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.
…
The horns had sounded, and the men of Rohan, defenders of the Hornburg fortress, gazed with awe upon the new arrivals that marched up the bridge and through the opened gate. Beléniel lightly ran down the flight of stone steps as a familiar face turned towards the king. Aragorn, Legolas, and the Dwarf Gimly rushed down and the ranger warmly greeted the captain of the Elvish archers by enclosing him in an embrace.
Haldir was startled to hear the softly feminine Elvish spoken from his left. The voice was familiar, and he glanced towards it. "Beléniel! You are here?"
Aragorn threw up defeated hands as a reply to the unspoken question in Haldir's eyes. She neared and smiled. "It has been long years since last we saw each other."
"Our Lady Galadriel will not be pleased," he told her. "You are first of her great-grandchildren, and she would have you remain safe."
"Our Lady, my great-grandmother, knows that until this evil is vanquished nowhere will I remain safe." With a small curtsy she moved on, taking her place atop the first rampart.
Long before the dark came the sounds of a vast army on the march came to their ears. As the sun fell the sight of thousands of torches approaching heralded the coming of Saruman's forces. Every man and young male old enough to swing a sword was armed and standing at the ramparts. King Theoden was upon the highest wall near the hall with two of his best men. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli stood with the Elven archers. Beléniel gazed upon the sea of torches and armor below, and as the Uruk'hai began a fearful chant of grunts and growls and howls her thoughts flew across the expanse of Rohan, and she knew a moment of calm as the handsome face of one tall golden Rider entered her mind. Without thought a soft vow of love crossed her lips in Elvish, and she drew her bow and notched an arrow aimed at one Orc's neck.
…
Eomer suddenly drew his mount to a halt. "Beléniel," he whispered, feeling her essence reach out to him and wrap about him. His heart raced and beat against his chest in a tattoo that would rival war drums. She tugged at him, and the urge to turn about and race towards her was strong. She called to him, but how he did not know. Nor did he understand. All that he knew was her thoughts were of him, and joy bloomed within his breast to know she loved him.
"A rider approaches!"
The shout broke the spell Eomer was under, and his gaze narrowed as a white form broke over a knoll in the distance and sped towards them. His men all turned their mounts to face what might be a threat, their spears held at the ready. Eomer let his mount pick its way between his men and make for the forefront to meet this rider. As he did so whispers broke out among the Riders. "Shadowfax," they breathed, and a gladness came over them.
Eyes narrowed Eomer patiently waited for the king of horses to near. Atop the white steed was a man in a gray cloak. "Rohan has great need of you and your men," Gandalf announced without preamble.
"We are banished from the boundaries of Rohan," Eomer told him.
"The poison of Saruman has been purged from the king's mind, and he again leads his people. They have made to Helm's Deep. Saruman sends his army. If we do not arrive in time I fear none shall survive, and Rohan will be a barren land dark with the evil of Sauron. It shall become home to the Orcs and other fell beasts, and they will run freely to other realms and destroy all of Middle Earth. Will you not return with me, Eomer, son of Eomund, and turn back the tide of darkness that at this moment threatens those you love?"
"You need not ask twice," Eomer replied. "We ride to Rohan!" he shouted.
His men took up the cry, and the ground shook and the air trembled as the Riders of Rohan, led by their captain and the wizard Gandalf upon the king of horses, raced with all speed to the defense of their countrymen. The closer they got to Rohan the stronger Eomer felt Beléniel's presence. She was there, one of those he loved, threatened by the might of Saruman. He spurred his horse harder. "Run as never before, Firefoot," he urged his mount. "Run as never before."
…
The fortress' first walls were breached. The ramparts and first courtyard were teeming with Orcs bearing the White Hand of Saruman. Everywhere the ground was littered with the dead, and the stone slick with spilled blood. The blur of faces was as a nightmare come to life. Steel clanged against steel, or thudded against flesh and bone. Death rattles mingled with the crazed cries of berserkers and the screams of the dying.
