The Ride of The Rohirrim

Farther up north, unaware of the events that had transpired at Edoras and that were now happening Eomer and his men were momentarily halted to give their mounts a rest before pushing on once more. They had traveled nearly two hundred leagues, even with the delay of finding Beléniel and tending her wound.

Beléniel. The thought of her intruded, and he flexed his hand as though it pained him. It was not pain that haunted him. Why could he still feel her upon his skin even days after leaving her? Why could the silk of her hair still caress his chin, and her scent still fill his senses? The vision of her danced across the expanse of his dreams when he attempted sleep, and it teased the edges of his sight during his waking hours.

He had never given much thought to love or marriage or having heirs. Theodred was to be king, and now would he even survive to wear that mantle? He could not say. Eomer was captain of the Riders, and was content to remain so. It did not fall upon him to make a good match and make an heir upon his bride. That honor would be Theodred’s. His sister would someday be a wife, and mother. She would be lady of some great hall and perhaps never need to lift a sword in her own defense. That would please him very much.

Now he found himself thinking of Beléniel, and wondering if there was more to his future than simply being a warrior. It was almost disconcerting to suddenly realize that so much was missing from your life. Did he truly intend to bear arms until he could bear them no more, grow old in another’s hall dependent upon their generosity until he wastes away into death alone and forgotten? He was yet young enough to take a wife, and raise strong sons to defend Rohan as he now did.

“Lord Eomer?”

Barely moving his head he let the man know he paid him attention. “Tell the men to mount up. We leave hence.” Scowling he rubbed his hands together, trying to erase the feel of soft feminine skin, and finding it was more permanent than a brand upon his flesh.

…

Far below were the waters, and Beléniel fell to her knees and a cry escaped her at the loss of Aragorn. A hand fell upon her shoulder, and she took several deep breaths to calm herself. Stumbling to her feet she angrily wiped the proof of tears from her face and squared her shoulders. Her violet eyes met the sympathetic ones of Legolas. Going to the horse Aragorn had used she whispered to it in Elvish as she stroked its velvety nose. It snorted and moved forward so she could leap up into the saddle. They raced towards the Hornburg.

Helm’s Deep rose majestically from the cliff-face and the very sight of it was intimidating. From afar the gray of the fortress would blend perfectly into the stone of the cliff, and perhaps go unnoticed by any who were not familiar with Rohan. A stone bridge curved upwards towards the first of the walls. Within the first wall were ramparts and steps leading to the taller walls that housed the caves and the hall. The cliffs behind were a natural defense.

They dismounted, and men came to take the horses away and stable them. Weary and still sore from her wound she followed the king to his hall. Beléniel saw Eowyn halt when no sign of Aragorn filled her eyes, and confirmation that he had fallen had the blond woman turning away with a trembling hand to her mouth. Glancing about Beléniel saw the Rohirrim dazedly staring about, fear and uncertainty painting their faces. Children clung to their mothers who attempted to appear strong and confident but met Beléniel’s gaze as though imploring her to reassure them. She had no words of comfort to give them at the moment. A heavy weight seemed to sit upon her shoulders as she hurried into the hall.

Only hours later she heard the joyous news that Aragorn had not fallen into death, and with the light and hurried steps of her Elvish heritage she ran to find him. His warm gaze met hers, and a small smile curled the corners of his lips upwards. Rushing forward she threw her good arm about him, and heard the grunt of pain he issued.

Pulling back she critically looked him over. “You are hurt.”

“I will live,” he replied, delaying her questing hands. “There are more important things to do at the moment.”

She stilled, sensing the tension emanating from him. “What did you see?”

“A force, ten thousand strong, coming to Helm’s Deep. They will arrive by nightfall. I have told the king. We will stand our ground, and meet them in battle.”

Her eyes widened. “Here? I know Helm’s Deep has saved these people before, but not under such overwhelming odds. These are Saruman’s creations, Aragorn. I have seen them, and battled them. They know neither pain nor defeat. They do not come to take Helm’s Deep, they come to annihilate all Men here.”

“Think I do not know this?” he snapped. “What would you have these people do? Run? To where? They would run straight into the hands of the enemy.” His impatience dimmed, and a sadness entered his eyes. “ Would that you had remained in the north with your father and kin.”

Her chin rose, and she straightened to her full height. She was nearly as tall as he, and slim as the Elves. “I am a ranger, as you are, and as my father is. I know how to wield a sword and a bow. I will not cower like some frightened child in the bowels of the mountain.”

“You are wounded,” he argued with her.

One blush-blond brow rose high upon her forehead. “As are you. No, Aragorn. Though love, I know, makes you ask this of me know that I love you in return, and that I must do this. I will stand by your side, and should I fall here then so be it. I would rather fall a ranger defending these people than fall while herded into a cave like sheep awaiting slaughter.”

He had known he could not make her take refuge with the others in the caves. “Always have you proven yourself stubborn and determined. Even as a child you would have it no other way but your own. You have not changed, Beléniel.”

“And I remember a handsome ranger who would laughingly encourage me to never give up much to the chagrin of my kin.” She touched his stubble roughened cheek. “If I should fall, promise me one thing?”

“You will not fall,” he told her, reaching up to grasp her hand in his. The thought of losing the woman he had known since her birth sent shards of pain through his heart.

“Aragorn, please. Should I fall remove my pendant, and give it to Eomer. I would have him keep it in memory of me.” She wanted to curse the warmth she felt flooding her face.

Both of his dark brows rose in surprise. “I did not know you were pledged to the king’s nephew.”

“I am not. He tended my wound, and escorted me to Fangorn Forest. I cannot explain it further, but to tell you that when I looked upon him my heart no longer belonged to me. Would you do this for me?”

Sighing he repeated his earlier words, “You will not fall, but if it comforts you to hear me say I will do so then know I say it.” Satisfied she hurried off to prepare for the coming battle.

He had never before noticed how she had grown. In his eyes she would always be the child he encouraged to never give up. Now she was telling him that her heart belonged to another man. He well remembered when she was but a child of five summers, sitting upon his knee and telling him that when she was grown she would wed him. He would tease her that some handsome Elf from Lothlorien or Mirkwood would come to steal her heart, and she would reply that none could steal what she no longer owned. That child was now a woman grown, ready to fight for the people of the man she loved. His own thoughts now turned to the woman he loved. Even as Beléniel had professed her love for him as a child his own heart had belonged to another. Freely and eagerly did he let love take it and place it in the hands of a woman who fiercely guarded it and chose him over a life of immortality. It humbled him, and gave him utmost strength, this love she showered him with. Should grace see fit to keep him safe he would then let destiny lead him to his fate so he could, finally, take her to wife.