Chapter Text
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” you grumble for the fiftieth time that morning.
“And I can’t believe you’re still complaining about it,” Eowyn shoots back. She is riding out in front of you, but you know that she is rolling her eyes. It is evident in her tone.
“It is not too late, right? There is still time for us to turn around and forget about the whole thing—”
You let out a groan and hang your head when the grand gates slam shut behind you. Eowyn tugs on the reins and turns her horse around to face you, her brow arched questioningly.
“What are you so afraid of? The festival is only for one day. I am sure you can manage that.”
“It is not the festival that worries me. It is your uncle’s reaction when we return home. He will probably flog you and kill me. And if he doesn’t, your brother will.” Eowyn shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
“That is why they are never going to find out. And besides, I refused to stay in Meduseld and endure Grima’s advances any longer. At least if I lose my maidenhead tonight, then there is a chance that he may lose interest in me.”
“But did we have to come all the way to Minas Tirith for that? There are plenty of unmarried men in Edoras.” Eowyn makes a face that almost resembles nausea.
“I am aware of that, but I also know all of the men, married and unmarried, in Edoras. Well enough that I would never willingly share any of their beds.”
“Hmm. That is true. Most of them are afraid of you, anyway.”
“Wha—?! I—now hold on just a moment!” Eowyn splutters. “I may not be a delicate flower like other ladies, but I know how to be a woman. I’ll have you know that I can be extremely charming if I want to be.”
“Ah, yes, of course. How could I possibly forget? I believe I do vaguely recall that your stew charmed everyone who was brave enough to try it,” you say as your lips curve up in slight amusement. As expected, Eowyn assumed that you were referring to her proficiency with a sword, when it was actually her terrible cooking skills. “Although, one way you could make Grima stop pestering you is to poison him with that delectable stew of yours.”
“Yes, yes, that’s quite amusing,” Eowyn replies with a fake smile. “Fortunately, I will not be expected to do any cooking whilst I am here.”
“None that we know of.”
“Well, the only way we are going to find out is to take part in the festivities!” Eowyn turns back around and urges her horse forward. “Come along, now. We don’t want to miss anything!”
You sigh and blow at some of your hair that has come loose from its braid before kicking your horse’s sides and following Eowyn. After pausing to ask where travelers can leave their horses for the night, you both continue on towards the fifth level of the city.
As the white stone streets spiral upwards, you take in your surroundings, observing the shopkeepers selling their goods, young maidens adding blossoms to their hair, and lots and lots of drinking. There are musicians playing somewhere off in the distance, but the crowds are so large that you are unable to locate where the music is coming from. You also notice that there are soldiers lining the streets.
While there are some who are younger, most of them are more advanced in age, and you see that a few of them have gray hair beneath their pointed helmets that is similar in color to the armor they wear. The soldiers all have shields and spears and are standing about arms-length apart, and you wonder what they are there for and if this festival is more dangerous than you had imagined. Just as you open your mouth to ask Eowyn about it, you change your mind and keep it to yourself. She will only tease you for being worried about nothing. Besides, it is too late to turn back, now.
“How much further do we have to go?” you ask. It feels like you have been following the winding road for hours. And you have been so busy looking around at the people that you paid no attention to how many gates you have passed through.
“This is the fourth level, so we ought to be getting close.”
“I wonder why the stables are so far from the entrance to the city.”
“Did you notice that the people are wearing nicer clothes the higher we go?” Eowyn asks as she peeks at you over her shoulder. “The closer you live to the Citadel, the wealthier you are.”
“No. I hadn’t noticed…”
“Unlike Edoras, where almost everyone has a horse for one reason or another, the only people in Minas Tirith who own horses are those who fight and those who can afford them. There is no need for a plow-horse here, for obvious reasons.”
“I see your point,” you mumble, glancing at the white stone that seems to be everywhere. It is difficult for you to imagine life without your horse. Even though you are a servant of Theoden’s house, you still make time to take Thistle out for some exercise and exploring. “How do people here occupy themselves if they do not ride and they are not farmers?”
