After days and days of dark, brooding heaviness the first thin shafts of dawning sun hit the green coolness of Minas Tirith's Healing House like a welcome, warm caress. The ornate archways and quiet gravel paths were empty at this time. After tumult and grief, an unlooked-for victory and even more unexpected King, the Houses' weary souls had finally found some rest.

In one large and airy space the few motes of dust were set to dancing languidly in the golden beams. The air still smelled of athelas, fresh and sparkling, as if the now western wind had brought it straight down from the mountain's upper slopes. Even for a mostly hale but tired King the scent was welcome. A few shreds of herb lingered on Eowyn's pale sword arm and the deep green leaves were tucked into the bindings of her cast. The broken arm would heal but time alone would show how well her maimed right would fare.

A quietly as he could, Eomer shifted into a more comfortable position and laced her white, cool fingers through his thicker ones. The straight-backed chair was hard. He held his side stiffly and tried not to jostle the spectacular sphaleritic bloom of bruising that spread across one whole flank.

His own wounds were of no consequence. She was here and alive and he would deal with his later-just sitting was, after all, a luxury. There was so much to be done. So much that the young King had to do before the Captains of the West would meet and only a few precious moments to spend with his sister before the demands of the day fell like magpies on a pretty scrap of cloth.

Eomer breathed deep. He let the scent and warmth chase the chill that still lingered in his bones-the one that had set in when he had found her, white and still as death, upon the battlefield. Reflexively he counted each rise and fall of her breast. Aragorn had healed her, had brought her back to life, and he knew he should rejoice, should not worry that all could still come to ill, but the habit of a lifetime was hard to break.

When one has lost everyone close and dear, it is very hard to trust to fate.

With a shake of his head, he sat back. Bema, he was becoming maudlin. He was tired. That was it. His beautiful, maddening, valiant spirit of a sister would thrive in the Houses' care and he could leave in good conscience and do what must be done.

If that was so, why was he so anxious at the thought?

One scratched, but mercifully clean, finger brushed a lock of hair from off her brow. Eowyn was so like to their mother, so like Theodwyn- fair and with a pale, beyond weary face-it almost stopped his heart. The similarity cut so deep. He had to remind his faithless (and yes frightened) brain that she was not fever wracked; was not willing herself to death. Lay, not stricken by unholy grief, but merely an unrequited love...

Aragorn was a worthy man, the worthiest that he knew. Had dealt with his sister honourably, he could not fault his actions or her for caring as she did. And yet in the guarded chambers of his own heart he had long thought that the boundless love his parents shared was not desirable at all. To pine, to throw away one's life when love was hopeless seemed an utterly pointless, useless waste

Best to avoid love entirely at all.

Once more he brushed gently at a damp strand of cornsilk hair. They had bathed her and the thick, shining fall took ages in the air to try. It was their grandfather's hair, Theodred's hair as well (his own was more the ruddy gold of Eomund) and she had also their cousin's upturned nose. He pushed that hollow thought away-now was not the time to think on souls he could not help-and there would be a place to mourn when the hours no longer grabbed so stiffly at his heart.

And so he sat, held her hand and did his best to not disturb her rest, silently willing Eowyn to wake so that he could be certain of her mood. It was selfish and so very necessary.

The sand fell too slowly through the hourglass while the silent minutes passed. The warm candleglow gave way to a clear rosy flush that began to fill the window. He caressed her hand and soothed her troubled rest when, once, a black shadow passed high over the ragged field.

His own aching head had just begun to droop when a soft voice broke his reverie.

'You are here."

Eomer looked up and took in the blessed sight of his sister's clear grey eyes. Dawn had not erased the dark smudges that hung below like faded, frost-bit blooms. Some part of memory, of ill dreams or the shadow that had passed had not left her wholly.

"Of course. I would be nowhere else."

Eowyn looked around confusedly and blinked off the fog of sleep. "Where am I? What time is it?"

"Early. Daybreak," he explained, reaching to help her rise a little up. "You are in your room in the Healing Houses. I am sorry but did not wish you to awake alone, and there little time this morn."

Eowyn's mouth sagged into the barest thin (but he knew unhappy) line. "Of course, I remember now." she said, listlessly. "You must be very busy. Please call for a servant to help me and go now if you need."

