hlaefdige | open rp post

The war is over and they won, but there is a lot they'd lost, too. The world is a poorer place for the loss of Tony's ingenuity and brilliance, but more importantly, a little girl will have to grow up without her father, knowing he'd sacrificed himself to save them. Natasha might not have had any family beyond the little band of heroes that she'd gathered around her, but her absence is keenly felt among the ranks. Steve had trusted her, even loved her in a way after all they'd gone through together. She deserved a better end than the one she'd met.

In the aftermath of everything that happened, Steve is the one who is ultimately tasked with returning the infinity stones to their proper places. It's a heavy responsibility, but one he's willing to assume for the good of their timeline and all the others that had been created when the stones were removed from their proper places. To do that, he would have to venture back into the past again.

Now, Steve isn't an idiot, but the complex quantum physics required to understand the mechanics of time travel make his brain hurt a little bit. The first few go off without a hitch, though coming face to face with Red Skull again after so long is an unpleasant shock. The final stop is meant to be Asgard, not only for the Aether but for Mjölnir as well. Discovering he was able to use the mighty hammer was thrilling, though he hadn't been thinking so much of his own worthiness at the time as of the driving need to defeat Thanos. Now he has to put it back for Thor to use it in the past as he's meant to.

One element of time travel that the team hadn't discussed when they were coming up with their plan was the deeply interconnected nature of space and time, that the two aren't separate but parts of a larger whole. They didn't talk about the nature of parallel universes, or how thin the skin between realities could really be. Another thing they hadn't really prepared him for was what to do if something went wrong.

When Steve materializes, he's not on Asgard as far as he can tell. Thor had described it to him, and the wide grassy plane has none of the soaring, golden architecture he'd been told to expect, and quite a few more orcs. He guesses at them being orcs, honestly, he isn't entirely sure. But, they look like the creatures from The Lord of the Rings and one immediately tries to stab him, so he responds in kind by knocking it back with the hammer in his hand. There are riders on horses also fighting the grimy creatures, and with Steve's sudden addition to their number, the orcs are routed in short order.

Predictably, he's the next one surrounded with spears and arrows pointed at his face, so he drops Mjölnir and removes his helmet, holding up a hand to show he means them no harm. "My name is Steve Rogers," he says. "I'm..." Definitely in the wrong place. Can he rightly call himself a friend or ally to people he doesn't know? There's something very familiar about the whole thing and it settles uncomfortably in his brain as he tries to work it out. "I'm not here to fight you," he settles on.

He's given up on shaving at this point, and no, it isn't because the men heckled him for having a smooth baby face for the first few weeks of his residence in Edoras. The addition of facial hair makes him stand out less, but only marginally so. He's still obviously an outsider to their community, though he thinks he's winning them over in little ways as time passes. Maybe the better way of looking at it is that the majority of them seem to mistrust him less now, which he supposes isn't quite the same, but it's close enough for the time being.

He's gotten the hang of horseback riding at this point--not a master but not a novice either--and he's a decent hand with a sword and a spear. He's even practiced fighting with the shield in one hand and a sword in the other. Mjolnir isn't always with him but he trusts it isn't going to wander off. Everything else he arrived with is kept hidden, squirreled away where they shouldn't be found. He's tried using the Pym particles a few times, but nothing has come of it. He's well and truly stuck.

It doesn't feel as bad as he thought it would. To Steve, it's almost like being frozen again, but this time in reverse. Time passes around him but he knows that nothing has changed back home. His friends are still waiting for him, or for whatever version of him will eventually make it back home. For now, Rohan isn't the worst place to get stuck. The food is good, and the people are welcoming enough. A few girls have even tried to seduce him, and while he isn't immune to their charms, he also isn't exactly ready to roll in the hay with anyone either, and especially not in a casual way.

There's a woman eyeing him now, in fact, peeking in at him through the open stable doors as he curries the horse he's been loaned. Steve smiles in return, but prefers listening to the various conversations going on around him as he brushes the large bay gelding. He's learned a few words of Rohirric, but not enough to understand a full conversation between the riders when they chat and joke among themselves. He's learned enough to guess when he's the subject of discussion, which isn't an uncommon thing.

As it turned out, it took some time for Éomer to return. But it was just as well, for the damage to the witcher's body was extensive and took longer than he expected to heal. Fresh scars twisted across his arm and thigh. He did all he could to keep the injuries from stiffening and in doing so made sure to make himself useful.

Many did not trust the witcher still, did not like having a wolf among them, even if he slept in the little cottage, wore the local clothing, even learned a little of the local language. But one could not deny that there were certain perks to having Eskel around. He was known to be extraordinarily helpful, and extraordinarily strong once his chest and arm had healed. He made sure to earn every ounce of charity the people had extended to him.

When Éomer returned, had come to include working in the fields, since every able bodied person was needed for such a task. When he sees the column of horses on the narrow road, he paused, searching for the fair woman who had saved his life among their number, scythe slung across his shoulders.

Is it possible for one person to age a decade or more in the span of a single year?

Surely it must be, because Éomer feels like an old crone now, bent over beneath the weight of her new responsibilities, burdened with grief and a selfish desire to scream about how unfair her life has become.

Her cousin, slaughtered. Her beloved uncle, the man who raised her as one of his own daughters, crushed beneath his horse in battle. Her sister, the single reason she was able to survive the death of their parents, lying in a sickbed in a foreign kingdom, wasting away from a sickness Éomer could do nothing to prevent. All of her skills are physical ones, and they were of no help to Théodred, or Théoden, both of whom died without her there to protect them despite the fact that she was sworn to do so.

Sitting on her uncle's throne, the heavy gold torque of the House of Eorl encircling her neck, Éomer feels a little like she is in a dream. The very same men who had clapped her on the back and challenged her to a drinking game not six months ago now bow to her and hesitate to meet her eyes, children who used to run screaming through her legs are shushed by their parents whenever she is near, and even the servants who have been in residence since she was brought to Edoras at age eleven show her the kind of deference she has never, not once in her life, expected.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, indeed.

Heavier still when burdened with sums and ledgers, when she is trying to figure out how to feed her people through the upcoming winter now that the planting and the growing season both have been lost, now that the majority of their grazing lands have been razed, now that their fields have been salted. Rohan emerged victorious from the war that ravaged it, but she does not know if it will survive the aftermath. There is not enough grain stored to feed her people, let alone their livestock. They will be reduced to eating horseflesh before the year is out.

A knock on her study door pulls her from the fog of numbers she has lost herself in, and if her responding "what?" is sharper than it should be, well. She is Queen, now. Nobody will say anything to her about it.

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