Chapter 14

At the time, Lothíriel did not know she was dreaming. All sense of time and place had vanished, and she was being pursued. She rushed through the woods, but it was not the Ithilien she knew. Gone were the tall, beautiful trees and sunlight flickering through the green leaves of summer. Instead, it was a dark and gloomy forest, filled with gnarled and twisted trunks that bore no leaf or flower in their branches. There in the ground nothing green could be seen, just masses and masses of tree roots that reminded her of long and spindly fingers.

The face of her pursuer was familiar at first. It was Aegdir, fair and charming, but quickly it began to turn into something horrible and twisted. It was no longer the Lord of Lossarnarch. His eyes became two burning pits, his mouth like a gaping maw. His hands turned into claws, ever reaching for her, and occasionally even brushing the hems of her dress.

So she ran, although flashes of stark pain went through her shoulder, radiating into her chest and beyond. It was like nothing she had ever felt.

Other dreams came as well, restless and dreadful, but most often it was that horrible flight through the forest. And she was screaming – or at least she thought that she was – but no answer came in the hopeless desolation.

Then there were faces above her, calling her name or speaking in tones full of concern. She couldn't make out much of what was being said, just words here and there. In those brief moments, somebody would make her drink some broth or honeyed water or something that was perhaps medicines, and it helped a little for a while.

And at other times, a pleading voice would penetrate her delirium, repeating the words: Come back to me.

She desperately wanted to follow that voice, but it seemed to be so far away, and the woods were dark and deep.

There was another voice too that called her, echoing with a different power that piqued her memory – something about the king's hands and healing. It came closer, but still not close enough, and she wanted to weep.

But even now, she knew she was in danger – not from the dark figures pursuing her, but something far more sinister. And she had to fight it with every fibre of her being.

For though she could not recall clearly, the conviction was strong that there was indeed something – somebody – in the light that desperately needed her to find a way out of this darkness.


The night was long and weary. She remained beyond his reach, though Éomer kept his quiet vigil. Frequently he would bathe her brow with a cold, damp cloth, but if it did anything for the fever, he couldn't tell. Once or twice he thought he could hear Lothíriel muttering something, even calling his name. But it could well be his imagination and the effect of wishful thinking. Sometimes he spoke to her in a quiet voice, just telling her about Rohan and the people that lived in the green vales. He hoped his voice could somehow weave these words into her mind, and perhaps offer a cool, sweet vision in the middle of feverish dreams.

Éothain came to report during the night, but seeing the state his king was in, the Captain kept it short and concise. He had nothing much new to tell, though when he said that the orcs had paid in full for their attack, Éomer felt some grim satisfaction.

"How is she?" asked Éothain quietly, glancing at the bed. His open, friendly face held the mixture of hope and concern. She was already his queen, Éomer realised, and in some other situation this might have caused a stronger emotion in him. For the time being, his heart was too heavy to hold anything except for his worry for her.

"I don't know", he said plainly, making Éothain frown.

Unwilling to make this any longer than it had to be, Éomer told his friend to go and get some rest. As for himself, he returned to his long and quiet watch.

Éowyn arrived when it was still dark, bearing a flickering candle in her hand. Her voice was quiet but stern when she ordered him to go and get some rest. The intention was clearly that he would remove to his own chambers, and she did not seem satisfied when her obstinate brother only switched seats to a chair by the wall, where he could prop up himself into a somewhat restful position. But she seemed to realise it was the best she was going to get and said no more.

After insisting her to wake him up in case there was a change, Éomer let his eyes finally fall close for a couple of hours of uneasy sleep.

Morning had come when he woke again. His neck was stiff from sleeping so uncomfortably, although it did not feel like much time had passed. Imrahil had vanished from the bed, but Éowyn sat still next to Lothíriel. Éomer's heart sank when he saw that his lady was not awake.

Still, he made his way to the patient's bed, rubbing his neck.

"Any change?" he asked in a hoarse voice. His eyes fixed on that beloved face again, looking for any hopeful sign. She appeared to be in a deep dream, but did he just imagine it or did she really seem somehow frailer? Fever and poison could be hard on anyone, and the longer this went on, the smaller her chances became.

"Good morning to you as well", said Éowyn, looking up from a vat of dried herbs she was cleaning. "She was awake for a bit a couple of hours ago, but otherwise, she doesn't seem worse or better. I am trying a poultice Aragorn told me about. Hopefully it will do something for the wound."

