Fic: Waking (PG-ish)
Feb. 1st, 2006 12:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
illwyndThe number of stories in my "stuff I'm working on" folder went up by 3 in the last 2 days, so I had to get at least one moved to the "done and posted" folder. Here it is. Hope y'all enjoy it.
Title: Waking
Author: illwynd
Disclaimer: Not mine
Rating: PG-ish.
Characters: Éowyn, dead!Théodred, 2 OFC's, ...
Notes: Feedback always welcome. Much thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cressida0201 for the beta, to lilan14 for the input and to both for kicking me out of my rut.
x-posted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
lotr_fanfiction and meduseld
When Théodred’s body had been brought home, it stung Éowyn’s heart, for she had loved her cousin, but she had not wept. She had gone with him, following silently, half in disbelief. Now she stood uselessly just beyond the doorway as the old women prepared his cold form for the grave.
“Ach! So young, and struck down!” This was the younger of the two, her lips twisted as she peeled away the bloody maille.
“Aye, but boys dream of a worthy death in battle such as this.” The older woman, with a face like a withered fruit, stroked a wet cloth along Théodred’s forehead as she spoke.
“True. But we know better,” said the younger woman. She set the maille aside, to be cleaned and replaced when they were done.
“Those are bitter words, my pet,” She gently lifted Théodred’s shoulders so the other woman could slide away the dirty tunic. “Those boys with their dreams grow into men who keep us safe.”
“Sometimes they do. And sometimes…” She held up the bloody garment, as if to prove a point, then folded it, laid it on a nearby table, and grabbed a washing cloth. Éowyn nearly snorted at this, and had to grit her teeth to keep from interrupting them. Not to mention that she had hardly thought of her elder cousin as a boy, he had certainly not gone to battle out of silly childish dreams. He had gone out of duty, to protect them all, including these twittering old birds who did, somehow, tend to him with tenderness and love even as they talked over him.
“Are you thinking of your son?” The older woman said and paused, pitcher in hand, to look at her companion. Then she continued pouring the water slowly through the dead man’s hair, washing away the blood and dirt into the basin below, and following it with her fingers to ease out the tangles. “You should keep your mind on what you have now, it will give you less pain. Dreaming will hurt you. Women aren’t about dreams. Women are about waking.”
“How is that so?” He was as clean as he was going to be. The younger woman took up a fresh cloth, and patted the man’s skin until he was dry.
“As mothers we wake them from nothingness to existence. As maidens we wake them to the joys and miseries of adulthood, wake them to the worlds of lust and responsibility. And when their time’s up…” she reached for the fine clothes laid out ready nearby, “it’s always us has to wash them for the last time, and we lay them out for the wake.”
Éowyn, still dry-eyed, turned from the shadows of the doorway, frowning slightly. Of everything she had heard, she bristled most at the idea that she, someday, would do all those things that they said. She had no desire to wake anyone. She had her own life to tend to. If she could find a way, she would do valiant deeds, and songs would be sung of Éowyn after she was gone.
Many days later, though, she listened to songs being sung about her deeds, and she felt a dream dissolve within her. What dream? It was already fading from memory. It faded more as she turned to see Faramir approaching, smiling tentatively. A worthy dream it had been, she felt, but now… she was waking…
-end-
A/N: The older lady's little speech about "Women are about waking..." was nabbed from Amelia, Magda and Helena in "The Kindly Ones" by Neil Gaiman.
Title: Waking
Author: illwynd
Disclaimer: Not mine
Rating: PG-ish.
Characters: Éowyn, dead!Théodred, 2 OFC's, ...
Notes: Feedback always welcome. Much thanks to
cressida0201 for the beta, to lilan14 for the input and to both for kicking me out of my rut. x-posted to
lotr_fanfiction and meduseldWhen Théodred’s body had been brought home, it stung Éowyn’s heart, for she had loved her cousin, but she had not wept. She had gone with him, following silently, half in disbelief. Now she stood uselessly just beyond the doorway as the old women prepared his cold form for the grave.
“Ach! So young, and struck down!” This was the younger of the two, her lips twisted as she peeled away the bloody maille.
“Aye, but boys dream of a worthy death in battle such as this.” The older woman, with a face like a withered fruit, stroked a wet cloth along Théodred’s forehead as she spoke.
“True. But we know better,” said the younger woman. She set the maille aside, to be cleaned and replaced when they were done.
“Those are bitter words, my pet,” She gently lifted Théodred’s shoulders so the other woman could slide away the dirty tunic. “Those boys with their dreams grow into men who keep us safe.”
“Sometimes they do. And sometimes…” She held up the bloody garment, as if to prove a point, then folded it, laid it on a nearby table, and grabbed a washing cloth. Éowyn nearly snorted at this, and had to grit her teeth to keep from interrupting them. Not to mention that she had hardly thought of her elder cousin as a boy, he had certainly not gone to battle out of silly childish dreams. He had gone out of duty, to protect them all, including these twittering old birds who did, somehow, tend to him with tenderness and love even as they talked over him.
“Are you thinking of your son?” The older woman said and paused, pitcher in hand, to look at her companion. Then she continued pouring the water slowly through the dead man’s hair, washing away the blood and dirt into the basin below, and following it with her fingers to ease out the tangles. “You should keep your mind on what you have now, it will give you less pain. Dreaming will hurt you. Women aren’t about dreams. Women are about waking.”
“How is that so?” He was as clean as he was going to be. The younger woman took up a fresh cloth, and patted the man’s skin until he was dry.
“As mothers we wake them from nothingness to existence. As maidens we wake them to the joys and miseries of adulthood, wake them to the worlds of lust and responsibility. And when their time’s up…” she reached for the fine clothes laid out ready nearby, “it’s always us has to wash them for the last time, and we lay them out for the wake.”
Éowyn, still dry-eyed, turned from the shadows of the doorway, frowning slightly. Of everything she had heard, she bristled most at the idea that she, someday, would do all those things that they said. She had no desire to wake anyone. She had her own life to tend to. If she could find a way, she would do valiant deeds, and songs would be sung of Éowyn after she was gone.
Many days later, though, she listened to songs being sung about her deeds, and she felt a dream dissolve within her. What dream? It was already fading from memory. It faded more as she turned to see Faramir approaching, smiling tentatively. A worthy dream it had been, she felt, but now… she was waking…
-end-
A/N: The older lady's little speech about "Women are about waking..." was nabbed from Amelia, Magda and Helena in "The Kindly Ones" by Neil Gaiman.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-01 02:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 02:32 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 02:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 07:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 11:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-03 12:49 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-05 08:59 am (UTC)she had hardly thought of her elder cousin as a boy, he had certainly not gone to battle out of silly childish dreams. He had gone out of duty, to protect them all
I like that Eowyn doesn't actually understand what they mean, because she's still of the mind that a worthy death in battle is somehow desirable. She doesn't know better yet.
Very nice, Illwynd! I was braced for super-angst, what with the dead Theodred and all. I like how you managed to sidestep that [I know I couldn't have :)]and focus it on Eowyn's aspirations, rather than her grief.
And way to sneak Gaiman in there! It works perfectly. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-06 03:55 am (UTC)And way to sneak Gaiman in there! It works perfectly. :)
Heeeh every time I read that bit recently, I thought of Eowyn for some reason. It had to be done! ^__^