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LOTR Ficlet: Sisterhood
Title: Sisterhood
Summary: It is common among the Rohirrim in the days before a wedding for mother and sisters to discuss certain matters with the bride to be. But who can Éowyn turn to?
Word Count: 400 + Notes
Characters: Éowyn, OC
Rating: Teen
Warnings: vague discussion of sexual themes. (not much; the teen rating is rather cautious)
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just_ann_now
Notes: Written forrivrea, who requested Éowyn and wedding rites.
***********************************
Éowyn had no kinswomen, no mother or sister or cousin to discuss those things women must speak of before a wedding night. She'd never felt the lack of such kinship before, but now she longed for it. The shieldmaiden in her scoffed at such weakness. Was she not Éowyn Wraithsbane? She was a shieldmaiden, did not fear death; what else could harm her? But still, she desired sisterhood, assurance that she'd weather this new life well.
Was that why she often found herself in the Citadel kitchens? In childhood she'd plagued the Meduseld cooks for honeyed bread; 'twas a familiar haunt. Deep in her heart she knew she'd find sisterhood by the kitchen hearth, if such camaraderie was anywhere to be found.
By day the kitchen girls gave her what sweets she asked for but little more; she was sister to a king, soon wife to their own Lord Faramir, and propriety called for distance. Yet Éowyn sensed in the chief cook – Mag, she'd heard her named – an audacity not wholly at odds with her own spirit.
So she made her way to the kitchens by night, late enough that she knew was sure the other cooks would be gone. She sat silently for a while at the table and watched Mag work, not daring to ask to knead the dough for tomorrow's bread (her secret delight as a girl). She listened to stories about Faramir as a child, and gossip of the Citadel, and laughed at the tales. Yet when she thought of the questions she longed to voice, her courage failed her.
On the third night, though, her fears got the better of her, for she'd be married the day after next. "I must know..." Éowyn looked down at the table, tracing curlicues with her finger. "I've helped with the horse-breeding, I'm no stranger to how colts are sired, but I must know.... Mag, will it hurt?"
Mag turned from the sink to face Éowyn, a gentle smile across her face. "I wondered if you might ask." She sat down beside Éowyn and grasped her hand, caressed her wrist with her thumb. "I can't say for a certainty, for each maid's first time is different from any other's. Like cumin to nutmeg, often enough. But I'll say what I can, if my lady will hear it."
At that Éowyn relaxed a bit and settled back into her chair.
***********************************
Notes:
According to Tolkien's drafts Faramir and Éowyn were married in Edoras. So this story is slightly AU in that Éowyn is married in Minas Tirith. It seemed like a moment worth telling, though, so I decided to bend canon a bit.
Mag isjust_ann_now's OC, borrowed with permission.
Summary: It is common among the Rohirrim in the days before a wedding for mother and sisters to discuss certain matters with the bride to be. But who can Éowyn turn to?
Word Count: 400 + Notes
Characters: Éowyn, OC
Rating: Teen
Warnings: vague discussion of sexual themes. (not much; the teen rating is rather cautious)
Beta:
just_ann_nowNotes: Written for
rivrea, who requested Éowyn and wedding rites.***********************************
Éowyn had no kinswomen, no mother or sister or cousin to discuss those things women must speak of before a wedding night. She'd never felt the lack of such kinship before, but now she longed for it. The shieldmaiden in her scoffed at such weakness. Was she not Éowyn Wraithsbane? She was a shieldmaiden, did not fear death; what else could harm her? But still, she desired sisterhood, assurance that she'd weather this new life well.
Was that why she often found herself in the Citadel kitchens? In childhood she'd plagued the Meduseld cooks for honeyed bread; 'twas a familiar haunt. Deep in her heart she knew she'd find sisterhood by the kitchen hearth, if such camaraderie was anywhere to be found.
By day the kitchen girls gave her what sweets she asked for but little more; she was sister to a king, soon wife to their own Lord Faramir, and propriety called for distance. Yet Éowyn sensed in the chief cook – Mag, she'd heard her named – an audacity not wholly at odds with her own spirit.
So she made her way to the kitchens by night, late enough that she knew was sure the other cooks would be gone. She sat silently for a while at the table and watched Mag work, not daring to ask to knead the dough for tomorrow's bread (her secret delight as a girl). She listened to stories about Faramir as a child, and gossip of the Citadel, and laughed at the tales. Yet when she thought of the questions she longed to voice, her courage failed her.
On the third night, though, her fears got the better of her, for she'd be married the day after next. "I must know..." Éowyn looked down at the table, tracing curlicues with her finger. "I've helped with the horse-breeding, I'm no stranger to how colts are sired, but I must know.... Mag, will it hurt?"
Mag turned from the sink to face Éowyn, a gentle smile across her face. "I wondered if you might ask." She sat down beside Éowyn and grasped her hand, caressed her wrist with her thumb. "I can't say for a certainty, for each maid's first time is different from any other's. Like cumin to nutmeg, often enough. But I'll say what I can, if my lady will hear it."
At that Éowyn relaxed a bit and settled back into her chair.
***********************************
Notes:
According to Tolkien's drafts Faramir and Éowyn were married in Edoras. So this story is slightly AU in that Éowyn is married in Minas Tirith. It seemed like a moment worth telling, though, so I decided to bend canon a bit.
Mag is
just_ann_now's OC, borrowed with permission.