Main Characters: Aragorn, Éowyn
Rating: PG
Pairings: Aragorn/Éowyn
Genre: Drama/Romance
Length: Short story
Summary: Aragorn decides what to do with the time that is given to him
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I. A Warrior's Tears
Warriors do not shed tears easily.
And Aragorn, son of Arathorn, was a warrior.
He learned the lesson early on; warriors cannot shed tears easily. There was too much evil in the world, too much loss, too much pain—tears were saved for the absolute worst moments, those moments when it seemed that all might be lost.
Tears came to his eyes after the Mines of Moria at the loss of his old friend, Gandalf.
Tears came to his eyes at that moment, too, when he turned away from her. Turned away from her after hurting her deliberately because of honor. Turned away from her- tears shimmering in her beautiful eyes and heartbreak in her expression. Honor. Honor, he decided, was a poor comfort when he wanted nothing more in the world than to take her in his arms and tell her he had lied.
Because he had lied saying that he could not give her what she sought. She sought love, she sought equality, a partner, who would respect her strength and provide comfort when she needed it. And he did love her. He did. He was just not free to love her. He loved her and he respected her because he knew of her courage and of her strength, knew of her devotion.
He had lied saying she loved but a shadow and a thought. No, she knew him. Somehow, despite the brevity of time since he'd first seen her at Edoras, she knew him. And he knew her. Somehow, in all the chaos of this war against an evil that perhaps could not be defeated, he recognized a kindred spirit in her. They fought for the same causes, believed in the same world and felt parallel loyalties to friends and country.
But he was not free, bound by a promise he had made years ago. A promise to one whom he loved, yes, but now knew that love for what it was, the love of a boy for the most beautiful girl he'd yet seen and who could not, in his youth, imagine the truer, deeper beauty of a fearless spirit shining in a woman's eyes, the love for one who'd been as a sister to him.
He was bound to his promise and so he had turned away from her.
But tears came to his eyes and he knew that never had it been harder for him to follow the teachings of duty and of honor. Tears came to his eyes and he grieved for the love he would never speak of, the love they would never share and the future they would never have.
He grieved—until recollecting the easier duty, the mission, he had to do.
He was a warrior and tears were a luxury he did not have.
II. Moment of Truth
He looked around at the death and destruction which covered Pelennor Fields. A field of victory—and he reflected yet again how it was that fields of victory looked so much like fields of defeat when battles were over. The same loss, the same tragedy, the same casualties...
A cry, almost inhuman in its expression of pain, was the first sign he had and then the sight of Eomer, running, his face wild with grief until he fell to his knees by a still figure, lifting the figure up.
A figure with long, fair hair, dirt-stained but easily recognizable.
And he knew that never had any battle had a greater cost.
He moved towards Eomer on legs which had suddenly lost their feeling and their strength, his mind blank with denial and horror and the beginnings of an agony which he daren't give way to now.
Éowyn...
He saw her again as she had been at Edoras, so tall and proud and fair; he saw her as she had been after Helm's Deep, the light of joy shining in her eyes; he saw her as he had last seen her, tears shimmering in her eyes... And tears again blurred his vision.
This was what he had wrought, he knew. This was the cost of his duty and his honor—and it was a bitter, bitter thing. That one so young, so fair, so strong, so valiant would be lost—nay, that one so loved would be lost.
So loved—and she would never know now. She had gone into battle believing he did not care—and now she never would know.
At that moment, he knew the price of his honor had been too high. What was it worth against this?
"She lives, my lord!" The words penetrated his bleak despair and he stared.
Gamling had knelt by his fallen lady and bent his head in silent grief and tribute to her courage when he had stiffened and looked up, his voice ringing out. "She lives, my lord! She lives!"
He stood, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to think except to hear those words. She lives...
Gandalf hastened over, bent over her and then looked up, his gaze immediately finding Aragorn's. "Yes, she lives—but she is grievously wounded. She needs a healer; she needs..." He paused meaningfully and then finished, "She needs a king."
She needs a king...
The words seemed to restore him to life.
Hope was not over; this was something he could do, something he must do.
Éowyn needed a king—and though he had not thought beyond the battle, had not planned to reveal his presence to the people of Minas Tirith, that mattered nothing at this moment.
A stretcher was quickly made to bear her still figure to the Houses of Healing in the City and he strode along in its wake, calling to mind all the legends and all the learning from his days in Rivendell and with Gandalf.
The hands of a king are the hands of a healer, they had said. The hands of a king...
