1. Outmatched
It had been Éomer’s idea.
About mid-morning he had approached Faramir and ‘suggested’ a few rounds on the training field. Their first two matches had been draws and now, as they began their third, the sun was nearing its zenith. A small crowd of spectators, mainly composed of soldiers, had gathered to watch.
Sweat-soaked and breathing hard the two men circled each other, swords at the ready; Éomer made the first move and the yard suddenly filled with the ring of steel and the cheers of those looking on.
Thrust, parry, block, dodge, they danced sure-footed across the earth raising clouds of dust, lightning flashing from their hands.
Suddenly, somehow, Éomer found his hands empty and a sword resting lightly against his neck. Raising his head he locked eyes with a gaze of steel. After a moment, he nodded in satisfaction and stepped back. ‘Acknowledged,’ he said, loud enough for the spectators to hear.
Faramir lowered his sword and Éomer bent to retrieve his own. As he rose he moved towards Faramir, resting his hands on the hilt of his sword. Faramir looked at him, but at first Éomer said nothing. At last, he held out a hand and spoke, his voice for Faramir’s ears alone:
‘You will do.’
*
'...here was one whom no Rider of the Mark would outmatch in battle.' ~ “The Steward and the King”, ROTK
About mid-morning he had approached Faramir and ‘suggested’ a few rounds on the training field. Their first two matches had been draws and now, as they began their third, the sun was nearing its zenith. A small crowd of spectators, mainly composed of soldiers, had gathered to watch.
Sweat-soaked and breathing hard the two men circled each other, swords at the ready; Éomer made the first move and the yard suddenly filled with the ring of steel and the cheers of those looking on.
Thrust, parry, block, dodge, they danced sure-footed across the earth raising clouds of dust, lightning flashing from their hands.
Suddenly, somehow, Éomer found his hands empty and a sword resting lightly against his neck. Raising his head he locked eyes with a gaze of steel. After a moment, he nodded in satisfaction and stepped back. ‘Acknowledged,’ he said, loud enough for the spectators to hear.
Faramir lowered his sword and Éomer bent to retrieve his own. As he rose he moved towards Faramir, resting his hands on the hilt of his sword. Faramir looked at him, but at first Éomer said nothing. At last, he held out a hand and spoke, his voice for Faramir’s ears alone:
‘You will do.’
'...here was one whom no Rider of the Mark would outmatch in battle.' ~ “The Steward and the King”, ROTK
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.