Bema's balls that was not what he had meant. Eomer ground his teeth and tried not to let frustration show upon his face. Could he not simply talk to his sister plainly as he should? This was awkward, speaking of emotion was never something he did easily, and so he hesitated, trying to decide what tack to take. She would not appreciate a fuss but neither should she think she was not the centre of his world.

Carefully, he squeezed the small limp hand. "I mean to say that is why I am here with the birds, dear one. I can stay for another hour yet. How are you 'Wyn? Really."

The line softened to a thoughtful frown, Eowyn pressed the bound fingers of her broken arm gently along the right. "My sword arm is a little numb."

"Aragorn did say that it would linger."

At his words a brief flash pain swept across her face. Eomer groaned inside. Of course he had to mention him.

"Do you wish to break your fast?" he asked, filling the sudden, heavy pause " I can call someone for food and drink."

"Nay. I am not hungry."

Eowyn struggled to sit up. She could not push with the broken arm and the other was clearly weak. He leaned over and gallantly offered up his own, knowing better than to help without asking.

It was accepted graciously and he vigorously stuffed an extra pillow behind her back. "You need to eat for strength," he chided gently.

"Mayhap later." The excuse sounded hollow to his own ears but he let it go. Perhaps this was to be expected? Her malady, the Black Breath, had strange effects that would linger still a while. Had not Aragorn said she should stay abed ten days yet?

"You slept most of the night?"

"Yes, but you did not."

At first he flushed and scrubbed at his face tiredly, worried of a sudden that she thought him out carousing while she had lain barely returned from death's door. But then he caught the small, quirked half smile and mustered one in return. "Nay, I left Eothain in charge of merriment, grumbling about the thinness of their ale. I did catch a few hours rest."

"Surely not in that chair…"

He chuckled at the thought. "Not possible. In an even gaudier space than this this if you can credit it." Eomer glanced around at the carved wooden dresser, the arched and mullioned windows and heavy carpet on the floor. Even a simple utilitarian healing room was embellished more than in Edoras. "Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth has generously offered me a room. We met years ago at his father's funeral. He is a noble man. Generous and a doughty fighter. I must admit some of these Gondorians are not quite what they seem."

Eowyn's eyebrow raised, "Not poofs?"

He laughed. If she was teasing him with his own words than she must feel at least a little cheerier. "No, but they are over fond of ceremony and station. I keep reaching for things myself only to find them held by the gaggle of servants who follow me around. I had to growl at one to leave off and let me dress."

Eowyn of course did not have that luxury. He eyed the fine velvet nightrail with amusement. They had bathed her, the grime and blood of the fateful field were gone, and someone had bound her hair into a loose plait. The cloth's pale ivory only made her skin tawnier in contrast. A smattering of freckles stood out across her cheeks, bespeaking eloquently her days in the saddle and defying the heavy haze that had hung over all of them. He wondered what the Gondorians and their milk-white skin made of the sight. Unbecoming for a well-bred lady at the very least.

"They are very fond of baths, Imrahil's own townhome has a stone pool heated by a hypocaust."

Eowyn grinned, "Then we will not you get out of here."

"True." It was the one thing in which he was more like his grandfather Thengel than his father's people of Aldburg. Eomer loved the water. His little sister on the other hand decidedly did not. Getting Eowyn to plunge into the Snowbourne's turbid, glacier-fed water was like trying to immerse a spitting cat. "And I very much doubt they will get you in, although there are no fish. At least that I recognized."

A small pink tongue stuck out and gave him heart. "The servants did not try to shave you?" Eowyn enquired.

His hands flew up in mock defence. He was not fooled by the innocence of the tone. "They wouldn't dare!"

Oh this was heaven. Bantering lightly as of old. Before they all had to guard their hearts and tongues. Before that loathsome creature with overlarge ears and eyes had been everywhere and they knew not who he had suborned.

Over the next half-turn of the glass the two of them talked and talked, an unusual explosion of wit and words, gentle and almost meangingless, for Eomer was still mindful Gandalf's dictum: do not speak yet of war or woe until she is made whole again.

He was about to ask again if she could eat when Eowyn stretched out a hand and tugged curiously at the hem of his borrowed shirt. He was clad in plain breeches but the shirt was bright blue and a little too high-necked for comfort. He fingered ruefully the silver thread along the neck. "It is Prince Imrahil's elder son's. The blue of his house, said to mimic the colour of Belfalas Bay. He is quite Gondorian in that: rather fond of decoration."

