Only a Feeling

by Queen of Gondor

An icy hand lay on her shoulder. A cruel voice whispered in her ear. Éowyn turned around, to face the person who dared to speak to her in such a way. Grima. How she had come to befriend this boy when she was younger, she did not know.

“Go away from here. You are not needed. Do not speak to me!” Éowyn said sharply. She turned her back and walked down the hall.

A small voice whispered in her ear. “My lady, we are getting ready to depart now.”

Éowyn awoke suddenly. It had all been a dream. She would most likely never see the face of that scum again. She sighed. “Merry, I shall be out in a minute.” She sat up wearily. Shaking the dream out of her head.

“Éowyn. Are you dressed?” Éomer asked from outside of the tent.

“Yes.” She said.

He walked in and sat down on the bed. “This is a cozy little space you have here, sister.” He smiled.

“Yes, very cozy.” She smiled.

“Éowyn, I would like to speak to you.” Éomer said. She smiled at him, and he continued. “I am sorry for last night. I had no right to speak to your friend as I had done so.” By this he meant Merry. “He seems to want to fight, it just confuses and worries me, that such a young, small, person, should want to enter battle. I couldn’t help thinking that…” He stopped talking.

Éowyn finished the sentence. “I wanted to enter battle as well. No. I just wished to speak for someone who would like the honor, the chance, to fight for the ones that he loves. That is all.” She smiled at him. Of course that was a lie, but he could not know that. She would like to ride to war. She would like to feel the glory of fighting for her people, feel proud. She was not born to stay locked up. She felt that it was too much like taking the easy way out. Éowyn felt, deep in her heart, that all those who wished to fight, should be able too. Her brother was only trying to look after her, that is why he had come to see her this morning.

Éomer stood up, and walked from the tent. Bit first he embraced his dear sister, who he would perhaps never see again. When Éomer had left, Éowyn brought from under her bed, armour. She mounted in it quickly. On the top of her bed, lay her sword. It shined in the morning sunlight, it looked as sharp as it was.

As she buckled the armour on, she thought of him. The previous night he had left. He had fled into the mountains, with his companions. Would she see him again? Perhaps not. All she wanted now, was to die in battle. Too long had she been in the house of her fathers, watching her brother, and her, passed cousin, ride to war. It was her turn. She stepped into the morning sunlight, and found her horse. Into the sheath, she placed her sword. Some way ahead, Merry was putting a small sword into his own sheath. She smiled at him. Alas! what a great loss it would be, if he were to fall. Such gentle folk should not ride to war. She understood her brother. And yet, if he thought that he must, then he should.

Éowyn mounted her own horse. Something inside of her tingled, this was her day. She would ride to war. She would fight, she would die fighting. Théoden mounted his horse and started to trot. He stopped when he saw Merry, standing small on the ground. Hoping that someone would bear him henceforth. “Little Hobbit’s do not belong in war, Master Meriadoc.” Théoden said sternly, but gently.

“All my friends have gone to battle. I would be ashamed to be left behind!” Merry argued.

“It's a three-day gallop to Minas Tirith, and none of my Riders can bear you as a burden.” Théoden said. How he hated to say no to this little Hobbit, yet he must. Éowyn watched the conversation, she understood just how Merry felt.

“I want to fight!” Merry said. Small tears were beginning to form in the corners of his eyes.

“I will say no more.” Théoden galloped away, to a certain death.

Éowyn could not stand to watch this little friend of hers be left behind, how she hated to see his misery, his sadness. She rode forth with fast, and snatched up the halflings from the ground.

“My lady!” Merry said pleased.

* * * *

They had been riding now for some hours. All at once the army stopped. Éowyn looked up ahead at the burning city above. Then her eyes lowered and she looked at the black field in front. This is what she had rode for. Her death.

Éowyn could not hear what was being said at the moment. Then she heard three words being yelled, and she chimed in. “Death! Death! Death!” The riders cried. They rode forth, the sound of the hooves sounded like thunder in the skies above.

Éowyn held Merry tight in her arms. They rode through the Orcs, killing as they went. The fields were staining with the blood, of many. Not only Orcs, but rider of the Mark.

All of a sudden, a great Oliphaunt landed. She was knocked from her horse. Merry was lying somewhere, but she could not see him. Éowyn looked ahead. Théoden was lying down, under his horse. A great beast was in front of him, and an evil servant of the enemy was seated atop the beast. Éowyn broke into a run and stood between her uncle and the beast.

“You will not touch him!”

With one quick slash of her sword, Éowyn removed the head. The servant came down from the dead beasts body, an said. “No man, can kill me! Die now!” He lifted up his mace, and swung it. Éowyn managed to dodge it. She picked up a nearby shield, and held it close. The Witch King struck the shield, and it broke.

From behind, Merry crawled to the leg of the witch king. With a small dagger that was in his hand, he stabbed the creature in the leg.

Éowyn removed her helm and said. “I am no man.” She lifted her blade and stabbed the king in his face. She dropped her sword, her arm was now in pain. She held her arm close to her and crawled to the body of her uncle.

His eyes slowly opened. “I now your face…Éowyn.” He struggled a small smile. “My eyes darken.” He looked into her eyes.

“No, no, I am going to save you.” Éowyn said amidst the tears that were falling down her fair face.

“You already have. You must let me go. Éowyn…” With his last breath he spoke few words. Éowyn leaned down and cried. She slowly fell into a haunted sleep…

* * * *

When Éowyn awoke the next morning, she found herself in a bed in Minas Tirith. They had defeated that host of Mordor, yet there was still another. She struggled to get up. Her arm was in a cast. She remembered hoe Théoden had died, honorably.

She left her room and found an even larger room. Inside were wounded soldiers. Over by a bed in the corner, she saw him, she saw Aragorn. He finished working on his patient and got up to leave. When he saw Éowyn, he approached her. “You must rest, fair lady.” He smiled at her.

Éowyn walked into the courtyard outside of the Houses of Healing. She stood looking down at some white flowers. The morning sunshine greeted her warmly, it invited her outside. “This is no happy time for me.” She whispered to herself. Then she noticed someone sitting on a bench. She looked at him. He noticed her looking at him, and he smiled. She smiled back.

He walked over to her. “Good morning, I am Faramir.” He smiled warmly.

In her mind she thought. “Could this be, he wants to talk to me? Maybe how I felt for Aragorn was, only a feeling.” She smiled back to Faramir and said. “I am Éowyn, I am happy to meet you.”