Though few from the host of Shieldmaidens survived the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, those that made it through without significant injury once again proved their worth in Minas Tirith's Houses of Healing. Many were mothers, some even grandmothers, and thus knew the ways of sickbed care from the tending of their children and families. More than that they were women born and bred of a country of warriors; the wounds of battle were familiar to them. None gave gentler or more tender care than the shieldmaidens who offered their services in tending to the wounded and dying.

Hilde spent most of her time following the Battle in those solemn halls, alternating between helping the healers and the wounded and sitting with her husband and her sister. Éomer scarcely left Éowyn's side, and Hilde intimately understood why. The same expression of helpless hope and anxious waiting clung to his features as she was sure it had with her when Haleth had lain wounded. Silent entreaties for Éowyn to fight, to survive, fell from his lips in an unending stream as he sat distraught and motionless at her side.

But like Haleth, Éowyn was strong and, like Haleth, was to have a saviour.

Just as he had promised, Aragorn worked tirelessly to bring Éowyn back from the brink of death, skillfully using his elf-taught knowledge of healing to banish the Witch King's toxins from her body using the athelas plant. Hilde had been nearby, helping a healer treat another wounded soldier by holding water and bandages when Éowyn had finally woken from the death-like sleep that had threatened to steal her life. Éomer had nearly broken down with relief when Éowyn drew her first real breath since they found her.

It was not long after that when Aragorn sat back, his frame heavy with exhaustion and assured Éomer that his sister was out of danger. Shortly after that she had been moved into a small private chamber just off the courtyard of the main hall.

It was there that Hilde was heading now, ready for a break from tending to the wounded. She was exhausted, but had yet to have a real rest herself. It had taken a great deal of effort to convince Éomer to take some rest, and she had only managed it by promising to sit with Éowyn herself. So she had sat vigil at her friend's bedside, her husband's head cradled in her lap as he had refused to leave either of them just yet. She knew how he felt.

Every time she so much as closed her eyes for more than a few heartbeats, the paralyzing fear that she had lost them surfaced anew, punctuated by the memories and sounds from the battlefield that refused to let even her waking thoughts be. She feared sleep just now, terrified at the nightmares she was sure would hound her from the moment she closed her eyes.

Her steps heavy with exhaustion, unconsciously scrubbing her stained hands against the makeshift apron she wore, Hilde made her way toward the room where Éowyn was sleeping. She was turning the corner to the corridor that led to the small chamber when she saw Éomer walking toward her with Aragorn. As often happened whenever she caught sight of her husband in these halls, an involuntary shiver of relief went through her. Even waking, she sometimes found herself wondering if she was even then dreaming that they had made it through; the entire place seemed so surreal at times.

Still conversing quietly with the heir of Gondor, Éomer reached out as Hilde approached, all three of them stopping in the middle of the hall as his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulder and her arm wound about his waist.

"How is she?" Hilde finally asked quietly as their conversation trailed off. She knew they both had just come from Éowyn's room. Beneath the hand she had laid on his back, she could feel the tension that still lingered in her husband. He was still plagued with worry even though Aragorn had assured them Éowyn was well out of danger. She knew the feeling; she still feared for Haleth even after the time that had passed since Helm's Deep and his healing at the hands of the lady elf. A faint smile came to Aragorn's face as he looked over at Hilde.

"She is recovering well, Lady Hilde. She sleeps even now." With a gentle nod he moved off, pausing to turn back to Éomer. "We shall wait for you in the Throne Room, Lord Éomer." Beside her Hilde felt rather than saw her husband nod in understanding as her eyes had still been on Aragorn. As the Heir of Elendil turned the corner out of sight Hilde was already turning back to Éomer, a questioning frown creasing her brow.

