9 - Rohan Years - Beyond the Armour

Rómeniêl sat with her knees pulled up tightly to her chin and her arms tightly wrapped around them. A halberd lay by her side and glinted in the moonlight. She rested her chin on her knees and looked almost curled up like a ball. Slightly she rocked back and forth, which only added to that impression, but her green eyes were only fixed on the horizon.

Soft ocean noises could be heard from below. The moonlight played on the waves and sent a hauntingly beautiful light up into the air. Softly she hummed a sad tune.

The wind picked up her long hair, which was still braided in battle braids and lazily floated in the wind.

Slowly she stretched and let her feet dangle from the sheer cliff. Her hands wandered up and began unbraiding her hair, which the wind tucked wilder at her long dark hair. She inhaled deeply and leaned slightly forward to look down into the abyss. Waves crashed against the shore and sent foam and water up, that cause the light of the full moon to break into tiny colourful patterns.

Even more slowly she got to her knees and ran the hands over her armour. It was beaten and stained and her gaze fell upon it. She lovingly traced the engraved patterns and sighed as she slowly unfastened the tight straps, making it easier to breathe, yet making her feel uncomfortable vulnerable too. She undid the ties of her wristbands and gloves and removed them paying close attention, before she tossed them to the ground.

Rómeniêl looked at the moon and a beloved face seemed to smile down upon her. She swallowed hard and forced back a tear. She moved onto her knee and knelt, while taking of her boots.

The cool rock beneath her feet was damp and almost slippery, so she moved cautiously to the edge of the cliff and looked down into the dangerous waves. Still fixing the crushing waves below, she began to loosen the armour some more. Her fingers could feel where an orcish blade had run past her defences and it hurt to think of that right now. She could still feel how she had been lifted up when she had been too weak to walk for herself and blushed. She blushed for this moment of weakness. Again the stinging feeling of failure pierced her more painful than any blade that had cut into her flesh.

It became harder for her to withhold the tears, but she bit her lip as she opened the last buckle on her armour. Again she ran her fingers over that trusted shell, that had saved her life more than once.

Still it was a reminder of so many failures, mistakes and hurts. It was bloodstained again and that only reminded her that she had failed again. Looking down on her wrist she traced the fine half moon line and sighed. She had failed to safe friends, failed to show what was important to her. She had once more failed.

With great care she slid the armour from her shoulders and pulled it over her head. She held it out and looked at it in the moonlight. It was dented but strangely beautiful. Carefully she placed it on the ground, next to her boots and gloves.

Her gaze stayed fixed on it for a long while, inhaling deeply and feeling the breeze that went straight through the rough cloth of her shirt.

The night got darker and only the stars and the moon shone on her pale skin as she took of her shirt and pants, bathing in the moonlight.

Her pale skin shone white and her long dark hair trailed after her. She looked up at the moon and the stars, with a sad look. Her mind raced against time and it raced with memories of all those she had lost, with all the hurts she carried, seen and unseen.

Slowly she spread her arms and tears finally broke free, running down her face. She spread her arms as if they were wings, sending a prayer to the Valar.

She could feel the edge of the cliff at her toes.

She could feel the cold night air that crawled over her skin.

She fell forward into the abyss.

The wind rushed past her ears and bit her wet cheeks. She didn’t open her eyes but embraced the dark and cold night.

A loud splash could be heard and the waves closed around her. From above the moon shone as the waves crushed against the cliff.

On top of the cliff now lay a halberd and a dented armour as the sea below calmed. The wind rustled in the few blades of grass and no sound but the crushing of waves could be heard.

Rómeniêl felt the cold water around her and opened her eyes, blind in the darkness of the sea. Her lungs ached and suddenly she saw a light. A great calm came over her, the tears mingled with the salty sea. She didn’t struggle against the cold water anymore.

Suddenly her lungs filled with air again and her wide open eyes beheld the moon as she broke the surface.

Rómeniêl brushed back her hair and looked up, swimming against the current with ease. She came to a rock and clambered out the water shivering. There she sat, wrapping her arms around her knees, watching the moon and the cliff above, ready to make her way up again soon. There a halberd and an armour awaited her, for all those who could not see past it.

