Wow, I can't believe I took so long to update! I was out of town for a week, but then I just spaced. So sorry! This chapter moves kind of quickly, but I couldn't find any other comfortable way to write it. Let me know what you think..

Cheers xx

Then came the day, the seventh day since she had been left behind in the Houses of Healing, and there was a change in the air. It was colder, and stranger, and made all nervous. Alandria stayed in the walls of her room, and was hesitant to even look outside, for fear of what she might see. When she did find the courage to look, however, a familiar sight met her eyes. She cast a glance out her window, down the pale gardens and stone fountain below, to see, as usual, the autumn-haired Faramir and golden-haired Éowyn standing together. She had seen this many times over the past week, and yet it never ceased to sadden her heart. Éowyn had been to speak with Alandria, and they had held many conversations in the past several days, but rarely had the young Steward been mentioned(for the nurses' gossip had indeed informed Alandria that Denethor was dead, and Faramir now rightful Steward). Whenever the subject of him was come upon Éowyn grew quieter, and her gaze would drift thoughtfully. Alandria was not sure what to think of these moments, as she was happy that Éowyn was - in a way - also happy, but a stronger part of her burned with sadness and tinged with jealousy. She slowly dropped her gaze to the grim grey of the walls about her, and turn away from the window with a heavy heart.

Shortly after she returned to her room however, she was roused by the faint sound of singing. She looked out her window, and saw clusters of people about the city below her, looking at the sky with smiles on their faces. Curiosity peaked, she promptly limped out of her room, back into the courtyard, as the song grew louder and more clear:

"Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor, for the Realm of Sauron is ended forever, and the Dark Tower is thrown down.

Sing and rejoice, ye people of the Tower of Guard, for your watch hath not been in vain, for the Black Gate is broken, and your King hath passed through, and he is victorious..."

Alandria couldn't believe it; staring up at the sky, a giant eagle soared gracefully overheard, the most beautiful song she'd ever heard spilling from it's beak. Not that the sound itself was the most beautiful, but the words, they were glorious, dream-like words she'd never expected to hear.

"Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West, for your King shall come again, and he shall dwell among you, all the days of your life.

And the Tree that was withered shall be renewed, and he shall plant it in the high places, and the City shall be blessed.

Sing all ye people!"

The eagle finished to a roar of joy and disbelief from the city below, and soared gracefully away, leaving them to discern what had happened before the Black Gate. Alandria could barely register the words she had just heard, so great was her joy. She felt she could not speak, or move, or even think, numb as she was just then.

"Alandria!" Éowyn's voice cried her name, breaking her awe and turning her head. The golden-haired Lady rushed across the courtyard, eyes wide and a smile on her face. "They made it! Sauron is defeated! We will live! They have lived! Can you believe it?"

"No." Alandria shook her head truthfully, a foolish, awed smile on her face. "I never thought it possible.."

"Who could've believed it could happen!"

A sudden thought struck Alandria: "My lady, do you know if there was battle?"

Éowyn shook her head. "No, I do not. I would assume there was." Alandria glanced around, chewing her lip worriedly, and her friend noticed. "Alandria, be happy. Perhaps they did fight, and there were losses, but the Free People are victorious!" Faramir appeared then, and claimed Éowyn's attention, as she turned to smile at him. He tossed Alandria a warm smile over Éowyn's head, but Alandria said nothing more, remembering how the eagle had eased all their worries with his song just minutes before. Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor, for the Realm of Sauron is ended forever, and the Dark Tower is thrown down... your King hath passed through, and he is victorious.. He had told them what Alandria had believed to be impossible: The War of The Ring was over. Sauron was now only a nightmare of the past. They would all live freely for the rest of their days. Life would go on. She was unfathomably thrilled, but found she couldn't find the energy to express it. She knew what causes for which there were to rejoice, but a pessimistic part of her reminded her that she did not yet knew who all lived. And it bothered her.