She was nodding at Lothíriel's shoulder, but Éomer hardly noticed.

"I told you to wake me up if she came around", he pointed out, his temper rising. But his sister's look quickly cooled it down.

"She was not awake for long. I decided to use that chance to make her drink some broth and take medicines, not to fuss around you", she stated sharply. He frowned, but agreed his sister had made the right decision.

"Did she say anything?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing much I could make sense of, really", Éowyn answered, her tone softening. She gave him a sympathetic look, like she was truly very sorry she couldn't tell him more. He grunted in response.

"I ordered some breakfast earlier and there's plenty left for you, brother. You should eat", she said, gesturing at the tray that sat on a worktable nearby.

"I'm not hungry."

Again the stern expression returned to her face.

"Éomer, I know you are sick with worry, but you won't be doing her or anyone favours by not taking care of yourself. Eat!"

This time, he grumbled. But he still did as she told him to, and went over to pick a few things from the tray. He ate without really tasting anything or paying attention to the food – doing it mostly to make his sister happy.

Then he returned to the bedside. He hated how helpless he felt. It made him restless and angry. Perhaps he should be out there, after all, hunting the monsters that had done this to his beloved. It would surely feel good to give in to the heat of battle and its flame-bright simplicity. He ached for that explosive release of battle-fury, where the whole world focused into the edge of his sword. But then, what if Lothíriel got more sick while he was away? What if she needed him? What if she would pass like his mother had, and he missed the chance of saying goodbye? What if...

"She will be all right", said Éowyn gently. She must have seen him spiralling down again.

"How do you know?" Éomer asked. He didn't like how his voice came out, so close to breaking. It was his job to be strong and resolute and steadfast, to keep on going even when all hope failed. Mother had trusted him to do it, and Théodred, and Théoden. To fail would be to betray their faith.

"I don't know. But I hope", Éowyn answered gently.

And that was what everything boiled down to, wasn't it?


A couple of hours after dawn, a servant came to announce that Faramir had returned. Aragorn was calling the company to a meeting so that they could discuss and plan their next steps. In that moment, had Lothíriel opened her eyes and asked Éomer to stay, he would have complied even if it meant being absent in a crucial meeting.

But she did not wake. Even then it was difficult for the young king to leave her side, and he could only do it because Amrothos had returned as well and promised to stay with her – and to send word if there was any change. One of the healers would watch over the patient, as Éowyn was eager to greet her husband and she would also join the meeting.

Before leaving the infirmary, Éomer took one more glance at his lady's face, already counting the hours until he could see her again. Hopefully, she would not feel his absence. This almost started again the onslaught of agonised and increasingly desperate thoughts, and he steeled himself. He had to focus on what he could do, not let himself fall prey to apathy. Having seen what it had done to his uncle, he dreaded it more than he cared to admit.

They gathered in Faramir's study. There were Aragorn and a couple of his lieutenants, Faramir and Éowyn, Imrahil and Elphir, and Éomer himself with his Captain. Already he knew they were in for a long haul. His brother-in-law described how his company of Rangers had tracked the few surviving orcs to the roots of the mountains, but they had not gone further than that. It would take more scouting and greater numbers, for they did not yet know the strength of the enemy. One thing was clear, though: this was not a small band. The Rangers had found too many tracks, but also the kind of filth and debris orcs always left behind when their activity increased in some area.

As they talked and began making plans, Éomer saw the same grim resolution on the faces of his family and friends as he felt himself. She was always present in the room, though her name not spoken. This attack had touched upon a nerve on them all. It had harassed the life of an innocent, dear to many of them, but also menaced a new home and a new beginning. Éomer could tell both Faramir and Éowyn had taken it as a personal insult. They had come to this place to start anew and leave behind the demons of their past, and Ithilien was itself a land newly taken back from the Shadow. Here was the soil where they meant to plant their garden, which would spring both from the earth and their own wounds. For the Steward and his lady, this landscape meant things nobody else could understand and to threaten it was a mortal mistake indeed. They would fight for it with tooth and nail.

