The Ride of The Rohirrim

The ride was silent and somber, each brooding upon his own thoughts. Aragorn confessed gazing into the looking stone, and admitted having shown the enemy that Isildur’s heir carried the re-forged sword of Elendil. They reached Edoras, and remained only a while. Great was Aragorn’s need to reach Gondor and Minas Tirith.

Eowyn came with a smile to greet them, her eyes bright as they fell upon Aragorn. “Will you stay a while?”

“I am afraid we cannot, my lady, though your generosity is much appreciated. We have great need to reach Dunharrow.”

She watched the hooded Rangers behind him. “There is no road here that would lead you to Dunharrow. Not here, lord. You have come a long way for naught.”

“There is one,” Aragorn told her. “That one we must take. We go by the Paths of the Dead.”

The lady shuddered, and paled. Quickly she directed servants to set forth a meal, and though she would have had rooms prepared her guests would only find a place to rest in the hall. “The Ranger, your niece. She is still with you?”

Aragorn nodded. “She is. Do you have need of her?”

“I would examine her wound, and speak with her.”

“Beléniel,” he called to the hooded Rangers. “The Lady Eowyn would examine your wound and speak with you.”

Eowyn was startled to find that Beléniel was nearly of a height with the other Rangers, and the hooded cloak so similar to those of her brethren made her near impossible to discern until the woman lowered her cloak and smiled. One other stepped forward, bowing gracefully. “I am Elrohir, father to Beléniel. I would come with you to examine her wound, my lady.”

“Of course,” she nodded. “Please, rest, and eat. We will return shortly.”

Elladan neared Aragorn, pushing his hood back and thoughtfully watching the others leave the hall. “The lady does fancy herself in love with you, Estel.”

“Had my heart not freely been given to your sister, the beautiful Arwen, I would return her love. But I cannot, and truly do I hope that love finds her someday.”

In another chamber Elrohir pushed back his hood, and scowled at his daughter when her shirt was parted to reveal the bandage. “Do you carry other wounds?”

“None that needs needle and thread, papa. I am bruised, and sore, but otherwise well. The lady Eowyn has a sure and tender touch when tending wounds.”

With a grunt he nodded, his eyes falling upon the blond head bent in concentration over his daughter. “You are kin to Eomer?”

“He is my brother,” she replied, carefully removing the bandage to examine the sewn flesh beneath.

“What manner of man is he?”

Startled she glanced up, and met beautiful gray eyes that reminded her of polished silver. “He is a good man. Courageous, honorable, and kind is he. Why, my lord?”

“And with women? Is he honorable in that respect?” He ignored the gasp of his daughter, waving her to silence. “Is his heart promised to another? Keeps he many light of loves?”

Eowyn flushed. “If he does he is discreet for I know of none. His heart is yet his own though long now has it been since I have seen him, and I do not know if any has won his love.”

“Enough, papa.” Beléniel spoke now in Elvish, a low stream of the beautifully sounding words that had the lady of Rohan wishing to know their meaning. “My choice has been made, and I will not undo it. I foresaw it in the Mirror, and knew when I first gazed upon him.”

Elrohir’s jaw tightened and worked silently for a few moments, a scowl very much like his father’s upon his brow. “I will see that the others are well.” With a graceful bow he left the room.

“I am sorry,” Beléniel whispered.

“He is your father, and it is understandable that he should worry.” She began to put a clean bandage upon the wound. “Has Eomer’s heart been engaged?”

“He tells me it is, and I would believe it when he looks upon me. Do you disapprove?”

“I envy you,” Eowyn whispered. “I would know the freedom you do, and the love of a man. I would see my worth in his eyes when he looks upon me, and I would tell him of my heart. My brother is a good man, with much love to give, and I am glad he has found someone to give it to. Do you love him?”

“With all of my being,” whispered the Ranger.

“Did you know when you first gazed upon him?”

“I did. Golden was he, tall and proud in the saddle, and though fierce was his gaze he was gentle when he tended my wound. I could not sleep that night, though exhaustion weighed heavily upon me. I lay watching him, learning the emotions in his eyes, and the sound of his voice. Each word he spoke brought an answering beat of my heart, and I began to imagine my touch upon his brow. He scowled so, and I would have eased it from him, and seen him smile.”

Sitting beside the other woman Eowyn stared off with dreamy eyes. She did not see her brother within her mind, but Aragorn. How she craved to touch his brow and smooth away his worries, to see him smile, and to learn the emotions in his eyes. Already she knew the sound of his voice for it haunted her dreams and whispered upon her waking hours as memories. “Have you told him of your love?”

“He demanded of me an answer, and I willingly gave it. ‘My heart near bursts with love for you, Eomer, and willingly did I give you the whole of it!’” Shaking herself Beléniel smiled with a bittersweet ache. “He would have me remain here with you, lady, but I must follow my kin to war. I cannot remain, though pain would lay me low for the hurt I have caused him in my choice. If you see him, tell him I will not fall. Tell him I will find him.”

Eowyn watched the other female hurry from the room, the sheen of tears in her violet eyes. “War… They go to war…” Rising her face set in determination. Smoothing her features she went to the hall and bid them all a good night.

“I would ride with you,” Eowyn told Aragorn as the light of dawn stretched its pale fingers over the mountains. “Take me with you, Lord Aragorn.”

“I dare not,” he softly replied, startled beyond measure at her request. “If your uncle, the king, and your brother spoke otherwise to me I would, but my need is great, and I cannot await their arrival.”

“I beg you,” she was not beyond falling to her knees and grasping his hand in both of hers. “Do not leave me behind. Always am I left behind, to wither away in this hall fetching food and finding beds while the Riders find glory and valor. I beg you! Take me with you.”

“I cannot,” he bent to kiss the hands that held his, and helped her to her feet. “Beg no more for I cannot in good conscience take you from this hall.” Before she could once more ask him to let her join them he sprang into the saddle and the troop set their mounts to a run. Aragorn refused to look back and see her standing there with pain upon her face.

Long were they gone when the king and his Riders returned. Eowyn begged her uncle to let her ride with them, but he refused. And so she took matters into her own hands when they departed. Clad in armor, and with Merry before her upon a horse, hidden beneath her cloak, she rode with the Rohirrim for Gondor.