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fantasticmuseTitle: Prism
Rating: PG
Summary: Each moment a color, her life a Prism.
Notes, etc.: Eowyn fic. A series of 8 drabbles. These are not my characters they are Tolkien’s, and I am making no money. Seriously. College student, yo.
Part of this was written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lotr100 color challenge. It inspired the rest of the fic.
They still speak of her, in Rohan and Ithilien. Sometimes even in Gondor and the Shire.
Her life was colorful, they say.
She did many a wild and wonderful thing in her youth and later she became a healer, giving comfort and protecting many.
She slayed the Witch King, something no man could achieve. And in Ithilien, the gardens flourish, a tribute to her care.
Though stories sometimes vary in telling, one thing remains the same. She is always the White Lady.
It’s fitting, for what is white but the combination of many colors? And her life was colorful, indeed.
*
It was red, deep red and everywhere. The blood ran thick on the saddle of the rider-less horse.
In her young heart, she knew what happened. Horses didn’t come back by themselves unless there was no rider. And the blood meant…
Eowyn bit her lip and clung to her brother as their mother stared stone-faced at the blood. Silently she approached and soothed the horse, efficiently removing the tack and then the saddle.
Clutching the saddle to her, the still wet blood staining her dress, she sank to her knees.
Eowyn flinched at the sound, tears blurring all to red.
*
Sunset had turned the sky orange. She sat on a rock outside, waiting for news. Eomer offered her some bread he had grabbed before the healer made them leave, but she refused.
She felt alone in the orange twilight, alone and afraid. Mother was sick. She was so tired now, never sang while working and didn’t tell stories anymore. That was left to Eomer.
Today she wouldn’t wake up when Eomer shook her.
The door opened, the solemn healer called them inside. As she walked in, Eowyn looked over her shoulder, but the sun had set. The color was gone.
*
She saw light. Golden, honey yellow light.
It surprised her; there was only darkness for so long. And before the darkness, the black and white of battle and despair.
Her brother’s voice called her and she went, out of dark and into light, surrounded by yellow. She had come home, but when she awoke and saw Aragorn, the light was lost.
Lost, until she found it again on the battlements, in the shape of a man giving his love.
She didn’t believe at first, but the love shone like the yellow light that saved her.
Smiling, she let it in.
*
The whole world was green.
Lush, rich, healthy green. Everywhere Éowyn looked, the same verdant color met her eyes and soothed her soul.
As she stared over the forests of Ithilien, her husband stood at her side. He welcomed her home, to their home, with love in his eyes and his voice. Standing there with him, the color seemed to grow brilliant, made so by love and shared happiness.
As Faramir took her in his arms, she smiled and let the color take them, hiding them from everyone and everything else for that moment.
And the world was green.
*
They wrapped him in a blue blanket. Eowyn wrinkled her nose at it, such a Gondorian concept to assume that boys should be covered by blue; she favored green.
Looking at her son, she softened. It did suit him. He seemed a little star in the night sky.
Faramir joined them, kissing her forehead and marveling at the child.
“And his name?”
She hesitated.
“I know we said Boromir, but he seems like such a little star…”
He thought a moment, then smiling said, “Elboron? Boron for Boromir and El for the stars.”
In her arms, Elboron stirred in agreement.
*
She wove the death cloth. It was a certain shade that Faramir loved, somewhere between purple and blue. Indigo, her youngest daughter had called it.
They worried, her children, fully grown now. They didn’t understand why she wanted to weave; she was never very adept at the loom.
She didn’t think Faramir would mind if it wasn’t the most skillfully woven cloth. In each strand she placed a memory and not all her tears were sorrowful.
When finished, she laid it at his feet. The indigo threads of memory danced before her and she smiled.
Faramir would wait for her.
*
She looked out the window, staring at the violet sky and thinking. She had become old.
She remembered her father and mother; she pictured Eomer riding with Theodred and her uncle’s smile. She remembered her first horse, her lessons with her sword, Merry’s laugh. Faramir’s kisses, the children’s births, her grandchildren’s games. Such wonderful memories, but it was time to let go.
Smiling, she closed her eyes and was at rest.
The surrounding mist was violet, like the sky. As it cleared, she saw him.
“I’ve waited for you.”
“I knew you would.” She kissed her husband, whole once more.
*
Rating: PG
Summary: Each moment a color, her life a Prism.
