The Ride of The Rohirrim

That night Pippin, having touched the Palantiri once, sneaked off with it, and gazed into its depths. The Eye of Sauron beheld him, entranced him, and tried to wrest the truth from him. Gandalf appeared, and took Pippin before him on Shadowfax. They sped towards Gondor. Sauron believed Pippin to have the One Ring, and now Pippin would need to be kept safe.

Beléniel neared Aragorn. “And now? You have made a decision.”

“I have.” He began to saddle his horse. “I would you go north, and meet with the Dunedain. Tell them my route leads to Gondor.”

“I see your ruse clearly, Elessar. You fear war is already upon Gondor, and you would see me away from it.”

“He is a wise man,” Eomer stepped closer to them, his gaze narrowed. Holding up a hand he stayed her retort. “Do not worry me with words, maiden. I would also see you away from war.”

“And yet neither of us, nor our words, will see her go.” Aragorn sighed, shaking his head sadly. “Beléniel, would that you were more like your kinswomen.”

“I am, and that is what leads me to follow you. Were my kinswomen here, uncle, they would not turn tail and run. Neither will I.” She put a gentle hand upon Eomer’s lips to stall his next words. “Do not make our parting one of words we regret. Mended is the heart you now hold, Eomer, and yet one word from your lips could shatter it anew.”

Taking her wrist he removed her hand, but not before his lips paid it homage. He knew he would not turn her from Gondor. Could he perhaps keep her safe a while longer? “I know your path leads you to war. I will no longer hinder you in this. Do not go yet. Return to Edoras with me, and when the call to arms rises we will ride together to Minas Tirith.”

“Heed his words,” Aragorn quickly interjected. “He is the man you love, foretold to me by Arwen. Of this I no longer have any doubt. Your destiny lies in Rohan,” he told her.

Eomer did not press her when the conflict was so plainly written upon her face. “We ride out within the hour,” he told Aragorn. “My uncle would travel beneath the cover of darkness.”

They departed, and still she spoke to none. Her heart and mind warred internally. How she wished she could speak to Arwen, or even to her great-grandmother, the Lady Galadriel. Too well did she know that her beloved grandfather, Elrond, would press upon her to leave these shores with her kin. Only Arwen and the Lady of Lorien would understand her predicament. Perhaps her venerable great-grandmother would even ask her to gaze into the Mirror.

They were just past the mounds at the Fords of Isen when a rider galloped to the front and told them riders were overtaking them. They halted, turned about, and a defensive stance was taken. When the riders were well in view Eomer shouted to them to make themselves known for they rode within Rohan, land of Theoden King, and without his leave to do so.

“Halbarad Dunedan. I am a Ranger from the North. We seek Aragorn, son of Arathorn.”

Beléniel’s heart sped, and a broad smile lit her face. Aragorn moved forward, and she leapt from her own mount and followed after him. The Dunedain had come!
“Daughter!” Elrohir clasped her close when she ran to him. “We feared the worst when we received word of Anathan’s passing.”

Here was a familiar scent and feel. It brought to mind her childhood, and how her father had more times than she could recall softened the blows of criticism from her kin when she preferred learning the bow and sword to learning the womanly arts. “He fell to an Orc sword. I could do naught else but give him to the woods.”

Elladan neared, and embraced her next. “You are a bright sight to our eyes, niece.”

“We are thirty,” Halbarad told Aragorn. “Elrohir and Elladan have ventured to join us and battle in this war.”

Nodding Aragorn greeted the twins, and turned to the still wary Rohirrim. “These are my kin.”

His words eased the knot of jealousy Eomer had felt tightening his chest when he saw Beléniel run into the arms of another man. The emotion was new to him, but he was not fool enough to deny its name. The golden warrior relaxed in the saddle, content to know it was kin she greeted, and not a love. He did not think he could bear it were another to hold her heart. He would have it to himself, cherish it and protect it, and show her until the end of their time together the love he carried within himself for her.

Theoden ordered them to ride, and Legolas rode by Eomer. “The Lady Beléniel does not much resemble her sire, Elrohir, does she?”

Startled Eomer glanced at the elf and Gimli the Dwarf who was still perched behind him on the horse. “Her sire?”

“The twin brothers, Elrohir and Elladan, are Lord Elrond’s sons. Elrohir is her sire. Her coloring is that of her mother, who passed into shadow when Beléniel was but a child. Her sire took her to Lothlorien to be raised with his sister, the Lady Arwen.”

“She is Elf-kind?” Eomer was once again startled.

“Her father is Elf-kind, her mother was of the race of Man,” Gimli told him.

He had known her to be a Ranger of the North, a Dunedain, but he had not known the blood of Elves also ran in her blood. Were they perhaps too different to ever be united? This thought gnawed at him, worrying him greatly. Could he turn from her if the need arose? He had ridden from her side once, and visions of her had haunted his days and nights. Now he knew the feel and taste of her he did not think he could ever turn from her again unless death took him. Even if death took her he would waste away to ash by her side, unwilling to leave her.

“Who is the golden warrior your eyes cannot seem to stray from?” Elrohir asked his daughter as they rode side by side.

A flush crept up her face. “His name is Eomer, he is Third Marshall of the Riders of Rohan, and heir to the throne. He is nephew to King Theoden, whose heir was laid to rest after Orcs felled him.”

“You love him,” Elladan stated, riding just behind his brother. “I have seen your heart within your eyes when you gaze upon him.”

“He is not Elf-kind,” Elrohir stated. “I would have had you wed one of our race, and go into the West with them.”

Aragorn snorted, his horse ahead of them. “Ever determined is your offspring. Though wounded when her companion fell she battled at Helm’s Deep, and would go to Gondor to war.”

“You are wounded?” Elrohir scowled at her, his eyes passing over her, and she was reminded of her grandfather. “Where? You let Aragorn tend it?”

“’Twas tended by the Lady Eowyn in Edoras after her brother Eomer did tend me when he and his men found me weak and unable to.” Again her gaze fell on the man she loved. “No Elf-kind could touch my heart as he does, Papa. The only one to come close is now gone from us, and for him always a part of my heart was kept.”

“And yet no part is kept from yon warrior?” Elladan asked though he knew the answer.

“Willingly did the whole of my heart go to him,” she replied.

“And he loves you?” Elrohir demanded, still unsure of this match.

“He suffers greatly with love for her,” Aragorn was the one to answer. “He would keep her in Edoras to ensure her safety, but knows she would not remain. The battle ahead is naught compared to the one raging within his breast.”

“You make more of this than there is,” she retorted to the man she had always known as her uncle.

“And you, Beléniel, make light of it.” He had not meant to snap at her, but this situation brought his own glaringly vivid to mind. He loved Arwen, and his world was dark and hopeless without her in it to bring him light and hope. Yet he would keep her from harm, keep her from the pain and despair that will one day come when he passes into shadow, and she does not. Her kin would have all left for the Undying Lands, and she would remain to spend her immortal life alone, grieving for his passing. He would not keep her thus, and yet he would not part from her. Well he understood the turmoil within Eomer.