The Ride of The Rohirrim

“You cannot control her heart, brother.”

Elrohir glanced sideways at his twin, and after a moment a heavy sigh escaped him. “Would that I could, brother. Are all our kinwomen to be burdened with love for mortal Men? I would not see her suffer the pain I know she will when yon golden warrior passes into shadow.”

“You sound like our father,” Elladan teased.

Elrohir glowered at his sibling. “And when your daughter is of an age to love a man? Will you then laugh?”

Elladan shrugged. “I cannot say. Tell me, why should Beléniel’s choice trouble you so when you gave your heart to a mortal female?”

“And well I know the pain and grief of loving a mortal of the race of Man,” Elrohir returned firmly. “I would see her go with our kin, across the sea to the Undying Lands. I would see my firstborn child safe and far from grief. So many things I would see for her, but not this. Not to be wounded in battle and to watch the man she loves pass before her eyes and leave her alone in her grief. This I cannot see. This I refuse to see,” he made to move forward, but his brother halted him.

“Our father could not dissuade our sister from her love. Cut from the same cloth is your daughter. If you persist against her choice Beléniel will only turn from you, Elrohir, and you will surely lose her.” Elladan put a comforting hand on his twin’s shoulder. “Be strong for her sake, brother. Accept where her heart lies.”

“She has given him her pendant,” Elrohir whispered, a pained expression on his face.

“She has pledged herself to him?” Elladan glanced to where his niece sat alone, her gaze turned towards the distant horizon. “Well I remember her as a small child, pledging to wed with Aragorn.”

“The child is now a woman,” Elrohir stated. “I have missed much these past years. And now she would pledge herself to a mortal and someday she will leave us and sit in this land of Rohan.”

“You stood by Beléniel when she chose to become a Ranger,” Elladan reminded him. “Yet you knew the dangers to her then. She would go to Gondor with us, travel the Paths of the Dead, and you do not gainsay her.” He smiled brightly. “Someday, brother, your daughter will sit as queen of Rohan!”

“Should the heir keep her,” Elrohir finished.

“Have you looked upon his face when his gaze rests upon Beléniel? He will keep her, of that I have no doubt.”

Despite the reassurance Elrohir still felt doubts. He now better understood how his father felt towards the love between Arwen and Aragorn. It brought to mind the words Elrond had told Elrohir one day years ago when he had dared to tell his father to simply accept Arwen’s choice of loves. “Someday your own daughter will fall under the spell that is love, and you will better understand my doubts. I pray she never falls for other than one of our own kind, for your peace, but I cannot make this a promise to you. I fear that is not where her heart lies.” More prophetic words had never been spoken.

…


The sun was setting over Fangorn, and thoughts of her fallen friend flittered through her memories. Beléniel let her mind drift back to another sunset years ago when the flower of womanhood bloomed within her. Her grandfather had sent her to Lothlorien to speak to the Lady there, and she had welcomed the change from Rivendell. It had hurt within her chest when she saw Arwen and Aragorn together. The pain was not left behind. She watched the gaily laughing Elves of Lorien dance and exchange words of tenderness, and the pain blossomed once more within her.

Needing seclusion she sought it in the trees at the borders of the realm of Lothlorien. Still within distance of her great-grandmother’s thoughts should that beautiful woman have need of her. The trees of Lorien were a canopy of flowers, and their fragrance enchanting when the spring was upon the land. From her vantage point up in the tree she could see far and wide, and she perched there as a hawk would to survey her surroundings.

So silent was she that when a blond head poked up near her mischief lit her eyes and she blew flower petals into the long sunshine colored braids and locks. The owner of said pale mane twirled, blue eyes bright and wide. Beléniel trilled a laugh, and reached for another blossom.

“What do you here, Beléniel?” he demanded, scowling fiercely at her.

“I am a sentry,” she replied, casting her gaze once more over the surrounding lands. “All is clear this joyous afternoon, Haldir.”

Perching beside her he laughed. “You are a sentry?”

Her mood changed like quicksilver, and she gave him a push. He did not fall, and she was glad though she climbed higher to avoid him. “I will be a Ranger someday, and I will roam the lands of Middle-Earth and keep even you safe from fell things.”

