I hope those of you reading enjoy this chapter, as I'm rather interested to hear what some of you think. I'm suuuper busy with school right now, and had to force myself to take sometime to put this up. Luckily, school's out for the summer in exactly two weeks! :) So updates should hopefully come a bit quicker.

Cheers

Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.

Eomer's POV

Éomer started suddenly awake, seized with a panicked thought that something was wrong. But silence answered his movements, and the room was still. He looked around, unsure what had awoken him so suddenly, and then saw the low bed he lay but a yard from. He rolled over, wincing and grunting at the stiffness and bruises resulting from the battle at Pelennor, and then rose to his feet. Alandria still lay there - unmoved, unchanged, and unhealed. His heart throbbed to see her so, and to know he could do nothing but wait and watch. He moved to the stool that rested beside the bed and sat quietly upon it, his dark eyes never leaving her beautiful face. Her closed eyes twitched and moved slowly, dreaming again, and yet the rest of her body seemed incredibly relaxed, at ease. Tenderly he let his rough fingers carress the side of her face again, and then glanced around for the bowl and cloth to cool her down.

His sister appeared then in the doorway, and stopped short upon seeing him awake. "Oh, Éomer.." She murmured softly, and then slowly entered. "I only just left her, and only for a moment. I'm sorry, but she hadn't woken-"

"It's fine, Éowyn." He assured her gently, focused on Alandria.

"I am sorry though. I had promised-"

But Éomer was shaking his head, unconcerned. "It is fine. I'm awake now anyway." He finally glanced up at his sister. "How long did I sleep?"

"Just over three hours, I believe. It's only the edge of seven o'clock in the morning."

He nodded, before suddenly yawning hugely. He caught Éowyn's smile, and flushed slightly. "I feel better."

"Good. You needed rest." He didn't answer, and she looked down at her friend's still-sleeping form, then back towards the door to the room. "I will leave you, if you do not mind."

"No, do as you wish."

She nodded, already leaving. "Let me know if she wakes."

Éomer nodded as his sister vanished, and then sighed, before yawning again. "Come on, Alandria." He whispered softly to her, watching her continued dreaming. "Please...come..." Her head turned slightly, almost in a response, he imagined, and then she uttered a soft whimper that cut into him. He watched her intently, wishing with all his might he could wake her himself, but left only to wait. Her breathing was slightly faster again, and her right hand flexed, twisted, and then clenched.

"Eomer?"

His name broke past her lips, and the sweet sound of it stabbed into him. She whispered it just so that he could have sworn she was awake, had he not been watching her features carefully. "Alandria?" He breathed, leaning closer in desperation and taking her too-warm hand up in his. "Please, wake up...just wake up...come on..." She shifted. "Please, Alandria, come back.." The hand that had been clenched suddenly opened, and laid flat beside her on the bed. Her breathing slowed, her eyes stopped moving, and her tense muscles slacked. Éomer still held her hand, watching intently and praying desperately, until - to his disbelief - her dark lashes moved, and then slowly parted, revealing the dark green eyes he'd been waiting to see.

The light was bright and dazzling, clearly illuminating the field below her. The field was ugly: grey and brown, littered with dry, dead trees. A mass of flashing, glinting silver caught her attention. Shapes could hardly be seen in the mass, save for glimpses of a white banner, or the curve of a helm. They were too close together to be clearly seen, and moved across the bare field as a single entity. Different movement caught her attention then: a different mass, a swarm of deep black, gliding swiftly towards the silver. And then before she could discern what was happening, the black overtook silver like a wave overtakes a single stone - extinguishing the flashes of reflected sunlight easily and quickly, drowning it all. Faint cries reached her ears, but whether they were cries of victory or of pain, she could not tell. Then lightning seemed to strike down from the dark sky, and split the middle of the black sea of bodies. A sharp crack sounded in her ears and she flinched, closing her eyes against the shock. When she opened her eyes again, both masses of silver and black were gone, and in their place was a giant crack in the ugly earth. Curiosity sparked within her, and she ran quickly down from her hillside, towards the opening. Nearer, she saw it was much larger than it had appeared at her distance. Perhaps forty feet wide, and four times as long. She slowed, coming closer, and then finally stopped and peered cautiously into the large hole. It was dark inside it, and unfathomably deep.

