The Ride of The Rohirrim
folder
Lord of the Rings Movies › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
15
Views:
4,928
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Lord of the Rings Movies › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
15
Views:
4,928
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.
In A Time Past.
As they rode on, the hours rolling endlessly into each other as the fields of Rohan did, Beléniel’s mind wandered back to earlier years. Her decision to become a ranger was yet untold to her kin. She knew few of them would encourage her. Aragorn and Arwen would. With the thought to find one of them she wandered soundlessly through the woods surrounding Rivendell. It was mid-spring, and new grass and tender shoots of plants sprouted from the thawed ground. The trees were ripe with new buds waiting to unfurl and cast a canopy of leaves over the forest. Beneath her feet the ground was dry and firm.
As she walked, pausing every now and then to carefully listen or peer through the trees, she ran both hands over the boles of trees, her fingertips stroking the different textures of bark or bare wood where the deer had peeled the outer skin from the white birch. Nearby could now be heard a stream, the waters racing over a stony bed and creating an almost melodic sound. That is where she found her aunt and Aragorn. The sight of them froze her.
Arwen looked as lovely as always in an Elvish gown of greens and blues to match the spring blooming about them. Aragorn’s taller frame was encased in browns and grays. They stood close together. Arwen’s hands rested flat against his back, stroking him with a familiarity that was intimate and loving. Aragorn had one hand in her long dark tresses, caressing the silken fall of it. His other hand cupped her lovely face up to his, and his forehead lay upon hers, unruly tendrils of his long dark wavy hair falling to entwine with her more tamed locks.
Softly spoken words of love uttered in a mix of Elvish and the language of Man came to Beléniel’s ears thanks to the keen hearing she had inherited from her Elf-kind kin. A stab of deep yearning nearly doubled her over, and her eyes grew teary. Twirling she cared not for the noise she made, and ran back towards her grandfather’s house.
The couple broke apart, Aragorn taking a defensive stance to protect Arwen should the need arise. The scowl left his face when Arwen put a restraining hand on his arm and whispered it had been Beléniel. “She does not speak of it aloud, but I have seen the pain in her eyes when you and I are together.”
“Her fancy was that of a child, and my heart belongs to you,” Aragorn stated.
Wisely Arwen shook her head. “That is not what pains her.” When he turned to her, brows drawn together in confusion she smiled. “She is of an age where her heart yearns for the kind of love we share. She yearns to know the love of a man, and yet no Elf has won her heart.”
“One yet may come who will win her love,” he told her. “Perhaps he is from Lothlorien, or one of the Mirkwood Elves.”
“Her heart will belong to no Elf,” she told him.
“You foresaw this,” Aragorn turned back towards where the young Beléniel had been. “Did you see who he is?”
“His face was in shadow, but gold shone about him.”
Her grandfather’s already arched brows rose higher when Beléniel raced by him and towards her room. She stood at the open window, feeling foolish for the reaction she’d had to seeing Arwen and Aragorn together. She did not understand why she felt as she did. Yes, she had had a fondness for Aragorn when she had been a child, but now that she was older she knew the love she bore for him was not like that of a woman for a man.
A gentle hand stroked her windblown sunshine and blush colored hair. “What troubles you, Beléniel?”
“I do not know,” she whispered, turning into the embrace of her grandfather. “I do not understand what happens within me. I am so confused, grandfather.”
He held her comfortingly, one hand still stroking her hair. He would never admit it aloud, but this granddaughter of his, partly of the race of Man as she was, was his favorite. His two sons, Elladan and Elrohir, had several children each, mostly sons. Beléniel was the first of his granddaughters, and her fiery nature had often given him woes. Yet he knew a pride in her. Her coloring was that of her mother, who had passed into shadow when Beléniel was but a tiny child just speaking, and his lady wife and the Lady of Lothlorien had both in vain tried to tame her into becoming the proper Elf lady, but she was an explorer. It pained him to see her thus.
“Tell me what you can,” he encouraged her.
Pulling away she wiped at her eyes. “Why does my heart ache so when I see Arwen and Aragorn together? Why does it ache when I see any show tenderness for each other?”
