A/N: This was one of my favourite chapters to write so far. It doesn't end the same as in the book but I hope you like it anyway. There is still the discussion with Éomer and Aragorn about Éowyn, but as far as I know, all of the lines in it are my own.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They are the brilliant creation of J.R.R. Tolkien

Chapter 18: Healing Hands

            The Houses of Healing were dim, and they smelt strongly of healing herbs. Aragorn was immediately brought to Faramir, who lay still on his bed. Aragorn stared at the young captain and then turned to one of the healers.

"Bring me some fresh athelas," he requested, moving towards a large cupboard in one corner of the room and taking out a wooden bowl and some rags.

The man looked puzzled. "Athelas?" he asked. "It is but a weed, it has no healing qualities."

Aragorn shook his head. "You are mistaken my friend," he said. "It has many healing powers, far greater than any other herb you have here. Fetch some fresh cloves from outside and bring them here quickly."

The healer bowed and nodded, turning away and hurrying outside. Aragorn set down the bowl on the table beside Faramir's bed.

"Fetch me some warm water," he said, addressing another of the healers, who went away immediately, presently returning with a pitcher. Aragorn proceeded to pour an adequate amount into the bowl and waited for the arrival of the athelas.

The healer arrived a short time later with six fresh cloves of athelas and gave them to Aragorn. He took two cloves in his hands and began to crush them and, when he was done, cast them into the warm water.

The smell was powerful and it wafted around the room. It brought feelings and thoughts of happiness to all who were there. Faramir's eyes opened slowly and he looked up at Aragorn.

"Thank you, my lord," he said, smiling weakly. "You have returned home at last."

Aragorn smiled. "Rest now, good Faramir," he said, as Faramir closed his eyes again.

            He now came to Merry and noted his injuries. "He is not seriously wounded," he said. "But it will take time for him to recover."

He brought a second bowl and filled it with water from the pitcher. Then, as before, he crushed two cloves of athelas and placed them in the water, setting it beside the young hobbit.

Merry stirred after a while and blearily stared at the people clustered around his bed. He started suddenly, looking panicked.

"Where is Éowyn?" he asked, frantically. "She is badly hurt, you must go to her now!" he cried.

Aragorn looked piteously at the hobbit.

"She is dead, Merry," he said in a choked voice.

"No, no, she is alive!" Merry cried again. "Prince Imrahil said that she was alive! She is here! In the Houses of Healing!"

Aragorn looked at Gandalf, who nodded, solemnly, but with the slightest hint of a grin to be seen on his face.

"Take me to her, immediately!" he shouted. The chief healer stepped forward and beckoned for him to follow. Aragorn hurried off with him followed closely by Éomer and Gandalf, leaving a stunned Legolas, Gimli and Pippin behind.

            They entered a large room with a single large window in it, which looked over the beautiful gardens. On a bed in the centre on the room lay Éowyn, very still, with the sunlight streaming over her through the window. Aragorn rushed to her side and knelt on the ground beside her bed and seized her hand in his.

"You should have brought me to her straight away," he said. He looked into her face.

She was deathly white; her skin was as cold as ice. Her clothes were ripped and muddy from her fight with the Nazgûl and she was perfectly still. Aragorn could see that her arm was badly broken and would take time to mend. There was a large gash on her upper arm and one across her stomach where the Nazgûl had attempted to stab her with his blade. Her face was dirty and had received scratches from her fall. 

Aragorn held before him another bowl and was crushing the remaining athelas to put in the water. The smell had filled the room and wafted around them, but still Éowyn did not wake, nor did she stir.

"How has she come to this?" asked Aragorn to Éomer. "This weakness is more serious than just that of the Witch-King."

Éomer stared blankly at his sister as she lay on her bed. 'How had it come to this?' he asked himself. What could have caused her to slip so far away from them? Then, he realised.

"Gríma," he said, quietly, his brown eyes fixed on his sister, unmoving from their position.

Aragorn stared at him for a moment and then nodded.

"I feared as much," he said in a low voice, "I had seen signs of his grip over her, but I had no idea it would come to this."

"I did," said Éomer. He now looked up at Gandalf and Aragorn. "I have watched him weave his spell over our kingdom, and over my sister, from the day he arrived. Éowyn knew this also, but she was too proud to let it trouble her. She fought against him in her own way, never allowing him to be alone with the king, forever thwarting his power over Théoden as much as it was possible. But she neglected the grip that he had over her. She was brave and defended Théoden and the kingdom. She did not see that her own defences were slipping, or if she did, she never gave up hope in them."

He stared again at the limp body of his younger sister. He was filled with a hatred against all those who had brought her to this. He was so overcome with it that he let out a cry of anger.

"Curse the foul creature that did this to her!" he shouted. "Curse Gríma Wormtongue! Curse the Lord of the Nazgûl!"

He fell on his knees beside Éowyn and laid his head on the bed. Gandalf walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"There is nothing we can do now but wait," he said to Éomer. "Her wounds are grievous and require time and patience."

"What if they do not heal?" shouted Éomer, heatedly. "What then? I have already lost one dear to me today, I do not wish to loose another."

"She is not in darkness yet, Éomer," said Aragorn, softly. "She is strong of spirit and her courage surpasses none, as you have said. She will not give up, and she would not wish you to either, my friend."

He reached for the bowl he had set on her bedside table and one of the rags he had brought in. He proceeded to wash her face, side and broken arm with the water and then placed the bowl down. She lay still on the bed, unmoving, no breath from her cold lips.

"Someone should watch over her for tonight and see if she has woken by tomorrow and ensure that nothing happens to her," suggested Gandalf, who glanced very quickly at Aragorn.

"I shall watch her," offered Aragorn. "If she worsens, I will be able to tend to her." He looked at Éomer. "She will be well," he assured him, "she will wake."

Éomer looked miserable but, nevertheless, he turned to leave. Gandalf looked at Aragorn and nodded, following Éomer out of the room.

Aragorn took a seat beside Éowyn's bed and there he remained.