A/N: To this day, I still get requests for Éowyn/Haldir. So here is a collection of drabbles, hopefully this will satisfy.
The plan is to span the period from Éowyn's marriage to the birth of her first child. While there is some romantic undertone to her relationship with Haldir, it will remain just that...an undertone. Continuation of tertia (walking backwards)
Her brother places a kiss upon her smooth cheek, the glow of her smile never dimming as her eyes follow the man to whom she has pledged her troth. Haldir does not know why he is here, truth be told. He looks on, upon the lovely visage of his beloved tormentor and wonders but briefly at the wretched organ misbehaving in his chest. Enraptured, he watches her watch her future and swears there is no greater pain than this.
(Éowyn, fair lady he carries in his heart, takes the hand of death and the music flares as her skirts tremble with movement. She dances with relish, her form graceful, her laughter free. And death grips her tighter, hold loving and secure; who can help loving her so?)
When finally she stumbles upon him, her smile softens to a murmur of faint praise, and the pain in his chest expands until he thinks it might burst. Leaving her brother's side, she traverses the distance between them. "Master elf, is the tune not to your liking?" She holds out her hand in open invitation. "None should sit forlorn at this feast. Come."
He wants to refuse her. 'Twill only tear at his own tender heart when the ache comes. But the silver of her eyes shines merrily and brides ought to be joyful on the day of their wedding. He takes her invitation and cups her hand with his own. The warmth of her fingers seared. Or was that his own imagination? Playing tricks upon him, might be; as payment for his folly, for his wealth of conceit or the conviction he could hold himself above his regard.
She tugged with finely tuned strength, bringing the both of them in the centre of the storm's eye. The flow of wine cloaked his hesitation. Though by no means made insensible by drink, the bride's smile came with ease and no more costly than a blink of an eye. Haldir did not begrudge her such remedy, not when so momentous an occurrence stood before her, looming.
"Well, master elf, have I managed to lift your spirits?" she questioned, slightly loud over the din.
"Indeed, I am most grateful for your care, my lady."
(In his memory, they sit together upon the grassy knoll, her bow upon the ground, an arrow crossing her lap. The wind is playing in her hair and he feels his pulse drumming up, singing a song of longing. He tempers down the tune, mutes it within himself.)
"'Tis I who bears you gratitude, for being mine own true companion."
There is solace to be found in her words. The burn in his chest lessens. If there be one kind word he wishes to hear from her, then her gratitude, given with such an innocent look of reverence, is enough to soothe.
On this night she is a bride. Come morning, she will be a wife. He does not know that he should remain with her after. Some things are meant to be let go of. Sooner or later.
"You honour me, my lady." Though he'd spoken words of devotion in his own heart only, he held the vow close to himself and returns her to her brother and awaiting husband, who accepted her return with smiles.
