The Silver Flame (LOTR)

A Moment of Peace

The sun rose over the golden plains of Rohan, casting its warm light over Edoras. Visenya awoke to a soft knock at her door, the sound pulling her from sleep like a gentle tug on her dreams. She sat up, brushing her silver hair from her face, and called for the visitor to enter. A young stablehand stepped in, bowing slightly.

"Lady Visenya, Lord Éomer requests your company," he said, his tone a mix of formality and curiosity.

Visenya arched a brow. Éomer's requests were never without some hidden motive, but her heart quickened despite herself. "And where does the Lord of the Mark wish to take me today?" she asked lightly.

The boy shrugged. "He only said to prepare for a ride and dress comfortably."

Intrigued, she thanked the boy and dressed swiftly, choosing a tunic and riding breeches for ease. Her dragon, Mornaur, peered in the window at her from the courtyard outside, where he had taken to resting , his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. "Say nothing," she murmured to him, earning a low chuff that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Moments later, she made her way to the stables, where Éomer waited. He stood beside two horses, his strong frame outlined by the morning light. His hair caught the sun, golden as the plains themselves, and a boyish grin softened his typically stern features.

"Good morning," he greeted, his voice rich and warm. "I hope you're ready for a day away from courtly duties."

"That depends," she replied, eyeing him with suspicion. "What mischief are you planning?"

His grin widened, and he gestured to the horses. "Only the best kind. Come, Visenya. Trust me."

She mounted her horse, asturdy chestnut mare gifted to her by Éomer himself, when she arrive back at Edoras, and followed him out of Edoras. They rode for hours, leaving the city and its responsibilities far behind. The wind carried the scent of wildflowers and fresh grass, and the rhythmic pounding of hooves was a soothing melody. Éomer led her off the beaten path, through rolling hills and scattered copses of trees, until they reached a hidden glade.

Visenya gasped softly as the glade unfolded before her. A crystal-clear lake lay at its center, its surface sparkling like glass beneath the midday sun. The trees surrounding it were ancient and tall, their branches forming a protective canopy. Wildflowers bloomed in abundance, their colors a vibrant tapestry against the emerald grass.

"This," she said, dismounting, "is beautiful."

Éomer dismounted as well, tying their horses to a nearby tree. "It's one of my favorite places," he admitted. "Few know of it. I thought you might like the peace."

She turned to him, her lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. "You thought right."

He spread a blanket near the lake's edge and unpacked a simple yet thoughtful meal: fresh bread, cheese, dried meats, and a bottle of honeyed wine. They sat together, the conversation flowing easily as they shared the meal. Éomer spoke of his childhood, of races across the plains with Éowyn and the lessons his uncle had taught him. Visenya shared stories of her travels, of dragons and distant lands, though she kept the darker parts of her past tucked away.

The sunlight danced across the lake, and the gentle rustle of leaves added a symphony to their laughter. For the first time in what felt like an age, Visenya allowed herself to relax, to simply exist in the moment.

"You're staring," she teased, noticing the way Éomer's gaze lingered on her.

"Am I?" he replied with feigned innocence. "Perhaps I'm just admiring the view."

Visenya rolled her eyes, but a blush crept to her cheeks. "You're insufferable."

"And yet you're still here," he countered with a smirk.