By the light of the moon
She rubs her eyes
Says it's funny how the night can make you blind
Eomer didn't know what to do.
"Protect your little sister," his father had told him, once, long ago. He had taken it to heart, and still did: he swore never to let her get hurt.
And here she lay in front of him, curled up and facing the wall, one hand on her cheek where Aragorn—no, King Elessar, he reminded himself—had last touched her. In the pale, watery sunlight that came just before dawn, the tears that slipped slowly but steadily from her face to the floor sparkled like icy crystals, and he didn't know who to protect her from.
From the Witch-King of Angmar? She had killed him, whom no mortal man could kill. From King Elessar? He had not meant to hurt his sister so, Eomer was sure, but he doubted he stood a chance against Isildur's heir should he decide to fight for his sister's broken heart.
He finally slunk out of the room, too ashamed to face his sister—or her back—any longer. Head bowed, he leaned against the wall for support.
I don't know what I'm supposed to do
But if she feels bad, then I do to
So I let her be
Faramir watched from the shadows, blue eyes pensive as he saw both Eomer's shame and Eowyn's grief. In his hands he held the slender gold chain that had been found next to Eowyn's motionless form on the Pelennor Fields, the deep blue stone dangling from it undamaged by battle. He winced as he shifted position, rubbing his splinted arm gingerly. He paused in the doorframe for a moment, gathering his courage, and slowly limped toward Eowyn's bed.
"I believe this is yours, my Lady," he blurted, holding the necklace out awkwardly. Eowyn didn't stir, other than to curl up slightly tighter. "My Lady?"
When no response came, he placed the necklace on the pillow next to her head and quietly made his way outside, slumping to the ground against the wall.
There was something about her that drew him to her, as a moth to a flame. She was a study in contradictions, or so it seemed to him: strong yet fragile, beautiful yet pained, fearless yet lonely and cold.
He stood finally, using the columns in the courtyard for support as he did so. At a soft rustling, he glanced up, seeing Eowyn framed by the grey stone of the window, nearly translucent in the shadowy light. The gold chain dangled limply from one loosely fisted hand, and she stared past the walls and to the mountains, as though they held the answer that would bring her back to herself.
She sits down and stares into the distance
And it takes all night
And I know I could break her concentration
But it don't feel right
The King of Rohan and the Steward of Gondor fell into an uneasy rhythm, guided by Eowyn's daily cycle. Eomer stayed with her in the mornings, telling her stories as he had done when they were younger and she couldn't sleep for fear of nightmares. Faramir came every afternoon, inevitably driven from the room by her sorrowful silence before he took up his post in the courtyard, and she at her window.
She had stopped crying, for the most part, but standing in the windowframe, staring out into the distance, Faramir could swear that if he caught one of her teardrops, he would feel ice.
Not since the death of Theodwyn had Gamling seen the young King so lost. In the midst of the preparations for the journey to the Black Gate, the men had yet to notice Eomer's uncharacteristic absentmindedness, but Gamling saw, and Gamling knew its cause.
Every day, Eomer left his sister's room only to lock himself in his own. Gamling had wisely left his King alone after the first day, having knocked on the door only to receive not a single acknowledgment of his presence and to hear the soft, dull sounds of one who has been crying for a long time, and is unable to conceal it.
So by the light of the moon
She rubs her eyes
Sits down on the bed and starts to cry
And there's something less about her
And I don't know what I'm supposed to do
So I sit down and I cry too—but don't let her see
Eowyn knew that her brother came to see her daily. His was the one voice she anchored herself to, the one thing that centered her and reminded her—if only briefly—who she was, that she was loved. When he was there, she remembered horses, and the sun, and what it meant to be happy.
There was someone else there, once Eomer left, too. She didn't know him, but he felt like she did—like loss and regret. But he radiated hope as the stars did light, and she followed that hope when he left, standing at the window to be closer to him.
The tears on her cheeks had wiped away the last traces of Lord Aragorn's touch. She raised one hand to her cheek, just to be sure, and felt only crystalline teardrops over ice-cold skin.
She needed Faramir's hope, because she had none left for herself.
She's down in it
She tried her best and now she can't win
It's hard to see them on the ground
Her diamonds falling down
She left her room for the first time as the sun rose, pulling her cloak tighter to ward against the chill in the air. The balcony overlooking the city was as dark as she felt, with not a single sprig of green to brighten it.
She didn't know how long she stood there, eyes fixed on nothing, before she felt his hope behind her, warm and reassuring.
"The city has grown so silent," she whispered. "There is no warmth left in the sun. It grows so cold."
Faramir stepped up next to her, and she leaned against him, every bone in her body aching for his hope.
"It's just the damp of the first spring rain," he replied, pulling her close. "I do not believe this darkness will endure."
She didn't look at him, but when he took her hand, she didn't pull away. A small sigh escaped her, and she rested her head against his shoulder.
She shuts out the night
Tries to close her eyes
If she can find daylight
She'll be alright
Author's Note: I do not own anything from Lord of the Rings, "Her Diamonds" by Rob Thomas, etc., etc., etc.
I know this is pretty short, even for a one-shot, but I heard the song, and this story just begged to be written. Reviews welcome, as ever!