Forty-eight Ways

A/N - This story started as the backstory for Fly on Broken Wings. However, it has taken on a life of it's own. The stories began to diverge and the secondary characters take up arms against what was going to happen to our heroes. In light of that, this story has become a stand alone romantic comedy and does not lead to the tragedy of Fly. That story will be told when this one is finished. So please enjoy this without worrying about darkening clouds on the horizon.

Alright

I'll pick you up when you're feeling down
I'll put your feet back on solid ground
I'll pick you up and I'll make you strong
I'll make you feel like you still belong -

Reamonn

He sat so still, perched on the cold polished stone beside the pallet. He hadn't moved for hours, his arms curled loosely around his knees. With his head bent, as if in prayer, the long, lank and dirty hair fell in curtains, hiding the handsome features of his face. Occasionally the head would rise, deep hazel eyes fixed on the prone figure of his sister beside him. Tears ran unashamedly and freely, dripping from his nose to his filthy trousers. Attendants moved swiftly through the Halls of Healing, pausing for a moment to check the injured woman, looking at the man with sympathy, and then passing on to tend to others within their skill. Eowyn was beyond all help they could give, her only hope lay in the hands of Gondor's king.

His watcher had stood just as long, hidden in the shadows of the long hall of the infirmary. Arms crossed, a look of sadness firmly fixed across his finely boned face, the elf never moved, seemingly oblivious to the stir and commotion of the healers, the moans and cries of the injured. Tenderhearted Gimli, unable to stay where he could not help, had taken himself off to find a place for them both to sleep, somewhere among the ruined homes on this level of the White City. Legolas continued his silent vigil, more disturbed by the desperation of the broken man across the room than all the rest. He seemed diminished, shrunken into himself. Eomer had lost his King and looked now to lose his sister. Echos of the scream Eomer had given when he found her, broken and motionless on the field, still rang in the elf's head. Remembered grief swept over the elf, flooding him with compassion. It had not been so very long since he had mourned Gandalf, the young hobbits. He prayed now that a similar miracle would happen for the man, that Eomer would not lose Eowyn this day. Where was Aragorn?

Perhaps it was the isolation of the man that caught him, Legolas thought. Pippin sat vigil with Merry and Beregond would not leave Faramir, not even trusting him to the King's care. But Eomer had lost more than good companions, close friends in the battle. He had lost his King, his uncle. The fate of Rohan now rested on his exhausted shoulders. The slight figure that lay unmoving was the last vestige of his family. And there was no one left to sit with Eomer, to comfort him.

With the silver moonlight slanting through the windows, the King finally arrived, a small basin in his hands. Without a word to Eomer, he began to bathe Eowyn's wounds. The sweet smell of the herbs infusing the water filled the air, bringing a sort of peacefulness amid all the chaos. Tenderly, Aragorn called her name, murmuring to her softly. She seemed to stir, and for the first time, hope flickered across the man's face. Legolas continued his watch.

Gimli came up to him and spoke softly. He understood the tense stillness of his companion, and was loathe to disturb him. So he gave his message simply, without any of their usual banter.

"I've found us a small room," he began, pushing strands of his hair, come loose from his red braids, back away from his face. "It's in a house close to here, so you can check on our friends at will." He looked up at his tall companion. "How's the young hobbit?"

Legolas started. "Merry?" he asked, raising a brow. He'd almost forgotten in his preoccupation with the man from Rohan. "He's recovering quickly. Hobbits are amazingly resilient."

Gimli nodded and buffeted his friend on the arm. "I'm off for a quick bite. Will you join me, lad?"

The elf shook his head, his eyes fixing once again on the crouched figure across the room. Gimli sighed. "Well, you can find the house, just down the street. It wasn't too badly damaged in the attack. The window on the second floor is much bigger than it's builder ever planned, thanks to the bombardment, but it'll do for us. Six or seven down, just ask around if you can't find it, lad." Legolas looked down with a swift smile, then went back to watching the scene before him.