"You are the King.." Eowyn said quietly, shivering a little and touching the band of mourning black someone had stitched onto the upper arm. It was a gesture so like the Prince in his experience –thoughtful and detailed-but not his custom, though he would not be so churlish as to say it.

Eomer reached forward and clasped her hand, again. "I am." The simple admission hung between them. He wanted to speak of Theoden's valiant end, of her bravery and his remorse but he dared not. The twining dark vines of her sickness might take hold and he could not leave her in such straights.

He tried to banter once again. "With a King's newfound responsibilities. Including remounts, and camps, and functioning latrines."

That brought a skeptical small smile. "I doubt brother that they have you bothering with such."

'I fear soon that they might. No detail of judgement seems deemed too small."

With a sigh, Eowyn turned her face to the pillow. Suddenly she would not meet his gaze. "Including deserters?"

Blast and damn. How had he blundered into this? Exactly a topic he did not wish to broach but, once out, one he could no more avoid than manure in a stable. Best to stick to the least troubling of her acts.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Ah..how did you leave things in Dunharrow? Who is taking care of the good folk?"

"Hilde, "she replied, raising her chin a little defiantly, "and Lord Dunhere."

This was good. Elfhelm's wife was formidably efficient and Dunhere knew well how to lead. At least when he knew that he was in charge. "Did you… tell them… that you would be gone?" he asked, carefully.

Grey eyes flashed a little brighter in the gaining light. "Give me credit for more sense than that."

They both fell silent and he reflected unhappily that at least she had technically not deserted. Strictly speaking, she had delegated her authority, but she had disobeyed the order of the King. No trivial misdemeanour, but perhaps one that he had begun to understand. Were they were wrong, he and Theodred, to have focused on keeping her safe from Wormtongue's hands? To have not realized the danger of his tongue and that she had suffered so to be left behind?

Eomer was trying to understand, had come to see he had been busy with his own demands, too caught up in coming war to notice the ignominy of her state and now cursed himself for a fool. Theodred, perhaps, had seen a little bit. In his own way their cousin had tried to lighten her dark days but all too soon he had been lost and Eomer himself had been imprisoned.

He could not be angry with her and so had turned the polluted rush of feeling upon unfortunate Elfhelm. "You did not look beyond your horse's nose!" he had accused the Marshal angrily the night before. Honest and calm and steady, Elfhelm had merely nodded and offered up his command. They both knew that he could not take it. "Punish me how you will, Sire" was the response, but what could he really do?

Mithrandir had told him, in the hushed space of yet another sick room, how Faramir, on pain of death, had disobeyed his own father, had let Frodo go. Who knew what would have happened to them all if he had not. Sometimes when one did the wrong thing but for the right reason good did come of it. How could he find his sister guilty of treason, any more than Faramir, given the outcome of her acts?

He brushed a cautious thumb across her cheek to get her attention back. "If you will act as a soldier than you must also stand by that code. As your commander I decree that your punishment shall be to stay in your bed and heal."

The dictum was, predictably, ignored. "And Elfhelm's?" Trust Eowyn to thrust quickly and get inside his guard. It was not a subject that he was comfortable discussing. "He was answerable to Uncle, but now he must answer to me."

"It is not his fault that I deceived him."

True, but also true that the Marshal clearly expected, and the Riders also, there should be punishment. Eomer sighed heavily. There was simplicity dealing with just an Eored, and no mattered how much he wished it true, it was up to him to mete out justice.

Fortunately there was another king in the City who must dispense justice to one who had done the wrong thing for a reason none could rue.

"No, but I have told him that like Beregond, who committed treason yesterday for the love of his Captain, he must serve the one he broke the rules to help. Elfhelm will stay behind, serve you here and command the eored." It was not exactly Beregond's predicament, nor his sentence in point of fact, for the Captain was being allowed to go with the greater host, but it seemed fitting in the circumstance.

Eowyn face brightened a little at the news. "How did he take this?"

"He grumbled. But not so audibly that I needed raise Guthwine."

Eowyn chuckled at the relief upon his face and suddenly she choked, coughing hard to clear her throat. Eomer rose. There was a pitcher on the dresser. He retrieved it and poured out a glass, held it out for her to take. A suspicious frown was directed at the cup. "Just water, I think. Nothing fancy in it."