Notes, etc.: Eowyn fic. A series of 8 drabbles. These are not my characters they are Tolkien’s, and I am making no money. Seriously. College student, yo.
Part of this was written for the
lotr100 color challenge. It inspired the rest of the fic.They still speak of her, in Rohan and Ithilien. Sometimes even in Gondor and the Shire.
Her life was colorful, they say.
She did many a wild and wonderful thing in her youth and later she became a healer, giving comfort and protecting many.
She slayed the Witch King, something no man could achieve. And in Ithilien, the gardens flourish, a tribute to her care.
Though stories sometimes vary in telling, one thing remains the same. She is always the White Lady.
It’s fitting, for what is white but the combination of many colors? And her life was colorful, indeed.
*
It was red, deep red and everywhere. The blood ran thick on the saddle of the rider-less horse.
In her young heart, she knew what happened. Horses didn’t come back by themselves unless there was no rider. And the blood meant…
Eowyn bit her lip and clung to her brother as their mother stared stone-faced at the blood. Silently she approached and soothed the horse, efficiently removing the tack and then the saddle.
Clutching the saddle to her, the still wet blood staining her dress, she sank to her knees.
Eowyn flinched at the sound, tears blurring all to red.
*
Sunset had turned the sky orange. She sat on a rock outside, waiting for news. Eomer offered her some bread he had grabbed before the healer made them leave, but she refused.
She felt alone in the orange twilight, alone and afraid. Mother was sick. She was so tired now, never sang while working and didn’t tell stories anymore. That was left to Eomer.
Today she wouldn’t wake up when Eomer shook her.
The door opened, the solemn healer called them inside. As she walked in, Eowyn looked over her shoulder, but the sun had set. The color was gone.
*
She saw light. Golden, honey yellow light.
It surprised her; there was only darkness for so long. And before the darkness, the black and white of battle and despair.
Her brother’s voice called her and she went, out of dark and into light, surrounded by yellow. She had come home, but when she awoke and saw Aragorn, the light was lost.
Lost, until she found it again on the battlements, in the shape of a man giving his love.
She didn’t believe at first, but the love shone like the yellow light that saved her.
Smiling, she let it in.
*
The whole world was green.
Lush, rich, healthy green. Everywhere Éowyn looked, the same verdant color met her eyes and soothed her soul.
As she stared over the forests of Ithilien, her husband stood at her side. He welcomed her home, to their home, with love in his eyes and his voice. Standing there with him, the color seemed to grow brilliant, made so by love and shared happiness.
As Faramir took her in his arms, she smiled and let the color take them, hiding them from everyone and everything else for that moment.
And the world was green.
*
They wrapped him in a blue blanket. Eowyn wrinkled her nose at it, such a Gondorian concept to assume that boys should be covered by blue; she favored green.
Looking at her son, she softened. It did suit him. He seemed a little star in the night sky.
Faramir joined them, kissing her forehead and marveling at the child.
“And his name?”
She hesitated.
“I know we said Boromir, but he seems like such a little star…”
He thought a moment, then smiling said, “Elboron? Boron for Boromir and El for the stars.”
In her arms, Elboron stirred in agreement.
*
She wove the death cloth. It was a certain shade that Faramir loved, somewhere between purple and blue. Indigo, her youngest daughter had called it.
They worried, her children, fully grown now. They didn’t understand why she wanted to weave; she was never very adept at the loom.
She didn’t think Faramir would mind if it wasn’t the most skillfully woven cloth. In each strand she placed a memory and not all her tears were sorrowful.
When finished, she laid it at his feet. The indigo threads of memory danced before her and she smiled.
Faramir would wait for her.
*
She looked out the window, staring at the violet sky and thinking. She had become old.
She remembered her father and mother; she pictured Eomer riding with Theodred and her uncle’s smile. She remembered her first horse, her lessons with her sword, Merry’s laugh. Faramir’s kisses, the children’s births, her grandchildren’s games. Such wonderful memories, but it was time to let go.
Smiling, she closed her eyes and was at rest.
The surrounding mist was violet, like the sky. As it cleared, she saw him.
“I’ve waited for you.”
“I knew you would.” She kissed her husband, whole once more.
*
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-03-17 02:44 pm (UTC)*loves Eowyn*
*and, like, loves you too*
no subject
Date: 2004-03-17 07:29 pm (UTC)