Author's Note: This story is from the movie, not the book, and takes place the same day that the people of Rohan (along with Legolas and Gimli) reached Helm's Deep. When I watched the movie, it looked as if Aragorn did not arrive until the next day (in one scene it looked like the sun was setting). I got to thinking about how Legolas and Eowyn had taken Aragorn supposed death, and thus, this story was born. It will be at least two chapters, or possibly three, in length.

This is my first Lord of the Rings fanfic, so all feedback is greatly appreciated. Please, take a second to leave a review, or you can email me at [email protected]. Thanks!

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He could not sleep.

The cold, stone walls closed in about him, surrounding and smothering him. The pressure increased until he felt as if the entire Keep was crushing his shoulders, stealing the breath that remained in his body.

Sitting up on his blanket, he glanced around him, but even his keen elven eyes could see naught but vague shapes in the darkness. The inky, cold blackness stalked his mind, creeping closer and closer – a living, breathing presence that threatened to strike at any moment. Without meaning to, his mind flashed back to another dark place – one that still haunted his sleep and preyed upon his waking mind – Moria. The thought of that place was enough to try his very soul and cause his lithe body to shiver once, violently. Gandalf had been lost there but had, by the grace of the Valar, been returned to them, even more powerful than before. Gandalf's death had been a staggering blow, one which had not eased until he had seen the wizard's glowing white figure deep inside Fangorn Forest.

But now, his heart bled freely, a deep, agonizing grief that filled his soul.

Aragorn, the brother of his heart, his closest friend…was gone, vanishing off the edge of a steep cliff and falling into the swiftly flowing river below. And even though a part of him still denied the truth of what had happened, clinging stubbornly to the hope that his friend still lived, another more logical part could admit that this hope was folly. It was one thing for Gandalf to return to life, but Aragorn…He knew from painful experience the Ranger's mortality. There was little chance that Isildur's heir would return from this.

No! he cried silently, grief threatening to overwhelm his mind. He is not dead – only delayed a while! There is yet hope!

The walls inched even closer, the frigid darkness stretching out its icy fingers, ready to snatch him and hold him there, a prisoner for all time. Finally, the shadows grew too much. I can take this no longer! he thought desperately and, staggering to his feet in fear, he stumbled his way around the human figures on the floor. Reaching the large double door to the Courtyard, his trembling fingers scrambled for purchase on the smooth wood, his breath coming in small gasps…

And then he was out, staring up into the bright starry heavens, frantically breathing in the crisp, cold mountain air, trying to settle both his racing mind and pounding heart.

How long he stood there, mesmerized by the light of the moon and the stars, he did not know. The bright starlight shined down from above – reassuring, constant, healing. For a few brief moments, it filled his soul with peace and allowed him to forget the tragedies that had haunted his footsteps. Once he had calmed down, he closed his eyes and let himself drift into the world between sleep and wakefulness where he could let his weary body rest and yet keep his mind aware.

A strange dripping sound disturbed him sometime later, bringing him out of his trance. What is that? he wondered, thoroughly puzzled by the alien sound. He listened intently while his sharp eyes searched the pale moonlit area around him. After a few seconds, he was able to pinpoint the location, and following the sound, he rounded the corner of the Courtyard to find a small, hidden alcove wedged between the stones of the Keep and the mountain face behind it. It appeared to be a secret place known only to a select few for the stones on which he lightly stepped were rough, not yet worn smooth by the heavy feet of man. It was in this hidden place that he found the source of the strange noise.

The Lady Eowyn.

She stood silent and still, a light cloak thrown about her slender figure, fingers clutching it close about her. And although he was yet twenty feet away in shadow, he could see that she was weeping. The small dripping sound he had heard was that of her tears falling onto the stone floor.

He stood there, hesitant, uncertain of what, if anything, he should do. Although he had lived for nearly 3,000 years, he had rarely encountered this form of physical grief – for Elves rarely cried. They preferred to vocalize their mourning, to create laments that bespoke their emotional pain while at the same time celebrating the life of the one that had died. He had lived a sheltered life, spending all of his time in Mirkwood, Rivendell, and the paths in between in the company of other elves. The only exception to that had been his friendship with Aragorn, whom he had first met in Rivendell.

I wish Aragorn were here, he thought forlornly. He would know how to handle this situation. He waited for a few more minutes watching the crystalline tears flow down the beautiful human's pale face like the morning dew that drips off a shaken white lily. At last, he came to a decision. Aragorn is not here but I am. Perhaps, I can offer a few words of comfort and ease her burden a little.

"My Lady?" he called softly, stepping into the alcove slowly as not to alarm the young Rohirrim woman. Aragorn had spoken of her skill with a blade, and he had no intention of receiving a knife or sword wound out of his own stupidity by startling the King's niece.

"Master Elf!" she gasped, taking a hasty step backwards and trying to dash away her remaining tears. "What are you doing awake? You should be resting," she added in a more controlled voice.