“They apparently have festivals like this one. Maybe you can ask the man who draws your name,” Eowyn says and raises her eyebrows suggestively. You purse your lips and avert your gaze.
“I am not that curious about it…”
After you pass through the next set of gates and come around the first corner, the stable comes into view not far ahead. It is smaller than you would expect, but then you remember that horses are not as common here. You bring your horse to a stop and dismount before leading her into the wooden structure. Almost immediately, two young boys step forward and offer to take your horses to a stall. You follow the boy who leads Thistle to her accommodations for the night and closely watch him remove her bridle and saddle, but there seems to be nothing to worry about because the boy appears to be well-trained.
“You have a really pretty horse, milady,” the boy says with a grin that has a couple of gaps. Just as you are about to correct him and insist that you are not a “lady,” you close your mouth and brush the thought away.
“Thank you,” you say to him in the Common Speech after a brief pause. You reach into your small leather purse and pull out a silver coin, which you hold out to the boy. “Thistle and I have been friends since she was a filly, so take good care of her.”
“Don’t worry, milady! I certainly will!”
“I will see you in the morning,” you whisper to Thistle and stroke her nose affectionately before joining Eowyn by the door.
“Wow! You got a real silver coin?” The other boy exclaims when his friend shows him his earnings. “You’re so lucky!”
“Young man!” Eowyn calls to the boy who had been seeing to her horse. She withdraws a silver coin from her purse and tosses it to him. He fumbles as he tries to catch it and loses it in the hay for a moment before holding it up triumphantly.
“Thanks, milady!”
You don’t realize that you are smiling until you notice Eowyn looking at you in your peripheral vision. You press your lips into a thin line and pull at a loose thread on your dress.
“That wasn’t the silver coin I gave you for your birthday when we were children…” she says more than asks. "You told me once that you were never going to spend it."
“No. That was actually the coin that your brother gave me after he tore your favorite doll during sword practice and told me to buy you a new one from the market before you noticed.” Eowyn’s brow furrows and she frowns at you.
“That was not my favorite doll. I always hated that doll. I am actually glad it lost its head. And it certainly wasn’t worth a piece of silver.”
“Yes, I was aware. That was why I did not buy you another one and kept the money.” Eowyn giggles and links her arm with yours.
“I am sure Eomer has forgotten all about it. Or he will deny that it ever happened.” You quietly hum in acknowledgement. “You were wonderful with that young boy.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You just seemed so…” Her smile begins to fade, and her wistful gaze appears to look towards something that only she can see. “I have a difficult time talking to children. I either have no idea what to say or how to respond to them, or I am too serious and speak to them as if they are fully grown. All I meant by it was… you are going to be a great mother, someday.” The laugh escapes your lips before you can stop it.
“Well, in order to be a ‘great mother,’ as you say, I need to find a husband.” Eowyn hums and taps at her chin in thought.
“I seem to recall that there is some sort of festival going on today…”
“Only some of the couples end up getting married later, not all of them. And besides, no respectable man would choose to marry a servant.”
“No ‘respectable man,’ as you say, or anyone of nobility would attend a festival like this, because their spouses are chosen for them by their parents. So, that means none of the men here are going to look down on you for any reason… except if they are extremely tall because they have Numenorean blood.”
Even though Eowyn’s words of encouragement are appreciated, you know that they are unrealistic. You will both be returning to Edoras in the morning, so anything that happens tonight—if anything, at all—will inevitably come to an end with the sun’s first light. Men can be rather fickle that way. A man will utter confessions of love and yet immediately take back his words if the object of his affection does not wish to give up her home, her family, and her entire livelihood for him. The man is never expected to relocate for his bride; it is the woman who loses everything when she weds.
“We shall see,” you mutter under your breath. “When exactly is this festival supposed to begin? I have not seen anything that even remotely resembles a festival for lovers. So far, everything I have witnessed looks like the hustle and bustle of a busy market.”
You both look in the direction you had come when you hear some sort of commotion. The people turn away from their previous conversations and start to gather into larger groups on either side of the road. Young women weave their way towards the front, and when a few of them attempt to bypass the lines of soldiers, they are almost immediately rebuffed and ordered to step back. None of the soldiers use their spears. Is that why the soldiers are there? To act as a barrier? But what exactly are they protecting from the throngs of people? Or is it the other way around?
