The Ride of The Rohirrim
folder
Lord of the Rings Movies › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
15
Views:
4,927
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
Lord of the Rings Movies › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
15
Views:
4,927
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I own nothing of LOTR, the characters, or the movies/books. I make no money off this piece of fiction, it is for entertainment purposes only.
Bitter Partings.
“Time is short, and we do not have the luxury of long speeches.”
Pulling Firefoot to a halt Eomer slid off him and reached up to grasp Beléniel by the waist and set her down. “Time is indeed short, maiden, and I do not believe in long speeches. Simple words that show the heart of the matter are best. Wasted words waste time.”
He was angry. His eyes glowed with his emotions, and his lips were drawn tightly back over his bared teeth. “You do not agree that I should go.”
“That is so,” he nodded. “Had I known ere now you would have faced such danger here I would have swept you before me upon Firefoot and carried you north.”
“Then glad I am you did not know ere now.” When he turned partly away from her to try to calm his anger she placed a tender hand upon his fisted one. “Eomer, my heart soars to know how deeply you care for me for it near bursts with love for you.”
“Then do not go,” he urged her, catching at her shoulders. “Return to Edoras with me, and…”
“And what, Eomer? Wait with bated breath that you return to me? Pace the floor with your sister and play at being a lady while inwardly I die a little every second at not knowing your fate?” Shaking her head she stepped back, but his grip upon her shoulders tightened.
“And if war rages in Gondor?” he demanded, fingers clenching and unclenching upon her shoulders, not hard enough to harm her, but neither weak enough to let her go.
“I am a ranger, Eomer, skilled with weapons. I battled here with your kinsmen. I survived! Would you have me demand of you to lay down your sword and never ride into battle again?” She grasped at his cloak, leaning into him with her face raised to his. “Then do so now, and I will gladly sit before you on Firefoot and let you lead me wherever you fancy.”
An internal struggle had him trembling. Finally he let her go and turned to Firefoot, her hold upon him breaking in the process. Not glancing at her he steeled himself to speak his next words. “I will not stand in your way.”
“Will you find me afterwards?” she asked with a small voice, fearing his reply. Always had she been a strong person, determined and eager. Now she trembled with uncertainty and fear. Would he ride from her, and never return? Could they breach this gap that had sprung up between them? The armies of Saruman and Sauron combined were not a more insurmountable barrier between them than this moment was.
His eyes fell shut, and a lump formed in his throat. “I do not know.” He mounted, and heeled his horse into a walk. A gaping hole in his chest where his heart had been nearly doubled him over. No longer did he posses his heart for it laid broken at her feet. He feared losing her needlessly in battle. He feared finding her lying broken upon a blood-soaked ground and thrusting his sword within his own breast to end the pain her loss would suffer him through. He feared so much, and yet knew asking her to wait for him was unkind. She was a ranger, a warrior maiden, and that frightened him most of all for she would plunge into heated battle and willingly risk her life.
Beléniel watched the world blur beneath the sheen of tears. “I will find you!” she called to him. Her hands fisted, and she blinked to attempt to clear her vision. “Hear my words, Eomer, son of Eomund. I will find you!” The last word was a broken sound issuing from her raw throat. She had hurt him. It was so evident in the rigid line of his back, and the proud way he held his head high. The ease with which he guided Firefoot was strained, and the animal cantered spiritedly without the controlled hold. She would rather rip her still beating heart from her own breast than to knowingly cause him hurt.
…
It was not lost on everyone the way the golden warrior and the female ranger parted. Neither spoke as they traveled towards Isengard. At the forefront were Gandalf and Theoden. Behind them came Aragorn and Eomer, Legolas with Gimli behind him on the horse and Beléniel, and following them all were several dozen of the Rohirrim Riders.
Gimli, the Dwarf, glanced at Beléniel for the tenth time. Clearing his throat he screwed up his face so his beard and mustache twitched. “You did well in battle, Lass.”
