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Nineteenth Eowyn/Legolas story

May 14th, 2006 (01:23 pm)
current song: The Early Music Show on Radio 3

Title: Loss
Fandom: The Lord of the Rings
Characters: Eowyn/Legolas
Prompt: 024 Family
Word Count: 1000
Rating: G
Author's Notes: Part 19 of an ongoing story, which is itself part of a Legolas/Eowyn ‘soap’ that can be read here.

This part was inspired by a suggestion from eowynangel.

Since my stories are basically movieverse, ‘my’ Theodred was roughly the same age as Eomer, not almost twenty years older, as Tolkien states in the passage quoted.





Loss

In 2989 Théodwyn married Éomund of Eastfold, the chief Marshal of the Mark. Her son Éomer was born in 2991, and her daughter Éowyn in 2995. At that time Sauron had arisen again, and the shadow of Mordor reached out to Rohan. Orcs began to raid in the eastern regions and slay or steal horses. Others also came down from the Misty Mountains, many being great uruks in the service of Saruman, though it was long before that was suspected. Éomund's chief charge lay in the east marches; and he was a great lover of horses and hater of Orcs. If news came of a raid he would often ride against them in hot anger, unwarily and with few men. Thus it came about that he was slain in 3002; for he pursued a small band to the borders of the Emyn Muil, and was there surprised by a strong force that lay in wait in the rocks.

Not long after Théodwyn took sick and died to the great grief of the king. Her children he took into his house, calling them son and daughter. He had only one child of his own, Théodred his son, then twenty-four years old; for the queen Elfhild had died in childbirth, and Théoden did not wed again. Éomer and Éowyn grew up at Edoras and saw the dark shadow fall on the halls of Théoden. Éomer was like his fathers before him; but Éowyn was slender and tall, with a grace and pride that came her out of the South from Morwen of Lossarnach, whom the Rohirrim had called Steelsheen.

JRR Tolkien, The Return of the King, Appendix A.


***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Her mother lies at Edoras, beside her father, with their ancestors; his mother lies in Mirkwood, alone amongst the living.



“I cannot believe that Aredhel told you that,” whispered Legolas. “There should be a law to prevent an elf’s first sweetheart slandering him before his betrothed.”

Eowyn smiled. “Is it a slander to say that a young elf was gentle and considerate—”

“And squealed like an elleth when she—touched him?”

Eowyn pushed herself up on one elbow and peered down at him. It was dark—moonless—outside her hut, and she could see little more than a vague shape amidst a pool of velvety blackness, but she knew that—with his keen elven sight—he could see her clearly. “How old were you?”

“About twenty-five.”

“Is that young?”

“Well, I suppose I would have been like… Lord Colgan’s son.”

“Who must be seven or eight,” said Eowyn. “So, quite young.”

“My father explained the facts of life to me—after I asked him why my horse was climbing on another horse’s back,” said Legolas; and Eowyn could almost feel the hot blush staining his cheeks.

She smiled. “But?”

“He told me that, with elves, it only happened if the elf really loved the elleth.”

“That was clever—he was not telling you a lie, exactly, and not forbidding you, but discouraging you from experimenting too soon.” She felt Legolas’ hand gently brush her hair over her shoulder and her smile broadened. “No wonder you were shy with Aredhel.”

She leaned forward, inviting him to draw her closer, and felt his hand slide obligingly down her back. “Her father told me a story too.”

“About me?” Legolas kissed the top of her head. “Not about my sexual inadequacies, surely?”

“No!” Chuckling, she found his hand and twined her fingers in his. “He told me that he once came upon you toddling along with a big bow and quiver in your arms, adamant that you were going to teach your father how to use them! You could not be dissuaded.”

She felt Legolas’ chest rise and fall, and heard his quiet sigh.

“Lassui?” She raised her head. “What is it?”

“I remember that, too,” he said.

She squeezed his hand. “It is a painful memory! I am so sorry—”

“No… No, melmenya.” He kissed her fingers in the darkness. “I was trying to cheer my father—I thought that archery would make him forget. It was the sort of foolish thing a child does.”

“Forget what?”

“My mother’s death—missing her, I mean—I thought that when he was sad he would be able to lose himself in archery.”

“Oh, Legolas!” She slid her arms beneath him and hugged him tightly. Then she said, softly, “How did he react?”

“He cried.”

“I am sure,” she said, after a few moments’ silence, “that that was exactly what he needed. You saved him, Lassui—you gave him something to live for. I only wish…” She fell silent again.

“You must not blame yourself, melmenya.”

“I do not,” said Eowyn. She pulled away from him and rolled onto her back. “I blame her.”



Legolas wondered what to do. “Eowyn…?”

She did not answer.

Now it was his turn to seek her hand. He held it firmly, but gently. “She did not abandon you, Eowyn nín.”

“No?” Her tone was bitter. “Then how do you explain her absence?”

Legolas squeezed her hand. “She died.”

She should not have died! She had children to live for! A son and a daughter who needed her! Your father did not give up and die!”

“My father is different.” Legolas turned onto his side and—though she offered him no encouragement—took her in his arms. “If I were to lose you as your mother lost your father, I would die.”

“Not if we had children!”

Legolas closed his eyes and tried to imagine the unimaginable. “Yes,” he said, at length, “yes I believe I would. And it would not mean that I did not love our children, melmenya. It would mean that I could not live without you.” Their bodies had settled into their customary closeness, his lying lightly upon hers, hard muscle upon soft curves. He buried his face in her hair. “Could you live without me, meleth nín?”

Eowyn did not reply.

“When I dreamed of the future,” muttered Legolas, “you were sailing west with me, and we were both leaving our son behind.”

To follow us later.

“Yes—just as you were to have followed your mother and father—when you were poisoned, melmenya, did you not say you saw them, waiting for you beyond the light?”

Eowyn said nothing for a long time. Then, “I needed her here.”

“I know you did, my darling. But she could not be here.”

“I will never forgive them—not my father for the pride that led him into an ambush, nor my mother for the weakness that—that…”

“Took her away from you.” He kissed her gently. “But you are so like them, Eowyn nín. Call your father’s pride ‘honour’, and your mother’s weakness ‘love’, and you are describing yourself—”

“No! I would never, ever, be so foolish as to do what my father did!”

“Then I should call your brother in,” said Legolas, “to witness that oath. For it would certainly set my mind at rest.”

“You stupid elf!”

She tried to roll out from under him, but she was no match for his gentle elven strength, and he held her until she had calmed down. “I am sorry, melmenya, that your life was so filled with pain. If there was any way that I could—”

“It was not,” said Eowyn. “Not filled. There was my uncle and Theodred, and, always, Eomer. And now there is you.”

“The stupid elf?”

“The stupid elf.”

They lay in silence, Legolas watching over his beloved, aware of each rise and fall of her chest and of the soft sounds of her breathing.

Then Eowyn said, “Will you sing to me?”

And Legolas smiled.

Comments

Posted by: Capella (capella_fic)
Posted at: June 21st, 2006 09:39 pm (UTC)
obsessed

Beautiful. :-)

Posted by: ningloreth (ningloreth)
Posted at: June 22nd, 2006 11:11 pm (UTC)

Thank you!

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