Characters: Éomer, Lothíriel
Disclaimer: Not mine, merely borrowed.
Author's Note: A story for February 25. Very, very, late for the "River" challenge.
The Fords of Isen
They always stop at the Fords.
Guards and nursemaids hasten the children downriver, where sheltering trees soften their laughter as they chase minnows and skip stones. Other Riders gather at the barrow, murmuring, passing a flask, pouring libations into the swift-flowing water.
Éomer, though, simply stands, his eyes faraway, face etched with grief. There is nothing for Lothíriel to do but wait.
"Too late," he always says. "When I dream of it, he is still living when I arrive, but I am too late to save him."
She gathers him in her arms as he weeps, desperately, like a child.