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    Summary

    She is split open, in two, because she loves Aragorn plenty but she might love Éowyn better. The memories rise up her chest like smoke. She’s so eager to please this woman that she came all this way. This woman, here, this sweet human who was born human and will always be human, and seems to be so unaware of her own mortality, what with how at forty years and some change she still throws herself in the back of horses and practices clanging swords like her body is still just as lithe and limber as it was back in the flower of her youth.

    *

    “Oh, no,” said Arwen, dropping Hadhafang and coming close immediately, cupping Éowyn’s cheeks and examining the injury. “Are you okay?”

    Éowyn laughed. “It doesn’t even hurt,” she said.

    “Would you like me to make the pain go away?”

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