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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. |