The Golden Summer
Orophin of Lórien pressed his lips tightly together as he brushed a fly off of his cheek,
walking through the woods at the edge of Edoras with the Lady Éowyn. Silently he
wondered yet again what good it did him to spend this season in Rohan. He knew better
than to question the orders of Lady Galadriel out loud, but in his heart, he could not help
but speculate.
Already he missed his brothers. Rúmil had been sent to Minas Tirith for this same season,
and Haldir to Imladris. Imladris! What sort of service was that, sitting around eating
grapes with Elrond all summer? It was unjust. Orophin wondered how Rúmil was faring,
and if anyone in Gondor spoke their language. He had been lucky in that several men of
Edoras, as well as the lady Éowyn, spoke Elvish, as his own grasp of the common tongue
was poor. He could understand it, but speaking it was tedious and he avoided doing so
whenever he could.
He had arrived in Edoras seven days past and had spent the first three waiting to get an
audience with King Theoden, who had been in little hurry, it seemed, to greet his guest.
Theoden had no grasp of Elvish, so Orophin had relied on his smarmy Advisor, one Gríma
Wormtongue, to interpret. Orophin had not liked Wormtongue from the beginning, nor
had he liked the spin he put on Galadriel’s suggestion that Orophin’s presence in Edoras
for the summer would “strengthen the bonds between elves and men.”
Theoden seemed more put out than pleased, though he had liked the other gifts Galadriel
had sent him well enough -- a gold harp and some swords that were nicer even than
Orophin’s own. He had sputtered and groused for nearly half an hour in an attempt to
decide what to do with Orophin, luckily ignoring suggestions from Wormtongue such as
“Put him to work in the stables, my lord,” and “Perhaps the kitchen maids could learn
from him the baking of Elvish lembas bread.”
Finally the maid Éowyn had appeared. She was niece to Theoden and had come to ask her
uncle a question, nearly departing abruptly when she spotted Wormtongue, who looked at
her with an interest than even Orophin could not miss, but then stopping when she saw the
tall Galadhrim who was doing his best not to shoot an arrow into Wormtongue then turn
around and go home.
“Who is this, uncle?” she had asked, looking at him with tender eyes.
“A three month gift of the Witch of the Golden Wood,” Theoden had sighed. “I have no
idea what to do with him.”
“Perhaps even, my lord, a spy,” Wormtongue had hissed into Theoden’s ear. Orophin’s
sharp hearing easily picked up the whispered words. So he felt threatened, did he?
“I am Éowyn,” she had said politely to Orophin in his native tongue. Her knowledge of his
language surprised him, but it pleased him as well. For a moment he had been afraid he
must rely on Wormtongue for three months, who would be certain to twist his words -- or
even worse, to speak the language of men himself. “Welcome to Edoras. I hope you will
enjoy your stay in our beautiful land.”
“Your welcome is accepted with much gratitude, lady,” Orophin said humbly. “I am
Orophin of Lórien. I look forward to learning much from your King and your people.”
“I look forward to learning much from you,” Éowyn replied, and Orophin merely lifted an
eyebrow, wondering what she might mean.
At this point, Theoden had gotten a brilliant idea which at the time had seemed a relief, but
now, four days later, made baking bread with the serving wenches seem almost more
appealing. At least none of them would have talked as much as Éowyn. Theoden had
assigned Orophin to be his niece’s personal guard for the duration of his stay, and to
follow the lady everywhere. He was given his own chamber, near to hers, for the nights,
but elves slept little and so he spent most of the time she was taking her rest reading a
book in his chamber (he wished he had brought more than one in his native tongue) or
occasionally prowling the corridor outside of their rooms.
He did not dare, for the sake of not being accused by Wormtongue as a spy, go much
further than that. However, on the second night he met the foul Advisor in the same hall,
where Orophin doubted little that he had no business.
“May I help you?” he had asked, keeping his voice low.
“I was seeking the council of Lady Éowyn,” Wormtongue had said, his eyes darting from
left to right, his stance uneasy.
“It is late, and she has retired.”
“Oh, I doubt that she should mind if I waken her.” The Advisor smiled at Orophin
greasily.
“Just the same, I prefer that you do not.” He was several inches taller than Wormtongue,
and used this to his advantage, taking a step towards him. The Advisor took a step back,
as Orophin had known he would. He was a coward at heart. “Have you a message I may
deliver to her in the morning?”
“I would prefer to deliver it myself,” Wormtongue hissed, all pretense of a smile vanishing.
“Then you shall wait for morning.”
“You should learn not to meddle in affairs which are not any business of yours, Elf of the
Galadhrim,” Wormtongue said coldly.
“I am merely following the duties assigned to me by your king,” Orophin had replied,
keeping all emotion from his tone.
“Very well. Carry on,” Wormtongue had replied haughtily, and turned to slink out of the
corridor.
Éowyn might be overly talkative, Orophin thought now as they continued their stroll
through the wood, but he was damned well going to protect her from unwanted advances.
