Chapter 72: Leap of Faith

Before him, a tear-stricken Éowyn was torn from her dying protector’s side, and despite her brief burst of outrage that resulted in a violent strike against the man who – according to Éomer’s descriptions - had to be Wormtongue, her expression was one of defeat when she was led away with the few survivors. Aragorn recognised Gamling. The badly wounded warrior who was rather dragged than able to walk by himself had to be Céorl, the Captain of Edoras whom they had found dead in the dungeon after their liberation, and the broadly-build, powerful looking warrior before him had to be Éomer’s friend Elfhelm.

Through the flickering twilight, Aragorn followed the ghastly procession to a door, and then further down a narrow, spiralling flight of stairs, and the sound of their steps resounded hollowly in the forbidding darkness. The stench thickened in the narrow corridor, and for a moment, Aragorn hesitated as he felt his link to the outside world weaken. There was no way of knowing how far he had descended into Éowyn’s mind, but it seemed to him that the link was almost stretched to its utmost capacity now, and any further progression would increase the risk of getting lost. He hesitated, briefly considering his options. And yet it was no question: after he had come so far, he would not turn back now… not without the one he had come to seek.

With a deep intake of breath, Aragorn proceeded. The people before him had already vanished from sight, and a new sound reached his ears: it was the sharp crack of a whip, followed by a muffled cry. Even before he turned the corner, the Dúndadan knew what he would find… and there they were, in front of an opened cell, Éowyn among them. There was blood on the side of her head, but Eomund’s daughter seemed oblivious to the injury as she stared mesmerised at the unfolding scene before her; her delicate face a pale mask dominated by large blue eyes which held a disturbing expression. Aragorn tensed as he understood that Éomer’s sister was being broken right before his eyes. For a moment, he was thankful that Éomer would never see these disturbing images.

"My lady?" he tried to address the frozen young woman, but again, found that he was only a visitor here, a ghost, doomed to watch but unable to change what he saw. With clenched jaw, he stepped closer to get a view of the proceedings within the cell. Wormtongue’s victim seemed lifeless as he hung from the chains around his wrists; his eyes closed and his head slumped. Dozens of red rivulets sought their way down over his sweat-beaded, bare torso between gashes and swollen welts. The nine-tailed whip his tormentor held in his hands had punished him horribly. ‘But he survived,’ Aragorn told himself. ‘His wounds were mainly superficial, and it was only the fever and starvation which felled Elfhelm. Did not Éomer say just this afternoon that his condition has already much improved?

With considerable effort he turned away from the warrior’s prone shape, but suddenly found himself alone in the dark corridor. Éowyn and her tormentors had disappeared… and yet he felt something. There had to be a reason why he had been brought here, a reason why these images were so vivid in contrast to the dead memory of Aldburg he had first seen. ‘She is still here’, he realised with a jolt, and as soon as the thought had hit him, he felt the current of another energy, the presence of another being. ‘She is reliving this nightmare time and time again, and her energy leaves this trail. All I must do to find her is follow it!’

Once again, Aragorn submitted himself to the invisible flow. The pull toward the black hole was strong this time. It looked forbidding, the darkness within impregnable, a gaping maw to the Valar-knew-where… and yet it was the path he would take. It called to him, dared him to try and free the mind it held captive and had no intentions to let go. Aragorn furrowed his brow. His link was still there, albeit weak. There was the very real danger of losing himself inside this tunnel or hole… and yet, the Heir of Elendil had never shrunk from any challenge, and so with a deep breath, Aragorn stepped into the darkness – and fell!

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"Is it only me, or has the stench lessened?" Éomer cast a suspicious glance at the bowls. It seemed to him that there was barely any steam rising from them now.

Maelwyn looked over his shoulder.

"You are right, my lord; the water is cooling. Your friend has been gone for quite a while already. I have more boiling water ready, but I doubt that the substance he gave me would suffice for a third filling. He better finds her soon." With the help of a thick cloth, she took the kettle from the hook above the fireplace and made her round, while Éomer, damned to helplessly watch, resumed his pacing.

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Something had changed. His fall had not yet ended, but where Aragorn had first had the impression of floating through a vast, empty space, the air seemed stuffy now, and as he extended a hand, he quickly felt the confinement of hard rock to both sides. He seemed to be in a fissure, a cave or tunnel, and where it would end was impossible to predict. Yet one thing seemed sure to the Dúnadan: at its end, he would find the one he had come to seek.

