Songs of Slaying
by Michelle
Disclaimer : Not mine. Suing makes baby Ingwë cry.
***
Dawn broke that day full of hope, its eyes turned toward the future. The first rays of the morning sun gently kissed the dew away from otherwise untouched blades of grass. The sky looked aflame in its multi-hued newness, causing anyone fortunate enough to be awake at that moment to gasp in awe. Morning in Ithilien was something to be envied by everyone.
Including the band of Haradrim making their way quickly toward Emyn Arnen.
***
Éowyn of Ithilien woke alone, surprised in the first few moments of her wakefulness that her husband lay not in the bed beside her. Soon though, she recalled the reason for his absense and stilled the wash of confusion in her stomach.
Her husband, Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor, was fulfilling the role bestowed upon him by those titles, aiding the King in some particularly frustrating legal difficulties in the capitol city, Minas Tirith. As he had been for the past month, Faramir was embroiled in trade negotiations, border disputes, and the like.
It was not his choice to be there, this Éowyn knew beyond a doubt. He would rather, as he often reminded in each of his lengthy missives, be here in tranquil Emyn Arnen, far away from the rigours of city life and closer to his young family. Ever mindful of his own past, Faramir was determined not lack in any manner as a father to their young son, Elboron.
And if her current disposition was any indication, soon their young son would be joined by another child. Éowyn's hand flittered to her stomach as she stood and made to dress for the day, her thoughts lingering on her far away husband.
Soon enough, she thought, he would return. Perhaps by then her suspicions would be confirmed and she would be able to greet her love with the blessed news.
She smiled through her morning meal, taken with her son in the kitchens. She herself had grown up in a much closer knit household than custom held in Gondor. She did not quite care for lonely meals taken in utter silence in great halls, though the Keep at Emyn Arnen boasted an impressive one indeed. Much more so than the one of her youth, which her brother now presided over with his Lady in Rohan. No, Éowyn was not one for these things, much prefering to break her fast in the warmth of the kitchens amongst people who talked and kept a better company than the spoons. And if the Gondorian servants in the kitchens first found this disquieting, they no longer did after their Lady's three years in residence, even finding it strange if she did not show her face at least once a day in their rooms.
Noon found Éowyn hip deep in dirt and flora, happily humming a tune to herself as she whiled away her hours in the gardens her husband and his dear friend, the elf had worked on so long and hard. There was little in the world able to give her more pleasure than watching the things she placed in the earth grow, blossom, and eventually wilt, paving the way for the next season's abundance of life. Not so long ago, she would not have believed it possible to be content living thusly, in what a younger version of herself would have deemed a prison.
But perhaps the walls of a prison do not seem so foreboding when you willingly embrace them and call them your home. She was content here, and aye, happy. Her life since meeting her beloved had never been what she expected, but it was more than sufficient to create such joy in her heart that she oft feared it may burst.
It was this state of mind which was embracing Éowyn as the first shouts came filtering into the gardens from below. Something dark and foreboding had been sitting in the pit of her stomach for several hours, but she had put it down to the possibility of a new life. Now, she knew it for what it was. Eerie premonition, a tendancy she had been prone to more and more as of late.
She rose to her feet swiftly, in one motion, her unease and fear growing with each step she took toward the edge of the gardens. She peered out over the edge of the high wall, just above the gates to the Keep and its immediate buildings.
What she saw there stopped her heart.
Just outside the gates a group of men swarthered in black and red were assailing her home. The very gates which, wooden, had not yet been reinforced with something sturdier and better made. The right time to do so never seemed nigh, and now that time was long past. Eight men, broken off from a force of many times as many, ran at the gate with a battering ram. Éowyn felt their impact in her jaw. A squadron of Rangers and a few personal guards were all that stood between her and these invaders.
Between them and her son.
"Elboron . . ." she choked out, running madly for the nursery where he had been for the past several hours with his nurse. The short flights of stairs never before seemed as long as they did in those moments.
She found herself at the door to her son's nursery, flinging the door open and rushing inside. His nurse stood as her Lady rushed within, surprised.
"Milady . . ?" She asked as Éowyn swooped up the sleeping form of her son and turned to leave.
"Get yourself from the city if possible, Linyaliss. There are invaders at the gate." Éowyn swept out of the room them, heedless of the nurse's calls after her.
