shieldmaiden_rohan | Of horses and swords

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Of horses and swords

Eowyn felt that she was almost settled into the island now, though she still felt alien most of the time. She did not speak nor dress like most of the residents and she did not choose to spend her days as most did.

She always spent at least some time each day exercising and caring for one of the horses in the stables at Summerfell. Sometimes it was the same horse but often she rotated so that each horse had attention and care, though she was always careful not to ride those horses that had regular riders.

Training took her time as well, since she did not wish to lose any skills while she was out of her own world. If what others had said was true and she did return unexpectedly, she would not disgrace herself and her people by being unready for it. Unfortunately, she was forced to train with a wooden stick for a sword, which made her feel as if she were a half-trained child rather than a true shieldmaiden.

On this day, she was returning to the stables after training with her horse of the day, which was one of the horses she most often rode. The mare's name was Lorica, but privately Eowyn called her Arod since she looked so much like Lord Legolas' horse.

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Robb has noticed the effect Eowyn's regular exercise has had on the horses, and had meant it completely when he'd said that she would be doing them a favour. She does tend to slip in and out without saying anything, though--which is her right, of course, but when he sees her in the stable, decides to take the opportunity to say hello before she vanishes again.

"How was your ride?"

Summerfell was one of her favorite places on the island. She still gave the direwolves a wide berth, but everything and everyone else there was pleasant. It reminded her greatly of a smallholding in the Eastfold, though the Eastfold had never had such trees nor such birds.

When Robb addressed her, she turned from loosening the girth straps on Lorica's saddle and smiled at him.

"It was well," she replied. "Lorica is well-trained and not inclined to shy from butterflies as some of the younger horses do."

"Do we still have younger horses?" Robb laughs. "Soon we'll have no choice to breed them, before they all get old and venerable." He pats Lorica lightly on the neck; it seems lifetimes ago that Arthur had ridden him.

"But I'm glad to hear it. They look better already--they're ridden regularly by the students who want to learn jousting, but between terms they get fat and lazy."

"Lorica would breed well, I think, if you have not bred her before," Eowyn judged, considering Lorica's temperament and body structure. "Of course the first foal is always more difficult, but she would carry and deliver safely, I think."

She had never been involved in deciding which horses would be bred in Edoras, but that did not mean she did not know the principles behind it. And of course, occasionally the horses decided for themselves that they would be bred, especially if they were more strongly descended from the Mearas.

"I call her Arod sometimes, which does not seem to bother her. It means swift, for she is, especially now that she has learnt not to be so lazy."

"We haven't bred any of them," Robb admits. "There are a lot of things we have had to learn since we came here, and training horses was one of them. Raven was bred on the island, but not by me." At the new name for Lorica he cocks his head, half-smiling: "Maybe we have to let you name the next one, then. We're awful at naming things, here, saving Arya."

"There are many things that all have had to learn since they came here, I think," she replied as she pulled the saddle off of Lorica and placed it on the saddle rack. The saddle was not as comfortable as the one she had had in Rohan, but it fit her the best of all the saddles available and she had somewhat claimed it as her own.

"Reynald has named his direwolf well. It looks like a little puff of smoke."

Robb smiles fondly. "Yes. You should have heard the agonising. He didn't name the pup for three weeks, trying to find just the perfect thing. Bran did the same with Dancer. All of this," he adds, suddenly mischievous, "is nothing compared to the bizarre combinations of words Del comes up with for our future child."

Eowyn smiled at that. She had not had much interaction with the lady Del, but the way she spoke reminded Eowyn of the worst days of Theoden King's illness, though Theoden King had been more tired. No three words fit together in either case.

"I do not envy you that task, my lord, but I am sure you will name the child well in the end," she said steadily, patting Lorica on the nose as she removed the bridle.

"Oh, I think so. I'll make my suggestions later, after it's born," Robb says, flashing her a grin. "There's plenty of time, in any case. And I do think we're past the 'my lord' and 'my lady' point, by now. Somehow hearing it from friends makes me think of being much younger and wanting to be taken seriously."

Had she ever had a friend as an adult? Eomer and Theodred had been the closest to it, but they had their own cares and concerns, and they were family besides. She had been the only royal woman in the Hall, which had prevented any real friendships with the other women. Lord Aragorn and Lord Gimli might have been the closest thing to friends.

"My apologies, Robb," she said deliberately. "I have always addressed others so. It is one of the many things I am trying to learn even as I try not to forget others."

