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LOTR: Erased Sunsets (Aragorn & Eowyn)

For fourteenlines, who requested a Lord of the Rings ficlet with Aragorn & Eowyn.

Title: Erased Sunsets
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Characters: Aragorn & Eowyn
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: It took years to discover how the world worked.
Notes: Post-trilogy



The king rode up to Ithilien with the sun rising at his back. His daughter rode beside him, her form strong and small, her dark hair a banner in the breeze sweeping across the great river. There was a sword buckled at her side, and Eowyn smiled at it, raised her arm to greet them from the outer wall of the city.

The princess shouted, her voice a song on the wind, and Eowyn laughed as the gates swung wide to admit the king's caravan.

*


The grand procession twisted through the city, and as they approached the great hall, the king drifted to the side, ran his hands against the walls, so newly mended. Eowyn stepped forward, her husband at her elbow. "My king?"

King Elessar gazed up at her, his smile full of memory. "It was a great pity," he enunciated carefully, "to see this city so devastated."

"And now our city welcomes you." Faramir stepped down the broad stairs, bending his knee even as the king gestured him to stand, almost impatiently. Faramir tilted his head as he straightened, and Eowyn caught the grin that flitted across his lips. "Perhaps the king would deign to help us with the last repairs?"

A laugh broke through the king's solemnity, and behind him, his company rippled with relief. "Come," he said, and the princess glided forward, bowed like a willow. "These are my friends," he told his daughter.

Eowyn lifted her hands, and the princess clasped them tightly. "It is our honor to host you," she said.

The king cleared his throat. "And who is this fierce warrior behind you?" He raised his eyebrows, his lips trained to sternness.

Eowyn released the princess and turned, shepherding her son to step forward. He bent at the knee, his form perfect and proud, and she smiled as he saluted the king.

When their son stood, Faramir put a hand on his shoulder. "This is Elboron, my lord." The boy smiled shyly at the princess. "He has heard many stories of your ferocity in battle."

"Has he?" The king laughed again, and perhaps he winked at Eowyn. "And what tales have you told him of his mother?"

Elboron turned to Eowyn, his eyes wide.

"A more terrifying swordswoman I have never met," the king confided.

Eowyn snorted, a habit which often disconcerted her handmaids. "Perhaps the princess would care to rest?"

"The princess," the king replied, "has spoke of nothing but learning the sword from the White Lady of Ithilien." He turned to his daughter, whose cheeks had flushed.

"Perhaps these tales are best told over a feast," Faramir said, gesturing towards the great hall. "If it pleases the king?"

The king smiled, and nodded. "A feast, then," he agreed. "And whatever songs we care to sing." He strode forward, and the procession continued apace. Eowyn looped her arm around Elboron's shoulders, and caught the princess's hand in her own.

*


Eowyn watched the sun set, orange washing over the white stone of the hall's arches. The horizon was still alien to her, flat and open compared to her Rohan. She folded her arms as a tendril of wind curled around her, and she breathed in the crisp, cool air.

A soft footstep sounded, one she recognized as a courtesy even before she turned her head. "My king," she greeted, and his lips twisted in humor.

"My lady," he replied. He paused, as if forms and civilities tumbled through his mind. "There are days when I would be a Ranger again," he finally confessed.

"As would my husband," she replied. She raised her hands, palms upward. "Long has it been since I held a sword." She clenched her hands together lightly. "Though I do not miss it as I thought I would."

Childish shouts rose in the hall, and the princess called out, "Adar!"

The king raised his hand to acknowledge her, then turned his smile to Eowyn. "If you would hold your sword again?"

Eowyn laughed and nodded. The king offered her his elbow, and together, they swept back into the fray.


###

A/N: Title and summary adapted from Yusef Komunyakaa's Believing in Iron. Link courtesy of breathe_poetry.

Comments

( 3 comments — Leave a comment )
fourteenlines
May. 5th, 2010 12:53 am (UTC)
That was so lovely and wistful! I'd forgotten all about that request. :)
zarahemla
May. 6th, 2010 02:06 am (UTC)
Beautiful, hopeful, moody and gorgeous.
ancarett
Jun. 1st, 2010 07:36 pm (UTC)
Oh, so sweet; not cloying, like honey, but as if it was the smell of jasmine on the breeze.
( 3 comments — Leave a comment )

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