A/N: Thanks to those who left reviews!

The celebration was loud and merry and if his head wasn't so full from the day's events, the joy and relief permeating the room might have been infectious. Gandalf was certainly enjoying himself. Aragorn, however, felt overwhelmed by the packed hall, the young hobbits' energy and enthusiasm, and the men chugging large flagons of beer and joking obnoxiously.

Retreating into a dark corner with his own drink, he found himself searching the crowd for Eowyn. For some reason he felt drawn to her and this was disconcerting, though he refused to follow the train of thought any further. His eyes scanned the room and he was surprised to find that she was not present. Perhaps she, like him, had felt the need for some quiet.

The noise level reached an excruciating level as the hobbits jumped up onto one of the tables and began to sing and dance, their feet slapping against the wood surface while the crowd cheered encouragement. He could see Gandalf chuckling as he watched them, raising his glass in salute.

Using the distraction they created as a means to escape, Aragorn set his drink on a nearby table and slipped from the hall, thinking he would step outside for a few moments to clear his head. He had almost reached a side door, which he knew led onto a small outdoor landing, when a woman's scream pierced the air. Immediately he changed his direction and sprinted towards the sound. The scream was cut off before he reached its source but he burst through the door to his right and felt his stomach drop at the scene that met his eyes.

Eowyn lay writhing on a bed beneath the slithery form of Grima Wormtongue, his greasy curtain of hair shielding his face from view as he groped beneath the folds of her dress and crushed his lips against hers. Unable to scream or throw him off, she was clawing at his face with her fingernails, tears shining on her cheeks and a painful-looking welt blossoming beneath one of her eyes where he must have hit her.

In the few seconds that it took his brain to process what was in front of him, he saw Wormtongue's free hand move upwards to grasp Eowyn's throat, cutting off her airway.

Aragorn reacted instinctively. Surging forward, he grabbed the man around the waist, pulled him off of her and threw him violently towards the opposite wall.

There was a horrible cracking sound as Wormtongue hit the floor. Blood flowed from the place where his head had hit stone and he appeared to have been knocked unconscious.

Panting with adrenaline, he turned away from Wormtongue's crumpled form to face Eowyn. She was gazing at him with a look of mixed fear and astonishment. Surveying her closely, he took in more clearly the blue and purple bruise beneath her left eye, her disheveled hair and the additional fingerprint-shaped bruises forming on her neck. And then, without even thinking his gaze drifted downwards away from her face to her half-clothed body.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the place where her dress had been pulled down far enough to expose one of her breasts. It was perfectly formed, round, beautiful. Its red and taut nipple seemed to peek out at him and he was momentarily hypnotized, forgetting the indecency of staring at her forced nakedness so openly.

Further down, the skirt of her dress was hiked up, her legs still hanging open, bare skin visible almost to the tops of her thighs, though her most intimate parts remained covered. He felt his own body ache at the sight of it and a wave of shame and embarrassment overcame him as he recognized his arousal.

She made no move to cover herself but feeling disgusted with himself, he cleared his throat and turned away.

"Are… are you alright?" He asked quietly.

He heard rustling and he hoped she was adjusting her dress.

"Ye-yes."

There was a pause and then she added, her voice betraying her own embarrassment, "I-I'm decent."

He turned slowly and tried to keep his eyes on her face and not think about what he had just seen.

"He—how did he get back in?"

"I don't know." She replied. The fear had vanished from her expression, but she was shaking and as their eyes met she began to sob.

Again without really thinking about what he was doing he moved forwards and sat down on the bed beside her. To his surprise, she seemed to interpret this an as invitation and she collapsed immediately into his arms, gripping him tightly and burying her face in his shoulder.

Momentarily, he saw and felt Arwen in his mind and body. He seemed to be transported back to her, the memory of her flowery smell and feel of her soft skin filling his senses and obliterating the present reality.

Then a particularly loud sob caused the image to vanish and he willed away his guilt and the fresh wave of arousal that had accompanied the flashback.

He held Eowyn gently, focusing on the silkiness of her hair as he stroked it. Slowly he felt his own breathing becoming more rhythmic and steady and simultaneously her muffled sobs began to dissipate and her body became calm and peaceful.

He continued to stroke her hair and then finally he spoke.

"Eowyn."

She pulled away slightly and looked up at him, her face dangerously close, her eyes questioning.

"We need to take care of…" He jerked his head at Wormtongue's still unconscious form.

Her eyes narrowed.

"I don't want anyone to know."

Unable to focus on her properly, given the proximity of her lips to his own, he turned his face away from her.

"He needs to pay for what he's done." He said bitterly.

"I—let's move him into the hallway. We can call the guards, tell them he snuck back in and attacked us. But I don't want anyone to know what he did."

"I should have let your uncle kill the bastard." He replied, still refusing to look at her. Her shallow breathing kept him painfully aware of her proximity and his anger had now turned inwards. His pity for Wormtongue had been stupidity and it had come at a great cost, whatever Gandalf said.

She was silent for a long moment and he was afraid to look up, certain she was going to pull away, to scream at him, to speak the truth that he was to blame for what had just happened to her.

Instead, he felt a soft and gentle hand brush his cheek.

"It's okay."

He looked up into her eyes, seeking reassurance, though he couldn't believe it for himself.

"It's okay." She said again. "Just please don't make me go through the humiliation of reliving it to my uncle."

He nodded slowly in agreement as she dropped her hand. With a twinge of regret, he let go of her, trying to stifle his longing to maintain the physical contact.

Then he stood up and turned to face Wormtongue, who had begun to stir.

TBC…