Beléniel heard Aragorn calling a retreat, and she leapt over a falling Orc and made for the second wall when she heard him call to Haldir. She had forgotten that Haldir still remained on the first ramparts. Glancing up she skidded to a halt as he fell to his knees beneath the weight of an Orc's sword. Aragorn ran to him, and when the Elf was laid gently down she mourned for the friend she had once known.
An arrow sped by her head, and she heard a strangled grunt behind her. Her startled gaze fell on Legolas who lowered his bow. "Come, we must hurry!" he commanded as he took her arm and pulled her along with him.
Dazedly she let him guide her, and stumbled over a body along the way. Falling she grunted and blinked her eyes clear of wetness only to find herself staring into the lifeless eyes of a boy. A choked sob tightened her throat, and when she was roughly yanked up she cried out in fear.
"Run!" Aragorn ordered her, pushing her before him.
In the hall as the doors slammed shut with a finality that made her wince she stumbled towards a pillar and leaned against it. Lifting a hand she paused in scrubbing at her face, seeing the filth and blood that covered them. They shook now, and breathing became difficult for her. She could hear voices arguing heatedly, but when she glanced upwards the hall swam wetly before her eyes.
A hand fell on her shoulder, and soothing Elvish whispered like a balm over her frayed senses. It told her to be strong, to hold to faith and hope, and to remember who she was. She was descendant of the Dunedain, a ranger of the north, and kin to Isildur's heir. Reaching up she laid her hand over the one on her shoulder, and thanked Legolas as she nodded.
Outside the thick doors barred to the enemy could still be heard screams and shouts. Not everyone had made it within the hall before the doors had been shut. Defeat began to weigh down the occupants, and despair was a pall hanging over them. But Aragorn was not yet ready to concede defeat. He urged Theoden to ride out and meet the enemy.
Beléniel wasn't listening. Her head perked up, and her breathing increased. "Eomer," she breathed, turning towards the east. Sunlight filtered in from a high window. Now she understood what she had been feeling throughout the night. It was Eomer, his presence growing stronger with every league he drew nearer. Somehow she could sense his urgency in reaching her, and warmth and hope flooded within her. He loved her, and light filled her world.
Horses were brought forward, and once again Aragorn lifted her up behind him. Swords drawn they raced for the doors as the Orcs burst through, knocking them aside and cutting a swath through them, and down the bridge. Startled the Uruk'hai were unprepared, and when the thunder of hooves sounded behind them they turned to meet the new threat, lowering their tall spears in readiness. But as riders crested the hill a white light filled the gap, and the Orcs recoiled as it seared and blinded them. The clash of the cavalry into the Uruk'hai was tremendous, the fell creatures falling beneath this new onslaught.
Like a vise tightening the soldiers from the fortress and the cavalry led by Gandalf and Eomer pinched the Orcs between them. Ten thousand strong had come to Helm's Deep. Now hundreds took flight, crashing through Fangorn Forest in a panicked retreat. The victorious watched the erratic flight and were grateful to have turned away the forces of Saruman.
…
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.
…
"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."
…
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."
…
Beléniel focused on the here and now as the company drew to a halt atop a high rise and paused to glance down at Isengard. Waters flooded it, surrounding the tall ebony tower. Steam still rose in areas, and trees seemed to move in the waters.
"The Ents are awake," Gandalf stated. "That is good."
Her horse drew up beside Eomer's, and she peered at him from below her lashes. He did not look at her, but she could sense his awareness of her. His steed shifted closer to hers in restlessness, and Eomer and Beléniel's legs brushed in a brief touch. The company began the descent and soon the horses carefully picked their way through the waters that rose to their knees. When two small voices called to them they halted.
Beléniel's brows rose to see the two Hobbits. She had never seen any before, though she had heard of them. They sat upon mounds and smoke trailed from pipes at their lips. Amusement twitched her lips upwards, and she turned towards Eomer to find him watching her. The smile fell from her lips, and she had to strongly curb herself from reaching out to touch him. Pushing her horse forward she held a hand out to one of the Hobbits. "I will take one of you up before me."
