Once Upon a Time ----- Starters.
“Your strength is in your arm. Your weakness is in a lack of will to be greater. Love is NOTHING, it has no bearing on matters such as this and I’ve no desire to ponder on it with you, éastfolc.”
There was a venom in her voice. Looking at this woman, robed all in BLACK, coaled and painted, carrying the scents of strange leather and the musk of of a sharp smoke that Eowyn could not name, she saw only outlines in her memory of ancient tapestries. No intrigue, no eager curiosity. Only High Brego on his rearing white horse, driving a spear through the eye of of an Easterling’s vaulted helm while his father, Eorl the Young, lay split upon the earth, his golden hair RUINED and beaten into a mire of dust and blood. She saw the shrieking faces of their adversaries, their long torches. She saw the Westfold burning.
“I will tell you only once to leave this country. The common men
will burn you for a witch and old enemy. Your coming
here will never be beyond an act of violence. We will not
be gracious in FORGETTING for diplomacy, as those of
our Southern friends may offer ———————————-“
--Cold and fair in countenance, this grim woman that stood before her had a voice as forceful and unyielding as the dry winds that blew across the green fields of Calenardhon that summer day -- those rolling grasslands upon which fell the people Vezely had called her own. This harpy's ancestors were to blame for the Pultai's defeat -- those brute, kingless Northmen that answered Cirion's call. Her own eyes watched Eorl and the Éothéod ride in with spears and short swords, their flaxen hair waving in the relentless wind, their treasured steeds trampling her adopted kin as they fled northward on foot. But it was not of forgetting this victory that she spoke, but to an event 35 years after when Eorl the Young's head was taken as an act of sweet RETRIBUTION.
If Vezely's bitter heart could hold any respect for these horse lords that would later call themselves the Rohirrim, it was that their women spoke as forthrightly as their men. Some even garnered the title of shieldmaiden. She considered whether this woman, whose dress bespoke a noble birth, also held this title. If so, Vezely would laugh for the custom appeared to her as more ceremonial than of actual practice. There were no horse-women present on the battlefield that day or it would seem any battlefield after. BOLD she may be in spirit, but put a sword in her hand and set a real warrior against her and she would FALL.
"Not FORGETTING is a tradition shared by
both our countries then. You are strong in
voice, and certain in the violent acts of
others. How ungracious are you willing to
be yourself if such orders are disobeyed?"