He had not finished the thought when his feet suddenly touched the ground. Straightening in the darkness, Aragorn listened, and to both sides his outstretched hands glided over bare rock. Even his own suppressed breathing sounded treacherously loud in these narrow confines, and he held it in an attempt to orientate himself. From somewhere, a muffled rushing sound reached his ears, too low to determine its source. Was it rain, or a river? Cautiously Aragorn edged forward, and soon had to drop into a crouch to proceed further into the further narrowing gap. By now he felt the distinctive energy of the other person close by, leading him like a beacon through the blackness. Further ahead, the sound of rustling clothes gave away the other’s presence, and he stopped and dropped to his knees, not wanting to scare her if it was indeed the White Lady of Rohan."My Lady Éowyn?"

"Go! You are not welcome here!" a high, frightened voice answered him; a voice that seemed to belong to a small girl Aragorn furrowed his brow. Had Éowyn sought refuge in a memory of her childhood days to escape the terror of Gríma Wormtongue?

"There is no reason to fear me, Éowyn. Your brother sends me. He is worried--"

"You lie! Éomer is dead; you said so yourself! Didn’t you torment me enough by showing me his bloodied cloak and boasting how well your devious trap worked?"

"I am not--""Leave me alone, Worm, or I swear I will…" The girl’s voice broke off, apparently for lack of an effective threat. If the man she feared could even follow her into her innermost sanctuary, what else was there she could do to escape his clutches? Anguished breathing reached Aragorn’s ears and wordlessly betrayed the desperate tears that lurked close beneath the surface of Éowyn’s composure. Pity overwhelmed him. How scared she was! He would have to be very cautious to overcome that deep, deep fear, if it was at all possible; just a single false word could have disastrous consequences.

"Gríma Wormtongue was overtaken and chased from the hall by your people, my Lady. I am a friend of your brother’s, and I am here on his behalf to ask you to return to us. The threat is gone from Edoras; there is nothing left to fear. Come with me and let yourself be convinced. Éomer sits right beside you, and it breaks his heart to see you like in this condition. The body you left behind is already very frail, and if you do not return to it soon, it is likely that there will be nothing left to return to before another day goes by. Please, my Lady, do not tell me that it is your intention to remain here until you die."

Her voice sounded bereft of all hope.

"And if I come with you, you will have your way with me, isn’t it so? I have learned to see through your lies and false promises in all those painful years since you first despoiled Meduseld with your presence; you cannot fool me anymore, Worm! Leave and find someone else with whom you can play your cruel games, or I will find another way to escape you… one where not even you will dare to follow me!"

It was chilling to hear such adult, disillusioned words spoken by a little girl’s voice, a girl who sounded no older than six or perhaps seven summers. Momentarily at a loss for words, Aragorn decided to give his surroundings a closer inspection. Perhaps it would help him to accomplish his task if he knew more about his whereabouts; perhaps they were the clue to convincing the woman before him that he spoke the truth. Further ahead, the cave appeared to narrow to the point where indeed only a small child would be able to slip through the crack, and seemed to end only a few paces away, because Éowyn sounded very close. As he listened to the now distinct sound of the rushing water that reached him from somewhere outside, Aragorn’s mind feverishly circled the question of why Éowyn had resorted to this childhood image of herself. There had to be a logical reason for this measure; one that could probably prove useful to him. He inhaled."My Lady… if you will grant me the opportunity to back my claim with proof, I will gladly provide it. Your brother is indeed here by your side, and if you are willing to listen to me for a moment longer, I promise to supply you with information only Éomer could have known. Information that will convince you that I what I’m saying is indeed the truth."

She hesitated, and for a moment, her tone sounded uncertain. "I doubt that you can keep your promise… but I will give you one chance. If I am not convinced though, you will leave and never come back, or I swear, I will make my threat reality."

"That is only fair, and I accept. My only request would be that you view whatever I present to you with an open mind, my Lady." This time, there was no reply, and so Aragorn focused his attention on the link. "Éomer?"

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"Éomer?"

Aragorn’s voice seemed to come to him from the distance of another realm. It was barely more than a whisper, and yet it’s very sound chased a chill down Éomer’s spine. He swivelled, expecting Aragorn to be back from wherever his foray had taken him, but his friend still hung slumped over Éowyn’s likewise prone shape. And yet Éomer was certain that he had heard his friend speak.

