It had been Mearhe's own wish to prepare her husband's body for the funeral ceremony. Custom demanded his closest female kin to do so. Mearhe would not fail in her own duty to the man she loved, nor would she deny him her tears. A husband, a father, a lover, a friend that rode out to Edoras to join his eored, not knowing that was the last time he would see his wife and young son.
Her thoughts came back to the task at hand. Mearhe stepped forward and stood by the table were Léofwine laid necked before her, and reached for the silver bowl of water and clean linens, next to his head with its long blond hair. Mearhe began to sings softly an old song, lifting his left arm with gentle tenderness, then she dipped the cloth in water and slowly began to wash him to erase from him any drop of blood, or trace of mud. One limb at the time, Mearhe took her time, singing and whispering to her husband, while anointing him with rich unguents.
Mearhe did not shy away from the wound on his chest, deep and crusted with the dark poison orcs cover their weapons with. She washed it carefully, then bandaged his chest with clean cloths. No ugly wound could mar the beauty of her man. He was handsome and noble among the Eorlingas, with wide shoulders and strong arms, and he commanded respect from the other Riders in his eored. When he rode with them, many that would see him would say :
"There goes Léofwine, a great Rider and warrior, and a true man of the Mark!"
Mearhe left his head for last. She leaned over and with a fresh cloth began to wash her husband's face. His eyes were closed, and for a moment she pretended he was just sleeping. It did not work. Soon she began to fight back her tears, " I will not be weak...I will not cry before I am done, my love." She whispered to him.
"The House of Léofwine will endure and not fade into the twilight. Your son will carry your sword, and I shall weave tapestries to remember you, and tell Léofara about your life in loving memory."
Then Mearhe tipped a bowl filled with spring water scented with fresh herbs over Léofwine's hair, letting the water flow over his golden locks, and using her fingers to tease out all the mud, then combing strands of hair, as they glimmer faintly in the light of the lanterns and candles. How long she had been there, she could not tell - one hour, one day, or an eternity. She finally covered his nakedness with a white soft sheet.
Mearhe gently caressed Léofwine's face. Her tears dripped onto his skin. Slowly she bended forward and delicately kissed his mouth - his lips were like ice, breath had fled from them. She looked at her husband, then leaned closer still, whispering softly words to him.
"Westu Léofwine hal. Farewell for now, my husband, my friend, my love. May the white simbelmynë bloom forever upon your mount, and may the winged hooves of Felaróf take you swiftly to the hall of our fathers, where you shall sit at the right of Eorl . I love you!"
Image originally posted here
Portrait of Léofwine created in Artbreeder and edited in Photoshop by me