The company paused at lunchtime, but Éomer asked food to be sent to the infirmary; he would use the opportunity to check on Lothíriel. Without even saying anything, Imrahil and Elphir followed his lead. The Prince must have informed his eldest son of how things stood with Lothíriel and Éomer, as Elphir did not express any surprise at the young king's keen interest in her well-being. It was a pity, as Éomer couldn't deny he was a little bit curious about how Elphir had taken the news – whether it was something akin to Erchirion's bafflement or Amrothos initial glee. Or perhaps Elphir shared that same sense of prudishness Amrothos had shown once he realised how intimate the relationship already was.

Lothíriel remained oblivious to the world. The healer watching over her had nothing to report, but Éomer had no idea whether that was good or bad. He would have sat next to her, forgetting drink and food, hadn't Imrahil gently pushed the plate in his hand.

They did not speak much between themselves, and even Amrothos, slumped in a chair next to his sister's bed, was quiet. Elphir made some polite conservation as if his good breeding could not be denied even now, but he too fell silent after a while. He did throw a couple of studious looks at Éomer, though, and the young king guessed he should prepare for some kind of a conversation once Lothíriel was better. Something told him that of her three brothers, Elphir was going to be the one to tell him to be good to her.

After lunch, they returned to Faramir's study. There conversations continued, initial plans were crafted, strategy was debated and orders were drafted. Éomer wrote a letter for his council so that they could begin to prepare for the upcoming campaign. He was not completely pleased with the letter – he knew no matter how he worded it, his council would probably protest. But he was careful not to present it as a direct command. It was in his power as a king and he could compel them if he so decided, but this sort of thing Éomer preferred to achieve because people wanted to follow him. Hopefully, the reverence held for Éowyn in Rohan, both among the common people and his nobles, would inspire them to come to her aid. And perhaps... if Lothíriel would be all right, then the promise of a royal wedding might be the key. After all, him finding a wife and starting a family was the dearest wish of his council and they never let him forget it.

Evening crept on them almost without noticing. When light began to wane outside, Aragorn stretched himself and suggested they should finish for the night. They had made some very good progress and not much more could be done before the different parties had met with their own advisers and gathered their forces. Éomer talked a while with the Rider he would send back Rohan ahead of his company, entrusting him with the letter for his council and giving some directions in case they would have questions for the messenger. The Rider would take to the road at first light tomorrow and depending on how many days Éomer would still remain in Emyn Arnen, he would reach Edoras at least several days or a week before the King's return.

Aragorn began to talk about having dinner together, but he was quick to notice the mood that was shared by the Amrothians and the King of Rohan. In a quiet, common agreement the three of them went to see her.

Erchirion sat by her bedside, staring at a book in his lap. The distant look he wore suggested he had not turned a page quite in some time. On the other side of the bed, a healer was quietly working and changing the poultice on her shoulder.

"Where's your brother?" asked Imrahil in that same, lowered tone each of them seemed to be using whenever they came to this chamber. His son sat up, lifting his face.

"He left to let out some steam. Elbereth knows what that means, but I hope for Aegdir's sake he doesn't show his face outside", Erchirion answered, shaking his head.

"The boy is in house arrest. I understand Aragorn is already making some arrangements to send him north", Imrahil said as he sat down in a free chair. His eyes were already fixed on her.

"Good for him. We might very well have a murder in our hands, if Amrothos and he get in the same room. Father, Amrothos was positively unhinged out there while we were patrolling the woods. Most of my time went into trying to control him", Erchirion said, frowning.

"It's true, to a point. He has taken this very hard", Elphir muttered, nodding at the direction of his sister's bed.

"She said she had tried to get him to come with her. I assume he is feeling guilty", said Éomer, leaning against the wall near the door.

Erchirion glanced at him, eyes narrowing, as if only now noticing his presence.

"I'm sorry, what are you doing here?" he asked bluntly.

The question took Éomer aback and he blinked. Where else would he be?

"I'm here for her", he said simply.

"Erchirion -" Imrahil started, his tone warning. Erchirion continued to speak, ignoring his father.

"Yes, I know you and her have something going on. But you've just met and you're not even betrothed. This is for the family, not for any stranger that happens to wander in", he said, rising up to his feet.

The logical part of Éomer's mind knew what this was: worry and fear and exhaustion and perhaps even guilt for not being around when she was in need. It was producing this level of protectiveness that he was sure she would not appreciate. He knew that feeling all too well – Éowyn, pale and injured – even though he had never acted like Erchirion was acting. But he did not feel calm or logical, and the dread he had felt since the moment he had found her lying under the tree as if she were already dead, raised its ugly head. Who had found her before more harm came to her? Who had brought her back to Aragorn? If these efforts did not earn him a place in this room, then he couldn't imagine what did.