"It takes a long time, that one," Robb admits, fetching the horses' brushes to help her rub Lorica down. "And sometimes it all still feels right to say. It's when everyone around you sounds a certain way, and after a while you start to pick it up too. We are," he says with a smile, "from similar situations, I think--and some words leave the mind faster than others. But friends could be more informal, even at home, save in a court, or when you are marching at the head of an army and need your men to listen to you. But here, I'm talking far too much."

She took a brush from him with a smile, considering his words. She had never been at the head of an army, though she had wanted to be, and the rest of her life was lived in a court, but he was correct. Friends could be more informal.

"I think it may always feel right to say to some. I have taken to asking everyone how they wish to be addressed. I still do not always remember not to call them ladies or lords, but I am trying to."

"I don't think anyone's likely to object if you do say it," Robb says, rubbing Lorica's nose lightly. "I only meant you needn't. It's a difficult thing, I think, especially at first--you want to adjust, but not lose yourself either. Eventually you change without noticing. Not completely, of course, but enough."

"I would like to think I am adjusting without losing anything, but only time will tell me that," she agreed. "Although I am quite certain I am losing my skills with a blade already. I did not have one when I arrived and so have been practicing with a stick."

She paused for a moment as she brushed Lorica.

"It is not the same."

"Not the same at all," Robb says lightly; Reynald is learning with a stick these days and Eowyn is not a five-year-old child. "But that, at least, is easily remedied, for we have swords enough to practice on."

That made her pause in her brushing and look at Robb curiously.

"You would let a woman - let me - borrow a blade so easily? You have no idea of my skills with it."

Surely it was not as easy as simply being told she could borrow one. Surely she would have to prove herself here as she had always had to prove herself.

Robb had just started brushing Lorica's other side; he looks at her now around the horse's head. "You have to know a little, to have the will to practice with a stick when no blade is to hand," he says simply.

"In any case, the practice swords are not sharp. I teach weapons-work to anyone on the island who wants to learn, and we can't have students hurting each other during practice."

"I began training with my brother as soon as I was able to hold a wooden practice sword," Eowyn remembered, and if her eyes were faraway, it was understandable. "I may have been Reynald's age or a little younger. At first it was play, but my father was slain by orcs only a few years later. It was not play after that."

She hadn't started brushing again yet and Lorica whickered in protest.

"No," Robb agrees, brushing Lorica to quiet him. "I'm sorry about your father."

She also began brushing Lorica again, though only after an apologetic pat on the shoulder.

"It was many years ago," she said coolly, drawing upon the steel spine she had always been said to have. The less charitable lords, the ones who had been displeased by her rejection of their suit, they had said she had a heart of steel as well.

"But I have not ceased to train since then. I will spar with you at any time that you wish to prove this."

"I believe you," Robb says, "and I'm happy to spar with you, but you don't have to prove anything to me." She's defensive, but it doesn't take a maester of the Citadel to work out why. He may have had the Mormont ladies leading part of his army, back home, but it was hardly a normal occurence, and how many years on the island was it before Arya lost that same look?`

"Tell me, though, are you a lancer as well?"

She had always had to prove herself. Not only had she to be as good as Eomer and Theodred, often she had to be better. They could express pain when a hit got past their defenses, but she must not.

Robb, though, seemed honest in his statement that she did not have to do so. She would not believe him yet, but it was good that he said it. It was far more than others did.

"Of course," Eowyn said. "The Rohirrim are known as the Horse Lords. All must be able to fight mounted and unmounted with sword and spear. Why?"

"I've been teaching some of the islanders that as well," Robb explains. "You'd be welcome to join in, if you like. I'd like to hold a tournament, when the baby's born--we had one once before, years ago. If you think you'd like to?"

Now all was confusion. Was he inviting her to join or to help with his class? Perhaps even to participate in the tourney? She must have heard him incorrectly.

"I ... do not know," she said finally, focusing on Lorica to cover her confusion. "But I thank you for the invitation all the same."

"Well, no hurry," Robb says cheerfully, sensing her confusion but not the causes of it. "But I do think if you want to concentrate on swordwork, that you come along to the class. More people to spar with."

Being able to spar with others had its appeal. She might also learn new tactics and styles that would be useful when she returned to Rohan. Eomer would listen if she suggested new styles, she was sure, if she could justify them.

"How many are likely to be in the class?" she asked. "And when is it held?"

"In the mornings--two mornings a week, but I won't know for sure the dates yet," Robb says. It's usually consistent, but whoever's running it at the time does have the option of changing it.

"And the numbers vary, though I've never had less than four."

"That is well-planned," Eowyn replied, "For the days are warm here and it would be unpleasant to learn in the heat of them. The students would tire more easily and be more prone to injury. I will join this class, though I may need some guidance in how to do so."

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Of horses and swords

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