Elrond’s shoulder’s straightened, and his eyes focused intensely on a point beyond her and outside the window. His daughter was with Aragorn once more? Only pain and despair could come of that love. He had warned his daughter often, and yet she was headstrong and loath to turn from the man she loved. His mind returned quickly to the problem at hand, and he schooled the worry and anger from his features before once more turning his gaze upon his granddaughter. “Perhaps it is time you spent some days in Lothlorien. Galadriel and your grandmother would better be suited to guide you through these emotions you experience.”
Her brows drew together, and she considered his words. “Perhaps.”
As she walked, pausing every now and then to carefully listen or peer through the trees, she ran both hands over the boles of trees, her fingertips stroking the different textures of bark or bare wood where the deer had peeled the outer skin from the white birch. Nearby could now be heard a stream, the waters racing over a stony bed and creating an almost melodic sound. That is where she found her aunt and Aragorn. The sight of them froze her.
Arwen looked as lovely as always in an Elvish gown of greens and blues to match the spring blooming about them. Aragorn’s taller frame was encased in browns and grays. They stood close together. Arwen’s hands rested flat against his back, stroking him with a familiarity that was intimate and loving. Aragorn had one hand in her long dark tresses, caressing the silken fall of it. His other hand cupped her lovely face up to his, and his forehead lay upon hers, unruly tendrils of his long dark wavy hair falling to entwine with her more tamed locks.
Softly spoken words of love uttered in a mix of Elvish and the language of Man came to Beléniel’s ears thanks to the keen hearing she had inherited from her Elf-kind kin. A stab of deep yearning nearly doubled her over, and her eyes grew teary. Twirling she cared not for the noise she made, and ran back towards her grandfather’s house.
The couple broke apart, Aragorn taking a defensive stance to protect Arwen should the need arise. The scowl left his face when Arwen put a restraining hand on his arm and whispered it had been Beléniel. “She does not speak of it aloud, but I have seen the pain in her eyes when you and I are together.”
“Her fancy was that of a child, and my heart belongs to you,” Aragorn stated.
Wisely Arwen shook her head. “That is not what pains her.” When he turned to her, brows drawn together in confusion she smiled. “She is of an age where her heart yearns for the kind of love we share. She yearns to know the love of a man, and yet no Elf has won her heart.”
“One yet may come who will win her love,” he told her. “Perhaps he is from Lothlorien, or one of the Mirkwood Elves.”
“Her heart will belong to no Elf,” she told him.
“You foresaw this,” Aragorn turned back towards where the young Beléniel had been. “Did you see who he is?”
“His face was in shadow, but gold shone about him.”
Her grandfather’s already arched brows rose higher when Beléniel raced by him and towards her room. She stood at the open window, feeling foolish for the reaction she’d had to seeing Arwen and Aragorn together. She did not understand why she felt as she did. Yes, she had had a fondness for Aragorn when she had been a child, but now that she was older she knew the love she bore for him was not like that of a woman for a man.
A gentle hand stroked her windblown sunshine and blush colored hair. “What troubles you, Beléniel?”
“I do not know,” she whispered, turning into the embrace of her grandfather. “I do not understand what happens within me. I am so confused, grandfather.”
He held her comfortingly, one hand still stroking her hair. He would never admit it aloud, but this granddaughter of his, partly of the race of Man as she was, was his favorite. His two sons, Elladan and Elrohir, had several children each, mostly sons. Beléniel was the first of his granddaughters, and her fiery nature had often given him woes. Yet he knew a pride in her. Her coloring was that of her mother, who had passed into shadow when Beléniel was but a tiny child just speaking, and his lady wife and the Lady of Lothlorien had both in vain tried to tame her into becoming the proper Elf lady, but she was an explorer. It pained him to see her thus.
“Tell me what you can,” he encouraged her.
Pulling away she wiped at her eyes. “Why does my heart ache so when I see Arwen and Aragorn together? Why does it ache when I see any show tenderness for each other?”
Elrond’s shoulder’s straightened, and his eyes focused intensely on a point beyond her and outside the window. His daughter was with Aragorn once more? Only pain and despair could come of that love. He had warned his daughter often, and yet she was headstrong and loath to turn from the man she loved. His mind returned quickly to the problem at hand, and he schooled the worry and anger from his features before once more turning his gaze upon his granddaughter. “Perhaps it is time you spent some days in Lothlorien. Galadriel and your grandmother would better be suited to guide you through these emotions you experience.”
Her brows drew together, and she considered his words. “Perhaps.”