Aragorn had finished his ministrations and Eowyn seemed now to be deep in the comfortable sleep of exhaustion. He clasped Eomer on the shoulder, speaking softly. Relief washed across the man's face like sunshine chasing away the slate grey clouds of winter. Aragorn left him, other patients waiting for the healing hands of the King. Eomer started to stand up, muscles locked into place protested, and he nearly fell. Legolas was beside him instantly, catching and holding him upright while blood rushed to his feet, tingling and stinging. Eomer, shocked at the speed at which the elf had caught him, tried to blurt out his thanks, but the joy in him was so great that the blaze in his hazel eyes caught Legolas with its intensity and held him there for a moment, both speechless.

"She will live!" Eomer exulted, catching the elf by the forearm. "She will live, Legolas!"

The elf smiled back, reflected happiness on the pale face. "I share your joy, Eomer. It was she who defeated the Witch-King. Were it not for her valor today, the battle may have gone quite differently."

Eomer gave him a wry grin. "I wouldn't have cared if she'd been home knitting! My sister will live!"

Legolas felt his lip twitch in an answering grin, and realized he was still holding Eomer. He released him and the man stooped to gently push a strand of hair away from his sister's face. He winced at the contrast between his sister's white skin and his own bloodstained hands.

"Will you stay with her tonight?" Legolas asked carefully, not quite understanding this new feeling of wanting to help the new King of Rohan, to be a friend when he had none there, to take some small responsibility for his well being. "It would be to the better were you to have a small meal, perhaps clean up a bit."

Eomer grinned at the formal cadence of the elf's speech. "Of course, Legolas." he replied, too overcome with relief to refuse anything to anyone. "But I don't want to leave her. She might wake, you see, and if I were not here..."

"I understand." Legolas told him. "If you would excuse me for a moment?" he asked, as the man continued to lovingly stroke the hair of the sleeping woman. The the elf left the Hall on silent feet.

Eomer gazed at Eowyn, grateful to the bottom of his heart that the bleak darkness had passed from her form. He loved this fierce sister of his, for all their disagreements. He honoured her for her courage and rejoiced that he would be able to beg her forgiveness. War may have been the province of men, but this woman had dared all in her desire to protect her people, her friends, all those that she loved, and she had payed a heavy price.

Legolas returned followed by the healer and several orderlies. With great gentleness and care they raised the sleeping woman's pallet and carried her to a small room off the main hall, away from the injured and dying. Eomer followed, raising an eyebrow at the elf, who shrugged. As Eowyn was carefully laid in the bed, the healer checking her over and bandaging the injured arm, other servants arrived, bringing hot water and food. Legolas nodded at Eomer. Eomer was surprised as the men quietly set down their burdens and left. He turned to the elf and raised an eyebrow at him.

"I don't need all this," he said. "There are others, who require.." but the elf cut him off.

"You do need this." He replied, motioning to the tray. "There is always hot water in the House of Healing. I appropriated some, that's all." He felt the pitcher. "Come, quickly, before the coffee cools." He poured out a cup, and the aroma tantalized the man from Rohan. Eomer splashed some hot water in a basin and rinsed off his hands and face. He pushed his hair back out of his eyes, and gratefully took the cup. It was hot and strong and he drained it. Returning to the basin he pulled off his bracers, and began to tug at the buckles of his armour. His tired fingers fumbled and silently the elf lent his nimble hands to the task. Eomer quickly washed and bolted down the simple meal that had been served, one eye always on his sister, surreptitiously wiping a suspicious dampness from his cheeks from time to time. Legolas smiled as he watched the man, and when he finished, pulled a chair bedside the bed.

"Come, sit beside her," the elf said quietly. Eomer fell heavily into the chair, the day's exhaustion catching up with him. He stretched and realized the elf had knelt down to remove the man's boots.

"I can do that for myself!" he protested. Legolas ignored him and fetched a blanket from the chest. He shook out its soft folds and covered the man. Eomer sighed.

"Rest, Eomer King" the elf told him. "There will be councils and planning tomorrow, but for this night, spend it in the company of your dear one."

The man grinned at him as the elf turned and left, signalling the orderly to take the trays. He reached out and took Eowyn's uninjured hand in his own. As he went to see how Merry was faring, Legolas' smile was like sunshine.