Sûlnûr

~

Pleased with the richness of the length cascading past the proper number of errant ringlets, she tossed her midnight curls. Another shake of her head and the black silk settled still untamed, falling well past her shoulders with a few delicate tendrils caressing the off side of her neck.

She whirled around, her breath quickening at the sound of his approach.

He was here!

He came to her as she had feared he would not.

He paused at the entrance. Magnificent! Proud and brave with bright eyes. Even his most casual movements spoke of deadly strength controlled by skill; bought with a lifetime of hard training. She took a moment to still her racing heart. Her mind touched on thoughts of his lightness and strength in the way he moved with her.

It would not do to appear anxious. She managed an air of casual indifference as he approached her. She looked away as he came near and without a sound leaned lightly against her. He pressed to a firm contact, begging for her attention, and nestled his face into her neck. He took a deep breath of her as if he would hold the scent of her inside him.

She could smell the other on him. She hardened her heart. He did not love her or he would not use her and another -- how many others? -- She wondered. She braced herself against the pain at rejecting him and moved away, away from his traitorous touch and false love. She could choose another, she reminded herself, any other! But, as he stepped toward her and moved the warmth of his cheek strongly against her, his heart sang with hers through the match of their beating pulses. She savored the feel of him.

Finally she turned her face to him, to bathe in his sight, to touch her lips to his cheek and throat, to breathe in the taste of his soft breath. With a heavy sigh she pressed herself to him. This night, at least, she must be his.

“Take me,” she pleaded with her heart.

“It will break me to be left behind,” her eyes spoke to his.

“My beloved.” His whisper caressed her with his breath; she tasted the salt of tears on his cheek. “Without knowing what foe we face, I feel your plea to stand with me. Know now though we ride to our deaths, I will have none other bear me in this."

~

Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden!
Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter!
Spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered,
A sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!
Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!

~

* Sûlnûr = “Wind Racer”