"Aragorn?" He was not granted a reply. Éomer exchanged an anxious glance with Maelwyn, who had chosen to wait by the window, where the air was a little better although it was still closed; her arms slung around her slender body. The scent from the bowls was again so thick in the room that it stung in her eyes and nose, and absent-mindedly, she wiped away another tear from her watering eyes. From outside, the muffled noise of the ongoing celebration seeped into the room, and yet it might as well have taken place in another country. To the handmaiden and the warrior, the confines of Éowyn’s chambers lay in an entirely separate realm to which no others could hope to gain entry.

His lips pressed together, Éomer approached the bed. A while ago, Maelwyn had refilled the bowls with the remainders of the mysterious substance, and it was clear to them both that Aragorn would have to surface in the near future if he wanted to avoid the danger of which he had spoken. Again Éomer looked at the handmaiden, unable to further suppress his nervousness.

"Did you hear that, too?"

She nodded tensely, her fingernails digging deeply into the skin of her forearms. Éomer shifted his attention back to his friend and – not knowing what to do - cautiously extended a hand. This was all far too strange for him, too much to grasp. He had agreed to the Dúnadan’s unusual measure because he had been desperate, but that did not mean that he understood or believed in it… and with every minute of solid silence in this room, his unease grew.

"Aragorn?" He touched the Ranger’s shoulder, but quickly withdrew when suddenly, his friend spoke again.

"Can you hear me, Éomer?"

"Aye." He nodded. "I hear you. I am right beside you." Éomer shot Maelwyn a quick glance, and his heart beat anxiously in his throat. As before, Aragorn did not move, and his voice seemed to reach them from a great distance. It was an eerie experience, strange enough to make Éomer’s skin crawl. The son of Eomund literally had to force himself to draw air into his lungs to speak: "Did you find Éowyn? Did you speak with her?" For another agonising moment, Aragorn remained silent, and Éomer bit his lip. "Aragorn?"

"I found your sister…" A wave of relief washed over Éomer; so intense that he had to close his eyes. ‘Béma…thank you! Thank you!’ "--but she won’t trust me yet. She thinks I am Wormtongue, and that I want to lure her back by lying to her about your return. She is convinced that you are dead, and I need proof that it is indeed you who is sitting by her side."

"Proof?" Éomer inhaled sharply and looked at Éowyn’s unmoving face, trying to will her to react. "What proof? How should I… Can she hear me where you are? Éowyn?"

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"She cannot hear you. Not yet, but …" Aragorn interrupted himself. In the darkness, a sudden possibility came into his mind. "Wait. Perhaps she can, if she chooses to do so. Give me a moment. I will try to talk to her, but in the meantime, think of something that only the two of you know. Something Wormtongue could impossibly have learned of." He shifted his attention back to the silently waiting woman whom he could not see, but the energy of her presence was like a beacon. Even her growing mistrust he sensed. "My Lady…"

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"Something only the two of us know..." Éomer repeated, feverishly racking his brain. How could it be so empty all of a sudden, whatever memories he was clutching at fleeing from his grasp like flies? "In Eorl’s name…" Again he stared at Maelwyn, but for once, this was something where the young woman could not help him. He would have to find the answer to this task himself. Something the Worm could impossibly have known… Since Gríma had on many occasions displayed uncanny knowledge about everything that happened in the Golden Hall or even the city, that seemed to leave only their childhood in Aldburg. What secrets had they shared in those long-passed days? What had they experienced that neither their parents nor any of their friends could have known about to pass it on?

Hiding his face in both hands to concentrate, Éomer closed his eyes. What was there they had never told their father or mother? Was there anything at all? Anything important enough to be remembered by him? ‘Think. Think!’

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"When your brother has thought of something, will you seriously consider what he has to say, my lady?" Aragorn asked into the darkness. "Will you grant him that chance?"

Éowyn’s voice still sounded too calm for his liking, not yet ready to commit. She was still defensive.

"I am not yet convinced that I should," she said. "You invaded my mind. What thing should there be I could keep secret from you if you are already in my head? You probably only want to gain more time, whatever for."

"I promise you that this is not the case… but of course, I am well aware that I cannot force you to believe me. And I wouldn’t want to, because this is a decision only you can make. It might help you to find it to you have your brother’s voice to judge as much as his words, wouldn’t you agree?"

