Seeds of the White Tree

Chapter 31 - Westu hál

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The springtime sun shone warm and fair on the plains of Harrowdale, yet no happiness was to be found in the hearts of Eldarion and Éowyn. They sat astride their horses - Éowyn on Snowfire and Eldarion on Greyhame - and gazed out toward the hilltop city of Edoras. To the south, the great mountain, Starkhorn loomed tall and ever-clad in snow. The mountain seemed to Eldarion much like the lady Éowyn in that moment; cold and pale, seemingly so close and yet o so distant.

Éowyn sat long and silent in the saddle, gazing at her homeland. The knights whom had escorted Eldarion and Éowyn to Edoras from Minas Tirith hung back a respectful distance, the banners of Gondor and Ithilien slack in the still air above them.

At length, Eldarion chanced to speak to Éowyn. "They'll be waiting for us."

Indeed, the distant sound of a horn from the gates of Edoras reached them across the valley. The Rohirrim had sharp eyes indeed, to pick out a party as small as theirs upon the vastness of Harrowdale.

Éowyn let out a long breath, then nodded. Picking up SnowFire's reins, she urged her horse onward toward Edoras. As they passed beneath the city gates, the horns of Rohan blew loud and clear, welcoming their White Lady home even as the nation prepared to bid farewell to its king.

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Lothíriel and Elfwine came out to welcome them on the steps of the Golden Hall, and bittersweet was their reunion. Éowyn embraced Lothíriel first, and the two women held each other close for a moment longer than usual. Then she turned to Elfwine. The young heir apparent to the throne of Rohan was a boy no longer, it seemed. Time and grief had wrought the final work in shaping Elfwine into a man. Taller than both Éowyn and Lothíriel, Elfwine stood broad of shoulder and firm of face. He wore dark clothes embroidered about the collar and sleeves with golden knots, and upon his belt hung his axe, well-notched from years of use.

"Elfwine...your father was so very proud of you," said Éowyn as she reached up to embrace him. "And he loved you, so very much."

"I'm glad you're here, Aunt." Elfwine had to bend over slightly to allow Éowyn to reach him. Although he tried to smile, the redness of the Third Marshal's eyes betrayed his grief.

Eldarion found himself at a loss when he and Elfwine were face to face.

"Elfwine...I..."

Elfwine was quick to cut Eldarion off with a tight hug though. He was strong, and somehow Eldarion almost wondered if it were himself that were being comforted by such an embrace even more than Elfwine. Rather than say anything, in that moment when words simply were not good enough, Eldarion held his brother as close and long as he could.

When at last they broke apart, Lothíriel led them inside the Golden Hall. Fires burned in the braziers and central pit, and folk clad in cloaks and gowns of black mingled here and there, speaking in soft voices. The throne of the king sat conspicuously empty, and Eldarion couldn't help but feel his eyes drawn to it. Éomer had been a mighty man, valiant and brave in all things. His fame as a hero of the War of the Ring was legendary all throughout the south of Middle-Earth, and now that fame would pass into history. One by one, they would all begin to pass into history, Eldarion thought sadly to himself.

Rather than linger in the main hall, the four of them sought a more private antechamber in which to gather. There a small measure of gladness came when they found that Gimli had already arrived from the Glittering Caves at Helms Deep.

"Come here lass," said Gimli, rising stiffly to his feet with the help of his cane. He took Éowyn's hand and kissed it. "It's good to see you, even on an occasion like this. Your uncle and brother often said that your smile was one of the rarest and most precious things they ever beheld. It would sore grieve Éomer to think that he was the cause of its absence today."