b e g u i l e . t h y . m e l a n c h o l y

Beguile Thy Melancholy
[by victoria p.]

Rating: G

Summary: Éowyn visits the library on a rainy day.

Notes: Thanks as always to Jen, Pete/Melissa, Dot, and Meg. written for siryn99, who requested "Éowyn, book, melancholy." Title is a little twist on a line from Titus Andronicus: "Come and take choice of all my library, / And so beguile thy sorrow."

Date: March 22, 2004

Éowyn wandered the library, wrinkling her nose at the dust her passage disturbed.

Books were scarce among the Rohirrim, and all the contents of the King's library -- her brother's library, she reminded herself with a small shake -- would have fit in Faramir's small study in Ithilien.

But here in this dimly lit marble hall lived knowledge older than her people, knowledge handed down from the First Age, through the Men of Númenor, whom everyone said her husband resembled mightily.

She missed him.

He had gone to Dol Amroth to attend his uncle, and her time was too near for her to risk the journey, yet not so near that he was afraid he would miss it should he go.

But she was lonely without him, and unused to spending all her time indoors. She had given up riding in her fifth month, far later than the Healers had wished, because her balance was not what it had been.

Now she spent her days in the garden, or here, in the library.

So much knowledge here, so much to read and learn; she sometimes felt like the unlettered barbarian many women of the court said she was when they whispered behind their hands about her.

Everything was different here, and though she was inured to women's gossip, having had a surfeit of it at Edoras, she was conscious of her every move as she had never been at home, not even while under the watchful eye of Gríma Wormtongue.

She knew they compared her to Finduilas, Faramir's mother, who had been beloved, and to the Queen, whose Elvish grace and beauty Éowyn felt she could never match.

She was winning people over slowly, with her strength and kindness; Faramir's love for her shone like a beacon, and as they loved him, they grew to love her.

This child would be dearly beloved, not only by his parents (and Éowyn felt her heart swell every time he kicked beneath it), but by all the people of Gondor and Rohan, by dwarves and Elves, by hobbits far away in their Shire.

Éowyn was content, her life more full of love and peace than she had ever expected. And she loved losing herself in the books and scrolls of the library, learning of the world when it was new.

But when the rain rolled in off the sea, and the lanterns cast distended shadows in the dim halls of the library, Éowyn wished for the rolling grasslands of home, the sun on her face and the wind in her hair.

end

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