To say nothing of how utterly hurtful it was to be called a stranger by someone he considered his friend.

He straightened himself in an unhurried movement.

"She wanted me close when she was still awake. I thought that was enough", Éomer said, speaking slowly. Elphir looked up at him in sudden anxiety – realising full well that behind this seeming calmness was something terrible.

"Erchirion, that is unfair. Éomer is family", Imrahil pointed out, glancing between his son and the Rohir standing by the door.

"What is your part in this, though?" Erchirion asked sharply. "I know that idiot from Lossarnarch was courting her, and it turned sour. Was that because of you? Was she out there because she was trying to prove something to you?"

"That is enough, Erchirion!" Imrahil said, standing up as well. The healer, who had been tending to Lothíriel, watched them all with wide eyes – perhaps wondering if he should duck underneath a table for cover.

"It's all right, Imrahil", Éomer said, still in that same slow tone. "I am the reason your sister turned down her other suitor, and I'm well aware I might have been able to prevent this by being more patient. But never once did I imply to her that she needed to prove anything to me. I wish to Béma she had asked me to go with her!"

"You and that fool both did this to her!" Erchirion was almost shouting now.

"Perhaps I am guilty. But so are you! When did you ever care about your sister and her feelings? You left her behind and expected her to hold everything together while the world burned around her! When she does what she has been taught to do, managing on her own and solving problems by herself, you blame others for pushing her! You left your sister alone and now you would deny her the company of someone who loves her!"

Éomer was shouting as well. But even as those words flowed from his mouth, he knew he was not just yelling at Erchirion, but himself, too. His own guilt returned almost as fresh and painful as it had been at Éowyn's bedside. How many times had he talked about it with her – how many times had she told him there was nothing he could have done better, that he had fought against Wormtongue as much as he had been able, and that in the War of the Ring, they had all struggled with a far greater enemy than any mortal Man could fathom? Her despair was her own, just as his determination to keep on fighting to the bitter end had been his. And yet, right now, all that anger and grief and pain came rushing back.

He knew he had an impressive voice, especially when he raised it or used its full force. But it still surprised him to see how startled and shocked Imrahil and Elphir looked, staring in silence at him. Even Erchirion had fallen silent. Perhaps it was not just the voice, or its loudness. Éomer could only wonder what they saw on his features, but he guessed he had revealed much more than he had intended. No wonder. When he lost his temper, all subtlety and reservations vanished. And Erchirion's attack had touched something deeply painful.

Unable to bear their staring, he turned around and strode out, not even looking where he was going. At the door he passed by Éowyn, who looked at him in wonder and concern. She opened her mouth to say something, but he did not stop – he moved faster, feeling as if the walls might crumble on him if he didn't get out quickly enough.

The sun had already set and it was dark outside. Torches lit the courtyard, where it was moderately calm now, although an underlying tension could be felt. Most of the Riders and Rangers had returned, but some of Faramir's folk were still out there keeping watch.

Éomer did not stop until he was in the stables, by Firefoot's stall. He hadn't really thought of where he was going but supposed it made sense he had ended up here. Even as a young, angry lad he had done this, looking for some comfort in the company of horses. When people disappointed, horses were always faithful.

His hands moved as if on their own, grabbing a brush that somebody had left lying nearby. Then he moved into Firefoot's stall and began to work. The stallion gave him a quizzical look, even snorted softly as if to wonder about his master's particularly forceful manner or the unusual time for this routine. He brushed, and brushed, gritting his teeth against the fury that bubbled in his throat. The familiar urge to take his sword and go destroy something pounded against his skull, but the years of practice kicked in; this red-hot energy went into the long, powerful swipes of the brush. And then his eyes began to sting. Was it rage, or grief? Or maybe even both?

The brush fell from his hand with one too careless motion. Instead, he grasped Firefoot's long, rough mane in his fingers. He pressed his face against the animal's strong neck, taking deep breaths. Firefoot snorted softly and moved his head, gently placing it on Éomer's shoulder.

"It's all right, old man. It's all right", he muttered in Rohirric. Whether it was directed at himself or Firefoot, he couldn't say.

It took him a moment to get himself under control and calm down a bit. But fortunately he was able to do it and return to brushing before Elphir arrived.

