With the softest of smiles the elven healer had risen from Haleth's bedside, laying a hand on Aragorn's shoulder for the briefest of moments before moving away with the gliding grace Hilde had come to associate with the elven race. But in truth, Hilde barely noticed, for as soon as the elf had risen from her brother's bedside the shieldmaiden had taken her place, her fingers brushing against her brother's now warm cheek. Across the cot, Lord Aragorn remained where he was, Haleth's hand still held tenderly in his own as he looked down on the boy with relief.

They sat like that for the longest time, Aragorn watching over Haleth and his sister while Hilde knelt at her brother's side, stroking his golden hair while tears of relief and joy ran down her face. It was finally the Ranger's quiet voice that broke the silence.

"He is lucky," he murmured, his gaze lifting to look at Hilde. She caught the movement out of the corner of her eye.

"I keep wondering if I only dream this. I have this fear in my chest that threatens me with waking to find he is gone; that I have lost the only family I still have left." She barely even realized she had spoken the words aloud until a comforting hand came to rest on her shoulder. This time she did look up, meeting Aragorn's sympathetic blue eyes.

"I assure you it is not a dream. He is also lucky to have a sister such as you." A weak laugh escaped Hilde's lips, though there was little humour in it. Her eyes fell from his as shame flooded through her.

"As she lay dying, I promised my mother that I would look after him, that I would protect him. He was such a small babe—but I did my best. I cared for him, I helped my father raise him. On the road from Edoras, I promised my father the same thing; I would protect him. I failed them, Lord Aragorn; I nearly lost him. I nearly forgot him; after the battle, I did not remember to think that he might have been hurt or—as soon as the Uruk-hai fled I should have looked for him and I did not. I failed him..." now it was bitter tears that burned behind her eyes, her guilt rising in her throat to strangle her. On her shoulder Aragorn's fingers tightened, digging into the ache that still lingered there. It was a calculated squeeze, the flash of pain waking her out of the spiral of despair she had set herself on. She met his knowing eyes.

"No, My Lady, you did not. Your will was keeping him alive, of that I am certain. I have seen many men perish of many wounds, here and elsewhere, and I have some knowledge of healing myself; he could easily have perished on the wall from an injury like this, but he did not. You and your father raised a strong lad, and you sat with him here without rest or respite, determined that he not be alone, that he would make it.

"War is a harsh creature that takes many victims; yes it nearly took him, but it did not."

"I still should have been by his side," she murmured, her eyes fixed on Haleth's face. He was so peaceful now that he slept.

"You are the one who fought in the battle," it was a statement more than a question, but Hilde nodded in response anyway, even though he continued regardless. "I wondered for a short time if I was mistaken, but I do recognize you from the Hall; you were there, right before we rode out. You rode with those of us who were left. It didn't hit me that I knew you until your horse fell, and I saw your face." Her eyes lifted to meet his, a faint frown creasing her forehead.

"You do not seem surprised at what I did, though; that I fought alongside the men of my country."

"No. I remember you from Meduseld; you were in the Throne Room the day Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli and I first arrived." There was nothing but regard in his tone, and his eyes sparkled a little with approval, much as they had that day in the throne room. A near laugh tickled her throat.

"I must admit, I am a little surprised that you remember me."

"It is hard to forget one such as you; you were the only one of your people to raise a sword that day." A faint laugh rose in her throat, though it emerged as little more than breathy sigh.

"Yes, I suppose I was."

"That is no small thing, shieldmaiden."

***

By the time Hilde and Haleth were walking back to the Hornburg, both of them were completely worn out, each leaning heavily on the other. Though Hilde was stubbornly helping Haleth on her own, supporting him as he went, she was privately relieved that Éomer was walking so close behind her. While she was intent on getting back to the Keep under her own power, she could feel her own energy waning.

They were returning from a funeral; the last day had been little but funerals. This one, though, was one that Hilde and Haleth had been loath to miss. The Elf healer's work had been incredible, and the next time Haleth woke he had been near strong enough to walk, especially after getting some good warm food into his belly.

It also meant he was strong enough for Brytta's funeral.

Normally in the case of horses only Mearas were accorded true funerals, but knowing that Háma's loyal mount had been slain saving Hilde's life, Théoden King had deemed Brytta worthy of one. More than that, he deemed it appropriate to mark Háma's death at the same time, for the Doorward's body had been left where it had fallen during the warg attack on the road. For that Hilde and Haleth were grateful. It felt right to lay them to rest together, even if it was only the memory of their father they were burying.

It had been a small funeral, but a dignified one. Hilde and Haleth, of course, had been there, as had Éomer, Éowyn and the King himself. Even Gandalf and Lord Aragorn had attended, along with many from Meduseld who knew the Captain of the Guard well. It was Hilde who sang this time and, though her voice was not so strong or lyrical as her mother's had been, she did not falter. Nor did she weep. She had shed her tears. Instead she was remembering her Father and Brytta with pride and love. As she had sung, one of the King's men, Mérwulf, knelt to cut free a lock from Brytta's tail as per tradition, presenting it carefully wrapped in a length of green cloth to Haleth and Hilde as she had fallen silent.