His laughter rang louder, and he appeared beside her once more. “What dreams maidens have! You will someday wed some princely Elf of Lorien or our northern brethren of Mirkwood, and you will tend to your songs and stories and the heirs he will sire upon you.”

Her amethyst eyes narrowed, and she gritted her teeth at him. “What dreams young males have! You will someday perhaps be worthy of siring heirs upon some wife, and you will tend your days pining for what might have been.”

“And what may that be?” he asked, his eyes still lit with amusement. “What will I pine for?”

“Me,” she boldly replied. Beléniel waved a hand to encompass all that they could see. “I will be out yonder, a Ranger adventuring far and wide, and you will remain here and think of me, and wonder that you laughed at me.”

“I laugh more so now,” he replied, and proceeded to do so. “Perhaps I will gladly see you go. What think you of that?”

“I think I will not kiss you,” she retorted, flushing.

Surprise rounded his eyes. “I do not recall asking you to kiss me…” His words were cut short when her untried mouth fused hard to his, her smaller hands gripping at his hair to hold him still. He could not breathe, and he pushed her slightly away, his brows drawn together in a fierce scowl. “If that is how you kiss I would have had you not do so at all.”

“How cruel!” she cried, turning away and huddling into herself. “I have never known a kiss until now though I have seen many share them.”

Haldir hesitated. “A kiss is not a battle of wills, but a tender touch that inspires songs.” Laying his hands upon her shoulders he turned her to face him though she kept her head lowered. With one hand he pushed an errant lock of her rosy-blond hair from her cheek, and with the other he tilted her chin upwards. In a low and soft voice he spoke gentle words to her in their native tongue, and ever so slowly brushed his full lips over hers in a song-inspiring caress.

Beléniel’s heart pounded, and she lost the ability to breathe. Haldir smelled of fresh green leaves and cool spring water. Was she falling out of the tree? What was this light-headedness that afflicted her? “I am not falling?”

“You are not falling,” he replied. He could not deny that his chest was puffed out with smugness at her reaction to his kiss.

Her great-grandmother was pleased to see that Beléniel was now looking upon one of the Elf males with new eyes. Galadriel believed that it would help to distract her from her desire to become a Ranger. “You are a maiden, and a lady. You must comport yourself in such a manner, Beléniel. I give you leave to spend the afternoon with Haldir. He is a fine male, and a loyal warrior. He would make a wonderful mate for you.”

Beléniel’s head poked through the neckline of the gown two matrons were yanking down to settle on her form. “Must I wear this, my Lady?”

“Yes,” Galadriel firmly replied. Smiling to soften the blow of her words she tilted her great-granddaughter’s chin up and gazed deeply into the violet orbs of her eyes. “You are lovely, and short are your visits here with us. I would see you in gowns, and behaving as a proper Lady should. This is a small request I make of you, Beléniel. Can it be so difficult to do this thing to please me?”

“No, my lady,” Beléniel dutifully replied. She stood quietly as a matron combed and braided her hair, clucking that the untamed curls she had inherited of her mother made for a difficult time. Galadriel glided about the room, calmly overseeing the grooming.

Once the matronly Elves were gone Galadriel reached out and took her great-granddaughter’s hand and led her outside. “Glad is my heart that you have affection for Haldir. He reciprocates your feelings?”

“I do not know,” Beléniel truthfully replied. “So new are these feelings within me, and our liaison. Ever gentle and patient is he, and yet…”

“And yet?” Galadriel urged, worried now.

Shaking her head Beléniel shrugged. “I do not know.” Below them appeared Haldir, and he glanced up and lay a hand to his chest in a respectful salute to his Lady.

Galadriel kissed the younger female on the forehead, and smiled at her. “Go, and worry not for the future. Enjoy the moment.” Once alone a frown began to mar her brow. “I fear her heart is not here with us, my Lord.”

Celeborn silently stepped up to her side from behind her. He was not startled that she had known of his presence. “She does not love him.”

“No,” she sighed. “She tries, but he will never hold the whole of her heart. Only one man will do so.”

“One man?”

“A golden warrior will cross her path, and they will love as fiercely as Arwen and Aragorn. I have seen this though I would have changed the course of the future if I could.”

“Come,” he held out a hand, and she placed hers within it. Leading her away he lifted her hand to kiss the back of it. “Worry not, my love. Always will we be kin to her, and always will she be within our hearts, and us within hers.”