Her worries were shortlived, however, as little over a day later, a messenger arrived with news. Her wait may have been short, but she couldn't have been more relieved when the rider arrived. She hadn't rested easy since the eagle flew over, and she knew there had been battle. But the tired messenger came with tidings of a battle before the Gate, the news that plenty had fallen, but also many had survived. Alandria waited impatiently as he spoke before Faramir, hearing little of what she truly cared about. Then the messenger called for Éowyn, and Alandria. They both were already waiting eagerly in the large, elegant marble Hall, and merely stepped forward to hear what news the man brought.

"I have tidings for both of you from two of the same persons: the King Aragorn bids me tell you both he is well, and that he owes you both greatly for this victory. The Lord Éomer-"

"He's alive?" Alandria cried, the words bursting forth from her. She did not see Éowyn and Faramir's smiles, only the messenger's patient nod.

"Yes. He bids me tell you both he is well also, and summons you to the field of Cormallen. He says he wishes dearly to see you both. That is all." The messenger bowed low to Faramir, who nodded and dismissed him.

As soon as the man had exited, Alandria turned eagerly to the woman and man before her. "We must go and meet them!"

But Faramir was already shaking his head. "I have duties to be taken care of first. I must prepare for the King's arrival."

"I will stay as well."

Alandria started in alarm at Éowyn's soft proclamation. "My lady? But your brother summons us. And Aragorn will be there as well!"

"I will stay." Éowyn repeated. "I am still weak, and tired. I will see my brother when he returns to the City."

Alandria stared in disbelief, knowing the Lady's excuse to be near a lie. But she could not understand why the woman would turn down the chance to see her brother, after such trials. "Éowyn, but it is your brother-"

"I know who it is, Alandria." Éowyn replied firmly, dark eyes surprisingly cold, sadness shimmering beneath the surface. "I shall see him when he comes to the City. You should go though."

"You may travel with the wains taking goods to Osgiliath and Cair Andros." Faramir offered politically. "They shall be decent enough company." Alandria did not reply, her curious eyes still on Éowyn. "Alandria?"

She broke away from staring at her friend, turning back to the rust-haired young man. She hesitated, then forced out the heavy words, "No, thank you for the offer. I will stay as well."

Faramir stared at her for a moment, surprise not hidden on his fair face, and slowly nodded. "Aye then. As you wish."

Éowyn stared back at Alandria without expression, and the air thickened with unspoken challenges and harsh words. Just as Alandria felt her skin start tp prickle, and had the irresistable urge to yell at her Lady and demand to know why she was so strange to stay behind, Éowyn turned in a whirl of white cloth and strode out of the Hall. Alandria stared after her, the footsteps echoing sharply in the quiet.

"I don't understand." She murmured. She turned to Faramir, looking upon him pleadingly. "Do you?"

He hesitated, dark blue eyes still lingering toward the door Éowyn had just disappeared through. "I think I may."

"What, then? What reason could she have for staying, and not going to see her brother, and Aragorn?"

"I will not say. It is not my place."

Alandria glared at the aggravatingly respectable man. He merely glanced at her, then turned away, hands clasped casually behind his back, and paced towards the Steward's chair sitting at the bottom of the steps before the King's empty throne. His steps echoed as Éowyn's had, although perhaps not as sharply. She glanced around the Hall, observing closely for the first time since she'd stepped into it. The ceiling stretched up far higher than was necessary, but it was fitting. Everywhere it was almost startlingly white, save for the great black and gold pillars, and the slabs of black marble that were decorated elegantly throughout. Between each huge black, white, and gold pillar there was a tall, large-than-life pale marble statue of some long-dead king. The Hall was huge, tall, colorless, and cold. Not just in temperature, but in feeling itself. Too long had it been the shelter of a greedy, corrupted Steward; too long had it not known the care of a King. She trembled slightly, suddenly struck with a powerful longing for the smaller, warmer surroundings of the Golden Hall, with it's dark brown woods and soft golds.