Haleth had stood quietly at her side with Léofwine clutched in his remaining hand, tears of sorrow on his cheeks; he had not grieved yet as Hilde had, so though he held his chin high and his jaw firm, his tears told everyone of his pain. His eyes told everyone of his pride.

As the last strains of Hilde's song faded, Haleth stepped forward, laying their father's sword in the earth with Brytta; it felt right to do so. The chestnut had been draped with the rich green cloak of the King's Riders, something that pleased Hilde profoundly. As the words had been spoken and as Hilde had sung, Haleth had stood at Hilde's side without support, determined to stand with his own strength to honour Háma and Brytta. But as he returned to her side he leaned heavily against her, his energy waning as he fought the tide of sorrow she could see in his eyes. It was nearly enough to crack through her resolve. On her other side, Éomer reached over, his fingers finding and lacing with hers.

The King's nephew had finally returned to her shortly after Lord Aragorn had taken his leave from Haleth's side. The instant he had murmured her name she had been on her feet, her arms winding around him as news that her brother was to live poured from her lips. He had embraced her back, his expression saying he was as pleased and relieved as she was.

By then the newly arrived party of elven healers had already done great work, and within the Hall the numbers of dying had slowed and the numbers of wounded had diminished. The hall had emptied enough that Éomer had gently lifted Haleth, bringing him back to where Hilde had woken herself, behind the curtain that still stood to separate the female from the male wounded, even though the cots behind the curtain were now all empty. The Marshal had laid the boy on the cot Hilde herself had occupied before insisting that Hilde take the pallet next to him. As the female elves had vacated them, many of the cots themselves had been taken out into the main portion of the hall, leaving only pallets. Hilde had still been refusing sleep, and it had taken Éomer pulling her down to sit at his side to get her to consent to even consider taking her own rest. She had fallen asleep curled against him, her eyes not leaving her brother until her lids had slid shut.

She had only woken when the King appeared to tell her and Haleth of his decision to hold a funeral for Brytta; he had seen Brytta fall himself, and had recognized Hilde as she had pulled herself onto the riderless horse. She had still been leaning against Éomer when she woke, her fingers entwined with his.

As Háma's surviving men set to their task of burying her father's horse, Hilde's fingers had tightened against Éomer's as she fought the wave of grief that rose in her as the earth hid Brytta from sight.

Shortly after they returned to the Hornburg.

The next morning they were set to leave Helm's Deep. Hilde, Haleth, and Éowyn were to be part of the first wave to return to Edoras. The King and Éomer wouldn't follow until later; that they had business in Isengard was all Éomer would tell her.

That evening, as Haleth slept off his grief and regained his strength for the journey home, Hilde sat with Éowyn, talking quietly for the first time in what felt like an age. It felt good, and Hilde felt almost normal again. They spoke of nothing and everything. They both marveled that the sad elven healer's husband had been found alive, even so many days after the battle. Hilde could not help but feel overjoyed at the news; the Sad One, as the elf had come to be known, had been the elf that had saved Haleth. It was a debt that she knew she would never be able to repay, so it pleased her greatly that the good the elf had done for Haleth and innumerable others had, in a way, been repaid. They also spoke of the elves in general, admitting that they likely all owed their lives to the host that had fought with them, and the healers who had followed. Éowyn couldn't help but marvel at their grace and lethality, their dance-like mastery of their weapons.

One thing they did avoid talking of were those who had been lost, for it was still far to near. Eventually Hilde, under a fair bit of pressure from Éowyn, related everything she could remember of the battle. If she could have avoided doing so she would have, but there was something that gleamed in her friend's eyes, a glimmer of longing and aspiration that Hilde hadn't been able to deny.

She also heard for the first time that a group of Uruk-hai had managed to get past the barricades that guarded the Glittering Caves. By that time the people sheltering there had begun moving deeper into the caves toward the far passages, meaning that many of the shieldmaidens had moved along with them. If it hadn't been for Éowyn, who had lingered near the entrance to the caves...Hilde shuddered to think of what might have happened. Rohan's White Lady had nearly single-handedly held the detachment of Uruk-hai back until the other shieldmaidens had learned of the threat. Hilde was proud of her friend, though she could see by the set of Éowyn's mouth that she thought little of her own role in protecting the most vulnerable among them; she was pleased with herself, it was true, but she still craved the valor of true battle.

Even after having seen battle Hilde found she craved it still, even after witnessing only a glimpse the horrors and anguish of war. She was no fool; she knew she should wish never to see battle again. Yet still she longed for it with the same fierce will that she saw in Éowyn's eyes.

And that thought scared her.

***

That evening Hilde again took the pallet next to Haleth's cot, though she could not seem to sleep. She was bone tired and knew there was a hard march ahead of them, but still sleep would not come. So instead she watched her brother sleep. Though there was no doubt now that he would survive, she still worried, wondering if his fortune was too good to be true.