For the first time, he felt as if that destiny which he'd forsaken so long ago were a gift. She needed a king—and a king and a healer were what she would have...
If it were in his power, he vowed silently, he would restore her. She was too young, too fair, too courageous to die now—and too dear.
He loved her; he would restore her to health; and he knew, too, at that moment, that not even his promise to Arwen mattered against this love. This life was too short, love too precious, to be sacrificed for his duty.
He remembered the words he had heard Gandalf say more than once: all we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.
And it was only now that he knew how true it was and he decided.
He chose love.
III. Promise of Love
The world faded away; he did not see the face of Eomer, ravaged by grief and by worry, nor the wiser, graver one of Gandalf. All he knew, all his thoughts were focused on her whom he loved. At that moment, there was nothing else.
He knelt by her still form, one hand grasping her cold one, his other hand drifting over her face in a gentle caress.
His eyes were fixed on her face as he called upon all the powers the Valar had granted him in his birthright as true king of Men. What grace is given me, I give to her... Grant her healing, restore her strength... Such was his silent prayer.
"Awake, Éowyn, Lady of Rohan," he said softly. "The battle is over and you have prevailed. Awake, Éowyn..."
In silence he added, please, Éowyn, my love. You must awake, return to me. You are so strong, so true; you cannot be defeated like this. You must not give up like this. Awake, my shield-maiden, my lady... My heart.
And then he felt it, the slight wisp of breath against his hand, a tremor of life returning to her form...
He bowed his head and for the second time in as many days, felt the tears he shed so rarely well up in his eyes, but they were tears of thankfulness now.
She had responded to his plea and would recover...
---
He had not seen her since his last visit to the Houses of Healing- when she had been sleeping but healing and regaining her strength. Her skin had once more been tinged with color and life, no more the ghastly grey it had been.
They were to leave in the morning for what all knew would be the final battle in this war. Whatever happened- for good or ill- would happen on the morrow when all of Middle Earth challenged the countless hordes of Sauron's forces.
It was to be their last stand, the last final sacrifice they could make- to give Frodo his chance.
The hope of Middle-earth rested on Frodo and Sam.
He had been overseeing the preparations for the city's defenses in the absence of the army, had been meeting with the commanders, with Eomer and with Legolas and Gimli and Gandalf. He had been overseeing the men as they armed themselves with the grim determination of those who knew that this was their last chance, on which they were risking their lives.
But in all this, he thought of her.
And now, on this last evening, he had to see her.
She was standing silently looking out over the city, watching as it made ready—and his breath caught in his throat at her beauty. And as it had been since the first moment he had seen her, standing there on Edoras, he felt drawn to her- as if his heart and soul recognized its partner. How could he ever have thought he could deny this that burned so brightly within him?
"Éowyn," he said softly.
She turned to face him, standing tall and proud. "My lord," she murmured.
His heart twisted inside him at the mask on her face, her feelings hidden behind the barrier of pride which she'd built around herself—because of him and what he'd said to her that night at Dunharrow.
He drew closer to her, one hand going to her cheek to gently lift her face until her eyes met his, letting her see the truth of his feelings in his eyes.
So they stood for a long moment, her eyes searching his and filling with tears- of happiness, this time- at what she saw there.
He let his hand drop from where his fingers rested on her cheek—and then felt her hand slip into his, a silent gesture of understanding and acceptance and love.
"You are leaving tomorrow," she finally said.
"Yes. We can only give Frodo this one chance, to distract Sauron's attention." He spoke quietly, knowing she understood.
She sighed, her gaze returning to gaze out on Pelennor Fields, once more restored to its usual peace. "I wish I could accompany you."
"You must remain here so the people have someone to look to. And in case the battle tomorrow should go ill..."
"Do not say that," she interrupted, but without heat. "I understand."
They were silent again; he could almost feel the short time he had left to spend with her slipping past them.
"Éowyn," he finally said with a slight sigh, "I know I have no right to ask this, on the eve of battle, when everything is uncertain, but I want you to know... I do love you, would spend the rest of my days with you." He met her eyes and added with a sort of solemn, tender smile, "This is, and always has been, more than a shadow and a thought."
She returned his smile. "You know I will wait for you... My lord and my healer." She paused and added in something like a whisper, "My love."
He drew her close, his eyes closing, his lips meeting hers in a tender kiss, affirming their words in a silent bond.
He thought of Gandalf's wise words again: all we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us...
And looking into her shining, beautiful, steadfast eyes, he knew that now and for the rest of whatever time on this earth would be granted to him, he chose her—Éowyn, his shieldmaiden and his love.