Author's Thanks:
The Makers of Mayhem: Sorry about the confusion over Eowyn's death but I'm glad you enjoyed it. I didn't mean to forget my author's note and am thankful that you mentioned how confusing it was. Otherwise, I would never have caught it. Thank you for your kind words.
656
Merry and Eowyn stood side by side, facing the Nazgul King together. In the distance, they could hear the cries of Black Ships on the water, heading towards their location. The White Lady seemed to know that it was this moment or never. This was the moment they must win their victory.
Or forever live in the darkness of Mordor.
With a sure stroke of her blade, she beheaded the King that all feared. Then, unable to hold herself erect under the pain, she slid to the ground, barely holding onto her consciousness. Merry stumbled and slid down beside her, their fingers locking together for what they thought would be a final time.
Aragorn let the leader of the traitors depart, knowing that he would honor his part as they had theirs. Thunder rumbled and he glanced up for a moment, feeling the change in the wind with a slight smile.
It didn't last long as he looked about him. The fields were littered with both dead and injured. There was still so much more work to be done. So much more if they were to ever strike a decisive blow against Sauron.
As he walked through them, he heard the sound of sobbing and turned towards it, compelled to walk over when he saw Eomer there. For the first time, he felt the need to speak. "Your uncle?"
"Has fallen in battle as he has always wished. He has died with his honor restored to him," but there was something else within his voice. A sorrow that could mean but one thing and the ranger flinched away from the knowledge. "My sister also lies near death, she will not depart until she knows that Merriadoc is well cared for."
"He will be," he spoke past the lump in his throat. It hurt to talk and hear his voice. The sorrow welled up to strangle him in its tight and unforgiving grip, leaving him feeling strangely hollow inside. Aragorn had never thought to feel such sorrow within his breast again for all death had hurt.
Why, then, did this one matter more than most?
He had known, he had already known when he had left her alone that day, that she would seek the battle. And he knew that he had to let her, that it was what she needed most. It was not as his side that she must stand, though they both had desired it, this he well knew.
Her place was elsewhere.
It was at the side of her uncle and people that she must fight. For if she did not and something happened to them, she would never have forgiven herself for the betrayal. She would have been lost to them.
And such a precious soul should not be lost in the darkness, for he needed her to live in the light. Needed her to be safe in the light, in the world that was being reborn into the dawn of a new age.
But he had said none of this to her, trusting that she had known that what went unspoken between them was known to him. That he would see her again; that he would come for her once the battles had ended. They would ride together, he had promised himself that.
All these thoughts flashed through his mind as he raced to her side. Falling down beside her, he could see that is was too late. She was too injured, to far-gone. All he could do was lift her into his arms and hold her close to his heart.
Fluttering for a moment, her lashes parted and she looked up at him, trembling under the weight of his gaze. To her weary and sickened mind, this was all she wanted now. It was enough that he was here. She hoped he knew that.
A thousand words, a million expressions passed through his mind, none of which he could allow voice or expression. This was no time to burden her with his worries, with his fears for her and for himself.
Yet, she knew and her lips rose momentarily in a brief smile. Her trembling hand rose and touched his face, gently tracing the contours of it before gasping in pain as a spasm shook her. "Aragorn," she whispered, voice faint with love for him.
"Eowyn," he gasped out. Clutching her hand in his, desperately trying to will some of his life into her fading body. "This isn't the way it is supposed to be. You were to be safe, away from this."
She weakly shook her head, as though she was scolding his innocence. "There is no safety in this world, not even in my own. Just hold me now, let this be."
The sky opened and began to softly drizzle rain upon the ground. Pulling her closer, he tried to shelter her in his warmth. "I won't desert you. Not here to die, cold and alone, on this bloodstained plain."
"I am not alone," she whispered, feeling weaker. Her eyes remained wide open, focused on him. "You are here. It's all I need. Now. It is all I have ever needed."
"At least let me take you inside," he pleaded. "You should not be wet and cold."
"I have lived inside long enough," she sweetly replied, reminding him of a previous conversation. Death was stilling her breath and she let herself slide with it. Nevertheless, she forced herself to speak, to ease his grief if she could. "As for this rain, Aragorn, it can hardly hurt me now for I am nearly gone to the halls of my fathers. It will make this field a place of beauty once more."
Though he appreciated the humor in her words, he could not bring himself to smile. He tightened his hold on her hand, for just the briefest moment. "Eowyn," he started and trailed off, unsure of what to say. Instead, he brought the cooling hand to his lips and gently brushed it with them before he held it to his cheek.
"No, do not grieve for me."
"How can I not?" he cried. "Tell me, how can I not grieve for the loss of a beloved friend? Of a dear loved one? Tell me this, Eowyn, and I will try. I will try to go on for you but tell me how to do so, for I do not know how!"
A shuddering, sobbing breath was torn from her as she forced her tired body to move further into his arms. "Live and love well," she gasped as a spasm of pain took her once more. "I will always be with you. Please, Aragorn, hold me. I'm so cold."
The heavens opened with a heavy barrage of rain, soaking the fields and washing away the stains of the battle.
Closing his eyes, he held her as tightly as he could, feeling the rain pound on his back. He let go of her hand and she held it against his cheek with what little strength she still possessed within her. The fresh smell of the water mingled with the sour smell of death and he buried his face in her hair, noting that it still smelled remarkably sweet.
The hand slipped silently off his face, falling to the side, unnoticed.
"Eowyn?" He tremulously whispered after a moment, becoming aware of the lack of movement from her. The ranger did not need to look at her to see, he knew that she was gone.
There on the plain, his tears mingled with the rain as he cried out his sorrow at the loss of a precious life.
And the death of a half-born dream.
656
The ceremony was quiet, with only those closest to Eowyn there. Though Eomer wanted to bring his sister home to sleep with her ancestors, he honored Aragorn's grief for he had been moved by the future king's grief.
Right or wrong, the Gondorian man loved her and wished to have her near. Eomer was not so hard of heart that he would deny the man his wishes. The distance would grieve him, but he knew that it would kill Aragorn.
A few simple words were spoken by Merry, who sang a tender song, and then they buried her in the ground, not to far from where she had died. "For the sun will always shine on this spot," Aragorn said, chocking on his tears. "And it is free from the cage that she feared would be her life."
By unspoken agreement, they left him to say his own farewells, Legolas pausing only once to remind him that they needed to leave soon.
Aragorn nodded, but did not face him. "I shall try, Eowyn," he murmured. "But know this, I cannot make you any promises." A gentle breeze floated by, tickling him softly, and he could swear he heard a laugh as he turned and joined the others.
The End.