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.

Furs coated the floor, a hot fire was roaring, and he was aware of a magnificent banner spreading against the opposite wall, a curtain against the cold of the outside. The mark on it was strange. A sword, a harp, and a ring were all pictured against a blue and gold background. " I know not this standard. Is it of your house?"

She stiffened from where she had been closing the door, and for the first time, Eomer realized that she was indeed an Elf. She was taller than any woman he had ever seen, and her features were more distinct, ageless and beautiful, their loveliness terrible since they would never fade, never change but only become more and more graceful. Her walk was smooth, so swift and yet focused that she did not seem to touch the ground. Gradually, she came to stand beside him and pulled him forward so he could see the standard better.

" It is my father's standard. He never bore it to war. He died, upholding his oath which he had sworn. The sword is that which he did bear on his last journey, the harp was that which awoke the children of men and Barahir from their sleep bringing them richness, and the ring was the oath he swore to Barahir to always come to the aid of his descendants. The harp and the ring were his undoing. The sword did not aid him. Yet I keep it because he was my father."

Her voice was still rich, but even Eomer, young though he was could see that it was something that grieved her greatly. " So you lost your father too?"

" Aye, tithen ha," she replied, gazing down at him, pulling hair away from his features, so young, so puerile, yet already aware of the sternness of manhood. " I lost my father. And as you did, so did I. I ran from my grief. I left my mother to fade away, I deserted my brothers to their exile from our kingdom, and ran to those whom I condemned. I thought they would kill me since their lord had been captured. But they-they took me in, loved me, gave me a new name, a new history. A new home. And gradually, I became more Mannish than I was elf."

" So, you chose to become a human?" Eomer queried. He had heard of the Half-Elven and wondered if she was one.

" No, Eomer, human shape I did not assume. Rather, I assumed the life that my father had formed and given breath to. The Edain were far more crude and despicable ere my father awoke them with music. Rather like the Dunlendings or the people of Rhûn." She laughed at him, her voice melancholy, even in the joy.

Eomer looked at her, glad of the distraction of her story, glad that she didn't punish him for jumping off the dais. " Do you think I shouldn't have jumped?"

" My life was saved by those I sought to kill me. Should I not return their good favor by my own?"

Her reply was vague, even more confusing. " Do you think it was wrong?" He needed her to answer.

" Tithen ha, do you think I was wrong? To leave my kingdom, my people, my brothers, my mother? Do you think I was wrong?" She left it up to his own discretion, to his own opinion. In that moment, Eomer became a man. Not in shape or strength, but in mind and soul. Suddenly, he understood what it was to be a man.

" I was wrong. We both were. Weren't we?"

She didn't answer, but instead a smile danced down her features and the young man felt a sort of strength irradiate from her that gave him hope. Hope that one day the grief would fade and he could as she did, help those who loved him.

Eomer laughed to himself as he traced his sister's giggles. Really at fourteen, Eowyn should know that she was above such childish games. But then he heard the pompous tone of his mouth and could not help laughing aloud at his own idiocy. He was sixteen and he relished this time with his sister.

" Oh, Eomer, come find me!" He heard Eowyn's taunts. The tall beams of the stable and the softness of the hay deadened the sense of direction and thus he turned to where he thought that she would be. He mischievously snuck his finger to his lips as he passed the begrudging horses and looked about for a stable hand that he could convince to tell him where his sister was. Surely, there would be someone impressed enough by the name-There before him, her dress covered in hay as she crouched, her back to him, was Eowyn.

In his excitement at claiming his prize, he leapt and pulled his sister to his chest. " Ha, I've got you now, you little imp!"

His surprise was unbounded when instead of his sister's birch rivulets, hair the shade of the golden-red sunset tumbled into his face and a voice, melodic and poetic, whispered to him with laughter taunting him, " You know, I hardly think I look like an imp. Do I feel like one?"

Eomer pulled himself away from the woman and realized that it was not his sister. Indeed, it was someone who he could never think of assaulting. " Wynnflaed, oh Eorl!" He gasped, shame blotting his checks and blood rushing through his face.

" Nay, tithen ha, do not take in vain the name of your progenitor. You need his good favor, do you not?" Her voice was solemn, but the whispers of laughter called to him and gave him some hope that she was not too offended.

" I'm sorry, I meant you no harm. I was looking for Eowyn."

" Oh, Eomer," Eowyn's voice came taunting again.

" See," he told her, running a frantic hand in his hair, desperately trying to hold together his embarrassment.

