Hinder

IV. Shattering Dreams

Pippin lasted longer than Rowan expected.

After speaking with Treebeard and Quickbeam, since she had told Legolas they would back before they met Éomer and his éored—which he enjoyed immensely—the company headed straight for Edoras. Going that route took four nights of camping and they arrived at the walled city at noon, and still the hobbit hadn't stolen the Palantír. She supposed he would give in to his craving tonight after the celebration of the victory at Helm's Deep.

Only a week and a day had passed since the battle. After her bath this evening, Rowan had taken out the stitches in her waist. The wound had healed completely, but left a wicked scar. And even though she still missed him, Boromir's death didn't sting as badly now.

Knocks sounded on her door. After Rowan told whoever to come in, Éowyn did with a female servant behind her holding dark red fabric and shoes—it looked like a dress.

The Lady of Rohan smiled. "I bring you a gift, Lady Rowan—for the revelry tonight."

She stepped to the side so the servant could bring her the dress as she shut the door. Rowan admired the swaths of cloth as the woman walked by to place the soft brown shoes on her bed. Gold Celtic-looking knots glittered in the sunlight shining through the window.

"Oh, Lady Éowyn, you needn't have concerned yourself over my dress for this evening," Rowan said.

She waved off her gratitude as she stepped closer. "Nonsense. How courteous would it be if I refused bestowing a dress to a lady attending the gathering tonight who does not possess one herself?"

"Please, call me Rowan." For she wasn't truly a lady—a woman, yes, but not one with standing in Arda. It would be rude though to refuse her gift; she dipped her head. "Thank you regardless, my lady."

Éowyn smiled. " will help you dress. The laces in the back are difficult."

Rowan went behind the changing screen where waited with the dark red dress lying on a short table nearby. Her dark stockings hid her modern underwear and cloth wrapped her breasts, so she didn't have nerves stripping for the servant. But she still hurried to step into the dress and pulled it up before the servant saw any anomaly in her underthings.

As Éowyn said, the back was cumbersome. Wínaryth fumbled a while, tightening and tying the laces. If she wasn't available after the party ended, Rowan would just sleep in the dress instead of trying to get out of it.

The dress was beautiful in its simplicity. Those golden interlacing knots surrounded the scooped neck, a gold belt with silver designs sewn into the dress wrapped around her waist, and the sleeves were billowy.

Rowan stepped out around the screen to find Éowyn waiting on a stool. Her eyes widened, and she gasped as she rose.

"It brings out your eyes just as I thought it would!" She gestured at the Bangle of the Anduin on her wrist—it didn't shine as brilliantly as it did before Rowan used the power to heal King Théoden. "Your cuff does the same for the belt."

"I'm surprised the dress fits so well," she said.

Wínaryth grabbed the shoes and helped Rowan slip her feet into them.

"You are taller than me, but you have my mother's height. That was hers."

Rowan looked at her, not knowing what to say. She knew Éomer and Éowyn's mother had passed when they were young, but that was all she knew.

"I'm glad you remembered her in thinking of dressing me."

Éowyn gave a quick smile. "Now, will you allow me to braid your hair?"

Rowan was just going to braid it as usual—with pieces pulled back to meet at the back of her head—but since Éowyn offered, she must've thought her usual hair style wouldn't match the dress.

Accepting, Rowan sat on the stool pointed to and Éowyn got to work, brushing out her hair and braiding it. The door clicked as Wínaryth made a quiet exit.

Speaking of hair, her natural blonde hair should've been poking through the dyed reddish-brown hair. Nobody has commented on it changing colors, so maybe she would stay with this rust-color hair.

"How is your wound?" Éowyn asked.

"Healed."

She sounded in approval. "A wizard's ability to heal equals the elves'. And... the one in your heart?"

Rowan didn't immediately answer.

"Nearly so."

The White Lady of Rohan fell quiet as she braided and twisted Rowan's hair into an intricate hairstyle.

"I saw how the Gondorian captain looked at you... and the way he rushed to catch you when you healed Uncle Théoden. He didn't want to let you go. With how you are now... I assume you embraced and returned his affection..."

She swallowed and took a moment to speak. "I did."

Hesitantly, she asked, "What is it like—falling in love?"

Rowan could picture her blushing. Being the only true lady in Meduseld's Court, she didn't have another female companion her age to talk with about intimate or frivolous matters like love.

With her embarrassment, she knew Éowyn thought about Aragorn.

Should she publicly state that the Ranger was pledged to another, and that Éowyn would find love with Faramir so she wouldn't have her hopes crushed when Aragorn denied her?

"When you fall in love and your feelings are mutual, you feel as light as a feather. There is an overwhelming sense of joy in your chest that you feel you may burst. But you are also grounded, comfortable and secure in his presence. You cannot possibly conceive of a future without him by your side, for he completes you—you are whole.

"But your first love may not be your true love," Rowan warned. "Do you understand? Boromir was not my first love..." She rubbed her left finger where her engagement ring used to lie.

"I was... betrothed to another before. I lost him, not in the way I lost Boromir, but..." She didn't think Éowyn could understand Wyatt's leaving her—his betrayal.

The Lady of Rohan put a hand on her shoulder. Rowan straightened out of her pity for the past. "I want you to realize that even if who you love and dream of being with denies you or leaves your love unrequited, you can still find your true love—the one who will be with you until death claims you or him. But only if you keep an open heart."

Her hand seemed to tremble on Rowan's shoulder, like she understood what she was trying to get across without being blunt. Éowyn stepped back—she had finished braiding her hair midway through Rowan's speech. Her long hair still hung down her back, but held down by multiple intricate braids. Rowan stood and faced her.

She stood there, wringing her fingers. "I—I think I know what you are implying, Rowan." She looked down at her hands. "Lord Aragorn is not for me, is he?"

"No," she said quietly.

Éowyn released a heavy sigh and straightened her back, looking like a regal queen. "Very well." She offered her hand. "May we go?"