The Silver Flame (LOTR)

A Kingdom in Transition

The skies above Edoras were a muted gray, heavy with clouds that matched the somber mood of the gathered people. The great hill of Edoras was alive with the mournful tones of Rohan's funeral dirge, a melody that seemed to weave itself into the very wind, carrying the sorrow of Theoden's passing far across the plains. Visenya stood to one side of the solemn procession, her silver hair braided back and adorned with a simple clasp, her black cloak billowing softly in the breeze. At her side, Mornaur shifted restlessly, sensing the weight of the occasion through their bond.

Theoden King had been a great man—a leader who had rallied his people in their darkest hour. Even in her brief time in Rohan, Visenya had come to respect him as more than a king. He had been a father figure to his people, a protector whose loss was keenly felt by all. She adjusted the folds of her cloak and stepped forward to join the procession.

Theoden's bier, draped in green and gold, was carried with reverent care by his closest kinsmen, Eomer at the forefront. His expression was a mask of stoicism, but Visenya could see the storm of emotion swirling in his eyes. She understood that pain—the ache of losing someone who had shaped your very being. Behind Eomer, Eowyn walked with her head held high, her face a perfect reflection of dignified grief.

As the procession made its way toward the barrow field, Visenya found her thoughts drifting. In Rohan's traditions, there was a stark beauty to how they honored their fallen—a simplicity that spoke of deep respect and connection to the land. The people whispered prayers, scattering flowers along the path as Theoden's bier passed. At the edge of the barrow, Eomer knelt, his head bowed as he placed the sword of his uncle into the king's hands for his final rest. It differed so greatly from her Valyrian traditions of burial pyres and dragon flames, but it was beautiful none the less.

When the time came, Visenya stepped forward, her voice clear as she spoke the words of a blessing. It was not one of Rohan's traditions, but her own—a mix of Valyrian and Sindarin, honoring both her past and the home she now found herself in. The people murmured, unsure, but as the dragons overhead roared in unison, a sense of awe rippled through the crowd. Mornaur's deep, resonant cry echoed across the plains, as if he, too, mourned the passing of a king.

Later that evening, the atmosphere in the Golden Hall of Meduseld had shifted. Though the grief of the day still lingered, there was a sense of purpose, of looking toward the future. Plans for Eomer's coronation were in full swing, and Visenya found herself in the company of Eowyn, seated at a long table strewn with scraps of parchment and lists of tasks.

"Do you think he'll wear the crown without complaint?" Eowyn asked, her lips curving into a sly smile as she noted down another item on the list.

Visenya chuckled. "I imagine he'll grumble about it endlessly before putting it on with all the grace of a true king."

The two women shared a laugh, the weight of the day momentarily forgotten. Eowyn's laughter softened as she set down her quill, her expression growing wistful.

"Visenya," she began, "there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

Visenya raised a brow. "What is it?"

Eowyn's cheeks flushed slightly, her fingers playing with the edge of the parchment. "Faramir asked for my hand."

Visenya's eyes widened, her surprise quickly giving way to delight. "And?"

"And I said yes," Eowyn said, her voice soft but filled with a quiet joy.

For a moment, the two women simply looked at each other before Visenya let out an excited laugh and pulled Eowyn into a tight embrace. "Eowyn, that's wonderful! He's a good man—a strong man. You deserve this happiness."

Eowyn's arms tightened around her before they pulled apart, her smile radiant. "Thank you. I... I didn't know if I'd ever find this, or want this... After everything..."

Visenya placed a hand on her shoulder. "You have. And you'll have a lifetime of it."

Eowyn's smile turned mischievous as she tilted her head. "Now, about you..."

Visenya rolled her eyes. "Eowyn..."

"No, no," Eowyn said, holding up a hand. "I just wonder when I'll finally get a sister in love."

"You've asked me this before," Visenya said with a sigh, though a small smile tugged at her lips.

"And I'll keep asking until you give me an answer I like," Eowyn teased.

Visenya shook her head, her expression softening. "What Eomer and I have is... special. But I don't know if I'm ready for marriage. Not yet."

Eowyn studied her for a long moment before nodding. "Fair enough. But if you ask me, it's only a matter of time. My brother is hopeless when it comes to you."

Visenya laughed softly, a sound as light as the breeze that whispered through the open windows of Meduseld. Yet, her gaze betrayed her wandering thoughts, drifting toward the great carved doors of the Golden Hall. Beyond those doors, she knew, Éomer was likely consumed by the weight of duty, his mind occupied with preparations for the coronation and the vast responsibilities that would follow. A king's burdens were not easily shed, but Éomer carried them with a strength that both awed and unsettled her.

Her fingers brushed absently against the intricate embroidery of her gown, a thoughtful gesture as she allowed herself a moment of vulnerability. What did the future truly hold for her and Éomer? The question was one she had carefully tucked away, buried beneath layers of purpose and responsibility. Yet here, in the glow of Éowyn's happiness, it surfaced with startling clarity.

Éowyn's joy was infectious, a testament to the power of love to heal and inspire. Visenya could see it in her friend's eyes, the way they sparkled with newfound hope and certainty. Faramir's proposal had not just been a declaration of love but an invitation to build a life together, a partnership grounded in trust and shared dreams. The thought of such a bond stirred something deep within Visenya, a longing she had scarcely acknowledged.

She turned her attention back to Éowyn, whose smile still lingered, radiant and unguarded. Éowyn's question about marriage had been playful, yet it resonated with a deeper truth, one that Visenya could not easily dismiss. Was she ready for such a commitment again? The bond she shared with Éomer was undeniable—something fierce and unspoken that tied them together like the wind to the grasslands of Rohan. But was it enough to step into a future so intricately bound to another's?

Her gaze shifted again, back to the doors, as if she could see Éomer through them. He was a man of passion and conviction, of loyalty and fire. She admired him, respected him, and, in quieter moments, allowed herself to acknowledge the depth of her feelings for him. Yet, the idea of marriage was not merely about love. It was about choosing a path, one that would intertwine her life with his in ways she had scarcely begun to fathom. Could she give up the freedom she had fought so hard to reclaim? Could she embrace the role of queen, not just for Éomer's sake but for the people of Rohan, who would look to her for guidance and strength?

Visenya's thoughts drifted to the dragons resting in the fields beyond the city, their presence a constant reminder of her past and the journey that had shaped her into who she was. She had walked the lands of two worlds, borne the weight of two destinies, and found herself torn between them. Marriage, in many ways, felt like a third path—a new adventure, yes, but one that required her to lay down certain pieces of herself in favor of building something entirely new.

Still, the faintest smile tugged at her lips as she returned her focus to Éowyn. Perhaps, like the people of Rohan, she too could begin to hope for more. For now, though, hope was enough. And if the day ever came when she was ready to choose, she wanted it to be on her own terms, with her heart fully certain and her spirit unburdened by fear. Until then, she would savor these moments of joy, these glimpses of what could be, and trust that the rest would come in time.e.