Beléniel peered over at him, and after a moment a smile crept upon her face. “Thank you, Master Dwarf. What they say is true. What the Dwarves lack in height they more than make up for in fierceness of battle.”
Gimli chuckled. “And merrymaking,” he nodded. “We Dwarves make merry as fiercely as we battle.”
Before him Legolas smirked, but did not glance back. The Elves and Dwarves had never been extremely close, and if truth were told they often tended to come to near blows, but he had a fondness for Gimli. In battle they had a friendly competition, and otherwise had learned to respect each other and their strengths. Tenuous at first had been their bond when the Fellowship set out, but now they would lay their lives down for the other if need be.
“Do not fret, Lass,” Gimli suddenly turned serious. If he could have reached over to pat her hand comfortingly he would have. “If true be your love for each other it will keep you until the end.”
“Sometimes, I think of Arwen and Aragorn. Their love is true, and yet parted still they must be. Is that the measure of love? To yearn for and suffer pain for the one who holds your heart? To know tears more than smiles? There is an ache inside me so deep I wonder should it ever be filled.”
Now Legolas spoke. “Some search all their lives for love and find none. And for others love seeks them out and clasps them in a warm embrace of joy. Some find their love tossed upon testing times, and yet it survives, even when battered and bruised. I believe no matter the consequence it is a precious thing, and when tested thus it only strengthens and surmounts all obstacles. Aragorn and the Lady of Rivendell may yet be parted, but none can sunder the love they share. Time and trials have made it invincible.”
“The Elf is right,” Gimli roughly agreed. Dwarves were often considered callous and uncivilized, but they rejoiced in love and all the glories of it. “Look within that ache of yours, Lass. Is it truly empty and deep, or overflowing with love?”
Her violet eyes swung to Eomer’s rigid back and the swish of the blond horsetail that fell from his helm and intermingled with the deeper gold of his long hair. Her heart gave a lurch. “It is overfull with a bittersweet ache.”
“Long lived are we,” Legolas sighed with a sweet melancholy, “and yet we love only once. It is rare among our race to love more than once.” He cast her an amused glance, his blue eyes crinkling. “Whether you would have it or not your heart is his for as long as your days are.”
Pulling Firefoot to a halt Eomer slid off him and reached up to grasp Beléniel by the waist and set her down. “Time is indeed short, maiden, and I do not believe in long speeches. Simple words that show the heart of the matter are best. Wasted words waste time.”
He was angry. His eyes glowed with his emotions, and his lips were drawn tightly back over his bared teeth. “You do not agree that I should go.”
“That is so,” he nodded. “Had I known ere now you would have faced such danger here I would have swept you before me upon Firefoot and carried you north.”
“Then glad I am you did not know ere now.” When he turned partly away from her to try to calm his anger she placed a tender hand upon his fisted one. “Eomer, my heart soars to know how deeply you care for me for it near bursts with love for you.”
“Then do not go,” he urged her, catching at her shoulders. “Return to Edoras with me, and…”
“And what, Eomer? Wait with bated breath that you return to me? Pace the floor with your sister and play at being a lady while inwardly I die a little every second at not knowing your fate?” Shaking her head she stepped back, but his grip upon her shoulders tightened.
“And if war rages in Gondor?” he demanded, fingers clenching and unclenching upon her shoulders, not hard enough to harm her, but neither weak enough to let her go.
“I am a ranger, Eomer, skilled with weapons. I battled here with your kinsmen. I survived! Would you have me demand of you to lay down your sword and never ride into battle again?” She grasped at his cloak, leaning into him with her face raised to his. “Then do so now, and I will gladly sit before you on Firefoot and let you lead me wherever you fancy.”
An internal struggle had him trembling. Finally he let her go and turned to Firefoot, her hold upon him breaking in the process. Not glancing at her he steeled himself to speak his next words. “I will not stand in your way.”
