Tolkien Tales

A Rohirric Elf

Eomer sighed, looking out over the vivid expanse that the was Mark of Rohan. How long he had sat there, he could not comprehend. Actually, he'd given up comprehending things. All he knew was he was alone. His mam was sick, her breath coming in quick hitches, his little sister was in shock, standing behind his uncle's throne, and his father...

He could not even bear to bring himself to think of his father, his heart crushing and choking him every time he did so. Why now, why when he needed him? When the Rohirrim needed him? By Eorl, the entire Mark would fall apart without his father.

Of course, the council did not think so. They believed that his successor Erkenbrand would be perfect. Who could blame them? He was. But he wasn't Da.

Eomer felt a shout, scream, an agonizing noise welling up deep inside him, a propulsion calling out to him, seeking that he would do as they commanded him. Suddenly, he was aware that he was on the top stair of the stairwell that led to the doors of Meduseld. He realized that he could join his father. All it would take was one slip, one fall and he would be crushed to death as his father was. 

He felt his hands grip the sides, his eyes close, and his breath suddenly become nonexistent. Solid ground no longer existed for him, and he felt the whosh of air as he landed. Then nothing. No pain, no alleviating of sorrow, no greeting from his father. What had happened? Had he failed?

" Tithen ha (little one), what were you doing?" A voice, soft and generous awakened him from his annoyed trance. He sighed suddenly, as a gentle light washed over him, the bath scented with the open plains and the virescent grasses. He could even smell the slight perfume of her last wash, honey and cream. 

He slowly opened his eyes and then glanced up at the possessor of the voice. He was right in his assumption, it was a she. But what a she. At first he thought the sunset was behind her, but then he realized the glossy substance of her hair was the sunset, incarnadine byrnied with golden hue, her eyes gray-green with the tiniest whorls of gold dancing in them.  In his amazement, he wondered if indeed he had not died and this was an angel who had come to bear him to his father. 

 " What are you?"

She laughed, her teeth opalescent pearls, joining in perfectly with the peals of her joy. " An elleth. A she-elf." 

He was disappointed. Elves weren't uncommon. They weren't even angels. " Oh, I thought you might take me to my Da." 

Her brows creased and she held him a little tighter. " Tithen ha, where can your father be that you cannot find him?"

His blue eyes gazed fearlessly up at her even as they clouded with tears, and the wind stirred his wheat hair. " The trolls killed him."

He felt her arms tense, her eyes darken as gray took over, and for one moment he was afraid. But then she set him down and smiled. Small but it was a smile. " I weep with you, son of the Mark." 

He nodded at her tender expression and then pushed away the tears that kept on threatening his bravery. He gazed up at the tall height that he had indeed fallen and saw that the guards were standing at the bottom of the pathway. Obviously, she must have been standing there, had seen him fall, and had then caught him. 

One of the guards, Hama by name, glanced at him and then immediately swerved his features away. Hama had been in his father's group. Eomund had died saving him. 

Eomer couldn't help feel but the wrath that billowed up in him, and suddenly all he wanted to do was scream and shout, blaming it all on Hama that his Da hadn't come back.  That his Da couldn't help his mother who was dying.

" Tithen ha, no!" The she-elf exclaimed, picking him up and carting him away before he could even protest. She dragged him up the staircase, down a side passage ere they entered the Hall, and then pushed him into a richly furnished room.