"And I will take the other," Aragorn announced. "Come, Master Merry."
Beléniel would have believed a child grasped her hand. "I am Beléniel," she introduced herself to the Hobbit.
"Peregrine Took," he replied. "Or as everyone calls me, Pippin. You also may call me Pippin, if you so like."
"Thank you, Master Pippin." She set her horse to a slow walk, grinning down at the curly head of the Halfling.
"And who exactly is Beléniel?" he asked.
"I am kin to Aragorn, a ranger from the North."
"They have female rangers?" Pippin was truly intrigued. "Are there many of you?"
"I am the only one," she replied. "And how did you end up here?"
"Well…" Everyone listened to the tale, and Merry often interjected a few forgotten parts. They reached the tower, and dismounted.
Gandalf faced the others. "Beware. Saruman is yet defeated. Do not pay heed to his voice. He may attempt to spellbind you." He then spent some moments conversing with Treebeard the Ent.
Saruman did not come at first call, and when he did appear he spoke, and his voice was as a balm upon them. Gandalf scowled, and broke the spell, startling the others. Once Saruman realized he could not defeat them he threw down an object that bounded and rolled down the steps and which Pippin picked up. Gandalf took it from him, chastising him, and wrapped it in cloth. They turned from the tower, and Merry and Pippin shared with them the stores of food and pipe-weed they had found.
Beléniel tended the fire where she had undertaken the task of cooking while the men all enjoyed smoking. The Ents had returned into the forests to tend to the trees. She hummed softly to herself, a song fondly remembered from her childhood.
"May I sit with you?"
Glancing up she met the king's gaze. About to rise she remained when he motioned her to, and nodded. "Please, my lord."
He sat, and sniffed appreciatively at the pot hanging over the fire. "It smells wonderful."
"Thank you, my lord, but I doubt you came to discuss the stew."
A chuckle parted his lips. "True. I am curious, and would know your heart towards my nephew. He sits like a sore festering. He is easily irritated and unwilling to speak of what burdens him."
She flushed, and turned leaf wrapped objects from in the fire with a stick. "I could not tell you what ails your nephew, my lord."
"Yet you love him," he stated. When she lifted uncertain eyes the color of wet bruised violets he inhaled deeply. "Be patient with him, lady. I began to fear none would touch my serious nephew's heart, and yet he gave the whole of it to you."
"He would not see me go with my kin and brethren. I know love moves him to this, but I would wish he understood. As I could never ask him to lay down his sword and turn from the battle I would he saw the same in me."
"You are the woman he loves," Theoden told her, reaching across to grasp her hand in his. "He would protect you and see you safe always. Do not begrudge him this. His sister, Eowyn, is skilled with a sword, and ever wanting to find glory in battle. Eomer has yet to see you fight, lady. He sees you as he sees his kin, skilled yet needing to be protected. He has yet to see you as I have seen you. Well I remember the way you fought at Helm's Deep, and glad was I to have you aid us."
He sniffed once more at the stew. "Ease an old man's heart, lady, and tell me 'tis nearly done for hunger weakens me."
She laughed, and nodded, pulling the leaf wrapped objects from the fire. "Your hunger will soon be gone, my lord. It is ready."
She served those who came, and when Eomer reached for the bowl and lembas bread his fingers brushed against hers. A current of energy passed between them, and Eomer's nostrils flared and his eyes dilated. Her lips parted softly as if a soundless 'O' of surprise formed them. For a moment his hunger for food was forgotten, and instead a hunger to have her near once more gnawed at his belly.
"Lady Beléniel," Theoden called, breaking the spell they were under. "Your skill with a pot equals that with a sword. My gratitude to you for this wonderful fare."
"Your kinswomen will be glad to know their efforts were not wasted," teased Aragorn. "They despaired of you ever becoming adept at the womanly arts."
