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Home is Behind; the World Ahead

For, and inspired by the art of, Merilles (Tumblr) also embedded below. Thank you for sharing this wonderful prompt to expand on a detail in the canon that has such interesting potential!

(~***~)

Éowyn stood at the top of the steps of Edoras, watching her uncle’s funeral procession sweeping towards her. She squinted to try to see his coffin better, catching a glimpse of Merry’s small form in front of it, but the host of Gondor was still too far away to see well. 

“The witch of Dwimordene,” Éomer muttered beside her, leaning so his subjects would not hear their king speak ill of their soon-to-be guests.

“Lady Galadriel is the grandmother of our new Queen,” Éowyn whispered.

“Rohan will have its own Queen,” Éomer said, frowning. 

Éowyn squinted again, looking for the Elves somewhere in the snaking line of horses. There! A little group of people in pale grey instead of the black and silver of the King’s colors. 

“Éomer,” she said, a warning in her voice. “You are the King of this country now. You must be more diplomatic. We cannot call her that any longer.”

Éomer scoffed, but quietly. “We have another hour,” he said. He turned sharply and headed back inside.  

Éowyn eyed the procession, trying to make out the Elves. The enchanters. The fey creatures of the haunted valley. Legends better left in the past. This, this is what King Aragorn had chosen to marry. 

They were still too far away for her to see. All she could glean was an impression that they were tall. 

Éowyn’s eyes shifted to Faramir, who rode in the King’s escort. She smiled for a moment, imagining his arrival and all the things she would show him in her home. Her smile faded. And then, he would take her away from Rohan, and it would no longer be her home. 

Éowyn turned as quickly as her brother had and headed for Meduseld. It was her uncle’s funeral today, her King’s funeral; and it was the day of her betrothal. She had to prepare. 

(~***~)

Arwen rode as close to her father as their horses would tolerate. Mithíril tossed her head when they got too close, flank beside flank. Arwen patted the horse’s shoulder in apology and let the grey mare take more space. 

Elrond was speaking softly to Arwen, Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, recounting the history of the people of Eorl through the end of the war that had just been won. 

Arwen cared little for what he said, but she strained to catch each rise and fall of his musical voice, hoarding each moment in her memory. Her heart quickened if she let herself think of how he would be gone soon. In just a few days he would leave for the Grey Havens and she would remain. Forever.

Ahead of them, on the heights of Edoras, towering over the flat plains, a movement caught Arwen’s eyes. She had a sudden feeling of being watched. She looked up. 

A woman stood at the top of the steps, looking down on the procession. She was in a white dress, which whipped in the wind, along with her dark gold hair. 

She must be Éowyn, the shieldmaiden of Rohan who had killed the Nazgûl , Arwen thought. 

Arwen watched the woman’s face shift from cautious, to smiling, and then, suddenly, frowning. She turned on her heel and hurried inside, the frown still on her face. 

Of course, Arwen thought. Théoden King had been like a father to Éowyn, or so they said. Arwen would not be the only lady in Edoras grieving such a loss. 

Arwen brought her eyes back to her father. Lady Galadriel was beside him, looking as ancient and glowing as she always had. In the midst of this sea of humans, Arwen could see her Elven family looked as different as birch trees in a pine grove. 

Her grandmother’s gaze shifted from Elrond’s face to Arwen’s. Galadriel smiled, but Arwen could see the sadness in her eyes — a sadness that ran as deep as the one she herself carried. 

Arwen pointedly focused on her father, asking him a question about the history he was recounting. 

This was her life now: one in which she could not waste a single moment. 

(*)

(Three days later)

(*)

“How is our royal guest?” Éowyn asked her maid, Idis.  There was no one she trusted more to assist Queen Arwen and her ladies-in-waiting.

Idis shrugged. She seemed to think before answering, but when she did, she did not hesitate to meet Éowyn’s eyes. The noble lady was on good terms with the household staff of Meduseld. 

“She is quiet, my lady,” Idis said. “She had an embroidery hoop in her hands when I brought in some refreshments, but I did not see her make a single stitch. Her lady’s maids sing and offer conversation — they do all that they should. She is polite to them, but her mind seems far away, if you know what I mean.”

Éowyn nodded. She knew exactly what Idis meant. It had been the same at dinner the night before. Queen Arwen had been seated between Éomer, a King in his own right, and Faramir, the King’s Steward. 