“Come on! Let’s get closer!” Eowyn shouts and pulls you by the arm.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea…” you mutter under your breath. She drags you towards an area where the number of soldiers is fewer, and you both are able to stand in the front. “Are you not the least bit concerned that we might be in danger?”
“Will you stop worrying? We are here to have fun and enjoy ourselves! And because I am trying to avoid Grima, but that is beside the point. Furthermore, I think there are enough soldiers here to ensure our safety.”
“Oh, so you did notice them.”
The volume of primarily female voices rises, and again the women attempt to push their way forward. You observe the body language of the soldiers become more rigid and tense. Just what exactly are they expecting to happen?
And then you see the cause of the excitement as a group of people, both men and women, come running down the hill from the same direction as the sixth level. These people are all dressed alike, in thin garments that appear to hold ceremonial meaning—or at least you assume so—and carrying bundles of various herbs in both hands. You try to identify the herbs and are able to name a few, such as stinging nettle, red raspberry leaf, red clover, and milk thistle, but you stop when you realize that the identically-dressed people are using them to whip the women in the crowd. You lift a hand to your mouth in horror and turn to Eowyn, but she is only watching the violent display in unabashed curiosity.
‘What is going on? And why are the soldiers not stopping them?’ you wonder to yourself. ‘For what other reason would they be here if not to protect the people?’
One of the attackers locks eyes with you and runs toward you. You again turn to Eowyn, and she is grinning excitedly and laughing. Has she gone mad?
‘There is no time for that! I have to get us both somewhere safe! King Theoden and Eomer will kill me if I let anything bad happen to her!’
You wrap your fingers around Eowyn’s arm and attempt to pull her to safety, but you almost immediately back into an immovable wall that had not been there before. Then, the “wall” begins to move, and your body freezes when you feel a pair of hands rest on your shoulders. You release Eowyn and jerk your arm free before whipping around to give this rude person a piece of your mind. However, you turn so quickly that you stumble backward into the street. The soldier—at least you think he’s a soldier because of his armor—surges forward and grabs you again, pulling you against him.
“Let me go!” you shout at him in Rohirric while you push against his chest. You then let out a yelp and stiffen when you feel a tap on your back, and you look to your right as one of the people with the herbs lightly hits Eowyn on her belly with their bundle, which elicits a giggle from the shieldmaiden.
“Are you alright?” a male voice asks you in Westron. Instead of answering, you shove against your captor, and he immediately releases you and raises his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry! I was only trying to pull you away from the street!”
“What has gotten into you?” Eowyn snaps, and then her mouth falls open upon seeing the two men behind you—or rather, the younger of the two.
Both men have auburn hair and similar facial features, standing nearly half a foot taller than you and Eowyn. The elder is wearing identical silver armor to the other soldiers, while the younger is wearing leather armor that reminds you of the Rohirrim, and both of their breastplates bear the symbol of the White Tree of Gondor. However, unlike the rest of the soldiers that line the streets, neither one of them is wearing a helmet.
“Oh my, he’s handsome. I wouldn’t mind it if he drew my name,” Eowyn whispers conspiratorially and then turns to look at you. “You can have the older one. He already seems to like you.”
“What are you—? No! That’s—!” you splutter, and then the younger man lifts a hand to his mouth and begins to laugh. Eowyn bristles next to you.
“Oh shit! He can understand us!”
Eowyn grabs your arm and pulls you in a random direction. You both hear the man’s laughter grow in volume. From behind, you can see Eowyn’s ears begin to turn a light shade of pink.
~*~
“What are you laughing about?” Boromir asks before elbowing his brother in the ribs. Faramir schools his features, and then both brothers not-so-discreetly watch the two women weave through the crowd until they can no longer see them.
“Well, my Rohirric is a little rusty, but I think the blonde said she wanted me to draw her name,” Faramir answers and turns to his brother. “She then referred to you as ‘the older one’ and told her friend she could have you.” Boromir crosses his arms over his chest and scowls.
