AN: It is finally here: part 1 of the second chapter. Once again thank you to my fabulous beta readers! Recommended listening: "Glory and Gore" by Lorde, ""Still" by Daughter and "Work Song" by Hozier.
Seeing Beyond Part i
Éowyn, Rohan, March 2, 3019
Aragorn's scimitar intrigued Éowyn. She had never ventured to supplement her arsenal with additional blades, for it was not common in Rohirric culture to depend upon anything but singular sword or spear. Her people always went to war with their horses. Sitting atop a horse required reach and leverage to strike an opponent. Therefore,erratically swinging daggers at an enemy several feet away with no hope of accomplishing anything was frowned upon. But perhaps this martial disdain could be done away with. Maybe a joint effort between her and Aragorn could inspire her people to look beyond their high saddles, and gain strength from the very earth, that man came from. Warriors would reconnect with Arda once again while exploring the possibilities that knife fighting held. Tales of recent skirmishes with Saruman's forces have told of particularly vicious Orcs who swarmed enemies like bees to a pool of luscious honey. Uruk-Hai they were called, the gruesome result of vile experiments beyond the normal realm of mortal ability. Mounts could easily become overwhelmed by an awesome consolidation of enemies due to the steed's multitude of vulnerabilities. Standing freely would permit augmented mobility and less mass to maneuver on the battle field.
Her musings were punctuated by the abrupt scrape of a mighty sword being withdrawn. Not only were her eyes, but also those of her young pupils pulled to behold the magnificent blade. Andúril glistened in the rejuvenated daylight, piercing any storm clouds that foolishly lingered over Edoras. Its silvery depths were immaculate, betraying its luster with neither abrasion nor stray scuff. The blade was as polished and pristine as the day it was wrought, and that drew even more wonder from her. For a weapon that she suspected was often wielded, it surprised her that it would suffer no wear from constant use. It could very well be Elven magic, but she knew not. The man brought only strange questions to ponder, but she ardently wished he would soon supply even stranger answers.
She too drew her blade in preparation, positioning it in line with her heart and level with her chest. Aragorn regarded her as he finalized his defensive stance, and their eyes met. His choice to remain firmly in place called for her to initiate the duel. He dipped his noble brow imperceptibly, and delivered a challenging quirk of the lips, "Whenever you are ready my lady.
Aragorn, Rohan, March 2, 3019
The Lady of Rohan proceeded forward with measured caution. Her footsteps as silent as the midnight. Even the squelching turf could not foil her stealth. Determination flared from her eyes, like smoldering comets streaking towards a calculated collision. Her hair was tied back into a utilitarian knot, leaving her face bereft of the shelter of silken strands. The contours of her face were exposed to Elessar's eyes, and her graceful cheeks emphasized.
Her skin was a creamy pastel, gentle in overall shade, but liveliness enveloped the derma nevertheless. Éowyn's lips were chapped, yet still flushed with femininity. The starkest deviation from the queenly aura she greeted him with, was the armor she now wore. It was neither obtrusive, nor garish, but instead prided itself in uncomplicated elegance. The panoply was quite plain, save for delicate and hoary horsehair manipulated to imitate the profile of a virile steed looking to the skyline. She was most definitely of shorter stature than him, but she looked as mighty and imposing as any man would donning the same coat of mail.
She was a unique sight to behold indeed, a true shield maiden, balancing tenderness with ferocity. Éowyn was unlike any other woman he had met before.
Her remarkable sui generis was intensified by the gusto with which she executed her first maneuver: an ambitious wide arc directed at his head. Gone was the gentile dove, and in her place a fiery raptor had appeared.
Aragorn deduced that in her excitement to prove her mettle something went wrong. Her swing was much faster than she must have intended, sacrificing the control she needed to bring Liberty's Mane back to her own body. The prospect of dueling such an unknown fighter coupled with his great height could render her unbalanced and quicker to error, though, to his own benefit.
For someone of such an enviable size, he ducked under the circling blade with astounding dexterity, shrinking to the stubby but still respectable height of Gimli the dwarf. He shuffled back before she could recoil, and he pressed the advantage. Capitalizing on the period of time her body needed to recover from such rapid movements, he swung Andúril to catch her at the ankles. The blow was successful and with a clap of iron thunder, Éowyn tumbled to the garden floor.
