Drabble set - Éowyn.
9 Jun 2010 09:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
curiouswombatThere has been a series of challenges at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tolkien_weekly based on the titles of other films/TV dramas made by the actors from the Lord of the Rings films.
I, as usual, set myself the task of using one central theme to meet all the challenges - this time I took Éowyn as my central character - the drabbles cover her life from her mid-teen to her wedding to Faramir.
So - a set of twelve true drabbles, I think rated PG this time.
Obsession.
Flesh, fair, firm, but soft; hair shimmering, streaming behind her in the golden sunlight. Old enough now to be courted; to be kissed and caressed; her young body ready to respond to a lover’s hands and mouth.
He had offered himself. Whispered words to her that promised the pleasures he could give her were she to give her body to him, to taste, to tutor…
But she had refused; looked at him with horror, gone to her brother, to her cousin and he had felt their ire.
Now they would learn, Grima thought, that beauty, not given, could be stolen.
To Sleep, Perchance To Dream…
On the nights that neither Théodred nor Éomer were in Meduseld, Éowyn locked and barred her bedroom door; she no longer relied on propriety to protect her from her uncle’s advisor.
She would sleep but fitfully; and fear and dread, black terror, awaited her.
But, some nights, a soft voice would call her from the blackness and she would dream of a garden of flowers, a dark haired man, and children she knew were theirs.
She could not remember his face in her waking hours and yet, she was sure, one day they would meet and she would know him.
Mistaken Identity.
She saw the tall, grey cloaked, figure move in the shadows, up onto Edoras’ defensive wall, where he stood gazing over the deeper darkness without.
Her hungry eyes feasted on him, silhouetted by a guttering flame; so tall, so regal in his bearing. This Aragorn was a figure to quicken both heart and blood.
She made to join him but, before she spoke, the moon cleaved the clouds; illuminating all briefly. The figure lifted his face and the silver shaft caught pearl skin, pale hair.
Shaken, Éowyn tried to believe that she had known, all along, it was the elf.
Bedazzled
Éowyn had been told, as a child, that the Witch of Dwimordene sprinkled stardust in the eyes of unwary children, before her grey shadow warriors carried them, bewitched, away.
She was reminded of this as she looked at the elf standing on the wall of Edoras. Surely the only way she could have mistaken Legolas for the dark-haired… regal… masculine… Aragorn was that the elf had bewitched her?
Yet, logic suggested, he showed no interest in seducing her. If there was, indeed, stardust in the air, since the travellers’ arrival, then just who did she look at through bedazzled eyes?
Observation
As they made their way to Dunharrow she watched him, and his companions, covertly. He was certainly master of himself; a commander of men even though he deferred to Théoden King.
Once or twice, she thought, the elf noticed how hungrily she watched the man. Legolas, in his otherness, reminded her of the female to whom, she had been told, Aragorn had given his heart.
But, surely, a man could be turned to see the value of a love here at his side, rather than one lost forever, at the far side of the world, beyond the reach of men…
Rejection
He had rejected her! She had thought, before the dark-haired elves arrived amidst the Grey Company, that he was coming to see her as someone he could love.
She would have been his queen, his helpmeet; she would have loved him with her all.
But he had rejected her. He had, he said, chosen the road that he would tread… and had gone to certain death.
There was nothing left for her in this life if he walked the Paths of the Dead.
She took up the sword; a quick and valiant path to join him in the next life.
Naught but this…
The noise. She had never imagined such clamour; metal on metal, orcs screaming, horses screaming, men screaming; a cacophony.
Nor imagined the deep weariness of muscles that swung the sword, held up the shield, bore the weight of the mail.
Her whole life had shrunk to this; there had been nothing before and she could think of nothing after.
Then Théoden King fell and, as nazgul black overwhelmed him, Éowyn pushed forward, just energy enough to hold her sword high, but as the enemy faded so did all else.
‘At least,’ she thought, ‘we are together, here, at World’s End…’
Out of Darkness.
Cold. She was so very cold; cold as death, cold as the tomb. Around her all was black; a thick, inky, blackness; heavy with death and decay; surrounding her with a fear and helplessness greater than she could have ever imagined.
