On the March
Mar. 29th, 2004 08:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zarahemlaI was almost late with this: shocking.
Title: On the March
Author: Zara Hemla (shutupmulder@yahoo.com)
Fandom: LoTR (RoTK)
Rating: PG
Summary: For the Rohirrim ficathon, Eomer/Aragorn friendship for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
casapazzo.
"I used to hear stories about you," says Eomer that evening. He sits widelegged across the fire, balancing a plate of tough beef and skillet potatoes. Aragorn has to admire the fact that he hasn't dropped the hot plate -- or fed it to one of the camp dogs.
"What do you mean, used to?" It's mildly insulting, but Eomer clears it up easily.
"When I was a boy." He smiles halfway, eyes on his plate. "My nurse used to tell Eowyn and I stories of the Strider and his wanderings."
Aragorn stretches his feet toward the fire and laughs. "What kind of tales did she tell?"
"Let me see ... I'm sure most of it was imagined. She told us one about you fighting a ship full of Southron pirates and rescuing a beautiful princess, only you didn't know who she was -- she was dressed like a slave -- but the Strider was so honourable that no woman should go unrescued while he lived."
"That's truly a wild tale," says Aragorn thoughtfully. "I knew she was a princess right away. She told me so. She was terribly haughty; we didn't get along at all. And it wasn't a shipful of pirates -- they were about to board a ship."
Eomer's mouth is hanging open; he shuts it with an effort and takes a nonchalant bite of potatoes. "I shall have to tell Eowyn; she was very taken with that story. She made me play the princess -- um -- and she was you -- and she rescued me." He blushes slightly and coughs. "I just wanted to make her happy."
Aragorn kindly changes the subject to how Minas Tirith will be defended, and Eomer is happy enough to talk about it. As he finishes describing the thickness of the walls, he stops, probably noticing Aragorn's expression of dislike.
"What?"
"Oh, it's always been the reason that I've never visited Minas Tirith for more than days: I get to feeling confined inside walls that deep."
"And yet you may still be thankful for them, when the orcs and the uruk-hai attack."
Aragorn laughs. "I'll probably run outside the walls and attack them there."
"And ye'll have me with ye, lad!!" Gimli roars as he squats down to warm his hands. "Ye can thrrrow me into the lines and I'll come oot swingin'!"
"You and Legolas keep a running count of your kills, don't you?" asks Eomer, putting his plate down by his feet.
"Aye, that we do. I can't seem to shake him, though. He's always catching up to me!" The dwarf seems to be in a very expansive mood, smiling and pulling on his beard. Perhaps, reflects Aragorn, it's simply a matter of pre-battle excitement.
"I'll catch up," says the elf from the darkness, his hair shining with its own light. "And I'll pass you by, too."
"You'll do no such thing!" But the dwarf is still smiling, and after exchanging genial insults, they wander off. Eomer's cookfire is a draw for many people, most of them under his command: and he always has a good word for them. Aragorn admires his skill as a commander. It is one of the things that keeps him out in the wilds, away from Men's eager eyes: that feeling of great inadequacy, as if he cannot possibly make the decisions that will lead them to their deaths. He is happy to fight by them, to die with them, but he does not want to rule over them.
Eomer's men love him. Aragorn sees it in their willingness to march, to build his fire, to pitch his tent: the little things they do to please him. And Eomer knows his men by name, though Aragorn suspects he does not know that his sister is in the ranks with Merry. He is a commander worthy of the Rohirrim, a superb rider and a killer when necessary.
Over at the next fire, someone sings a plaintive ballad. Aragorn recognizes it: it is the song of Tinúviel, who has long since passed into the shadowlands. The soldier sings well, making sure the elven maiden is not forgotten. Eomer listens as well, head cocked, caught in the song. Aragorn finds himself humming a little, toward the end -- "Again she fled, but swift he came. 'Tinúviel! Tinúviel!' He called her by her elvish name; and there she halted, listening. One moment stood she, and a spell his voice laid on her: Beren came. And doom fell on Tinúviel that in his arms lay glistening."