"I thought I would find you here", said Elphir in a soft, tentative voice. He was standing at the stall, though he kept some distance from it. In grim humour, Éomer wondered if it was because of himself or his ill-tempered stallion.

He glanced at Imrahil's heir.

"What is it?" he asked bluntly.

"Father and I were worried about you. What Erchirion said... it was uncalled for and unfair, and you have every right to be angry. But you must know none of us actually believe it. Not even my brother. He is just worried about our sister. And Amrothos is not the only one who feels guilty", Elphir explained.

Éomer glanced at Elphir again and continued to brush.

"My people have seen this sort of thing before", he said evenly. "There is talk of alliance and friendship, and we are always more than welcome to spill our blood on the behalf of Gondor. But just when you let yourself believe in friendship, something like this happens. In the end, we are still strangers to you, unwelcome and unwanted."

"That's not true. Not for me, or my father."

"But your brother? He clearly thinks I am not good enough for your sister."

"He doesn't think that. He didn't mean it."

Éomer directed a hard look at Elphir.

"Doesn't he? Then please do tell me, what did he mean?"

Elphir met his look with a calmness that did him credit.

"Like I said, Amrothos isn't the only one who feels guilty. You weren't so wrong about us ignoring our little sister. It's true we often forget what it must be like for her, being the only daughter and the youngest of us. Yet she never complains: her grace and patience are constant and unfailing. We should appreciate her more, and right now, being protective fools is the only way we can show it. We didn't even realise something was amiss. It was you who brought her back from the forest. It is hard to deal with, even for me. But I know we should be thanking you, and Erchirion will remember that too. Please forgive him for taking out his fear and anger on you."

His voice was calm and even, and abruptly there was something in his countenance that reminded Éomer very much of Lothíriel. She had the same dignity and composure, and this resemblance was what placated him, though he also saw the merit of Elphir's words. He said nothing yet, but the movement of his hands began to get slower as some of his frustration faded.

Elphir continued to speak.

"For what it's worth, I am glad for you, and her. I was there last night and saw you two dancing. She hasn't smiled like that in some time. My sister is not fickle or easily enticed, and in that, I think you and her are the same. I know you are a just, decent man and if you are her choice, then that is a fine thing indeed. I only ask that you are good to her. That you continue to appreciate her because it is clear you know how to do it, unlike we her brothers."

Éomer turned to face Elphir. He was calmer now, but not yet wholly assuaged.

"I have no quarrel with you, Elphir – you have never shown me anything but friendship and courtesy. But I thought Erchirion was my friend, just as the rest of your family. In my land, that is not how you treat your friends."

"I know, and I'm not making excuses for him. He owes you an apology and I have no doubt he will deliver it once he understands how deeply he has insulted you. We are all tired and afraid, Éomer, and it has been a long day. Lothíriel wouldn't want us to fight, least of all over her. And I know you'd rather be with her right this moment, but it's hard when you don't know if you're welcome. Let me tell you now that you are always welcome among us, for you are family. Isn't this proof of it? Surely you know how absurd fights between family members can be", Elphir pointed out, even smiling a little bit.

The Rohir couldn't help but snort. Yes, he did know about having stupid fights; his temper had got him in plenty of them. And no matter how he felt about Erchirion's words, it was true he already felt anxious for not being with Lothíriel. Though he expected no quick change, it was still better to be close by. Just in case.

"Very well. I shall return shortly. Let me just finish here", he said at length and turned back to Firefoot. The stallion had sensed the shift in his mood and made a soft, satisfied sound – as if he were the one who had calmed down his human. Perhaps that was not so wrong.

When he returned to the infirmary, stiff and vexed, Imrahil was quick to stand up on his feet. He looked worn and tired and anxious when he met Éomer's eyes. Erchirion was not present.

"Please accept my apologies, Éomer. You have done nothing to deserve such insults from a member of my family. I am certain Erchirion didn't mean it, but either way, I've already have some strong words with him. He will apologise to you as well, once he has rested and cleared his head", he said gravely. There was some uncertainty too, as if he were bracing himself for another explosion. Éomer realised his Amrothian friends had never seen him lose his temper like that and their shock was understandable. But what Elphir had said offered perspective. Here was his new family taking shape, and it was inevitable they would learn to know him both at his best and at his worst. And the same applied the other way around, too.

He nodded at Imrahil.

"I accept your apology", he said curtly. He decided to leave it at that, because he still felt tense and further conversations on this topic might provoke tempers anew.

