Eomer entered once again into the Houses of Healing, this time bearing Halanna in his arms. A stout woman garbed in brown bustled forward to greet him. "What's this? Another woman, I see. Is there no sense left in the fairer sex at the end of the age? Well, what are you waiting for? Follow me and I will see what can be done for her."

Eomer watched after the woman bemusedly for a moment, then chased after her rapidly retreating form. The portly woman turned in to a room that housed three men, who were laid in cots, with clean bandages wrapped tight around their injuries. She motioned to the remaining cot in the room. "Put her here."

Eomer set Halanna down as softly as he could, attempting to spare her leg any further hurt. Still she grimaced, and he saw with chagrin that her face was ashen with pain, although she stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. The healer pushed him back from her bedside and began to unwrap the soiled tourniquet which Halanna had torn from her cloak. Once that was free, the stout woman's strong hands tore away the pant leg, leaving the wound clear to her view, and the entirety of Halanna's leg clear to the view of any other person who was nearby.

Eomer felt decidedly uncomfortable looking at her bared flesh. "Your pardon, good woman, but is there not some other room where it would be more seemly for her to rest?"

Turning away from the injured girl, she advanced upon him, her finger waggling precariously close to the end of his nose. "Ioreth is my name, sir, and as much as it may shock you to learn this, we have been fighting a war. This house is full of men. Men! There are only two other women here, and they are too gravely injured to have other patients nearby. This will have to do."

The horse-lord backed away, his hands raised to fend off the herb-woman. "I understand, Ioreth! Please, have you word of the two other women here present? One is my sister."

Ioreth had turned back to Halanna, and began bathing the edges of the wound with herb-steeped water. "Ah! Then you would be the new King of Rohan. Your sister will live. The Lord Aragorn has pulled her back from the foul poison that was eating away her life. Do you know what he did? He made me find kingsfoil. Kingsfoil! What powers could that weed have, I wondered, but I had it found for him. Yes I did. Then he steeped the herb and used it to leech out the poison. Now when I think on it, I remember that my old teacher had told me, Ioreth, in times of greatest need, do not forget the weed which bears the name of the King. All the others scoffed at him, so I had put it from my mind. But I knew it all along! The hands of the King will be the hands of a healer, says the old lay. So you will know him. Well, know him I did…"

Halanna gazed over the top of the woman's head, and her eyes met Eomer's with a commiserating smile. Did this woman ever stop to take breath?

Eomer cleared his throat, finally damming the flow of Ioreth's words. "What of the Elf maid?"

"Oh, her. I can't say that I know. I had heard that she was dead, but just minutes ago that other Elf came running through here screaming for the Lord Aragorn like the hounds of Sauron were after him. Can't say what that was all about."

Eomer looked down at Halanna's drawn face. "Will you be alright…" he began.

Before he could finish the question, she forestalled him with a raised hand. "Go. Go and then bring me word." A wry grin spread across her face as she continued, "I am sure that Ioreth will take good care of me."

That good woman began to prattle on about the type and quality of care she would provide, and Eomer slipped quietly back out the door. Once free, he looked about for someone who could give him directions. A young man in the garb of a healer led him through a few winding passageways, then motioned to a closed door and retreated.

Taking a steadying breath, preparing himself for the worst, he softly nudged open the door. The sight that greeted him made the clouds of darkness which had hung heavy about him evaporate like mist. Nimoë lay unmoving on the bed, but her fair skin once again glowed a warm pink and about her chest was a clean white bandage. As he entered into the room, Legolas looked up and urged him to quiet with a finger placed in front of his lips, then he beckoned the horse-lord forward.

Stepping up next to the Elf's side, Eomer whispered, "What happened?"

Legolas shook his head, unable to explain what he did not himself understand. "One moment she was dead and the next thing I knew her hand moved within mine. If the earth had opened beneath me to swallow me whole I could not have been more surprised." A smile spread clear across the Elf's inhumanly fair face. "She will live, Eomer."

Of a sudden, Nimoë began to moan, her head rocking from side to side, and beads of sweat began to form upon her brow. Her lips moved and one word crept forth, "Halanna." Immediately, Legolas was at her side, taking her hand in his and trying to soothe her, for her was afraid that she would reopen her wound.