She was as eerily beautiful then as she had been the first time Éowyn got close enough to see her. Fey indeed, these elves, with their ageless faces and ancient eyes. Under the candlelight in the evenings, Arwen and all her family seemed to almost shimmer like the air on a hot summer day. She was as beautiful as a statue and could sit just as still. 

Watching her speak with the people of Rohan and Gondor, Éowyn thought she looked like a prize-winning thoroughbred in a field of hardy mountain ponies. Both had their merits, Éowyn mused, but it hardly seemed they belonged together. She could believe the tales that Lady Galadriel, with her starlit eyes, had sent a mist to shroud and protect the forces of Eorl long ago. 

But last night, when the great host of Gondor had gone on to Isengard and Arwen remained with only the staff of Meduseld and this small group of nobles to keep her company, Éowyn had seen something else. Queen Arwen, so beautiful and enchanted as she seemed, was alone, and she was sad. With that thought, Éowyn felt that perhaps Arwen was not so untouchable after all, for these were things Éowyn knew all too well. 

Idis’s voice snapped Éowyn out of her reverie. 

“We have given her the best of everything we have in Meduseld. I do not know what else to offer.” 

“I am sure the Queen is not unhappy with her lodgings,” Éowyn heard Faramir’s voice say over her shoulder. She turned to look at him.

“My lady, will you not join me? I am meeting your brother. He was going to speak with me about the affairs of your kingdom as they stand now,” he said. He offered her his arm. 

Éowyn curtsied but did not take it.  “Thank you, no,” she told Faramir. She smiled warmly at him and watched the momentary confusion fall from her betrothed’s face as quickly as it had risen. 

“I think the Queen is not reflecting on Meduseld at all,” Éowyn said. “Today I think I will see if I can bring her some distraction. She has much on her mind.”

Faramir smiled brightly and bowed his head. “Very good, my lady. Then I wish you both a good day.”

“Go on,” Éowyn told Idis as Faramir strode away. “The day waits for no one. I am certain you have much to do.”

“Yes, my lady,” Idis agreed. 

(~***~)

Arwen stared out the window at the mountains in the distance. She knew she was making her ladies-in-waiting nervous — that she was being rude. It was important to treat them well, all these ladies from loyal, noble families with whom her kingdom needed strong alliances. But for once, for a few days, she could not bring herself to do as she ought.

She thought they understood well enough that she would be able to recover from it later. After all, they’d been the ones dressing her for bed the night she’d said her last farewell to her father. They’d seen the tears she could not stop from dripping down her face. 

The ladies’ chatter buzzed in her ears, Ríanor’s more than most. They never seemed to stop talking, these human women. On and on they spoke of needlework, music, poetry, their families, the weather, the gossip at court… The constant cheerfulness could make Arwen’s ears ring.

She longed for some quiet. Not the sad silence that hung over her home now that most of the Elves had abandoned it. What she missed was the slow stillness that would pervade Imladris on a hot summer day such as this. The light sounds of musicians practicing might float up into the trees, mingling with the fluttering of leaves. The messenger birds would coo in the dovecote, calm and contented as the rest of the valley’s occupants. She could rest or sew or read or talk with her brothers. It didn’t matter. No one cared. 

Picturing her favorite terrace in Rivendell, the image of her father coming down the steps to greet her flashed across her memory. She breathed in sharply at the sudden pain that sunk into her heart like a knife. The threat of fresh tears burned her eyes. 

“Your Grace, are you well?” Silith asked. 

“Of course,” Arwen murmured, speaking softly to the gentlest of her companions. She gave the girl a kind smile. She was so, so young, this child who called Arwen 'Queen.' Much too young to carry the weight of such loss.  

“You need not worry for me,” Arwen reassured her. She wished Aragorn would return quickly. When they were tending to the cultivation and healing of their Kingdom, she was too busy for such musings. 

The ladies’ voices quieted, prompting Arwen to look away from the window. In the doorway stood Lady Éowyn of Rohan — or should she say ‘Princess of Ithilien?’ 

Perhaps after the wedding , Arwen thought. She would have to ask Ríanor about the proper form of address once Éowyn had gone. 

“Lady Éowyn! Will you join us today? It is lovely outside, perhaps we should go for a walk?” Ríanor said, tidily answering the question before Arwen had to ask. Arwen watched Ríanor sizing Éowyn up and resisted the urge to sigh. At all of sixteen years old, the highest ranking of her ladies was a gossip – but she also understood the court of Minas Tirith better than anyone. Arwen could not afford to show her displeasure.

Éowyn curtsied. “I thank you,” she said. Arwen liked the calmness of her voice. 

