AN: I thought that since it's been so long since I've updated, I owed you two chapters. Enjoy!
Finding
The journey through the mountain had been dark and terrible. I felt my heart beat faster even as we drew near to its dark door. Unpleasant memories of Moria came to mind, intensifying the fear- deep dark caves with no sound or song of tree and star, and no escape. I had barely survived four days being trapped underground, and now I find myself willing to press on under yet another cursed mountain. A glance at Aragorn beside me, however, renews my strength and will. His face is set and determined and he looks into the inky blackness with a mixture of courage and loathing.
"I do not fear death!" he hissed at the shadows. The wind picked up as if in answer, whipping our cloaks behind us. Then he was gone, enveloped by the dark void. I clench my jaw and follow, trusting to Estel.
After some time we pass through, winning the aid of the Cursed men and leading them to Minas Tirith upon the ships of the Corsairs. We arrived on the shore to find a battle in progress and the walls of the White City falling. Immediately we joined the fray, our undead army with us wiping out orc and fell beast alike. With such aid the battle ended swiftly, leaving behind a field of orc carrion and bewildered survivors.
Soon the long task of cleanup was begun and, after Aragorn had released the Men of the Mountain to their long rest, all joined in the great task. I had elected to help find survivors too weak or wounded to stand. I walked slowly through the field, pulling beast and warrior apart where I found them, signaling for someone to come to claim the body of their honored kin. Several I found who needed help and I gave it, whether it be herb or strength to stand, or simply will to live. 'The battle is won,' I repeated, over and over to each of the men I found as I brought them back to the city.
Hours had passed but still there was much work to do. The fields of the Pellanor were so vast that I imagine it would take many days to cleanse them of the defilement inflicted upon them. My heart wept for each felled tree, every burned or torn blade of grass, trampled by the cursed feet of the servants of evil.
Anor was low in the sky when I came upon a sight that made my heart stop. I saw a figure sprawled upon the field in the dying light, helm removed and golden hair fanned out on the grass. This I had seen many times that day, for many of the wounded or slain were Rohirrim. This particular fallen soldier, however, was smaller than the others, the slight frame barely filling the armor protecting it.
'Ai, Elbereth,, no...'
With a cry I ran towards the prone form, hitting the ground hard as I dropped to my knees beside the glimmering hair. I put my hands on the small shoulders, slowly turning the warrior over.
'Sweet Valar, please don't let it be-'
"Eowyn," I choked out, feeling a tightness grip my heart at the sight of her ashen face. Without another thought I held her to me tightly, cradling her limp form in my trembling arms. Then, remembering my errand I gently lay her back on the grass and began to search for injuries.
There were no wounds that I could see, but her skin was cool and she drew in air with shallow ragged gasps. I despaired that her injury whatever it may be, was beyond my skill to heal, and even as my mind raced for a way to help her the raspy sounds of breath ceased.
In a panic my eyes flew up to search the field for Aragorn or another trained healer but I found none. Looking back down I saw her lips, now slightly blue, parted as she struggled to take in air. In a desperate attempt to do something that may help I did the only thing I could think of. Cradling her head in one hand and her jaw in the other, I pressed my lips to hers, forcing in the much needed air.
At first nothing happened; she lay as still and cold as she had been. I tried again several more times and still nothing. Finally on the fifth try she twitched. Just as our lips touched for a sixth time her eyes flew open and she gasped, stealing the air from my lungs and reflexively raising a hand to clutch my arm. I drew back to allow her to breathe normally, but to my surprise her hand tightened on my arm, preventing me from doing so. Her eyes locked with mine, glassy with fatigue and pain, and we read each other's thoughts as if they'd been spoken aloud.
'You look horrible!' we both heard, although neither of us was sure who had thought it. And then, a strangled plea, small and quiet, but the words echoed in my mind as if they'd been shouted in my ear, imprinted indelibly onto my heart.
"Don't leave me," she gasped. I could barely see her strained expression through my own tears as I smoothed her hair back and responded gently.
"I will never leave you." My voice sounded broken and rough in my ears, causing the tears to fall down my face and onto hers. She smiled weakly and I watched in her eyes as she began to fade again from consciousness. Just before she slipped away into soothing dreams I again pressed my lips to hers, and this time I felt the weak response to my touch. Then I sat back, taking a few calming breaths. After I was sure the flush had left my face I picked her slight form up into my arms and carried her back to Minas Tirith.