To those that go before by Quente

Hæ´letha holdost

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Elfwine’s father Éomer Éadig died in battle.

Full old was he, and should not have been on the field to take an axe from a Southron through the shoulder and into his heart -- but he went to battle for the great love he held for the High King Aragorn.

None would gainsay him the journey, least of all his son Elfwine. Lothíriel had passed away the previous Spring, and she lay waiting for him in the first burial mound of Éomer’s line. Grass had taken root there, and the simbelmynë was fair and sweet as it lay across their mound in the height of summer.

Standing beside Elfwine next to Eomer King’s bier, the High King’s expression was strange -- remote it was, as it had been for the death of Elfwine’s aunt Eowyn some ten years before. Elfwine found it a thing difficult to account for: as he stood beside the grave of his friend, the High King looked ever in the strength of his manhood, although wisdom lay in his eyes.

Éomer King’s braids lay white upon his breastplate, and the hands crossed upon his sword were scarred and withered.

Elfwine overheard something then beneath the weeping, soft words as Aragorn clasped the hand of his greatest knight.

“Where did you go? I would find you there, someday, west of west, where even the Elves dwell not.”

The singing began. The women stood forth to chant the long lay that belonged to Éomer King. Elfwine could not help but raise his voice to join in -- he had written it, after all. His father, whose reign was longer than any king of Rohan before him, had kept Elfwine in peace to tend the ships of his grandfather, and to scribe the lays of the Rohirrim with the scholars of Minas Tirith.

His mighty father was gone, and unashamed, Elfwine let his grief take him.

But soon the song was done, and they came silently back to Meduseld. Elboron was at Elfwine’s side, cousin dearer than brother. They went arm in arm into the hall where Elfwine would be king.

Aragorn walked the steps to the throne and took the high-crowned helm sitting alone upon it, and turned to address them.

“Long has the bearer of this helm fought at my side for the sake of his oath, and long have I loved him. Now he goes before me to the dwellinghall of his fathers, and I do not begrudge him this journey, for he has lived a life both valiant and faithful. When I call for my oath-brother on the fields of our victories to take a drink together -- I shall ever call his name. And when he comes not on his great horse, both afroth with battle, I shall sorely feel the ache of our loss.

“And yet, not all death is ill, and not all loss is sorrowful, for upon the deeds of his life this land and this people have flowered into a golden age. And in the glory of Éomer King’s deeds, none is greater than the legacy he has left behind. Come forth, son of Éomer!”

And Elfwine dried his tears upon his sleeve, and mounted the steps to kneel before the High King.

“Elfwine, will you keep the oath that Éorl gave to Cirion, to bind our people in faith and friendship as long as you bear this crown?”

“I will,” Elfwine said, “As my father did before me, and Théoden King before him, unto the ending of my days in Middle-earth.”

Aragorn set the crown upon his head. “Then rise, Elfwine King, and look upon your people.”

And then, from the great crowd that beheld them in Meduseld, there arose a glad shout of approval -- for Éomer’s reign had been blessed, and his son fully of an age to carry them forward into new days.

Elfwine felt the voices of his people bolstering him, and lifted his head. He saw Elboron smile at him, and Queen Arwen too, from her position with her ladies at the side of the hall.

Instead of speaking, Elfwine sang, raising his voice in the song of Éorl:

Hear now, folk of the Éorlingas, who bow not to the evil in the East
I vow to my liege in the name of my longfathers, and in my own name, Elfwine,
That between us and the Warriors of the West there shall be friendship forever:
Their enemies shall be our enemies, their need shall be our need, 
And ever evil or threat or assault may come upon them, we will aid them to the utmost 
To the end of our strength, and the end of all days.

~

When the feasting was finished, and the toasting, and the songs, there came a time when Elfwine walked outside upon the escarpment that overlooked the long valley where Meduseld lay. He looked down with a gaze both glad and melancholy upon his land.

Aragorn was there before him. His hair, just beginning to be touched by silver, was streaming in the breeze.

He was looking west, but what he sought, Elfwine could not tell.