8 - Rohan Years - Passing of the Night

The night was dark and thick like black ink and no moon shone in the cloudless sky. A tall woman wrapped in a cloak sat on her horse and gazed down from a hill. Her figure seemed to blend in with the night. Her heart was heavy and she had ridden by night only for days now, she felt more comfortable to blend in with the darkness - the same darkness it seemed, that had taken over her heart and soul. Faintly she remembered that she had had a name.

She dismounted and whispered to her horse in a low voice. The mare sped off into the night, while the rider slowly made her way to the valley. Her feet found hold on the slippery ground easily with speed and ease she found the bottom of the valley where she stood for a moment pricking her ears.

The chill wind carried faint whispers through the night - low whispers, almost like grunts. She knew well, what these whispers meant. With a quick flick of her hand a halberd was unstrapped and she stood armed. Her figure blended still in with the darkness, but the tip of her halberd glittered even with the lack of moonlight. She looked up and frowned. That glitter once had been a comfort to her, but recently it had begun to annoy her. As the darkness of her heart and soul had increased and as she felt herself dying from within every spark of light had begun to annoy her. She shook her head and peered into the dark. She was hunting and nothing else mattered now.

The whispers became louder and were not whispers anymore. A grim smile crossed her face and a distinct smell caught her attention. Orcs!

A band of orcs were headed straight at her and by their whispering and their way of moving they had hostages.

“Poor creatures! Tonight their doom will come.” Hearing herself speak almost startled her, she had almost forgotten her own voice and it sounded unfamiliar – cold, low and coarse. For a moment she realised that she did not know if she spoke of the orcs or those that were forced to move with them. She shrugged and loosened her muscles, she did not really care. The woman who would have cared had died during the last few days.

Silently she stood, her muscles strung like the string of a bow. They were coming!

Grunts and sniffling came closer and became louder. “Snarak! Menstink!” One of the taller orcs yelled out and turned to his company and made them come to a halt.

“Arrggggh, ‘tese ‘ere stink, yer nose’s misleadin’ ye, Urukar. Let’s be rid o’hem and have their flesh! I don’t care if master will punish us. We haven’t had flesh as tender in a long time.” Snarling a smaller orc had pushed the prisoners together and poked his finger into a merchant woman’s side.

The huntress’ eyes flashed in the darkness and she heard herself growl. She had grown strange to herself, but also had lost any interest in that fact. Only the hunt mattered, although she had decided to go to the Shire, the way there was long and it was filled with prey. A prey she loathed!

Her own growling grew and it caught the attention of the orcs. One of them pointed into her direction and almost squealed. “Wolves?”

At that she sprang out of the darkness and ahead of the group. Her laughter roared over the company and before first orc could draw his blade his head fell. Her blade was darkened by his black blood and the glittering faded. She was pleased now and with a swift circle turned on her heel and swung her weapon around with a scream.

Orcs now came rushing at her and they shoved and pushed the prisoners to all sides. Soon all the place lay in confusion and the woman with her halberd slashed and thrust about herself, felling what came towards her with her blade. The taller orc came at her and with a mighty swing of his sword knocked the halberd out of her hand. Jumping at him she took him by the neck and knocked her head against his, sending him toppling backwards. Something warm trickled down her forehead, but she cared not, but withdrew a dagger from her boot and stuck it into the orcs throat. With a last effort and a gurgling sound he yelled one last time at the lesser orcs. “Kill them all! Let her see her kind bleed to death like pigs!” His voice and gaze broke and suddenly the orcs turned from her and rushed to gather the prisoners.

Wild screams of panic filled the night and the squeals of joy and excitement. “Flesh!” A woman fell to the ground and a child screamed. The woman got to her feet and didn’t bother to pick up her halberd but rushed forward with her dagger and drove it deep into the flesh of an orc who held a young girl at the hair and tried to cut her throat. He turned at the pain, just to find a fist in his ugly face and with a second stab fell mortally wounded.

The young girl fell to the ground and held her neck, but the woman next to her looked down upon her merciless and without emotion. She turned immediately to find her next victim, her next prey. Her dark hair hung unkempt on her shoulder and into her face and her green eyes had a mad glitter.