When the soldier finishes, Eomer turns his head and looks into the flames. He looks pensive, as if contemplating the downfall of Men and of love. Aragorn can't help thinking about it either: Rohan's plains are overrun with vermin, and its houses burn. Will Eomer have anything to go back to? Will there be any solitude for Strider to stride through?
Aragorn shakes his head, blaming the near-darkness for his black thoughts. He stands and Eomer looks at him quizzically.
"Come then, man of Rohan, let's cross swords for a while. Let your soldiers see how easily you can be beaten."
Eomer laughs, genuinely amused. "Have at thee, knave!"
They spar for just under an hour, till the twilight turns to true darkness and it grows hard for the soldiers to see the two men. Aragorn truly enjoys sparring with Eomer, for they trade jests and mock-insults as they pant through their exercise.
Aragorn is sure he sees Eowyn on the fringe of the crowd -- he can't miss her shining eyes. It makes him lose his balance for a moment, but when he makes his way back around to look again, she is gone. The soldiers cheer and laugh, watching their noble lord battle Isildur's Heir.
When they finally stop, Aragorn drapes his arm companionably over Eomer's shoulder. "Let an old man get you some tea."
"No no, feeble sir, rest your old bones by the fire while I fetch you a hot toddy."
Aragorn punches him, and he punches back, and then Merry pipes up with, "I'll get you *both* some tea!" Laughing, they sit down to the acclamations of their friends, joyful today, for tomorrow, who knows?
--the end
notes: the tone isn't really LoTR-ish, but I can't ever really write in that tone. The song of Beren and Tinúviel is found in chapter eleven of the Fellowship, "A Knife In the Dark."
Title: On the March
Author: Zara Hemla (shutupmulder@yahoo.com)
Fandom: LoTR (RoTK)
Rating: PG
Summary: For the Rohirrim ficathon, Eomer/Aragorn friendship for
casapazzo."I used to hear stories about you," says Eomer that evening. He sits widelegged across the fire, balancing a plate of tough beef and skillet potatoes. Aragorn has to admire the fact that he hasn't dropped the hot plate -- or fed it to one of the camp dogs.
"What do you mean, used to?" It's mildly insulting, but Eomer clears it up easily.
"When I was a boy." He smiles halfway, eyes on his plate. "My nurse used to tell Eowyn and I stories of the Strider and his wanderings."
Aragorn stretches his feet toward the fire and laughs. "What kind of tales did she tell?"
"Let me see ... I'm sure most of it was imagined. She told us one about you fighting a ship full of Southron pirates and rescuing a beautiful princess, only you didn't know who she was -- she was dressed like a slave -- but the Strider was so honourable that no woman should go unrescued while he lived."
"That's truly a wild tale," says Aragorn thoughtfully. "I knew she was a princess right away. She told me so. She was terribly haughty; we didn't get along at all. And it wasn't a shipful of pirates -- they were about to board a ship."
Eomer's mouth is hanging open; he shuts it with an effort and takes a nonchalant bite of potatoes. "I shall have to tell Eowyn; she was very taken with that story. She made me play the princess -- um -- and she was you -- and she rescued me." He blushes slightly and coughs. "I just wanted to make her happy."
Aragorn kindly changes the subject to how Minas Tirith will be defended, and Eomer is happy enough to talk about it. As he finishes describing the thickness of the walls, he stops, probably noticing Aragorn's expression of dislike.
"What?"
"Oh, it's always been the reason that I've never visited Minas Tirith for more than days: I get to feeling confined inside walls that deep."
"And yet you may still be thankful for them, when the orcs and the uruk-hai attack."
Aragorn laughs. "I'll probably run outside the walls and attack them there."
"And ye'll have me with ye, lad!!" Gimli roars as he squats down to warm his hands. "Ye can thrrrow me into the lines and I'll come oot swingin'!"
"You and Legolas keep a running count of your kills, don't you?" asks Eomer, putting his plate down by his feet.
