The Tale Of The forgotten Lady. - Chapter One.

I bring to you the tale of a Lady. Hated by her people, fallen out of favour of the King, yet loved by Éomer and befriended by Éowyn. She is the Lady Lessien. Here is her story.


"Behold! I go forth and it seems like to be my last riding," said Théoden. I have no child. Théodred my son is slain. I name Éomer my sister-son to be my heir. If neither of us return, then choose a new lord as you will. But to someone I must now entrust my people that I leave behind, to rule them in my place. Which of you will stay?"
No man spoke.
"Is there none whom you would name? In whom do my people trust?"
"In the house of Eorl," answered Háma.
"But Éomer I cannot spare, nor would he stay" said the king "and he is the last of that house."
"I said not Éomer" answered Háma "And he is not the last. There is Éowyn, daughter of Éomund, his sister. She is fearless and high-hearted. All love her. Let her be as lord to they Eorlingas, while we are gone."
"It shall be so," said Théoden.

After the feasting and ceremonies, Éowyn drew King Théoden to one side.
"Lord, I may need help in my ruling of the Eorlingas. Please allow the Lady Lessien to be of help to me, let her share my burden. For I shall endure a year for everyday that passes while you are gone. Let her share that burden with me Lord" the Lady Éowyn said.

While the Lady Éowyn and King Théoden discussed the matter, the Lady Lessien sat on the window seat in her apartments. She had just heard the news of the coming war with Isengard. A single tear trickled down her cheek, she brushed it away with her hand. She stared out of the window at nothing. Éomer must go of course, her husband, the one person who truly liked, even loved her, must go, possibly to his death. With him gone, she was even more of a nobody, and unwanted being, taking up space in the golden halls of Rohan. Mostly, she kept to her own apartments, with her few maidservants, she did not even go to see what the fuss was about when the scouts of the Mark reported 3 travellers and a white rider on the green grasses of Rohan. It was Gandalf. He had persuaded the King to go to war. She wanted to go, to be with Éomer, to be with him to the death, but she knew that was not possible. She was not a shieldmaiden like her sister-in-law, Éowyn. But nor could she stay here, watching and waiting for the first sign of news. What was she to do? No-one would give her news anyway, with Éomer gone, no-one would say a word to her, excepting her maidservants. Her past was repeating itself, more tears trickled down her cheeks, and whatever happened, no one must know about her past, no one.

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