Léofwine closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The brief conversation had exhausted him. Around his eyes, lines of pain, but a Rider, a true man of the Mark never complains about such things. Another glance at the sky above him showed a few high clouds rimmed with gold already. Nothing and no one could stop its course. Time would not halt for Léofwine, son of Léofdag, husband of Mearhe, and father of Léofara.
Other Riders kneeling beside him, holding his hand as life was fading. One rasping breath after another, Léofwine coughed up blood. The only thing they could do was to listen for any last words, and wait for his breath to stop.
"Mearhe?"
"She's not here, Léofwine." Eormir whispered into his brother-in-arms' ear.
Léofwine struggled up trying to move, but the men kept him down as the Orc speer was still embedded deep in his chest. Eormir leaned forward and spoke again to him.
"We will bring your words to her."
Taking a skin of water, one of the Riders poured a small measure in a cup and held it to his lips. Léofwine took a couple of sips, but that was all. His eyes moved to the mountains, above them the sky had turned a light blue. "Dawn is coming." He whispered. "It is coming."
" Mearhe, my dear love, you’re so beautiful," he said, his breath labored. "I remember... the first time I saw you. Bright as the moon, warm as the sun." He coughed again. " I knew it then...you were the one I would love forever." Léofwine closed his eyes for a moment. "Just took me a while...to convince you."
Léofwine beckoned Eormir closer. “Promise me...take care of her, and of my son...promise me.”
Eormir gripped his hand "I promise, Léofwine." His voice was steady and true.
Another cough shook Léofwine. " My sword," he whispered.
Kneeling by him, one of the Riders held the scabbard out flat on his hands and presented it to Léofwine. His fingers closed on the hilt and for a moment he gripped it with his old strength. "Léofhild." His hold relaxed. " For my son. Take it to him."
The Rider hesitated for a moment.The sword had been Léofwine’s constant companion in many battles.Then he took the sword away from the dying man and nodded at him.
"For Léofara," Léofwine insisted, "I leave Rohan in good hands."
"I will honour your wish." the soldier said, bowing his head and bringing his right fist to his chest in the traditional salute of the Riders.
Eormir bent forward and used his folded cloak under Léofwine's head. Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes, but he fought them back. Léofwine could now have a better view of the mountains and the rising sun.
"Mearhe...I love you...we will meet again..." another coughing fit. "I will wait for you, I promise."
Eormir could not speak. He and the other Riders kneeled around Léofwine while the light grew steadily brighter as the sun rose up to the horizon. It would be one of those bright and crisp winter days, perfect for him and Mearhe to go for a ride, with fresh snow crackling under the horses’ hooves and a blue sky resplendent above the Mark. He would take her to the familiar path into the mountains, up to the now frozen lake by the forest. Where in a summer not long ago he had taught her to love.
Still one torturous breath followed the other. Then suddenly his grip tightened Eormir's hand. "Mearhe," he gasped. "The Light!"
His grip became loose, his head bent back, clear blue eyes fixed on his last sunrise, and everything went silent.
Image originally posted here
Portrait of Léofwine created in Artbreeder and edited in Photoshop by me