Éowyn had longed for death, yet now…
Then, so far away that at first she thought it imagined, a pin-prick of light. She tried to struggle towards it but it seemed too far away; and yet the light was calling, growing stronger, until, finally, she saw that her pathfinder was the brightest star of seven, over a white tree.
Won’t Get Fooled Again...
When she first saw Aragorn, Éowyn thought that he must be the man from those dreams that soothed her during dark, fear-haunted, nights. Oh, how she wanted him to be the man in those dreams; but he rejected her. Even as he healed her from her living nightmare, his heart was with another.
Now this other, quiet, dark-haired man smiled at her gently; but she could no longer believe that not only the nightmares had been a flash forward in time, but also the good dreams. Love, this time, must be earned.
Faramir would need to woo and win her!
Seeking Understanding
Éowyn learnt little, from this man who courted her, about his father. But she learnt much from others, even in their telling of how Faramir came to be in the House of Healing.
What father sent his last remaining son to certain death ‘for glory’? Even brain-addled Theoden had not knowingly sent Theodred to die.
What father rejoiced not, when that son survived, but tried to burn him, heart still beating?
She knew Denethor best when she saw the throne room – the pretence at humility there; his palantir-bent mind finally snapping as he realised he’d lost this game of thrones.
Renewal.
“I would have you see this now, and be sure of your decision,” he said, “ere I ask your brother for your hand.”
Éowyn wanted to object; her hand was her own. But, in this time of new kings and princes, of alliances renewed, she knew her value – and valued his concern.
She saw the workmen, in the valley below, hurrying to and fro; the once dead shell, long defiled, was returning to life.
She watched, then slowly nodded. “It is lovely and I will be happy, here, with you. We will make this the most noble house in Gondor.”
First Night.
As a girl Éowyn had day-dreamed about her wedding. She would be nineteen, the sun would glint on the golden roof of Meduseld, and on her golden maned young husband.
Now she stood beside this dark-haired man, in Minas Tirith, on a moonless night; at twenty-five an old maid approaching the wedding bed.
Something fiery streaked across the blackness of the sky. She gasped. A belated fire ball from Mount Doom, perhaps? A dire omen.
“No,” said Faramir. “It is a phoenix, newly hatched, taking wing. A wondrous portent of new beginnings, my love.”
Beside him, Éowyn at last relaxed.
........................................................................................
The characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only, and all rights remain with the estate of JRR Tolkien.
........................................................................................
PS - D-d is in the middle of a very hard exam schedule - a 3 hour exam every day for 4 days, then the weekend off, and then another 4x3hour exams. She needs to pass them all to obtain her Graduate Diploma in Law. So, as you can imagine, she is revising hard, and somewhat stressed.
However I received an e-mail earlier which I am passing on in its entirety -
I've got it! nothing better to power you through Land Law than this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GlSFELEA1uA
Apart from dancing round my room to that, other signs of revision madness have included a fit of complete uncontrollable hysterics (of the laughing sort) the other day when passing a loaded hearse attempting speed bumps. I'm not sure if it's hilarious or sick but by gum did I laugh.
I do love my daughter...
tolkien_weekly based on the titles of other films/TV dramas made by the actors from the Lord of the Rings films.I, as usual, set myself the task of using one central theme to meet all the challenges - this time I took Éowyn as my central character - the drabbles cover her life from her mid-teen to her wedding to Faramir.
So - a set of twelve true drabbles, I think rated PG this time.
Obsession.
Flesh, fair, firm, but soft; hair shimmering, streaming behind her in the golden sunlight. Old enough now to be courted; to be kissed and caressed; her young body ready to respond to a lover’s hands and mouth.
He had offered himself. Whispered words to her that promised the pleasures he could give her were she to give her body to him, to taste, to tutor…
But she had refused; looked at him with horror, gone to her brother, to her cousin and he had felt their ire.
Now they would learn, Grima thought, that beauty, not given, could be stolen.
To Sleep, Perchance To Dream…
On the nights that neither Théodred nor Éomer were in Meduseld, Éowyn locked and barred her bedroom door; she no longer relied on propriety to protect her from her uncle’s advisor.
She would sleep but fitfully; and fear and dread, black terror, awaited her.