"Why are you needed in the Throne Room?" she asked quietly. Almost imperceptibly his grip on her shoulder tightened before he seemed to visibly remind himself to relax. They both knew it was in part because, with Théoden's death, he was now King of the Mark. It was a position he was still uncomfortable with, and Hilde couldn't blame him. He'd barely had any time to come to terms with the fact that with Théodred's death he had become the King's Heir, and now his uncle too was gone. But she could see from the way he stood and spoke now in the presence of others that, no matter how hard he was finding the realization to accept, he was not about to back away from his new responsibility.

"There is to be a meeting to discuss our next move, to debate what is to be done next. There is little doubt that the Forces of Mordor will be regrouping." Hilde nodded in reluctant understanding. Though she knew it was their reality, it was so easy to forget that the victory upon the fields of Pelennor had not won them the war. His other hand had come to rest on her hip, and Hilde absently rested her hand against his forearm, her fingertips tracing the intricately tooled leather, lingering over nicks and grooves from battles past. Worry and dread were again beginning to pool in her stomach. A faint reassuring smile came to his lips as he leaned in, placing a soft kiss against her temple.

"There is nothing to worry on just yet, love. Go see to Éowyn," he paused, the arm around her shoulders shifting to cradle the back of her head, tilting her face to look up at him as his dark eyes bored into hers with concern, "and rest. You are exhausted, Hilde." Nodding, she knew he was right. Every now and then the very floor beneath her feet would feel unsteady and she knew that if she didn't rest soon she was liable to pass out rather than simply fall asleep. Sleep did sound wonderful... but then an involuntary shudder ran through her as the horrors she was sure to dream of surfaced in the back of her thoughts. Her grip on his arm tightened as the anxiety she had fought back woke in her again.

"I cannot sleep just yet, Éomer," she murmured, annoyance flickering through her at the way her voice trembled. Éomer only leaned forward, his brow resting against hers.

"I know," he murmured, and she knew he did. In the short time she had slept by his side she had once or twice woken to see him jerk in the hold of nightmares, his body tense and sweating at the bloody memories that haunted his sleeping thoughts. But then she had nestled herself deeper into his arms, and he had calmed, perhaps comforted by her presence. She knew that he sometimes did the same for her, as she had once woken from the writhing, slicing, blood-drenched clutches of her own nightmares held tightly in his arms, his low voice soothing to her ears as she had swallowed back bitter sobs. But that had been before Pelennor Fields and before the new horrors she couldn't erase from her mind. Since then she had not slept by his side; she had barely slept at all.

Leaning down further, he placed a reassuring kiss on each of her cheeks before capturing her lips with his, kissing her thoroughly. She responded almost desperately, craving his touch; it proved to her that he was all right, that she was still all right despite the excess of death and despair that lingered in the Houses of Healing in spite of the hope everyone there desperately held. She forgot everything when he kissed her.

After a moment he finally pulled away, his face showing his reluctance to do so. With a sigh he stroked her cheek with his thumb.

"I must go," he intoned as she leaned against him for a moment, her cheek nestled in the hollow of his throat, "they wait for me. Go rest, please, love?" With a reluctant nod of her own Hilde pulled away, though her fingers lingered against his before he turned and headed for the Great Hall. She stood watching him go for a moment, fighting back the despondency that threatened to return with each step he took away from her. It took her a moment, but she managed to beat it back, banishing the traitorous emotions for the time being. Her fatigue was weakening her, allowing her anxieties to nearly rule her and she scolded herself for allowing it.

Physically shaking herself free from the memories that were trying to plague her, she turned herself, continuing on to Éowyn's chamber.

She opened the door as quietly as she could manage, not wishing to disturb her friend's sleep. It turned out to be for naught, though. A brief but powerful wave of panic washed through her when she noticed the bed was bare of its occupant, her eyes darting around the room looking for her friend. She almost immediately spotted her sister-in-law looking out on the courtyard below her room, absently cradling her healing arm as she stood in the weak sunlight. Éowyn jumped a little when Hilde quietly called her name, turning briefly to give her a faint smile before looking out onto the courtyard again. Éowyn didn't even seem to hear Hilde as the flame-haired shieldmaiden asked how she was feeling. Curious what could have captured her friend's attention so fully, Hilde walked slowly to her side, peering beyond the arched windows that lined that wall of her room.

