For drinkupmehearties

[shieldofrohan]

The door to Jack's cell opens just before dawn. Éowyn stands there, dressed for riding - breeches under her gown, her hair braided back close to her scalp - and looks at him for a moment, hand on hip, before beckoning for his things to be brought. His sword will be given back to him: his gun will not. She knows, after all, that if it comes to a fight with swords, she is a more than equal match for him, but her experiences in the Capitol have let her know just how dangerous a gun can be in the wrong hands.

Outside, the horses are waiting. She has chosen a mare for him, docile and easy to ride, with a high saddle that should be easy to stay in. Even with their experience in the Arena, she's loath to trust his riding. There's a big difference between staying in the saddle for an hour or so with adrenaline pumping through your veins, and staying in the saddle for the long day's ride that lies ahead of them.

Her own horse, of course, gives her no such worries. The grey stallion has borne her well since the Pelennor Fields, and she's more comfortable in his saddle than she could ever be with both feet on the ground. As they head out into the courtyard, he raises his head and whickers at her, making her smile.

Faramir stands beside the horses, though he is not dressed for travel. As she approaches, he goes to meet her, ignoring Jack for the moment as he ducks his head to kiss her. "You are sure of this?"

"I am sure," she answers, with a fond smile, and leans up to kiss him in return. "Do not linger here too long, love. Emyn Arnen is not nearly so fair without you in it."

He laughs, low in his throat, and traces his fingertips over her cheek. "How can it be made fairer by my presence, when you are already there to illuminate it?" Straightening up with a kiss to her forehead, he smiles. "I will be a few days, no more. Travel well, my lady. And for my sake, if you should see an enemy, ride away, and not towards them."

Éowyn smiles, shaking her head, and pulls away. "Jack, do you need help mounting, or can you manage?"

Comments

i love that she gave him the beginner horse lmf

[drinkupmehearties]

Jack is quick to outfit himself with the various pieces that had been taken from him (one being his baldric, strapping that across his shoulder and affixing his scabbard to it), movements practiced and cultivated from old habit. While the absence of his pistol doesn't go unnoticed -- in fact, she receives a long glance when it's clear that it's not forthcoming -- it feels damn good to have his cutlass back in his possession, at least.

He follows Eowyn out in the courtyard and as her and Faramir exchange farewells, Jack busies himself with getting into the saddle. He offers a brief look in her direction at the question, though, hooking a hand onto the saddle and readying to heave himself up. "Aye, not a worry. I can manage it meself."

It's certainly leagues easier with actual stirrups to work with -- as opposed to bareback like in the stables -- and so Jack hoists himself up onto the saddle without too much hassle. Yet, even if he'd had difficulty, he would've refused the offer; he's already nursing a bit of a bruised ego from being dragged about from one set of shackles to another like this, better to not make it worse by having everyone watch him helped up onto a horse like a child learning to ride.

The mare doesn't react much to the added weight on her back beyond a light flick of her ear, and Jack leans forward to grab the reins and settle comfortably into the saddle. He looks to Faramir first, offering a warm half-smile and tap of two fingers to his temple. "Luck and a fair wind to you, mate. It's a pleasure." Then glancing to Eowyn, "Shall we be off, then?"

yeah it's not worth doing a new post for this

[shieldofrohan]

The woodland of Ithilien comes into view around mid-afternoon; the sun is still high and bright behind them, and there is a light breeze on the air that makes the trees whisper. Éowyn smiles to see the woods - after so long trapped in Panem, it makes her heart lift every time she can see this sight and know she is truly home - and she turns to look at Jack, pointing. "We are near, now. Those hills, there, are Emyn Arnen."

And nestled among the hills, her home. It is a strange sort of place, unfolding into view as the horses trot through the unspoilt forest: parts of it look ancient indeed, the remnants of some great house, while other parts are freshly-made, and still others are scaffolded and half-constructed. Emyn Arnen has long been deserted, and a year is not a long time to build a city anew. Still, it is beginning to look like a homely place again. Gondor's flag flutters from the towers, and the surrounding houses - fewer than might be expected - are filled with the everyday bustle of a town. As they had done in Minas Tirith, the people leave their work and turn when Éowyn rides towards the courtyard, but there's more familiarity in their smiles, and open curiosity when they see Jack. It's clear nobody has been warned that she'd return so soon, much less that she would have a strange man with her.

"Of old," she says to Jack, ignoring their curiosity, "Faramir's forefathers dwelt here. But that was many centuries ago. As for us, we have lived here only since the war."

clearly i went with what was behind door number one. the nightmare door.

[shieldofrohan]

She wakes up in the middle of the second night, drenched in sweat and struggling to breathe. The moon is hidden, and the fire has burnt down to nothing; the dark is so complete that she might as well be blind. Blind, or back in that tiny, airless cell the Capitol locked her in after her rebellion. The bed feels cold and empty, the air clammy against her skin. She fumbles for a light, and for a moment feels - actually feels - her fingers bruise against the too-smooth wall of a Capitol cell before reality kicks in.

It takes her several tries to light the candle. She sits up in bed, her shift plastered to her body, a scream still sitting in the base of her throat, and looks over at the empty space beside her, and weeps. She feels like a child, alone in the dark, and she hates it, because she ought to be stronger by now. She's a grown woman, a Healer, a shieldmaiden. She ought to be stronger than the ghost of the Capitol.

Eventually, she settles down, blows out the candle, and tries to sleep again. It's all of five minutes before she surges out of the bed, crying out in fear and grief and frustration, to pace wildly around the room. About half an hour after that, the lock of Jack's door rattles open, and Éowyn walks in, ghostly in her sweat-drenched shift, a candle in her hand. Her hair is loose and tangled around her shoulders, and she walks with none of her usual confidence. She sits on the edge of his bed, still holding the candle up, and presses her lips together.

"This is your fault," she tells him, unsure whether he's even awake to hear it. "It was never this bad before, not since first I returned. And if ever you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll carry out the King's first sentence myself."

[drinkupmehearties]

The fire had died out some hours previous, the light it'd provided now replaced by the early morning sunlight streaming through a window. Jack slowly stirs from sleep, an arm still loosely draped around Eowyn, roused by the pale light and the distant chirrup of birds. The morning is quite young still, but Jack is more than used to rising early with the sun; back home the day's course would need to be charted and plotted out, tasks assigned to crewmen, captain's log updated, and rum to be drunk to chase the previous night's hangover away.

It takes a few moments for the hazy fog of sleep to clear from his thoughts, for him to remember where he was (not home) and who was nestled so warmly against him. He doesn't immediately wake her, however, instead reveling in the feeling of holding her for a short few moments.

Then he shifts and lifts a hand, brushing fingertips against her cheek and says quietly, "Eowyn."

eventually i should probably make a new post but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[shieldofrohan]

She avoids him, for the most part, for the rest of the day. It's easy enough to tell herself it's only because there's work to be done. There is work to be done, there is always work to be done, but deep down she knows it's avoidance. Just as she knows it's a conscious decision to send food and drink to him through servants, rather than taking it herself, as a hostess ought to.

But she needs the time. She needs to catch her breath, get her thoughts in order. It isn't until the next morning that she steels herself to actually talk to him as she knows she must. After breakfast, she crosses over to his room, knocking sharply on the door. "Jack?"