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Date: 2019-05-13 04:53 am (UTC)
antiqueamerican: (2)
From: [personal profile] antiqueamerican
"It isn't magic, even though it looks that way." He's not sure how much to say here, how to explain his appearance or if he even should. If he's stuck here, then the simple fact of the matter is he needs to make allies, and the Rohirrim aren't a bad bunch to have on his side. As surreal as the situation is, he has to find a way to explain it that will be as believable as possible.

Deciding on a half truth, he holds up his hand to show her the device wrapped around his palm. "I come from the future," he says, completely deadpan, "and I've traveled here using this. It's a machine made by people a lot smarter than me, and it brought me to a time so far-removed from mine that the stories of this place have become myths." It's true, after a fashion, which he hopes is good enough to appease her, even as far-fetched as it sounds.

"And," he adds, "you can call me Steve. Rogers is my family's name. I'm just Steve."

Date: 2019-05-13 05:13 am (UTC)
antiqueamerican: (13)
From: [personal profile] antiqueamerican
Again, his brain skips a beat, but this time he's wise enough to hold his tongue. Éomer he knows. He was the big guy played by Karl Urban, banished from his home, fought at Helm's Deep and the battles at the Pelennor and the Black Gate.

This is... different, but he takes that tidbit and just rolls with it. If he can accept he's stuck in a fantasy movie, then accepting that the characters might be different genders isn't that much of a leap.

"Sarah and Joseph," is what he says instead of anything sensible. "Steven, son of Sarah and Joseph. It's good to meet you, Éomer, daughter of Éomund." He extends a hand to her in friendship, his face as earnest as can be.

Date: 2019-05-13 05:41 am (UTC)
antiqueamerican: (10)
From: [personal profile] antiqueamerican
Relaxing at last, he smiles back at her as his warm hand clasps her forearm in return. "Well met, Éomer." He knows it's a lot to take in, that his story is so far beyond belief that it's managed to loop back around into the realm of plausibility if the label is changed from 'science' to 'magic.' He's frankly amazed that no one has tried to spear him yet for one reason or another, but it seems like he's out of the woods now.

When he releases her hand, he stoops to pick up Mjölnir and slips his wrist through the loop of leather at the end of the handle while he considers what comes next. If this is Rohan, that means that they're either headed to or away from Edoras, depending on how far along in the story he's managed to land himself. Best to let her divulge that information rather than pointedly asking for it.

"Where is home for you? I remember the capital is... Edoras, right?" If she's been banished already then it's only a matter of time before Gandalf shows up to redirect them back to Helm's Deep. Otherwise, they'll be going to Edoras, and whole host of characters there.

Date: 2019-05-13 06:05 am (UTC)
antiqueamerican: (11)
From: [personal profile] antiqueamerican
So they are going back to Edoras. That could mean a lot of things, but it helps him get some bearing on when he's landed and what he might expect. It occurs to him that he could change things, save lives, but he knows he probably should hold his tongue in those matters. This isn't his story to change and shape as he likes, and he's never been one to feel comfortable playing god. Still... if he could save people, doesn't he have an obligation to do so? But what if doing so only changed a good ending to a bad one?

The moral quandary makes his head hurt, so he tries to stow those questions in favor of focusing on the present moment. "I'm not traveling anywhere in Middle-earth," he admits. "I'm going to a place called Asgard. I need to return this to its rightful owner." He hefts Mjölnir to allow her to get a better look at it. "It belongs to my friend and he'll be needing it back."

Date: 2019-05-13 06:37 am (UTC)
antiqueamerican: (3)
From: [personal profile] antiqueamerican
"Thor is... he's one of those people you meet who's larger than life. He's noble, strong. You'd like him." Talking about Thor twists a little knot of anxiety in Steve's gut, but he reassures himself that the hammer will be returned soon, and the Aether along with it.

For now, he smiles at Éomer and nods. "I didn't think I'd need much, and I don't want to impose, but if you're offering I'd gladly accept." With his metabolism being what it is, he can't go too long without a decent meal. The plan was for him to be gone a few days, maybe, so he has a little bit of food, but not enough to hold out for long.

That brings them to how exactly he's going to get back to Edoras. He's a big guy and he can hardly imagine any of these riders being willing to double up with him. His expression becomes sheepish. "I don't suppose you have a spare horse? I don't mind walking but if we're very far..."