Elboron roused in his mother's frenzied embrace, immediately questioning, though not afraid, cradled nest to Éowyn's heart. "Mah . . ?" He murmured up at her, his tiny voice striking a deep chord of fear and possessiveness deep within her. She would allow nothing to happen to this child, even if her life hung in the balance. And indeed, given the situation, that instance was a likelihood. Gently, she stroked her son's dark hair.
"Be still, Little One. Mama has you." Éowyn rushed down toward the very kitchens she sat in so happily only hours before. She hoped against reason that the back entrances there to the Keep proper would not be blocked by the enemy.
The rooms were deserted as she made her entrance, but would not be for long. Shouting in a foreign tongue greeted her from the other side of the doors leading to her freedom. In the back of her mind, she identifed the unique lilt of Haradric. She cursed swiftly and violently, turning back for the comparative safety of the rest of the Keep, all the while whispering to her son, begging him to remain calm. Still sleepy and more than a little confused, this was not a difficult thing to convince the two year old of.
She made her way back to the Great Hall, desperately searching out an exit to the Keep. Deep within, she knew there would be none. Her husband had built the Keep too well, too securely, trusting on a larger force to guard it in times of need. A larger force could have helped the Keep, truly her current situation was not due to a design flaw on her husband's part. But that very force was more than half the reason her husband was so long delayed in the city.
The commotion in the Great Hall was frightening. She could scarcely make heads or tails of the place admist all the other people crowded within. And though it was crowded and confused, those within did not nearly make up the entire population of her small domain. These then were only those lucky enough to be inside when the Haradrim began their attack. Those outside, she knew, were likely already fallen to the curved blades of their assailers.
And from the two main entrances to the Great Hall, the red clothed men began to make their presense known.
There was no way out. They were trapped.
Éowyn panicked, any chance of her coolness returning quickly evaporated as she watched the squad of Rangers fight back the intruders for all they were worth. Yet even this valiant effort was not enough.
Éowyn ran to the steps in the back of the Hall, back to the narrow passageway which would connect with the Lord's and Lady's personal chambers. She did not look back as she ran down the hall, screams echoing behind her.
There was only one chance now . . .
by Michelle
Disclaimer : Not mine. Suing makes baby Ingwë cry.
***
Dawn broke that day full of hope, its eyes turned toward the future. The first rays of the morning sun gently kissed the dew away from otherwise untouched blades of grass. The sky looked aflame in its multi-hued newness, causing anyone fortunate enough to be awake at that moment to gasp in awe. Morning in Ithilien was something to be envied by everyone.
Including the band of Haradrim making their way quickly toward Emyn Arnen.
***
Éowyn of Ithilien woke alone, surprised in the first few moments of her wakefulness that her husband lay not in the bed beside her. Soon though, she recalled the reason for his absense and stilled the wash of confusion in her stomach.
Her husband, Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor, was fulfilling the role bestowed upon him by those titles, aiding the King in some particularly frustrating legal difficulties in the capitol city, Minas Tirith. As he had been for the past month, Faramir was embroiled in trade negotiations, border disputes, and the like.
It was not his choice to be there, this Éowyn knew beyond a doubt. He would rather, as he often reminded in each of his lengthy missives, be here in tranquil Emyn Arnen, far away from the rigours of city life and closer to his young family. Ever mindful of his own past, Faramir was determined not lack in any manner as a father to their young son, Elboron.
And if her current disposition was any indication, soon their young son would be joined by another child. Éowyn's hand flittered to her stomach as she stood and made to dress for the day, her thoughts lingering on her far away husband.
Soon enough, she thought, he would return. Perhaps by then her suspicions would be confirmed and she would be able to greet her love with the blessed news.
She smiled through her morning meal, taken with her son in the kitchens. She herself had grown up in a much closer knit household than custom held in Gondor. She did not quite care for lonely meals taken in utter silence in great halls, though the Keep at Emyn Arnen boasted an impressive one indeed. Much more so than the one of her youth, which her brother now presided over with his Lady in Rohan. No, Éowyn was not one for these things, much prefering to break her fast in the warmth of the kitchens amongst people who talked and kept a better company than the spoons. And if the Gondorian servants in the kitchens first found this disquieting, they no longer did after their Lady's three years in residence, even finding it strange if she did not show her face at least once a day in their rooms.
