in which the witch of the wilds has spent her whole life avoiding the prophecised true king of gondor until he shows up on her doorstep with four hobbits, an elf, a dwarf, a warrior and an old wizard with a sparkle in his eyes and asks her to join t...
IT IS HOLY TO SAY ANY NAME 3 TIMES, BUT I'VE STOOD IN FRONT OF ENOUGH MIRRORS TO KNOW NO ONE IS COMING JUST BECAUSE YOU ASK FOR THEM.
- reyna n.a., hand made ghosts
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THE DOORS to the looming fortress crawl open.
Over the din of noise, the thunder of hooves, the voices of Rohirrim clinging together, someone shouts to make way for the King. They ride past shivering children, starving mothers. Yseult barely takes note. Her heart is pounding in her chest and it is all she can focus on. It pounds through her veins. In her toes. In her fingers, tight around the reins. There is darkness in the corner of her vision, too much of it, pressing down on her. There is no air in her lungs, none around her, too far out of reach. Aragorn should be leading them.
They eventually come to a stop and there is Éowyn awaiting them, blonde hair flowing down her back in unruly waves. Her shoulders deflate when she counts how many of them remain.
"So few." Her voice cracks, eyes dragging over the horse riders. "So few of you have returned."
Yseult slips from Tindómë. The horse nuzzles his nose against her head. She wants to swat him again. Swat them all away. The flies buzzing in her ear. The bodies moving around her. The heart beating, beating, beating in her chest.
"Lady Yseult." She turns and there is Éowyn watching her, eyes filling with tears. "Oh, I am so happy you are safe." The blonde tugs the witch into a tight hug, squeezing her, calming the rapid beating of her heartbeat. Aragorn fell. Aragorn is gone. Aragorn is dead. But, she is not alone.
She is not alone.
She does not need to be lonely anymore.
Éowyn pulls away and she smiles and she is so lovely. She is so kind. Her round face softens and she is so young, her eyes so full of shining light. Yseult was that young once. She was kind-hearted and she was innocent and she loved until her heart burst out of her chest. Until his touch drew the innocence from her. Until the prophecy stole the life she thought she wanted.
"Aragorn fell."
The colour fades from her skin, like clouds passing over sunlight.
"Oh. That is..." Éowyn trails off, bottom lip trembling. Yseult nods, holding her cold hands between her own, and the silence beats between them. She refuses to admit the strange shattering feeling inside of her chest but it is one that she has grown used to. Losing that many people, it becomes second nature to feel this apathetic grief.