But, some nights, a soft voice would call her from the blackness and she would dream of a garden of flowers, a dark haired man, and children she knew were theirs.
She could not remember his face in her waking hours and yet, she was sure, one day they would meet and she would know him.
Mistaken Identity.
She saw the tall, grey cloaked, figure move in the shadows, up onto Edoras’ defensive wall, where he stood gazing over the deeper darkness without.
Her hungry eyes feasted on him, silhouetted by a guttering flame; so tall, so regal in his bearing. This Aragorn was a figure to quicken both heart and blood.
She made to join him but, before she spoke, the moon cleaved the clouds; illuminating all briefly. The figure lifted his face and the silver shaft caught pearl skin, pale hair.
Shaken, Éowyn tried to believe that she had known, all along, it was the elf.
Bedazzled
Éowyn had been told, as a child, that the Witch of Dwimordene sprinkled stardust in the eyes of unwary children, before her grey shadow warriors carried them, bewitched, away.
She was reminded of this as she looked at the elf standing on the wall of Edoras. Surely the only way she could have mistaken Legolas for the dark-haired… regal… masculine… Aragorn was that the elf had bewitched her?
Yet, logic suggested, he showed no interest in seducing her. If there was, indeed, stardust in the air, since the travellers’ arrival, then just who did she look at through bedazzled eyes?
Observation
As they made their way to Dunharrow she watched him, and his companions, covertly. He was certainly master of himself; a commander of men even though he deferred to Théoden King.
Once or twice, she thought, the elf noticed how hungrily she watched the man. Legolas, in his otherness, reminded her of the female to whom, she had been told, Aragorn had given his heart.
But, surely, a man could be turned to see the value of a love here at his side, rather than one lost forever, at the far side of the world, beyond the reach of men…
Rejection
He had rejected her! She had thought, before the dark-haired elves arrived amidst the Grey Company, that he was coming to see her as someone he could love.
She would have been his queen, his helpmeet; she would have loved him with her all.
But he had rejected her. He had, he said, chosen the road that he would tread… and had gone to certain death.
There was nothing left for her in this life if he walked the Paths of the Dead.
She took up the sword; a quick and valiant path to join him in the next life.
Naught but this…
The noise. She had never imagined such clamour; metal on metal, orcs screaming, horses screaming, men screaming; a cacophony.
Nor imagined the deep weariness of muscles that swung the sword, held up the shield, bore the weight of the mail.
Her whole life had shrunk to this; there had been nothing before and she could think of nothing after.
Then Théoden King fell and, as nazgul black overwhelmed him, Éowyn pushed forward, just energy enough to hold her sword high, but as the enemy faded so did all else.
‘At least,’ she thought, ‘we are together, here, at World’s End…’
Out of Darkness.
Cold. She was so very cold; cold as death, cold as the tomb. Around her all was black; a thick, inky, blackness; heavy with death and decay; surrounding her with a fear and helplessness greater than she could have ever imagined.
Éowyn had longed for death, yet now…
Then, so far away that at first she thought it imagined, a pin-prick of light. She tried to struggle towards it but it seemed too far away; and yet the light was calling, growing stronger, until, finally, she saw that her pathfinder was the brightest star of seven, over a white tree.
Won’t Get Fooled Again...
When she first saw Aragorn, Éowyn thought that he must be the man from those dreams that soothed her during dark, fear-haunted, nights. Oh, how she wanted him to be the man in those dreams; but he rejected her. Even as he healed her from her living nightmare, his heart was with another.
Now this other, quiet, dark-haired man smiled at her gently; but she could no longer believe that not only the nightmares had been a flash forward in time, but also the good dreams. Love, this time, must be earned.
Faramir would need to woo and win her!
Seeking Understanding
Éowyn learnt little, from this man who courted her, about his father. But she learnt much from others, even in their telling of how Faramir came to be in the House of Healing.
What father sent his last remaining son to certain death ‘for glory’? Even brain-addled Theoden had not knowingly sent Theodred to die.
What father rejoiced not, when that son survived, but tried to burn him, heart still beating?
She knew Denethor best when she saw the throne room – the pretence at humility there; his palantir-bent mind finally snapping as he realised he’d lost this game of thrones.