He paused in his thought. They were unwanted, were they not? She could not possibly
desire the attentions of that shifty fellow, could she?
Today was the second day she had requested he accompany her to stroll in the wood. This
suited him well enough, for the days previous had been spent watching her and her ladies
attend their duties inside the castle -- far from interesting. They had ridden through the
village and field below to the edge of the forest, then dismounted to walk beneath the
shelter of the trees.
The weather was hot, and this did not affect him, though he saw beads of sweat glistening
on the lady’s brow. For some reason he found them fascinating, these small drops of
humanity that he did not secrete. He wanted to draw a finger across her forehead, but he
never would have dared. The flies on the other hand did bother him, and he was constantly
brushing them off, while for some reason they stayed clear of Éowyn.
“Orophin? Orophin?”
He realized that he had lost the thread of what she was saying. He stopped walking and
turned towards her slowly, keeping his expression blank in an attempt to cover up his faux
pas.
“Yes, Lady?”
She smiled broadly. She was nearly a foot shorter than him, and for the first time her
beauty struck him. She had long, fair wavy hair and a generous expression. She was trim,
and her white gown hung neatly over the curves of her figure. She seemed desperately
young, but Orophin had no method of guessing her age.
“I feared I had offended you.”
“Why should you fear that?” he asked.
She looked away for a moment, her cheeks coloring, then looked back at him. “I know so
little of the ways of elves. I thought perhaps I had misspoken, as you are so... silent.”
“Then it is I who have offended you,” he replied gallantly. “Forgive me, it is my custom to
speak little among strangers. No, your Elvish is excellent. Where did you learn it?”
Her cheeks continued to bloom and he wondered why. “Mostly from Gríma,” she said.
“He speaks many languages.”
Orophin frowned, and struggled to think of something polite to say about the Advisor.
After a long moment, he replied, “Yes, he seems a learned man.”
Éowyn turned away from him and began walking again, so he followed her. His sharp
hearing told him that they would soon be near a small stream. What a glorious gift a swim
would be, he thought -- but he could not permit himself such a pleasure while in her
company. After all, he was there to protect her, and he could not do so if he were in the
water away from his weapons, despite the fact that Wormtongue was the only danger they
were likely to find in this secluded place.
“You do not like him much, do you?” she asked softly as the brook came into view. It was
rather shallow, but certainly deep enough for splashing, he thought enviously.
“Gríma Wormtongue speaks out of both sides of his mouth,” Orophin said nonchalantly.
He thought of his brother, Rúmil, who would have doubtlessly been out of his clothes and
into that water by now, had he been there.
“Perhaps he does,” Éowyn sighed. She sat down on a rock next to the water and trailed
her fingers on the surface.
“Did he deliver his message?” Orophin asked, recalling the other night.
Éowyn frowned. “Message?”
“I stopped him in the hall outside of your room the other night. He said he wished to tell
you something, but it was very late, and I sent him away.”
She looked vaguely alarmed. “No, he said nothing to me,” she said, her voice barely a
whisper. She stared up into his eyes. “Thank you.”
He nodded, folding his arms over his chest.
“It is such a hot day,” she sighed. “How is it that you look as crisp and cool as this water,
Orophin of Lórien?”
“Elves do not feel the heat, or the cold,” he said.
“Do you feel nothing at all, then?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You are so silent, so serious.”
He smiled slightly. “I am not known to be either of those things in Lórien. I feel a great
deal, Lady Éowyn. A great deal.”
And it seemed then that he could not take his eyes from her. The sunlight streamed
through the branches to light her bountiful hair, and she might have been an elf maid, so
great was her beauty to him in that moment. She smiled generously at him, and indicated
that he should sit down beside her. Slowly Orophin did so. He set aside his bow and took
off his quiver for the ease of sitting.
“Do you miss your home?” she asked. “I miss my brother, Éomer. He has been away for
some time now, though he is expected to return by the autumn.”
He nodded slightly. “I understand. And, yes. I miss my brothers, my talan--”
“What is that?”
“My tree-dwelling. Our people live high above the ground, in the golden boughs. It is
beautiful, the land of Lothorien,” he said, a fond note creeping into his voice.
“Perhaps I will see it one day.”
“Perhaps you shall.”
“I fear being trapped here forever, Orophin,” she said, looking away from him into the
water where her fingers still turned circles against the lazy current.
“I do not believe that is your fate,” he said to soothe her, though he had no way of
knowing such things. She looked at him gratefully.
Éowyn lifted her hand, and Orophin thought she meant to touch his face. For a moment he
felt a strange hum inside, as if he desired this as well, his skin anticipating the gesture... but
instead she flicked her wet fingers and sprayed his face his a few drops of water. He
gasped and screwed up his face, and she laughed.
“I knew I could wipe away that stony expression!”
