AN: Well this has been a labor of love from the start, and we are only getting started. This is my first romp into LoTR and I want to do it justice. Thank you to my betas: the ingenious formerAnnie, the perceptive Green Eyes and Blue Insanity, and the lovely Aerlinniel722. And thank you to all of those who gave me tips, advice and resources. I recommend listening to "Where's My Love?" By SYML, "Atlantis" by Seafret, "Just my Soul Responding" by Amber Run, and "Fire and the Flood" by Vance Joy.
"The woman turned and went slowly into the house. As she passed the doors she turned and looked back. Grave and thoughtful was her glance, as she looked on the king with cool pity in her eyes. Very fair was her face, and her hair was like a river of gold. Slender and tall she was in her white robe girt with silver; but strong she seemed and stern as steel, a daughter of kings. Thus Aragorn for the first time in the full light of day beheld Éowyn, Lady of Rohan, and thought her fair, fair and cold, like a morning of pale spring that is not yet come to womanhood. And she now was suddenly aware of him: tall heir of kings, wise with many winters, greycloaked, hiding a power that yet she felt. For a moment still as stone she stood, then turning swiftly she was gone" ("The Two Towers" Tolkien 127 ).
Arwen, Imladris, March 2, 3019
Arwen awoke abruptly from her slumber, her awareness returning once again. She unexpectedly shivered and found herself disturbed at the chill suspended in the air. Imladris was a haven for all who wished only peace, valued knowledge and revelled in beauty of the arts and earth. Vilya, in the hand of her father, Elrond, erected a layer of fortitude and tranquility that sustained Rivendell in a state of mild climes and where a gentle breeze was ever present. The grip of winter never descended upon Rivendell, and for that Arwen was always glad.
Undómiel was not well versed in what some men would say is the arcane like her father or grandmother, but she possessed an inherent affinity for clairvoyance. Occasionally, Arwen experienced premonitions of events supplanted by time or place. Something unusual was certainly taking root, and Arwen ventured that it was not of benign nature. Tendrils of doubt circled her head like a diadem and painted her dreams as dreadful phantoms. Long had Arwen believed her would be one filled with finery befitting a queen. A coronet would declare her the wife of Elessar, and that crown would contain her adoration. Now, Arwen perceived no such headpiece except one that would only murmur of a fanciful dream never to be realized. Aragorn had always been a transient man; as he had a great destiny before him, remaining in Imladris with her would not prove conducive to achieving that destiny. As an Elf of the Teleri and Ñoldor, histories of immense wisdom, eternal love, and triumphant battles pulsed through her veins. She was fighting the war the few, save the truly steadfast, could endure: she was mandated to wait and fret.
Aragorn's absences were always times fraught with fear and consternation for the safety of her beloved, as it had always been when he embarked on another journey, but the stakes had never been so high. The fate of Middle-Earth and any future the pair may have rested on the shoulders of a king without a throne. Before Aragorn and the Fellowship had departed, Arwen had bestowed the Evenstar upon Elessar as a token of her love and faith, and now more than ever she hoped that he bore it on his breast still. Their world was in peril, and her belief in Aragorn had never faded, but a knocking in her heart threatened to open the doors of vacillation.
Aragorn was bound to encounter folk of all sorts, Dwarves, her fellow Elves, and Men alike for it was the way of a traveler. Yet Undómiel sensed that the meeting between Aragorn and an unknown woman was one of new and volatile stock. Never before had she received a vision of the allies Aragorn collected, or borne witness to the many faces he saw, until now.
The other woman descended from families of both warfare and grace. Her heritage making her a daughter of glistening golden swords embellished with crystal lattice work mimicking frost. She was a mixture of warmth and coolness, entirely unique. A warrior posture she held, but a tension permeated her body and held it hostage, like a cord wound too tight but deprived the chance to come undone. Arwen knew little of physical combat herself, but felt the woman was well versed and on the precipice of a great battle.
Undómiel peered into her future and saw an incoming battle of not only the body, but also the heart and mind. Empathic currents originated from the woman, showing her eyes had been opened to something new, an exotic passion which she had never bothered herself with before: attraction. The dawn of devotion had finally reached her once lonely horizon. Arwen wished the woman well, but was perplexed at the timing, and grew slightly agitated with what the maiden's response would ignite in her beloved. It could entail ill fortune for their future. It was impossible to divine anymore save the significance of that meeting, and she yearned for the embrace and gaze of Aragorn more than ever.