Once more she was upon the orcs and forgot all about herself, not minding who fell around her. Soon the ground was covered by fallen orcs and prisoners. She panted and felt her strength fade. Suddenly something grabbed her by the shoulder and she wheeled around and held her blade up. The blade of her dagger raced towards the neck, but the wild and frightened look of a pale girls face stayed her hand. The point of her dagger halted at the neck and touched the skin lightly, sending a single drop of blood out of it. For a moment that seemed to stretch to eternity she did not know if she should drive the blade deeper.

The girl shivered and her eyes were filled with fear. Suddenly she realised the deafening silence all around her. Dead silence filled the night.

Finally a soft, fearful but kind whisper cut the silence. A whisper which seemed to wipe the tension away. “We should thank you? Who are you?”

Her name? The woman loosened her grip and the dagger fell to the ground. She stood and stared at the girl. Slowly she remembered that she had had a name, she remembered who she truly was. She looked around and realised that all orcs lay dead, but also that some of their prisoners lay mortally wounded. Suddenly it struck her: “Have I hurt any of you?”

The girl shook her head, but trembled. “But I thought you would.”

The tall figure of the woman seemed to shrink and her knees gave way, she sunk to the ground and looked up at the girl. Finally she said in a trembling voice. “I don’t think you should thank me. But my name is Róm...” She knew she could no longer give this name of light away easily anymore. “I’m Roamer.” She covered her face with her bloodstained hands and began to weep.

7 - Rohan Years - Like Raven Wings

(Intro: Rómeniêl went to Rohan with Aragorn and met a honorable Rohirrim Captain, named Harold. He took her heart and tales of their deeds and doings still are told in Rohan. She bore a son to Harold and named him in the way of her ancestors, Anorsul. Aragorn was known as Thorongil at that time. Thengel ruled in Rohan.)

Rómeniêl lay in the tent that the armies of Rohan had built to keep out the cold of winter that was slowly approaching. It was night time and the tent was filled with dim light of a single torch, the smell of smoke and the cold that slowly crept in like an unseen enemy.

She had forgotten how long she had lain there clutching a bloodstained cloak, staring at the ceiling, unmoved. Her face was white and had not shown signs of emotion for days.
 

An old man sat beside her, his face too was pale and sorrowful; his bushy, bristly eyebrows moving up and down as he frowned. He smoked a pipe and from time to time he stood up wandering through the tent.

The wind rustled and shook the tent, a storm was coming up. "A storm," thought Rómeniêl. "Let the storm carry all this away. Let it carry me away." The old man looked up and thoughtfully stroked his long grey beard, then he stepped over to where Rómeniêl lay and put his hand upon her forehead. He started to mumble a few words in an ancient tongue; even Rómeniêl didn’t understand what he said.

"Ah, damn it - don’t be so stubborn woman!" A sudden burst of anger darkened the face of the old man and he seemed to grow and fill the room. "Don’t be so stubborn! I know you can hear me!" He turned around and crossed the tent in long fast strides in a way that he seemed much younger than his appearance. "Stubborn children – all of them! You will not follow them! You cannot follow them!" The man clad in grey garments grabbed a staff and knocked some cups from a nearby table. They fell noisily to the ground, but still she gave neither sign nor sound.

The old man turned around. His features smoothened and there was a sudden concern and softness in his bright eyes. He came over to her bed, sat down upon it and stroked her forehead again. "Children you are all - his Secondborn. Don’t you lose hope my dear child. Remember your strength, your duty, let me kindle your fire again. Don’t let them be gone for naught. There is still hope – there always is hope."

The curtains at the entrance of the tent were drawn aside. Thorongil clad in armour came in; he was dirty, tired and cold. He looked at Rómeniêl and then at the old man and sorrow could be seen in his face even bigger than his tiredness. "We couldn’t find any sign of him, Gandalf. How is she?"

"She will be alright, Thorongil. She will be alright." The last sentence sounded like the reinsurance to himself. “Alright as a woman who lost husband and son in one night can be.”

"Greyhame, I need to talk to you on urgent matters and your presence is needed at the meeting with King Thengel."

