not, will not, give me is?Ó I asked, my voice almost descending into mockery for I knew of what he spoke of. Love.
ÒItÕs... itÕs love,Ó he sighed. ÒNot the love of a brother, or an uncle, or a father but the compassion of another man. Someone who will give you the will to live, fair sister.Ó
ÒAnd who shall this man be, brother?Ó I cried, leaning forward in my fury. ÒIf the one man I love, or thought I loved, can not give me this healing then who else is there? Who else could possible love me? Or rather, who else could l love?Ó
ÒSomeone will come, little sister, and he will come unlooked for at a time when you least expected. And he will deliver you, he will be your salvation, not Lord Aragorn, however noble he may be. And you will love him, sister, more than I, more than Theoden King, more than anyone,Ó Eomer said. With that he rose, urging me to rest my weary eyes for my ordeal must have been exhausting and much to endure. He bent down and brushed his lips against my brow. ÒI love you, dear sister and my heart overflows with joy to see you alive,Ó he said and then strode out of the room, leaving me alone with my emotions.
Once I was alone, as I had been many times before, as the moon rose and stars loomed over me, I began to cry. And cry I did, tears streaming down my face, salty, tangy tears staining my face, scarring me. The Battle of Pelennor Fields was over but I still had much to suffer.
So I cried.