“I came to ask if Queen Arwen might like to join me for a ride,” Éowyn said. Arwen’s head lady-in-waiting raised an eyebrow. 

“Your Grace, I noticed your grey mare in our stables. She is a beautiful horse to be cooped up for so many days, and in such good weather. I wondered if it might be good for her to stretch her legs.”

Arwen began to formulate an answer in her mind: some polite way to say ‘no.’ She did not think she could bear a long ride filled with small talk with a stranger — not today. 

“It would be an honor to show you the beauty of these lands, Your Grace,” Éowyn said. “I should like to see it once more myself — before I leave it behind me.”

Arwen looked up in surprise. Lady Éowyn’s face was calm, yes, but as she looked closer, Arwen could see that the woman was somber. But of course. Had Éowyn not just buried the man who had raised her like a father? Arwen realized she was not being pulled into an afternoon of dutiful conversation: she was being offered a graceful exit. 

“I would like that very much,” Arwen said. Silith looked at her in surprise. Ríanor smiled at Éowyn prettily.

“Do you need company?” Ríanor asked, her voice a little louder than it needed to be indoors. She was not as apt at concealing her annoyance as she thought.

“I thank you, no,” Arwen said, smiling calmy instead of laughing at her young charge. “I think Lady Éowyn and I shall do quite well.”

Éowyn nodded and curtsied. “I shall have the kitchen put together some food for us to carry, and I shall have the horses made ready, then.”

“My Mithíril does not need to be made ready, but I do,” Arwen said softly. 

“Ah, that is right. I saw you ride in without a saddle or bridle!” Éowyn said. “Very well. In an hour then?”

Arwen nodded to her. “In an hour,” she agreed. 

(~***~)

The first thing Éowyn noticed was Arwen’s horse. ‘Mithíril’ was as stately as her rider to Éowyn’s eyes. 

“Your Grace, she is beautiful,” Éowyn said in appreciation as Arwen approached in her dark blue and grey riding dress. 

Arwen smiled and stroked Mithíril’s shining mane. She said a soft word in Elvish and the grey mare stepped forward, sniffing the air in Éowyn’s direction. 

Éowyn grinned and reached her hand out in greeting. Mithíril’s soft muzzle brushed against her palm; the horse waited patiently while Éowyn scratched her forelock. Behind her, her own horse whickered and shook her head. 

“This is Sólfled,” Éowyn said. She gave a gentle tug on her cream mare’s reins, urging her forward to say hello. Still, she gave her companion a reassuring scratch of her own. 

“She is the finest horse I have ever had the privilege to ride.”

“I can see why,” Arwen said. She spoke another word of Elvish and offered her own hand up for inspection. Sólfled sniffed from afar, but she stood resolutely beside Éowyn’s shoulder. 

“She is loyal to you,” Arwen said with a smile. “What a gift, to be claimed by such a fine friend.” 

She spoke in Elvish again. Éowyn could feel Sólfled relax beside her. 

“What did you tell her?” Éowyn asked. She took Sólfled’s reins and began leading her into the wider part of the courtyard where they could mount. 

“More of the same. I think you are gifts to each other,” Arwen said. 

Éowyn smiled and looked over her shoulder before she mounted. “You have a way with words, Your Grace. I wish I could say the same.”

“It can be learned,” Arwen replied. 

Éowyn shook her head. She had learned her lessons as a noble lady well, but she was not sure she would ever be quite so charming as Queen Arwen seemed to be. Her strengths lay elsewhere. 

The ladies mounted, Éowyn moving carefully so her riding skirts did not get caught on the saddlebag attached to Sólfled’s side. Arwen gestured that Éowyn should lead the way.

Éowyn spoke a little on their way out of the city, pointing out this or that feature of Edoras as they went. Through it all, Arwen watched her, quiet but attentive. 

Once they were outside the walls, no longer under the eyes of curious people, Éowyn let the conversation drop. She steered Sólfled with her knees until it was clear that her mount understood where they were going, then let her attention shift to the view around her, giving the Queen the silence it seemed she wanted. 

After an hour of steady movement, they arrived at the first destination that Éowyn had in mind to show the Queen. 

“Ah, here we are,” Éowyn said quietly. She slowed Sólfled to a gentle walk as the horses waded into a wide plain of wildflowers and native grasses, which shone green and gold under the August sun. Blue shadows rolled across the field beneath streaks of white clouds that seemed to go on for miles. 

