The Fair Lady of Rohan

Chapter 2

Minas Tirith

Eowyn tossed and turned in her bed, wrapping the sheets around her self. Her body shivered as if she was in excruciating pain. Her brow was damp with sweat as she cried out in her sleep.

Instantly, she shot up, gasping for breath.

Panic took her as she saw unfamiliar surroundings. White stone walls surrounded her, opening to a large window. Through the window, she saw the sun cresting from the east. The golden light struck the sparse furniture in the room, which included a small table and a chair beside her bed.

Her breathing calmed as she remembered where she was and what had happened. She was in Minas Tirith, the White City of Kings. Her left arm was broken and in a sling that hung over her nightgown.

It had been a week since she had woken from the sleep that had taken her. She shuddered as she remembered Aragorn's face as he looked down at her with pity. It had been a shock to find out that he had woken her, but she quickly recovered because her brother had come barging in and had almost smothered her with his embrace. Eowyn had to fight him off to get him to let go of her, which had been a trial because of her brother's size.

Rising from the bed, Eowyn walked to the window. The sunlight felt good upon her face, warming all of her, even though she felt cold on the inside. Aragorn had broken her heart, which had been the reason why she had decided to ride to war, with the chance that she might die. It had been an act of suicide, but she had wished to be dead if she could not obtain Aragorn's love.

With a sigh, she leaned on her right arm and gazed out towards the plains stained with the blood of thousands of Orcs and hundreds, if not thousands, of her countrymen. She shuddered as she remembered the Lord of the Nazgul. She could still hear his cold voice and his deadly gaze. Never would she forget him. Even if time did, she would always remember.

The creak of the door opening jolted Eowyn out of her thoughts. Turing, she saw a small maid dressed in drab gray carrying a silver tray with a bowl of porridge and a loaf of bread. There was also a small pitcher of water and a silver cup.

The maid set the tray down on the table and turned to her.

"Does my lady wish a bath and clean clothes?" she asked.

"That would be wonderful," Eowyn said with a humor she didn't have. "Is there any word of my brother?"

"No lady. Only that they left for Morgul Vale two days ago."

Eowyn sighed. Her brother might be a pain at times, but she missed him terribly.

"Is that all, lady?"

"Yes."

"Very well, lady," the maid said and opened the door.

"Wait!" Eowyn said.

The maid looked back.

"Tell me, would you have the Warden come?" she asked. "I need to speak with him."

"I will have him come after you are dressed."

"Good."

An hour later, Eowyn sat atop her bed, refreshed from her bath and dressed in clean clothes. She ran an impatient hand down the soft blue fabric of her dress, savoring the feel. Her golden hair gleamed after being brushed and properly cleaned, every last trace of battle gone.

She looked up as the Warden entered her room and took the chair beside her bed. A quaint man, he stood only a few inches taller than Eowyn. His merry blue eyes danced with the happiness of his occupation. It was obvious that he loved that he did.

"The maid said you wished to talk to me," he said, straightening his robe.

"I did," Eowyn replied. "I wished to know if I can walk about again."

The Warden's eyebrows rose as he heard the oddity of her request. "You are not yet healed."

"I can't stay another moment in this bed or this room!" Eowyn burst out.

"I was given orders to keep you in bed for another week."

"I can't lay abed another week!" Eowyn said shocked at whoever gave that order. "I am healed!" She got up from the bed and stood in front of him. She winched as she moved her left arm. "Everything except for my arm; otherwise I am healed."

"But I can't let you leave. I am under orders from the King to keep you abed for another week."

"I can't do that!" Eoywn cried out in frustration. "If I am cooped up in here for another day, I will go mad!"

"I can't let you go."

"Who's in charge here?" she asked, figuring that she had better go to the top to get her freedom.

"Lord Faramir is the Steward of the City."

With a look of determination she said, "Take me to him."