She was startled from her thoughts by a faint rustle beyond the curtain, but before she could really react Éomer's familiar form ducked into view. With a sigh of relief she shifted over, making room on the pallet for him to sit next to her. He was obviously on the verge of retiring for the night himself, his frame bare of his armour and mail. An involuntary flush rose to Hilde's cheeks. She was so used to seeing him in it that it seemed a part of him; it felt strangely intimate seeing him in only his shirt and breeches.

"It feels like everything has changed since we left Meduseld," she finally said, leaning against Éomer as her arm circled around his waist and his around hers, "it will never be the same." She could feel him nodding in agreement.

"I never thought I would leave the Golden Hall in exile and return the Heir. Nor that so many would not be there when I returned," he responded quietly, threads of sorrow wending through his tone. She knew precisely what he meant. There was never a time in her memory when her Father had not been as much a part of Meduseld as the King himself. And she was still struggling with the reality that Théodred would not be there when they returned. Not to mention the dozens of others who would never return; Fréamund the healer; Guthold, the Master of the King's Stables; Wéland, the blacksmith that served the Golden Hall; Ecgláf, the farmer who often grew food for the King's table; Láfwine, one of Haleth's friends and son of one of the King's guards; the list was far too long.

"It still does not seem real. I keep expecting my father to come around the curtain, worried about Haleth and relieved that he will be well. And part of me half-expected Théodred to be riding with you and the Rohirrim, even though I helped lay him in the Tombs myself." Beside her Éomer stiffened a little. She looked up at him in concern. She knew how close he had been to his cousin. "I am sorry, Éomer, that you were not there. It must be hard, not having had a proper farewell." His arm squeezed her closer in response.

"It is. He was a brother to me, more than a cousin. But I have made my peace with his death; saying goodbye from afar is always necessary in war, though one of the hardest lessons to learn." he hesitated, eventually looking down at her with wariness, "what was harder was realizing the possibility that, even in death, it would be Théodred you would still be bound to." She started, her eyes going wide.

"What do you mean?"

"You were always at my cousin's side, Hilde, and I knew he loved you. He told me. He even told me of his will to marry you. No matter that I—" he couldn't bring himself to finish the thought. Hilde was transfixed by the swirl of emotion in his eyes, though he would not meet her gaze.

"He was my friend, Éomer, nearly my brother."

"But can you deny that you would have wed him if he'd asked?" There was a bitterness to his tone that made her stomach flop unpleasantly. She didn't have an answer for him, not a certain one.

"I don't know."

"Yet you loved him."

"Once I thought I could, but—" Now it was Hilde who couldn't finish.

"Is that why you went with him?" Hilde froze, first out of confusion then piercing realization, dismay pooling in her stomach at his question. The bitterness had come to sound distressingly like despondency. It startled her; she had never heard him sound thus.

"You saw that." She hated how drained and emotionless her voice sounded. But she couldn't help it. It felt like a mountain was sitting on her chest. He was looking down at her, his expression once again unreadable. Obviously he had seen her that night, leaving the Hall with Théodred. The memory came unbidden to the forefront of her mind. A Yule feast years ago, with free-flowing ale and intoxicating kisses. She remembered Théodred taking her hand, and both of them stumbling from the Hall, all inhibition and thought clouded by the heady ale. She had thought she loved him then.

"I was sixteen, Éomer. I didn't know what I wanted. I thought I knew but I didn't."

"I knew what I wanted, and after that night I knew I couldn't have it. I could see that Théodred would never willingly let you go after that night." A flicker of annoyance sparked in her belly at his words.

"And what of my will?" the sharpness of her words startled the old frustration from his features. "You speak of Théodred's feelings for me, but you haven't stopped to consider mine. It was not long after that night that I knew I could not truly love him, not the way either of us deserved, not as a wife should love her husband. Yes, I thought I loved him for a time, but had you stepped forward, tried to win my affections?" Distress clouded his eyes as he dropped her gaze, but she reached up, her hand cupping his bearded cheek as she turned him back to face her; in that moment it all became clear to her.

"It would have hurt me to hurt him, but I would not have hesitated. I would have chosen you." Before he could respond she pulled him down to her, pressing her lips to his. At first his entire body tensed in shock as she kissed him, but then his arms wound around her, pulling her closer as he kissed her back. By the time they pulled apart his fingers were tangled in her red-gold hair as her hands were seized in his tunic, both starved for air.

"You said once that you might have to marry me," she murmured against his lips, a hesitant though mischievous smile grew on her face, "do you still intend to do so? Do you wish it?" He pulled back, his eyes locking with hers in surprise. Even in the dim light of the Hall she could see a faint flush rising to his cheeks.

"You remember that?" She leaned forward, leaving a soft kiss on his lips before answering.

"You gave me my first kiss that day; I remember every detail." He smiled broadly, laughing quietly as he placed his own kiss against her mouth before gathering her into a tight embrace. She liked him like this, merry as opposed to stoic and grim as he had become in recent years. His serious nature made his smiles seem all the more precious to her. Content, she nestled herself against him.

"You have no idea how much I have wished it," he murmured. 

A/N: Thanks for reading!

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