“I have always liked it here at this time of year,” Éowyn said. She shaded her eyes with her hand, looking over the gently rolling hills she’d known all her life. “When I was small, my brother and I used to come out here with our parents to pick flowers. I was still so small that I rode a pony, so the flowers would be up past my knees.”

Arwen smiled and leaned from Mithíril’s bare back to brush her fingers across the top of the stalks. “It is a happy memory. The flowers here are happy, too,” she said. 

Éowyn glanced at Arwen sideways, wondering how the flowers must have felt about getting plucked. She decided not to ask. 

“What happened to your parents?” Arwen asked gently. 

Éowyn looked at Arwen sharply, then away and into the distance again. She sighed. She had brought it up herself, she supposed. 

“They died when we were small,” she said. She wasn’t inclined to go into detail. 

Arwen nodded. “I am glad to see this country in the fullness of summer. You are right, it is beautiful.”

The Queen looked up. She caught Éowyn’s eyes. Éowyn felt some understanding pass between them.

“No less beautiful because it fades,” Éowyn murmured.

“No,” Arwen agreed. “All the more reason to savor it, or so I am learning.”

Éowyn nodded. Arwen said something to Mithíril, who began to meander through the flowers, nibbling at the tops of grasses as she went. Éowyn could feel Sólfled shifting beneath her, suppressing the urge to stay close to the other horse. 

Éowyn nudged her mount with her knees. “Go on, then.” 

She let Sólfled wander as she wished as she looked out over the plains, remembering her early days of learning to ride, chasing Éomer through the wide swaths of grass as her parents laughed behind them. There were later memories as well, when she and her brother had convinced their Uncle to take some rest from the pressures of Kingship now and then to enjoy his own lands. The thought of Théoden twisted her heart.

After a while, Mithíril paused and let Sólfled catch up. 

“Thank you for suggesting this,” Arwen said. “It is a welcome change of pace.”

Éowyn looked at her guest’s face and saw that the pinched look around Arwen’s eyes had relaxed. 

“I grew up hearing tales of the magic of Elves. They made your people sound so unlike us. If I may be bold, you are not as I expected you to be, Your Grace,” Éowyn said carefully. Arwen only smiled and quirked an eyebrow. 

Éowyn continued. “When I found you earlier — well, I had not thought I would recognize the look of a lady stuck listening to gossip she was not in the mood for on the face of an Elf.”

Arwen laughed. The sound of it startled Éowyn for a moment. Was everything about Arwen so exquisite? Éowyn wondered if she ought to be jealous, but found she was not. She knew what it was like to be considered only for her beauty and never anything else. She imagined it was a feeling Queen Arwen knew all too well. 

“I had a good friend in Imladris who could attest that Elves, indeed, find themselves obliged to tolerate conversations they have no taste for. Or, she could if you could convince her to speak.”

It was Éowyn’s turn to laugh in surprise. “Be careful, Your Grace. You will diminish the mystery of your people.”

Arwen hummed. Her face looked thoughtful as she gazed at the distant mountains. Éowyn waited, but Arwen didn’t say anything else. 

“The day is wearing on,” Éowyn said. She looked up at the clouds floating overhead. The weather looked clear enough, she thought. 

Arwen sighed. “Yes, I suppose we should return.”

“Actually,” Éowyn said, “I had hoped to go there to watch the sunset. It is a good view. The moon ought to be bright enough tonight to let us return without trouble. There is a good spot to water the horses as well.” She pointed towards a flat-topped hill in the distance.

“But I think we have tarried here overlong. We would have to gallop to make it in time,” she said, testing the waters. 

Arwen gave her a bright smile. “What is to stop us from galloping?” She asked. 

“Nothing,” Éowyn said with a grin. “Do you know, Sólfled is the finest racing mare I have ever had the privilege to ride. I am curious how she would fare against one of your Elvish horses.”

Arwen tipped her head almost playfully. “Are you certain? Mithíril will not let her win easily.”

 “Let us see, then,” Éowyn said. She lined Sólfled up next to Mithíril and made the clucking sound she used to signal that they were about to race. Sólfled’s ears pricked up: she was a mare who loved to run free. 

“To the plateau?” Arwen confirmed, nodding at the hill in the distance. 

Éowyn nodded in agreement. “To the stream at the bottom of the hill.”

“On the count of three then, if you are ready,” Éowyn said. 

Arwen whispered to Mithíril and nodded. “We are ready. Begin your count.”

“One… two… three!” Éowyn cried and the horses leapt forward, shoulder to shoulder, racing against each other under the bright sun.

