Éowyn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shieldofrohan) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2015-10-07 02:04 pm
shieldofrohan) wrote in thearena2015-10-07 02:04 pm
Entry tags:
they say home is where the heart is (OPEN)
Who| Éowyn and OPEN
What| General Week 2 stuff
Where| Meduseld and the mountains
When| Throughout week 2
Warnings/Notes| TBC
Éowyn has travelled across a good part of the region since the Cornucopia, most of it on horseback, but since finding the golden hall of Meduseld nestled in its strange place in the mountains, she's had a definite radius. She checks it every day, riding in a wide sweep around the foot of the mountains, looking for her allies or for the District children she has sworn to herself she will protect. The search is the same each day; she starts at first light, ranges out from east to west around ten miles, then rides back to the mountains to feed and rest her mount, and to change the makeshift dressing she's tied over the rat bite on her neck. She keeps a light in the window every night, an invitation to shelter from the storm.
The hall itself is bittersweet for her. Seeing it empty and lifeless, without the people that ought to fill every room, is a sharp reminder of how far from home she is. She stables her horse in the great banquet hall that she remembers filled with shouting and laughter; rats eat at the draperies; spiders spin over the relief carvings which decorate the doorposts. She sleeps on the table, where once she sat and feasted, under the tapestry her grandmother wove long ago. It is a homecoming, of sorts, but it is achingly hollow.
When she isn't riding or sleeping, she can be found sitting on the lintel of the hall, gutting the rabbits she hunts with the crossbow she won at the Cornucopia, or sharpening her sword.
What| General Week 2 stuff
Where| Meduseld and the mountains
When| Throughout week 2
Warnings/Notes| TBC
Éowyn has travelled across a good part of the region since the Cornucopia, most of it on horseback, but since finding the golden hall of Meduseld nestled in its strange place in the mountains, she's had a definite radius. She checks it every day, riding in a wide sweep around the foot of the mountains, looking for her allies or for the District children she has sworn to herself she will protect. The search is the same each day; she starts at first light, ranges out from east to west around ten miles, then rides back to the mountains to feed and rest her mount, and to change the makeshift dressing she's tied over the rat bite on her neck. She keeps a light in the window every night, an invitation to shelter from the storm.
The hall itself is bittersweet for her. Seeing it empty and lifeless, without the people that ought to fill every room, is a sharp reminder of how far from home she is. She stables her horse in the great banquet hall that she remembers filled with shouting and laughter; rats eat at the draperies; spiders spin over the relief carvings which decorate the doorposts. She sleeps on the table, where once she sat and feasted, under the tapestry her grandmother wove long ago. It is a homecoming, of sorts, but it is achingly hollow.
When she isn't riding or sleeping, she can be found sitting on the lintel of the hall, gutting the rabbits she hunts with the crossbow she won at the Cornucopia, or sharpening her sword.