The Silver Flame (LOTR)

A Marriage Alliance

The fires of celebration still glowed in the city of Minas Tirith, casting a warm, golden light over the White City. Though the echoes of feasting and singing filled the halls, a quiet space had been set aside in the throne room, where King Aragorn now sat, awaiting an important conversation. Aragorn leaned back in his seat, eyes bright with mirth, knowing the nature of this meeting before a word was spoken. Today's meeting was one he'd anticipated, even looked forward to, with amusement.

Across the hall, Éomer walked with a resolute stride, yet there was something in his step—a hesitancy, a momentary falter. The fierce King of Rohan, normally so unwavering, now wore a look of contained uncertainty. Aragorn straightened as Éomer stopped before him, bowing with the respect he always showed his friend and ally.

"King Aragorn," Éomer began, his voice low but steady. "I have come with a request, one that I believe will help strengthen the bond between Gondor and Rohan."

Aragorn's lips curved into a subtle smile. "Anything to see our kingdoms prosper and rebuild, Éomer. Say what you wish."

Éomer hesitated, and Aragorn enjoyed watching him squirm. He didn't press but raised an eyebrow, feigning a kind of casual curiosity that was far from the knowing look in his eyes.

"As we both know, our people have much rebuilding ahead of us," Éomer continued. "We've lost dearly, and yet we stand ready to face the future... together."

Aragorn nodded, leaning forward slightly. "And an alliance, perhaps, one that would bring our kingdoms closer than ever."

Éomer cleared his throat, swallowing hard. "Yes, precisely."

Aragorn's grin grew wider, a gleam of amusement flashing in his eyes. "An alliance through union, perhaps? Between two hearts already connected?" He let his words linger, observing Éomer's reaction. "Why, Éowyn and Faramir come to mind—my new steward and your dear sister. Their bond is growing; anyone can see it."

Éomer shifted, visibly uncomfortable under Aragorn's knowing gaze, yet he did not deny it. "I've noticed," he said, choosing his words carefully. "I wouldn't want her to make a marriage solely for alliance, nor for obligation to our people. My sister has sacrificed enough for Rohan... I would see her find love. Faramir has a noble spirit, and I hope that their connection grows into something worthy of her. Yet, that is not the union I came to speak about."

"Is that so?" Aragorn's tone was as smooth as silk, his eyes glinting. He crossed his arms, leaning back as he continued to toy with Éomer. "Not Éowyn, then?"

Éomer took a steadying breath, and Aragorn could see the tension in his jaw as he gathered his courage. "No," Éomer replied firmly. "It is... about another marriage, another alliance that might bring our kingdoms together. One that might ensure the strength of Gondor and Rohan for generations to come."

Aragorn tilted his head, the humor in his gaze apparent, and with a warm chuckle, he motioned for Éomer to continue. "Well, out with it, Éomer. Ask me what you've come to ask."

Clearing his throat once more, Éomer shifted, his gaze lifting to meet Aragorn's. For a moment, he was back on the battlefield, preparing himself for a daunting confrontation. "I wish to formally request your permission to seek the hand of Visenya."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow and allowed the silence to hang heavy between them. He watched as Éomer's confidence wavered, then recovered, though the tension was clear in his gaze. Finally, Aragorn let out a deep laugh, the sound echoing in the hall.

"You're a brave man, Éomer," Aragorn said with a grin. "But I'm afraid I am not my sister's keeper. Much like Éowyn, she has given more than was ever required of her for the good of our people, and her choices are hers alone. If you want her hand in marriage, you'll need to ask her yourself."

Éomer's brow lifted slightly, his confidence returning as Aragorn's words sank in. "Then, I am free to seek her hand?"

"Free, yes," Aragorn replied, his expression softening. "But Visenya is not a woman easily won. If you truly wish for her to be your queen, you'll need to earn her love and her trust—and I assure you, both are hard-earned."

A flicker of relief crossed Éomer's face, though it was mixed with the unmistakable anxiety that came from the depth of his feelings. Aragorn clapped him on the shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "I suggest you take some time to consider just what it is about my sister that has captured you so," he said, his smile knowing. "And think carefully, Éomer, for you will need all the courage in your heart for what lies ahead."

With that, Aragorn turned and strode out of the hall, leaving Éomer standing alone in the grand throne room. For a long moment, Éomer remained still, his mind swimming as he absorbed Aragorn's words. The silence settled around him like a cloak, thick and almost suffocating. His gaze drifted to the great banners that lined the hall, each representing the long line of Gondor's noble heritage.

He could almost hear the beat of his heart echoing against the stone walls. With each pulse, he felt the weight of his decision, his longing, and the risk he was about to take.

Visenya.

He could see her now in his mind's eye, fierce and resolute, her presence commanding even the attention of battle-hardened warriors. She was unlike anyone he had ever met—fiercely independent, unyielding in her convictions, and yet, for all her strength, there was a warmth to her. A warmth she guarded, but which he had glimpsed more than once. A warmth that had ensnared his heart before he even realized it.

Memories of her flashed before him, and he smiled, recalling the times they had fought side by side. Her laughter, her wit, the fire in her eyes, and the ease with which she could challenge him, as if they were equals—more than equals, in truth. She challenged him to be better, to rise to her strength, and somewhere along the way, that challenge had turned into something he couldn't ignore.

She had risked her life time and again for others, as fiercely loyal as any warrior he had ever known, and yet beneath it all was a vulnerability he had glimpsed only briefly, in moments when her guard was down. And it was that vulnerability, the quiet strength that balanced her fierceness, that had captured his heart more than he had thought possible.

He thought of her laughter, the way her eyes softened in rare moments of peace, the strength with which she faced even her own fears. There was so much in her to love—her honor, her courage, her loyalty—and he wanted to spend the rest of his life earning every part of her she chose to give.

But as he stood alone, he felt the gravity of what he was about to ask. Visenya was no ordinary woman, and his love for her was no ordinary affection. He was a king, yet here he was, feeling more vulnerable than he ever had in the heat of battle, knowing that asking for her hand meant offering his whole heart in return.

A part of him feared rejection, feared that her independent spirit would turn from him, unwilling to be tied to a life at his side. Yet, that very independence, that strength, was part of what made him want her all the more. He wanted a partner, not someone to simply stand in his shadow. And he knew that with Visenya, he would have a queen who could lead alongside him, a woman who would challenge him as much as she supported him.

With a steadying breath, Éomer resolved that he would ask her, regardless of his fear. He would prove to her that his love was more than a bond of kingdoms, more than duty. She deserved a love as strong as her spirit, a love that valued her for all that she was—and he would give her that, or nothing at all.

And so, with his mind set, Éomer remained standing alone in the grand hall, a quiet determination taking root in his heart as he thought of the woman who had come to mean more to him than anything else. He would find her, and he would ask her to be his queen—not for Rohan, not for Gondor, but for him.