A ROHAN TAPESTRY

Chapter Five:  The Sundering Seas

None saw her last meeting with Elrond her father, for they went up into the hills and there spoke long together, and bitter was their parting that should endure beyond the ends of the world.  ‘Many Partings’, The Return of the King

The next day – the Company’s last in Edoras – the skies darkened and a summer storm let loose its rain, but there had been ample warning by the Rohirrim as well as the Dúnedain, men well-versed in watching the skies.  The guests spent the day together in the feasting hall, sharing stories and tales.  As evening fell, bright torches were lit and minstrels were called to play, and the hobbits were delighted to watch Aragorn dance with his queen many times, and Faramir and Éowyn so happy in the other’s company.

When he saw Frodo yawning, Éomer stopped by the hobbits’ table.

“The hour grows late, my friends,” he said to them.  “Go to your rest when it pleases you, and let nothing disturb you this night.  It has been our great pleasure, and honor, to have you as our guests.”

“The honor has been ours, my lord,” Merry said.  He got to his feet and bowed low, then smiled up at Éomer, his eyes sparkling.

“I am glad to see you and Frodo feeling so much better, Merry.  I will see all of you tomorrow before you depart.” Éomer turned to Sam.  “And I thank you for your assistance, Samwise; word has reached my ears that you have been a frequent visitor in our kitchens.  I must say that the fare at our board has improved noticeably in this short time.”

“Tweren’t nothing, sir,” Sam blushed.  “Just a few hints about a proper, er, that is, a different use of spices and herbs.”

“She’s too young,” Pippin announced suddenly.

“Who is too young, Peregrin?” Éomer asked.

“Lady Éowyn.”  Pippin frowned up at the young king.

“Don’t mind him, my lord,” Frodo sighed.  “It’s been a long day, and Pip’s had a bit more ale than is good for him.”

“He is correct nonetheless, Frodo,” Éomer smiled.  “My sister is indeed young to be wed.  Our lives do not always take the path we had imagined.  I am young to be king, and Peregrin is young, as your folk measure it, to be one of the High King’s own knights.  However, oftimes age has more to do with the experiences that life brings us, than with the number of years we have lived.  Do you not agree?”

“Yes,” Frodo said.  He helped Pippin to his feet.  “Lady Éowyn is happy, my lord.  Faramir is truly a good man.”

“I know,” Éomer said softly.

“There are some lovely lashes... some lovely lasses here,” Pippin giggled.

“You’re too young,” Merry said firmly.

*~*~*~*~*

The next day dawned clear and warm, but the celebratory mood of the previous evening was nowhere in evidence.  As the tents and pavilions began to come down, Frodo, Sam, and Pippin sat together on the broad steps of the Hall, watching in silence.

“It’s just awful,” Sam said at last.  “It was hard enough sayin’ goodbye to folks we’ve only known for a short time, like Captain Faramir.  And it’ll be dreadful hard when we have to say goodbye to Strider, once he has to leave us to take Lady Arwen home to Minas Tirith.  But can you imagine--”

“No,” Frodo said quietly, “I don’t think we can, Sam.”  Like the others, he coud sense the air of mourning emanating from the Elves.  “Maybe they can’t even grasp this, themselves.  This is more than namarië – farewell – to them.  Elves always wish that their folk will ‘fare well’ until they meet again, even if it takes thousands of years.  But they’ll never see Arwen again, not anywhere, ever.  It’s beyond their experience.”

“Elladan told me that she and their dad were gone all night,” Pippin said, watching Lord Elrond.  His sons stood by his side, and all three looked grim.  “Wonder what they talked about?”

“I doubt we’ll ever know,” Frodo said.  He touched the jewel Arwen had given him and closed his eyes for a moment.  Thank you, Lady.  May you live in joy.

Merry came out of the Hall and joined them.  He was holding a small but exquisitely-crafted horn.

 “That’s all you’re taking, isn’t it?” Frodo asked knowingly.

“It’s really beautiful,” Pippin said.  He reached over to trace the green and silver inscriptions.  “A gift from King Éomer?”

Merry nodded.  “He and Éowyn took me to... sort of a treasure room.  There were swords and gems, and gold coins... you can’t imagine how much.  Maybe it was like the dragon cave Cousin Bilbo was in.”  He smiled.  “They wanted me to fill up a chest and take some of it with me.  Like when Strider offered all that treasure to Frodo and Sam, I guess.”

“You couldn’t do it either, could you?”

“No,” Merry sighed.  “I didn’t even want to take this, but they insisted.”

“It’s a good choice for you,” Frodo said.  “You can hang this next to the horn of Buckland, and remember everything you did, and everyone who holds you in their hearts.”

“And it reminds me of Boromir, too.”  Merry looked at Frodo.  “Do you still feel angry about what he did?”

“I never really did,” Frodo sighed.  “It was the Ring, Merry.  It was truly evil, and I don’t blame Boromir any more than I blame Sméagol.  Boromir loved his city the way we love the Shire.  The way Arwen loves Aragorn.  The way--”

“...Sam loves Farmer Cotton’s Rosie.” Pippin grinned at Sam’s sudden blush.

Frodo put an arm around Sam’s shoulders.  “Perhaps that much,” he smiled.

“Strider’s so lucky,” Merry said suddenly.  “Arwen gave up everything for him.  Everything.”

“She loves him, Mr. Merry,” Sam said.  “I hope we’re all that lucky, someday.”

“It’s time,” Merry said, getting to his feet.  “They’re bringing the ponies.”  He looked around, inscribing in his memory the sight of the Golden Hall, gleaming in the morning sun, and the view from the heights.  He would come back someday, he just knew it.  And Éomer had been right – he would never need a history or lorebook to remember Rohan, or its folk.

“Westu hál, Éomer King,” he whispered.  “Be thou well, you and all your people.”

** TBC **