She suddenly burst out laughing and settled herself in the hay so that he was leaning over her. Her eyes were green in the low golden light of the stable, and their enchantment plus the cozy warmth of the horses' lodging made him feel immediately at ease.

" You are not offended?" He inquired, leaning lower to see the movements of her features.

" Do I appear insulted, tithen ha?"

" Nay, but Elves may forgive but they never forget."

Her eyebrows shot up and she couldn't help but laugh, " Ah, where did you learn such a true saying?"

" Mithrandir," he told her, " he says it when he speaks of the Silvan elves."

" I am not a Silvan elf," she told him, her hand playing with his long hair, twisting and turning it so that it went into a plait.

" What elf are you, then?" He inquired. " I know you to be Noldorin, but what elf are you?"

" Are you inquiring my name?" She queried, " Beyond Wynnflaed?"

" Wynnflaed is Rohirric."

" Aye, so it is. Nay, I am not Noldorin, tithen ha, I am a Rohirric Elf." She laughed, her eyes teasing him, flirting almost, " Do you doubt it?"

Eomer groaned and lowered his head so that it almost met hers. " Mithrandir also told me never to ask a question. Most likely, you'll only give me a riddle."

She laughed again, and he could feel the pressure of her enjoyment against his chest. Suddenly the room spun and he was aware that he was not the same man, boy, or stripling that he had been five minutes ago. The scent of her hair became difficult to ignore, her laughter, bold and wondrous, was starting to overwhelm him. He needed to get away before he did something that could shame his uncle.

She pulled his face away from her forehead where he had groaned mockingly, " Then why did you ask knowing that I should not answer you, tithen ha?"

Her eyes met his and laughter left her lips, leaving them parted and trembling. He felt the tremulousness of her body underneath his, and he could easily comprehend that he was having the same effect upon her as she did upon him.

" Nay, Valar save me," she gasped, their eyes never parting as the room grew stifling and Eomer was aware of nothing save the presence beneath him. " Not again. Nay!"

Yet whatever again was to her, it seemed that she had no strength to resist it. Eomer's lips met hers, youthful boy made love to ancient Elf. Something in the air shifted, and Eomer, despite the magic of kissing her, could feel something different about the ground, about the earth now. It was almost as though he had become attuned to something that he could never completely comprehend.

He moved from his lips to her cheeks, noting that they were deathly pale and that she shook still, if from passion or fear, he knew not. He spoke against her flesh, his breath warm against the chilled cheek. " Have I frightened you? Send me away if it will make it better."

Her eyes found his again and she pulled his face into her vision. He was young, the ghosting of a beard tracing his features, his hair had grown more brown as he had gotten older so that it was a glorious mix of the sun tracing fertile plowed earth. His eyes, deep oceanic blue, filled hers and she was aware that an ancient torture was coming again. An ancient curse that she could not stop. That Eru knew she did not wish to stop.

" Nay, I do not think that I could send you away, e'en should I wish it so."

Eomer was about to questioned this riddle when Eowyn's young and shocked voice startled them both, and they lifted themselves up to gaze at the irate figure of Eomer's little sister.

Eomer leaned towards her, seeing the dangerous hue in her eyes, " Eo-"

" No," she shrieked, " I saw all of that. And I'm going to tell Uncle. Eomer, how could you? She could have you killed for touching her. And now, now, she'll have to marry you, and you'll be gone because you won't love her. O, why couldn't you keep your hands to yourself?"

Then she was gone, an avenging fury ready to wreck her wrath upon them.

Eomer had winced at every word she had spoken and was about to go after her, when Wynnflaed stopped him, " Nay, tithen ha, let her go. She loves her brother and respects me. Both love and respect are vying for preeminence. You shall find that love will win out."

Eomer turned towards her, tracing her features with his thumb, aware that she still shook slightly. " And if love does not?"

" Well then," she gave him a small smile, " I hope you like my rooms, because I'm not leaving them if your uncle does force us to get married."

Eomer grinned at her, couldn't help himself, and then leaned down to kiss her. As he embraced her, the final tremble left her body and he was aware that she leaned into him, sought him, and that her soul was searching for his in a maddening, fearsome beautiful thing that he thought he should understand but could not. Something that the union of lips and bodies was only exacerbating.

Eomer shuddered as he marched into his uncle's halls. Defeating the grotesque Orcs which had come rushing out of Fangorn had done nothing to ease his distemper. He had left in a rage and he returned in a rage.