"And yet you could probably fake it, as well. What proof would it be to me?"

"That is for you to judge, my Lady. I do, of course, understand that - after those hardships you endured - trust is a hard thing to find in oneself, and an even riskier one to give… but let me assure you from the bottom of my heart that if you dare to take this risk, you will not regret your decision." Aragorn’s words silenced her, and for a moment, they sat in the dark while she contemplated his offer. Then, with a deep breath, she said:

"We already agreed that I will hear him… although I doubt that it is really Éomer. It is impossible."

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Aragorn’s voice cut through Éomer’s frantic thoughts like a sharp-bladed knife.

"Éomer? Have you thought of something?"

"Can she hear me?"

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Aragorn inhaled.

"My Lady?"

"I must admit that could be Éomer’s voice," she said crisply. "But you could easily imitate him in your thoughts, couldn’t you? You know my brother rather well yourself."

Aragorn nodded to himself. He had not expected the solution to be easy. If Éowyn took after her brother even in the least bit, this challenge would take far more effort to be won. He focused his thoughts on Éomer.

"She hears you now. What do you have to tell your sister, son of Eomund?"

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"I’m not certain…" Éomer ran a nervous hand through his tangled hair as he focused on Éowyn’s lifeless shape. It was difficult to imagine that – even though she looked dead to the world, she apparently heard every single one of his words. All the more reason for him to concentrate, for her trust would not be easily won. His eyes focused on her far-too-pale face, he began.

"Éowyn, if you hear me…" He inhaled, and then decided to cut right to the chase. Perhaps he was imagining it, but the odour in the room seemed to have weakened. Their time was running out. ‘Flame’… " he said. "That was the name of your first horse. It was a very old, small blood-bay; the slowest beast on earth, and you used to fume at me because I delighted in winding you up about it. You even bloodied my nose in one of our quarrels." He fell silent, his hands unconsciously clenching into fists by his sides as he waited with baited breath for her reaction.

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Aragorn, too, knelt in the dark with such tension in his body that sinews and muscles seemed to vibrate. Yet he did not have to wait for Éowyn’s reply for long.

"Everyone in Aldburg knew my horse; at least all our friends. And they witnessed countless times how Éomer teased me about its name. That is no proof. You will have to do better to convince me."

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"She says that all in Aldburg knew of her horse and your quarrel. Can you think of something else?"

Éomer wrung his hands, exhaled forcefully with frustration, and from the corner of his eye, saw Maelwyn shake her head with despair. ‘Something else… something more secretive…’ He craned back his neck and stared at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. Hundreds of random, unsorted images raced through his mind; memories from the first eleven years of his life. How they had laid Éowyn, wrapped into a blanket and barely an hour old, into his arms, and their eyes had met for the first time; brother and sister. The pride he had felt when his little sister, then only six years old, had been bitten by a horse and sat in the healer’s hut with her jaw clenched and tears shining in her eyes, but determined not to cry while the old man cleansed her wound. Brave little Éowyn. ‘Little Bird’ he had always called her softly, to the amusement of some of his older friends who thought that such sentimentality had no place in the life of a future warrior. He had not cared; after all, none of them had had any younger sisters themselves. And Éowyn had always been special, not to be compared with other girls of her age; her spirit proud and strong and vibrant, never afraid of anything. As wild as the fillies on the plains.

So, what was there that only the two of them had experienced? What… He inhaled sharply, and his heart jumped into his throat.

"Aragorn? Where are you? What can you tell me of your surroundings?"

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Aragorn ran his hands over the bare rock. "It is very dark in here. We seem to be in a cave. I cannot go in further, because it is even narrower where she hides. It could be an old den. I hear water rushing outside; a stream or a little waterfall, perhaps. Is it a place you know from your youth?"

"You are telling him too much!" Éowyn interrupted him, fearful and angry at the same time. "It is he who is supposed to provide the proof; not you!"

"Very well," Aragorn said, hoping that he had given Éomer enough clues to come to a conclusion. "Then why don’t we let him continue? You know where we are, Éomer, don’t you?"

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An excited smile spread over Éomer’s face. He was certain he was right, for now he saw the scene before his inner eye with such clarity that the Snowbourn’s crystal waters seemed like a mudstream in comparison.

"You are hiding in the badger’s den, aren’t you, Éowyn? The orcs didn’t find you there, so you thought that you could also hide there from the Worm. Tell me I’m right!"