Noon found Éowyn hip deep in dirt and flora, happily humming a tune to herself as she whiled away her hours in the gardens her husband and his dear friend, the elf had worked on so long and hard. There was little in the world able to give her more pleasure than watching the things she placed in the earth grow, blossom, and eventually wilt, paving the way for the next season's abundance of life. Not so long ago, she would not have believed it possible to be content living thusly, in what a younger version of herself would have deemed a prison.
But perhaps the walls of a prison do not seem so foreboding when you willingly embrace them and call them your home. She was content here, and aye, happy. Her life since meeting her beloved had never been what she expected, but it was more than sufficient to create such joy in her heart that she oft feared it may burst.
It was this state of mind which was embracing Éowyn as the first shouts came filtering into the gardens from below. Something dark and foreboding had been sitting in the pit of her stomach for several hours, but she had put it down to the possibility of a new life. Now, she knew it for what it was. Eerie premonition, a tendancy she had been prone to more and more as of late.
She rose to her feet swiftly, in one motion, her unease and fear growing with each step she took toward the edge of the gardens. She peered out over the edge of the high wall, just above the gates to the Keep and its immediate buildings.
What she saw there stopped her heart.
Just outside the gates a group of men swarthered in black and red were assailing her home. The very gates which, wooden, had not yet been reinforced with something sturdier and better made. The right time to do so never seemed nigh, and now that time was long past. Eight men, broken off from a force of many times as many, ran at the gate with a battering ram. Éowyn felt their impact in her jaw. A squadron of Rangers and a few personal guards were all that stood between her and these invaders.
Between them and her son.
"Elboron . . ." she choked out, running madly for the nursery where he had been for the past several hours with his nurse. The short flights of stairs never before seemed as long as they did in those moments.
She found herself at the door to her son's nursery, flinging the door open and rushing inside. His nurse stood as her Lady rushed within, surprised.
"Milady . . ?" She asked as Éowyn swooped up the sleeping form of her son and turned to leave.
"Get yourself from the city if possible, Linyaliss. There are invaders at the gate." Éowyn swept out of the room them, heedless of the nurse's calls after her.
Elboron roused in his mother's frenzied embrace, immediately questioning, though not afraid, cradled nest to Éowyn's heart. "Mah . . ?" He murmured up at her, his tiny voice striking a deep chord of fear and possessiveness deep within her. She would allow nothing to happen to this child, even if her life hung in the balance. And indeed, given the situation, that instance was a likelihood. Gently, she stroked her son's dark hair.
"Be still, Little One. Mama has you." Éowyn rushed down toward the very kitchens she sat in so happily only hours before. She hoped against reason that the back entrances there to the Keep proper would not be blocked by the enemy.
The rooms were deserted as she made her entrance, but would not be for long. Shouting in a foreign tongue greeted her from the other side of the doors leading to her freedom. In the back of her mind, she identifed the unique lilt of Haradric. She cursed swiftly and violently, turning back for the comparative safety of the rest of the Keep, all the while whispering to her son, begging him to remain calm. Still sleepy and more than a little confused, this was not a difficult thing to convince the two year old of.
She made her way back to the Great Hall, desperately searching out an exit to the Keep. Deep within, she knew there would be none. Her husband had built the Keep too well, too securely, trusting on a larger force to guard it in times of need. A larger force could have helped the Keep, truly her current situation was not due to a design flaw on her husband's part. But that very force was more than half the reason her husband was so long delayed in the city.
The commotion in the Great Hall was frightening. She could scarcely make heads or tails of the place admist all the other people crowded within. And though it was crowded and confused, those within did not nearly make up the entire population of her small domain. These then were only those lucky enough to be inside when the Haradrim began their attack. Those outside, she knew, were likely already fallen to the curved blades of their assailers.
And from the two main entrances to the Great Hall, the red clothed men began to make their presense known.
There was no way out. They were trapped.
Éowyn panicked, any chance of her coolness returning quickly evaporated as she watched the squad of Rangers fight back the intruders for all they were worth. Yet even this valiant effort was not enough.
Éowyn ran to the steps in the back of the Hall, back to the narrow passageway which would connect with the Lord's and Lady's personal chambers. She did not look back as she ran down the hall, screams echoing behind her.
There was only one chance now . . .