“I am not that old,” he grumbles, earning a shrug, and then he averts his gaze and scratches at the side of his nose. “So, what did her friend say?”
“Nothing about you. Why? Did you want her to say something about you? After she tried to rebuff your attempts to prevent her from being trampled?”
“Why did she react that way? Why was she so hostile?”
“Well, considering that they both came here from Rohan and neither one of them seemed to know who we are, my guess is that she was unfamiliar with this custom and thought that the priests were going to inflict pain.”
“I suppose that is sound…” Boromir murmurs contemplatively. He is startled when his brother lays a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“Now that we have completed our security duties, what do you say we participate in the festivities?” Boromir snorts.
“So I can be humiliated again? I'm not interested.”
“I agree, the lady should not have lied about her marital status. But she probably entered her name because her marriage had yet to bear fruit. And, fortunately for you, her husband was so drunk that he could barely stand, so there was no threat to your life.” Boromir’s frown deepens. “I highly doubt that it will happen to you twice. Besides, I was too young to participate when you did. I should be able to see what all the fuss is about.”
“Father will be angry.”
“Father will be angry no matter what I do. Even if I were to single-handedly destroy Sauron and every Orc in Middle-earth, he would be furious because it was not you who did it. At worst, he will mildly scold you and shout insults at me for an hour before locking himself in the Tower of Ecthelion. And that is only if he finds out.” Faramir’s expression changes slightly into one of challenge. “Don’t you want to prove that you are ‘not that old?’”
“I have nothing to prove,” Boromir scoffs when his brother does not appear to back down. “Besides, there is little chance that you or I will draw either of their names.”
“So, you do fancy her!”
“Alright, yes. She was beautiful. But we are not going to cross paths again. At least not as a couple. And even if I were to draw her name… I have a feeling that she would not be as welcoming to the idea of spending time with me as I am with her.”
“Well, brother, the only way to know for certain is to ask her. If you intend to do so, we should hurry before another man takes her from you.”
~*~
“Well, I am beyond embarrassed,” Eowyn says, slightly out of breath after fighting her way through the mob while pulling you along behind her. “Who would have thought that we would encounter a Southerner who speaks our language!”
“We should leave,” you mutter while looking down at the ground and grasping at your skirts. “We should return home. We never should have come here.”
“Will you stop worrying? We were never in any danger!”
“And how was I supposed to know that?!” You glare at her and blink back tears of anger. “What else was I supposed to think?!”
“I forgot that you were unfamiliar with this festival. I had read about it in the library, and that was why I wished to see it for myself.” Eowyn smiles at you patiently. “They were doing that because it is supposed to promote fertility. The Whipping of the Maidens originally was only open to unwed virgins, but the custom was later opened to married women as well who were hoping to conceive.”
You heave a sigh as realization dawns on you. The herbs you recognized were ones that were used for boosting fertility.
“I feel like such a fool…”
“At least you didn’t make the same mistake I did. I mean, I would still like to end up with that soldier, but I know he is going to tease me about what happened! Oh, and by the way, I think you and his friend would be good together.”
“Anyone but him.” You frown and cross your arms.
“You’re not still angry, are you? He was only trying to be helpful. And he did apologize.”
“That is not the reason.”
“Then what is the reason?"
“Because he is a soldier.” Eowyn’s expression turns mournful. “My father perished in the same ambush as your father. You may not remember much about your mother’s death, but I remember my mother’s final months. I don’t want to go through the same agony that my mother endured after my father died. She was so overcome with grief that she no longer recognized me. I don’t want to become a young widow, and I don’t want to put my children through what I experienced. I am not strong like you, Eowyn. Death frightens me, and so does pain. I can’t… I can’t bear it.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it is rare these days to find an unmarried man who is not a soldier. And all of the ones who are not… well, they are either old or unappealing.” She plants her hands on her hips and a look of determination appears on her face. “I am not getting back on my horse after riding for three days. You don’t have to take part in the festival, but I fully intend to, and you will be on your own until the morrow. I could just order you to put your name in the jar, but I don’t want to do that. We are not the Lady of Rohan and her handmaiden. I am hoping that no one will recognize me, so whilst we are here, we are just two friends attending a festival. You will be stuck here until I am ready to leave, so you might as well try to enjoy yourself. And even if your name is drawn by a soldier, there is no law that forces you to continue to see each other after the festival is over.”