As Arwen sat up and drew her fingers to her lips, she found herself craving the kiss of Aragorn, but nay! She would need to sustain herself with all of the memories they had created, and envisioning the ones that were yet to come. Undómiel wished to clear her mind of such thoughts and the sweet perfume of her flowers and trees beckoned her to a place of great reprieve and peace. She set out to visit and tend to her garden to occupy herself with the gift of nurturing life, in which she would always remain certain.
Éowyn, Rohan, March 2, 3019
There was a great contrast between the regal figure before her who was clad in the garb of stealth, and the deluge of rain that marred the plain in a sheen of grey. The stranger, called Aragorn, should have blended in with the bleak landscape behind him, his cloak a mere extension of the encompassing gloom, but he thwarted such an expectation. He radiated an air of magnificence which could banish any ill weather with its touch. Even now the drapes of charcoal above parted to release a column of sunlight.
Alas! The stranger must be bringing good tidings indeed. His nature was foreign to her, and his history shrouded in mystery, but his arrival and that of his companions spoke of a great change to the somber monotony. The white clad wizard was of particular interest for he brought about the metamorphosis in her uncle. For so long Théoden had existed in a state caught between awareness and oblivion, suspended in a sluggish stupor. That vile Wormtongue had been no help, as he was the one poisoning her uncle's mind with whispers of falsehoods and evil.
Prior to Wormtongue's arrival, the King of Rohan had been marked by his vivacity and hunger for life. He was fair to all and welcomed visitors with the greatest hospitality, but Gríma's influence rendered him suspicious of everyone; anybody a potential foe. Even Éowyn herself was considered a threat on occasion, and the only protection against scrutiny was the horrid affection Wormtongue held for her. Gríma' unsavory obsession was known to her uncle, and to appease his top advisor he kept his niece near. She would tell him stories of her mother and tales of Éomer and Théodred engaging in mischief as young men, imitating the Marshals and Riders they idolized. Anything was fair game to tether her uncle to sanity.
Rohan itself had begun to decay in both spirit and luster. Their beloved steeds became continuously more agitated and spooked at invisible phantoms just beyond the reach of Man's eye, and thunder tumbled from the sky with sentinels of lightning. Rain was a typical companion to the storms, but the grasslands did not reflect this vast increase in sustenance; on the contrary, its life depleted by the day, leaving behind marshy corpses of the former strands of grass.
The white wizard they called Gandalf reignited the fire within her uncle, and inspired him to vacate his throne for the first time in months. Éowyn felt immense gratitude for the healing the wizard brought to her uncle, and what she foresaw could extend to her entire home, and she looked forward to engaging him in conversation for news of the outside world. Too long had she been starved of knowledge not saturated in sorrow, so perhaps the wizard could heal more than one wound.
Her eyes had drifted towards the ivory clad conjurer but she returned them to Aragorn's profile. He had a strong countenance with a sharp jawline, eyes as intense and silver as the watchful moon and threads of sable locks that cascaded to his shoulders. His proud and seasoned posture spoke many of trying and fascinating tales, along with a concealed fortitude and bravery that whispered of a purpose greater than that of a Ranger. He was born to be a king. Éowyn realized Aragorn's eyes were fixed on her still, and a flush of anxiety rushed through her. Later on she would discover it was the sensation of attraction, but in the moment she only felt distressed. The stranger nodded his head ever so slightly in a sign of greeting, but her discomfort only grew at his attention, so she promptly retreated to her chambers.
Éowyn arrived at her quarters promptly in a flurry of confusion and inexplicable excitement. Never before had any Man drawn such a reaction from her. All men she knew were either of her kin or such staples of her life that they bore no allurement because of their predictability. Éowyn thought little of such superficial things like love, but she was not completely blind to the workings of her heart. There had been no dependable models of romance in her life, for her parents died when she was only still a girl of seven, and her uncle never took another wife after Théodred's mother passed.
All she was left with were the scarce memories she had of her mother and father, that each day grew more faint, and the stories her uncle regaled her with about the great love of her grandparents' love, Thengel and Morwen Steelsheen. Her grandmother felt such love for her grandfather that she left behind the only life and home that she had ever known in Gondor, and joined her grandfather in matrimony. Some may have called it risky, but Éowyn always thought it was the purest expression of love.
