"The King's Bard"
Part 1
by Osiris Brackhaus
"Lady Éowyn?!"
The call across the front hall of the house of healing actually managed to steal her attention away from Faramir who was standing at her side.
"Lady Éowyn? Just a few words in private?"
Giving an apologetic smile to the young Steward, the Lady of Rohan asked: "Dear Lord Faramir, I'll quickly see what this soldier wants. Will you wait for me in the garden?"
"Of course, Milady." Despite trying not to, Faramir gave an angry glance at the young man sitting on a table, with two healers busy with his badly bruised left arm. The young Gondorian was definitely not amused at having some soldier stealing some of his deeply valued time with Éowyn. But there was very little he could do, especially with a Lady so independent as the Rohirrim's King's sister. So, he managed a polite smile and a nodded bow before he turned around towards the archway that led to the house's garden.
"It's so kind of you to spare a moment of your precious time, Lady Éowyn", the soldier said as she approached the table he was sitting on.
She had never seen him before, so Éowyn looked around to find any hint to which army he belonged to. The soldier in front of her had hair flaxen enough to make him look like one of her own people, but the clothes he wore and the waistcoat next to him on the table were definitely of a foreign style. Still, there was something oddly familiar about his features.
"Have we ever met before?” she asked, wondering where that could have been.
"Yes, actually we have", the blond soldier replied with a spreading grin. "But I doubt you can remember. You were a girl not much taller than my knees then, but already fierce enough to tackle me." Laughing at her incredulous look, the young man added: "I had a little dispute with your brother, and you were convinced he needed your help."
Suddenly, he took a sharp breath as one of the healers deftly turned his arm in an odd angle, growing pale underneath his tanned skin as the bone returned to its proper place with a distinct snap.
Wrinkling her face in sympathetic pain, Lady Éowyn waited until her companion was able to speak again. Yet, with all the mirth drained from his face, it struck her where she had seen those storm-gray eyes before.
"You are one of the Dunedain", she stated in surprise, and the man in front of her nodded.
"Andarion, son of Antharad"; he pressed out between his teeth. Taking a deep breath, he straightened up a little, managing a grim smile. "It is a joy to see that that little girl's courage has grown into deeds that are sung in every tavern of the free people."
Instead of an answer, she only gave him a sad smirk. Too much had been lost despite the victory.
"Never mind", the blond Ranger said with a dismissing gesture. "I have asked you to talk with me about matters much more pleasant."
"Such as?"
"I arrived in Minas Tirith a few days ago, and I heard your brother comes to visit you each day..."
"Yes...?"
"Is he... well..." An amazing mix of both shyness and indecency crept into the Ranger's eyes, and he lowered his voice to a rather confidential tone as he asked: "Has he already promised his heart to someone?"
"On whose behalf do you ask that question, Andarion of the Dunedain?", Lady Éowyn requested sharply, yet soft enough not to be overheard by everybody in the place. This question was delicate, and by no means, a subject to be brought up by a person she barely knew. As much as she would have loved to see her brother finally find that special somebody as well.
Lowering his eyes in what looked like genuine embarrassment, the young Ranger replied softly: "Only on behalf of my humble self, my Lady..."
Stunned, the Lady Éowyn opened her mouth, yet without finding any words to return to this question and its audacious implications, she just closed it again.
"I - ", Andarion said immediately, "I sincerely apologize, if you find my request offensive, Milady. I just didn't know how to approach the matter less directly without making a complete fool of myself."
There was such guileless worry in the blond warrior's eyes that it touched her heart despite his outrageous intentions. "No need to apologize, Andarion son of Antharad. I only think that you are aiming for a prey that might just be a little too dangerous even for your taste." (Don’t forget to add the Father’s Name)
"Lady Éowyn, we all cannot choose what our hearts desire. All we can do is live trying to make it happen."
Again, his words, delivered calmly and with perfect reason, struck a note in her heart that made it almost impossible to deny him his plea for help, however hopeless his endeavor seemed in her eyes. If there was anybody knowing about loving who was not supposed to be loved, it was she.
Her brother would rather beat this man black and blue instead
of listening to his charms, she thought, but that truly was not hers to decide.
And anyway, she liked this Ranger. He was more than a little mad, admittedly
so, but he was refreshing in the way he wore his heart on his sleeve, so very
unlike some of his cousins.
And maybe, having to fend off such a daring suitor would finally give her
brother something else to worry about than the mere fact that he would be
returning home to Edoras to be crowned King of his people.
So, with just the smallest of smiles in the corner of her mouth, Éowyn said coolly: "My brother comes to visit me every day, and he leaves this house about nightfall. Usually, I am told, he leaves for the gardens of this place, where he stares at the city below."
Seeing the hope rise in the Ranger's eyes like the sun rising in the east made Éowyn's smile grow despite her intention to stay serious, and with a calm laugh, she added: "If I wanted to accidentally trip over the young King's feet, I'd be in the garden at nightfall, waiting for him."
"Thank you, Lady Éowyn, thank you."