But she would not be calmed. Her voice became more urgent as she repeated the name over and over again. "Eomer, who is Halanna?" asked the concerned Elf.

Eomer's eyebrows had raised when he heard the name. "A friend of Nimoë. She lies here within this house, but she is not so grievously wounded. I will bring her here. Nimoë must fear that she is dead."

"Go quickly."

#

Eomer opened the door to the room where Halanna was resting and, seeing that Ioreth had just pulled a clean brown dress over Halanna's small form, he pulled her up into his arms, calling over his shoulder to the distraught healer, who was protesting his actions with vigor, "She will come to no harm. A friend needs her."

Halanna clung to his shoulders, alarm evident in her wide doe-like eyes. "Does she live?"

Eomer nodded. "She fears for you, and we are concerned that she will do herself an injury."

Arriving at Nimoë's door, Eomer pushed it open with his back and carried the girl through. The Elf maid was still moaning Halanna's name, unaware of Legolas' concerned presence. Halanna spoke quietly to Eomer, "Set me on my feet by her side, but do not stray, for I am afraid that I will need to lean on you."

Eomer obeyed her mutely, and with her free hand Halanna gently stroked Nimoë's fevered brow. "I am here, Nimoë. I survived the battle. My wound is as nothing. You need have no fear for me. We both have survived."

Finally, Nimoë stopped thrashing. Sweat was beaded on her brow and her body shook with the fever which had come upon her so suddenly, but her mind was quieted. Halanna looked at her worriedly, then spoke to Eomer. "I do not think that I should leave her. This fever may mean that her wound is not healing cleanly. I would feel easier in my heart if I kept an eye on her. Some of the healers here seem to know even less about their work than I."

Eomer nodded, and turned to Legolas. "Take care of her, will you? I will send someone with a cot for Halanna, and then I must go to see my sister. Send word if you have need of me."

The Elf nodded, and took Eomer's place supporting Halanna. "Thank you, my friend. My hopes are with the Lady Eowyn, for I have heard that she suffered a great hurt."

Eomer turned and departed.

#

Hours later, Halanna was sleeping on the cot which had been brought for her, and Legolas sat nigh to Nimoë, bathing her face with a cold, damp cloth, trying to bring down the raging fever. He knew that an infection could not be the cause of her malady, for Elves are impervious to such things, but in the same way he could not explain her miraculous recovery, he could not come up with an explanation for the fever.

There was a soft rap on the door and a timid looking page stepped into the room. His hands shook, and he clasped them together to still them. "Prince Legolas? The Lord Aragorn requests that you attend him in his pavilion upon Pelennor Field."

Legolas was torn. His duty was to go to Aragorn, but he had promised not to leave Nimoë, and with her suffering so, he was loath to break his word. Halanna had opened her eyes and she spoke, "I think that she will not wake for many hours, Prince Legolas. I will stay with her, so she will never be alone. Go to the Lord Aragorn. He would not call you without need."

So Legolas helped Halanna into his chair, and handed her the cool cloth. "Take good care of her." Then he dropped a kiss onto Nimoë's hair and left the room.

#

When, hours later, he returned, there was a haunted look upon his open features, and his feet moved with weary slowness. He crossed the room to Nimoë's beside, and laid his hand upon her shoulder. One look at her scarlet cheeks showed him that the fever still raged within her. Mirrored in his face was a battle of emotions, and Halanna watched him with trepidation, for clearly some great weight of worry was upon him. "What is it, Legolas?"

He raised his deep blue eyes to meet her gaze. "We won the battle of Pelennor Fields, but it is not the end. The One Ring still hangs in the balance. If Sauron were to obtain it, all of our struggles would be for naught. It seems that all we can do to further the cause of its destruction is to launch an attack against Mordor itself. Sauron does not know where the Ring may be, but he fears that one of the great leaders of men among our number may wield it against him. If we can focus his will against us, then we give Frodo that much greater a chance to reach the fires of Mount Doom."

He paused for breath and brought his gaze to the Elf maid lying in the bed. She looked so very small and helpless lying there, soaked in her own sweat. Every fiber in him cried out that he could not leave her. She needed him more than anything else in this world.

