The Ride of The Rohirrim

Eomer removed his helm and leapt from his horse. On foot he waded through the carcasses of the dead, searching. She had not fallen. He would have felt it. He knew her to be alive. The wounded moaned and stumbled over the bodies that littered the ground, often aided inside Helm’s Deep by those still able. Why could he not find her? She was here, of that he was certain. The sense of her was so strong it almost guided his steps.

Pausing he swept his intense gaze over the area. His eyes fell on a lone figure climbing the hill towards him. He knew it was she though she had yet to see and acknowledge him. Whistling he called to Firefoot and mounted when the steed obediently neared. With a flick of the reins he sent the animal down the incline, and halted before her. She limped slightly, her form disheveled and bent under exhaustion, and her head lowered as though she prayed over the fallen.

“So, the Forest relinquished you.” Trying to sound nonchalant had been difficult when his desire was to draw her near and cradle her against him.

Beléniel lifted her face towards him. No one had appeared more handsome to her than he did at that moment. “You have returned, Lord Eomer. My day once more shines bright.”

Eomer extended a hand down to her, and when she grasped it gratefully he pulled her up before him atop Firefoot. “As does mine, maiden,” he gruffly whispered. One handed he guided the horse about to where his uncle, the king, made plans with Gandalf and his companions.

Aragorn nodded in greeting to Eomer, seeing the ease with which Beléniel rested against the blond man’s chest. “You have returned in a most timely fashion.”

“Had I known of the evil Saruman had intended I would have braved death to remain,” Eomer replied.

“You had been banished,” Theoden stated. With a sad shake of his head he reached out and clapped a hand upon his nephew’s shoulder. “I beg forgiveness for the dark times I made you suffer. ‘Twas never my intention to forsake you, nephew. And now Theodred lies cold at Meduseld, and you, Eomer, are now heir to Rohan.”

For a moment Eomer lowered his head, grief stabbing at his chest, but a small hand comfortingly covered one of his and gave him the strength to nod in acceptance. “Heavy is my heart at the loss of Theodred. I was content to remain captain of your soldiers.”

“I never doubted your loyalty,” Theoden told him. “That a foul poison made me do so weighs heavily upon me.”

“One cannot foresee the full extent of evil that more times than naught lays in wait beneath our very nose. Do not blame yourself, my friend.” Gandalf heard a creak and groan from below, and like the others looked to see the Fangorn trembling in rage, and heard the dying screams of the surviving Uruk’hai. “This is but the beginning. Saruman may have been turned back, but he will not give up so easily. And Sauron still spreads his evil outward from Mordor. I fear Gondor is set within a choke-hold, and if we do not come to their aid all will be lost.”

Beléniel’s violet eyes fell on Aragorn to measure his reaction. Stiffly did he sit upon his horse, and his dear face was set rigidly. Exiled from Gondor may he have been most of his long life, but she knew his fate lay that way. Many times had she overheard her kin mention that someday Isildur’s heir would walk past the gates of the White City and claim his destiny. Seeing him thus pained her for she knew the confusion that would cloud him. Long ago he had accepted that his legacy was tainted, and it was with a sad willingness that he had turned from Gondor. Now the time was near, and his choices weighed upon him.

“My path now runs to Gondor,” Aragorn announced. “That is the road I must take.”

“We must go to Isengard,” Gandalf stated. “Saruman is yet defeated, and he will not rest until we have proven the might of Rohan.”

Theoden nodded. “My men are weary, and wounded. My people must return to Edoras.”

“You must face Saruman,” Gandalf told him. “Your people may make for Edoras, but you need stop the threat of Isengard and ensure their safety. It would not do to become complacent. Saruman can easily send another worm to burrow into your kingdom and poison it.”

Aragorn thought long and hard. “I must see to the safety of Gondor, but you speak truth. If Saruman is part of that vise closing upon the White City then he must be broken or Gondor is doomed.”

Eomer could feel Beléniel’s restless shifting before him. Frowning down upon her he half listened to the discussion about them. Something weighed heavily upon her, and he greatly wanted to ease her burden whatever it may be. Her next words did not please him.

“I will go where you go, Aragorn. When you travel to Gondor I will ride by your side.”

Aragorn glanced over in time to see Eomer scowl darkly down at her. “There is no need for you to follow.”

Her chin rose, and determination tightened her features. “They come, Elessar. I will not turn from my brethren. Where the Dunedain go I will go.”

If he could have walked away and raged Eomer would have. Firefoot shifted restlessly beneath them and tossed his head with an angry snort, sensing his master’s ire. “I would have words with you, maiden.” Giving her no chance to deny him he turned the horse and walked him some ways from all others to give them a moment of privacy.

Gandalf’s bushy white brows rose. Theoden suddenly smiled. “I should not be surprised that a woman skilled with weapons would pierce my serious nephew’s heart with an arrow tipped with love, and yet it has startled me.”

“She is a good woman,” Aragorn told him. “Beléniel is daughter to Elrohir, the son of Elrond. She is kin to me, and startling has it been to finally see the woman in her when I so remember the child I held upon my knee.”

Theoden nodded, deep in thought. “That is a fine lineage indeed. It would do Eomer good to know the gentleness of a woman.”

“More than woman she is a ranger, a descendant of the Dunedain,” reminded Legolas. “She has battled here with us, and survived. As much is at stake for her as for any of us.”

“Quite right,” Gandalf nodded in acknowledgement. “You may need her, Aragorn. Though yon golden warrior is loath to part ways with her I am afraid her fate lies on the same path as yours.”

“Then so be it,” Aragorn reluctantly accepted. “Though I would wish it otherwise.” Aragorn lifted an amused brow. “It has been many long years since last I saw her, I do not know the woman in her as well as I had the child. If nothing else, she will be a strong defender of the lands she calls home.”

Theoden sighed. “My heart swells with the hope they both meet at the end and will never find the need to raise arms again. Rohan will need a new heir.” His gaze swung from the couple farther ahead to Aragorn. The face on the man had not changed much from when he had been a boy, learning to become king at his father’s side. Long lived were the Dunedain, and Aragorn was proof of that. Dark was his hair, and sprightly still his steps, and yet Theoden knew him to be older than he.