The young Dúnedan, later known as Aragorn, bowed slightly with respect for the wizard. Gandalf sighed and grabbed his staff, suddenly he looked much older and as if he was carrying a heavy burden. He bowed over Rómeniêl again and whispered: "If all hope fails, go to the Shire - the Shire, yes. Find some peace and quiet there." He smiled. As he turned to Hama he mumbled to himself still smiling: "Yes the Shire, I will have to go there myself. Yes, the Shire." He turned to Aragorn beaming: "Now show me the way to King Thengel’s tent."  Thorongil smiled broadly back at him and all his tiredness and dread seemed to be wiped away by the wizard’s smile.

The tent was empty now. The wind, which had swept in when the wizard and Thorongil had left the tent, blew out the last flame of the torch. It was pitch-black now. Rómeniêl felt the cold of winter creep in even more. When the wizard had left it seemed that the last warmth in this tent had left with him. Winter threatened to choke all life on these plains, but she didn’t care. She cared no more.

She lay still on the bed her eyes still wide open. But slowly her hand began to stroke the cloak she was clutching. Even slower she moved it in front of her face and drew a deep breath. A familiar, beloved smell filled her nose, but it was mixed with a horrid, awful smell she knew too well - orcs. She tried to focus on the smell she had loved so much for so many years. She had known that he would have to go before her. "But not both of them," she thought to herself.

A single tear rolled down her cheek. Quickly tears filled her eyes, tears she had feared so much to cry. Silently her tears ran down her face and mingled with the blood on the cloak. After a while she began humming quietly and her humming changed into a soft lament. Her words were in Elvish and this is what they said:

"Again night spreads raven wings over the plains,

While the wind cries and battles with my voice.

In an ocean of tears I look for shelter.

But my bed remains cold without the warmth of the other,

Still heartbeat and breath fill the silence of my room.

Drowning I hear beating and pounding like echoes long lost.

My reaching hand finds a cold pillow, white like a burial shroud in the moonshine,

My eyes blinded by darkness that has fallen black around me.

Only sounds like raven wings reinsure me that I am still alive."

She repeated the words several times very silently. Carefully she sat up in her bed still clutching the cloak. She pressed the cloak to her chest drawing its smell in for a last time. Then she carefully folded it, kissed it and laid it aside. She stood up and had to get hold of a tent post. Her knees gave way from her long rest.

Rómeniêl steadied herself and tried to adjust her eyes to the darkness. "The Shire!" The way the wizard had said these words drew pictures in her mind. Pictures, that bore no comfort yet, of sunlight, laughter and the warmth of spring. Painful pictured, but Rómeniêl knew he was right – he always was right.

With what strength still left in her she packed silently and swiftly without lighting a fire or torch. Before she left the tent she turned to her bed again looking at the bloodstained bundle. One moment her eyes rested there and she seemed uncertain what to do. Her hand reached out to touch the delicately embroidered cloth, but then she pulled back her hand turned and crept out of the backside of the tent.

Rómeniêl knew how to get to the horses quickly and at a whisper a beautiful spotted mare came to her. She stroked its mane and saddled it quickly. She turned her horse northwards.

"The Shire," was all she thought as the moon broke through the clouds and the storm came to a rest. "To the Shire!" Rómeniêl looked up at the full moon and the stars that shone through the wisps of clouds. "To the Shire!" 

6 - Young Love- Before the Dawn

Night had not settled over Rivendell, but there was an unearthly silence about the Last Homely House. Lamps were being lit and the otherwise so carefree Elves of Elrond’s household fulfilled their shores silently, no singing was heard and laughter had died this night. An odd assortment of Free People of all races and standing stirred still in Rivendell - packing polished weapons, adjusting gear and readying supplies for a journey,  sitting in silence or taking time to walk the paths in the beautiful gardens. Words were spoken in whispers and most of the conversation that went on was by glances and signs.

Finally the night had fallen and Rómeniêl had reached the destination she had been climbing up to while watching the people below. Her hands had clung to the sharp stones and her feet looked for hold on the smooth stones.

