for ein

[shieldofrohan]

The war is over. They have won. It is hard to entirely take it on board, Éowyn finds; after years of a shadow overhead, it is lifted, and even her grief at her uncle's death does not quite mar the knowledge of victory. He did not die in vain. She can tell herself that, if nothing else, and try to silence the part of her that whispers that if she had only been faster, if she had come to his aid sooner, he need not have died at all.

Still, it is done. He has joined his forefathers in the rows of barrow-mounds, and the world turns onward into a new age. She stays for a time in Minas Tirith, restlessly lingering in the Houses of Healing, while the mangled mess of her arm and ribs begin to heal, the darkness in her own heart beginning to lift. When at last she sets out for Edoras, riding with the last few men of Rohan who have stayed with her in Gondor, she can move the arm again, and even begin to forget the knot of scar tissue marring her chest and arm.

It has been three months now since the war was won. Three months since the Ring was destroyed, the hordes of Mordor scattered. Three months since she stood on the battlefield, cold terror and colder anger warring in her heart, and slew the Witch-King. She rides back through the heat of summer, an older and more weary shieldmaiden than the one who rode out in a man's disguise.

Edoras, when she arrives, is all athrong with the lords and ladies of Rohan, enough to fill the great feasting hall and spill out beyond. When first she arrives, she ignores them, making haste to the lord she has longed most to see - her brother, who now is King, but who greets her with the same warm embrace and gentle ease as when they were children. She cries when she sees him, and is not ashamed by it, and the first day of her return she spends with him. They talk, and mourn, and celebrate, and it lifts her heart more than she could have expected.

He has not yet been crowned. Rohan is a large kingdom, and its people scattered and displaced by the fighting; there is rebuilding to be done yet, and Edoras itself is in no fit state for a coronation, the city scarred by fighting. He is King, and all know he is King, but there is still that one step to be taken. To that end, all his lords have been called to Meduseld, the great hall that stands above Edoras, to gather and witness his investment. Many, Éowyn knows - she has lived most of her life at court, at her uncle's side, and has spoken with a great number of the nobles of the land. Others, she does not. But she is the King's sister, and famed now for her battle with the Witch-King as well as for her beauty and steadfast loyalty to Théoden King, and it is her place now to reach out to them, to circulate among the guests and offer them a welcome, a smile, a polite conversation.

It is tiring. She is still not entirely recovered from her long convalescence, and it is very tiring. By evening, she can bear it no longer; she makes her excuses and escapes out into the twilit air, the light summer wind tugging at her long golden hair and the white and green skirts of her gown. There is a small courtyard she has often frequented, a grassy space with a low stone wall. She rests against that wall, looking out over the plains of Rohan, towards the mountains, and breathes deep. It does not occur to her for some time that she may have company.

Comments

[ruinedsky]

The darkness on the world has lifted, something that Sylvain had thought impossible sometimes. Through some small miracles and the coordination of many people, though, it has happened. He almost feels as if the last several months haven't been real- just a dream- floating from one place to another, making sure supplies are still coming in and his injured men are being cared to. He wasn't in the thick of the fighting, at the end, his people still needed him at home to protect them- but he had been there at Helm's Deep, had seen firsthand the real and powerful hope of men. It had kept him going.

All of that in the past, though, and he still feels shadows on his heart. They've always been there, though, since he was old enough to understand pain. They're smaller shadows, personal and even petty, nothing world-ending or magical.

As old as they are, he's quite adept at hiding them, which he does well from the moment he rides into Edoras. He easily becomes the life of the party, greeting every man with brotherly affection and every woman with a charming smile. He makes it look easy, as if he has never known a single care in the world. When the King's sister stops to welcome him, he feels time stop around them. There is a beauty in her he's never seen in anything else. Not just her renowned features or her fame, but some deep inner strength in the setting of her shoulders and the light in her eyes. When he compliments her, it is genuine, not that anyone knows to tell the difference with him. He doesn't keep her, though, knowing she has plethora of social duties ahead of her, and he doesn't envy her that.

Evening comes and even the extrovert finds himself growing tired. Wearing a mask is an exhausting thing, and it's harder to to around all the unfamiliar faces here than it is at home. He finds himself rather homesick, actually, and asks if there is a place in the hall where he may have a good view of the mountains.

As luck would have it, he's pointed in the direction of the same courtyard where Éowyn is making her escape. He sees her, but doesn't bother her right away. He came here for the fresh air and the view, after all. He stays some distance away at first, breathing deep the cool air, his black and red formalwear feeling stifling, even away from the crowd. Eventually he can take it no longer and he approaches her, making his presence known with a soft clearing of his throat.

"I apologize for intruding, but I was told I could see a wonderful view across the plains from here."