A/N: Hello everyone, just wanted to give you a heads up that this chapter is a bit dark. I enjoyed writing it and wanted to try and convey the hardship of what I think living in Middle Earth in times of war might actually be like. I love reading your comments, too! Enjoy- Lilywn.

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Aldwen knew if she pushed Maon that they would reach Broadacres by dawn. She had only slowed when she came to Middlemead late in the evening and saw the devastation the Orcs had brought to the town. Its people had been slain in the street; their bodies still remained where they fell. Their homes and markets still smoldered as the remaining villagers wandered without purpose through their destroyed town. They paid little heed to her as she rode by them. Aldwen's fear was mounting with every step Maon took closer to Broadacres. She spurred her mare into a steady gallop once again, riding through the coming darkness. She wondered if anyone from Edoras would follow her. Aldwen was confident she could handle a few Orcs herself, but beyond that she doubted herself. Maybe Éomer was right, perhaps it was already too late. Perhaps she was running a fool's errand. She shook her head then, her eyes stinging as she fought back her tears.

She could feel Maon growing wary as dawn approached, for Aldwen was also beginning to tire from riding through the night. They were getting near to Broadacres and she could already see the plumes of smoke rising from the town. Her stomach began to churn with dread. The sun was beginning to rise along the eastern horizon, painting the sky hues of red as she slowed Maon. As Aldwen entered Broadacres, she saw the devastation was worse than she thought it would be. Buildings and markets she grew up with were now gone, burnt black along with the grasses of the plains. There were few villagers left in the town. Those who had survived were busy searching for loved ones or tending to their dead. Riding by house after charred house, she arrived at the gate to her uncle's property. She stopped then, hearing the sound of many horses approaching quickly behind her. She wheeled around grabbing her bow and nocking an arrow in fear that the enemy had returned.

Éomer slowed as he watched Aldwen lower her bow, her scowl softening at their approach. They exchanged a short glance with each other as Aldwen began making her way up the familiar lane to her home. "Spread out and search for survivors," he ordered his men. "Be on your guard, the enemy may still yet linger."

Éomer followed close behind Aldwen as they came to the remains of her home. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes as she jumped from her saddle and searched desperately for her uncle through the house. She called his name desperately as she moved through the collapsing timbers. There was hardly anything left that was untouched by flames. She ran out of the house and crested the hill upon which stood their stable. She gasped in horror at what she saw before her. The tall grasses surrounding their property were still blazing; the flames greedily consuming the carcasses of their slain horses. It seemed few had been spared as they attempted to escape their paddocks. Great roils of smoke billowed from every structure on their property. The doors of the stablehand's quarters had been barred shut from the outside. She shuttered to think of the fate of the young men who had helped her in the stables.

Éomer put his hand on her shoulder and solemnly nodded towards the entrance of the stable. She reluctantly walked towards the entrance, for deep in her heart she knew what she would find. It was within the smoldering remains that she saw Alleth. She would have thought him dreaming if not for the black arrows that pierced him. Her lamentations grieved all that heard them. Aldwen sat for a long while cradling the body of her uncle, rocking back and forth as waves of sorrow raked through her body. Éomer stood watch outside the stable for a time before unease fell over him. He knew little could be done and worried Orcs would be roaming the closer darkness came. The sun was nearly overhead when Éomer finally knelt beside Aldwen, touching her gently on the back.

"We cannot linger here," he said softly. The stable was beginning to creak. Its large timbers were being steadily consumed by smoldering embers that were being rekindled by the growing afternoon winds.

"I cannot leave him," her voice was thick with grief as she looked up at him.

"He is safe here. The fire will consume his body but his spirit will linger, in this place he loved, before he enters the halls of his forefathers. Though we of the living must depart." He lifted her off the ground and with a firm hand guided her away from her uncle. Aldwen let Éomer help her into her saddle and lead her away towards his gathering éored on the road below. She dared not look back, fearing she could not control the impulse to run back to Alleth.

Aldwen was so lost in her grief that she did not hear the men shouting from the South, nor did she see the small band of Orcs that had emerged from trees to the West of them. She had just enough time to grab her bow before the Orcs were upon them. Letting loose an arrow to find its mark, she drew her sword and jumped from her awoken from her daze, Aldwen realized she had only ever sparred with Alleth in practice. Now, as she squared off with her enemy, she found herself overwhelmed with fear. Her heart raced uncontrollably against her will. Her hands trembled as she desperately blocked the Orc's attacks. Aldwen knew she was losing this fight. In a last attempt to gain control she leaped backward. She inhaled deeply, steadying herself into an offensive stance. Determined not to let her fear control her, Aldwen let out a primal yell as she began her attack. Her uncle's training was the only thing she allowed herself to think about as she drove her blade through her enemy. She realized these Orcs were untrained and clumsy in their attacks; what little training she possessed was far superior to her enemy's. While her fear still remained, she found it easier to control with each foe she brought down. It became a dance to her then; a dangerous game of sword play.