Her lonely slender figure stood upon the edge of a cliff that overlooked the valley and were the cold winds coming from the Misty Mountains covered the ground with a dust of white shimmering crystals. She inhaled the cool air and hoped that it would calm her down. This had been her refuge when she had had a temper in her youth, when she needed time away from the hard training and constant duty that was laid upon her shoulders by her father. Even her best friends did not know of this place where the upcoming scents and noises of Rivendell mingled with the cold winds of the Misty Mountains.

So she stood in silence and watched her friends and the members of an Elvish fellowship get ready to set out before dawn. To set out to the Grey Havens. Eagerly many had joined at first hoping to journey to a home none of them had seen and to be guided by this man who she once loved.

Now many of those below her would not find sleep this night and everyone seemed engulfed in his own thoughts and errands, knowing of the perils ahead and the need of secrecy. She herself now once more left to do what was her life and had been for what was the lifespan of common Men. Aragorn had travelled to Rohan and Gondor. Thengel needed their aid.

Rómeniêl focused on breathing and taking in the cold air that sent small wisps of clouds from her mouth. She closed her eyes for moment and it seemed a picture of a rising sun over lush rolling hills. She held Ereinion’s hand and he smiled, children playing around them. “Only a dream,” she thought to herself. It had been years since last they had seen each other.

Opening her eyes again she lifted them to the sky and the black darkness was filled with thousands of sparkling specks of light. Gathering her courage she looked down again as stepped forward and the tips of her boots were level with the edge of the small cliff.

The streets around the Last Lonely House began to empty as people tried to find rest. Only one small group was ready to set out and was leading their horses over the bridge that led out of the valley. The soft bluish lamps, the elegance of their movement and their gear gave them away as King Thranduil’s company.

This company was the one her green eyes followed as they filled with tears. She breathed deep to push them back and yet a tear rolled down her cheek. “Ereinion,” she whispered and the wind picked up her cloak and made her hair flow in the wind. It seemed as if the soft whisper had been taken along, because out of the crowd of hooded Elves a handsome dark Captain turned and looked back. His eyes searched the road, but he could not see anyone.

Her mind called out, yet her heart knew he would not be her home. Long years of solitude had made her duty easier and she had almost forgotten the pain that this burden caused when love was involved.

Even though he was so far away and she could not see his face clearly, she knew the burden of his own duty lay upon him as heavy on her. There had been no goodbye from her, but she could not say anymore, for she knew she could not let him go if she would now stand on the bridge below. It would be a foolish and selfish deed, up here she was herself.

Her reason told her that he had to follow the order of his king, she knew he did not leave light heartedly and that he had to do what had to be done for those in need. Yet her heart ached and in her dreams she wished him to come with her and stay. So many words unspoken between them, so many thoughts and emotions unshared out of fear for moments like this.

Still as stone she stood up there with her eyes following the Elven Captain as he turned back to follow the rest of the company. Her heart broke that moment and the tears began to flow freely as he began to catch up with the company that had walked ahead of him. She wondered when and if she would see him again. Her heart told her that this love could not be as it was perilous. She suddenly and abruptly inhaled, realising that for a moment her breath had stopped. She wouldn’t wait for him – he would not return to her arms. She wished for dawn.

As foresight stirred within her and the light of the stars reflected in her eyes, he turned once more looking back and lifting his head to the sky just before he was to turn around the last slope that led out of sight. This second a cold gust of wind picked up her cloak and hair again making it wave as if it wanted to give her away on her lofty hiding place. The Captain lifted his hand and waved and slowly Rómeniêl returned the gesture. She knew it was the last time her eyes would ever behold him.

Then he suddenly turned and was gone. Her hand sank down. Standing upon the edge of the cliff looking at the corner where he had vanished into the night, her heart and soul in turmoil, her body still as carved stone. Thus she waited until the first light touched the summits of the mountains around the still darkened valley.

5 - Young Love - White Ships in Grey Havens

White mist rolled in from the land towards the Sea. The building surrounding the quay were grey and the rooftops painted in colours of red from the sinking sun. Upon a high tower there stood a man and a woman, both hooded in greenish grey cloaks and looking down upon the havens beneath them. A beautiful white ship had just set sail and now began its journey west as soft sounds of harps and sweet voices like bells ringing were carried up by the wind towards them.

