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Drabbles  by Acacea

Also for the 'Storms' challenge on tolkien_weekly

Grey

When the bards sing of the battle in the days to come, they sing of Eowyn too. They sing of her sword, her horse, of Merry who rode with her, and the victory that was hers. They weave pictures of her through their words, of her face so fair and her hair as gold.

When Faramir thinks of her that day, he needs no songs. He remembers most her eyes. They remind him of the sea in the storms, deep and grey - turbulent, harsh and unyielding one moment, suddenly giving way to an uneasy yet tender quiet the next.

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