Such unconditional love was envied by Éowyn. She had entertained the notion that one day she would come across her own soulmate from a distant land, resurrecting the glory of Thengel and Morwen, but any illusion of ardor receded along with her uncle's wherewithal. There was no time to waste indulging in inane fantasies whilst her kingdom crumbled.
Of course it was too soon to tell, but if she were so bold, she would conjecture that dear Theóden was on the mend, and past hardships ordained tragic happenings of the past. The future had finally arrived, and Aragorn came with it.
Éowyn resolved to not become hasty and reject the sanctity of reason, but her heart would no longer allow herself to repress such sentiments as joy and affection. She was starved for happiness, and the son of Arathorn's arrival was serendipitous with this new opportunity. It was not love to be sure! But, like the glistening sun once again choosing to grace the corridors of Meduseld, it was an omen of rebirth.
There was so much more that she wanted to learn about Aragorn, but her duties hadn't vanished along with her uncle's disheartening daze, so she was set to fulfill her obligations, even those not officially sanctioned by the Lord of the Mark. The white wizard Gandalf also brought disturbing news of a villain rising in the East and its insatiable talons clawing to overcome all lands and corrupt it with impenetrable darkness. Women of Rohan were not afforded the freedom of riding with their soldiers into battle, for their place had always been in the home and at the hearth teaching and protecting the progeny of the Rohirrim. Éowyn had never understood this decree, viewing it as an inefficient way to divide the society in times of crisis; but after many chastisements Éowyn learned to hold her tongue, and instead pursue her ends under the veil of secrecy.
In such dire times everyone must know how to fight, including the women, and Éowyn saw to that need every other day at two hours past noon. Disregarding and blatantly usurping such ancient traditions was hardly worthy of a Lady, but in her heart, she was a Rohirrim first, and nobility second. It was her unspoken responsibility to best prepare her people for all foes that would dare invade their homes. Today's work was to tutor as many girls as possible to produce a sizable fighting force, but not draw too many away from chores and work as to arouse skepticism. Éowyn prided herself on the system of instruction she had devised and earnestly awaited the lessons she would give.
Following Gandalf's rallying of Théoden's spirits and further cleansing him of dubiety, Háma, one of Théoden's most trusted, retrieved Éomer from his incarceration. When presented with the nephew whose integrity he had doubted, and the imprisonment he mistakenly ordered, Theóden apologized wholeheartedly. Amends were made and failing connections on the verge of being forever lost were once more restored. Éomer was cleared of any charges and named the King's heir. This informal coronation was in fact attended by Éowyn, but she deftly maneuvered herself to return to her chambers immediately after.
Aragorn, March 2, 3019
At last, Aragorn was given the privilege of a brief respite. He beckoned Gandalf to walk with him around the property of lifeless turf crunched and snapped under the worn yet sturdy boots of the seasoned Ranger and sure footing of Gandalf the White.
"Mithrandir, it has been so long since I have last been in Edoras, let alone the entirety of Rohan. Much is changed since I last visited the kin of Gondor, and not for the better. When Thengel reigned, the horses ran with the speed of elated bees rushing to a gathering around the most prosperous flower of the spring, and they held intelligence in their eyes akin to those of even the most scholarly man.
"They were keen in both physicality and psyche. The horses responded to every wish and order of their master and reveled in the companionship of both master and fellow horse. There was a liveliness that marked their movements as deliberate and thoughtful, far beyond any other stock of horses that I have come across."
Aragorn paused a moment to drink in the surrounding pasture and took inventory of tame and lethargic steeds. Their docility neither keen in physicality or psyche.
"And even worse, the grasslands are no longer boastful in their vitality, lasting throughout the year, remaining unmarred by the cruelest of verglas deposited by the unyielding winter. But like the grass has withered into colorless cadavers with brittle bones, the kingdom of Rohan has suffered decay."
Gandalf remained silent for several moments, pondering Aragorn's statement. The silence spoke of profound words about to come. Gandalf lifted his head to the tumultuous sky blanketed in ash and considered the capricious nature of the weather in Rohan.
"Elessar, you are not wrong in the slightest, for the poisonous reach of Saruman has penetrated even this proudest and most vigorous country, descending into deafening thunder and the sapping of all morale and ambition. Yet hope does remain for the blighted Rohirrim. I have done my part in healing their ailing monarch, and rallying them to arms, but the remainder of such hope lies in both the people themselves and Éomer and his younger sister, Éowyn."
The White Wizard chuckled knowingly as if he were in possession of a secret lost in the Ages.