With one last glance at Faramir, who stood with his left side facing her, staring intently at a statue before him with a troubled expression upon his face, she quietly turned away. She would leave him to handle his troubles on his own. Right now, she wanted only to return to her room and look out the window, across the pale, silent gardens, and out to the empty lands from which her loved ones were to be returning.

It was too crowded, with men she'd never seen bustling about and townspeople and servants and maids and nurses and everyone running about crazily. She threaded her way uneasily through the throng of people higher up the levels of the huge city, unsure where she was or where she was going, only knowing she searched for a certain face. Spotting an opening in the thick crowd, she slipped through it, and arrived before a large gate, with surprisingly few people around it. She looked around then, seeing that most of the other people were moving down the city's levels, opposite of her.

"Hello, déore*."

Her entire body froze; she stiffened, her lungs paused, her heart ceased beating for a moment. A feeling oddly resembling terror struck her. But it was not terror. It was something much, much better than that. Slowly, she turned round to face him.

It had been less than a fortnight since she'd seen him last, yet it felt like months. He was still tall, broad shouldered, his body held in a casually commanding way; his dark gold hair still fell in waves just past his shoulders, a short, light brown beard still lined his firm jaw and full lips, his dark brows still expressed round hazel eyes and gave a stern image to his dark, rugged and handsome features. Yet it all seemed different. Brighter, stronger, newer, better. He was more gorgeous than he had been when he left. And she knew now, in this moment of seeing him again after being so sure he had left her never to return, she knew what she truly felt.

Without a word, Alandria dashed forward the distance between them, and was immediately caught up in his warm embrace. His strong arms lifted her off the ground, spinning her in a tight circle with him, and their mouths clashed together unyieldingly. She had her arms wrapped tight around his shoulders, one hand fisted in gold waves of his hair. One of his arms held around her waist from one side to the other, while his other arm wrapped from her waist up and to her shoulder. They were crushed together, Alandria felt she might not be able to breathe, but she didn't care. Nor did she care of the sharp ache he reawakened in her ribs. All that mattered was he was with her again, and he was holding her again, and kissing her again, and would continue to do so. They broke for air then, and the tall man lowered her gently back down to her feet.

"Éomer.." She whispered, tasting his name and relishing it. "You're alive...gods, I missed you.."

He smiled charmingly, resting his forehead against hers, and gazing down at her warmly. "What is this? You cry upon seeing me again?" He teased her lightly, as she found that tears were indeed spilling from her eyes.

She laughed weakly, staring back up at him. "You laugh at me? It is the same for you!" He chuckled warmly, his own warm, dark eyes glistening with overwhelming tears, and kissed her again. Alandria revelled in it, marvelling at the rough, warm touch of his lips. He claimed her mouth eagerly and freely, both hands holding her head, keeping her close. He tasted faintly of ale, and strongly of relief. He tasted warm and strong and comforting, and felt likewise under her palms. Her hands twisted in his shirt, attempting to pull him closer than was physically possible, wanting to pull him straight inside her, needing him to just reach in and cover the hole that another man's death had torn into her months ago.

"Easy Alandria, easy." He whispered breathlessly, breaking away from her tight hold.

"I'm sorry I just...can't..."

"I know, love, I know." He smiled gently, loosely clasping her shaking hands in his and holding them to his chest. His dark eyes were warm, a swirl of light brown and dark gold, glazed with moss-green. "I'm right here now though. And I don't plan on goin' anywhere anytime soon, don't worry." He lifted one hand to cradle the side of her face, gently stroking her dark hair as his features grew more somber. "This isn't like last time."

She stared back up at him, her dark, grass-green eyes searching in his warm hazel ones. "It's really over, Éomer?"

"Yes." He whispered back, holding her tighter. "It's over. The Ring and Sauron are destroyed. Mordor is overthrown."

"And we can go back home, to Rohan?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, but not right away. Aragorn must first be coronated."

"Of course, I nearly forgot! I haven't even seen him yet.."

"He has been very busy. I myself have hardly seen him since the battle ended."

"But he is well?"

"Very. And already his men have accepted him as their King."

"That is no surprise." Alandria smiled faintly. "He has always truly been their King."