The woman wiped away a tear that slowly descended down her pale cheeks while the man put a comforting arm around her. Softly and quietly she began to speak: "Can I allow myself to love him when it will mean to keep him from leaving with his kin?" The tall man beside her pulled back his cloak and sighed heavily in answer. His arm still upon her shoulder his face turned westward, his face weatherworn yet noble, he held himself almost kingly. Little reminded her of the boy she once knew, but she also had grown from teenager to woman. "There beneath the waves lies our home and with it times when it was not necessary to think of such things."

The woman removed her hood too and her long dark hair flowed down and waved behind her as the wind picked it up. Her green eyes searched the horizon and then lingered upon the boat beneath them as it passed the gates of the Grey Havens. "How many times have you stood here, Milord and asked yourself this question?" She turned to him and waited for an answer. He did not reply immediately, but thought long as his eyes followed the ship as it slowly drifted westwards and the sounds of voices slowly faded like the memory of a dream.

The light grew darker and blue lanterns were lit all about the city when he began to speak. "Too many times, my dear friend, but not yet enough. But believe me it is not your choice and I would give my life to prevent my love from suffering. If I could I would follow her – follow them – even if it was to be my death. But we cannot follow them. You know that, Rómeniêl, for you are of my kin." She nodded silently. Aragorn began humming and soon drifted into a sad soft song, singing of Luthien and Beren. Rómeniêl knew the song by heart and soon joined into the tune. So they stood for a while singing and watching as the sails of the ship faded into the horizon and vanished completely as the sun sank beneath the horizon in a last flash of light. Standing there it seemed as if the wind carried over sounds of the past, of bells ringing and laughter and singing, of white shores and bliss.

Rómeniêl turned to Aragorn and realised for the first time that their fate had not only been bound by the oath she had so long ago pledged, as all her family had or the friendship that they had since her childhood, but by something more. It was the memory of ancient blood running in their veins, a connection beyond understanding, a fate sung in songs before the beginning of time. "It is not our decision to make, my friend, is it? Can I go back and meet those I love and send them onto the ships? Could I bear it?" He smiled at her sadly. "You could try and trust me - I tried. It is not your decision to make, my dear." He removed his arm from her shoulder and left the balcony turning back and waving her to follow him, "Come now, this ship has gone. Today is no day for answers yet. We will be watching another ship leave someday, maybe to say goodbye to the last of the Elves. Maybe to say goodbye to those we love.”

4 - Young Love - Ereinion

Rómeniêl had grown into a young Dúnedan woman and had been sent to Mirkwood to learn of the ways of the Woodelves. Thranduil’s Halls were full of miracles for the young, dark hair woman and for the first time she had neither Estel in her wake nor her father keeping a watchful eye on his heir. She was allowed to make her way over the Misty Mountains over the High Pass and down into the valley of the Anduin to enter Mirkwood at the Elven Gate alone.

She craved to prove herself and for once not bother if Estel was the son of Arathorn and that she was meant to guard him and his secret. He was her age and they were like siblings. It seemed like a blessing when Elrond revealed to him that he was Aragorn and he sent him to Lothlorien. At least now she didn’t have to keep the secret of his heritage from him anymore.

Rómeniêl was hungry to learn more and wanted to see the world. She wanted to be free of the burden for once, which was a lot to bear for a teenager. Elrond and the White Council had decided that it would be best if Aragorn would learn to rely on himself, while she was to learn to stand her ground. Her father was reluctant to agree, but Gandalf and Elrond set her free of her duty ever since she had taken the oath. Every step over the High Pass eased her heart and let her mind work a lot easier. Her heart sang when she saw the Elven Gate.

Her father had warned her of the passage through the darkening forest, but she had barely set her foot into the forest when an arrow landed at her feet. Rómeniêl drew her bow and looked around. Another arrow landed just in front of her feet. This time she took time to look at it and saw that the deadly arrowhead was missing and instead a padded bundle was attached to it. Soft laughter was heard from above and she rolled her eyes. “Very funny!” She put her bow and arrow away just in time to find a young, dark haired and handsome Elf land right in front of her. He picked the arrow up and handed it to her. “Goheno nin, it was meant as a welcome. Are you Rómeniêl?” His voice was pleasant but with the slight singing tune and a heaviness which told her he wasn’t used to speaking Westron.