Aragorn bent down to offer her a hand, but unbeknownst to him, Éowyn loathed accepting aid in the face of her own mistakes, thus she scissor kicked her legs to bring Aragorn down beside her. The fact that he was so low to the ground most certainly assisted Éowyn in sweeping his steadfast balance aside. If he were at full height, it would have been like kicking a stone wall.
Elessar crashed down as well, only two paces away from her. Their booted feet brushed against each other momentarily, but Éowyn flinched away immediately, like the Dúnedain was a scalding fire poker.
The Lady's reaction was perplexing, and Aragorn catalogued it to consider later because presently he was bound to a duel, in which forfeiture was not an option. Éowyn's resolve to prove the victor bled into his mind in addition and encouraged him to compete harder.
A hearty chuckle drifted from his normally severe lips, smiles or laughter were few and far between in the life of a Ranger, there being little cause to engage in pointless mirth.
He once again splintered the hush, "What a clever, and must I say unexpected. tactic my lady. You have left me very impressed if not a little disheartened that I fell victim to your cunning. I anxiously await learning what other strategies you favor."
For a moment the Lady of Rohan remained as still as a lake held captive by frost, but any frigidity in countenance melted away with Aragorn's declaration. A subtle smile took root.
Éowyn was the first to her feet, and it was her turn to provide a hand to Aragorn, "It was nothing my lord, mere luck. You caught me off guard with your own skill. You are an observant opponent for reworking my blunders to your benefit. If you would be so kind as to entreat me, I ask you tell the tale of your magnificent weapon."
Aragorn accepted the succor she offered. He needed little help in rising to his feet, but he desired to be a gracious guest; any gesture of gratitude could be instrumental in solidifying a renewed alliance with the Eorlingas. The time for happily embracing his ancestors' legacy instead of shamefully shunning it had come, and most of all he yearned to rectify the folly of Isildur. As a result of Gandalf's miraculous return to the living realm of Arda, the remainders of the Fellowship had not only been blessed with rejuvenation in spirit, King Théodon had reclaimed his autonomy in thought, and best of all, hope came again.
With a pulse of intention, no longer fueled by dark desperation, but instead by radiant faith, Aragorn responded, "This blade once bore the name of Narsil, for it belonged to my foretather, Elendil, who wielded it with the purest of intentions. It was originally forged by Telchar of the Nogrod. In its first life, it failed in protecting my people, and all beings for that matter, from the pitch gloom that lusted for all of Middle Earth. Elendil lay slain by the superior force of Sauron himself, and Narsil laid pitifully shattered by his side, but alas, Isildur, heir and son to Elendil, in his grief and righteous anger, deprived the Dark Lord of his most prized asset: The Ruling Ring."
The young girls watching he duel had fallen dead silent, fearful of invading the space now precariously occupied by mounting tensions before them. And yet Aragorn's story had lit a fire in their eyes. That flame crackled to the frequency of a future in which they themselves would become the Elendil's and Isildur's of their Age, and they were enthralled.
Éowyn's own rigid demeanor softened in fascination, wonder melting away insecurity. She remained in a neutral stance some seven paces away.
Elessar continued his tale though he took no pleasure in recounting the past in its entirety, disappointment was the impact farthest from that he wanted to make, but the story needed to be told in full, he drew a morose breath and continued.
"My ancestor's triumph over Sauron was quickly stifled like the dreams of a free Arda, when he surrendered himself to the insidious temptation of the Ring. Instead of cleansing our scarred and bruised home from Sauron's scourge, Isildur, made the choice to be selfish. He did not cast away the instrument that could tether the Dark Lord to Arda, but instead possessed it as his own, in the deluded rationale that he could master it. The knowledge of Isildur's folly has been recounted in my family for several generations"
Aragorn scanned his audience to gauge their reactions, assessing if the lasses were ready to hear the rest, and he deemed them so, "Following Isildur's betrayal, Narsil remained cloven in two, and was merely a symbol of the torrential shame my forefather rained down upon my family. However, Narsil has been restored, into a battle ready blade, and I have given it a new title, more fitting of our current status: Andúril, "Hope of the West" and the name is not just ornamental, but summarizes my own part to play. Like Andúril, I had neglected my duty for too long, refusing to accept every facet of myself, and become the optimal host for change, but no more. Now we resume who we were meant to become all along, a rallying force and stout allies in purging our home of Sauron's taint once and for all!" He barely raised the volume of his voice beyond that of an innocuous call, but in reality his resolution was the muted equivalent of a rallying and blood pumping cry.