“You know not what you are asking for, lady,” Orophin said, and a moment later he was
reaching past her for a handful of water to splash her with. Éowyn pushed him and he lost
his balance. He clutched at her as he fell face first into the stream, pulling her in with him.
Soon they were involved in a full scale war of splashing, just as he might have been with
Rúmil. Within moments they were both drenched, clothing and all.
She threw back her head and laughed, and her laughter was a glorious sound, like silver
bells ringing in the forest. It made him pause and take in the sight of her, more lovely than
ever in her joy. It also reminded him sharply that this was certainly not Rúmil and he
should not be behaving as if she were. He could hear Galadriel’s voice inside of his mind
telling him that his behavior was unbecoming an elf.
He straightened his posture, then lifted her out of the stream, climbing up onto the bank
beside her. The moment his hands went to her waist, her laughter stopped, and she gasped
slightly.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I should not have--”
But she reached up and laid a finger against his lips. “You must stop asking my
forgiveness, for you will never have need of it.”
They had to wait quite some time for their clothing to dry before they returned to Edoras,
which made Gríma Wormtongue regard them with great suspicion, but the days after that
passed more easily and Orophin began to relish the talkative nature of Éowyn. She tried
in vain to teach him words in her own language, but speaking them made him feel
uncomfortable and foreign.
Being around anyone in Edoras besides her made him feel uncomfortable and foreign... but
Éowyn made him feel special, and important. She seemed intrigued by everything he had
to say, and eager to hear about Lothlórien and his people. Orophin had always heard that
men were fascinated with elves, and he had expected a warmer welcome than he had
received, but as the weeks slipped by, he knew that he preferred the situation as it was.
Éowyn was charming and clever. She knew how to draw a sword, and they fenced
together in the field at the edge of the village. He did indeed teach her how to make
lembas bread, and together they played a series of practical jokes on Wormtongue that
Orophin could not wait to tell Rúmil about, so proud he was of their subtlety. Éowyn had
a wicked streak that set off his own perfectly, but he comforted himself in the fact that
only she was witness to his undignified behavior -- and in fact, she gloried in it.
Two weeks before he was meant to return to Lórien, they sat together at the edge of the
stream in the wood. The fact that the end of their time was drawing near had not escaped
either of them, but they did not speak of it. This place had become special to them. It was
the one place they could be completely alone and away from the prying eyes of
Wormtongue. What a friend she had become, he mused. He would miss her when he left
Edoras. She smiled at him shyly, and he wondered what she was thinking.
Éowyn leaned against him gently and turned slightly, bringing her body close to his. Her
eyes locked with Orophin’s and she did not look away as she brought her hands up to rest
flat on his chest.
“I have never been kissed,” she announced, surprising him so greatly that he nearly fell off
of the rock. He raised an eyebrow.
“Truly, there must be many broken hearts in Rohan,” he said lightly.
She laughed. “I don’t know about that. But, Orophin, there has never been anyone I
wanted to kiss--”
“Not even your gallant suitor, Wormtongue?”
“Stop,” she said, still laughing. After a moment, her expression grew serious. “I’m trying
to tell you something.”
“And what is that?”
“I wish to kiss you.”
He raised the other eyebrow. “Do you?”
“Please, Orophin. Don’t you want to kiss me, even just a little bit?” she asked, looking
vulnerable.
He turned his head slightly. He had never thought about it. It was improper, but so were
most of the exploits they had gotten up to over the summer. And... he did want to kiss
her. Yes. He knew that he might have even wanted this for a long time, but had never
given it credence. Love between them was impossible.
Yes, love was impossible -- but she was only asking for one kiss.
He did not reply. He simply gave in to her request. Orophin slipped an arm around
Éowyn’s waist and brought his lips to hers. She moved her mouth tentatively beneath his
and he pulled her up against him even more tightly. He explored her lips tenderly, then
more roughly as she followed his lead and learned to kiss him back. Her mouth opened
and he slipped his tongue inside. She made a small, startled noise, then grabbed at his
shoulders. He drew back, afraid he had frightened her.
“No! Don’t stop!”
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him again. Moments later they slid off of
the rock into the soft grass beside the stream, and they did not get up again for a very,
very long time.
***
“How went your time in Gondor?” Orophin asked his brother as he and Rúmil shared a
quiet dinner together in their talan in Lothlórien. Orophin had returned from Rohan only a
few days earlier, and Rúmil had come home just that evening.
Rúmil grinned cheekily. “I switched with Haldir. He went to Minas Tirith, and I spent the
summer eating grapes in Imladris with Lord Elrond.”
“Scoundrel,” Orophin said, laughing. “Where is Haldir?”
“He has not yet returned, but I doubt he will have any thanks for me when he does. And
your season in Rohan, Orophin?”
Orophin looked away from his brother, out of the window into the green of the trees
beyond. He thought of Éowyn and wondered if she was well, and what she was doing
now.
“It was beautiful beyond measure,” he said softly. “And I will never forget it.”