He picked up the arrows and handed them to her with a radiant smile. “Elen sila lumen omentilmo, Rómeniêl. Though I think it is your light that seems to shine upon our meeting.” Rómeniêl blushed.

She was surprised that someone expected her and even more at the unexpected compliment, but nodded. She hadn’t earned her name as a Ranger yet, and the Elves usually cared little for those names anyway. “Mae govannen, mellon. Though you acted only half a melon.” She teased him and it took him a moment until he understood the joke.

“Oh, aren’t you a witty one?” He crossed his arms and walked with her. “Your father sent scouts ahead and they told us to expect you. I am Ereinion.”

“You already know my name.” She smiled boldly at him and watched him closely.

Over the next weeks Ereinion became her shadow. He was always lingering about in the shadows of trees, between the foliage above or just happened to stroll across her path ‘by chance’. Rómeniêl and Ereinion constantly grew fonder of each other, yet he kept his distance. It was like a cautious dance between them. She taught him Westron, he taught her how to kiss.

One day they both sat in the grand hall, where Rómeniêl once more admired the stone carved trees and birds. The halls inside these mountains were like a living forest made of stone and she expected to hear the leaves rustle while the stone birds started to sing. Ereinion sat next to her, but his eyes were glued to her young, pale face and suddenly he took her hand.

She turned her head quickly and with mild surprise. They exchanged deep glances. “You know I would give it all up for you, don’t you?” He spoke softly and she swallowed. She had learned enough about the tales of Luthien and Beren, about Earendil and Elwing to know what he meant. “But Ereinion! You want to become Captain of the King’s Guard you said.” She looked at his hand holding hers.

He nodded and moved closer. “But I would give that up for you too.” She looked up into his dark eyes and flawless face. A face she had looked at often in admiration and love. Now she leaned forward and kissed him. They both jumped, even though only for a moment, then their lips met again.

Their kiss was interrupted by a quiet cough and the one of the king’s advisors looked down at the two of them with a raised brow. “Ereinion, the king is looking for you. Go see him at once.”

Rómeniêl blushed and looked at her feet, while Ereinion stood and bowed his head. “At once, my lord.” He turned once more and his hand gently ran over her face and cupped her chin to lift it. His dark eyes held her captive immediately and she forgot her worries when he smiled and leaned down to kiss her head. “Amin mela lle.”

It was easy to ignore the judgemental gazes the king’s advisor gave them when all she could see was Ereinion’s smile. So Rómeniêl just waved when he followed the advisor to see the king. They both couldn’t know that there weren’t many more days like these nor many more kisses.

Only when he was gone and she sat alone the realization came to her once more what his words had meant. She knew darkness was stirring in Barad Gularan and Dol Guldur. The huge spiders grew fatter and bigger daily. They both had their duties and they both knew that their love would not easily find approval.

The day passed and Rómeniêl had taken to walking through the gardens. She had no eye for the beauty of the flowers nor the sound of Elven voices that began to sing to the stars and the moon. Her mind was occupied with worries and she longed to see the handsome young Elf. She prayed to the Valar that he would come with good news, but then he suddenly stood next to a tree and his eyes gave away how heavy his heart was.

She ran to him without hesitation and ignored the curious gazes of the Elves in the garden. Ereinion’s strong arms wrapped around her and he looked down. “I will have to leave immediately. King Thranduil even wanted me to go without a good bye, but I couldn’t go without seeing you, Lirimaer.” He kissed her once more and then Ereinion took his leave heavy hearted and with promises on his lips that his vow to give his life up for her remained.

Rómeniêl wanted to run after her but a strong hand stayed her. One of the Rangers of the North stepped out of the shadow and stayed her. She was called to the Shire by her father.

The young Dúnedan woman left Thranduil’s Halls the same night. Her father like knew about her and Ereinion. She wasn’t sure how he had heard about her love to an Elf, but she was sure that she would earn a proper scolding.

She met her father when she came to the High Pass over the Misty Mountains. She prepared for the worst, but her father greeted her without scolding her and instead send her off with errands in the Shire to get to know the local folks better. His face seemed to older, worn and his stern gaze almost seemed softened when he looked upon his daughter. He even accompanied her to the Shire and never lost a word about Ereinion, although she knew that he had sent for her because of him.

