AN: Well, I guess this is it. I just want to take this time and thank every one of you that has read this Inkling- if it wasn't for you, 'Longing' would have been only one chapter! *bows low* thanks for forcing me to explore this pairing. (I quite enjoyed it) I may in the future write a further 'epilogue' for this, but if so it will be posted as a separate story (as it will be a one-shot deelio that can stand alone...I already have the idea floating around in my head, LoL! You've created a monster!) So for this Inkling, this is the end. I don't think I need to say that the most satisfying thing for any Fanfic writer to do is to write those three letters at the conclusion of a well-told story. So, again, thank you all, and enjoy the last chapter.

Epilogue:

The House of Healing was eerily quiet. The wounded were lain out in the massive room several feet apart from each other, to achieve some semblance of privacy. Most were sleeping or simply resting quietly, others talking softly with visitors or amongst themselves, though their voices were absorbed by the thickly covered walls, adding to the atmosphere of healing calm.

In one corner of the room where the most privacy was available lay the Shieldmaiden of Rohan. She lay in deep sleep as the herbs and medicines she'd been given finished their work. She lay comfortably on her back with her hands at her sides, her face peaceful and free of pain.

Sitting beside her was Legolas. The elf had not left her side since she'd been brought in. He had rushed in with her, catching immediately the attention of his friend, and the Dunedan did everything he could for her. He'd noted the strain and worry on the Silvan elf's face, understanding that it was more than mere friendly concern. He loved her, it was plain in his eyes. Aragorn was working now to save two of his friends – the Shieldmaiden on the cot beneath him, and the Mirkwood Prince who stood beside him. After he'd done all he could, he had clutched the elf's shoulder, giving him a reassuring nod. All that was left was to wait.

And wait he did. Tirelessly he sat by her bed, watching over her, stroking her hair and the smooth skin of her face. He memorized every line on her face, as if one day he would have only that memory to comfort him. The longer she slept the more worried he became, fearing that she may never wake, and that he would loose her to Mandos so soon. His heart ached at the thought, but he pushed it away, not wishing to dwell on such thoughts. He understood that he would loose her eventually, that one day she would slip from this life and he would be alone once again; alone, possibly, to fade from his own life. But that would not be for some time, he told himself firmly. She still had plenty of life in her, life she would share with him.

Several hours after she'd been treated he searched in his pack for his comb. It was special to him, having belonged to Thranduil his father, and Oropher his grandsire before him. It was carved of a precious stone, and he remembered Oropher telling him when he was an Elfling that it had been crafted in the hidden city of Gondolin. Indeed it was a precious heirloom. With this he began to comb her hair, slowly dragging it through her golden locks, taking great care and patience in untangling the shining strands. Not one hair was damaged or pulled, such was the skill of his kind. At last when he finished, her hair flowed from the bed in a shimmering curtain of gold, catching the dim light of the room in its tresses.

Carefully the comb was stowed away in its place. Gently turning her head to one side, he carefully gathered thin locks of her hair and began to weave them into delicate braids. He followed the pattern that he knew all too well, gracing her with the mark of an elven warrior. Indeed, in Mirkwood none save the bravest and most skilled in battle were permitted to wear this particular style. He focused intently on his task, taking special care that not one hair remained out of place, that not one knot was too tight or too lose, that each plait was in it's perfect place.

When he finished he sat back with a sigh to admire his work. If any other elf of his realm were to see what he'd done, the braids would swiftly be cut from her, for thus was the punishment for assuming a place of honor one did not earn. The honor was hers, however, and as Prince it was his place to bestow such rewards. He had not seen her victory, nor found any evidence of it himself, but it was the eyewitness account of the hobbit Merry that told the tale of her great valor. This woman before him, his beloved, had slain the leader of the Nazgul with her own sword. Merry had told him the entire story from when she'd picked him up to ride with her, to the end of the battle, as much as he could remember. The entire time Legolas had sat, listening in silent awe.

