Chapter 2 - Falling Apart

Night was already falling when the trek reached the ford of the Isen. Here the group would split up in two parts. The King would take the path to the north, to Isengard. The wounded soldiers, Éowyn and Éomer, and those following Aragorn would move directly for Edoras.

Éowyn had left the sleeping Haldir's side once he had been put up in a tent. Now she was sitting outside it, her eyes raised to the stars above. Her mind was in uproar; she still couldn't believe what she had told the elf. Did she really feel this way? Did she want him to be dead, like Theódred? But not even the death of the elf would bring her cousin back, nothing could. She sighed deeply.

Some of the elven archers that had come with Haldir had been to the tent already; fear for their captain in their eyes. So there were some that loved him. But she could only feel loathing, for all that was elvish. An elf had destroyed her dreams, had broken her heart, why couldn't she feel any hatred for him? Because he had tried to explain everything to her. He had shown kindness in a way she had never experienced. She had seen pain in his eyes; pain at causing her this much suffering. And suffer she did. She saw it still in front of her eyes, this intimacy between Legolas and Aragorn; it was unbearable. Why couldn't it be her that Aragorn looked at in this way? Why? Tears ran down her cheeks, yet she didn't notice. Too great was her agony.

She had tried to run from the truth, but was confronted by it again in the eyes of her brother. And then she had found Haldir, barely alive. Why this loathing? Was it only because seeing him made her see Aragorn and Legolas again and again? The elf of Lórien was directly connected to the moment her heart was broken. And he was an elf. When he arrived at the keep he had looked at her with utmost contempt. Had he seen the longing in her eyes when Aragorn embraced him? But still he had no right to judge her.

She heard laughter coming from the fire where everyone had gathered. What reason did anyone have to laugh? Her life lay shattered, the world they knew was on the edge of destruction, there was no reason to be merry. Their victory at Helm's Deep had been bought with the lives of too many men; to her it was no victory at all. The Hornburg had witnessed her death. Her heart felt nothing but hurt, she knew, some day it would pass. But she couldn't bear the pain. She felt defeated, once again she had been the one to be left behind, her love had been rejected. She had to steel herself. Turn her heart into stone. And she had to do it right away.

She raised herself and whipped the tears from her face. No, she would not shed another tear over her lost hope. And she would not allow anyone to order her around anymore, not her uncle nor her brother. She was no child anymore. Forcing a smile on her face she joined her uncle by the fire. But all her resolution to be strong was shaken when she saw the two figures opposite of her. Aragorn and Legolas. Her body was aching to be next to the ranger, in the place of the elf. Seeing them smile at each other was torture. Hands touching the other in chaste gestures. Her mind telling her, 'He belongs to him; he'll never be yours! Be strong, don't look back on hopes that never will come true.' But her heart screamed, 'But I love him!'

No, she was not ready for this. She could not bear to see the two lovers together. Not while her heart was bleeding for one of them. She felt her brother's hand upon her shoulder, his voice whispering in her ear, "Don't despair, sister. You will find the one who is meant for you. But clearly it won't be him." She looked up at him, trying to smile. "You should have told me, right away." - "It wouldn't have changed a thing, only the hurt would have come earlier." His hand caressed his sister's cheek. "Don't let the King see your misery. He's got enough he's to worry about." She nodded.

Slowly she got up. She caught the eye of Legolas and nodded. 'Forgive me,' her eyes told him. Pain on his beautiful features. She broke away from his gaze, almost colliding with her uncle. "I have been looking for you, dearest Éowyn," the King said. Turning to Éomer he continued, "You will look after her, I'm giving her into your hands." Éomer bowed. Éowyn reached out for her uncle and embraced him. "Take care uncle, come back to us." Théoden smiled at her, "Éowyn, sister-daughter. Don't worry about me. I will return, for I have a lot to do before I join our fore-fathers." He raised a hand to touch her face; she caught it, pressing it against her cheek. "I love you," she whispered, tears in her eyes. Then she broke loose, vanishing into the night.

---

Haldir had woken to find himself alone in the dark; only one small candle was burning beside his bed. He was in a tent now, so they had moved him while he slept. How weak must he be if even that didn't wake him? He hated weakness, in anyone but especially in himself. He closed his eyes, concentrating on his own body and his injuries. He could feel the deep wound in his back, burning like fire. Éowyn had been right about something after all; it was a miracle that he still drew breath. Only a bit deeper and he would be in Mandos now. Mandos, he would rather be there than where he was now, so weak. He feared and dreaded weakness, weakness and the resulting dependence upon others. He felt the other wound; compared to the one in his back this was little more than a scratch.

He heard the noises from the camp outside. Heard the soft murmur of elvish voices, his kin, as they were passing his tend. Even in his dismal situation it filled his heart with joy, some of his brethren had survived the battle. He would be able to look his Lord and Lady in the eye, even though he still saw the dead bodies of those who had fallen before him. Why was he alive and not they? Rather dead than in this state. And even Éowyn would prefer him to be dead. 'She must hate us, all elves.' Once again he saw her standing beside her brother while Aragorn embraced him. She had longed to be in his place. But how could she? Aragorn was bound; she had no right to feel this way.

He felt another one's presence in the tent. His eyes flew open and he found himself staring into Éowyn's cool eyes. Eyes that told him that she had been crying. For a second he wanted to touch her face, comfort her; soothe her. But then he heard her voice, her cold voice, mocking him. "I have to change the bandages on your wounds, can you roll over or should I get help?" Help? No, he did need no one's help. Her words where echoing in his head, words that had fallen like daggers. No kindness in them, no trace of any feeling at all. She obviously wanted to see him weak, but he refused to let her see his helplessness. He was an elf after all, one of the First-Born, immortal! High Warden of Lórien, he was not weak! Never. "Thank you," he said equally cold, "but I think I can manage on my own." If only he had not said that, he cursed his pride for not accepting help. The pain he felt as he rolled onto his chest was blinding him, made him almost lose consciousness.

Éowyn removed the bandages, trying to be careful, but the rage that was in her mind made her almost rip the plasters from the elf's back. Haldir bit his hand, using all his strength to prevent himself from screaming. The agony her ministrations caused him was driving him mad. But he wanted to remain awake; seeking the sweet embrace of sleep would be weakness. When she put something on the wound, his back seemed to explode with pain. He gasped, was she enjoying this? He could no longer hold back, "Is this what you call healing? Why, I rather think you try to torture me. Our healers..." - "... are much gentler?" she interrupted him. Only now did she realize that she had been rather harsh to him, but then, why hadn't he said anything? The elf was driving her crazy. "Would you prefer I stopped tending your wounds until we get one of your brilliant elvish healers to you? Fine with me!" He could hear the hurt that was in her voice. "No," he said hoarsely, "continue if you must." She did, more carefully now as she was putting new bandages on his wounds.

When she was finished, she found his eyes open, but staring into the emptiness. He was asleep, or had he lost consciousness because of the pain? She looked at his face, his deep blue eyes, like the deep lakes in the mountains. His prominent nose, too big she told herself. Sensual lips, lips that could utter nothing but offending words. Who was he to criticize her healing skill? If it hadn't been for her he'd be dead by now. Her eyes moved unwillingly to his beautiful silvery hair, now spread over his shoulders. The well defined muscles of his arms and back under his silken skin. She sighed deeply as she sat down in a chair next to the sleeping elf. Closing her eyes, she saw his eyes looking at her, and still she heard his voice inside her head.