The young ladies responded in kind with thrilled whoops, yells and fervid applause. Drunken fulfillment drank through parched lips, and Aragorn grinned in response, with joyful sprinkles of tears emerging from weathered eyes.
Elessar realized he was not the only one in attendance sporting a grin moistened and highlighted by droplets, for Éowyn join him in his silent tears. Witnessing such passion and love spilling from the Lady of Rohan, was a wonderful sight to behold, but nevertheless a sobering return to reality.
Aragorn cleared his throat in hopes of drawing the attention of the exuberant ladies, but only Éowyn caught on to his signal for silence. They locked eyes, and Aragorn's will was transmitted to Éowyn's comprehension.
Suddenly Éowyn had shed all indication that she too had fallen under an emotional spell, molded her lips into a ring and released a shrill and commanding whistle, "Ríce íphildee hleótend cwyde behæbbe, men vårmålsetting ikke væreoppdage, men stæl befrigne andgiet cann camp."
Éowyn's pupils cast their heads to the ground and ceased all ruckus, along with responding in unison to her command, "Gese húsbondan, wé waralware."
Translation: "Ríce íphildee hleótend cwyde behæbbe, men vårmålsetting ikke væreoppdage, men stæl befrigne andgiet cann camp."- I know of the majesty held within his words, but our goal is to learn about swordplay, not become overwhelmingly noisy. Now watch.
"Gese húsbondan, wé waralware."- We understand mistress, we will watch noiselessy.
She looked again to Aragorn and inclined her head in compliance, a flicker of amusement still shone in her impeccably composed countenance.
"My students and myself are very grateful for this percipient lore, and we shall treasure it always, but time is running short, yet a victor has not been declared yet, would it please you to resume our sparring session?"
"Most definitely, my Lady" Aragorn finished with flourish of Andúril, "If our guests are so inclined?" he left the query hanging in the air to the anxious girls like the intoxicating aroma of breaded confections would attract the starved.
They all nodded in concurrence, their blue eyes sparkling and flaxen hair dancing in the breeze. He understood their answer as approval, and he squared off to face Éowyn, as her acolytes waited with bated breath. Keeping Éowyn's cautionary words in mind, he was the first to lash out with his blade in a formidable forward jab, which Théoden's niece deftly evaded by side stepping the impending blow. Éowyn then took the offensive through a diagonal cut across her body, power anchored in her two handed grip. Aragorn countered her attack by halting it midway, but she realized the futility in her attempt early enough that she could cartwheel out of Andúril'sdevastating wake. Andúrilthen drove towards the murky turf after losing contact with Liberty's Mane, allowing Éowyn to expertly claim Aragorn's sword as her own.
Now Elessar, was left open to an adversary brandishing two swords, and able to outflank him on all sides. He apprehensively elevated his hands with the palm facing upward to represent capitulation, though he foolishly dared to dream that the duel would not yet end. Aragorn bent down to one knee, and bowed his head in respectful deference, awaiting how Éowyn would choose to proceed. Following little hesitation, Éowyn bestowed Andúrilback into Aragorn's charge. The cool steel of the blade bit into his hands, but it was soothing nonetheless.
She stepped back after Aragorn cupped his fists around the blade's edges, waiting for him to regain his footing. He relished a few more moments of simply connecting with the weapon that was his birthright, but slowly rose to his feet,
"My Lady, it is most kind of you return the weapon that I lost. I could think of few, if any, men who would generously surrender their rightful bounty," during the delivery Aragorn's brow remained pointed downward, as if anticipating reproach, but none did he find.
Éowyn ventured further, "Think nothing of it, but a mere exchange of friendship. A token if you will, a veritable oath that both our great houses have signed: to never abandon the other, even at the prospect of imminent destruction. Instead shall we eternally rally side by side, as brothers in arms. I am pleased that such a formidable contrivance has found an equally adroit lord. But, Aragorn, never forget, I am no Man."
Elessar met her blazing eyes, and the Lady seemed to grow more imperial in attention. Momentarily, a divine phantasm of a woman long deceased dominated the space in which Éowyn occupied, glossy curls of ebony and resplendent pearls flared outward as it carried on the very whim of the wind. Steelsheen.