Merry himself lay on his own cot not far from the brooding elf. He had taken wound from the Nazgul also but, as were all his kind, he was a resilient hobbit and would not give in to injury so easily. The elf did not worry for his recovery, it was just an accepted fact that he would. Legolas glanced over at him nevertheless, and then sat back in his chair, allowing himself to briefly slip into his own dreams.

He was woken an hour later by a light touch on his arm. He jolted upright in the chair and looked down into those bright ocean eyes he'd grown to love. Bright and clear as the deepest sapphires of the dwarves were those eyes. They met with his and their gazes locked for what seemed like eternity. Slowly he reached out to touch her face, stroking the smooth skin with his thumb, feeling her cheek press further into his palm.

"You didn't leave me," she whispered. Her voice had returned to it's usual light and sweet tone. He smiled at the sound and leaned closer, brushing his hand against her cheek.

"I could never leave you," he said. "Even now, it pains me to know we will again be separated in just a few hours..." he trailed off as pain filled his heart. Her hand gripped his arm tighter.

"What do you mean?"

"Estel," he looked to her and smiled at the name. "Aragorn, plans a march to the Black Gate." Eowyn's eyes widened with shock. Legolas' hand continued to idly caress her face as he spoke. "As a friend and fellow warrior my heart calls me to his side, but I am torn. My heart wants two things – to ride with Aragorn, and to stay here with you. It is...a painful decision to make, Eowyn." She smiled encouragingly at him and brushed her fingers up his arm, reaching for him. He leaned down and she caught him in a hug.

"I will love you no matter what you choose," she said softly. "Would that I could go with you." He pulled back at her words.

"No," he said softly, "you must stay here. Even Elven warriors know when it is time to heal," he told her, running a finger over the braids in her hair as he spoke. She raised a hand to touch them and smiled happily. "You've earned them," he said. Just then, they heard a voice calling softly for him at the door. The two looked over to see Gimli waiting for him. Legolas looked back to her sadly. He caressed her face again and tried to keep the finality out of his voice.

"I must go," he whispered. He watched as her lip began to tremble and ran his thumb along the smooth skin. Before he could stop to think about it he lowered his face to hers and kissed her. Her hands flew up to anchor themselves in his hair as his gently cupped her face, deepening the kiss. Hungry lips practically devoured each other as they kissed with alarming passion, headless of the dwarf at the door waiting for his friend. The euphoria of each other's touch enveloped them both and for that brief moment the war and all the terrible dangers of the world vanished and all that existed was their pure emotion and need. The moment was not to last, however, as the need for air forced them to break apart. Legolas showered her face with small light kisses before rising from his chair.

"I will return," he declared, still holding her hand, "and I expect to find you here, waiting for me." His words succeeded in forcing a smile on her face and he gently caressed the soft lines on her face before steeling himself to turn and leave her behind. Tears rolled silently down her cheek as she watched him go.

For weeks she waited, pining for her elf as one lost in the desert would pine for water. She would spend long hours standing at the city walls watching for his coming, when she was allowed to leave the House of Healing. The braids that Legolas had woven into her hair had been jealously guarded and she took great care to preserve the mark her lover had left on her. They were washed carefully and bound each night so they would neither fray or come loose while she slept. She wore them proudly and all marveled at them when they saw her. Merry had filled her time with some happiness, for he too had been ordered to stay behind, but by his younger cousin of all people. They tried very hard to forget the peril their loved ones were in, but always the awareness was there and real happiness was never achieved.

Then, several weeks after their departure, the company returned. Eowyn ran like the wind to greet the heroes as they returned to the city. News of the end of the war and the overthrow of Sauron seemed almost as an afterthought when she was at last reunited with her beloved. He took her in his arms and shamelessly bestowed passionate kisses on her soft lips, raising many eyebrows in the courtyard. Neither cared, for now that all was done they had finally gained that which was most precious to them – each other.

End.