Rómeniêl took up her duty among the Rangers of the North near the Shire, far away from Mirkwood and far away from Ereinion for a few years. Her father often sent her to Cirdan in the Grey Havens too. There she one day met Aragorn again.

3 - Youth - Growing Pains

With a loud clatter a sword dropped to the stony ground, followed by a backpack angrily thrown into a far corner of the room. The woman, whose age could hardly be guessed, stomped around into the room, her dark hair trailing after her. She jerked at straps of her belt and jammed a sword against the doorframe with a little too much force, so it dropped and clattered too.

Her brows were wrinkled and her face fuming with a mix of anger and disappointment.

Her father followed after her, walking regal and looking calm. His appearance was just as dark haired and his age could hardly be guessed either, but here and there frost had touched the dark hair and left small wrinkles around his steal blue eyes.

He picked up the sword and leaned it against the doorframe, watching how the woman strode across the room, cursing to herself.

“Are you done yet. Rómeniêl?” His voice was calm, almost cold.

“Done? Done with what?” She didn’t even leave time for him to answer the question as words and tears poured out of her. “Done with what? With being bruised, shoved, shunned, screamed at, tortured, rejected and alone? Done with doing my duty and stepping back from what others call a fulfilled life?”

She made a fist and hit the wall, flinching at the self-inflicted pain. But instead of turning around she just formed a tighter fist and hit the same spot again.

Silence followed as the man watched her leaning her head against the cool stone walls.

Slowly he stepped up behind her after a long moment and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off and moved to the side.

Another few moments passed until he stepped up again to once more place his hand on her shoulder this time earning a glare from angry but tear-filled eyes.

“Are you done yet?” He asked her again with the same calm voice and held her gaze. She shrugged and her shoulders sank as the angry look on her face made room for a rather sad look.

“I guess,” was her plain and timid answer.

With a slow, gently but determined grip he turned her around and placed both hands on her shoulders. “You’re frustrated. I understand that. We all have been one way or the other. Again and again and again. But it is not for us to decide what we can have sometimes, nor what we are. You are my daughter and as such you have a duty. You are strong and will-full, but you will need to learn to step back. There are things we cannot have and there are things we shall not desire. Remember what happened to Númenor. Let our history be a warning not to desire what we are not destined to be or have.”

She swallowed hard and looked to the ground, unable to hold his stern blue gaze. “I know Adda. I have sworn an oath and I will not fail you.”

He nodded sternly and spoke softly. “You’re needs don’t count sometimes. See to those you love and find peace and happiness in knowing that they are safe and happy. A ranger leads a life in the shadows, we cannot allow ourselves to crave for anything else but the safety of the land for the sake of our people. If you love, then let love be the strength to keep you hidden and fortified against your own desires.” His voice was stern but warm in this moment and the stern gaze of his steal blue eyes softened for a blink of the eye. She looked up and in this moment his face revealed a sudden softness, before it returned to a grave almost cold expression. The tone of his voice changed and he held the gaze of her green eyes, sounding almost cold. “You are my daughter and of the line of the Arandil. Never forget your duty, failure is not acceptable.”

She swallowed hard and nodded, wiping the tears of her face, feeling that this display of weakness was already a failure. “Yes Adda, I understand.”

She straightened her shoulders with all the power her will gave her and pushed back the urge to lean forward to rest her head against his shoulder.

He plainly nodded at her and gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Good.”

He turned and left her standing tall and alone in the grand hall. She stood for a while and stared at the wall, before she dropped back and leaned her back against the wall.

Her eyes slowly watered but she forced back the tears and swallowed hard. “I shall not fail.” She repeated this sentence ever so quietly as if it was a prayer and finally pushed herself of the wall.

Her face had become pale and stern, a last flicker of sadness in her eyes. “Love, light and hope shall I give to the world, even if I keep none for myself.” Her steps seemed hesitant for a moment and each stepped seemed to be a burden. She rubbed her shoulders and flinched, as the bruises were still fresh, making her way across the room to fetch her belongings.