Eowyn came to greet him, her eyes lighting up with rejoicing at his presence. He did not speak to her, allowed no other greeting than a quick hand clasp and went on to report to his uncle. He heard her stifled gasp of pain and pushed himself to feel nothing as he went to face the King. He couldn't help but see the tiredness in his sister's eyes, that ancient look too old for one barely twenty-six. Eorl, he was only twenty-eight and already appeared old in the eyes.

As he entered the Hall of Meduseld, he was aware of the slinking creature that sat at the side of his King, his mouth pursed always to start whispering against him, and he could not control the hand that snaked down to Guthwine's hilt. Grima, son of Gama, though Eomer had dubbed him Wormtongue in his head, grinned at the approaching Lord of the Mark and then raised irreverent eyes to the figure behind Theoden's throne.

Eomer followed his looks and immediately, black rage entered him. The same that had taken him away in disgrace from a party. Grima could not keep his lustful stares and gropes to himself and so had insulted his wife. His Rohirric elf. His step became quicker, and his eyes focused on the King and his companion was the only thing keeping him from tearing Grima's head off right there.

" My King, you did summon me?" Eomer bent and bowed the knee, his eyes focused upon the floor, not daring to look any in the face ere he betrayed his wrath.

" Rise, soldier."

Eomer tried not to wince at the unknowing monotone in his uncle's voice and gazed fixedly at his King, begging him to know him.

" There has come a summons from those Elves who live in that protected hollow called Rivendell." Theoden threw a letter, marked with Elrond's seal to him. Eomer only scanned it, not daring to pick it up. " He is asking that all nations meet at his abode so that they might discuss the threat that is Mordor." There was a taunt in it, a mock too.

Eomer could perceive that Grima had already turned the King's mind to what he wished and that nothing he could say would change it. He knew that Theoden as he was would not trust to let anyone out of his sight to attend such a thing. He was too fearful of treason lately.

Theoden continued, water seeping out into his beard, his teeth grimy with disuse, " I have been advised that it is a trap to sound out the leaders of the West. We shall not attend. Moreover, every stranger that you meet, you are to question and hinder as best you can. Do you understand me?"

Eomer hesitated looking at the tall creature behind the throne of Theoden, but not for long. " Aye, my lord."

Theoden held up his hand as Eomer was going to walk away. " Another thing. To make certain that we are not betrayed on the inside, I have taken certain precautions."

Eomer drew his eyes together, sudden worry flooding through him. " What precautions, my lord?"

Grima spoke now, his tongue forking forward like a viper, his teeth hissing, and his bent, craven form exultant with victory, " Now, Lord of the Mark, it does not do that an elf should run around free when there's a Council being held by her kin."

Eomer suddenly realized why Wynnflaed had not come from behind the chair to meet him, why Eowyn had run to him. What had they done to her? He leapt forward and seized Grima by the neck, " By Eorl, tell me what lies you've told him about her, ere I kill you!" Grima choked, his features turning a sickly pasty green, and his shudders told Eomer that he was strangling.

" Eomer, release the counsellor. Your uncle needs your attention." Wynnflaed's calming voice awoke him from his wrath, and he realized that his uncle had begun coughing as though he were the one being strangled and his chest heaved with the need for air.

Releasing Grima, he watched as Wynnflaed softly tended to her uncle as she had to generations of Rohirric kings and then bit his lip to keep back his anger as he saw the cuff that lined her ankle. Grima crawled forward to release her from the chain that kept her beside the King's chair and then waddled back, worried about her wrath.

Wynnflaed gave a wan smile to Eomer, grasping his hand, her eyes a pale deadly gray, and her strength fearful. " Come, tithen ha, let's to bed." And with that, the enslaved Elf and the powerless Rohirrim left the chambers of Meduseld. Yet everyone who had watched the exchange knew that in that moment, Eomer had sworn to bring down Grima, and that the elf would be the destruction of the evil that had begun to seep in to Rohan.

Early the next morning, Eomer awoke, groaning as he felt his foot shift against something cold and unforgiving. " What did you bring to bed? A frying pan?" He inquired playfully, pulling his wife into his arms before he stiffened, realizing what it was.

" Oh," he sighed, burying his face in her red byrnied golden hair. " I thought it might have been a dream." He rolled his eyes, " Didn't think it was, but hoped, you know."

" Nay, tithen ha, do not fear hoping. It is that which sustains the elves who live for so long that all else fades around them." Wynnflaed turned so that she was facing her husband's face and then laughed at his perplexed looks. He was so childish sometimes, so young and youthful; who knew how long before he would ever comprehend the richness of knowledge that she imparted to him.