Watching it wobble slightly in her grip, he steadied the glass below as she took a cautious sip. "It tastes hard."

"This is a city of heavy stone."

A faint smile was his reward. Eowyn cleared her throat and lay tiredly back again. "You were not too hard upon him?"

"No. He thought I would tear a strip off his hide but I merely blistered his hairy ears," admitted Eomer, grinning once again. He had. And yelled sufficiently to assuage his frightened heart. "I did impugn his eyesight. It was a wonder he could scythe the enemy if he could not recognize Windfola in his line."

Now the few tears pricked at the corners of his sister's eyes. "He is gone and he carried both Merry and I through it all…."

How like a Rider to grieve most openly for a mount. "No 'Wyn, do not fear so. Windfola survived. He was found running lose upon the field. Elfhelm recognized his socks."

A flush of hope tinged her face and he took courage at the sight. Perhaps the feeling would take root. He clasped both of her hands lightly, earnestly, as he could. The roughness from a sword callus could be plainly felt.

"'Eowyn, both of you have survived. Your name now is sung with all honour and renown. Is that not enough? You must stay here, become stronger, find healing as you may. "

The moment stretched. Outside the walls, the first trills of morning birdsong belied the heaviness of his heart. It [Unknown A1] leapt but then crashed back down as she turned her face away.

"I do not desire healing."

A chill as from a winter wind coursed through the room. Was this the malady still? Was she yet unwell? The thought that he would now ride, fearing that she would fade, pierced hard. It made the hard dampened anger and remorse bubble up like a bitter spring from the mouth of darkened pit.

"Do you love him so very much?"

She gasped at the bluntness of his hoarse spoken words.

They were on loose ground. Despite his best intentions, despite knowing how to manoeuvre somewhere other than a battle field, he had blundered into quicksand. The only recourse was to ride farther on.

"Would you truly throw your life away because you cannot have the man you want?"

She did not answer, merely hung her pallid face and frowned, and now the fear and fury that had assailed him the day before took hold. He rose sharply and went to wooden wardrobe, pulled her dirty armour out and waved it furiously.

"Are you disappointed that you did not succeed? Here, let me help you. With a broken arm you will quite certainly fail to smite every single foe!"

"Eomer!" Her face was white and set with shock. Damn his temper but he needed to explain and the thought of her giving up was more than he could bear.

"What did you think? That all you are to me is a chatelaine, someone to nurse the sick and tend the house? You are my sister. We are all each other has within this world!"

And now the hurt was thick within his throat, the words choking him as they rushed out, the fear and grief that had set him to shaking at awkward times throughout the night raw and naked in his voice. "I am sorry, but I...I thought that I had lost you too. Lost everyone."

A muscle jumped high on her pale and trembling cheek at that. He wanted to reach out and smooth it with his palm but he had, quite likely, said and done enough. He took a breath to steady his pounding heart and tried for some solace in his words. "I am sorry, so sorry 'Wyn. I did not see how dark it might be for you. That you felt you were set within in a many-sided trap."

The grey eyes grey every slightly harder. "You did not ask. He did."

Eomer flinched. It was true, he had not asked. As usual, he had focused on the obvious-the threat and not noticed the emotion that lay behind, the depth of her misery. But Aragorn had. For a few needed moments in the dark, unending years, a noble and perceptive man had brought solace and something rare in her experience. Understanding. Perhaps now he could see what led her to this pass.

The pain of rejection was not the thing. But it was last little thing piled too high upon the rest.

"Forgive me." His hoarse whisper got through where nothing could. He could see it in her eyes that she did not expect an apology from one so proud.

The tiniest of nods nearly made him limp with heartsick relief. "I know it is bitter to be left behind again.."

She nodded and bit her lip at that. It made her look so young and vulnerable, so like a white pinched face another lifetime ago. He bent and brushed his lips across her brow. "Rest now. Rest and take hope in the victory we have made. And please eat a little bit. I will be back before this eve."

She made no promises, but this time she turned his way and left a kiss to linger on his cheek.

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Thank you so so much to T's Mommy for favouriting this month and to T's Mommy and Tanjamusen for following. Your support keeps the words flowing :)

A special thank you also to everyone who has been in touch these past few months. It has made this rather frustrating illness much easier to take. There does seem to be a bit of a light ahead.

Grateful thanks go to Annafan for detailed and oh-so-helpful comments and being the cheerleader who really keeps me going.