Main Characters: Aragorn, Éowyn
Rating: PG
Pairings: Aragorn/Éowyn
Genre: Drama/Angst
Length: Short story
Summary: Aragorn says a final goodbye before he leaves for the Black Gate
Elfsheen challenge winner
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"You wait for the dawn, my lady."
She had known he was there even before he spoke. Something in the air had told her that he was there. Somehow she had known he would come to find her before he left, before he fought his way to claim his title. Somehow she had known he would find time for the lost and lonely shieldmaiden with her broken arm and her cold gaze. Somehow she had known he would come to say his final goodbyes to her.
She did not turn towards the sound of his voice. Instead she continued to stare out into the fading night, which barely concealed the carnage that still decorated the ruined Pelennor. The sky was still dark, but she could smell the approach of the new day, creeping across the horizon like a malevolent shadow, which threatened to suffocate the fair lands of Middle-earth. It was a day of death and pain disguised as a thing of beauty, mocking those who watched its approach. It seemed so calm, so peaceful, like any other day, but this day would end in blood, like so many before it.
A gentle morning breeze wafted through her hair, gently lifting the golden river from her small shoulders.
"I wait for the end of all things, my lord," she said eventually, a sad smile on her face.
She heard him walking forward so that he could stand beside her. He smelled of smoke and leather, that undeniably masculine combination she had noticed the first time he had been close to her. A smell that she knew and loved. She noticed that he was not yet dressed for battle. The mantle of the king was obviously still too heavy for his shoulders.
"Do not despair, lady, the war is not over. We are not yet defeated."
She smiled wanly and turned to him - her eyes bright with unshed tears. "No, my lord, we are not defeated, but in my heart I feel as if I am."
Gently he touched her face, running his rough, calloused ranger's hand down her smooth, silky cheek. "Why is that, my love?" he asked quietly, allowing his fingers to trace the outline of her lips.
He thought she would hold his gaze; he would have given his own life to stare into her cool grey eyes even for a moment, but she did not. She turned away, staring once more across the ravaged plain, trying to ignore the first hint of sunlight peeking over the horizon.
She sighed. "Today you leave for Mordor, and I cannot fight by your side, my lord..."
He moved closer to her and placed a hand on her back. "You have proven your valour, lady. You need not cause yourself distress by thinking otherwise. Centuries from now you will still be hailed as a great and courageous warrior."
"It is not valour or courage that distresses me, my lord. I am not so selfish as to think of my own legacy when many more are still bound to die." The bitterness in her voice was almost tangible.
He reached out and put his arms around her shoulders, pulling her against him, allowing his lips to brush her temple. She remained stiff and stoic in his arms.
"I would not ask you to stay," she said softly. "I cannot, for it would impeach your honour to do so. You are a king and a warrior, and it is a title you must bear, whether you will or no."
He stroked her hair gently, allowing the golden strands to fall like gossamer through his big, clumsy fingers. "Have no fear, Éowyn," he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear. "I will return."
She turned in his arms to face him, her grey eyes hard and cold. "I know you will return, my lord. But you will not return to me."
To punctuate her point, she touched the Evenstar, which lay heavy and cold against his breast. Instinctively, he lifted his hand to it. The gem was a burden he had borne longer than he had cared to - the manifestation of wild promises he had made when he was too young to understand them. Promises made in a time when he believed that nothing could be more valuable than the ethereal beauty of Arwen Undómiel, in a time when he did not have the necessary skills or knowledge to know what it was that he did.
"Lady..." he began, but she put a hand to his lips, silencing him.
"You cannot abandon her now," she whispered. "Long has she loved you."
"Aye," he said, averting his eyes for fear she may see the shame in them, "she has."
"You cannot abandon her," she repeated, finally surrendering and putting her head against his chest.
"I cannot abandon you, either," he answered, holding her tighter. "Not now, Éowyn."
"You did once," she whispered into his chest. "You can do it again."
He shook his head, knowing that no matter what happened, neither of them could ever forgive him for his betrayal of her. His cruelty that night at Dunharrow would never be forgotten. But despite the evil words that had fallen from his lips that night, he knew now why he had had to say them, why he had needed to know what it would feel like to hurt her.
"It is because I have done it once that I know I will never be able to do it again," he told her, stroking her hair.
"Yet you must," she whispered, shivering against him in the morning air.
He held her tighter, resting his cheek against her forehead, breathing in the sweet scent of her. She felt warm and soft against him - a comforting and endless refuge that somehow had helped him to find himself. He knew he could not lose her now, could not live a life devoid of the joy she brought him.
"I will not leave you," he said again, softer this time. "I cannot. I love you, Éowyn."
She stiffened in his arms as he said these words. Long had she waited to hear them, but now they seemed tainted, lost and insignificant with the cold Evenstar pressed between their bodies. It was all she desired and yet everything she feared.
"It matters not," she said sadly as she felt a small shiver creep up her spine. "You are bound."
He pulled away from her slightly, just enough so that he could look into her clear grey eyes. "My heart is not bound to her, my love. It never truly was. My heart is yours and has been from the first day I beheld you."
A tear slipped down her pale cheek, and he leant towards her to brush it away with his lips. She did not move, her eyes fixed on the pendant that hung from his neck.
"She is always with you, my lord. Always."
"She is a dream, my love. An unattainable dream that I only ever desired because I could never have it."
"She will fight for you, my lord. She will fight for you. She will not let you go so easily."
"Why do you say this, Éowyn?" he asked.
She smiled up at him, a sad, wan smile that did not reach her eyes. "Because I would fight for you, my lord. If you were mine, I would fight all foes to stand by your side."
He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the rustling of the wind, feeling nothing but the warmth of her lithe form against his. "You already did, lady," he said eventually, "you already did. You need not fight for me again."
And then slowly, he reached behind his neck and undid the small catch of the Evenstar, this beautiful and terrible trinket that stood between him and his heart's deepest desire. It felt hard and heavy in his hands. It was no longer the symbol of love and life he had once believed it to be. It was nothing, just a cold, hard representation of his past failures.
Without thinking, he allowed it to slip through his fingers. It made a loud clanging sound as it hit the ground. For a moment he stared at it where it had fallen, and then he looked back to the princess that he still held in his arms, cradling her slim form against him, breathing in the scent of her hair. And somehow in this moment of truth, her lips found his as she twined her arms around his neck. Her mouth was soft and firm against his own, and he could taste the last salty remnants of her tears.
It was a moment that would not be tarnished by the foulness of Mordor, a moment for them, king of Gondor and princess of Rohan, a moment that allowed no room for old or broken promises.
Soon he would be gone, riding off to Mordor to face countless enemies, but for now they had each other, for now they could hold each other and love each other without words, without empty promises, without thoughts of elvish princesses and broken vows.
Later he would leave to fulfill his destiny, later she would start to heal, and later the fragile bond between them could be shattered and lost. But that was later, and in that moment, dawn somehow seemed a very long way off - and so did the Evenstar as it lay gleaming on the cold ground.