" Do my words mock you?"

" No, my love," he replied, pulling her closer, so that her fingers wrapped around him and entwined in his hair, braiding and brushing gently. " I simply was wondering. All these years, yet I've never once asked what tithen ha means."

She pulled back, studying his features. The thin full lips, the brilliant blue eyes, smooth cheeks, the soft ticklish beard that could awake her at any hour of the night to tell her she was loved. The wrinkles that should not have been in a face so young. " Tithen ha is Noldorin for little one. You were a little one when we met."

Eomer pulled himself up on top of her, one of his hand holding both of hers, and his other cupping her cheek. He kept himself from lowering his full weight upon her, but still the elf could feel the power rippling through his body. " Do I appear so little now?"

She laughed and reached up towards him so that their heartbeats could meet even as their lips did. After they had finished, she leant against his shoulder, glad of his strength, glad of his love. " Nay, you are still tithen ha to me. For you are not even three decades whilst I am thousands of decades old. I am almost as old as the sun and the moon."

Eomer pulled himself away and gazed into her eyes, rich deep pools of knowledge and strength. " Truly. Over six millennia?"

She laughed again, reaching for him again, " Yes. I am." She was quiet for moments, yearning for his presence, his lips, his love before she spoke again. " You know that we need to attend that council. Mithrandir came and was poorly received. He barely got away with being granted a steed."

Eomer nodded, his eyes tired yet firm. " You are right. I cannot leave though, my uncle and sister need my protection. Shall you go?" Then he stilled. " Mithrandir was granted a steed. Which?"

" Shadowfax. He now has returned and runs wild. His feet are so fast that none can touch him. Yet I believe one beckoning from Gandalf and he would run forever to reach him."

Wynnflaed pulled herself away from her husband, reaching for her dressing gown. " I will go as you said. I am the only one."

" What of the iron?"

She glanced down at the ugly thing that had been placed upon herself. Her eyes narrowed and a silent note fled from her. Suddenly, it shattered and Eomer watched in awe as she quickly pulled herself into a tunic and wrapped her sword about her.

She leant upon the bed and pulled her husband to her chest. He felt her heartbeat, fast and sure, the power of ages running through it. " My song is strong, my fëa beats because I love and because I have purpose. I will return. Irons could not stop me even as these could not. But you, may the Valar keep you. May they guard thy ways, and may you be granted peace. Nai Eru mantuva le. Nai tielyar nauvar laice ar hwesta nauva canalye.( May Eru bless you. May your paths be green and the breeze behind you)."

She then moved away from him, leaving him shocked. She had only ever spoken elvish when elven visitors came and never to him. Now because of her words, he felt as though she might not be returning, as though she was forsaking him forever.

Suddenly he lurched forward as she prepared to move her father's standard to leave by the balcony. He held her so tightly, he felt her slight gasp of pain and whispered into her ears, " Don't leave. If you do, I feel as though you will never return."

" Samit melmenya (you have my love). Meleth-nín, I will return."

Eomer looked into her eyes and though he saw fear in them, worry and uncertainty, he also saw something else. He saw the determination of ages running through her veins, the truth that she loved him and more importantly, he saw, that she would never leave him. " Go in peace. May your journeys be well."

And with that, he left his wife, his Rohirric elf, slip from his fingers. And the whole reason was this. Because she was a Rohirric elf, pledged to love and care for the children of Hador as they had cared for her.

So, hello, I hope that you enjoyed the second story in Tolkien Tales. I really enjoyed writing it and feel like it's one of my good ones.

Just a few author's notes. The Children of Hador mentioned at the end are basically all humanity. However, the Children of Hador can also apply to the people descended from Haleth who split into the people of Eorl and the people of Beren. So she's chosen to live with men rather than with elves. It also explains why Eomer was inquiring about her Elvish name. Wynnflaed is Saxon English meaning joy in beauty, or delight in brightness. So I figured since she looks like a sunset, the name is fitting.

There's some definite back story about Wynnflaed. I intend to bring her in another story, but with a very different guy, so be prepared. Also, all of the language and Elvish in this story instead of Found! is in Noldorin! This is because she's a Noldorin elf, not Sindarin. This basically means she's descended from Finwë and his people not from Elwë and Elmo. Yeah, I know a lot of fun, authory stuff you probably didn't want to know about. But hey, at least I told you so maybe it won't be confusing.

Enjoy A Rohirric Elf, please review, vote, or just say you hate it. I can handle it. Thank you!

Living gloriously,

Jetta Lee