He went first to his sister's room. Exhausted and gory from the march back from the Black Gates and the battles and preparation beforehand, he could barely think. When he found the bed empty, he fell to his knees in disbelief, grief a numb buzz that drowned out all other sound.
Someone took his hand and urged him up. He walked unresisting as the hand led him down the corridor and out into the sun-washed garden. Against the balcony rail, dressed all in white and haloed with sun, a picture of his sister standing with another burned bright against his eyes.
He did not understand. Should not she be flying to her peace in the West? Had not she endured enough between Grima's attentions and their kin dying and her killing the Witch-King? Were not the ones with unfulfilled oaths those that lingered on?
His knees buckled again, bowed down by the weight of this further failure. He could not go in with sword swinging imposing his bulk between her and danger. All of his battle skills spent in saving Middle-earth and he had not been here to save his sister. Nor had he kept safe his uncle or cousin and now he alone endured.
And then all he could see were grey eyes, hands banding his head so he could not look away.
"She lives, my lord. Eowyn has recovered and will live a long life."
He stared uncomprehending into grey eyes and when they rose away from him, he moaned, "Don't go," and clutched at her robes.
But the hands directed his gaze back to the ghost of his sister and the other beside it. "Look, my lord. Eowyn lives."
Something cracked at his grief - a sliver of anger. How dare this woman placate him with lies. Could not she see that his sister had died? That her spectre was trapped here in this cold white stone city?
His sister's shade ran towards him calling his name. He flinched away, still clutching the woman beside him. He would not let her go. He would make her explain to him how this came to pass and how he could fix it. And he would fix it. If it took his whole lifetime, he would fix this.
Eowyn's wraith threw its arms around him. It felt solid, but he knew little about ghosts. So he knelt there stoic, letting the spectre hug him. It could do to him anything it wanted. He owed that to his sister's memory.
The ghost pushed back from him. It looked at him and then at the woman he refused to let go.
The woman spoke to the spectre. "He thinks you dead. I found him kneeling by your bed."
His sister's ghost shook his shoulders lightly. "Eomer! I'm here. I'm alive! Eomer! Eomer! Wake up! It's me!"
He gazed into his sister's beloved eyes, as bright and blue and lovely as they had been in life. "I'm sorry," he said, words inadequate to describe his feelings.
He looked back to the grey eyes that guided him. "What do I do?"
She contemplated him and then turned to his sister's ghost and that of the man. "Eowyn, let him go. Stay here with Faramir. I will get your brother washed and fed and then put him to bed. When he wakes, we can try this again."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
When he woke, a colorful sunset was streaking the sky towards night outside his window. The woman sat by his bed, humming and cutting strips of fabric. A basketful of rolled bandages sat at her side. She looked tired, but a small smile graced her soft pink lips as she worked.
Her long black hair wrapped her head in a braided coronet. Her slender curved neck and high cheekbones reminded him of the swans this citadel was famous for. Winged black brows and long black lashes surrounded the grey eyes he now knew so well.
He was clad in a smooth cotton nightshirt, smelling sweetly of lavender and rosemary. He vaguely remembered soup, a hot bath and generous towels, before she had led him to this room and he knew no more. But there was something else he needed.
"Eowyn lives?" His voice croaked, rusty and hoarse from sleep and clashing battles.
Grey eyes settled his fear. "She lives, my lord." She looked at him searchingly, willing him to believe.
"All right. Please don't leave me." He already knew she had not and she would not.
She confirmed it anyway. "I won't leave you, my lord."
He let his head fall back into the soft pillow, closing his eyes to dream again. She would keep his world safe.
A/N: I seem to only be publishing the short intense ones that pop into my head that I can write down almost immediately. The holidays and work are getting a little overwhelming (my newfound writing addiction does not help) and I totally sympathize with Eomer in this scenario. But hey, Lothiriel makes it all better, right? Not that she actually got a chance to introduce herself here.
Please review.