Inside the infirmary, Halanna was busy with her work, although Nimoë saw that the girl’s shoulders were tense and weary, and her hands shook as she handled the dressings. Crossing to her side, Nimoë asked, “How long has it been since you have rested?”
        Halanna raised her hands in a gesture of ignorance. “I do not remember the last time I slept. There has been so much work to be done. I could not spare the time for myself.”
        “I am here now, and I can take care of things well enough on my own. Won’t you take a few hours of sleep?”
        Halanna’s ash brown eyes looked longingly towards a pile of blankets on the floor. The occupant of that bed had been deemed healthy enough to leave the infirmary, and the blankets were warm and inviting. “Will you promise to wake me if there is anything you need?”
        Nimoë nodded to the diligent girl, so eager to offer her aid. “You have my word.”
        Halanna sent a glance towards her brother and, seeing that he was resting peacefully, she crossed to the empty nest on the floor and curled herself into it, like an infant in its mother’s womb. Soon her chest was rising and falling gently, her breath fluttering the strands of sandy hair, so unusual among the fair Rohirrim, which lay in front of her mouth.
        She looked to Nimoë as innocent as a babe, although surely the ravages of war had ripped away much of her naïveté. Gently, the Elf picked a blanket off of the floor and laid it over the sleeping maid, a silent smile rising to her lips as Halanna’s hand unconsciously gathered the blanket closer around her.
        Nimoë then turned her attention to her charges, and began another round of the men, offering her strength and healing to them, losing some small portion of her own strength, but finding it replaced with the knowledge that what she was doing was needful and worthy.
        Eowyn stepped into the infirmary and spoke quietly, “They have gone. They have passed into the shadows of the Paths of the Dead.”
        Nimoë bowed her head. She had known that it would happen, but the finality of her separation from Legolas was hard to bear. She stood and turned to face Eowyn. The Lady of Gondor was of a height with her, and her golden hair swirled about her, seeming to glow like sunshine. Her face, however, was pale, tight with grief and worry. The passing of the Grey Company clearly affected her deeply, but Nimoë could not guess why. “Thank you for bringing me word,” she said, then turned back to her work.
        “Nimoë,” Eowyn’s voice interrupted her. “May I have speech with you?”
        Surprised, Nimoë nodded her acquiescence. “Come speak to me while I work. What do you wish to know?”
        Eowyn sat down on the side of the cot where Nimoë worked, and took the hand of the man who was lying there, stroking it gently, to ease his discomfort. She took a deep breath and the spoke. “Is it true that you traveled with the Lord Aragorn, and he allowed you to come with him? You are a woman. Why is it that he allowed you to accompany him, but he will not grant that honor to me?”
        Nimoë paused in her work, unsure of how to answer. “When I joined the company of the Fellowship, I was not as you see me now. I was in the guise of a man, and none knew me for what I was until I attacked your brother. After that, there seemed to be little way for Aragorn to be rid of me. The way behind was guarded, and Legolas would not allow me out of his sight.”
        Eowyn replied, “Eomer told me as much, that you were disguised as a man. I did not know then if he was speaking truth, or merely bending my ear with fanciful tales.” She then lowered her voice, and spoke to herself in a thoughtful undertone. “So that is the way of it. It is not possible to ride to war as a woman, but if one is a man, none will think to stop you.”
        Nimoë finished her work and turned to rise. “I think that most of those here will be sufficiently recovered to ride within the next day. There will be some who need more rest, but none of them will die. How soon do you expect the King and his followers?”
        Eowyn also stood and faced the Elf. “They will be here within the day. Shall I send word upon their arrival?”
        Nimoë smiled. “I would dearly love to speak with your brother. I have come to think of him almost as a brother of my own. If he has a moment to spare, ask him if he would come to have speech with me.”
        “As you wish,” replied Eowyn, and then she was gone.

        Many hours passed by in a haze of work and song. Halanna had awoken after taking only a few hours of sleep, and insisted on tending to the less grievously wounded. As they day wore on, several of the Rohirrim were able to stand and walk out of the infirmary under their own power. Nimoë sent them off with strict instructions to eat and sleep, and do little else.
        In fact, there were only two men left who caused her great anxiety. One of them was Henodred. Although his wound was responding to her treatment, and the fever had been greatly reduced, his mind continued to wander, far from the boundaries of reality. Often Nimoë found Halanna glancing surreptitiously his way, clearly concerned that he had not recovered as quickly as many of the others.
        Occasionally, violent shouts came from his corner of the room. Many times he seemed to think that his sister was in danger, and still other times he shouted out for Eomer, who had been his commander. From his mostly incoherent ramblings, the women knew that he believed Eomer to have been killed at the battle of Helm’s Deep. Halanna had tried to speak to him, to reassure him that she was not in danger and that Eomer still lived. They had seen no understanding in him, and Halanna turned away, her eyes swimming with tears that she refused to shed, afraid to agitate Henodred further.
        Nimoë squinted into the deepening twilight, and beckoned to the young maid, who came to her side. “Halanna, we need lanterns. The night falls quickly.”
        “I will go and find some.” The young woman turned to scurry out the door where she ran headlong into a tall, hard body. She bounced back with a cry and would have fallen but for an immediate strong grip upon her arm.
        The voice was deep and potent, and asked with concern, “Are you injured?”
