Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J.R.R. Tolkien's estate.

Author's Note: Written for Elva's #3 challenge over at the Elfsheen boards.

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Lost and Found

Eowyn tugged the blanket closer around her trembling body. The cottage was only heated by the small fire burning in the fireplace, but she was thankful for what little warmth there was. Slowly, she drained the last of the broth in the rusty mug she held in her hands. She barely noticed her hostess take the mug from her as she gazed into the flames.

She did not know how many days, possibly weeks, had passed. She could only recall vague memories of what had happened before she awoke here several days ago – memories of riding with Eomer towards the plains of Rohan…of the unease of the horses before the ambush…of Eomer's cry before she gave into the pain and darkness…of hearing foul creatures about her, gnarled fingers wandering over her, a sickening draught forced passed her lips…of slipping away…of wandering aimlessly, helplessly, half unconscious through the hot, dry wilderness…of collapsing beside a small stream…of excited voices about her…of softness, coolness, and peaceful sleep…of waking to discover herself alive and safe.

Eowyn let out a long sigh and shook her head slightly. A month she had been tended to, never waking, her hostess and healer had explained when she awoke at last. The old woman had feared she would not survive… A shudder ran through Eowyn's tired body as she remembered those words. The woman had said she had sent her son to Minas Tirith as soon as they recognized who Eowyn was. She did not know how long it would take him to return, for they had never traveled to the White City before.

Eowyn lowered her head, her eyes closing wearily. She wondered if the woman's son would return here alone, or would he be accompanied…

Both women looked up in surprise and hope when the sound of approaching horses reached their eyes. They listened as the wild galloping ceased abruptly as the horses drew to a halt before the cottage and the riders sprang from the saddles.

The old woman was halfway to the door when a fist banged loudly on it and a faint exclamation of "Mother!" was heard over the pounding. She had barely lifted the bar and opened the door when the party burst in, Aragorn at their head followed closely by Eomer, Gimli, Legolas, and several guards.

His eyes – dark and stormy – swept the small room frantically until they landed on Eowyn. She gazed at him with dull grey eyes, her complexion slightly pale despite the glow of the fire and her mouth unsmiling. With a few quick strides he was kneeling beside her, tenderly holding her face in his hands. His eyes examined her face carefully. The deep pools of her eyes gave hint to the terrors and darkness and helplessness she had endured. Yet there was also a tiny sparkle of light in them as tears of amazement and joy welled up. Her lips parted slightly as she gazed at him.

"Aragorn…"

He dropped his gaze, overwhelmed by emotion at his name falling from her mouth. His shoulders trembled and a sob caught in his throat. During these last dark weeks he had barely dared hope he should hear her voice, see her face again. Tears rolled down his face when he looked upon his queen again.

"Eowyn," he sighed.

"Touch me," her needful plea came out a bare whisper.

Slowly, carefully, Aragorn drew her face closer to him. Their lips barely touching, both at last believed they were no longer in a dream.

THE END