𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐬 ➵︎ [ 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘧 ]

63| the province of men

This chapter is dedicated to whoahersheybars! Thanks for your votes and your support! Hopefully, you enjoy this new chapter I've dedicated to you :)

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As I walked through the camp, I could not help but observe those around me. I watched as men sat around flickering camp fires, soft conversations drifting through the air. I watched as men prepared their horses and sharpened their swords, the rhythmic ringing echoing into the night atmosphere. This was all normal, assumedly a routine, a ritual that the great warriors of Rohan would have carried out multiple times before.

But beneath all the normalcy was an undercurrent of fear. It wasn't obvious, and the men hid it well, but to a pair of attentive eyes, it was like spotting a giant in a field of dwarves. Subtle glances, a twitch of the furrowed brows when they thought no one was watching, the constant uncertainty buried beneath their tired, worn-out eyes.

But try as I may, I could not discern anything of the sort from one specific person: Éowyn. It wasn't that she was ignorant; she fully understood everything the battlefield had in store for her. The blood, the screams, the death, the despair...

And yet, I still saw the same drive, the same determination, the same sense of willpower that only seemed to feed her desire to fight on that battlefield.

Pulling open the flap to her tent, a glint of silver caught my eye.

"Woah!"

Instinctively, I stepped back, narrowly avoiding the path of a blade. Éowyn widened her eyes in surprise, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Daeriel!" She exclaimed.

Merry immediately lowered the sword in his hand, sending me a small grin.

"Sorry Daeriel," he apologised sheepishly, before flipping the blade in his hand, "although it isn't all that dangerous. It's not even that sharp."

I tilted my head slightly.

"Well that's no good." I frowned, gesturing for him to hand it over. "Here, let me have a look."

I ran my finger over the edge of the blade. It was indeed quite blunt.

"This would bounce right off their armour." I murmured as I examined the sword, holding it up to the light of the torch. "You'd be gutted, sliced to ribb—"

Éowyn sent me a pointed look, and I trailed off with a nod, noticing Merry's widening eyes.

The golden-haired maiden donned a soft smile as she turned back to the hobbit.

"You won't defeat many enemies with a blunt sword." She gestured for me to hand Merry his sword back, to which I obliged quietly.

"Come on," She then encouraged the still-excited hobbit brightly as she ushered him out of the tent, "to the smithy, go!"

A vibrant smile broke out from Merry's expression as he ran towards the blacksmith's station, swinging his sword excitedly as he jogged down the path and earning a quiet chuckle from Éowyn as she watched him go.

However, as she re-entered the tent, I noticed her smile fall.

"Éowyn..."

"I know." She cut me off with an exhale, placing her hands on her hips as her glance fell to the floor. "There is no sugar-coating the brutality of the battlefield."

I placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.

"It is a reality Merry will very soon have to face," my voice was sincere, "and unfortunately, there is not much you can do to shield him from it."