Nope, still not mine...please review!
Eowyn flexed her fingers and massaged one hand with the other, cringing against the cramp that was seizing in her palm. In her lap and strewn across her bed were dozens of bundles of bandage, torn carefully from strips of linen. She had lost count of how many she had rolled, only aware of the growing pains in her hands and the fatigue that was creeping over her, sending bolts of pain shooting through her shoulder-blades. With a deep breath she stood and swept the rolled linen into a waiting basket. She cracked her door open, peeking out to be sure that no one was around to spot her in her dressing gown, then set the basket outside the door of her bower. She managed a smile as she thought of the healers finding this new bounty, which they would undoubtedly make use of in short order. The houses were still full to overflowing, with men in every room and corridor. Many had been patched up and sent back out to rejoin their companies. Eowyn wondered how many would survive the battle to come, for luck does not visit a man overmuch and the men who had lived through the siege of Minas Tirith had spent their lot.
She hitched her peignoir closer around her against the chill of dusk and gazed at the guttering flames in the hearth. As she stood she took inventory of herself, gauging the pain in each muscle, testing her range of motion. Her eyes roved the room, taking in the embroidered sheets, the fine tapestries, the silver pitcher at her bedside. Everything was so different from Meduseld, she reflected, yet she did not feel uncomfortable. She felt strangely at home. Suddenly her eyes caught, hidden in the corner, cloaked in shadow, her sword. She gently lifted it, feeling the hefty weight in her hand, running her fingers over the filigree in the scabbard, touching the cold steel of the hilt. Slowly, softly, like stroking the hand of a lover, she drew the sword from the scabbard. Whoever had retrieved it from Pellenor Field had taken care to clean it, buffing it to a gleam before turning it over to Eomer. Eowyn smiled as she thought of her brother and the look on his face when he brought the sword to her. He hesitated before putting it into her hands and she could read in his face that he had a sneaking suspicion that she would be off to war in no short order. She looked in his eyes and made a silent promise that no longer would she seek bloodshed, no more would she chase peace in the roar of battle.
As she slipped the blade back into the scabbard she felt odd, like something was missing, and she stopped to examine the sword carefully, scanning for defect or damage. Then realization struck her with clarity like water. She understood, with a twisting in her stomach, that what was missing was the desire to use the sword. Her mouth pursed as she tried to process this foreign sensation, and she quickly laid the sword on the bed, then stood staring at it for a long, silent moment.
A whisper-quiet knock on the door startled her, for in truth she felt she had been forgotten in the bustle of preparation for the final battle. She quickly ran her hand across her brow, catching a few errant wisps of hair and tucking them behind her ear, for a sudden quiet voice in her mind had whispered, "Faramir..." Her eyes widened at the thought and she berated herself. "Your lesson was not well learned, Eowyn. Fawning and swooning like a doe-eyed lass, matters of the heart are beyond you..." With a little sound of derision she defiantly pulled some hairs loose and let the breeze catch them. Smoothing her palms over her stomach she called quietly, "Enter."
The door creaked open and Eowyn was startled to see Eomer enter. "Eomer," she blurted, "what are you doing here?" A grin crossed Eomer's face and she flushed, then smiled herself. "I am sorry brother, I only expected you to be with the men."
Eomer patted her arm. "I would not leave without saying goodbye, my sister, and making sure that you are being well cared after." He paused and a strange look of dislike crossed his face. "I would feel easier if you were back in Rohan. The healers here have more work than they can bear, and somehow I feel that the air would be healthier for you back home." A pause. "I am not comfortable here."
Eowyn smiled and gestured for Eomer to sit upon the stone bench at the foot of the bed. He did so, grasping her hand and pulling her to a seat beside him. "Why do you say that, brother? Our treatment has been more than hospitable, and the city is a wonder. I marvel at the stonework, it is so magnificent, and must have taken many ages to build. Gondor's people are artists with this mountain rock, more like dwarves than men."
Eomer frowned, little creases forming between his eyebrows. "Perhaps I feel uneasy because is so much stone here. It is cold, monumental. It feels like life should not be sustained here, only the ghosts and shadows of the past. Ah, I miss the great grass plains, with the wildflowers in bloom and the thunderheads climbing on the horizon, where you can ride full out, you and the wind. I cannot imagine people living daily life in this place, trapped in this stone fortress, bounded by rock walls and restrained by great doors."
"Sometimes there are lesser things than stone that trammel a soul, Eomer. Even the wilds of Rohan can seem like a prison if you choose to see them that way." Eowyn tipped her head and rested it on Eomer's shoulder, taking comfort in the feeling of its strong curve against her cheek.
"I hope that when we return to Rohan you shall not think that way again, Eowyn." Eomer rested his own cheek atop Eowyn's head and grasped one of her hands in his own. "You can never know how it felt to see you so unhappy and to be unable to make you smile." Eowyn felt the muscles in his jaw tighten. "I will strangle that foul worm with my two hands if ever I see him again. How I hate him for what he has done."