Aragorn stumbled back aghast, and held his eyes closed for several beats to re-gather his wits. Greedily he sucked in clarifying breaths, and upon discovering that glorious illumination no longer lingered at the edges of his furrowed brow, he opened his eyes and beheld nothing but a vacated garden. Neither the niece of Théoden, nor her juvenile apprentices were there, and he was all alone.
Overhead, a clear toll was heard, loud and strong it resonated atop the thatched rooftops and hopped from foothill to foothill. Supper time had come and Meduseld was the epicenter of the warning bell. Seeing as Aragorn was no longer in the company of any others, he thought it best to go back to the Golden Hall. A faint murmur crested atop the the barriers of Estel's ears, always just barely dodging the level of sound he could detect, but like an unwavering promise, it echoed against his skin: Steelsheen.
Éowyn, Rohan, March 2, 3019
Éowyn had dismissed her tutees at once, aware that she had already kept them too long, which could arouse suspicions. The match went past the bell that announced the time for toil and duty to end, and boldly marched on beyond the first ring of feasting hour. Sparring with Elessar in both jests and blows, witnessing the intimate way in which he approached combat and listening to the glorious history of his ravaged heirloom, was like the stuff of dreams. Catharism, ardor, understanding and comradery colored that time in the garden as something extraordinary, and she suspected she was not the only one to have thought so.
She would have much preferred to spent the evening remembering every detail of that afternoon, but the time for rest had not yet come. The household needed to be fed, therefore she chartered her course to freshen up briefly at her chambers and redress in more befitting attire.
She made use of a long forgotten side entrance that burrowed into the forsaken rooms of her parents. Theodwyn's fondness for horticulture marked the chambers nearest the flora filled patch as the best home for both her and her husband. Now like the garden, the rooms of Théoden's expired sister were to remain untouched or disturbed. Éowyn made use of it, when her enterprise was in peril of being found out by her king, and it would again fulfill that purpose.
At once she set to work shoving her armor and beloved sword into the dark recesses of a warped and swollen wooden chest. Next she took some moments to fill the tub before her with water. Then she stripped herself of the remaining undergarments and jumped into the wash basin. Éowyn gasped a few times at the chilling clime of the liquid, sputtering out half formulated curses. Although, the thought of dining with Éomer, Théoden, Gandalf, Aragorn and his companions brought such sincere swaths of cheerfulness that any obstacle, including biting water, was washed away.
Within a dozen minutes, she had removed all perspiration and residue from her dalliance outside, dried herself off, and recommitted to a stately crimson frock, previously set aside for future use. She didn't spare one glance at her reflection as she walked crossed the threshold, and slowly moved aside the great tapestry that had been installed to block access to her parents' chambers. Éowyn peered outward to scan for any witnesses, but the corridor was empty. Satisfied with her state of concealment, she shuttled the mighty canvas back to its inconspicuous starting position, and headed east to the main hall.
The journey only took a few moments for she was as sure of direction in her home as a sea bird chasing the cyan tide teeming with delicious fish. When she appeared at the entryway to the lively feast, a quick scan of the chamber revealed that her uncle was in the midst of conversing lively with the newest visitors to Edoras. It was tradition that the first drink of the evening always be poured in honor of and for the reigning monarch, and she had yet to fulfill that particular custom. Éowyn paused briefly to grasp a hefty jug brimming with wine, but her eyes were entirely focused on her uncle. As she crossed the cerise planking to serve the vintage, her nearing foot patter alerted Aragorn to her presence, and he to hers, but she diligently averted her eyes and tendered the drink.
Aragorn, Rohan, March 2, 3019
"The king now rose, and at once Éowyn came forward bearing wine. 'Ferthu Théoden hál' she said. 'Receive now this cup and drink in happy hour. Health be with thee!' Théodon drank from the cup, and she then proffered it to the guests. As she stood before Aragorn she paused suddenly and looked upon him, and her eyes were shining. And he looked down upon her fair face and smiled" ("The Two Towers" Tolkien 136).
AN: Thank you so much for your time and readership! It means the world to me andI apologize for the prolonged waiting period, I had throat surgery and started my last semester of high school so life has been entirely chaotic. That being said, expect the second part of chapter 2 to come out early March, the next half with cover the beginning of Arwen and Faramir's tale so look out for that! Leave a review if you would like. :)