"Chance Encounter" part 17
Feb. 17th, 2005 11:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dreamflowerEowyn continues to reminisce about her first encounter with Menelcar...
PART 17
“Nothing wrong?” Her aunt’s eyebrow lifted. “Look at yourself.”
Éowyn glanced down at herself. Her skirt had been pulled through her legs and tied about her waist, leaving her legs exposed and bare from just above the knees down. Her shins were skint and bruised. In spite of that, her dress was nonetheless soiled and torn. She knew her hair was unkempt and escaping its braids, and that her face was dirty and sweaty.
Among the others standing with Leofgifu was Danhelm, the weapons master. He wore a grim expression. He looked at Éowyn disdainfully. “I do not think much of the weapons master at Edoras if he allows his pupils to spar unarmored.” She flushed. Anfrith would have given her an earful if she had dared such a thing at Meduseld. Danhelm turned his flinty gaze on Éothain. “*You* do know better. I cannot think why you would so willfully disregard my teachings and all the rules of safety. I know I have taught you better.” Éothain flushed. He did know better. But he had thought he could disarm a mere girl with only a couple of blows.
The cousins looked sideways at one another, united in their chagrin.
Standing behind Leofgifu was a lanky man, taller than most of the Rohirrim, clean-shaven, with straight, grey-shot ginger hair and humor-filled eyes. He had a harp slung across his back. He caught Éowyn’s eyes, and his expression of droll sympathy made her suppress a wholly inappropriate giggle. She was in enough trouble.
Her aunt pinned them both with her glare. “The two of you will go to your chambers. You will remain there the rest of the day and tonight--without dinner. Perhaps hunger will sharpen your wits.” She turned to Danhelm. “Tomorrow you may mete out what punishment you deem needful to your pupil. Éowyn, you will spend tomorrow in the kitchens scrubbing pots. And both of you will take your dinners in your chambers tomorrow, as well.”
Éothain, who had up until that point been taking the punishment rather stoically, suddenly objected. “Mother! We will miss hearing the bard!”
“So you will,” she said. “Now, to your chambers! March!”
PART 17
“Nothing wrong?” Her aunt’s eyebrow lifted. “Look at yourself.”
Éowyn glanced down at herself. Her skirt had been pulled through her legs and tied about her waist, leaving her legs exposed and bare from just above the knees down. Her shins were skint and bruised. In spite of that, her dress was nonetheless soiled and torn. She knew her hair was unkempt and escaping its braids, and that her face was dirty and sweaty.
Among the others standing with Leofgifu was Danhelm, the weapons master. He wore a grim expression. He looked at Éowyn disdainfully. “I do not think much of the weapons master at Edoras if he allows his pupils to spar unarmored.” She flushed. Anfrith would have given her an earful if she had dared such a thing at Meduseld. Danhelm turned his flinty gaze on Éothain. “*You* do know better. I cannot think why you would so willfully disregard my teachings and all the rules of safety. I know I have taught you better.” Éothain flushed. He did know better. But he had thought he could disarm a mere girl with only a couple of blows.
The cousins looked sideways at one another, united in their chagrin.
Standing behind Leofgifu was a lanky man, taller than most of the Rohirrim, clean-shaven, with straight, grey-shot ginger hair and humor-filled eyes. He had a harp slung across his back. He caught Éowyn’s eyes, and his expression of droll sympathy made her suppress a wholly inappropriate giggle. She was in enough trouble.
Her aunt pinned them both with her glare. “The two of you will go to your chambers. You will remain there the rest of the day and tonight--without dinner. Perhaps hunger will sharpen your wits.” She turned to Danhelm. “Tomorrow you may mete out what punishment you deem needful to your pupil. Éowyn, you will spend tomorrow in the kitchens scrubbing pots. And both of you will take your dinners in your chambers tomorrow, as well.”
Éothain, who had up until that point been taking the punishment rather stoically, suddenly objected. “Mother! We will miss hearing the bard!”
“So you will,” she said. “Now, to your chambers! March!”
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Date: 2005-02-17 06:19 am (UTC)