And in the end, she was what mattered to him. He was here for her. Quietly, Éomer moved to take a seat next to her bed again, fixing his gaze on her features.

He felt gentle pressure on his shoulder, and he looked up to see his sister standing next to him. He hadn't seen her in the infirmary when he had arrived, but in his current state of mind, this oversight did not surprise him.

Éowyn said nothing out loud, but she didn't need to; he could read her features well enough. The silent question was there, and concern too. She must be wondering about his outburst and whether he was all right. So he smiled slightly to let her know she needn't worry, at least not about him.

"How is she?" he asked her quietly.

"The medicines seem to have had some positive effect, but still the coming hours are crucial. Aragorn believes so as well. There is a reason to be hopeful if she makes it through the night", she replied, talking to him in Rohirric. He guessed she had already said the same thing to Imrahil.

Would she make it through the night? And what would it mean to them all if she didn't?

Éomer did not dare trying to answer those questions. He lowered his gaze to Lothíriel again, looking for strength in her features, and braced himself for the night to come.

To be continued.


A/N: Here is a new chapter! I'm not entirely happy with it, but I couldn't conceive a better way, and at some point I just gave up. I can't even begin to tell you how tired and drained I've felt lately. Real life continues to kick my butt.

Anyway, poor Éomer - his trauma is really showing up in this chapter! I hadn't actually planned for the confrontation to happen, but it emerged rather organically in the end. To me, it seems very realistic that tensions might rise in a situation where everyone is already so stressed and tired and anxious. It's very painful for Éomer, as his reaction hopefully shows. But as harsh as Erchirion comes across, he doesn't necessarily believe everything he says, and anyway it is in good part because he has not had time to adjust to the idea of Éomer as brother-in-law. Neither has Elphir, of course, but I would say that he is a little more sensible of the two.

You may have guessed it from the last few chapters, but this story has started to grow into a new direction. I'm debating whether to keep on going, or whether the new thread should actually become a sequel. Truth is, originally I did not mean to write this story much beyond the end of this meeting in Emyn Arnen, but I have a pretty strong idea for how the tale would continue. It excites me enough to want to keep on going with this tale.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!


Elgarain - I'm so sorry for what your friend is going through! It sounds terrible. I can't even begin to imagine what it feels like to deal with something like that. Yet if my modest writing can somehow help in at least giving words to the experience, then I am glad to help!

EStrunk - Glad you liked it! I took a good deal of pleasure from that exchange, to be honest. It was interesting to compare these two guys, see how different they are, and yet notice the points where they may have similar experiences. But it's true, if Éomer had gone to that meeting after Lothíriel got worse, it might have been a different discussion!

And it was also nice to let him share a moment with Imrahil. Glad you liked it too!

Cricket22 - I am glad you liked the chapter, even if it was not a happy one! I am rather fond of that moment with him by her bedside, too.

I would imagine that her calmness rather inspires Éomer - another sign of them being well-matched! But you are right that Lothíriel's brothers probably have a lot to talk about with her. And Imrahil surely has a lot to think about!

Also you're right - this does propose some very interesting moments for the future. I'm afraid the chapter is not particularly long this time, but I'll see what I can do with the next one!

Cathael - Thank you! Éomer can be hot-tempered, but I think he's smart and insightful, too. So his experience of kingship, even though it's only a year since he came to the throne at this point, would have taught him a great deal.

I try my best, but the real life continues to be difficult!

Wondereye - Glad you liked their confrontation! I would say there is something sinister about the wound, some poison perhaps, that is making her so sick. Imrahil will have to rethink many things, but whether he will allow a quick marriage will remain to be seen.

Jo - Here's to hoping stuff will get easier for us both, and very soon! I very much understand that some story on the internet is not first in your mind when there is real life to deal with. Glad you found time to read and comment, though!

Also I'm happy to hear you liked both the chapters!

Simplegurl4u - I admit I was going for something like the moment in the Battle of Pelennor fields when Éomer finds Éowyn. It's obviously not quite so dire and dramatic, but to me it struck a chord to imagine him once again finding a loved one, seemingly dead.

Anyway, it is endearing to imagine this man who can be so hot-tempered and impatient, finding calmness and patience in the one person who is determined not to leave him like everyone else has.

Also, I just need to tear at my own and my readers' heartstrings, you know! ;)