The Silver Flame (LOTR)

A Turning Point for Rohan

The plains of Rohan stretched before them like an endless sea of gold and green. The wind carried with it the scent of wild grasses, tugging at Visenya's cloak as her eyes widened in awe. The land was vast, alive with a quiet beauty, far different from the harsh, rugged North she had once called home. She had never seen anything quite like it. There was a sense of openness here, of freedom, yet a heavy shadow loomed in the distance.

Ahead of them, perched high on a hill, was Edoras. The wooden city rose from the plains, crowned by the Golden Hall of Meduseld, where banners fluttered in the breeze. The sunlight glinted off the golden roof, but even from afar, Visenya could feel the weight of sorrow that hung over the city.

"Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld," Gandalf said, his voice solemn. "There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over King Théoden is now very strong."

Visenya glanced at Gandalf, her brow furrowing at his words. She knew Saruman's corruption had spread far and wide, but the thought of a once-great king under his sway filled her with unease.

"Be careful what you say," Gandalf continued, his tone low. "Do not look for welcome here."

Visenya tore her gaze from the city, swallowing the nervousness building in her chest. She had not known much of Rohan before being thrust into this journey, but the few encounters she'd had with its people had left a mark. Her mind drifted back to Éomer—the Third Marshal of Rohan—who had found her after their escape from the orcs. His commanding presence, his fierce loyalty to his people, and the way he had looked at her with both suspicion and admiration... those moments still lingered in her thoughts... his kiss.

As if sensing her thoughts, Gandalf slowed his horse, allowing her to ride beside him. His eyes, sharp and knowing, met hers with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "It was fortunate Éomer found you" he said softly, his voice laced with something more than mere conversation. "The Third Marshal of Rohan is not easily swayed by strangers, yet he did not hesitate to aid you."

Visenya felt her face flush at Gandalf's words, her mind scrambling for a response. The memory of Éomer's intense gaze, the way he had regarded her with cautious respect, came flooding back. She cleared her throat, trying to sound indifferent. "I was fortunate, yes," she said, her voice a little too stiff. "But he was only doing his duty, I'm sure."

"Hmm," Gandalf hummed, an amused twinkle in his eyes. "Duty, yes. But I suspect there was more to it than that." He gave her a sidelong glance. "Men like Éomer do not make their choices lightly, Visenya. There are reasons for all things."

Her blush deepened, and she looked away, pretending to focus on the road ahead. "He seemed... very loyal to his people," she offered, hoping to steer the conversation away from herself. "That much was clear."

"Indeed," Gandalf said, his tone taking on a cryptic edge. "He is fiercely loyal. And yet, there is something he saw in you—something that may prove important, not only to him, but to Rohan."

Visenya's heart skipped a beat, her eyes snapping back to Gandalf's. "Me?" she asked, incredulous. "What could I possibly offer to Rohan? I've never even been here before. I'm not even from this world."

Gandalf smiled knowingly, his expression as unreadable as ever. "There are many paths laid before us, Visenya, even those we do not yet understand. You have already begun to walk one that ties you to this land, whether you realize it or not. Éomer's role is yet to be fully revealed, but so is yours."

Visenya stared at him, her mind racing. What did Gandalf mean? She had only met Éomer briefly, and while she had sensed something unspoken between them—a mutual respect, perhaps—she had not thought it could mean anything more. And yet, here was Gandalf, hinting at something larger, something beyond her grasp.

She opened her mouth to protest, but Gandalf's gaze softened, his voice lowering to a gentle murmur. "There are moments in our lives when we cross paths with others not by chance, but by fate. Rohan will need its people—and all of us—before this war is through. Trust in that."

Visenya's heart raced, but she forced herself to nod, even though she wasn't entirely sure she understood. There was a gravity in Gandalf's words, and despite the cryptic nature of his remarks, she couldn't shake the feeling that he knew something about her future that she did not.

"Do not worry, Visenya," Gandalf added after a pause, his tone lighter now. "Your part in this is just beginning."

Her part. The words echoed in her mind as they continued their ride toward Edoras. What part did she have to play in the fate of Rohan, or Middle-earth as a whole? The weight of Gandalf's words settled over her like a heavy cloak, and though she tried to shake it off, a sense of foreboding lingered.

The Fellowship rode in silence for a while, each of them lost in their own thoughts as the city of Edoras loomed closer. Visenya found herself gazing at the Golden Hall once more, its grandeur somewhat muted by the knowledge of the darkness within. Théoden, a king in name only, held captive by Saruman's whispers.

As they approached the gates of the city, Visenya's mind drifted back to Éomer. The way he had stood tall and defiant before his men, his voice strong as he declared his loyalty to Rohan. She had seen the fire in his eyes, the same fire she had felt burning in her own heart when she had vowed to protect the hobbits.

There had been something between them—an unspoken connection in the midst of chaos. She wondered if Gandalf was right, if that moment had been more than just a brief encounter in the wilderness. Could Éomer, and by extension, Rohan, truly be part of her destiny?

The gates of Edoras creaked open, and the Fellowship rode in, their presence noted by the guards with wary eyes. Visenya sat up straighter, forcing herself to focus. Whatever her role here might be, she would face it head-on, just as she always had.

As they dismounted and made their way toward the Golden Hall, Gandalf's earlier words still echoed in her mind. The path ahead was uncertain, but Visenya had never shied away from uncertainty. If Rohan needed her—if Éomer needed her—she would be ready.

For now, she would follow Gandalf's lead, trusting in his wisdom. But something deep within her stirred, a quiet whisper of fate, telling her that Rohan would soon become much more than just a stop on their journey.

It would become a turning point.

And she would be at its heart.