The Ride of The Rohirrim

Beléniel focused on the here and now as the company drew to a halt atop a high rise and paused to glance down at Isengard. Waters flooded it, surrounding the tall ebony tower. Steam still rose in areas, and trees seemed to move in the waters.

“The Ents are awake,” Gandalf stated. “That is good.”

Her horse drew up beside Eomer’s, and she peered at him from below her lashes. He did not look at her, but she could sense his awareness of her. His steed shifted closer to hers in restlessness, and Eomer and Beléniel’s legs brushed in a brief touch. The company began the descent and soon the horses carefully picked their way through the waters that rose to their knees. When two small voices called to them they halted.

Beléniel’s brows rose to see the two Hobbits. She had never seen any before, though she had heard of them. They sat upon mounds and smoke trailed from pipes at their lips. Amusement twitched her lips upwards, and she turned towards Eomer to find him watching her. The smile fell from her lips, and she had to strongly curb herself from reaching out to touch him. Pushing her horse forward she held a hand out to one of the Hobbits. “I will take one of you up before me.”

“And I will take the other,” Aragorn announced. “Come, Master Merry.”

Beléniel would have believed a child grasped her hand. “I am Beléniel,” she introduced herself to the Hobbit.

“Peregrine Took,” he replied. “Or as everyone calls me, Pippin. You also may call me Pippin, if you so like.”

“Thank you, Master Pippin.” She set her horse to a slow walk, grinning down at the curly head of the Halfling.

“And who exactly is Beléniel?” he asked.

“I am kin to Aragorn, a ranger from the North.”

“They have female rangers?” Pippin was truly intrigued. “Are there many of you?”

“I am the only one,” she replied. “And how did you end up here?”

“Well…” Everyone listened to the tale, and Merry often interjected a few forgotten parts. They reached the tower, and dismounted.

Gandalf faced the others. “Beware. Saruman is yet defeated. Do not pay heed to his voice. He may attempt to spellbind you.” He then spent some moments conversing with Treebeard the Ent.

Saruman did not come at first call, and when he did appear he spoke, and his voice was as a balm upon them. Gandalf scowled, and broke the spell, startling the others. Once Saruman realized he could not defeat them he threw down an object that bounded and rolled down the steps and which Pippin picked up. Gandalf took it from him, chastising him, and wrapped it in cloth. They turned from the tower, and Merry and Pippin shared with them the stores of food and pipe-weed they had found.

Beléniel tended the fire where she had undertaken the task of cooking while the men all enjoyed smoking. The Ents had returned into the forests to tend to the trees. She hummed softly to herself, a song fondly remembered from her childhood.

“May I sit with you?”

Glancing up she met the king’s gaze. About to rise she remained when he motioned her to, and nodded. “Please, my lord.”

He sat, and sniffed appreciatively at the pot hanging over the fire. “It smells wonderful.”

“Thank you, my lord, but I doubt you came to discuss the stew.”

A chuckle parted his lips. “True. I am curious, and would know your heart towards my nephew. He sits like a sore festering. He is easily irritated and unwilling to speak of what burdens him.”

She flushed, and turned leaf wrapped objects from in the fire with a stick. “I could not tell you what ails your nephew, my lord.”

“Yet you love him,” he stated. When she lifted uncertain eyes the color of wet bruised violets he inhaled deeply. “Be patient with him, lady. I began to fear none would touch my serious nephew’s heart, and yet he gave the whole of it to you.”

“He would not see me go with my kin and brethren. I know love moves him to this, but I would wish he understood. As I could never ask him to lay down his sword and turn from the battle I would he saw the same in me.”

“You are the woman he loves,” Theoden told her, reaching across to grasp her hand in his. “He would protect you and see you safe always. Do not begrudge him this. His sister, Eowyn, is skilled with a sword, and ever wanting to find glory in battle. Eomer has yet to see you fight, lady. He sees you as he sees his kin, skilled yet needing to be protected. He has yet to see you as I have seen you. Well I remember the way you fought at Helm’s Deep, and glad was I to have you aid us.”

He sniffed once more at the stew. “Ease an old man’s heart, lady, and tell me ‘tis nearly done for hunger weakens me.”

She laughed, and nodded, pulling the leaf wrapped objects from the fire. “Your hunger will soon be gone, my lord. It is ready.”

She served those who came, and when Eomer reached for the bowl and lembas bread his fingers brushed against hers. A current of energy passed between them, and Eomer’s nostrils flared and his eyes dilated. Her lips parted softly as if a soundless ‘O’ of surprise formed them. For a moment his hunger for food was forgotten, and instead a hunger to have her near once more gnawed at his belly.

“Lady Beléniel,” Theoden called, breaking the spell they were under. “Your skill with a pot equals that with a sword. My gratitude to you for this wonderful fare.”

“Your kinswomen will be glad to know their efforts were not wasted,” teased Aragorn. “They despaired of you ever becoming adept at the womanly arts.”

