Hope

The days were darker with him gone. Despite her gratitude that her uncle had
been returned to himself, Éowyn could find no true joy in her heart. It was
as though the sun had ceased to shine upon her.

She tried. She smiled bravely for the women as they trudged to Helm's Deep,
listened to the songs the children sang as they tried to pass the time, and
she even laughed a bit at Gimli's antics, appreciative of his efforts to
cheer her, despite her chagrin that even he could sense her malaise. Still,
deep down, nothing touched her.

Not even Lord Aragorn. Her eyes were drawn to him whenever he rode near, the
very sight of him making her heart ache. One time when she lingered too
long, she saw his hand reach up and instinctively clasp the pendant he wore.

No, my Lord, she thought, her throat constricting as she averted her eyes.
You do not understand. You do not understand how like him you are: noble,
handsome, brave, yet gentle when need be. Your loyalty and faithfulness
radiate from you like a beacon, and people are quick to trust and love you.
Just as they are him. And he rides somewhere, if he indeed still rides,
followed by thousands who believe in him, who follow him without question,
just as Gimli and Legolas follow you.

She had possessed no jewel, no symbol of herself to give him, naught but a
kiss and a promise before he was taken away. She wondered, between passing
glances, if Éomer held her meager gift as close to his heart as Aragorn held
that pretty trinket. She saw vividly the aching, the longing in the Ranger's
eyes, and she wondered if her brother's eyes held that same longing when he
gazed toward Edoras. She was certain it was in hers, as she scanned the
horizon, and she noticed Lord Aragorn looking strangely at her as he rode
past, inspecting the column.

Éowyn smiled kindly at Aragorn as he passed and chuckled at another of
Gimli's jokes, in an attempt to put out of her mind the soft kisses and
caresses that had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember
and the heated lovemaking that had come with age. She could not fathom a
life without him, for as long as she had known life, there had been him.
Only him. Only Éomer.

They had known the time was drawing nigh when the intimacy that had
comforted them through the deaths of their parents and the growing darkness
in their land could no longer continue without provision. They had counted
upon the promise of their dear cousin Theodred to marry Éowyn-for he had no
interest in courting women-so their love could continue unchecked.

However, one by one, those hopes had fallen; first with Grima Wormtongue's
hold over Theoden King, then the death of Theodred, the exile of Éomer, and
now the impending war. Perhaps, somewhere out in the wild plains of Rohan,
Éomer had fallen as well. It was all Éowyn could do to place one foot before
the other and continue on the road, rather than rush out into the wilds to
find him. He could not meet the same fate as Theodred. It would be the death
of her.

"It does no good to look to the hills, my lady, when your path lies before
you," Lord Aragorn's voice startled Éowyn from her reverie.

"Is that indeed where it lies?" Éowyn asked bemusedly, casting another
glance toward the hill, as though she expected to see her brother and his
men crest it at any moment as she had often witnessed with awe while
watching their training maneuvers. With a small cry of frustration she tore
her eyes from the horizon, reminding herself that he was far away. Beyond
her reach.

"It seems all of our paths lead to the same place at this point in time,"
Aragorn replied, dismounting from his horse and taking its reins to walk
alongside Éowyn for the moment. "There is no reason to look beyond what lies
immediately before us."

"Strange words to come from one whose future weighs so heavily on his own
mind," Éowyn said with a pointed look to the pendant upon his breast.

"It is ever on my mind," Aragorn replied, his voice noticeably softened.
"But I am now focused on what lies immediately before me, because I know if
I do not come through this, there will be no future for us." 'Us' was
accented by a light caress to the pendant, as if for reassurance.

Éowyn cast her eyes downward and did not respond to his words. She felt
Aragorn's gaze boring into her, as though he sought to discover the true
secret of her melancholy. How she longed to tell him everything, to share
her heart with someone who understood love forbidden but yet pursued it and
clung fast to it undeterred! She turned her eyes to him, resolving to meet
his gaze this time without apprehension. She had nothing to fear from him.

Aragorn met her likewise, and they walked for several steps with their gazes
locked, before mutually breaking away to mind the road. Several minutes
passed in heavy silence, before he spoke once more.

"Hope, my lady. It has been a long time since our peoples have seen hope,
and perhaps even longer since you have seen it with your own eyes." He
reached out and took her hand, pallid and small in his own rough, dark palm,
and tears sprang to her eyes unbidden. His hands were the hands of a
warrior, roughened by the hilt of the sword, fingers worn smooth between by
the leather of reins. So powerful, yet capable of such tenderness. So like
Éomer's.

She bowed her head and swallowed hard to compose herself, while Aragorn
continued. "Pining for what might be, and waiting for the return of one
whose return you have no control over will not ease your days, fair maiden.
Think now for your people. Prepare yourself to fight, and then fight for
you." He accented that word, letting its myriad implications resound through
her mind and her heart.

Éowyn nodded, a smile playing through her tears. Aragorn leaned toward her
and released her hand to press it to her own breast, where she could feel
her heartbeat. "Hope remains, Lady Éowyn, and I fight in the name of hope.
Therefore, I fight in your name, and in the name of the one who you keep
here, closest to you." He then moved away, taking up rein to mount his horse
again. "Do the same, and you will find that this path, however it meanders,
will lead you once more to where you belong."

With those words, he mounted and rode toward the head of the column to
confer with the scouts, leaving Éowyn with her thoughts. "Hope," she
whispered, holding her hand fast to her heart. Keeping those words foremost
in her mind, she resolved to focus on the tasks at hand, leaving memories of
her brother to warm her nights, while she continued on the path of hope-a
path that Lord Aragorn seemed know quite well-as Éomer would want her to.
Aragorn became to Éowyn at that moment the very embodiment of hope.

Somehow, it seemed fitting that he should be so.