"As should you, my Lady," he reminded her gently, coming to stand a few feet from her. Leaning back against the stones of the Keep, he continued. "Elves do not require as much rest as men do. We sleep when we feel the need." He cringed inside as the partial lie slid from his lips. Yes, he was tired – exhausted even – but that did not mean that he could sleep. I will find no sleep this night, he thought sadly.

She frowned. "And do you not now feel that after such a day as this?" she spoke, her voice as cold and brittle as ice.

He blinked at the coldness he felt emanating from the woman before him. "This has been a trying day for all," he said simply, avoiding the question entirely by using the well-known Elvish trick. He looked down at her face, seeing the tear marks that marred the pale skin, and felt a surge of pity for this woman who chose to mourn away from her people. "You need not weep alone."

She turned her head angrily towards him, her flowing blond hair snapping loudly in the silence of the night. "With whom shall I weep then?" she replied, eyes flashing dangerously.

Her abrupt anger took him by surprise, and he was once more reminded of how little he truly knew about humans and their customs. "With your family….those you hold close," he added to clarify his meaning.

"My family?" she repeated bitterly. "My mother and father are long dead. My only brother is hundreds of leagues away hunting orcs, ignorant of the fact that his banishment has been lifted. My cousin, perhaps? But no, Theodred is dead and buried these last few days. And what of Theoden King, my uncle? He is closeted with his advisers, attempting to turn back the heavy tide that has already been set into motion." She twisted away, and the anger vanished from her as quickly as it had appeared. Bowing her head in defeat, she pulled her cloak tighter to ward off the chilly night air. "No, Master Elf. I have no one. I am alone."

The sadness in her voice filled him with pity, and he searched his mind for some words that might provide some measure of comfort. "There are others nearby who weep as well. Grief – " He swallowed the lump that came suddenly to his throat. "Grief fades in time, my Lady, although right now that seems impossible. But you must trust to hope when naught else is left."

"There is no hope in the Mark. It is forbidden," came the reply in a hopeless tone.

He frowned at her words, a disturbing echo of her brother, Eomer's. They had been his final words when they had parted several days earlier. It was troubling to hear them spoken once again in so short a span of time.

Silence stood between them for a few long moments as he stared out into the night. Even though his head was turned to look out over the whole of Helm's Deep, he still saw her tears begin to fall out of the corner of his eye. Softly, he asked, "For whom do you weep, my Lady?" He felt there was something else bothering her for the pain that now radiated from her was nearly as strong as that from a physical wound.

She hesitated briefly before answering. "I weep for all who have fallen in the Mark."

"That is a worthy thing. But for all as a whole? Is there not a name to go with your tears?" He watched her face carefully in the pale moonlight and was rewarded by the sight of her eyes widening.

"I – I weep for Theodred first," she began softly, her head still bowed. "He was a brave and noble man, yet also kind. Another brother he was to me. Long have I lived with the King and his son at Edoras and can hardly remember any other home. As a child, Theodred would play with my brother and I to keep us from sorrowing, as children are wont to do. He first taught me how to hold a sword and how to fight and yet would hold me as I cried childish tears." She brushed away her tears with a trembling hand. "He was ambushed by orcs only days before you arrived. Eomer brought him back to Meduseld gravely wounded." She closed her eyes. "In the end, there was nothing I could do but try to ease his passing. I…I held him…as he breathed his last."

She took a deep, steadying breath before she went on. "I weep for Hama, the most loyal of all the King's guards. He alone felt something was amiss and would bespeak my cousin, brother, and I about matters. He could do nothing to challenge Wormtongue for the snake's power and influence was too great. But in the end, he helped save the King by allowing Gandalf to carry his staff inside the Golden Hall despite his orders, thereby forever proving his worth. For that he will always be remembered – a strong and loyal guard whose wise deeds shall be known for centuries."

Legolas nodded, bringing his right hand up to his chest in an Elven salute, one that few mortals had ever earned. He remembered well the guard of whom she spoke; unbidden, the memory of his violent death sprang to mind. There were times that he cursed his excellent hearing, and this was one of those times for the sound of the man's agonized screams and the wet crunching of his bones would remain in his mind forever. He had moved swiftly but had crested the top of the hill too late to save Hama, though he had saved Gamling. The thought helped a little, but not much.

Eowyn raised her head and glanced back towards the Keep, her expression filled with sadness and the grim knowledge of that which she spoke. "I weep also for Hallas, son of Hama, who has seen only twelve years in the world. To loose one's father at such a tender age…It will leave a mark on him, invisible to the human eye yet obvious to those who truly see." She sighed deeply and shifted her gaze back to the Deep, although he could see that her eyes were unfocused, a faraway expression clouding their brown depths. "When this war is over, there will be no children left in the Mark. Their innocence will be destroyed – if not their very lives. It is a dark future that we await – one of violence and death. If the future King could not escape it, how then can we?" she asked, finally meeting his eyes, her own filled once more with tears and a terrible longing never to be fulfilled.

And in that moment, he finally understood the truth of the matter – the name of the person for whom she wept so brokenly, all alone in the dark night, away from all who would see her helpless tears and offer comfort. He spoke the words in a whisper without realizing it, "You weep for Aragorn as well, do you not, my Lady?"

TBC…