[A night sky above the vast opening of Rohan surrounded by snow-covered mountains. Flying among the stars and clouds, a bird. In this background, you hear the echoing call of the great horn Valaróma, and a man's voice.]
Heed my tale of love and sorrow and vengeance, child of the Valar. In Rohan still at times rides a woman, passing like a wind over the mountains, and the sound of the war horn echoes in the starlight. The foul Orcs fear her wrath for the resolve on her face and the great noise of the hooves of her horse. When the horn echoes in the hills, they know well that vengeance and death are upon them. Their bones and blood is what this land was made of...The land you walk, live and die upon.
ALDBURG, ROHAN 1 January T.A. 3011
A lonely figure stood by a burial mound in an open field on the outskirts of Aldburg. Mountains covered in fresh snow towered in the distance, and a cold wind from the north blew unkindly. Even after the ceremony had ended, Mearhe had refused to leave the field. A soldier of Rohan stood beside her for a long time, until she asked to be alone. She could not feel the cold, or the constant whistling of the wind.
Mearhe was in a place where time and life are meaningless. She was close to Léofwine, so close she could almost feel him. She whispered a prayer in the hope it would reach the ears of Béma, a prayer for her husband whose life had been snuffed out before his time.
"Fold his soul into your arms clothed with robes of starlight."
Mearhe remembered the strange dream she had the night before Léofwine was killed. Something was wrong. Someone was screaming. "Mea! Mea, you have to wake up! Mea!" She tried to tell the voice she did not want to, but her lips would not open. In her dream her body was lifted and surrounded by the warm golden light of a sunrise, erupting before her closed eyelids.
The voice was only a whisper, but she could feel a hand tightly grasping her own, and a finger rubbing softly into her palm. Then the sensation began to fade and she was surrounded with darkness, her feet hanging over the side of a cliff that went down, down, down. She could not see the bottom, nothing but impenetrable blackness that seemed to suck in all the light.
"Move away from the edge!" The voice whispered. The golden light came closer and Mearhe leaned into it for safety and warmth. Curling an arm around her shoulder, the golden light gently led her away from the edge of the cliff. The darkness hissed and protested, but was held back, pulled down by its own tendrils of shadows.
The barren landscape grew lighter, and her memories of a time long passed were unlocked. Mearhe turned to look at the light and saw Léofwine standing beside her with his familiar smile. He stopped and turned around, looking down at her and gently lifting her chin up to look into eyes that were as blue as a cloudless summer day in Rohan.
"It is time for me to go, Mearhe. You must leave this dream. I will never be too far away.Fear no more. " Léofwine grew brighter and brighter, until her eyes shut. She held onto his hands holding hers. There was a brief sensation of falling, and he was gone. Mearhe opened her eyes, the sky was filled with stars, and the unkind wind had diminished. It was a cold, but calm night in the Eastfold as simbelmynë petals drifted gently on the breeze.
Léofwine, Beloved friend, sits in the Halls of Eorl.
Drinks from the cut of everlasting life.
Artwork by me