"Éomer is now Théoden's heir, a future king like yourself. He will be the mind of his people, rationalizing all conflict and producing solutions to all predicaments, large and small. He will flourish as a diplomat and bring his people beyond this sundered existence. As for Lady Éowyn, her contributions are less clear, but will be no less worthy of celebratory song. I have at least surmised that she will be the beating heart, the center of love and friendship for her people. She will inspire the Rohirrim she will, and provide them with hope she shall."
The wizened sorcerer ceased his explanation to take stock of an invisible image that only he could see. An onlooker would believe he were witnessing the happenings of another world, his eyes tracing every shielded movement. In reality, Olorín foresaw what would come to pass.
"Éowyn will prove key to an alliance modified to fit the modern period, but founded in an immortal connection of the past. As of now the partner in such an arrangement is beyond my knowing, but I sense it will bring only remarkable change. They are an extraordinary pairing of siblings if I do say so myself."
Aragorn considered the burden of his own obligations. Then acknowledged the struggle it took to overcome the fear he would prove incompetent or unworthy. For so long he had been a Ranger, and the Chief of the impressive yet wandering Dúnedain, but no longer could he dwell in this complacency. He must now instead assume the mantle of the heir to Elendil, and rightful king of both Gondor and Arnor. Like Éomer and Éowyn, he had been orphaned and raised by a mentor, and later advisor, forever reminding him of his fate. Anyone who lived a life like his deserved respect.
"I agree assuredly, for I can relate well to Éomer, but the plight of the Lady does elude me. She seems to have rid herself of most emotion, but she has remained a faithful companion to her uncle in his time of greatest woe. I do not presume to know her character, but would you sate my curiosity, Gandalf?"
"Though my role is to provide counsel to those who both deserve and need it, I am not obliged to bring the truth directly under your nose. My craft is to set you upon your path. I advise that you grow familiar with her through actual conversation instead of relying on the senile ramblings of an ancient man. I will say two things: The blood of Númenor rushes within the ichor of her being through her maternal grandmother, Morwen Steelsheen. In addition, your observations are correct, but she has much more room for love and benevolence in her than it may be apparent now. Learn, Aragorn, that the worthiest of triumphs must be earned. I suggest you begin your investigation in the gardens, my friend. All will be revealed about the Lady in due time."
Gandalf concluded his piece and ascended the stairs to the Golden Hall to return to the presence of clear-minded Théoden.
Aragorn trusted Gandalf implicitly, for the wizard had sacrificed his own life so the Fellowship would survive. Gandalf had also the strength of will and depth of knowledge to deliver himself from the Beyond in an even more sagacious form. Nonetheless, the heir of Elendil was perplexed as to the endgame of the cunning wizard and he petulantly wished for it to be revealed promptly, yet it was plain to see that he would not unveil his greater designs.
In such moments of uncertainty Aragorn drifted back to his wonderful times in Imladris in the presence of his beloved Evenstar. Each time he had to leave grew more damning to his soul, and adversarial to his resolve. When all he wished was to return to Rivendell he had to remind himself that this entire quest was motivated by the future he and Arwen were fated to share. She had given him the ultimate gift: her immortality, and Aragorn planned to prove the boundless quality of his own love.
The amulet she bequeathed upon him would always be amongst his most treasured of possessions and even the most fleeting glance, or slightest brush of the fingertips was enough to replenish his spent spirit. Undómiel was waiting, and he didn't plan to keep her waiting long, so he would heed Mithrandir's advice and assess what clues the garden may hold.
Aragorn evaluated his surroundings to decide where to search first. There was a great fountain at the right corner of the terrace, crafted into the crown of a majestic steed. The fount was a new addition to the entrance of Meduseld, and quite the showpiece. Its inclusion indicated previous special attention paid to that corner of the terrace, so perhaps it would be a favorable place to start. Aragorn's footsteps towards the fountain were full of purpose.
Once he drew to the front of the fountain, he turned his head to the left and saw a surprising sight: firs. Elessar had no knowledge of firs growing in Rohan, and seeing them there was peculiar. There must be something unique about this area, and Gandalf had counseled him to visit the gardens, places of perseverance and nurturance. Perhaps with tremendous love firs could be kept here, and maybe they indicated of a further haven for flora. A garden may yet be hidden, and found. Concealed to him, his destiny awaited.
