Author's Note:

This story is most likely going to be shorter, novella length at most. AND it will be very au, but won't change canon much as the story happens outside what we see in the books. Also. This is meant to be short and fun, and by fun, I mean the beginning is lighthearted…and the middle/ending is a properly dramatic HEA. It is also, unfortunately, my least developed-in terms of how much I have written out already- so we'll see how it goes.

Winged Healer

Prologue

Éomer paced impatiently through the gardens of the Citadel of Minas Tirath. Around a fountain, down some stairs. He shook out his feathers and stretched his wings a moment. What was taking Thèodred so long? Surely breaking ones fast need take no more than ten minutes. He let out a sigh, the Citadel felt cold, for all that the actual temperatures were warmer than the Mark. This was his first visit to Minas Tirath since his cousin had let him join the èored, and Éomer was longing to be back with their own men, and off on the patrols they had come to join. If only he could have stayed with them. But, no, as a member of the Royal family of Rohan he was required to stay in the Steward's palace, even if he was but a green rider with only a few skirmishes to his name. Ignoring the beauty of the spring blooms and the fluttering and singing of the birds and insects, he clenched and unclenched a fist as he rounded a corner and came to a wide stretch of grass that led to an overlook. He paused for a moment, if Firefoot did not await him in the stables this would be an ideal place to fly to the encampment from.

"Watch out!" A high thin voice sounded behind him, but before he had time to react he was tumbled to the ground, a sudden weight collapsing his lungs momentarily. The pressure eased and he drew a great breath before turning to sit with a groan.

"Are you alright?"

Éomer raised his eyes to see a young girl, surely no more than eight or nine?, sitting on her heels peering at him with some concern…and…mirth? Yes. Through the riotous tangle of curls that fell in her face he could see a shine in deep grey eyes that bespoke amusement.

"Well, I could be worse. It could have been an orc that barreled into me." The mirth fled as the girl's eyes widened, her wings fluttering as with a chill, and Éomer flinched, hoping that it was acceptable to joke about orcs in this land of haughty stares and dismissive shrugs.

"No!" The girl protested, "It could not have been. We have no orcs in Minas Tirath!" The numbness from the fall ebbed as the girl spoke and Éomer felt the throbbing of a deep scrape on his hand start up.

"Then I suppose I could be better. After all you may have mortally wounded me." He grinned wryly as he lifted a palm to show the girl. He flinched again as her eyes grew rounder yet, perhaps joking about wounds was frowned upon as well? But instead of scurrying away the girl crawled to him, reaching out to grab his injured hand.

"Oh! I am sorry. You see, I have been practicing taking off and my landings, and this grass is so much more comfortable than our smaller garden. It doesn't have the space to get up high or fast enough, you understand?" She looked at him seriously, and Éomer nodded.

"Indeed, one does need space to practice a good landing."

"Exactly!" The girl's grin beamed at him, "And I had just come around a turn to land, when there you were, right in front of me, and I couldn't stop in time. You won't tell on me will you? Ada will be awfully mad and Uncle might banish me from the gardens!"

Éomer smiled at the little mite, it didn't feel like it was that long ago that Éowyn was asking him that same question after some escapade or another, and explaining things with the same sort of exclamation after every declaration. "I won't tell. It will be our secret." He pulled back on his hand, "I should go wrap this though." But instead of letting go of his hand as he had intended, the girl gripped tighter and turned her attention towards it again.

"I am sorry. Really."

"And I forgive you, really, but if you would let me go?"

She shook her head stubbornly, "No. I am the one who hurt you, so I must fix it."

Éomer sighed, "I would rather you-" his voice cut off as she placed two fingers directly over the wound and sighed out a little breath. A tingling started deep in his palm and spread upwards and he watched with mouth agape as the bleeding slowed then stopped and the skin began to knit itself together again. A warmth then stole over his whole body and he closed his eyes in bliss as what felt like liquid sunshine pooled over him. He knew not how long they stayed in that moment, but as the feeling ebbed he opened his eyes to see the whitened face of the little true healer. With a shake of his head to clear the fogginess, he reversed her hold and grasped her hand instead.

"Bema! Are you alright?"

She shook her head, then stopped abruptly as she swayed in place. Éomer put his hands on her shoulders.

"Was that too much for you? Should I take you to someone?"

"No!" she exclaimed, before saying in a smaller voice, "No, I…" she glanced down at the ground, "I am not supposed to heal without my master around." She looked back up pleadingly, "Can this be our secret too?"

Éomer shrugged uneasily, "If your light dropped too low...if you are weakened because of this-"

"Oh, I won't be! I'm already feeling better again! And-" she bit her lip and took a deep breath, "I will tell my master myself what happened. I will. Just not right at this moment. He is busy and so is Ada, and if we interrupt them I will be in more trouble."

Éomer nodded, the uneasy feeling still with him, but he did understand. "As long as you will confess yourself, and you will be ok, then I will not tell anyone."

"Oh, Thank you!" The girl let out a large breath before bounding to her feet her momentary weakness already forgotten, "I had better go before they realize-" the girls face flushed and she glanced guiltily at him.

Éomer let out a rueful laugh, "Let me guess, you aren't supposed to be here at all right now, are you?"

"Well…I just wanted to practice before breakfast but-"

He held up a hand, "Say no more. Will that be part of your confession then?"

The girl looked shamefaced and nodded,

Éomer shook his head, "What's one more secret on my part then." The girl's smile broke through again and Eomer couldn't help but laugh again.

She bobbed a half bow before she turned towards the overlook, "Thank you! It was nice meeting you!" she called over her shoulder then took off running towards the overlook.

"Wait!" He called after her as he saw her intent, "You don't mean to-!" but it was too late, she had already thrown herself off it. Éomer rushed over to the edge to watch her spiralling easily downwards towards a house on the sixth level. He let out a breath as she touched down neatly in a narrow garden and ran directly into the house.

"Thank Bèma that Éowyn is past this age," he muttered as he turned, determined to go wait for Thèodred at the stables. He had had enough of the gardens for one morning. Although, he grinned as a faint echo of the liquid sunlight shimmered around him, the true healer had at least shown him that children could be the same, whether Gondorian or of the Mark, maybe Minas Tirath could grown on one.