(~***~)

They were neither mares nor ladies to be trifled with. Sólfled was a fine racer, just as Éowyn had said. Mithíril welcomed the challenge, opening her stride in a way she had not been able to in far too long. Arwen leaned into her seat, letting the wind pour over her face, whipping her hair out behind her. 

So many years had passed by in which Arwen’s life had grown smaller bit by bit as the shadows of the Third Age had lengthened, fencing her in. More recently, there had been love and fear. Triumph. Tenderness. Grief. 

Arwen felt in that moment what else this new Age held: life unbound again. Life that could run and grow as it liked. Healing was not all whispered words in quiet halls, she realized. It was also joy: letting the sun in to brighten the deepest hurts of her soul. 

She wished she could tell her father she understood this, but she was two days too late now. The pain of that grief and the wild joy of the race ran side-by-side. 

She would tell Elladan and Elrohir when she saw them next. She would tell her grandfather. They would all cross the sea into the West one day, where they would tell her father and mother. The joys of this life she’d chosen would not go unwitnessed. The Eldar would hold the memory of them for her unto the ending of Arda. 

Arwen could see the stream coming up ahead. They’d made good time, but the horses would need a rest. Mithíril had kept pace with Sólfled comfortably, but Arwen could feel her mare sweating beneath her. 

Arwen looked at Éowyn, who was crouched in her seat, her face full of determination. 

These children of Men are so full of passion, Arwen thought. How dearly Éowyn cared, still, to prove her valor. And why shouldn’t she? She was young, strong and beautiful. She should revel in her youth while it lasted.

Arwen spoke to Mithíril, pretending she was urging her on. Instead, she encouraged her horse to let the others win. Éowyn glanced at Arwen sharply when she spoke, then spurred Sólfled on. When Sólfled surged forward, making a last push for the finish, Mithíril surged as well — but Arwen could feel her mare holding back a little. She let Sólfled beat her by no more than a finger’s length. 

Éowyn whooped as Sólfled splashed into the stream, prancing through the water and whinnying. 

“Your Grace, you are an excellent rider!” Éowyn said. “It was a great race.”

“So are you,” Arwen said with a chuckle. “But I would expect no less from a daughter of the house of Eorl — not least a shieldmaiden of such renown as yourself, slayer of the Witch King.”

Éowyn touched her own arm, seemingly without noticing. “Ah, well,” she said. A light blush colored her cheeks, but Arwen could see she was pleased by this praise. 

Encouragement does benefit the young so much, Arwen thought to herself. She stowed this knowledge away, thinking of how she might work with the people of her new household best. Some praise might do Silith, she thought. The young lady was sweet, but too timid for her own good at times.

The ladies let the horses drink their fill and graze for a little while as they enjoyed their own refreshments from Éowyn’s saddlebag. As the light began to shift, Éowyn glanced up the hill to the plateau. 

“We should go up,” she suggested. “It is a view worth seeing. I would not miss it.”

“You should not miss it,” Arwen agreed. “It is a gift and a curse to know it is the last time to visit a favored place. Or, at the least, the last time in a long while.”

Éowyn looked at her sharply, then released a deep sigh. She mounted Sólfled again and urged her up the hill. Arwen mounted Mithíril and followed.

“I suppose you would know,” Éowyn said. She glanced at Arwen almost nervously. “I — I do love my betrothed. I am not ungrateful.”

Arwen shook her head gently as the horses climbed. “I do not doubt your heart. I love my husband and I love my family. Both are true, but I could not choose both. Such is the way of things.”

“Yes,” Éowyn agreed. “Love is costly for women, as most things are. I have heard in the East they say, ‘daughters are another family’s gift.’ I read that in a book my tutor made me study many years ago. It made me quite angry at the time.”

Arwen caught an undertone of bitterness in Éowyn’s words. It made her sad, but the younger lady was not wrong. Her own love for Aragorn came at a terrible price. 

“If the beliefs of my people about life after death are true, I shall never see my uncle, nor my parents, nor my brother again,” Éowyn said. A frown cast a shadow over her face. Behind her, the sky had just begun to turn red with sunset.

“What do you mean?” Arwen asked. Not once in her long life had she spoken to a mortal about what they believed would happen to them when their souls departed Arda. It shook her more than she might have imagined. 

“A married man still goes to the house of his fathers, but a married woman goes to her husband’s house,” Éowyn said. Her words had taken on a sharp edge. “Why must we give up all we have ever known and begin anew, while the men may look forward to reunions in the hereafter? We lose our families even to the ending of the world.”

