The Iron Queen
Title: The Iron Queen
Characters: Eowyn, Morwen Steelsheen
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Prompt: Strength like a Tower (31 Days, May 2011)
Wordcount: 279
Disclaimer: All of Middle Earth is from the hand of Tolkien. I own nothing. I make no profit from the ficlet.
A/N: What a woman she must have been.
She had been very young, a toddler stumbling at her father’s heels, sneaking after him into the stable when her mother was occupied by Eomer. Most of her recollections of that time were full of warm shadows as she darted among horses and men and maids, always tripping over her skirts.
From those dim dream-images her grandmother’s visage stood forth like the harsh, shafting rays of the sun. Morwen had died early in Eowyn’s life, leaving her with few snatches of memory; a steel-colored flash of hair, gnarled hands that to her had seen all of time, and eyes like a hawk.
Looking back, her grandmother had loomed out of the dim shadows of Methuseld, grey-bright eyes seeming to see all. The might of the horse lords had forged about her iron will, and from her seat beside her son in the Golden Hall she had watched and uttered cutting words, advising far more shrewdly than any had since. Great bane of orc her grandmother had spelt, and woe to the enemies of Rohan. During feasts, sitting on her mother’s lap and gazing up at the high dais, Eowyn was entranced by Morwen’s effortless command, her cold, calculating control, by the way the entire room seemed to circle and dance around her. Even as the world whirled and turned to her will, Morwen Steelsheen remained calm and motionless, a tower amongst the rolling plains. Even her uncle ---a king!---deferred to his mother.
Many years later, when she found herself in that high seat for the first time, at her uncle’s side, Eowyn remembered the grim fortitude of her grandmother, and vowed to man that tower until the bitter end.
Characters: Eowyn, Morwen Steelsheen
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Prompt: Strength like a Tower (31 Days, May 2011)
Wordcount: 279
Disclaimer: All of Middle Earth is from the hand of Tolkien. I own nothing. I make no profit from the ficlet.
A/N: What a woman she must have been.
She had been very young, a toddler stumbling at her father’s heels, sneaking after him into the stable when her mother was occupied by Eomer. Most of her recollections of that time were full of warm shadows as she darted among horses and men and maids, always tripping over her skirts.
From those dim dream-images her grandmother’s visage stood forth like the harsh, shafting rays of the sun. Morwen had died early in Eowyn’s life, leaving her with few snatches of memory; a steel-colored flash of hair, gnarled hands that to her had seen all of time, and eyes like a hawk.
Looking back, her grandmother had loomed out of the dim shadows of Methuseld, grey-bright eyes seeming to see all. The might of the horse lords had forged about her iron will, and from her seat beside her son in the Golden Hall she had watched and uttered cutting words, advising far more shrewdly than any had since. Great bane of orc her grandmother had spelt, and woe to the enemies of Rohan. During feasts, sitting on her mother’s lap and gazing up at the high dais, Eowyn was entranced by Morwen’s effortless command, her cold, calculating control, by the way the entire room seemed to circle and dance around her. Even as the world whirled and turned to her will, Morwen Steelsheen remained calm and motionless, a tower amongst the rolling plains. Even her uncle ---a king!---deferred to his mother.
Many years later, when she found herself in that high seat for the first time, at her uncle’s side, Eowyn remembered the grim fortitude of her grandmother, and vowed to man that tower until the bitter end.