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.”
