I own Rhoswen…and none other. Aerwyn and some of this chapter courtesy of my fellow Gwathel Angoliel. I know I've said before that this story is primarily about Rhoswen, but Angoliel and I decided that Aerwyn's reaction to Rhoswen verbally and literally smacking her might be appreciated.
No flames, but constructive criticism would be nice.
Aerwyn sat in the gardens of Dol Amroth, strumming a harp absent- mindedly. The tune was sad and mournful, like a dirge. Perhaps it was the seemingly endless rain that inspired her tune, or perhaps the hopeless cause at hand. The Steward's daughter had been sent from her home again, only being allowed three weeks in the White City. Denethor had bade her to return to the City of Swans after Faramir had gone to defend Osgiliath. The struggle for Gondor's survival had begun, and the Ruling Steward had no desire that his beloved daughter be anywhere near the battles. Aerwyn went willingly, for her encounter with the White Rose had left bitterness in her heart, and despair.
Her cousin Lothíriel found her lost in thought, the eyes of the Raven lifeless and cold as she played her lament. "What is this, cousin? Why do you play odes to lost warriors?" she asked.
Aerwyn sighed. "Darkness comes, Fairy. By the time I return to my city, there will be many lost soldiers to mourn. Many of them friends," she replied, her eyes still hapless.
Lothíriel would not be put off by her cousin. Not this time. "The coming of darkness has never thrust you into weeping, my dear Airy. Something is the matter, and I await your telling me of it."
"I have right enough to weep, Lothíriel," Aerwyn stopped her playing mid note to look up at her cousin, her face clouded by irritation. "My brother is engaged." She looked forlornly at her lap.
"What? Not Faramir!"
"Nay, not he, but Boromir. I have not seen him, for he is in the north on a quest, else I would speak to him of this matter that disquiets me; I have met his bride-to be, and I do not like her."
Aerwyn told Lothíriel everything, from the time she entered her father's halls to the time she departed. Her cousin sat quietly listening, never interrupting once. When the Raven finished, they were quiet for a time.
"So, Rhoswen of Anfalas has grown up. I have not seen her for many years. Not since that summer you visited, when the Corsairs kidnapped me for the gold in my father's treasure houses. But has she changed? As I remember, the child was as silent as the grave," Lothiriel mused. "W hat is she like now? It seems, from what you have told me, that Boromir's absence is stretching her patience too thin."
Aerwyn snorted, and began anew her distracted hands plucking strings. " Oh, she's silent still. In the four times I met her, I believe we exchanged a grand sum of twenty words. With the exception of our argument" The Raven scowled and shook her head. "She's lady-like and demure and refined, and her sewing is perfect."
Lothíriel could almost taste the venom coming from her pained cousin-It flowed like Anduin. Airy was noble, but she had much pride. Her heart went out to her when her Gondorian kinswoman stifled a sob.
"She's everything I'm not," Aerwyn pursed her lips, and closing her eyes, silver tears nesting in the corners. Ah! So that is what troubles her! The Raven of Gondor feared that her people would turn their loyalties to one who was more womanly; one who was especially loved by their Captain Heir enough to be given a title that showed it.
Lothíriel took the harp from her cousin, who held it limply as she fought the passion of her grief. Setting the instrument aside, she wrapped her arms around her cousin, letting Airy's head rest on her shoulder. Gently rocking back and forth, Fairy cradled Aerwyn's head, stroking her hair.
"Her temper matches yours - and that's saying quite a lot, Aerwyn. The only other I can think of with a rage so hungry is your father...and possibly Boromir." Lothíriel pulled back, lifting Aerwyn's head to meet her gaze; there was a bare and honest truth in the princess' gray eyes. "And what I see is a little girl's fear that she's going to lose her brother to another woman who may possibly be more important than her."
Aerwyn's anger was not a thing that even Denethor could abide. But Lothíriel knew her cousin, and learned to have strength to stand against her when there was need - alone, if she had to. Fairy was not afraid of Aerwyn's wrath, and held her gaze for a time. Aerwyn's eyes were so dark they were near black. But the princess of Dol Amroth stood fast and did not cower. After a few moments, Aerwyn's rage turned to immense suffering and she put her head on her cousin's shoulder again, a torrent of tears wetting the silk of Lothíriel's gown.
"Have I not worth also, Fairy? Has not my favor diminished with the people? I shall not be pushed to the shadows, damn it!"
Lothíriel overlooked her cousin's use of profanity, as she often did. "No, Aerwyn. You have come to no lower standing in the eyes of your people. Rhoswen's coming should not be the cause of discord. The White Rose, as she is named, is not taking your place. She has become the banner of Gondor. Her make is sturdy and yet soft - enduring yet tender. There is room in her heart for grace. The people need a matron, and she is it, gathering the small children about her skirts to keep them safe. You, on the other hand, are steel. You are the sword, the weapon of Minas Tirith. You are strong, unbending and relentless. Vengeance rests in your heart, cousin. It has always been so."
Aerwyn had by this time quieted. Her body still quaked from sobbing as she looked up at Lothíriel.
"Am I never to love, then? Am I to live my life with a heart of ice? Swords are hungry for blood, and weapons maim. What has happened to me, Lothíriel? I have become a finely dressed assassin."
Wiping her cousin's tears away, Fairy had pity. Aerwyn had just now realized the state of her unyielding heart. "Examine where your loyalties lay, love. Have you allegiance to yourself only?" Lothíriel paused, a soft smile creeping over her face. "Your love is fierce, Aerwyn-it brings to mind a pack of hounds out for the hunt, searching and relentless. Were you to marry, I pray to Elbereth that your husband is not weak."
The lady of Gondor laughed a little, coming out of her deep sorrow a bit. "Fairy, you are good to me. I am sorry I give you so much abuse."
"It is not from me that you need forgiveness, cousin."
Aerwyn looked at her cousin, the look of a small child in her eyes as Lothíriel smiled enigmatically, drew up her skirts and went inside, peering at the sky.