“Will you find me afterwards?” she asked with a small voice, fearing his reply. Always had she been a strong person, determined and eager. Now she trembled with uncertainty and fear. Would he ride from her, and never return? Could they breach this gap that had sprung up between them? The armies of Saruman and Sauron combined were not a more insurmountable barrier between them than this moment was.
His eyes fell shut, and a lump formed in his throat. “I do not know.” He mounted, and heeled his horse into a walk. A gaping hole in his chest where his heart had been nearly doubled him over. No longer did he posses his heart for it laid broken at her feet. He feared losing her needlessly in battle. He feared finding her lying broken upon a blood-soaked ground and thrusting his sword within his own breast to end the pain her loss would suffer him through. He feared so much, and yet knew asking her to wait for him was unkind. She was a ranger, a warrior maiden, and that frightened him most of all for she would plunge into heated battle and willingly risk her life.
Beléniel watched the world blur beneath the sheen of tears. “I will find you!” she called to him. Her hands fisted, and she blinked to attempt to clear her vision. “Hear my words, Eomer, son of Eomund. I will find you!” The last word was a broken sound issuing from her raw throat. She had hurt him. It was so evident in the rigid line of his back, and the proud way he held his head high. The ease with which he guided Firefoot was strained, and the animal cantered spiritedly without the controlled hold. She would rather rip her still beating heart from her own breast than to knowingly cause him hurt.
…
It was not lost on everyone the way the golden warrior and the female ranger parted. Neither spoke as they traveled towards Isengard. At the forefront were Gandalf and Theoden. Behind them came Aragorn and Eomer, Legolas with Gimli behind him on the horse and Beléniel, and following them all were several dozen of the Rohirrim Riders.
Gimli, the Dwarf, glanced at Beléniel for the tenth time. Clearing his throat he screwed up his face so his beard and mustache twitched. “You did well in battle, Lass.”
Beléniel peered over at him, and after a moment a smile crept upon her face. “Thank you, Master Dwarf. What they say is true. What the Dwarves lack in height they more than make up for in fierceness of battle.”
Gimli chuckled. “And merrymaking,” he nodded. “We Dwarves make merry as fiercely as we battle.”
Before him Legolas smirked, but did not glance back. The Elves and Dwarves had never been extremely close, and if truth were told they often tended to come to near blows, but he had a fondness for Gimli. In battle they had a friendly competition, and otherwise had learned to respect each other and their strengths. Tenuous at first had been their bond when the Fellowship set out, but now they would lay their lives down for the other if need be.
“Do not fret, Lass,” Gimli suddenly turned serious. If he could have reached over to pat her hand comfortingly he would have. “If true be your love for each other it will keep you until the end.”
“Sometimes, I think of Arwen and Aragorn. Their love is true, and yet parted still they must be. Is that the measure of love? To yearn for and suffer pain for the one who holds your heart? To know tears more than smiles? There is an ache inside me so deep I wonder should it ever be filled.”
Now Legolas spoke. “Some search all their lives for love and find none. And for others love seeks them out and clasps them in a warm embrace of joy. Some find their love tossed upon testing times, and yet it survives, even when battered and bruised. I believe no matter the consequence it is a precious thing, and when tested thus it only strengthens and surmounts all obstacles. Aragorn and the Lady of Rivendell may yet be parted, but none can sunder the love they share. Time and trials have made it invincible.”
“The Elf is right,” Gimli roughly agreed. Dwarves were often considered callous and uncivilized, but they rejoiced in love and all the glories of it. “Look within that ache of yours, Lass. Is it truly empty and deep, or overflowing with love?”
Her violet eyes swung to Eomer’s rigid back and the swish of the blond horsetail that fell from his helm and intermingled with the deeper gold of his long hair. Her heart gave a lurch. “It is overfull with a bittersweet ache.”
“Long lived are we,” Legolas sighed with a sweet melancholy, “and yet we love only once. It is rare among our race to love more than once.” He cast her an amused glance, his blue eyes crinkling. “Whether you would have it or not your heart is his for as long as your days are.”