Eomer sat, spooning stew into his mouth, and listening to the banter. So her kinswomen had wanted her to sew, cook, and keep a hall? From beneath his lashes he watched her, envisioning her in a gown similar to those his sister wore, her hair a waterfall of rosy-gold that he could run his hands through, and feeding several young children that had her violet eyes and smile. She would make a wonderful chatelaine. Strong enough to defend her people if need be, and gentle enough to tend their wounds. He could see her telling children stories full of wonder and adventure, and after they slept in their warm beds the adventuress and mother would disappear, and in her stead would be a woman who fired his blood and belonged ~~ as long as the night lasted ~~ to him alone.
"Too long were you away," she retorted with a careful tone of voice. "'Twas not me they despaired at, but you."
One of Aragorn's dark brows rose high and disappeared into the unruly fall of his hair. "How so?" he slowly asked, aware that her next shot would be well aimed, but he relished bandying words with her.
"I would hear the Elf ladies often discuss what a pretty man you were when bathed and sweet smelling. A pile of scented soap grows ever higher in Rivendell, my lord, as the line of Elf maidens eager to scrub your back grows longer."
Gimli, Gandalf and Theoden guffawed. Legolas chuckled, his deft fingers working at his arrows, replacing sheaves. Gamli, King Theoden's personal guard, laughed and cast Aragorn an uncertain glance. Merry and Pippin arched curious brows, gazes shifting from the two bantering with words. Eomer chuckled, pride in her swelling his chest. She was no simpering female who would sit idly by. Not his Beléniel. And she was his. His heart belonged to her, and she had admitted hers overflowed with love for him.
"Longer still is the line of Elf men who would tame the heart of the warrior daughter of Elrohir, their lady-kin eager to have her forsake her sword and bow in favor of babes at her breast." Aragorn would not be outdone, and from the corner of his eye saw Eomer stiffen and glower. "Through Rivendell, Lothlorien, and Mirkwood do these eager suitors await a tender word from your lips."
Flushing Beléniel shot him a haughty glance. "Long shall be their wait. Only he who holds my heart will find tender words whispered from my lips."
"Does any Elf-kind hold your heart, maiden?"
All eyes turned to Eomer who gripped his bowl of stew in one fist, his eyes intently narrowed. Beléniel held his gaze for him to read the truth in her next words. "Only one man holds my heart, Lord Eomer, and 'tis the shards from its shattering he holds."
His nostrils flared, and his chest heaved as he inhaled deeply. He had hurt her, and it pained him to know so. "Perhaps with gentleness and love will he mend the shards into a whole once more. Oft times tenderness eludes us, and we do harm to those we would instead keep safe."
Merry and Pippin were confused at this exchange. It was not bantering. Hidden and veiled meanings were within these words, and far beyond their understanding were they. The others were quite occupied with sudden tasks that required their immediate attention.
Beléniel rose to wash the empty bowls, and Eomer did not hurry to eat until she was alone at the water, kneeling at the edge to rinse them. He carried his empty bowl to her, knelt, and rinsed it. Pausing he stared out at the destruction of what had been Saruman's base of operations. "I would that you did not go to Gondor."
"I know."
"I fear losing you there," he admitted. "I fear if we are separated we will never again meet." He rose to his feet, swallowing convulsively. The visions of finding her broken upon a mound of dead men haunted him. "Dark would be my days, and my nights would be endless."
She knew it must have taken much for him to admit so much. "I would search for you," she told him as she rose to her own feet. "I will return to Rohan, and seek you out at Meduseld." Tentatively she slid a hand up his back, needing the feel of him, and needing to feel him show her tenderness. One touch out of love, one soft word to ease the ache within her.
Her touch was his undoing. Turning to her he buried his face in her sun-warmed hair, and his long fingers curled around her shoulders to hold her near. The tangled silk of her tresses caught in the stubble on his face as though to keep them from parting. "I cannot claim to foresee the future, but I believe Rohan will come to the aid of Gondor."