"Aye, that we do. I can't seem to shake him, though. He's always catching up to me!" The dwarf seems to be in a very expansive mood, smiling and pulling on his beard. Perhaps, reflects Aragorn, it's simply a matter of pre-battle excitement.
"I'll catch up," says the elf from the darkness, his hair shining with its own light. "And I'll pass you by, too."
"You'll do no such thing!" But the dwarf is still smiling, and after exchanging genial insults, they wander off. Eomer's cookfire is a draw for many people, most of them under his command: and he always has a good word for them. Aragorn admires his skill as a commander. It is one of the things that keeps him out in the wilds, away from Men's eager eyes: that feeling of great inadequacy, as if he cannot possibly make the decisions that will lead them to their deaths. He is happy to fight by them, to die with them, but he does not want to rule over them.
Eomer's men love him. Aragorn sees it in their willingness to march, to build his fire, to pitch his tent: the little things they do to please him. And Eomer knows his men by name, though Aragorn suspects he does not know that his sister is in the ranks with Merry. He is a commander worthy of the Rohirrim, a superb rider and a killer when necessary.
Over at the next fire, someone sings a plaintive ballad. Aragorn recognizes it: it is the song of Tinúviel, who has long since passed into the shadowlands. The soldier sings well, making sure the elven maiden is not forgotten. Eomer listens as well, head cocked, caught in the song. Aragorn finds himself humming a little, toward the end -- "Again she fled, but swift he came. 'Tinúviel! Tinúviel!' He called her by her elvish name; and there she halted, listening. One moment stood she, and a spell his voice laid on her: Beren came. And doom fell on Tinúviel that in his arms lay glistening."
When the soldier finishes, Eomer turns his head and looks into the flames. He looks pensive, as if contemplating the downfall of Men and of love. Aragorn can't help thinking about it either: Rohan's plains are overrun with vermin, and its houses burn. Will Eomer have anything to go back to? Will there be any solitude for Strider to stride through?
Aragorn shakes his head, blaming the near-darkness for his black thoughts. He stands and Eomer looks at him quizzically.
"Come then, man of Rohan, let's cross swords for a while. Let your soldiers see how easily you can be beaten."
Eomer laughs, genuinely amused. "Have at thee, knave!"
They spar for just under an hour, till the twilight turns to true darkness and it grows hard for the soldiers to see the two men. Aragorn truly enjoys sparring with Eomer, for they trade jests and mock-insults as they pant through their exercise.
Aragorn is sure he sees Eowyn on the fringe of the crowd -- he can't miss her shining eyes. It makes him lose his balance for a moment, but when he makes his way back around to look again, she is gone. The soldiers cheer and laugh, watching their noble lord battle Isildur's Heir.
When they finally stop, Aragorn drapes his arm companionably over Eomer's shoulder. "Let an old man get you some tea."
"No no, feeble sir, rest your old bones by the fire while I fetch you a hot toddy."
Aragorn punches him, and he punches back, and then Merry pipes up with, "I'll get you *both* some tea!" Laughing, they sit down to the acclamations of their friends, joyful today, for tomorrow, who knows?
--the end
notes: the tone isn't really LoTR-ish, but I can't ever really write in that tone. The song of Beren and Tinúviel is found in chapter eleven of the Fellowship, "A Knife In the Dark."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-03-29 08:13 pm (UTC)I love it! (Especially the bit about the princess.)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-03-31 02:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-15 04:40 pm (UTC)::giggles some more::
Just thought I'd share...
(no subject)
Date: 2004-03-30 12:42 pm (UTC)I loved the tone--I think it made the story stronger not to be written in the LotR-esque gloom and doom and oh-so-formal writing style.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-03-31 02:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-03-31 02:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-05-12 09:23 am (UTC)This was fabulous. I loved the story of the princess and the pirates, and the fact that Eomer let his sister play the part of Strider. (He's so....manly, it's hard to imagine, which of course makes the image all the more funny.) I think these two characters would develop a comraderie, and I love seeing a glimpse of that here. :)