Arwen looked at her sadly. “If that is true, then at least you will be with your new family in the end.”

Éowyn turned in her saddle and looked at Arwen, her face creased in anger. “Only if I have sons,” she said. 

She turned away and urged Sólfled up the hill, leaving Arwen to follow. When Arwen caught up to her at the top of the hill, her face looked calm again. From this high vantage, Éowyn’s eyes followed ribbons of clouds that stretched across the sky. The setting sun turned them orange and red, until they disappeared into a swiftly darkening blue that descended towards the earth. 

“Your family is crossing the sea, I have heard, to a land of enchantment and plenty,” Éowyn said. 

“Yes,” Arwen agreed. 

“They say they will never die there.”

“That is true.”

Éowyn paused, seeming to consider her own words. 

“And will you follow them, when the King has passed?”

Arwen looked down into the valley full of flowers and knew that they would fade in what felt to her like the blink of an eye. 

“I cannot,” Arwen said. “I have made my choice, as my great-great grandmother once did — both the bitter and the sweet. I will not see them again. You tell the truth, that love can come at a great cost.”

Éowyn’s jaw worked silently. She scowled into the deepening night. Arwen pitied her a little, but she also admired  this proud young woman who hated to be bound, no matter the reason. 

It took time for many people to learn to hold the good of life in one hand, and the bad in another, Arwen thought. It was too easy to grip the bad with both hands, as though strangling it might diminish it — but that could only ever leave a person in the dark. 

Arwen continued speaking. “One thing that comforts me a little is that my Lord Aragorn is starting anew as well. It is better to my mind that we are building this new life together. I am not stepping into something so well-worn that I cannot make it my own. There are many things I wish to see in Gondor before I depart. I wish for the city to burst with green things and ring with music. It is within my power to make it so.”

Éowyn turned her eyes away from the darkening valley before her and toward Arwen. 

“I suppose that is true of my Lord Faramir and me as well,” she said slowly. “Ithilien has seen dark days. It is up to both of us to see it renewed. That is the charge we have been given by our King.”

“It seems a worthy charge to me now,” she added. “There was a time I thought the only valor was the glory of death in war. Now I think I am lucky that I will be here to see the peace that all those brave warriors fought for, even if I must do so among strangers.”

“Just so,” Arwen agreed. “The people of Gondor are still mysteries to me. I know, though, that they will not be strangers forever. Every day is a treasure to me now. They have never passed so quickly before — it takes my breath from me when I think of it. And yet, in each of those days, a person may be a stranger when the sun rises, and yet you may know them when it sets.”

The ladies smiled at each other. 

“I have been glad to spend this day with you, Lady Éowyn,” Arwen said. 

“As have I,” Éowyn said. “You will always have loyal servants you can call on in Ithilien, Queen Arwen. Should you need anything, simply call on me, and I will give it if it is within my power.”

“What if the thing I need most is a friend?” Arwen asked.

“Then I shall endeavor to be a good friend,” Éowyn answered.

“That is well,” Arwen said. 

A comfortable silence fell between them. Sólfled whickered and tossed her head towards Mithíril. Half the sky was dark; the other glowed with the last orange rays of the sun.

“We have missed the sunset after all,” Éowyn said after a while. 

“No, I have been looking,” Arwen said. “You were right that this is a good place to watch. Rohan is a beautiful land. I am glad to know it.”

Éowyn bowed in her saddle, acknowledging the compliment to her heritage. 

“You have been looking at that star,” Éowyn said curiously. She pointed at the bright star of evening and morning. “We have our own tales about it. What say your people?”

Arwen chuckled. “That star is a jewel that holds the last rays of the Great Trees. It is carried across the heavens in a ship sailed by my grandfather.”

“What?” Éowyn gasped in surprise. “Just as I had begun to think that Elves might be hardly any different than Men, and here you believe your father to be the child of a star! You are indeed the people of legends.”

Arwen laughed. “Even to the Elves my family are the people of legends. Besides, Eärendil was only half-Elven. His father was a great Man of old. It is a very old, very long story.”

“We do have a long ride back under only moonlight and starlight. We cannot run as we could in daytime,” Éowyn said. “Now I am curious! Will you not tell me, friend?”

Arwen hummed, unsure. “Some of that story may be best told under the light of the sun,” she said. She followed Éowyn’s lead as Sólfled began to step back down the hillside. 

“I am not afraid,” Éowyn laughed. 

“No, of course not,” Arwen chuckled. “Well then, let me begin at the beginning.”

(~***~)