"Don't thank me, Dunedain, I doubt my brother will be as understanding as I have been. You better should - "
"Lady Éowyn?" A stunned Faramir came dashing into the hall, an incredulous light in his eyes. "Lady Éowyn, are you... all right?"
"Why shouldn't I be?", she asked, smiling at his flustered expression.
"I - I heard you laugh...."
Now stunned herself, she realized that she actually had been laughing for the first time in days. And that, despite her often somber mood, a new laughter was coming up her throat. Giving way to her newfound mirth, she laughed loudly at Faramir's confused face, at the thought of her completely befuddled brother's expression when that Ranger did whatever he had in mind.
"If it worries you to hear me laugh," she said after a while, still smiling widely, "there'll be more and more to worry about each day."
Sneaking her arm around Faramir's, she smiled at him and nudged him gently towards the garden. After a few steps, she turned her head, looking at Andarion with a gentle warning.
"Go with my blessings, Dunedain, but never forget that if you hurt him, I'll hurt you. " Winking at him with a tiny smile, she added: "Better count your teeth, Dunedain, for I doubt you'll still have all of them come tomorrow dawn..."
----
With a soundless sigh, Éomer set his hands on the stone railing that
enclosed the gardens, staring at the White City spreading in the moonlit night
below him.
Slowly, life was returning to its normal pace, returning from its stupor it had been forced into by the atrocities of war happening at its gates and within its very walls. So many had died, and of the army he and late Théoden King had assembled, Éomer would be bringing home only a painful few.
Still, they had given enough time to the halflings to manage the impossible, and darkness had forever been banned from Middle-Earth. Yet, although he was returning home victorious, on the wings of song and legend, the anguish in Éomer's heart about those who would remain here forever made him want to scream.
The cool night breeze was carrying a few notes with it, a tune sung in the taverns of the whole city and probably spreading like the plague all over the country. Éomer snarled softly at the thought. Probably, he'd be greeted with this very song when he returned home.
It was a song sung in his honor, telling of his heroic deeds
on the fields of Pelennor. And those deeds grew in proportion with every night
the song was sung. For whatever reason, the bards apparently had decided that
the achievements of King Elessar or the White Lady of Rohan were too noble
to be made into anything less but ballads to be sung in the solemn halls of
the nobility. But the soon-to-be King of Rohan was a completely different
matter all together, it seemed.
Éomer had heard at least four different songs praising his valor shouted
and yelled from the taverns below, and the one he softly heard in the night
was obviously on the best way to become one of Gondor's all-time tavern favorites.
He didn't even know if there was more to that song but the four lines he heard
in endless repetition, two lines usually being sung by the bard, the last
two by all patrons around, usually hitting the tables with their ale-mugs
for emphasis.
Facing enemies had never worried him much, even if there was no hope of victory. But this whole thing made his skin crawl.
"Spear like lightning,
Heart of thunder,
Young King Éomer on Pelennor Fields!"
It took Éomer a heartbeat to realize that those words had not been conjured up by his over-eager memory, but actually had been softly voiced by a person close by. Looking around, he scanned the dark garden for the singer, but couldn't spot anybody right away.
"Rohan's glory,
Gondor's savior,
Young King Éomer on Pelennor Fields!"
This time, Éomer realized the voice was coming from
a place a little above, and looking up, he found a dark shape sitting on one
of the walls surrounding the gardens. In the moonlight, he couldn't see more
than blond hair and a pale bandage across the man's shoulder, but the way
he was hunched on the wall suggested he was holding a small harp on his lap.
That would also explain the soft music he had been hearing all this time,
Éomer thought grimly.
"Are you just acting foolish or are you seriously trying to make me mad?", he called out to the man on the wall, walking a few steps towards him.
"Wouldn't that be pretty foolish as well?", the young man replied, a cheeky grin baring his teeth gleaming white in the moonlight. "And besides, why does a song in your glory make you mad?"
Very unkingly, Éomer snorted. Apparently, there was no peace for him to be found among the walls of this city at all.
"First, I'm not King yet", he explained. "Second, it will be Éomer King, not the other way round." After a small pause, he softly added more to himself than anything else: "And what glory is there in surviving?"
Softly plucking the tunes out of his harp once again, the man on the wall shook his head, still smiling. "Éomer King wouldn't rhyme." Suddenly, he dropped off the wall, to Éomer's surprise landing securely on his feet. The young man walked up to him, and with another blink of surprise, the future King of Rohan noticed the other man actually standing a few fingers taller than himself.
"Forgive my intrusion, Highness. I am Andarion, son of Antharad, and I thought my song might lift up your spirit a little. I am sorry if it didn't."
With a dismissive gesture, Éomer stopped that subject. People talking deferentially to him made him nervous. Actually, there were quite a lot of things in his life of late that made him nervous. Like that odd look this ... bard was giving him.
"You look like one of my people, Master Andarion, but by your dress and speech, I assume you are not."
Andarion shook his head, a tiny smile sparkling in his eyes. "There are about as many rumors about my lineage as there are stars in the sky, Lord Éomer, but none of them has ever been voiced loud enough for my mother to hear them. Your sister and she would have been a frightening sight if they had ever met in battle."