"You will come to battle as well." The scents of leather, horse, and sweat from their previous battle at Helm's Deep still clung to him. She rubbed her face against the underside of his chin, in his throat. "Should all go well we should turn back the evil that is Sauron, and meet again."
A shiver of fear traced his spine, and he tightened his hold on her. Shifting he rubbed his cheek against her temple, his breath caressing her face, and one hand lifting to cup her other cheek. "When all is done I will take you before me upon Firefoot, and we shall ride to Rohan."
"I would first go to my kin, if any are left on these shores." She pulled back slightly to meet his gaze, and found his eyes bright and heated. It stole her breath, and left her feeling weak in the knees. "My kin would have me go with them across the ocean, but I cannot go where my heart is not."
"And where is your heart, maiden?"
Turning her face she pressed her lips to his palm in a soft kiss. "In your possession."
A groan erupted from his throat, and he tilted her head back. For one long moment his eyes bore into hers, and then his mouth captured hers in a lingering and tender kiss. Her knees collapsed, and she clung to him to remain on her feet. His kiss stole her breath and made her light-headed, and yet she would not have ended it to take air even should she expire and pass into shadow at that very moment. Eomer lifted his head, breaking the contact of the kiss, and stared down at her. A gush of male pride puffed out his chest that she could not stand on her own, and that a dazed and passion-induced haze clouded her eyes and bloomed in her cheeks. He had done this to her. His kiss had done this to her.
"My pardon," Aragorn softly interrupted. "I do not mean to interrupt, but we must have a council."
…
That night Pippin, having touched the Palantiri once, sneaked off with it, and gazed into its depths. The Eye of Sauron beheld him, entranced him, and tried to wrest the truth from him. Gandalf appeared, and took Pippin before him on Shadowfax. They sped towards Gondor. Sauron believed Pippin to have the One Ring, and now Pippin would need to be kept safe.
Beléniel neared Aragorn. "And now? You have made a decision."
"I have." He began to saddle his horse. "I would you go north, and meet with the Dunedain. Tell them my route leads to Gondor."
"I see your ruse clearly, Elessar. You fear war is already upon Gondor, and you would see me away from it."
"He is a wise man," Eomer stepped closer to them, his gaze narrowed. Holding up a hand he stayed her retort. "Do not worry me with words, maiden. I would also see you away from war."
"And yet neither of us, nor our words, will see her go." Aragorn sighed, shaking his head sadly. "Beléniel, would that you were more like your kinswomen."
"I am, and that is what leads me to follow you. Were my kinswomen here, uncle, they would not turn tail and run. Neither will I." She put a gentle hand upon Eomer's lips to stall his next words. "Do not make our parting one of words we regret. Mended is the heart you now hold, Eomer, and yet one word from your lips could shatter it anew."
Taking her wrist he removed her hand, but not before his lips paid it homage. He knew he would not turn her from Gondor. Could he perhaps keep her safe a while longer? "I know your path leads you to war. I will no longer hinder you in this. Do not go yet. Return to Edoras with me, and when the call to arms rises we will ride together to Minas Tirith."
"Heed his words," Aragorn quickly interjected. "He is the man you love, foretold to me by Arwen. Of this I no longer have any doubt. Your destiny lies in Rohan," he told her.
Eomer did not press her when the conflict was so plainly written upon her face. "We ride out within the hour," he told Aragorn. "My uncle would travel beneath the cover of darkness."
They departed, and still she spoke to none. Her heart and mind warred internally. How she wished she could speak to Arwen, or even to her great-grandmother, the Lady Galadriel. Too well did she know that her beloved grandfather, Elrond, would press upon her to leave these shores with her kin. Only Arwen and the Lady of Lorien would understand her predicament. Perhaps her venerable great-grandmother would even ask her to gaze into the Mirror.
They were just past the mounds at the Fords of Isen when a rider galloped to the front and told them riders were overtaking them. They halted, turned about, and a defensive stance was taken. When the riders were well in view Eomer shouted to them to make themselves known for they rode within Rohan, land of Theoden King, and without his leave to do so.
