Auspicious occation
I think it aught to be the 28th for you now too, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY theladyscribe!! Thank you for being such an amazing friend, Abster and I hope you have the bestest best birthday ever!
Not just for men, girl!Dean/Eowyn, PG
She can feel her eyes on her as she opens the chest. Leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed across her bosom, hidden in the shadows as she surveys the flurry of activity going on around her.
Eowyn lifts the sword reverently, tightening her grip on the hilt as she pulls it free from the plain leather scabbard. She holds it raised in front of her face, palm pressed lightly against the blade, testing the balance the way her brother taught her when she was barely old enough to wrap her pudgy little fingers around the hilt.
Dean doesn't move, but she can almost feel her muscles tense, readying herself. One corner of Eowyn's mouth twists up. If Dean wants to watch, she's going to give her something to look at.
Swinging the sword over her head, she turns on the balls of her feet, coming to rest poised for the next move, her hand still resting against the blade, letting the cold of the metal seep through into her bones. She holds the stance for a heartbeat, two, letting it show off the elegant line of her back, her head held proud and high. Then she drops her left shoulder, swinging up from the right hip, the blade cutting through the stale air, the ends of her pale hair falling unnoticed to the floor as the blade sweeps through them.
Again, from the left, gaining momentum and she stops, weapon held ready to thrust through the invisible enemy's defenses. Slowly she relaxes her stance, lowers her sword slightly, but a trained eye would see her still hovering on the brink of violence.
"Very impressive," Dean drops her voice low to carry over the noise of the people scurrying through the hall. Eowyn remains passive, waits for Dean to slowly stalk towards her, each step laden with dangerous grace.
"Much good it'll do me," she answers when she feels Dean's breath against the back of her neck, the swell of her breasts pushed firmly against her back.
"Don't tell me you're not joining our little fray," Dean whispers, trailing her fingers down Eowyn's arm until she folds them firmly around the hilt, teasing the steel from her lax fingers. Eowyn lets her arm drop back down at her side, but keeps her chin firmly up, her jaw tensing.
"My uncle won't let me." Eowyn tries to hide the bitterness laced through the words, but fails miserably.
"So?" Dean asks, turning away suddenly and leaving Eowyn leaning back against nothing.
"My duties lay elsewhere, I serve my king by abiding by his wishes." Eowyn hates that no matter the frustration boiling in her gut, she believes every one of those words. She turns as Dean reaches down for the abandoned scabbard and safely sheaths the sword in it again.
"This war is not just for men to fight." Dean presents the weapon to her, lain out across her upturned palms. Their fingers brush against each other as Eowyn takes it and the same current that flowed through them in her bedchamber the night before, is there again. Their eyes lock, Dean silently impressing the meaning of her words on her and Eowyn nods slightly. Then Dean's gaze shifts to the side and she knows without looking that Sam just stepped into the room.
"Time to go," Dean says and steps away. "Be ready."
Eowyn watches her walk over to her brother, the familiarity of the hand he rests against the small of her back and tightens her grip on her sword.
--end
Not just for men, girl!Dean/Eowyn, PG
She can feel her eyes on her as she opens the chest. Leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed across her bosom, hidden in the shadows as she surveys the flurry of activity going on around her.
Eowyn lifts the sword reverently, tightening her grip on the hilt as she pulls it free from the plain leather scabbard. She holds it raised in front of her face, palm pressed lightly against the blade, testing the balance the way her brother taught her when she was barely old enough to wrap her pudgy little fingers around the hilt.
Dean doesn't move, but she can almost feel her muscles tense, readying herself. One corner of Eowyn's mouth twists up. If Dean wants to watch, she's going to give her something to look at.
Swinging the sword over her head, she turns on the balls of her feet, coming to rest poised for the next move, her hand still resting against the blade, letting the cold of the metal seep through into her bones. She holds the stance for a heartbeat, two, letting it show off the elegant line of her back, her head held proud and high. Then she drops her left shoulder, swinging up from the right hip, the blade cutting through the stale air, the ends of her pale hair falling unnoticed to the floor as the blade sweeps through them.
Again, from the left, gaining momentum and she stops, weapon held ready to thrust through the invisible enemy's defenses. Slowly she relaxes her stance, lowers her sword slightly, but a trained eye would see her still hovering on the brink of violence.
"Very impressive," Dean drops her voice low to carry over the noise of the people scurrying through the hall. Eowyn remains passive, waits for Dean to slowly stalk towards her, each step laden with dangerous grace.
"Much good it'll do me," she answers when she feels Dean's breath against the back of her neck, the swell of her breasts pushed firmly against her back.
"Don't tell me you're not joining our little fray," Dean whispers, trailing her fingers down Eowyn's arm until she folds them firmly around the hilt, teasing the steel from her lax fingers. Eowyn lets her arm drop back down at her side, but keeps her chin firmly up, her jaw tensing.
"My uncle won't let me." Eowyn tries to hide the bitterness laced through the words, but fails miserably.
"So?" Dean asks, turning away suddenly and leaving Eowyn leaning back against nothing.
"My duties lay elsewhere, I serve my king by abiding by his wishes." Eowyn hates that no matter the frustration boiling in her gut, she believes every one of those words. She turns as Dean reaches down for the abandoned scabbard and safely sheaths the sword in it again.
"This war is not just for men to fight." Dean presents the weapon to her, lain out across her upturned palms. Their fingers brush against each other as Eowyn takes it and the same current that flowed through them in her bedchamber the night before, is there again. Their eyes lock, Dean silently impressing the meaning of her words on her and Eowyn nods slightly. Then Dean's gaze shifts to the side and she knows without looking that Sam just stepped into the room.
"Time to go," Dean says and steps away. "Be ready."
Eowyn watches her walk over to her brother, the familiarity of the hand he rests against the small of her back and tightens her grip on her sword.
--end