Date: 2019-05-13 06:59 am (UTC)
antiqueamerican: (3)
From: [personal profile] antiqueamerican
Steve's face goes blank for a moment as he takes the horse's bridle. It's a massive dun stallion, nostrils flaring as it sniffs him curiously. This was what he expected and yet he's not sure he's prepared, having never once ridden a horse in the entirety of his life. "Nice to meet you, Arroch," he says gamely, patting the horse's neck. It whickers and he moves resolutely to climb up into the saddle.

Thankfully, he manages that much with ease. It's like climbing onto a very tall motorcycle. It's lucky for him, too, that the horse knows where to go on its own, because his knowledge of how to ride is limited and he's mostly operating on instinct. He cuts quite a figure mounted on horseback, but his furrowed brow betrays him.

Oh well. As long as he can manage to stay with the group, that's what matters.

Date: 2019-05-13 01:03 pm (UTC)
antiqueamerican: (10)
From: [personal profile] antiqueamerican
Even though his time with the army was relatively short, Steve is plenty used to falling in with the ranks and following orders, and Éomer's orders are easy enough to follow. He wishes he could speak their native tongue (he'll have to learn it quickly if he's going to be staying for any length of time), and he does his best to answer any question that's presented to him as truthfully as possible. He remembers how the Rohirrim are supposed to be good at detecting lies, and he doesn't want to give them any further reason to distrust him when his position among them is a tenuous one at best.

The ride is long, and while he's used to motorcycles enough to be spared from the worst of the discomfort he could be feeling, he's still a little sore all over by the time they arrive. Someone comes to lead Arroch away once he hops down out of the saddle, and he follows Éomer up to the mead hall, well aware of all the curious and wary looks being thrown his way. His shield is a beacon drawing all eyes to him, so he squares his shoulders and holds his head high as they climb the stairs. He stands at attention once they're inside the hall, taking everything in with a critical eye for details. Gríma is just as repugnant in real life as he was on film, and Steve levels a knowing look at him before he's granted guest rights and ushered away to his own room.

By the time dinner rolls around, he too has been washed and outfitted in garments more fitting for a man of Rohan. His shield and Mjölnir are both beside him, the Aether hidden carefully away. The clothes are comfortable even if the tunic is a bit too large, and he's looked after solicitously by several of the servant girls hovering around him. He's been seated a few tables down from the royal family, all of whom he recognized instantly, and now he sits listening to the conversations around him while still fielding as many questions as he can reasonably answer.

He meets Éomer's eyes when she enters the hall, but there are too many people vying for his attention to break away from them just yet.

Date: 2019-05-14 01:39 am (UTC)
antiqueamerican: (10)
From: [personal profile] antiqueamerican
He grins up at her good-naturedly when she comes around to sit beside him, assuming this is going to be a fresh round of questioning over their dinner, so he starts by volunteering information. "I used to be in the army, back home. We moved around a lot, so you had to learn to get comfortable wherever you found yourself. It made things easier. Plus, everyone's been nice so far, which helps."

There's a brief pause before he nods subtly towards Gríma, his expression still pleasant enough. "Except that guy." Steve has to bite his tongue to keep from saying more, but there's no mistaking that the skulking man has been unwelcoming and suspicious. He's the one pulling the strings in the court, but exposing him as a collaborator with Saruman and traitor to the throne would change the way other things played out. Seeing Théodred sitting there, eating and talking with his family and very much alive, Steve knows he'll have to decide soon.

For the moment he just smiles at Éomer. She seems to have forgiven him for his earlier blunders, and he hopes that sticks. In the low, warm lighting of the hall, in that dress, with her hair long and loose, he can't deny she's a beautiful woman. He wonders what her life has been like--how different it has been from the version where she's a man. His thought is interrupted by a serving girl filling his cup with mead, and he doesn't move to stop her. Nothing they have could get him drunk, so he isn't worried about it.

Taking a drink from his cup, he points to the tattoos on her arms, hoping this isn't another social faux pas. "What do those mean?"

Date: 2019-05-14 03:29 am (UTC)
antiqueamerican: (10)
From: [personal profile] antiqueamerican
Steve immediately regrets saying anything when Eomer's head whips around to glare at Gríma. "He hasn't said anything," he assures her in a low voice. They don't need to draw the man's attention any more than they have already. "Just glared. But it's like I said... there are stories where--when--I come from, and he seems like someone who would be bad news. Just a feeling."