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No sound came from the darkness before Aragorn, but this time, the Dúnadan took it as a good sign. At last, it seemed they had gotten through to Éowyn. Now she was indeed listenin to them, and the way it seemed, she was listening with baited breath. Éomer had at last succeeded in catching her attention..

"Go on…" Aragorn urged him. "What else can you tell us about that incident?"

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"We were still living in Aldburg when it happened; and our parents were still alive. Éowyn must have been around six by then. It was late in the summer; a beautiful, sunny day."

The magical scenery of his hometown’s surroundings unfolded from Éomer’s memories with such detail that he almost felt the light, hay-scented breeze on his skin. The fields of grain around Aldburg had been golden in the sunlight and ready to be reaped, and the days had still been long. To the small children they had been, those days had seemed endless, each of them filled with new adventures. Only that this adventure had taken a frightening turn. He could still remember everything so clearly…

"We had ventured into the forest a little further than usual, almost all the way to the mountains. The blackberries were in season, and we wanted to surprise our parents with them. Usually we were required to take someone older with us for protection when we left Aldburg, but they were all busy that day, and we decided to sneak out of the city alone. I thought it would be no problem if kept my eyes open, and after all, all we wanted was to go and pick berries... but of course, we ran into orcs." Éomer tensed. The memory was still so clear… the sudden crackle of breaking branches in the undergrowth, the muffled voices, speaking in a language he didn’t understand but recognised at once…

"There were only three of them; a small scouting party. I suppose that was our luck. We almost managed to slip away from them unnoticed, but suddenly the wind changed and they caught our scent. I knew that with Éowyn, we could not possibly hope to outrun them, so we made for the old den along the way, praying it was wide and deep enough for her to hide in while I tried to lead them away. She almost got stuck when she climbed in and bruised herself badly, but it was a good hiding place. It was too narrow for them to follow her, although they tried."

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"I was so scared that he would not come back," Éowyn suddenly added on her own accord, her voice hushed. "That they would catch and kill Éomer, and that I would wait for him in vain. I could hear them at the entrance, sniffling and muttering in their ugly language, but they soon disappeared when they found that they could not follow me. It seemed to take him forever to return, and I was afraid that they had caught him. I did not know for how long I should wait."

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"It took me a while to lose the orcs and return to the den, and we returned to Aldburg only with the last daylight. Our parents were sick with worry because we had been gone for many hours and nobody had seen us, and I went to bed without the evening meal that night. We told them only that we had forgotten time over our play, but what really happened that day remained between Éowyn and me. We did not even tell our friends."

Éomer blinked as the memories of the distant summer day faded away and he found himself back in his sister’s bedchamber. And, shaking his head, he added with all the conviction he had ever felt: "It is impossible that Gríma Wormtongue could have learned of this, Éowyn! It is me! Will you not believe me now?"

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In the darkness of the cave, silence grew so thick that it almost felt like a solid thing; a syrupy blackness that seemed to make breathing next to impossible.. And Aragorn felt something else, too, and it was alarming: the link grew weaker. There was no doubt. He had to speed things up.

"He is telling the truth, isn’t he, my lady?"

"Aye…" Éowyn’s hesitant reply reached his ears. Where her voice had been cool and detached at first, she now sounded frightened and doubtful. She wanted to believe them, Aragorn could hear it, but the risk was so great…. "Aye, that is indeed the way it happened. And I don’t know how anyone, and especially the Worm, should have learned of it, but…" she inhaled shakily, and her voice dropped to a quivering whisper. "I’m so afraid. What if he found this memory in my head and uses it now to draw me out of hiding?"

"It is not so." Aragorn extended his hand. It was an instinctive gesture, one she would not see in the darkness, but somehow, he knew that she would sense it nonetheless. "I beg you, come with me, Éowyn. There is no more need for you to stay in this dark, hopeless place when all you want is to be reunited with your brother, and he is waiting for you to wake. The body you left behind is very frail now, and there may not be another opportunity for you return to it.. If you do not go back soon, you will starve to death. Dare to trust me, my lady. Your brother told me of your courage, and I know that you are brave enough to make this decision now. I understand that it will take a leap of faith… take it together with me, and I promise you: all doubt and anguish will leave you once you open your eyes."

The link was so much weaker now… too weak to find the way back?

