Éomer clasped his hand tightly around his little sisters shoulder as she looked up at him weakly, the morning had brought with it a bleak horizon speckled with hope and Eowyn was determined to be part of it.
"You are an ignorant, stupid little girl Eowyn," He said softly, so that his words had less meaning.
"But a brave one," Aragorn commented from the doorway, he leant against the frame lazily, although he was earnest.
He wasn't even looking at her and Eowyn could barely see through her sleep stained eyes but still she blushed because he was in her presence alone, and the embarrassment of their last conversation was still raw.
"King Théoden," She breathed, turning her head into the pillow to weep.
"Yes, indeed," Éomer let a hand run over her blonde hair before standing from the bed.
It was a sad and joyous day for all of them, heavy with the prospect of death and valour. Éomer walked over to Aragorn whose head was bowed.
"She will not fight," Éomer demanded and Aragorn smirked, despite her great achievement Éomer was still only concerned with his sister's safety and not her strength in battle.
"She will not be able to fight," Aragorn said, hushed so that she did not hear, "She must rest here for ten days, and by that time the battle will be over, lost or won,"
Éomer nodded, sparing another look at Eowyn, curled up in the bed, her limp arm still mildly tinged with grey and shuddered, recalling his mania on the battle field when he saw her, broken. He had screamed, he wailed out to the high heavens and hated Aragorn as he looked on, as if he knew this would happen and he had hated Gandalf as he had looked on too and he hated Eowyn for putting herself in that position. Though now, she was here, and she was safe. Safe as she could be in times like these.
"There is no man who can keep her here Aragorn," Éomer insisted and Aragorn smiled again, it was true.
"There may be one," Aragorn turned to leave, his hand on the hilt of his sword when suddenly Eowyn sat bolt upright in the bed, her eyes wide and seeing.
"Merry! Where is Merry?!" She gasped, blushing now at her foolishness not to remember her friend.
Aragorn rushed to her side, placing a hand on her translucent arm and hushing her back from her hysteria.
"He is well, he is well, he is more concerned about you, my lady," Eowyn clutched at Aragorn's hand and let the breath run out of her, her blonde hair cascading down her face. "But now you must sleep,"
Eowyn did not hear him, she was too busy wading through the relief she was feeling and Aragorn took advantage of this, touching Éomer lightly before heading towards the door.
"We must prepare," He whispered.
Eowyn woke with a start and was immediately out of bed, staring at her wounded arm and wondering how she had so much movement in it. She strode towards the door, the long trails of her silken dress swept along the concrete slabs as she made her way outside.
"Where is the warden," She yelled, aware of what was happening outside, from the gardens she could see the unearthly darkness of Mordor in the distance and she knew time was running out. "Where is the warden?!"
A man stepped out from behind a pillar, surprising her. He had shoulder length brown hair and a weathered, but soft, face. Eowyn recognised him as Faramir, son of Denethor.
"My lady," He began but she swept past him.
"Move, I must find the warden,"
Faramir caught her arm and pulled her back towards him using little effort, she was a lithe thing.
"There is no one here but us, my lady,"
It was dark, and there were no sounds of birds in the trees. Only the distant hum of Mordor's awakening.
"I understand you fought well," His eyes drifted down to her arm, "But if we fight, we will die,"
"And what is so wrong with that?" She snapped, attempting to free herself but Faramir held on until the third tug before letting go, watching as she stumbled.
"There is hope yet for Middle Earth, Eowyn," Faramir spoke slowly, he promised, "I want to be alive to see the first light of a new day sail over the mountains, to rejoice at a victory not just for those who fight, but for the realms of men themselves and to take a wife and see my sons and daughters play in a world without the ever looming darkness of Mordor,"
Eowyn envisioned these things for herself and a warm smile spread across her face. Faramir stepped closer to her.
"Do you not want these things, my lady?" He took her hand, "If you die, you will never know what it was for,"
She sighed and turned from him, breaking the contact with her hand. Instead, she cradled her blue arm.
"Your arm," Faramir spoke again behind her as they stared out to the darkness, his breath in her hair, "If you had died instead of defeating the witch-king, the Gods only know what would have become of us,"
"I must fight," Eowyn barked, tearing away from the man and searching for someone, anyone else. Once again Faramir stopped her.
"You will never a knight Eowyn, and truly I am sorry you were not born a man," Faramir spat as he took her by the shoulders, his face close to hers. Then he drew back, holding her at length, "But you are something greater than that, you are the Maiden of the Shield Arm. Now, you can be a woman, and accept that you cannot fight. Or, you can choose to be the Maiden of the Shield Arm and understand why you cannot fight,"