At the thought of his valiant sister, a smile spread on Éomer's face. It was good to see her finally earn the glory she had so direly deserved.
"But as you have already guessed, my Lord", the young man went on, his eyes never ceasing to sparkle, "though my hair and build often makes people think me one of the Rohirrim, I am not. I am one of the Dunedain. My cousin is going to be crowned High King of Gondor tomorrow come noon."
"That is a noble family you claim", Éomer said calmly. Did this man never cease to smile? The soft lines around the Ranger's eyes looked like it, at least. "So how comes it that I have never heard your name before?"
This time, it was Andarion laughing. "Oh Lord Éomer, there is little surprise in that. Even among my family, there are some that would rather forget my name, which is mostly because my skills run less with the sword or the bow, but with the harp. And there is very little praise to be gained with praising other people's deeds. But you might know my elder brother Halbarad."
As if to underline his last words, he plucked a few notes with his good hand on the harp at his side.
"An odd talent for your folk to be sure." Éomer slowly began to feel uncomfortable around the other man. Why was he looking at me like that? And why is he acting as if he had known me all my life?
"I think I will leave now", Éomer suddenly said as the moment grew too oppressive on him. "Have a good night, Master Andarion."
"Will you be having a good night, Lord Éomer?"
The bard's voice was so soft he could have easily overheard it, but its question still managed to stop Éomer in his tracks. Before the young King could reply anything, Andarion seized the pause and added:
"Highness, you come here every night to stare into the darkness. You only join the celebrations if Aragorn personally asks you to. What weighs down the young King's heart so much he can't rejoice in the victory like anybody else?"
A very good question, Éomer thought by himself. But surely none I see myself discussing with this stranger.
"Of what matter is my heart to you, bard of the Dunedain?", he asked a little more forbidding than he had actually wanted to.
Andarion laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with a mirth Éomer had seen rarely in the last months.
"Bard of the Dunedain. I like that title, though I think my family would rather not see me in any official position." Taking a deep breath, he looked at the Rohirrim in front of him, and all of a sudden, he looked almost serious. "And about your heart, Éomer King, I can only say that there is little choice in whom we fall in love with for any of us. You probably didn't want to, but you have stolen mine many years ago. So even if you don't remember me, in my eyes, your heart is precious beyond words, and worth a thought or two if it seems worried."
Silence spread in the garden following this confession, and for a long moment, both men simply stared at each other. Andarion with plain and hopeful affection in his storm-gray eyes, Éomer with furrowed brows and an expression somewhere between confusion and fury.
"Good night", the young Rohirrim finally pressed out between his clenched teeth, turned around on his heel and strode towards the garden's exit, just slow enough not to make it look like flight.
Behind him, once more plucking a few notes out of his harp, Andarion sat on the stone railing, wondering if this meeting had turned out good or bad. Softly, just loud enough to make sure Éomer would overhear his words, he sung a few lines of that dreaded song he had just made up:
"Eyes of fire,
heart of sorrow,
sad King Éomer alone in the night."
With an almost impish smile, Andarion noted the Rohirrim halting his stride once more, then leaving the gardens, and slamming the door with a passion that would have perfectly befitted his sister as well. Maybe he was setting his aims too high, he thought with a deep wistful sigh, but if even my dull cousin managed to woo this lofty elf princess, there truly is no reason to give up so soon, is there?
-----
"He ran away?" Giggling softly, Lady Éowyn sat down on the bench next to the Dunedain bard. "Then you are better than I thought."
"Why's that?"
"Else, you'd not be here this morning to have your arm checked up, but to have them tend your broken nose as well. My brother's got quite a temper. Usually."
Andarion's smile gained a definitely indecent edge, only to produce another giggle from his reluctant accomplice.
"Oh you men are so terrible!", she exclaimed. "So what's up next?"
"How do you mean that?"
"I... I am curious. I have no idea if there's any chance for the two of you, but it's fun to see my brother suddenly being in such a delicate position. He's not good at all if things turn delicate."
"Shouldn't you try to protect him from me, then?"
"Probably I should..." Lady Éowyn looked at the young man next to her, wondering why she thought the whole thing more fascinating than repulsing. "I think after all that I have been through, it's hard for me to see Éomer so sad. I would be happy to see him find someone special, so he wouldn't be all alone when he returns back home."
"All alone?" Andarion gave her a sidelong glance and a crooked grin. "Do I take that you will be staying here a bit longer under young Lord Faramir's tender care?"
"I...", she started, then broke off with the faintest blush on her pale face. "We've become very close lately."
"Wouldn't have noticed." Nudging her gently, Andarion added: "I'm so happy for you. He's just as fine a man as you deserve."
A subdued, glowing smile on her face, Éowyn nodded. "Thank you, Master Andarion. I just hope my brother will find someone as well. Maybe even you."
Laughing gently, the two of them sat together on the bench for a moment. Then, as if she had noticed the thoughtful expression on Andarion's usually oh-so-merry face, the White Lady of Rohan suggested:
"Faramir has asked me to help him a little overseeing the seating order for the dinner after the coronation today. Do you believe in coincidences?"
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Osiris Brackhaus
go to PART 2