"Do you not believe that I wished more than anything to follow you?" Éowyn replied in obvious torment. "Do you not believe that I yearn to leave this dark place? That I yearn to see my brother?" She interrupted herself… and suddenly, Aragorn felt the grip of small fingers around his hand. Her unexpected change of mind took him by surprise. Hesitantly, her voice so close that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin, she said: "There is only one more thing I’d ask of you before I accompany you… would you show yourself to me? I know that your appearance may be no proof either, for if you were indeed Gríma, surely you could choose any shape you liked to deceive me, but… perhaps even your choice will tell me something about the truth.."

"That power is yours," Aragorn said calmly. His deed was almost done, only one more step to take. One single step… and yet it was in all likelihood the hardest one she’d ever have to take. "This is your mind. You chose to hide in the darkness; so surely, it must also be possible for you to light this cave. To think of a candle or a torch or..." He fell silent. Surely she had the means; it all depended on her will now. And although he felt his link to reality wane further, he granted her the time to make her decision..

Éowyn remained silent… and then, a small flame blossomed from the darkness, incredibly frail against its grim surroundings. A lonely star in the blackness of the night. Its warm light illuminated an even frailer shape behind it: long golden tresses framing a delicately-cut face with high cheekbones; a face so noble and proud, with more than a hint at the passion and strength behind it, that Aragorn saw in it at once her kinship to Éomer… and yet it also bespoke clearer than words could ever have the trials she had underwent. Despite the dirt on her cheeks and brow, Aragorn was taken with the young girl’s extraordinary, solemn beauty. The greatest wonder though were her eyes – large pools of a blue so deep that he had only seen the like of it once in a treasured jewel, and they seemed to look right to the very bottom of his soul with a seriousness that seemed impossible for one so little. It was, Aragorn thought, as if within the child, he could already see the woman he had come to rescue.

"I have never seen you before," Éowyn said at last, and her questioning eyes widened a little with wonder as she regarded the man before her. "But you would not seem to me like a man Wormtongue would befriend."

He smiled slightly at that.

"And I have never met Wormtongue, but from everything I have been able to gather, it would seem to me that he was a man I would not befriend, either." And suddenly his heart leaped in his chest when the grave little girl before him returned his smile ever so shyly.

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer… and then Aragorn saw the fear in these incredible pools of blue shift into sudden hope. Her decision had been made, and the will to lay her destiny into his hands stood in her eyes as Éowyn lifted her chin with the smile still on her face, as she tightened her grip around his fingers.

"Take me with you."

He nodded.

"Close your eyes, my lady."

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"Aragorn?" Éomer did not know how to bear the tension any longer. It had been a while since the Dúnadan had last spoken, and he still did not know whether Éowyn had accepted his tale as proof. There was barely any steam rising from the bowls around the bed anymore, and the once penetrating stench of the substance had significantly lessened… and still Aragorn was still in trance! What if Elendil’s Heir was lost? What if he would never be able now to take up the fight for which he had been born, and which would define the destiny of all free peoples of Middle Earth? Had their only chance for triumph against the Dark Lord been destroyed because of a foolish man’s selfish desire to rescue his kin? Éomer felt all blood drain from his face as he stared at the lifeless shapes of Aragorn and Éowyn.

He narrowed his eyes, and at the same time, heard a sudden noise from the far end of the room when Maelwyn shifted her position. She had noticed it, too. Something had changed.

"Aragorn?... Éowyn?"

They were still not moving, but something seemed different about them both, their breathing deeper, and a sudden tension in their stance as if life were slowly creeping back into their bodies. Éomer barely dared to breathe.

"Lord Éomer…" Maelwyn whispered urgently from her position by the window, but he only lifted his hand to signal her that he had seen it, too. Even as he watched, the muscles in Aragorn’s cheeks and eyelids began to twitch ever so slightly, and his body slowly to shift away from Éowyn’s. His fingers flexed… and Éowyn’s, as well!

Éomer looked at her face, and while her skin was still white, it no longer held the deadly pallor in which they had found her upon their arrival. Life had crept back into her, and to Éomer’s eyes his sister almost seemed to glow with it. Could it be true? Could it be really true? He watched as Éowyn drew her first deep breath, unable to move, unable to do anything but stare at the way her chest expanded with the influx of air… and suddenly, his sight blurred and his throat tightened. He could not speak.

