Command me fic #6 - LOTR - Reflections
Yet another installment in my command me self-challenge.
This is for telperion1 who requested, "I'd love anything with the Rohan trio (Theodred-Eomer-Eowyn) in the months or years before the Three Riders comes to Edoras. But a specific idea I've had is Theodred's reaction to how things are sliding downhill. What does he think about his father's decline in health, and Eowyn's troubles with Grima? Or just what he sees in the Westfold?" Thank you, mellon nin! I hope this will suffice. :-)
Title: Reflections
Author: ErinRua
Rating: PG
Length: @ 515 words
Characters: Théodred, Éomer
Notes/Disclaimers/Summary: Théodred broods, the long winds blow, and Fate shifts a step closer.
"I am the Riddermark."
A cool breeze stole the whispered words and spun them amongst the grasses that waved beneath the morning sun. He stood as a lion, golden of hair and beard, upon the brow of a hill, with his horse beside him and his helm beneath his arm.
"The Riddermark is me."
And so it seemed to Théodred, son of kings, that the clear streams running across the fields of Rohan flowed likewise through his veins, the legacy of his birth and blood, the duty to which he was born. He watched the golden spill of dawn upon the vales, and he could just see Edoras shining upon its hill. Far spread the plains, unblemished and fair, while the great sky bent above.
Long years the Rohirrim had defended their borders: against the Dunlendings, against the warg-riders, against the duplicity of the White Wizard. The hooves of their war horses drummed warning to their foes, and their barrows shimmered with simbelmynë as with dustings of snow, garlands for the honored dead.
Yet Théodred knew too well the lie no mortal eye could perceive: that which was foul had sunk deep claws into all the Rohirrim called fair. The enemy prowled their borders, shadows grew to the east, and in the lands of the White Wizard brewed strange smokes and evil rumors. What would come of them all?
For Rohan stood alone in a world at peril. Within the Golden Hall, their king sat upon his shadowy throne and heeded not the counsel of his captains. Within the Golden Hall, Gríma whom they called the Wormtongue whispered his insidious lies. Within the Golden Hall, even Éowyn, his sweet cousin, held her cool stillness as a falcon bears the jesses that bind it to the bitter earth. Their freedom balanced on a sword's edge as the enemy ever grew bolder, and yet that strength of sword seemed all they had.
What hope dared they look for, when the old alliances seemed dead? To what courage must their embattled people cling? What dawn could they expect when came at last the darkening of the day? Théodred knew not. He lifted his eyes to the far shimmer of Edoras, and his heart cried out in its silence for his father and his king. Come down, my lord, come down from your high seat and take up your honored sword.
But when Théodred looked behind him, the grass stirred at another's waiting feet: Éomer, his fierce, golden hawk who waited ever to fly from Théodred's glove. Thus beat the true heart of Rohan: undaunted, unbowed, and strong.
"The men are ready, my prince," Éomer said.
As Rohan itself stood ready, and would stand so long as men remained to bear a spear into battle. Not yet, not yet would the darkness claim these green, beloved fields. Not yet the end for the people of the horse.
"Then let us go," Théodred replied, and placed his helm upon his head.
Thus they left that place to the restless breezes, and the drumbeat of their hooves faded until only the far glint of helms and spears remained.
~ * ~
Ed. note: It has been a very long while since I tried on the 'voice' of Tolkien's stately myth. Forgive me if I fail to hit every note.
This is for telperion1 who requested, "I'd love anything with the Rohan trio (Theodred-Eomer-Eowyn) in the months or years before the Three Riders comes to Edoras. But a specific idea I've had is Theodred's reaction to how things are sliding downhill. What does he think about his father's decline in health, and Eowyn's troubles with Grima? Or just what he sees in the Westfold?" Thank you, mellon nin! I hope this will suffice. :-)
Title: Reflections
Author: ErinRua
Rating: PG
Length: @ 515 words
Characters: Théodred, Éomer
Notes/Disclaimers/Summary: Théodred broods, the long winds blow, and Fate shifts a step closer.
"I am the Riddermark."
A cool breeze stole the whispered words and spun them amongst the grasses that waved beneath the morning sun. He stood as a lion, golden of hair and beard, upon the brow of a hill, with his horse beside him and his helm beneath his arm.
"The Riddermark is me."
And so it seemed to Théodred, son of kings, that the clear streams running across the fields of Rohan flowed likewise through his veins, the legacy of his birth and blood, the duty to which he was born. He watched the golden spill of dawn upon the vales, and he could just see Edoras shining upon its hill. Far spread the plains, unblemished and fair, while the great sky bent above.
Long years the Rohirrim had defended their borders: against the Dunlendings, against the warg-riders, against the duplicity of the White Wizard. The hooves of their war horses drummed warning to their foes, and their barrows shimmered with simbelmynë as with dustings of snow, garlands for the honored dead.
Yet Théodred knew too well the lie no mortal eye could perceive: that which was foul had sunk deep claws into all the Rohirrim called fair. The enemy prowled their borders, shadows grew to the east, and in the lands of the White Wizard brewed strange smokes and evil rumors. What would come of them all?
For Rohan stood alone in a world at peril. Within the Golden Hall, their king sat upon his shadowy throne and heeded not the counsel of his captains. Within the Golden Hall, Gríma whom they called the Wormtongue whispered his insidious lies. Within the Golden Hall, even Éowyn, his sweet cousin, held her cool stillness as a falcon bears the jesses that bind it to the bitter earth. Their freedom balanced on a sword's edge as the enemy ever grew bolder, and yet that strength of sword seemed all they had.
What hope dared they look for, when the old alliances seemed dead? To what courage must their embattled people cling? What dawn could they expect when came at last the darkening of the day? Théodred knew not. He lifted his eyes to the far shimmer of Edoras, and his heart cried out in its silence for his father and his king. Come down, my lord, come down from your high seat and take up your honored sword.
But when Théodred looked behind him, the grass stirred at another's waiting feet: Éomer, his fierce, golden hawk who waited ever to fly from Théodred's glove. Thus beat the true heart of Rohan: undaunted, unbowed, and strong.
"The men are ready, my prince," Éomer said.
As Rohan itself stood ready, and would stand so long as men remained to bear a spear into battle. Not yet, not yet would the darkness claim these green, beloved fields. Not yet the end for the people of the horse.
"Then let us go," Théodred replied, and placed his helm upon his head.
Thus they left that place to the restless breezes, and the drumbeat of their hooves faded until only the far glint of helms and spears remained.
~ * ~
Ed. note: It has been a very long while since I tried on the 'voice' of Tolkien's stately myth. Forgive me if I fail to hit every note.