He's relieved when she turns back to him, even when his question prompts her to pull his sleeve up and expose his strong forearm. He rolls the other one up for her so he can display them for her. "I don't have any, no, but I knew guys who did back in the army. There was a guy in basic training who had an eagle right here," he says, touching the center of his chest, "with its wingtips going out to his shoulders. It was carrying an American flag in one claw and a sword in the other. He was so proud of that thing, he'd show it off every chance he got."

When she begins to explain her tattoos to him, he leans in slightly and looks them over with interest. The part about shield maidens giving up the right to a family catches him off guard, but he decides not to pry. She might seem comfortable talking about it but he knows that's one of the subjects you tend to let lie until you're better acquainted. "Are any of them purely decorative or do they all have meanings?"

Date: 2019-05-14 07:22 pm (UTC)
antiqueamerican: (Default)
From: [personal profile] antiqueamerican
“People where I’m from get them for all kinds of reasons, and for no reason at all. I’ve seen tattoos of everything you could imagine: quotes from some and poems, pictures of their pets or kids, animals, symbols... you name it.” He isn’t going to tell her that he’s even seen tattoos of his image and of his shield on people’s skin. He doesn’t like to brag, and maybe it’s best if his status as an actual superhero isn’t known.

Taking a last bite of food from his plate, he reaches for another serving. He doesn’t want to make a show of eating too much, but he knows he’ll regret it later if he doesn’t fill up now. Steve is used to being noticed, being a public figure, but here he’s an oddity—an anachronism. It's like he’s just woken up from the ice again, adjusting to an entirely new set of circumstances and social norms. At least he has experience making that kind of transition.

Nodding at Éomer, he asks, “I guess you always wanted to be a warrior? How old were you when you became a shield maiden?”

Date: 2019-05-15 12:04 am (UTC)
antiqueamerican: (2)
From: [personal profile] antiqueamerican
There's something a little heart-wrenching about a fourteen-year old girl being inducted into a country's military. What had her life been like, he wonders. Why had she chosen that path? Perhaps, like him, she'd seen her nation's need and decided to give up everything to protect it, regardless of risk or adversity. He respects her resolve. It couldn't have been easy.

"I was twenty when I joined the military. They almost didn't let me. I was... kind of sickly, as a kid." To put it mildly. "But I wanted to join so badly. We were at war, then. World War Two, they call it. The fighting was terrible. We had weapons you couldn't even imagine. I was out of commission for a while, but we won all the same." He shakes his head, thinking back to that time. The entire trajectory of his life changed in an instant time and time again.

"A lot's happened since then, though," he adds, taking another drink.

Date: 2019-05-15 01:24 am (UTC)
antiqueamerican: (3)
From: [personal profile] antiqueamerican
His expression becomes some mixture of nostalgia and sadness. There's a gentleness to him in spite of his size, void of the bravado that often marks warriors of great stature or renown. Steve, instead, is a humble man who's had to become accustomed to living in the limelight. He doesn't like to brag, and his own history is one he's happy not to have to recount. Ever since he became Captain America, he's never had to; everyone knew about Steve Rogers, whether from the history books or his exploits with the Avengers.

It's different here, though. Even though he still stands out, it's not because of his notoriety. "That's kind of a long story," he allows hesitantly. "But... I could tell you, if you want to hear it." With her assent, he begins with a gusty sigh, his voice low enough to keep his story mostly between the two of them.

"I was a sickly kid, like I said. Scrawny. Bad lungs, bad heart, bad feet, bad stomach. Everything. My mom was a nurse, so she took care of me, but it was hard on her. I needed a lot of looking after, especially because I got into a lot of fights. She and dad both died during the first World War, and after that--" He pauses for a moment, unsure of what to say. "Well, the second World War rolled around and I decided to enlist. People were fighting, dying, giving everything for the sake of freedom. They denied me four times." He lowers his head and gives a self-effacing laugh. "But then there was a scientist who saw me, and he thought I had potential. Drafted me for a program he was involved in called Project Rebirth. Nobody thought I'd make the cut, but he chose me as the first test subject. It would seem like magic to you, I guess, but I underwent a procedure that made me into what I am now. He said it would amplify what was already inside of me. Maybe that is a little bit magical, I don't know."

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