Éowyn, Rohan March 2, 3019
A fair half hour into the lesson, little progress had been made other than ample laughter and merriment. For many of the girls and women, sword training with Éowyn was the brightest spot of refuge and fun in their taxing and uneventful lives. The girls felt powerful and in control of their own destinies for once. The passionate fervor with which they craved tutelage only motivated her more to provide them with quality instruction.
It could not be helped that the sessions often devolved into fits of giggles, but she knew such release was good for the youth of Rohan, and she truly believed a warrior full of joy would fight so much harder to defend their most coveted. A person always fought better when they had something to fight for. Éowyn did not want the entire period to go to waste, so she ordered her students to quiet down in the tongue of her forefathers and watch her demonstrations:
"Ġestillaþ flickor. Hlosniaþhlosniġaþ mín förevising."
She raised her dearest sword, Liberty's Mane and stepped five paces away from her audience to model a supinated parry and subsequent rotation to disarm the hypothetical opponent with a measured flick of the wrist reinforced by collected momentum. Éowyn had traded in her white robe for chainmail she had secretly made with the assistance of her pupils, who were the daughters of metalworkers and artisans. The armor itself was quite simple in order to allow for optimal mobility, unlike the yawning vastness of her gown sleeves and the excessive fabric which pooled at her feet. Her armor was entirely devoid of pigment except for the chest piece,with only veins of the silver tresses of a mare to decorate it. The hair formed her family crest. She had promised that once the girls had learned all they could from her, they would also receive their own mail. Though she thanked the heavens that would be a while from then as most of her students still had to learn to wield their weapons well enough in order to prove proficiency. There could not be a legion of armored girls who held their blade at the wrong end after all.
Éowyn prepared to repeat her maneuver in slower motion when she heard rustling from the firs that valiantly guarded their training sessions. Servants had long ago abandoned the garden, deeming it futile, when most plants no longer grew. Her mother was the most avid tender of the garden, but after she passed, the garden also began to be regarded as a place of great sorrow and remained undisturbed in honor of Théodwyn's memory.
Eventually, Éowyn was the only being to visit it other than the infrequent sparrow or shrill field mouse. It was sanctuary, in more ways than one. Not only a lasting tie to her mother, but also the location of the forbidden sword lessons Éomer gave her when he grew too annoyed with her constant insistence and begging. No one besides her and her students knew of the way to the garden, and all pupils for that day had been accounted for.
The alarming rustling encouraged Éowyn to rapidly turn and brandish Liberty's Mane in an offensive stance when she was met by another blade.
The blade was unlike any she had seen, but she was vaguely reminded of the artfully crafted armaments of the Sindarin Elves traveling from the realm of Lórien. The craftsmanship was entirely superior, with its imposing gleam and graceful curves. The crystalline flourishes set into the center of the blade and within the polished silver pommel conspired to devise a splendid weapon.
Éowyn lifted her face to greet Aragorn, but she instinctively rotated her sword to deflect his and direct it to an offensive posture mere inches from his throat. She instantly dropped it, but did not cease to eye Aragorn with intense skepticism.
Aragorn was the first to break the tense quietude.
"My apologies my Lady, I did not mean to intrude. I was merely exploring the grounds and stumbled upon you all. I shall leave you ladies in peace at once."
He skillfully sheathed his blade with no waver of hand and made to vacate the garden when a tremendous longing for Aragorn to stay caused her to call out without any thought.
"My Lord, why don't you stay awhile? My students could always benefit from a fresh perspective. If you promise to not mention this to my uncle, I would be honored to have you as a guest instructor, as would my girls. In fact, I do believe there is much you could teach me as well. With your resplendent blade and vast travels you must have expertise in fighting styles unknown to me. I am eager to learn."
The proposition slipped from her lips in a pure impulsive outburst and her face began to color immediately in a telling blush. She was sincere in her statement, but knew her words were inappropriate and entirely offensive. Shame pulsed through her being. Éowyn bowed her head to foolishly conceal her embarrassment, when Aragorn gently grasped her chin and slowly turned it upward, her eyes of silver meeting his smokey gaze.
"I would be honored milady. And the same may prove for myself from you."
Translation to English: "Quiet girls. Watch my demonstration." I am no philologist, so I tried my best with the resources at my disposal. The end product is predominantly Anglo-Saxon with a little Scandinavian vocabulary.
AN: Thank you for your readership and time, reviews are always welcome. See you again soon. -Caunwen Nestriel