The Lion and his Lady

Lady Owl

Minas Tirith, July 18th 3019

Something about the girl's voice slowed his footsteps. Smooth and rich, it reminded Éomer of the cream they used to pilfer as boys from the pans of milk set out in the springhouse of Meduseld. She sat cross-legged on a rug with a small brazier in front of her and had already gathered an audience. Éomer stopped to listen. Dressed in the manner of the women from the south of Gondor, she wore loose trousers under a tunic that covered her arms and upper body snugly only to flare out at the hips. The fire in the brazier cast her shadow against the white wall behind her and called up mysterious glints from gold threads woven into her clothing.

Now the girl beckoned her listeners closer and he saw that she wore a mask across the upper half of her face in the shape of some bird. "Harken to me, people of Minas Tirith, for I have a tale to tell. A tale that has come to me from my mother and my mother's mother before her out of the far south." Her eyes swept the crowd and seemed to linger on him for a moment. "Hear how the good king Casim was tricked by the evil wizard Kashnur into taking the shape of a stork and how a creature of the forest," she smoothed back the feathers on her mask, "the owl princess Lusa, helped to release him from the spell."

With a graceful motion she threw some wood shavings onto the brazier and as the fire flared up she lifted her hands and started to shape shadows with them. "One hot afternoon, long ago and in a far away land, King Casim was smoking a pipe and taking his rest in the palace of Balant, when his counsellor Mansoor paid him a visit. And this is what he said..." Her voice took on a wheedling note and Éomer had to suppress a snort when he recognized the exact tone his own advisors so often used with him – too often in fact. As the girl went on to tell how a strange peddler sold the two men a casket containing a black powder that would turn them into whatever animal they desired, he found himself more interested in the teller than the tale.

She was neither the first nor the best storyteller he had encountered on his aimless stroll through the streets of the White City that night, but she presented her story with none of the well-worn routine of the others. When the children at the front clapped their hands at the image of the king and his advisor turning into storks, she grinned in delight. Plainly enjoying herself, she led her audience to an enchanted forest with a ruined castle where the owl princess helped the king discover the magic word that would turn him back into a human. Unsurprisingly, the evil sorcerer was quickly disposed of. "...struck through the heart, Kashnur crumpled to the ground at the feet of the king," the girl announced triumphantly, "and then Casim kissed the owl, just as he had agreed to do as a reward for her help, and with a mighty clap of thunder she turned into a beautiful princess." She folded her hands in her lap. "And the two wedded and lived happily ever after."

At the enthusiastic applause following this conclusion she bowed from the waist, but only when the crowd slowly began to drift away did she seem to remember to collect her reward. Grabbing a leather purse hanging from a belt around her waist, she jumped up and started to make the round of the spectators. Éomer hung back in the shadows as people dropped copper coins in her purse and she thanked them all prettily, no matter if they gave little or much. Only when the small space had almost completely emptied did he step forward. Spotting him, she jingled the bag invitingly and held it out to him with a smile. Holding her gaze he dropped a silver crown in it.

Her smile deepened. "Truly royal payment, my lord."

The low purr of her voice vibrated across his senses. What would it feel like to have her say his name? He blinked. Where had that thought come from? "You know who I am?" he asked.

"I saw you enter the city this afternoon with your men," she explained, fastening the purse to her belt again.

Not really that surprising. Half the population of Minas Tirith had assembled to watch the King of Rohan arrive to escort the body of his uncle back to the Riddermark. He inclined his head. "In that case you have the advantage of me, Lady...?"