Your mouth falls open and you stare at Eowyn in dismay. As much as you hate to admit it, she is right. No matter who you end up with for the duration of the festival, you are free to part ways as soon as the sun rises. You bow your head and heave a sigh of defeat.
“Alright. I’ll do it.” You let out a groan when Eowyn shakes you roughly in her excitement. “Are you trying to knock my head off my shoulders?”
“Oh please, I barely touched you!” She then grabs you by the arm and pulls you along. “Let’s hurry before the Drawing starts!”
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” you utter for the fifty-first time that morning.
~*~
‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ you mentally grumble as you fold the piece of parchment and place it in the jar. ‘Maybe if I’m lucky, my handwriting will be so illegible that they will just throw it out and draw another.’
You had already been learning to read for a little over a year and had just started learning to write, along with Eowyn, when your fathers were killed by an Orc ambush. While Eowyn was able to continue her education, you no longer had that luxury. Your lessons in letters were quickly replaced by lessons in serving.
Eowyn leads you through a small gap in the crowd, and the two of you stand a couple of rows from the front. After asking if there are any others who wish to add their names, the man on the platform shoves his hand into the jar and begins to mix the pieces of parchment. As the first man steps forward, your eyes shift down the long line of bachelors and your stomach churns. You are glad that you were too nervous to eat breakfast that morning, or else you would have vomited by now.
The man withdraws a folded parchment from the jar and hands it to the announcer. He opens it and shouts out a name. It is neither you nor Eowyn.
You release the breath you had been holding and close your eyes for a moment. When you open them again, you see a woman step forward and join the man on the platform. A few brief words are exchanged, but they are spoken too softly for you to hear, and then the couple descend the staircase arm-in-arm. The next man approaches the jar, and you immediately tense. You and Eowyn are both safe again, this time.
As the crowd becomes smaller and smaller with each name being drawn, you feel as if walls are closing in around you. Your eyes shift uncertainly before you turn and look over your shoulder. The crowd seems smaller than you expect. You know that there are also people there as spectators, and you could have sworn that there were many more people in the city than this.
Eowyn gasps next to you and grabs your hand so tightly that you can feel your pulse in your fingertips. You turn around and look up at the platform. The two soldiers from before are the next in line. Just before the older one steps forward, he turns to his friend and gestures for him to go first.
“Well, well, things have just gotten interesting,” the announcer comments. You wonder what he means by that.
The younger one says something, which makes the announcer laugh, and then he reaches into the jar and draws a name. After he unfolds the parchment and reads the name, a smile appears on his lips and he glances at his friend before handing it to the announcer.
“Theodwyn!”
Eowyn bites her bottom lip and squeezes your arm excitedly before asking the people in front of her to let her through. You tug on her sleeve and she looks back at you.
“I am not supposed to be here,” she whispers. Your eyes follow her up to the platform, and you watch as she and the young soldier clasp hands and simply gaze into each other’s eyes.
Although the connection only lasts for a moment, it seems to feel much longer. Eowyn takes his arm and lays her head against his shoulder. As they turn to leave, the soldier pats his friend on the arm and says something privately to him. The older one nods curtly, and his eyes scan the crowd until they land on you. You look away and try to blend in with the people around you. It suddenly becomes difficult to breathe.
“Well, Captain, I’m glad to see you're trying again!” boasts the announcer. So, he is a captain? Maybe he and his friend really are important people.
“Hopefully I will have better luck, this time,” the soldier replies, but he does not sound like he is making a joke.
Still keeping your head down, your eyes flicker between the platform and the back of the person in front of you. The man reaches into the jar, and as he withdraws a name, a second one flutters to the ground. Your eyes follow its descent. He bends down to pick it up, and after a pause, he replaces the one he had originally drawn and instead chooses the one that had fallen. You try to swallow, but you find that your mouth is dry.