Renewal.
“I would have you see this now, and be sure of your decision,” he said, “ere I ask your brother for your hand.”
Éowyn wanted to object; her hand was her own. But, in this time of new kings and princes, of alliances renewed, she knew her value – and valued his concern.
She saw the workmen, in the valley below, hurrying to and fro; the once dead shell, long defiled, was returning to life.
She watched, then slowly nodded. “It is lovely and I will be happy, here, with you. We will make this the most noble house in Gondor.”
First Night.
As a girl Éowyn had day-dreamed about her wedding. She would be nineteen, the sun would glint on the golden roof of Meduseld, and on her golden maned young husband.
Now she stood beside this dark-haired man, in Minas Tirith, on a moonless night; at twenty-five an old maid approaching the wedding bed.
Something fiery streaked across the blackness of the sky. She gasped. A belated fire ball from Mount Doom, perhaps? A dire omen.
“No,” said Faramir. “It is a phoenix, newly hatched, taking wing. A wondrous portent of new beginnings, my love.”
Beside him, Éowyn at last relaxed.
........................................................................................
The characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only, and all rights remain with the estate of JRR Tolkien.
........................................................................................
PS - D-d is in the middle of a very hard exam schedule - a 3 hour exam every day for 4 days, then the weekend off, and then another 4x3hour exams. She needs to pass them all to obtain her Graduate Diploma in Law. So, as you can imagine, she is revising hard, and somewhat stressed.
However I received an e-mail earlier which I am passing on in its entirety -
I've got it! nothing better to power you through Land Law than this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GlSFELEA1uA
Apart from dancing round my room to that, other signs of revision madness have included a fit of complete uncontrollable hysterics (of the laughing sort) the other day when passing a loaded hearse attempting speed bumps. I'm not sure if it's hilarious or sick but by gum did I laugh.
I do love my daughter...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 09/06/2010 09:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 09/06/2010 09:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 09/06/2010 10:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 09/06/2010 10:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 09/06/2010 10:32 pm (UTC)And good luck to D-d!
no subject
Date: 09/06/2010 10:49 pm (UTC)D-d will survive - but it is a very different schedule to her history degree, where much of the work was open-book...
no subject
Date: 09/06/2010 10:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 09/06/2010 10:51 pm (UTC)I'm visiting her in September for a few days so that we can go to a Kate Rusby concert together - any chance you could pop up?
no subject
Date: 09/06/2010 10:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 09/06/2010 10:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 09/06/2010 11:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 10/06/2010 09:52 am (UTC)When I wrote Return of The Key, Éowyn is simply a figure seen in the distance as Gandalf keeps Dawn well away from almost everyone so that her not-of-this-dimension-ness doesn't get about.
But she figures as a major character in the second half of Brotherhood and that is where her character developed, although Éowyn in the Returnverse stories has not the background of the Éowyn in Pure Morning, if you see what I mean.
Actually, my Éowyn probably owes something to the Éowyn that is the star of
no subject
Date: 10/06/2010 11:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 10/06/2010 09:55 am (UTC)The next set will centre around meal times - which sort of suggests hobbits, but I'm trying to think of another tack to take at the moment.
D-d will be fine, I think, but she will have earnt the trip to Italy she is having after her exams have finished.
no subject
Date: 11/06/2010 03:01 am (UTC)Also, good luck to D-d on her exams!
no subject
Date: 11/06/2010 09:52 am (UTC)D-d is half way now, and still surviving, she told me last night.
no subject
Date: 27/10/2010 07:56 am (UTC)All the best to D-d. I'm glad she's still able to laugh (I do remember that emotionally-wrought tendency to hysteria of both sorts when cramming for big exams!)
no subject
Date: 27/10/2010 12:41 pm (UTC)I have the 'Aragorn and the Family of Elrond' ones ready to post as a set now - and they look, to me, better that way than the individual drabbles.
I have to admit that I was amused at the idea in 'Mistaken Identity' when I wrote it - although it might have been influenced a little by some of the Éowyn/Legolas stories my friend
Also - D-d survived the exams!
no subject
Date: 20/12/2010 12:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 20/12/2010 11:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 20/12/2010 12:07 pm (UTC)