A noise came from behind her and she whirled in alarm, only to see a familiar form at her side. Aragorn stood near the edge as well, looking himself into the chasm. She desperately wanted to ask him where the gap had come from, and where the silver and black had gone, and what was happening - but she could not find her voice. He seemed to be ignoring her anyway, walking back and forth along the length of the split. He sighed, muttered some silent words, and then casually strode back towards her. His gentle blue-green eyes finally raised to her face and he seemed surprised, then quickly concerned. He opened his mouth to speak, and then suddenly fell forward, as if his feet were pulled out from under him. Indeed that was what had happened, as she saw in horror a pale, decaying hand held tightly to his ankle. She lunged forward but he waved her away, shaking his head, and then scrabbling at the dry ground for a hold. The hand holding the Ranger's foot extended from the deep chasm, and out of it crawled another mangled body. It's pale skin was rotting, it's eyes clouded white, and it's bones stuck out crudely in the skin. It was hideous, corpse-like but moving, and it grasped the man's other leg, pulling as well. "Aragorn.." She called out to him, and rushed forward again, this time grabbing his arm and trying to pull him towards her. But two more corpses appeared from the black hole, and each grabbed ahold of the stuggling man, then pulled him further away. "No!" She cried, just as his fingertips slipped past the ledge of rock. And he was gone. She stared down at the silent, black hole for a long moment, horrified by what had just happened. He was dead then, Aragorn? Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Heir of Isildur, and the greatest ally she could have ever made? Dead.

She stumbled blindly away, shaking her head and muttering soft denials. Everywhere around her the land still laid silent, and barren. As if death lived there. To further prove her thoughts, she suddenly tripped over something. She landed on her hands and knees in the grey-brown dust, coughing as some of it kicked up into her face. She peered over her shoulder then, and cried out in horror, scrambling away. More dust kicked up and caused her to cough, as she stumbled to her feet crazily. Once the dry dust cleared and coughing ceased, she carefully looked over at what she'd just seen. Another body. And then she noticed three more laying nearby. Little bodies, the size of children maybe. Each with curly hair and bare feet. Her throat choked up again, and not because of dust. She wanted to vomit, she felt she was going to, but it wasn't happening. Just the feeling remained, but the action would not come. The bodies were on their backs or sides, all positioned so she could see their faces - but she didn't need too. She knew who they were. And seeing the deathly pale color on their skin, their stillness, and - after a terrified glance - the blank, glassy stare on them, it was too much to bear. She choked again on the vomit that would not come, and stumbled earnestly away. Luck was not with her however, and her foot caught on something again, and sent her toppling over backwards to the ground.

But water was beneath her: deep, freezing, moving water. She sunk down as the cold grasped her lungs, squeezing out whatever air she had, and her body was slammed against rocks. She clawed at the dark water, and finally found the energy to kick her legs. She burst free of the depths of the water into cold air, and took a huge breath of it before being slammed into another stone. She coughed, groaned, and then was spun away by the strong current. She was in a river, a cold, dark river that moved too fast for her to possibly survive it. Her arms moved, her legs kicked, but little help did they seem to provide. She was nearly forced under again, and flailed helplessly at the water about her, hoping to grab ahold of something that could stable her. Her hand slammed against rocks, and scraped against sticks, but could find hold on nothing. Something passed her sight then - something pale, and above her level in the water. She reached out to it, and her hand contacted with wood. But not the rough, wet wood of a stick in the river; smooth, crafted wood. She forced her numbing fingers to curl and hold to the edge of the wood, and she clenched her teeth before pulling herself closer to the object with what strength she had left. Her other arm flew out to reach at the wood as well, and she was surprised to feel it go over the edge of something. She held tight, pulling herself up a little more, and then realized what she held to: the side of a boat. A silvery-white, elegant boat - with a body inside it. Her breathing stalled as she realized what she looked at. Who she looked at. "Boromir?" She breathed, suddenly starting to shake from the cold. He wasn't laying in the boat, and he wasn't dead. He sat in the center of it, surprisingly calm, and he was clearly alive. He turned and looked at her, and she stung with longing and how much she'd missed his strong, handsome features. She held out her hand, expecting him to see her position and save her from the nightmarish river. But he did no such thing. Instead his pale eyes saddened, and he shook his head. "Sorry, lass." He murmured, and she revelled in the rich voice she had missed so much. He turned then, and looked towards the direction the boat was heading. She struggled to look too, and saw a foam of white, followed by nothing else. There was a thunderous roar with it all, and she knew it was a water fall. Fear struck deep in her, and she turned back to the man in the boat desperately. "Please, Bor-" "You've got to let go, love." He interrupted, and leaned forward to take her hands in his. She let him, foolishly trusting, and he pried her hands off the side of the boat, holding them for a moment. "That's right, lass. Just let go." And then he released her hands, and she fell back into the deep water. Her cry of despair was lost in the roar of the water, and she tumbled head over heels down the falls.