It was then that she realized what it was that her friend was looking at, or rather, who.

"That's Lord Faramir, son of Denethor, the new Steward of Gondor," Hilde supplied after a moment. She could tell from the way Éowyn's head tilted that she was listening and curious, but she still didn't take her eyes off the man in the courtyard. He stood near one of the columns, leaning against it as he looked out over the city. Every now and then he would look up toward them. Once his eyes flicked over Hilde, but his gaze seemed reserved for Éowyn alone. Even from over the distance, Hilde could see the same interest lay in his face that she could see in Éowyn's eyes.

"The new steward? What happened to Lord Denethor?" Éowyn's absent query was little more than a whisper. Hilde wasn't even quite sure that Éowyn was really speaking to her, or was even really looking for an answer. Hilde hesitated. She had only just heard herself of the madness that had taken Faramir's father, and wasn't sure just now was the best time to bring it up.

"He fell, during the battle," she supplied instead. Éowyn only nodded, confirming in Hilde's mind that she was only half listening to her. Hilde nearly smiled. She knew that distracted look. It was one she knew well; she had borne it herself and sometimes bore it still, and she had seen a frailer version of it on Éowyn's face once before. This was different this time, though.

Éowyn was starting to fall in love with Faramir.

Oh, she didn't know it yet, but Hilde could see it in the way she studied him, a soft look of preoccupied wonder and consideration on her face, her eyes widening and her face flushing gently whenever he caught her looking at him. Hilde wondered if her friend was drawn to the gentleness of him. It was a realization that eased Hilde's heart. She had met Faramir, briefly, and had spoken with him. She liked him a great deal and, the more she thought about it, the stronger her conclusion that his quiet nature and good heart suited Éowyn.

The only shadow on her mind was the realization that, were her suspicions correct, Éowyn would linger in Gondor, and Hilde likely would only see her rarely, if ever. The thought of being so separated from her friend hurt, but seeing the peace that suffused Éowyn's face as she contemplated the young Steward greatly eased that pain. She had not seen her new sister so at peace in a very long time, if ever.

And it brought a smile to her face when she absently considered that Éowyn wasn't likely to be the only Shieldmaiden that would settle in Gondor. Already Hilde had noticed several of the younger, unmarried shieldmaidens growing close with men of Gondor. She had seen wounded who had lain side by side in the Houses of Healing developing attachments as they had recovered; like Aéllen, Hilde and Willa's sharp-eyed scout, who had found a bond developing between her and the Gondorian Ranger who had lain near her as his own injuries healed. Hilde had also seen those tending to the injured growing closer to individuals they had tended; like Meryld, an older shieldmaiden who had been widowed long before Helm's Deep when she'd been a new bride, who now found herself drawn to one of the Citadel Captains, a man of an age with her who was recovering from the loss of his eye. Hilde had even spotted Illeyen returning periodically to the side of a Ranger of her own. Who knew, perhaps some of these Gondorian men would even return with their shieldmaidens to Rohan. Further, she didn't doubt that many Rohirric men would be returning home with Gondorian women at their sides...several likely with new young families in tow. She also didn't doubt that in the months to come there would be many half-Rohirric babes born in the White City, and possibly a few half-Gondorian babes back in Rohan.

It felt a little strange to think of the attachments that came of war, all somehow the stronger and more precious in the light of so much darkness and loss. Below, one of the healers had come to stand beside Faramir, gently leading him back inside the Houses of Healing after a moment. As he turned he hesitated, looking back over his shoulder to gaze up at Éowyn one final time before disappearing into the building beyond. At her side, a small, pleased smile had bloomed on Éowyn's face.

Reaching over, Hilde took her friend's hand, squeezing it gently as they both looked out over the courtyard.   

A/N: Thanks for reading!

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