Éomer reflected her smile, and nodded. "Indeed he has." He paused then, and observed her for a silent moment, dark eyes intense and thoughtful. Alandria felt a shiver race up her spine beneath the look, for reasons she did not know. "Speaking of Kings, Alandria, I have-"

"Alandria?"

The Man of Rohan was interrupted by another voice speaking her name, and she turned towards it. The noble, dark-haired man they had just been speaking of strode toward them, a wide smile lit upon his handsome face.

Alandria and Éomer quickly disentangled themselves, and Alandria rushed eagerly towards her approaching friend. "Aragorn!" She cried, smiling widely herself. She embraced him strongly, soaking up the sound of his gentle chuckle.

"I see you're feeling better." He commented, pulling back with a smile still on his face.

"Much. I can walk now."

"So I noticed." He chuckled again. "Have your days passed well?"

She shrugged, unwilling to admit the true torment the past week had been. "Well enough."

Aragorn glanced past her then, and around where they stood, as his features sobered. "Where is Éowyn?"

Alandria studied him mildly. "I assume in the Hall, with the Steward."

"Is she well?"

"That shall be for you to determine, I think."

Aragorn sighed, looking down in thought, and Éomer glanced over at him before looking back at Alandria, dark eyes confused.

"I worry for her.." Aragorn muttered softly, then glanced at the two before him. He raised his head higher then, and became suddenly proud and wise and commanding just as quickly and flawlessly as the sun can break from behind a cloud. "With the Steward, you said?"

"Yes."

"I need to speak with him anyway. I shall go to them, then. There are many things that need attended immediately..." Already his pale eyes were roving busily around the city. It took a moment, but they finally came back to rest on Alandria and Éomer. The Ranger smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry I'm so...busy. Will you accompany me?"

"Of course." Alandria eagerly agreed, secretly interested to see how Éowyn, Aragorn, and Faramir would all interact with Éowyn and Faramir as close as they now were. Over the past few days, it had seemed that Éowyn had abandoned her hopeless love of Aragorn and given it over to the young Steward - much to both Alandria and Faramir's pleasure. The gentle, intelligent autumn-haired man fit well for the strong-willed White Lady, and clearly had grown to love her dearly. Alandria had found this love resentful for a while, but only - she knew - because she hadn't had Éomer around. Now though, as she did have him, she was curious as to what Aragorn would think of Éowyn and Faramir, once he found out about them. But she knew it was not her place, and was pleased enough with Éomer's company that she was content to let them alone.

"Let's stay," She said, placing a hand on Éomer's arm as he made to follow the Kingly-Ranger. "They will do fine without our company."

The Horse-lord looked down on her with a soft smile, nodding. "Aye, then. And what shall we do?"

"The others!" She suddenly exclaimed, dropping his hand with a wide smile. "Legolas and Gimli and Merry and Pippin and-" her eyes widened as she realized something more, "and Frodo and Sam! They-" she froze then, as caution crept into her still features. "They..are alive..yes?"

The tall man's warm, honey-hazel eyes carressed her face as an equally warm smile teased his lips. "Yes, so they are. But they are being taken immediately to the House of Healing. Frodo especially is very weak." Seeing her face fall the slightest, he took her smaller hand in his rough one in comfort. "But later, I assure you. And now you can still see the others. Come, let me help you find them."

Alandria smiled up at Éomer, entranced by his handsome acceptance of her desires, and comforted merely by his presence at her side. "Aye, milord, we shall-"

"Éomer." He interrupted, stopping short.

Alandria stared up at him again, her emerald-green eyes roving his warm hazel depths. She smiled slightly, a flush across her face, and nodded once, firmly. "Éomer."

He smiled warmly, leaning down to kiss her softly and quickly once more, then led her back through the throngs of people to search for her friends.

* - it may not need to be interpreted as it's pretty easy to understand, but "deore" in Old English means "dear". There'll be another couple instances of Old English/Rohirric throughout, but I'll always have a translation at the end of the chapter