She hit the ground hard, and the air was knocked sharply out of her. The water was gone, and she rolled painfully over to find she was on grass. Rich, green grass. Slowly she sat up, and looked around cautiously. She was in a huge field, filled with short green grass and spattered with blades of long gold. The sun was bright and warm overhead, and all was quiet, peaceful. The air was still and comfortable, and smelled like the fresh grass around her. It was an unexpected Heaven, after the previous Hells, and she welcomed it. Something moved in the golden distance then, and she watched it curiously, waiting patiently for it to come closer. And it did come, with the steady sound of a single horse's hoofbeats. The horse was tall, and broad, a dark dapple-grey stallion it seemed, and it cantered smoothly towards her. It slowed to a trot upon approach, and she squinted and blinked as it came to stand beside her, forcing her to look up towards the sun that shone behind it. The sunlight blinded her to the horse's rider, and she only glimpsed bronze and leather before the horse moved, allowing her to see it clearly out of the bright light. The horse was tall and and beautiful, powerfully built yet he carried himself elegantly. The rider wore a silver and bronze helm with a top of flaxen horse-hair, and his face was hidden. "Come," The man spoke in a deep, thick voice, and held out his hand. She hesitated and he seemed to understand, and removed his helm. Some part of her seemed to have known who she would see upon the great steed, but she had wanted to clearly see nonetheless. Éomer sat proudly, tall and broad shouldered, his dark-gold hair lighter in the sunlight, his handsome features calm, his dark eyes warm as the sun that shone down on them. He held out his hand again, and smiled softly. "Come, you will be safe." She was eager to join him and stepped forward, only to find something weighed her down, and to see the Rider pull back from her, his handsome features guarded. She looked down at herself, not understanding, and then saw in her arms a great, round shield of smooth red-brown wood and polished silver. It was a shield that belonged a Captain-General of Gondor, not her. But it was all she felt she had left, and she did not want to let it go. She looked back up at the golden-haired Horse-lord, her green eyes pleading. "Éomer?" She whispered, and he knew what she was asking, only to shake his head in reply. "It must be left behind. It will be too much of a burden." Still she hesitated, her hands carressing the warm wood. "I can keep you safe, Alandria. You do not need that." Éomer's voice was gentle, and she glanced up at him again, only to see sadness and worry on his handsome features. She did not want to be the cause of his sadness, and knew also that what he said was true. "Please, Alandria, come back." Reluctantly and slowly, she set down the great shield. Her hand lingered on two breaks in the wood where the arrows of Orcs had punctured it, then she forced herself to reach up. Her hand met a larger, stronger hand, and she was pulled easily towards a strong body-

Alandria's POV

The field and grass and horse and man disappeared, as Alandria was thrown back forcefully to reality. Her eyelids seemed heavy, and slowly she blinked away her dillusions, revealling the faintly lit, single room where she dwelt. She vaguely noticed a wide window which the light fell through, and a lowly lit fireplace across the room, but her attention was quickly drawn to her right. She gazed into wide, dark-hazel eyes; so wide the edges of white could be seen around them and combined with the way his dark brows were drawn up and together, he appeared both terrified and concerned. But they caused a soft blanket of comfort to fall over her, as she took in the face that held them. It seemed the golden-haired man from her dreaming had not wholly disappeared.

"Alandria?" He whispered, thick voice barely a breath. He was bent over her, and his hand raised to lightly touch the side of her face.

"Éomer." She sighed in reply, and his handsome face broke into a bright, warm smile. "Is it truly you now, or do I still dream?"

"No, no you do not dream anymore. I am here, right here beside you." He warm touch shifted, moving from her face to gently grasp her right hand. "Right here." He whispered and she glanced around the unfamiliar room again.

"Where is 'here'?"

"The Houses of Healing, in Minas Tirith. You've been here for two nights and day." He paused, and she looked at him again, to find his features somber, dark eyes sad. "We were afraid you wouldn't make it."