Aldwen and several of Éomer's men had successfully dispatched the Orcs on the road while the rest of the éored had been driving the remaining Orcs into the burnt grasses. Sheathing her blade, Aldwen turned to find her mount just as an arrow came hurtling across the road. Unknowingly stepping into its path, it struck her with such force that it knocked her backward onto the ground. She lay there in a daze, not entirely sure what had just happened to her. Through a fog, Aldwen heard her name being shouted as she tried to sit up. Searing pain instantly shot down her left arm. She looked down in anger to find an arrow lodged deeply in her left shoulder.

"Lay still," Éomer ordered her; he was at her side in an instant. His brow was knit tightly in worry as he eased her back down to the ground. "I am sorry for this," he said as he grabbed the arrow. Nothing could have prepared her for the pain that seemed to flow through her body as Éomer tried to dislodge the arrow. Aldwen screamed, desperate for him to stop.

"Just break it at the shaft," she gasped. "It will not come out that way, a healer will need to remove it." Nodding in agreement, Éomer grabbed the arrows' shaft and broke it close to where the wound was open. Éothain appeared by Aldwen's side and helped her to sit up. She winced while she felt around the wound.

"Better not to know," he said as he gently pushed Aldwen's hand away.

He ripped a piece of long fabric from his cloak and bound Aldwen's arm close to her chest. The two men helped her back on her horse and gave her the reins. There was nothing left to be done for her town. The fires would eventually consume what remaining dwellings there were. Perhaps, in time, if the foundations still remained the people of her town could rebuild and start anew. Aldwen looked back only once towards the stable. The roof had now completely collapsed and was fully engulfed in flame. She knew she would never return to this place, for it held too much grief for one person to carry.

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Each step that Maon took was agony for Aldwen, though she tried not to show it. She couldn't tell if the fog that was beginning to cloud her eyes was from her sorrow, or from the pain of the arrow lodged in her shoulder. She spoke to no one on their march back to Edoras. She only looked up when the éored stopped to make camp for the night. She was helped down from Maon by a tall Rider who looked down at her arm in concern. Saying nothing to the man, she turned and walked away from the group to find a quiet place to sit. She was starting to feel flush and knew that a fever was beginning to set in. Orcs were known for soiling the tips of their arrows with not just poison, but with other foul things to make a wound fester quickly. She did not have the energy to pay any heed to what her fate might be. She knew it would be a slow death, but in death, she would be released from all the grievances of her life.

As darkness fell over their camp, Éomer walked over to where Aldwen had been sitting during the evening. He found her asleep in the tall green grasses; her face was wary even as she slept. He frowned when he saw the fabric that bound her arm soaked with blood. He carefully picked her up and felt the heat that was beginning to consume her. He carefully lay her down on her bedroll and covered her with a few cloaks and her mare's saddle blanket. He continued watching her as she settled back into a troubled sleep. Unable to sleep himself, Éomer kept a worried eye on Aldwen most of the night. She stirred a few times, groaning in pain, then fell eerily silent until the morning.

The men began to stir as dawn was just beginning to touch the horizon. Éomer had been awake well before any of them saddling Firefoot and Maon. The morning sun upon Aldwen's face showed the gleam of sweat on her brow and a paleness that only sickness brings. When she woke, she felt as if she had been drugged by some witch's potion. Her head spun wildly and she had to fight the urge to vomit. Éothain walked up to her with food and drink and would not leave until she had finished. He removed the binding from her arm and pushed her tunic aside to look at the wound. Blood still slowly seeped from the wound and the surrounding skin was hot to the touch. Frowning, he rebound her arm with a fresh piece of fabric.

"Come on, let's get you on that fine horse of yours," he said helping her up. Aldwen barley had the strength to stand and leaned heavily on Éothain as he helped her to her horse. With much effort, she managed to get in her saddle.

Aldwen was vaguely aware that Éomer rode by her side most of the morning. She was becoming increasingly listless. Fresh blood was still seeping down her arm staining the leg of her dress. All she wanted to do was to lie down somewhere quiet and fall into a deep sleep. As the morning dragged into the afternoon, darkness finally overcame Aldwen's vision as she started falling from her saddle. Éomer was there to catch her and quickly eased her onto Firefoot's back. He knew they needed to get back to Edoras and was impatient with their pace. Now, he urged his horse into a steady gallop. Aldwen stirred from her daze and shrieked in pain, grabbing at Firefoot's mane in an attempt to get the horse to stop.

"Easy," he said as he grabbed her hands, trying to get her to calm. "We cannot delay any longer, you need help and quickly." He did not slow their pace even as Aldwen begged for him to stop. Eventually, darkness overtook her once more, which Éomer was thankful for. He knew her pain was great but he would not slow their pace now. He could feel the heat that came off of her burned hotter than the night before and was dismayed. While the arrow wasn't poisoned, the longer it remained lodged in her shoulder in the worse the fever would be. They made good time from there and came to the gates of Edoras by stopping at the stables, Éomer raced up to stairs of the Golden Hall pulling Aldwen down into his arms from his saddle.