"I fear that revenge's hand will be stayed, for he has fled to the far darkness. I doubt he will ever muster the courage to show his face in Rohan again." Eowyn paused and squeezed Eomer's hand. "And I would not have you shed more blood for only me, Eomer. The past is gone and cannot be undone by the sword. Grima's treachery will out in time, and his end will be fitting, I would venture. Fate does not forget, no matter how long the years may be, and she will not forget Grima." Eomer pulled away from Eowyn and looked down at her, eyes wondering.
"I am amazed, sister, that you can say such. How is it that you can harbor forgiveness for such a man, such a snake? I rage at the thought of him whispering his poison in your ears, tearing you down until you thought yourself unworthy of happiness. I shudder at the thought of his..." Eomer trailed off, unable or unwilling to voice his revulsion. "How I hate him." His words were barely audible, spoken through clenched teeth, a whispered hiss not meant to be heard by anyone but the sky. Eowyn did not answer, feigning deafness to the comment, but instead turned her face to rest her forehead on his shoulder. Eomer took a steadying breath and in the silence let his eyes scan the room. They fell quickly upon the sword as it lay on the bed, a silver slash on dark silk. He looked back at Eowyn and she imagined that she saw betrayal in his gaze. Silence as thick as a fog fell, for a long and painful moment.
"Eomer?" Eowyn caught the corner of her lip in her teeth. "Brother, are you angry with me?" Eomer looked at her sharply, his chin jutting suddenly forward with surprise and, she thought, rage. His eyes were piercing, scanning her face as if through sheer concentration he could see into her mind. He sat there for a long moment, a moment that seemed like an age, staring, probing.
"I do not understand you Eowyn." Despite the pain and anger in his eyes, Eomer's voice was quiet, even. "After all the death...Father, Mother, Theodred, now the King. After all that death how is that you still seek battle? Do you even think of me, sister?" He grasped her chin in his hand and forced her to meet his eyes. "Can you imagine how I felt as I found you at Pellenor? Can you imagine my pain? I thought I would die from it, Eowyn, I thought my heart had split in two. I thought I was the last of our line, alone, left by all who I love. All my life I have tried to shelter you, to protect you from the pains of life. Father and Mother would have looked to me to keep you safe, to give you everything that they would have done. But I could not protect you." There was a catch in Eomer's voice and Eowyn felt her throat tighten. "I could not protect you from Wormtongue and I could not protect you from yourself." Eomer stopped and the corners of his mouth pinched. "I am not angry with you Eowyn. But though I am loathe to admit it, you have hurt me and frightened me and I still fear for your heart."
Eowyn did not try to quell the tears that now slipped down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. "My brother, my last and dearest family, I cannot say how sorry I am that I have hurt you. I cannot explain what it is that drove me to battle, only that I was searching for something. I felt as helpless as you, watching everyone I loved die, watching my land suffer. I began to wonder what curse our house had fallen under, why only misery came on the wind. When Rohan rode to war in Gondor I felt I had to make a choice. If fate wanted another sacrifice, I wanted it to be me. Rohan needs you. And I could not watch you die."
"Life in our world will never be without sacrifice or pain. We cannot know what lies in the future, and it would be folly to lay your life down in hope of appeasing fate. What is, is and what will be, will be." Eomer again grasped Eowyn's chin and raised her face. "I love you, Eowyn. I wish to see you happy and safe. If it truly makes you happy to march to battle and fight then I will not stop you. But I think that your joy truly lies elsewhere. You must choose to find it. Our people have suffered much. No one came to us in our time of need, they left us to die, deeming us unworthy of aid. But when duty called to ride to war to help our fellow man, we rode willingly, even to death. It is my duty and yours to lead our people by example. Would your example be to throw your life away? For your part, you should strive to show the true heart and spirit of the Rohirrim. Rohan has had its fair share of war, sister, and we know well how to fight. But we must also be people of peace and compassion, and it is up to you and I to be the paragon of those things as well."
Eowyn looked at her brother's face with tears shining in her eyes. "Mother and Father would have been proud to have such a wise son, Eomer. It is a new day for us, with the King's passing. I do wish to find new meaning in these days, if we live to see them through. You need not fear for me, brother, for all desire for combat has left me. I am weary of killing. I no longer wish to be an agent of death, but instead to be a preserver of life, and to be the type of woman that our dear mother was. I am done fighting."
Eomer gathered Eowyn to his chest and wrapped his arms around her. They sat together for a long moment, feeling each other's heart beat. Finally Eomer pressed a long kiss to the top of Eowyn's head and disentangled himself from her arms. He knelt in front of her and smoothed her hair away from her face, then whispered. "Farewell my dearest friend. And if I should not return, I ask only one thing. Choose life, Eowyn. Find happiness and love and friendship instead of despair and loneliness. You have earned it." With one last kiss on her forehead, he turned away. He left the room, not looking back.
Dashing tears from her cheeks Eowyn moved to the window and looked out on the darkening sky. Death lurked in the darkness, she knew, but she also held close in her heart the new knowledge that light can drive out the night, if one chooses to wield the torch. As she looked down on the mustering armies in the city below, she vowed silently that she would do her part in driving out the night.