"Halbarad Dunedan. I am a Ranger from the North. We seek Aragorn, son of Arathorn."
Beléniel's heart sped, and a broad smile lit her
face. Aragorn moved forward, and she leapt from her own mount and followed after
him. The Dunedain had come!
"Daughter!" Elrohir clasped her close when she ran to him. "We
feared the worst when we received word of Anathan's passing."
Here was a familiar scent and feel. It brought to mind her childhood, and how her father had more times than she could recall softened the blows of criticism from her kin when she preferred learning the bow and sword to learning the womanly arts. "He fell to an Orc sword. I could do naught else but give him to the woods."
Elladan neared, and embraced her next. "You are a bright sight to our eyes, niece."
"We are thirty," Halbarad told Aragorn. "Elrohir and Elladan have ventured to join us and battle in this war."
Nodding Aragorn greeted the twins, and turned to the still wary Rohirrim. "These are my kin."
His words eased the knot of jealousy Eomer had felt tightening his chest when he saw Beléniel run into the arms of another man. The emotion was new to him, but he was not fool enough to ignore it.
Theoden ordered them to ride, and Legolas rode by Eomer. "The Lady Beléniel does not much resemble her sire, Elrohir, does she?"
Startled Eomer glanced at the elf and Gimli the Dwarf who was still perched behind him on the horse. "Her sire?"
"The twin brothers, Elrohir and Elladan, are Lord Elrond's sons. Elrohir is her sire. Her coloring is that of her mother, who passed into shadow when Beléniel was but a child. Her sire took her to Lothlorien to be raised with his sister, the Lady Arwen."
"She is Elf-kind?" Eomer was once again startled.
"Her father is Elf-kind, her mother was of the race of Man," Gimli told him.
He had known her to be a Ranger of the North, a Dunedain, but he had not known the blood of Elves also ran in her blood. Were they perhaps too different to ever be united?
"Who is the golden warrior your eyes cannot seem to stray from?" Elrohir asked his daughter as they rode side by side.
A flush crept up her face. "His name is Eomer, he is Third Marshall of the Riders of Rohan, and heir to the throne. He is nephew to King Theoden, whose heir was laid to rest after Orcs felled him."
"You love him," Elladan stated, riding just behind his brother. "I have seen your heart within your eyes when you gaze upon him."
"He is not Elf-kind," Elrohir stated. "I would have had you wed one of our race, and go into the West with them."
Aragorn snorted, his horse ahead of them. "Ever determined is your offspring. Though wounded when her companion fell she battled at Helm's Deep, and would go to Gondor to war."
"You are wounded?" Elrohir scowled at her, his eyes passing over her, and she was reminded of her grandfather. "Where? You let Aragorn tend it?"
"'Twas tended by the Lady Eowyn in Edoras after her brother Eomer did tend me when he and his men found me weak and unable to." Again her gaze fell on the man she loved. "No Elf-kind could touch my heart as he does, Father. The only one to come close is now gone from us, and for him always a part of my heart was kept."
"And yet no part is kept from yon warrior?" Elladan asked though he knew the answer.
"Willingly did the whole of my heart go to him," she replied.
"And he loves you?" Elrohir demanded, still unsure of this match.
"He suffers greatly with love for her," Aragorn was the one to answer. "He would keep her in Edoras to ensure her safety, but knows she would not remain. The battle ahead is naught compared to the one raging within his breast."
"You make more of this than there is," she retorted to the man she had always known as her uncle.
"And you, Beléniel, make light of it."
He had not meant to snap at her, but this situation brought his own glaringly
vivid to mind. He loved Arwen, and his world was dark and hopeless without her
in it to bring him light and hope. Yet he would keep her from harm, keep her
from the pain and despair that will one day come when he passes into shadow,
and she does not. Her kin would have all left for the Undying Lands, and she
would remain to spend her immortal life alone, grieving for his passing. He
would not keep her thus, and yet he would not part from her. Well he understood
the turmoil within Eomer.
READ PART 3 (NOT YET POSTED)