Inheritance

Éomund’s daughter joined Elrond of Rivendell with a smile.  She had plighted her troth to the Steward of Gondor this very day and her joy at it shone still in her face.  Elrond had often wondered what it was in men that allowed great joy to give them a beauty that they did not own.  The goldenhaired woman before him reminded him of the valiant folk who had dwelt once far in the North – yet to her they were only the stuff of legend, venerated but imperfectly remembered.

She stood with him in silence for a few moments, watching the dancers.  He was glad of her quiet, for there was no fear in it, yet still he roused himself and said, “I congratulate you my Lady.  All are most glad to hear of your match.”

A smile graced her face then, and she bowed her head, her cheeks flushed.  “I have truly been more fortunate than I could ever have hoped Lord Elrond.  Such joy dwells in my heart – all unlooked for.”

“These restored days have brought joy to all Lady Éowyn, yet it is not of that which you speak.”

She raised her head and looked at him proudly, “In truth Lord Elrond, it was not the fall of the Shadow that brought forth my Spring.”

“Lord Faramir?”

“Aye.  I have no words fine enough with which to praise him – but it was he who freed me from most bitter pain.”

Elrond felt a flicker of surprise – he had thought that Aragorn had healed the Lady of Rohan, and yet from her words, it seemed that such was not the case.  He wondered if perhaps there might be more to the tale than he had been aware.  They stood again in silence, and he surveyed the woman beside him.  She was one of the fairest daughters of men he had ever seen, and yet, he could see the steel in her – in the line of her spine, in the set of her shoulders.  He hoped that Arwen would befriend this woman – the Lady of Ithilien would be a most formidable ally for Gondor’s Queen.

A Marshal of Rohan approached her and spoke some quiet words.  She nodded and said, “Lord Elrond if you will forgive me, I must speak with an old friend.”

He inclined his head, “Of course Lady Éowyn.”  She curtsied and made her way quietly to the far end of the Hall.  The Marshal followed her with his eyes.  Elrond spoke, “You are Marshal Elfhelm are you not?”

“Indeed my Lord.”

“It was with your éored that Lady Éowyn rode, and so a great deed was done.”

“Aye my lord.  And so Rohan’s Lady found her happiness.”

The Marshal sighed lightly as he finished, and Elrond intuited much that the bards had not sung of.  The Marshal bowed once more and said, “My Lord.”

Elrond watched the man leave and stood in thought for a moment.  The King of Gondor approached and Elrond bowed his head.  Aragorn looked at him with a most pained expression and Elrond said, “Elessar.”

“My Lord, I would not have you address me in such wise.”

“Estel then.  Have you enjoyed this night’s festivities?”

“Of course.”

“I was most surprised to discover that Lady Éowyn once cherished an affection for you Estel.”

The King’s eyes widened in shock but he only said, “Forgive me Lord Elrond – it was born of desperation and none now wish to publish it for fear of embarassing her.”

“Ah I understand.  Perhaps that is how she herself feels towards Marshal Elfhelm.”

“Marshal Elfhelm?”

“Did you not percieve his love for her?”

“Indeed I did not.”

“That may be because there is none Lord Elrond.  If Marshal Elfhelm has any affection for me it is for the Lady of Rohan, not my very self.”

“Forgive me Lady Éowyn.”

“I am not offended.  Did you not see what I saw?”

“I did Lady Éowyn.”

“You percieve much.”

Elrond looked upon her more carefully as she spoke to Estel, “My lord have you seen my brother or Lord Faramir?”  Her face was very pale and Elrond asked, “My lady are you well?”

“Oh I am quite all right Lord Elrond.  I am merely a little distressed by some dreadful news.”  She dabbed at her eyes and Elrond shared a glance with his foster-son.  Estel looked at her gently and said, “Might I enquire as to what happened?”

“I have just spoken with an old friend.  I had not heard but his wife died when the Westfold fell – and his son… his son was blinded.  The boy is only four years old and he shall never again look upon this world.”

Elrond percieved both her grief and her anger but could only say, “He was a dear friend?”

“Aye.  We used to dance together when I was young – he gave me flowers once.  He was a friend of Éomer’s but he was always very kind to me, and he was a valiant Rider.”

The King of Rohan and the Steward of Gondor approached as she spoke.  When she saw her brother Éowyn’s tone changed and she asked, “Éomer why did you not tell me what had happened to Poldon?”

”I did not wish to upset you Éowyn – you have been so happy these past months.”

“But Éomer we should have sent Diancecht or Cynefrid to look to the boy – he suffers daily.”

“What do you mean sister?”

“Léofwine was blinded Éomer; did you not know?”

“No.  I had heard of Wynsum’s death but not…I shall send Diancecht tomorrow.”

Estel had watched the exchange with both sympathy and a certain amount of amusement but at this point he glanced at his foster-father.  Elrond spoke, “Lord Éomer perhaps I might visit the boy?  Elvish medicine is reckoned very fine.”

Hope lit in Éowyn’s eyes and she said, “Truly?”

“At the least I could prevent the boy, Léofwine, from suffering any further pain.”

The Lady of Rohan made a low curtsy and said, “You have my deepest thanks Lord Elrond.  It will do my heart good to know that Poldon and Léofwine’s burden will be lightened.”

He bowed and she left them then to take a turn with the Steward.  Estel became engrossed in a conversation with Mithrandir and so Elrond spoke with Rohan’s king.  It was many minutes however before the Elven Lord could pose the question he most wished to hear answered.  “Lord Éomer, do you regret your sister’s marriage?”

Éomer seemed to consider for a moment before he said, “It is not in me to wish things different, though I would a lesser distance lay between Rohan and Ithilien.  Lord Faramir has brought happiness to my sister – that is worth any distance between us.”

“You have a most generous heart.”

Though bewilderment marred Éomer’s features Elrond did not clarify his words.  His was not a sorrow that could be understood by men.