With grim determination he wrenched his gaze away and turned back to Halanna. "Denethor looked into his palantir before he went to his death. Mordor is far from defeated. A vast army still abides there. We must ride forth against an enemy much stronger than our own forces, to the very Gates of Mordor. If we do not succeed, then all hope will be lost." Then he came to the crux of his worry. "I must go."

Halanna's voice was low and comforting as she replied, "Our very hopes of life go with you and those who will brave the Black Gates. Do not fear for Nimoë. I will see to it that all that can be done for her is done." Painfully she rose, and Legolas reached to support her. She spoke firmly then, giving him the best advice she could muster. "Speak to her now. Explain why you must leave. She will hear you and understand, although she cannot respond to your words. I will wait outside, so that you may be private."

With grateful heart, Legolas assisted the steadfast maid of Rohan to the hallway, and he bowed his head to her. "Your kindness is a balm to my soul, Halanna. I will not be afraid for Nimoë if I know that you are with her, for you have proven yourself to be a true friend."

#

Halanna leaned up against the wall, waiting for Legolas to reappear. Heavy footsteps echoed towards her, and she glanced up to see Eomer approaching. "Do not enter now, my King. Legolas is saying his farewell."

Wearily, Eomer leaned against the wall next to her. "Are we not friends, Halanna? Please will you not call me Eomer?"

"As you wish."

There was silence between them then, and Halanna was loath to break it, but finally her curiosity got the better of her. "Eomer, will you be riding with the others to the Black Gate?"

He nodded morosely. "Although it is clearly a course of great folly, it is the only choice that we can see. Having met Merry and Pippin, though, I feel that my determination must not be swayed, for the Hobbits have hearts as strong as steel. If there is a way, I must believe that the Ringbearer will succeed. I will do what I can to give him aid."

The hopelessness that she heard in Eomer's voice saddened Halanna and, before she had time to think, she found her fingers reaching out to twine themselves through his battle hardened grasp. "My thoughts will be with you always. I know that you cannot fail."

Something that Eomer had thought dead within himself began to beat slowly, but relentlessly, to the surface of his consciousness. He looked down on Halanna's trusting face, so wide-eyed and innocent, and felt his heart begin to swell. He fell to one knee in front of her, although he kept her small hand within his own. "My Lady, will you grant me a token to bear with me into battle?"

A slow flush began on her cheeks, and the pinkness accentuated the pale freckles which blossomed on her skin. "I have nothing of value to offer, but take this," she said, unwinding the worn leather thong which tied the end of her braid. "May it be a reminder of those you have left behind, who put all of their trust in you. Bear it in good heath, my King, my friend."

Taking the dusty strap, Eomer bent his head low and pressed a kiss against the back of her hand. Then he rose, standing close to her small body, smiling down into her face, so full of youthful optimism. He reached out to wrap his arms about her and pull her close against him, smiling despite himself at the hope which this small woman made beat within his heart. They were standing so when the door opened.

Legolas stepped out and stopped short, taking in the scene before him. Even in the midst of his own personal torment, he rejoiced to see a true smile on the face of his friend. Eomer became aware of him standing there and he backed away from Halanna, although he kept his hands firm on her shoulders.

Legolas addressed the maid of Rohan, his stance firm and resolute, "Take care of Nimoë, and take care of yourself, Halanna. We will do all that we can to keep you and all of Middle-Earth safe from the Dark Lord."

She bowed her head to him, accepting his charge. Then Eomer assisted Halanna back into the sickroom, and settled her in the chair next to Nimoë's bed. Before he left, he regarded Nimoë's painfully fair visage. Never would he see anything so lovely, and his heart still beat more quickly at the sight, but, finally, he truly accepted that love between them was never to be. He would be as a brother to her. Nothing more, nothing less. It was time to move on from his doomed infatuation.

Halanna's hand on his own broke him out of his reverie. "Go, Eomer. Go to victory." The King of Rohan raised his fist, which grasped her worn leather hair strap, and bowed over it, offering his service to this strikingly strong, yet strangely innocent, woman. Then he turned abruptly, walking with dread purpose out of the Houses of Healing, with Legolas at his side.