"I need help," he shouted as he ran into the Golden Hall. Not waiting for a response, he brought Aldwen into one of the empty rooms of the King's Household. He laid her down on the bed as Aragorn walked into the room.

"I've some skill in healing," he said quietly. He looked upon Aldwen's pale face and the blood that soaked through her clothing. "What happened?" he asked as he went to her side.

"We were on the road leaving Broadacres when a band of Orcs rushed out of the woods at us. I was unable to get the arrow out. Her fever started sometime in the evening yesterday," Éomer explained.

"What of her kin?" Éomer simply shook his head. Aragorn looked back down at Aldwen with sorrow. He undid her binding exposing the wound, his brow pinched tight. "This is grave, are you sure the arrow was not poisoned?" Aragorn asked.

"She would be dead already if it had been," Éomer replied.

"I will need help. Go find your sister, and bring a few strong others." Éomer nodded and left the room.

He found Éothain waiting for him by the dais, quietly speaking with the King. He knew that they both cared for Aldwen, as did most others who had gotten the chance to meet her. Her quick wit and kindness had quickly won over many hearts in her short time in Edoras. It was for that reason King Théoden agreed to let Éomer take part of his éored in the defense of Broadacres. Théoden did not fail to notice how his nephew's stern demeanor lightened when he was near her. He also knew he could not stop him from going after her.

"If you wouldn't mind, Lord Aragorn needs help," he said to Éothain as he bowed to his uncle.

"If you should see Éoywn, please bid her to come help as well." Théoden put a comforting hand on Éomer's shoulder and gave him a quick nod. The two men walked back into the chambers where Aldwen lay. Aragorn had already removed her bloodied tunic and undergarment shirt, covering her with a clean white sheet. He was wiping the caked blood away from the wound and speaking softly to her in Elvish. She looked even smaller to Éomer as she lay there, bare from the waist up. She was deep in a fevered dream, her chest and face slicked with sweat.

"The arrow has pierced her deeply, it seems to be caught under the bone," Aragorn explained. He was placing a pair of thin metal tongs into the fire which a maid had come to light. Éoywn came into the room then, carrying powders and salves at Aragorn's request. He bid Éomer and Éothain hold Aldwen down as he picked up a small blade. Aldwen was dragged out of her sleep then as Aragorn inserted the blade into the wound. Her eyes shot open in utter panic as she struggled against Éomer and Éothain in vain, pleading with Aragorn to stop.

"Leave it!" she yelled, Aragorn stopped what he was doing and looked at her. "Please, just leave it," she said more quietly. "I care not, I simply want to be at peace in the long darkness after this life is spent."

Silence fell on the room, the crackling of the fire was the only sound that could be heard. In her despair, she had meant her words for it was not the first time those thoughts had crossed her mind. Aldwen had always known that when her death finally did come, she would gladly welcome its finality as an old friend. Having never been close to her own death before, she was now tempted by its closeness. She wondered how easy it would be to give in to the weariness that lay heavily on her now. For she had grown tired of carrying her grief with her wherever she went. It followed her like an unmerciful shadow, tormenting her not just in her dreams. She did not desire to carry that pain through the long years of her life.

Aragorn put the blade down and took both of her small hands in his. "Grief is a most peculiar thing; we are so helpless in the face of it. It's like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold, and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time, and a little less; and one day we wonder what has become of it. I know your sorrow runs deep, but you are young and should not be afraid to receive each day's sunrise, whether it comes to you with sorrow or with joy. It will open a new place in your heart, a place where you can welcome new friends and celebrate more fully each day of your life. Please, let us help you."

Aldwen looked around the chambers. She could clearly see the dismay on the faces of her companions at her words. Éoywn had turned away from Aldwen's gaze, her eyes looked misty with tears. She then looked up at Éomer to see that her words had wounded him the most. She could see a deep sadness behind his eyes that had not been there before. Guilt crept up from Aldwen's heart as she looked upon his face. She had thought little about how her words would affect anyone other than herself. She knew they had come to her aid out of friendship. For she would do the same for each of them if there was the need. It had been long since Aldwen had counted herself as a friend to anyone other than her uncle. Through her own self-wrought isolation, Aldwen had forgotten that friendship means belonging to something greater than ones' self.

"I'm sorry," she finally managed to whisper. She knew the apology to be inadequate but lacked the strength for anything more.

Éomer then leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on Aldwen's forehead. It was meant to be a subtle gesture, but it was missed by none. Aldwen looked back over to Aragorn and gave him a small nod. She set her jaw and closed her eyes as he picked up the small blade once again. Though she tried to stifle them, her screams sent a chill down even the strongest spine in the Golden Hall.

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To give due credit, the first part of Aragorn's speech to Aldwen in this chapter is one of my favorite quotes from Memoirs of a Geisha, combined with a modified version of a sermon from Henri Nouwen. I have found great comfort in their words in my own life.

Maon is pronounced like 'moon.'