The stars shone brightly in the dark black sky. Luthien had galloped
tirelessly through the night; Eldarion, exhausted, was sleeping in her lap;
she could not sleep, and though her eyelids were heavy in want of it, she
could not bring herself to. She was afraid of what might attack her in the
early hours of the morning; she was afraid of what she might see if she
were to close her eyes.
"Promise me, that if anything should happen to me, you will look after my son."
"Lady, that is granted, but nothing will happen to you."
Eowyn jerked herself from her memories. Had Arwen known? Elves had the gift of foresight. The Queen could easily have seen her demise. How could she be such a fool, to accept such a charge without question? It was her fault the queen had died. If she had been more aware of the subtle intonations in the Queen's speech, if she had not been blinded by her affection and irrepressible jealousy, Arwen would still be alive.
Why had Arwen made such an obvious effort to protect her? Why had Arwen not gone with Eldarion to pick flowers? She looked down at the boy's chubby hands, and made out a single flower. She halted the horse, and dismounted, pulling Eldarion from the saddle. Her shoulder winced in pain, but she couldn't care, she wouldn't care. She looked down at Eldarion's hand, and pulled the flower from his grasp.
It was the poppy.
Eowyn sat down in the grass, and held Eldarion tightly to her chest. She missed her child, and the small boy of five years was reminiscent of Theodwyn, so vulnerable, naïve and young...his cheeks were stained in dried tears. Eowyn felt her throat tighten. She did blame herself...how could she not?
Where was she now? The lands were barely recognizable anymore, and everything seemed foreign. She was in Rohan, that she knew; and in the light she knew she would see the Great West Road stretching in front of her for miles. But how far away was Edoras? How far had she traveled? She was so tired...
Eowyn lay down in the grasp. She heard Luthien collapse next to her, and she held Eldarion tightly in her arms, so that she could hear and feel his soft breathing. It was such a relief to be lying down...her eyes began to close, and finally a sweet sleep took her and the pain dissolved from her tired body...
But she could not sleep. Not until she was safe, and Eldarion was away from harm. Reluctantly she pulled herself up, and Luthien stood awkwardly. She mounted, and was soon galloping into the empty night.
* * *
Edoras shone brightly in the morning light; an oasis as a red sun rose on the horizon, with thatched roofs and unpaved streets. Yet it had something the gleaming marble halls of Minas Tirith could never possess for her: the sense of familiarity, the knowing that she would be recognized and acknowledged...it felt almost if she was coming home, and the sight of the city burned her with relief, a rush of exhilaration after being weary for so long. Every moment felt as if it were a thousand hours, an excruciatingly long ride to the summit of the hill. Luthien could not ride fast enough, and the field stretched on endlessly, and she longed to be in her city...
"Open the gates!" Someone cried from above her, and Luthien burst through them, up through the streets to the peak of the hill, past the wondering villagers, mounting the steps of the Great Hall in relief, finally halting at the doors of the building.
Eowyn felt herself thrown forward as the horse stopped, and she leaned forward for a moment, grasping a breath. She dismounted wearily, and pulled Eldarion from the saddle. He was asleep still, and she placed him on the ground as she collapsed to her knees. The stone floor seemed to blur before her eyes.
The doors were thrust open; out stepped a stately king, with fair colored hair and dark eyes, fitted in the robes of a king. He saw the woman and the boy, and it took a moment to grasp their identity.
He rushed forward, taking off his cloak and placing it around her shoulders as a shield against the chilling, snappish wind. "Good god, Eowyn..." he pushed back the hair from her face. It was matted with sweat; her face was pale, and she barely looked alive.
She opened her eyes faintly, and managed a weak smile.
"Hello brother," she whispered, and the darkness took her.
"Promise me, that if anything should happen to me, you will look after my son."
"Lady, that is granted, but nothing will happen to you."
Eowyn jerked herself from her memories. Had Arwen known? Elves had the gift of foresight. The Queen could easily have seen her demise. How could she be such a fool, to accept such a charge without question? It was her fault the queen had died. If she had been more aware of the subtle intonations in the Queen's speech, if she had not been blinded by her affection and irrepressible jealousy, Arwen would still be alive.
Why had Arwen made such an obvious effort to protect her? Why had Arwen not gone with Eldarion to pick flowers? She looked down at the boy's chubby hands, and made out a single flower. She halted the horse, and dismounted, pulling Eldarion from the saddle. Her shoulder winced in pain, but she couldn't care, she wouldn't care. She looked down at Eldarion's hand, and pulled the flower from his grasp.
It was the poppy.
Eowyn sat down in the grass, and held Eldarion tightly to her chest. She missed her child, and the small boy of five years was reminiscent of Theodwyn, so vulnerable, naïve and young...his cheeks were stained in dried tears. Eowyn felt her throat tighten. She did blame herself...how could she not?
Where was she now? The lands were barely recognizable anymore, and everything seemed foreign. She was in Rohan, that she knew; and in the light she knew she would see the Great West Road stretching in front of her for miles. But how far away was Edoras? How far had she traveled? She was so tired...
Eowyn lay down in the grasp. She heard Luthien collapse next to her, and she held Eldarion tightly in her arms, so that she could hear and feel his soft breathing. It was such a relief to be lying down...her eyes began to close, and finally a sweet sleep took her and the pain dissolved from her tired body...
But she could not sleep. Not until she was safe, and Eldarion was away from harm. Reluctantly she pulled herself up, and Luthien stood awkwardly. She mounted, and was soon galloping into the empty night.
* * *
Edoras shone brightly in the morning light; an oasis as a red sun rose on the horizon, with thatched roofs and unpaved streets. Yet it had something the gleaming marble halls of Minas Tirith could never possess for her: the sense of familiarity, the knowing that she would be recognized and acknowledged...it felt almost if she was coming home, and the sight of the city burned her with relief, a rush of exhilaration after being weary for so long. Every moment felt as if it were a thousand hours, an excruciatingly long ride to the summit of the hill. Luthien could not ride fast enough, and the field stretched on endlessly, and she longed to be in her city...
"Open the gates!" Someone cried from above her, and Luthien burst through them, up through the streets to the peak of the hill, past the wondering villagers, mounting the steps of the Great Hall in relief, finally halting at the doors of the building.
Eowyn felt herself thrown forward as the horse stopped, and she leaned forward for a moment, grasping a breath. She dismounted wearily, and pulled Eldarion from the saddle. He was asleep still, and she placed him on the ground as she collapsed to her knees. The stone floor seemed to blur before her eyes.
The doors were thrust open; out stepped a stately king, with fair colored hair and dark eyes, fitted in the robes of a king. He saw the woman and the boy, and it took a moment to grasp their identity.
He rushed forward, taking off his cloak and placing it around her shoulders as a shield against the chilling, snappish wind. "Good god, Eowyn..." he pushed back the hair from her face. It was matted with sweat; her face was pale, and she barely looked alive.
She opened her eyes faintly, and managed a weak smile.
"Hello brother," she whispered, and the darkness took her.