        Before Halanna could muster a reply, Nimoë’s voice cried out, “Eomer! You know not how glad I am to see you.”
        Eomer had not released Halanna, for she had not yet answered his question. She gazed up at his towering form and stuttered, “I... I am fine. I did not mean to trample you, sir. I was just going… to get… lanterns.” Eomer was a great lord, and she found herself overawed to be in his presence. Her feeble explanation made, she freed her arm from his grip and scurried from the room, anxious to be away, humiliated by her inability to formulate a coherent sentence.
        Bemused, Eomer watched after her departing form, then turned to Nimoë. “I cannot say that I am sorry to find you here. The Paths of the Dead are no fitting place for you.”
        Nimoë turned away from him, sorrow upon her. “Legolas followed the Paths, and my heart has gone with him. But there is work for me here.” She gestured at those lying about her. “Most of these men will now be able to ride with you when you go to the aid of Gondor. But there is one who will not respond to my treatment. He thinks you dead, and I fear that it is poisoning his mind. Will you speak to him? I cannot say for certain that he will hear you, but it may ease him to hear your voice.”
        Eomer made a gesture of agreement. “Anything that I can do, I will.”
        Nimoë led him through the dimly lit room to Henodred’s side. Halanna returned with two lanterns, and she came to stand beside them, holding the light high, casting a musky golden glow over his face.
        Eomer knelt at his side, and, recognizing him, spoke his name sadly. “Henodred. So this is the end that you have come to. Lady Nimoë tells me that you believe me to be dead. I ask you, Henodred, if I were dead, could you hear my voice? Could you feel my hand in yours? If you hear me, listen to me closely. I am your commander, and I am giving you an order. You will follow the sound of my voice. Come now to this place and this time. Leave behind you the horrors of the battle. You are young. Too young to have seen what you did. But see it you did, and you must now live with that knowledge. I command you to return. Open your eyes and see me!”
        Slowly, with a gentle flutter, Henodred’s eyelids fell open, and his youthful gaze regarded the three who knelt or stood about him. His voice was strained as he spoke, “Eomer? You are alive? The orcs which passed by me did not trample you beneath their foul feet?”
        Eomer shook his head, understanding now that the youth believe that some lack he perceived in himself had led to the death of his commander. “I am alive and I am well.”
        Henodred looked beyond him then and saw his sister, her face bathed in the glow of the lantern, and he smiled weakly. “Halanna. You have been here with me all along, have you not? I knew it, even though I could not break through to you. You have been a light in my darkness.”
        She gave a choked sob, and bit the back of her knuckles, overwhelmed with relief to hear her brother speak rationally again, to recognize her for who she was. Nimoë stepped aside and Halanna moved forward, setting down the lantern and softly stroking her brother’s hair.
        Nimoë pulled at Eomer’s sleeve. “Come away. Let them have some time alone.” Eomer stepped away, but his glance rested a moment longer on the touching reunion of the youthful siblings. Nimoë led him to a table, which was set against one of the long walls. There they sat, regarding each other seriously.
        Nimoë was the first to speak. “When you ride forth, I wish to come with you. I will have done all that I can here, enough that those who are left behind can finish the job. In Gondor, you will surely have greater need of me.”
        Eomer reached across the table to take her hands in his own. His expression was grave as he spoke. “I have already had this conversation with my sister, and I am loath to have it with you. Eowyn must remain in Dunharrow. The people here have need of a leader, and that is her place. I would ask that you remain with her, to aid her in her work. If we lose the battle in Gondor, you will be the last hope of Rohan. I would that someone of your strength and power were here to provide a last defense.”
        “If the battle in Gondor is lost, then there will be no hope for the rest of us. The battle you ride to is the last defense. I wish to be there.”
        He looked down at his hands sadly. “I am sorry, Nimoë. I cannot bring you with us. You are dear to my heart and I love you as well as Eowyn, but I cannot bring her, or you. There is too much risk.”
        She smiled at him gently, “It seems to me that we have had this conversation once before, with somewhat less than desirable results.”
        Eomer nodded. “Still, I must make this decision. Not only for your safety, but for Dunharrow, should the shadow engulf it. I will not be swayed.” He stood then to depart, for the start in the morning would be early. Nimoë rose with him, silent frustration pulsing through her veins. They walked together to the door, and there he dropped a soft kiss on her brow. “Do not hate me for this, Nimoë,” he spoke, then turned to leave.
        He was stopped short by a gentle voice. “Lord Eomer, I wish to thank you.” He turned back and saw the shy young woman who had collided with him earlier. “Henodred has returned to his right mind, and it is thanks to you. I am in your debt. Although I have little to offer, any price you ask I will pay.”
        Eomer smiled down at her, “Halanna, is it? I ask only one thing of you. Keep your eyes on this lady here. I fear that she will do something rash.” Only partially in jest he continued, “If you will keep her safe from her own sometimes misguided bravery, I will count our score to be even.”
        Halanna bobbed a curtsey to him. “I know not how I can influence the Lady Nimoë, but I will do my best.”
        Eomer looked at her once more, seeming to truly see her for the first time. So serious this one! Truly he did not expect anyone could stop Nimoë if she took it into her head to disobey, but he nodded to her. “I will hold you to it, Halanna.” He turned then and left the two women staring at each other, wondering how what had just transpired had changed the relationship between them.