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A slow, satisfied smile spread over Aragorn’s face as he opened his eyes. From the sudden rush of sensations that assaulted him – the tingling of his body as it slowly woke from the trance, the crackling of the fire behind him and the penetrating stench of the herbs he had used to create the link - he knew that they had indeed made it back… and Éowyn had followed him. Her strong grip around his hands told him that without doubt.

"We are back in your chambers, my lady. You can open your eyes now… it is safe." He felt Éomer’s gaze upon himself, piercing him, but did not yet dare to look away from the young woman he had brought back from the brink of death. Although it was the face of an adult woman he saw now before him, it seemed to Aragorn that he could still see the frightened little girl from his vision behind the grown-up features… and the way she had smiled at him just before they had left her dreary prison. He wanted to see that same smile now on the adult Éowyn’s face.

Her eyelids twitched, but she did not yet dare to follow his suggestion, just as she did not dare yet to let go of his hands, instead holding on to them as if they were keeping her from drowning. And yet at the same time, Aragorn felt her tentatively reaching out with her senses.

"What is this smell?" she whispered, and at those first, hesitant words, Aragorn heard a sharp intake of breath beside him. He could well imagine what the sound of his sister’s voice did to Éomer when the young Rohírric warrior had already in his mind prepared for her death, but he could not divert his attention now. Not yet. This was a precarious moment, Éowyn’s trust still a fragile thing easily to be shattered.

"Something that helped me to find you in the dark." Aragorn inhaled. "Lady Éowyn, if you trust me, then open your eyes now."

She tensed.

"Are we alone?"

"Your handmaiden is here… and your brother. Right here with you. You already took that leap of faith, Éowyn; now it is time to look at your reward." He held his breath and felt Éomer do the same beside him. Although so very delicate, Éowyn’s fingers clenched around his hands so hard as if she wanted to crush them… and suddenly, Aragorn found himself looking for real into those deep blue eyes he had seen in his mind. They had been astounding even in the flicker of the one candle back in the cave, but here, in the brightly illuminated confines of her chambers, they were nothing short of a wonder.

And Éowyn continued to look at him in this way, the frightened girl still present behind the young woman’s eyes, silently asking him whether he would hurt her if she fully stepped out of hiding now. And with an encouraging smile spreading over his lips, Aragorn said: "You are home, my lady. All is well now." He heard a strangely strangled noise to his right and didn’t have to look to know that Éomer was crying. "Turn your head, Éowyn. Trust me."

She regarded him silently for a moment longer, and then, still with her fingers locked around his hands, followed his suggestion… and tensed. Slowly, Aragorn followed her gaze. There were tears on Éomer’s cheeks, two thin wet trails glistening in the flickering light, and yet even underneath the tears, he smiled. Something began to rise inside him from deep within, something so powerful that it had robbed him of the power to speak, but the love in his eyes spoke so loudly, nothing else was needed as brother and sister regarded each other.

"I have seen you before," Éowyn finally whispered, her words barely audible even in the quiet. "Sitting in this chair, watching me… I have seen you there many times. I tried to speak with you, but you would not answer me… and when I reached to touch you… you disappeared. It was only a dream." Éomer’s smile vanished, and great sincerity replaced it.

"You are not dreaming now, and I will not disappear," he said, his voice husky with emotion, and slowly extended his hand, palm upward. Inviting her to take it and convince herself.

Aragorn felt her grip weaken. Still Éowyn did not dare yet to entirely let go of her resuer, nor to accept her brother’s proposal, but she thought about it, trying to summon up the courage. And still those wondrous blue eyes held Éomer in their focus.

"Wormtongue told me that he captured you. He showed me your cloak, and it was pierced and soaked with blood. He…" she swallowed, for the memory was still too painful. "He threatened to torture you further if I did not obey."

Éomer swore silently. Had he known that Gríma would put his cloak to such evil use, he would have done everything to retrieve it from his hunters.

"His henchmen stole it from me. It was not my blood. Éowyn…" He shifted his gaze to her hand, and back to her face, silently begging her to take the final step to end all her doubt. "It is me."

She looked at him... took a deep breath… and laid her delicate fingers into his rough warrior’s hand, tensing. Waiting for him to disappear as he had before. But then she felt the warmth of his skin and the restrained strength of his grip, and her eyes widened. "Éomer... oh Éomer!" And she sank into her brother’s embrace, laughing and crying at the same time, Aragorn silently slid out of the room.