The Ride of The Rohirrim

They rested at the Hornburg once more, and Aragorn grew more and more troubled. The king would not leave for Gondor for many days hence, and Aragorn knew a great haste was needed. Elrohir had already given him a message from Elrond that time was short, and the Paths of The Dead were available to him. Now Aragorn knew it was the route he must take. Theoden shuddered at the name, and Eomer bid Aragorn a sad farewell. He had hoped to ride to Gondor with the heir of Isildur, but he would not go by way of the Paths of the Dead.

Eomer took a walk through the fortress, and spoke to the men who repaired it, and to those who gathered the dead or tended the wounded. Well he remembered the day he came upon the battle here, and searched the dead for his beloved. Here she had been, lifting her sword in defense of his people. Here among the thousands of dead. It frightened him to think she had faced this, and that she could have been among those being set in piles of carcasses.

Soft weeping caught his ear, and he glanced up to the ramparts of the first wall. His heart contracted painfully to see Beléniel holding a man’s head to her bosom, and rocking his still form. The long sunshine colored hair and red cloak told him the man was an Elf. Had he been kin to her? Or had he been more?

“A great loss is this,” Elrohir spoke as he quietly and lightly stepped up to Eomer’s side. “Haldir was a cherished friend, and his Lady must weep at his passing.”

Eomer glanced at the handsome dark haired Elf. “He is not kin?”

“For long years I believed he and Beléniel would wed,” Elrohir replied. “When she was a handful of summers in age her mother passed from this world, and I took my daughter to Lothlorien where my mother and grandmother dwelt, and where she would learn our heritage along with my sister, Arwen. Once her childhood adoration of Aragorn passed she became curious of love, and her sights were set upon Haldir. And yet he never held the whole of her heart.” His gray eyes met the pained ones of the Rohirrim Rider. “To you has she given the whole of it, Eomer, Third Marshall of Rohan and heir to the throne. To you has she given the whole of it.”

Eomer’s gaze swung once more to the woman who touched her own breast, and then that of the fallen Elf. Her lips moved, and yet he heard no words. “What does she?”

“She bids farewell to a beloved friend, and sings his lament.” Elrohir put a hand to his chest, and bowed his head. “We will take our brethren, and see them cared for.”

Elrohir went up to his daughter, and placed a comforting hand upon her head. “Will you sing as we inter our people? Always has your voice rung sweet and clear, and it would do them honor.”

Sniffling she nodded, and leaning forward pressed a kiss to Haldir’s forehead. “Sleep well, Haldir of Lorien.” She let him be taken, and rose to her feet. “I will go with you, Papa.”

“I did not doubt it,” he heavily sighed. He could feel the gaze of the Rohan warrior upon them as his daughter slid into his hold and wept softly.

Eomer dared not approach the Fangorn Forest like the Elves and Dunedain did. The fallen Elf were taken within the woods and interred, and his heart leapt to hear the sole female voice ringing in song. The tune was haunting and a great sadness took him.

They emerged, and Beléniel flew into Eomer’s arms. They closed about her, and at that moment nothing else mattered but the feel of her against him, and that she had come to him on her own for comfort. And yet he knew she cried for the Elf he had seen her hold close, and an ache stabbed at his heart. “Did you love him?” Why had he asked her this? He did not want to know if she did. He preferred to think on her words of before when she had confessed her heart overflowed with love for him alone.

Lifting her face she frowned as she tried to comprehend whom he meant. “Of whom do you speak? I see worry clouding your eyes, and I would ease it.”

“The one you held,” he replied. “The one in the red cloak that you cried over. Did you love him?”

“Haldir? Haldir and I were friends, and my love for him was as such. Long before I considered perhaps if I were ever to wed he would be a fine mate, but always a part of me was withheld from him. He knew it well.”

“Do you withhold a part of yourself from me, maiden?” he roughly demanded, knowing he should not hate hearing her speak of a love she had known long ago. It was selfish to think she had loved none but him, this he knew, and yet he could not stop thinking it.

Reaching up Beléniel used both hands to cup his face down to hers. “I withhold nothing from you, Eomer. How can I when all I am belongs to none other but you, and not even to myself do I belong any longer.”

He forced back the groan of pleasure those words invoked within him. “Are you Elf-kind?”

“My father is Elf-kind, and my mother was of the race of Man.” With one hand she pushed some of her stray blush-blond hair behind one pointed ear. “I am of both worlds, though I am known as Elf-kind. Does this knowledge change your heart?”

“Nay for my heart knows only love for you, and in this is steadfast.” Eomer ran tender fingertips over the shell of her ear. “Does it change yours, maiden? I am not as long lived as you. I will grow old with the winter of years, and you will remain beautiful and untouched by time. I will grow bent and weak, and you will still proudly lift a sword and make the enemy tremble.”

Now she understood the choices her aunt had had to make. “Do you see yonder Aragorn, my kin? He is of the race of Man, though the blood of the Dunedain flows in his veins. His ladylove is Elf-kind, my aunt, and Lady of Rivendell. She gave her heart to him, and never wavered from her choice.”

Stepping back some she lifted the delicately wrought pendant of Mithril that she wore. Carefully she placed the finely spun web-like pendant with the purple sparkling jewel in its center over his head. “My heart is yours, and I will not waver from my choice.”

“You would give this to me?” he asked, startled as he lifted the pendant to better see it.

“All who see it and know me will know I have pledged myself to you, Eomer, son of Eomund.”

She had managed to startle him once more, and when he finally glanced up she was across the way speaking to her kinsmen. His chest felt overfull of pride and love. Turning to his liege he purposefully made his way there where the King spoke with Aragorn, and the ever-present Gamling awaiting his sire’s command.