Title: Spring Dance
Theme: Mad as a March Hare
Elements: Cloudy, Cold
Author's Notes: This story is unusual for me in that it came to life as an image, not as a set of words or a scene I had to write down at that very moment. I hope you enjoy it!
Summary: It is better to do something late than never do it at all, most of the time.
Word Count: 879
She hadn’t realized how temperate the weather here in Gondor could be. Her first impressions had been wet, rain-filled air followed by hot moisture-laden summers. Each time spring arrived to drive winter forth from the land; however, she did what she could to urge it on. Éowyn knew that her personal feelings concerning the weather would not be taken into account by the Valar, but she felt that completing her usual ritual welcoming spring to the land made it seem more real for her somehow. To not do her part in the celebration of the changing of the seasons seemed… wrong.
This year it seemed especially important to complete her ritual; given the cloudy weather they had been enduring for days now. Winter and its attendant cold air did not seem to want to leave even though it had, to her mind, overstayed its welcome.
Faramir looked in delight upon his wife as she rose from their bed to begin another day. She truly seemed happy in her new life. Her presence in his life certainly had provided the impetus he had desperately needed in order for healing to truly begin.
“Healing is something one cannot do alone, Faramir,” Aragorn had said. “You will both need each other to complete the process for one another; let that need be met.”
And so, he and Éowyn had done just that. Aragorn watched with a smile of approval which warmed Faramir down to the depths of his soul. He had no difficulty loving this man as his king as well as the father of his heart. Éowyn also loved him. As he watched his wife wander into the courtyard and head in the direction of the stables, he smiled.
Her need to ride first thing in the morning was almost a physical necessity. He loved this part of their morning. Éowyn’s willingness to continue with her usual routine even after her life had been so drastically altered gave him the strength to face his daily trials and added an extra richness to his triumphs. Now, as he watched, a frown wrinkled his brow. He wasn’t sure what she was doing; and neither were the stable hands or guards who happened to be observing her. He blinked, and then blinked again to make sure his eyes were not deceiving him. No… he had not lost his mind. It appeared, however, that his wife might have. She was twirling around and around in a circle; her arms stretched out to either side of her body at shoulder level. Her blond hair flew behind her, and when she tossed her head back and began to spin faster, it streamed straight out from her neck.
He stared in spellbound silence as she continued to dance. Inwardly he wondered if this was some sort of Rohiric tradition he did not know about. But no… it couldn’t have been; for his king, a man who knew a great deal about Rohan and its customs was standing in the courtyard watching this public display with wide eyes and a very concerned expression on his face. Without waiting to see what would happen next, Faramir bolted from the room and ran into the courtyard to stand beside his king.
“What in the name of Middle Earth is she doing?” Faramir whispered tensely.
“I… I am not certain,” Aragorn admitted. “This is most unlike her, I think.”
Faramir could only nod. None of the sarcastic witticisms that popped into his mind would be appropriate for this situation. Speaking in such a manner to his king, no matter how personable the man seemed to be, would probably not be a good idea right now.
As if sensing that she had an audience, Éowyn suddenly stopped and spun to face her husband and her healer. A blush crept slowly up her cheeks as they stared at her.
“Oh!” she gasped, “I didn’t think you would…” Just as quickly, she snapped her mouth shut. She took several deep breaths, closed her eyes, and then opened them once more.
“What… What exactly were you doing, My Love?” Faramir asked her hesitantly.
“I usually do this much earlier, but I didn’t wake up in time to finish before you got here. It’s a spring dance my mother taught me when I was very little. And before you ask, no, this is not a tradition common amongst my people; it is merely my own celebration.”
“I see,” he said. “The steps and your grace made it seem most compelling.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” she responded with a sunny smile. “Did you and the King think that I had gone mad? I am so sorry if I worried you both. That was not my intent.”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Aragorn replied mildly. “I am glad to see that it is not so. Dancing to celebrate the coming of spring is something the elves do.”
Faramir admired the man for being so bluntly honest, and also managing to distract his wife with a casual reference to his time with the elves. As he watched, Aragorn led Éowyn away from the staring eyes of some of the Citadel’s serving staff and began explaining the different excuses elves could come up with for feasting and celebrating.