Characters: Eowyn, Barahir
Disclaimer: Not mine, merely borrowed.
She thought she had cut away that desperate desire for death and glory, the wound seared shut when she vowed to devote herself to growing things, herbs of healing and a garden full of children.
Now her grandson is on her knee, his piping voice like birdsong. “A story, a story!”
Who is this stolid matron she sees, reflected in his eyes?
"Shall I tell you how I garbed myself as a man, riding to war with a halfling prince behind me?"
Barahir's mouth drops. "You...oh!"
Laughing, she swoops him close. “I was a shieldmaiden, and bore my grandmother’s sword….”