The Jeweled Shackle
I began this in an attempt to explore the past of one of my favorite characters. I know that similar fanfics have been written, but this is my own take on what made a maiden of Rohan- that we really know very little about- who she is.
A/N: Real life having taken over my own, I am now (finally) at leisure to continue work on this story. For now I'm going to go back and edit the existing chapters, then add new chapters in the near future. To all those who read and reviewed and offered words of encouragement: This one's for you. I thank you.
One Who Loves Horses
-T.A. 2995-
“How beautiful is she, Théodwyn! What will you call her?”
Theodwyn smiled at the praise. “Éowyn.”
“'Éowyn'? Do you not wish some nobler name? Perhaps in a grander tongue of Men, or of the Elves.
“What could be nobler than a name given in our own tongue, in honour of that which we love most?” Théodwyn frowned, and shifted the tiny bundle in her arms. She loved her sister dearly, but her fascination with the people beyond Rohan’s borders could be trying at times.
“The Queen had such a name”
“Elfhild? Not really. You know that.” Théodwyn grinned impishly up at her sister who smiled back, mollified.
“As you wish. She is a beautiful child, no matter what her name may be.”
“Indeed.” Théodwyn returned her attention to the babe as her sister nodded in farewell and left.
The young mother cradled her newborn daughter in her arms, stroking the infant’s tiny cheek with a finger.
“Yes, you are Éowyn,” she murmured softly in the rich tongue of the Rohirrim, “One Who Loves Horses.”
* * *
All loved the girl Éowyn. Beautiful and mirthful was she, for her childhood was full of joy. One and all said that when her time came she would be like to the queens of old: fair and tall, wise and beautiful, loving and beloved of the people.
And so, for a time, it was.
From the time she could speak, she was taught the way of horses, and when she took her first steps she was taught to ride. Even as a child she loved to hear stories of great adventures and ancient lays such as the Rohirrim sang.
And those who knew her wished her happiness, and freedom; oft her body seemed poor housing for the fierce spirit that burned inside the one they called Éowyn.
But it was not to be.
***
tbc