The Silver Flame (LOTR)

The Blade of Rohan and the Secrets of the Fire

The heavy door to the stable creaked open, and Visenya stepped inside, her senses immediately filled with the familiar scent of horses and hay. The dim light cast shadows along the walls, and for a moment, the chaos outside seemed distant. She had retreated here for a moment of quiet, to reflect before their journey to Helm's Deep, but the sound of steel clanging in the air pulled her from her thoughts.

Éowyn stood before a chest, the lid already thrown open. The golden-haired shieldmaiden withdrew a sword from its depths, the blade gleaming in the faint light. With a practiced grace, Éowyn unsheathed the weapon, twirling it with sharp, precise movements. It was a fluid dance, but there was a hard edge to it, born of desperation and determination.

Visenya watched quietly for a moment, admiring the younger woman's skill, until Éowyn swung around and met her with a sudden strike. Quick as lightning, Visenya lifted her arm and blocked the parry with her forearm, a soft smirk forming on her lips.

"You have some skill with a blade," Visenya remarked, her tone light, though there was admiration in her voice.

Éowyn's eyes flickered with surprise at the quick reflex, but she didn't falter. With a swift move, she spun again, and for a moment, Visenya found herself vulnerable, the younger woman gaining the upper hand in their playful exchange. Éowyn stepped back, sheathing her sword with a flourish.

"Women of this country learned long ago," Éowyn said, her voice firm and proud. "Those without swords may still die upon them. I fear neither death nor pain."

Visenya's eyes lingered on the younger woman, her own memories stirred by Éowyn's words. "What do you fear, my lady?" Visenya asked quietly, sensing a deeper truth behind the strong exterior.

"A cage," Éowyn answered, her voice softening but no less resolute. "To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them, and all chance of valor has gone beyond recall or desire."

Visenya's lips curved into a knowing smile. "A fear shared by many. You are a daughter of kings, a shieldmaiden of Rohan. It will not be your fate." Her words carried a weight, an unspoken connection between them.

Éowyn studied Visenya for a moment, her sharp blue eyes searching. "You speak as though you know this fear well," she said, stepping closer. "Tell me, where did you learn to wield a blade so well? Not many women have such skill."

Visenya hesitated, her gaze dropping to the sword that Éowyn still held in her hand. The memories of her old life—the battles, the lessons learned through fire and blood—were distant now, but they lingered in the edges of her mind.

"I was named after a warrior," Visenya began, her voice softening, yet she kept her words vague, cautious of revealing too much. "A woman who led armies in battles long past. My father... he was quick to let me learn the sword if it kept me out of his way. He had little time for daughters who questioned him."

Éowyn's expression shifted, a flicker of recognition crossing her features. "It seems your father was a man of noble standing. You speak as if you've known the halls of kings."

Visenya smiled but gave no confirmation, nor denial. She had grown adept at sidestepping questions, and this time was no different. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, regarding Éowyn with curiosity. "And you, my lady? Have you always yearned for battle?"

Éowyn glanced down at her sword, her fingers tightening around the hilt. "I have always felt... trapped. Bound by the expectations of others. I long to fight, to defend my people, but they see me as little more than a caretaker, a lady of the court." She paused, her voice tinged with frustration. "I am no different than the men, yet they do not see it."

Visenya nodded, understanding the sentiment all too well. "There is strength in you, Éowyn. Do not let them decide your path."

Before the conversation could go any deeper, a familiar voice broke through the quiet.

"I've finally procured something suitable for you," Aragorn's voice carried from the stable's entrance, his presence a welcome interruption. He held up a bundle of clothing, a grin tugging at his lips. "Though I must admit, I was starting to believe you were content with wandering around in that state of undress."

Visenya let out a soft, musical laugh, shaking her head. "I was beginning to grow fond of it myself," she teased, casting a glance down at the tattered cloak she had draped over her shoulders. The rough-spun fabric had been hastily wrapped around her after their last battle, and it hung loosely, revealing more than it covered.

Éowyn's eyes narrowed slightly as she took a closer look at the cloak. "That's... a Rohirric cloak," she said, her brow furrowing. "The pattern is unmistakable. Where did you come across such a thing?"

Visenya's cheeks flushed ever so slightly, a rare sight for the usually composed warrior. Before she could respond, Aragorn let out a chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest. "Ah, yes, she had an interesting encounter with the Third Marshal of the Riddermark."

Éowyn's eyes widened, a knowing look crossing her face. "Éomer? My brother gave you his cloak?" Her tone was curious, bordering on suspicious.

Visenya shifted slightly, her gaze flickering between Éowyn and Aragorn. "My clothes... didn't exactly make it through the fire," she explained, her voice measured, though the blush remained on her cheeks. "Your brother was kind enough to offer me this after I... well, after we met under less-than-ideal circumstances."

Éowyn's lips pressed together, clearly intrigued but choosing not to press further. Instead, she gave a small nod, accepting the explanation for now. "I see."

Aragorn's grin widened as he handed Visenya the bundle of clothes. "Come, let's get ready. We'll need to leave soon if we're to reach Helm's Deep in time."

Visenya nodded, taking the clothing with a grateful smile. She glanced back at Éowyn, offering a brief nod of respect. "Perhaps we'll continue this conversation another time, my lady. There are stories I could tell you of women who have fought and led armies, though the places may seem foreign to you."

Éowyn smiled, though there was a hint of wonder in her eyes. "I would like that," she said softly, watching as Visenya turned to leave with Aragorn.

As they walked away, Éowyn remained still, her thoughts swirling. She had heard tales of warriors from distant lands, but never had she met one who seemed to carry the fire within her. A woman who wielded her sword with the skill of a seasoned soldier, who had the air of someone far beyond what she claimed. The words "maiden from the fire" echoed in her mind, though she couldn't shake the feeling that she had been standing in the presence of someone far more extraordinary.

But was it possible? Could this woman truly be of such origins? Éowyn's gaze lingered on the door through which Visenya had disappeared, the weight of uncertainty pressing upon her.

Only time would reveal the full truth, but for now, Éowyn would hold onto the belief that perhaps, just perhaps, she had met someone forged in fire.