"I didn't think I did." She replied, closing her eyes briefly. "My dreams..they were all so real, and all so terrible..." Her eyes flew open again, wide and frightened. "What happened, my lord? At the battle? I can't..can't remember...and my thoughts are meddled with...what happened?"

"Shh, Alandria, it is alright." He held her hand tighter for a moment, trying to reassure her. "We won. Sauron's armies lost, and we claim the victory."

"Victory? But I saw the size of Sauron's forces, there is no way we-"

"But we did. Aragorn triumphed in the Paths of the Dead, and the Dead aided us. Against them, no army could have won. And we have victory."

She seemed unable to believe his words, and said nothing for a long moment, staring silently at the stone walls around them. She cleared her throat then, to speak again. "Losses?" She asked softly. "What losses did we suffer?" Éomer paused, reluctant to bear to her the fall of his uncle. Surely she did not need the death of another loved one to bear? But she caught his hesitation, and weakly squeezed his hand, whispering, "Please, Éomer."

He could not refuse her. "My uncle." He answered quietly, dark eyes falling for a moment to their clasped hands. He heard her intake of breath, and then the slow release of her sigh.

"Théoden.." She murmured, and sighed again. "The white horse, it was Snowmane?"

"White horse?" Éomer's brow furrowed, and he worried she was confusing reality with her dreams.

"Where you found Éowyn, there was a white horse. Théoden's mount?"

"Snowmane, yes, that was him."

"Théoden is dead then." She closed her eyes for a moment, and a shaky breath eased through her lips. "No victory without sacrifice, I suppose." Éomer nodded and weakly smiled in an attempt of comfort, but suddenly her green eyes widened again. "Éowyn? Was she dead then? What-"

"No, Alandria." Éomer was quick to assure her. "No, Éowyn lives. Aragorn took care of her. He said she was cursed with the Black Breath, a poison of the Nazgul. But she lives, and is healing."

"Where?"

"In her own room. Calm yourself, Alandria. Everything is alright, and you must not tire yourself. Still your strength is too little."

"I'm fine, my lord."

He looked doubtful. "Your wounds do not hurt?" She though for a moment, moved slightly, and winced. "Which ones?"

"My leg." She breathed. "It burns..and aches.."

"It is the arrow wound. It is healing, but slowly. And your ribs?"

Again she seemed to think about it for a moment. "They ache when I breathe."

He nodded. "They were cracked, and will be for a little while. But Aragorn is the best healer I've seen yet - you will be well soon." He smiled gently and squeezed her hand again.

"Aragorn...can I see him? And Legolas, and Gimli! They survived, yes?"

"Yes, they did, but-"

Alandria's eyes widened as she recalled who else should be there. "Merry - please tell me M-Merry lived?"

"Yes, he was wounded, but is alive-"

"What about..Pippin, and..and Gandalf? I'm sure Gandalf can...can..manage for himself, but little P-Pippin..." Her words had begun to trail off, as she tried to ignore the mist in her sight.

"They are fine, Alandria." She started in surprise at the firm tone the Horse-lord's thick voice took. His voice was commanding, but his eyes were warm. "All fine. You are the one to worry about. You need rest, as I'm sure I'll get an ear-ful from Aragorn if I waste your strength with talking." He smiled slightly and flushed. "We will have time, and you can see your friends. But now you need to sleep."

"But Éomer, please-"

"No Alandria. Please, do not fight me." His eyes softened more, his features seeming sad, and Alandria felt herself sadden with him. "I could not bear to see you hurt so, and now I will not bear you to lose your little strength because of me. Please, just sleep. You need the rest. Please."

She hesitated, instinct telling her to argue again, but sense winning over. She nodded, and suddenly felt the weakness he had spoken of overcome her. Her eyelids could barely stay open, and if she had not been already laying down, she knew she surely would have fallen. "I am tired..." She whispered.

The gold-haired Lord smiled softly. "I know." He murmured in reply. "Get some rest, and I will tell Aragorn you have awoken." He moved to rise, but was stopped as the hand he still held tightened, and another clasped his forearm. He looked down in alarm at Alandria.

"Don't. Please, don't..don't go..." Her words were barely whispers as she fell again into unconsciousness, and her hands went slack. But Éomer obeyed, sitting comfortably again, and raising her hand to his lips.

"Alright, love. I'm not going anywhere. Right here. I'm right here."