Eomer sat, spooning stew into his mouth, and listening to the banter. So her kinswomen had wanted her to sew, cook, and keep a hall? From beneath his lashes he watched her, envisioning her in a gown similar to those his sister wore, her hair a waterfall of rosy-gold that he could run his hands through, and feeding several young children that had her violet eyes and smile. She would make a wonderful chatelaine. Strong enough to defend her people if need be, and gentle enough to tend their wounds. He could see her telling children stories full of wonder and adventure, and after they slept in their warm beds the adventuress and mother would disappear, and in her stead would be a woman who fired his blood and belonged ~~ as long as the night lasted ~~ to him alone.

“Too long were you away,” she retorted with a careful tone of voice. “’Twas not me they despaired at, but you.”

One of Aragorn’s dark brows rose high and disappeared into the unruly fall of his hair. “How so?” he slowly asked, aware that her next shot would be well aimed, but he relished bandying words with her.

“I would hear the Elf ladies often discuss what a pretty man you were when bathed and sweet smelling. A pile of scented soap grows ever higher in Rivendell, my lord, as the line of Elf maidens eager to scrub your back grows longer.”

Gimli, Gandalf and Theoden guffawed. Legolas chuckled, his deft fingers working at his arrows, replacing sheaves. Gamling, King Theoden’s personal guard, laughed and cast Aragorn an uncertain glance. Merry and Pippin arched curious brows, gazes shifting from the two bantering with words. Eomer chuckled, pride in her swelling his chest. She was no simpering female who would sit idly by. Not his Beléniel. And she was his. His heart belonged to her, and she had admitted hers overflowed with love for him.

“Longer still is the line of Elf men who would tame the heart of the warrior daughter of Elrohir, their lady-kin eager to have her forsake her sword and bow in favor of babes at her breast.” Aragorn would not be outdone, and from the corner of his eye saw Eomer stiffen and glower. “Through Rivendell, Lothlorien, and Mirkwood do these eager suitors await a tender word from your lips.”

Flushing Beléniel shot him a haughty glance. “Long shall be their wait. Only he who holds my heart will find tender words whispered from my lips.”

“Does any Elf-kind hold your heart, maiden?”

All eyes turned to Eomer who gripped his bowl of stew in one fist, his eyes intently narrowed. Beléniel held his gaze for him to read the truth in her next words. “Only one man holds my heart, Lord Eomer, and ‘tis the shards from its shattering he holds.”

His nostrils flared, and his chest heaved as he inhaled deeply. He had hurt her, and it pained him to know so. “Perhaps with gentleness and love will he mend the shards into a whole once more. Oft times tenderness eludes us, and we do harm to those we would instead keep safe.”

Merry and Pippin were confused at this exchange. It was not bantering. Hidden and veiled meanings were within these words, and far beyond their understanding were they. The others were quite occupied with sudden tasks that required their immediate attention.

Beléniel rose to wash the empty bowls, and Eomer did not hurry to eat until she was alone at the water, kneeling at the edge to rinse them. He carried his empty bowl to her, knelt, and rinsed it. Pausing he stared out at the destruction of what had been Saruman’s base of operations. “I would that you did not go to Gondor.”

“I know.”

“I fear losing you there,” he admitted. “I fear if we are separated we will never again meet.” He rose to his feet, swallowing convulsively. The visions of finding her broken upon a mound of dead men haunted him. “Dark would be my days, and my nights would be endless.”

She knew it must have taken much for him to admit so much. “I would search for you,” she told him as she rose to her own feet. “I will return to Rohan, and seek you out at Meduseld.” Tentatively she slid a hand up his back, needing the feel of him, and needing to feel him show her tenderness. One touch out of love, one soft word to ease the ache within her.

Her touch was his undoing. Turning to her he buried his face in her sun-warmed hair, and his long fingers curled around her shoulders to hold her near. The tangled silk of her tresses caught in the stubble on his face as though to keep them from parting. “I cannot claim to foresee the future, but I believe Rohan will come to the aid of Gondor.”

“You will come to battle as well.” The scents of leather, horse, and sweat from their previous battle at Helm’s Deep still clung to him. She rubbed her face against the underside of his chin, in his throat. “Should all go well we should turn back the evil that is Sauron, and meet again.”

A shiver of fear traced his spine, and he tightened his hold on her. Shifting he rubbed his cheek against her temple, his breath caressing her face, and one hand lifting to cup her other cheek. “When all is done I will take you before me upon Firefoot, and we shall ride to Rohan.”

“I would first go to my kin, if any are left on these shores.” She pulled back slightly to meet his gaze, and found his eyes bright and heated. It stole her breath, and left her feeling weak in the knees. “My kin would have me go with them across the ocean, but I cannot go where my heart is not.”

“And where is your heart, maiden?”

Turning her face she pressed her lips to his palm in a soft kiss. “In your possession.”

A groan erupted from his throat, and he tilted her head back. For one long moment his eyes bore into hers, and then his mouth captured hers in a lingering and tender kiss. Her knees collapsed, and she clung to him to remain on her feet. His kiss stole her breath and made her light-headed, and yet she would not have ended it to take air even should she expire and pass into shadow at that very moment. Eomer lifted his head, breaking the contact of the kiss, and stared down at her. A gush of male pride puffed out his chest that she could not stand on her own, and that a dazed and passion-induced haze clouded her eyes and bloomed in her cheeks. He had done this to her. His kiss had done this to her.

“My pardon,” Aragorn softly interrupted. “I do not mean to interrupt, but we must have a council.”