He unfolds the paper and his eyes widen. He looks at you, and your stomach plummets. There is no way that he could possibly know your name, but you have a feeling that there are very few people attending the festival with names of Rohirric origin. He hands the parchment to the announcer, who then bellows out the name given to you at birth. Unlike Eowyn, who used her mother’s name in order to hide her identity, you have no way to hide. There are people surrounding you on all sides. He already found you in the crowd. There is no chance of escape, now.
You slowly ease your way through the crowd and ascend the platform. You can feel the man’s gaze, but you refuse to meet it.
“Enjoy the festival!” the announcer says cheerfully.
A gentle hand takes your elbow and leads you down the steps. After walking quite a ways, the hand vanishes. The man clears his throat, and you hear the clinking of metal with every movement he makes.
“I’m afraid I don’t know much Rohirric,” he says quietly.
“I speak the Common Tongue,” you reply, though there is a sharpness in your tone that you had not intended to be there.
“Oh. Well, that’s good.” There is another long pause. “Listen, about what happened earlier—”
“You don’t need to explain. And I’m not upset about it.”
“You’re not…” There is doubt evident in his voice.
“No, I’m not. I was startled when you grabbed me. And I was not expecting those people to… to hit us. I was worried that we were in danger, so I tried to get Eowyn to safe—” You clap your hands over your mouth.
“Eowyn? I thought her name was Theodwyn.” There is another pause, and then the man makes a strange noise that almost sounds like a laugh. “Wait, Eowyn? As in the niece of King Theoden and sister of Eomer?”
“Keep your voice down!” you hiss and lightly push against his chest. It is the first time you have looked at him since he drew your name. “No one is supposed to know she’s here. Not even her uncle or her brother know that we’ve come here. That is also why she used a different name, because our two countries share a history. Her family is well-known in Gondor.”
“Her mother’s name.”
“How do you know—?”
“My brother and I visited Edoras, years ago. It was just after King Theoden had lost his sister, and we came to offer our condolences. I do not remember seeing Eowyn during our visit, but we did meet her brother, Eomer.”
“You… you are close to King Theoden’s family?”
“As you said, our two countries share a history. I must admit, I am a bit surprised to see her attending a festival like this one.”
"She has her reasons." He smiles at you, and you immediately glance away, hoping to trample the warm feelings that are starting to blossom in your chest.
“Have you eaten?”
“I…” You certainly weren’t expecting him to ask that. “Not since yesterday.”
“I know the best place in the city. If you… if you want to.”
Up until this point, you hadn’t really paid any mind to how hungry you were. Now that the subject has been brought up, your empty stomach is a lot more noticeable. You meet his gaze and find him smiling at you again, but there is something resembling shyness in his blue eyes. He wants your approval.
“Alright,” you answer quietly.
“If you can wait a bit longer, there is a small detour we need to make.” You frown in confusion. “The place I have in mind is several levels down. It will be easier if we ride our horses. And I want to change out of this clunky armor.”
“Is that allowed?” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. You feel your cheeks darken when the man laughs.
“Well, there is only one person I answer to, and he won’t have any objections.”
You arch an eyebrow. This “captain” must be of incredibly high rank if he only has one superior officer in the entire Gondorian army. You wonder why someone like him isn’t already married. And then you remember the announcer said something about trying again, and his reply that he hoped this time would be better. Maybe the woman he ended up with the first time left him. You suddenly feel a dull ache in your chest. After telling Eowyn of your fear of becoming a soldier’s widow and insisting that you will not become attached to whomever draws your name, guilt fills your heart as you gaze into this man’s hopeful eyes. Why, out of every male citizen in Minas Tirith, did it have to be him? Had it been any other man, you would not have had any regrets upon leaving in the morning. Now, you are not so sure.
Instead of taking a hold of your arm, or any other part of you, the man simply extends a hand towards you. Your eyes flicker between his face and the offered hand, and your lips part as if to argue, but the words do not come. You press your lips into a thin line and take his hand, and you force yourself to relax as he leads you towards the gate to the sixth level. His hand feels pleasantly warm wrapped around your cold fingers.