Main Characters: Aragorn, Éowyn
Rating: PG
Pairings: Aragorn/Éowyn unrequited
Genre: Romance
Length: 2 chapters
Summary: An alternative interpretation on Aragorn's actions when he leaves Éowyn in Dunharrow (movie-verse)
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Chapter 1
I had a dream this night, a dream that will haunt me even when I am awake, a dream that frightens me both by its content and the part it had me play.
As is the nature of dreams it seemed both timeless and without location. I was cold, frighteningly cold. I reached for my cloak but it was gone, having not been afforded a place in this shadow world. The ice bit through my flesh and into my bones. I looked around for the source of the frozen dementia but, like everything else, the world was grey and littered with evil shadows. How long I stared at the stark vista, I know not. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. Who can tell with dreams?
But I do know that I would have stayed in the awful blank place forever if I hadn't become aware that I was desperately clutching something in my left hand. I was not surprised to find that it was the Evenstar, Arwen's necklace and declaration of her love, everlasting. I had been gripping it so tightly that it had left small indentations in my flesh like some strange kind of branding. I remember that I wondered if this dream had something to do with the vision I had seen of Arwen in the Palantir. She had looked ill, pale, too pale for even the elves. Her hair, usually glistening, was dull and lifeless and framed her face like a wretched mane. My heart had ached at the vision, but I had taken it for what it was - a lie sent by Sauron to deceive me, to break me from my way and destroy my will. I had refused to believe it. And now, I refused to believe my dream that was showing me the same images. I wanted to turn away. I had no desire to see Arwen in distress even if it was just a deceitful vision sent by the lord of the shadows. But, somehow I couldn't turn away, even though all logic screamed that she was safe, long gone to Valinor where I hoped she would spare a thought and a tear for me, and for us, and for what might have been.
But then something happened. Something as unexpected as if Sauron himself had bowed down to my rule. The Evenstar, which I so desperately clutched, slipped from my icy fingers. It smashed into millions of tiny shards of light on the grey stone floor, pieces spinning and slicing through the air as the laws of physics dictated the directions each one was to take. For a moment, I found myself absurdly wondering if it would ever be possible to find all the pieces and repair the pendant. Repair my hope. But then my reverie snapped and I realised what had happened. A wave of guilt flew through me as the dancing crystals settled into a messy heap. The Evenstar, the symbol of hope of the elves, the first and last gift of Arwen Undomiel to the world of men, entrusted to me, was gone, shattered into nothingness in this cold, spectral place. I fell to my knees and, as I hit the ground, I woke up, soaked in a cold sweat, my dagger at the throat of an unfortunate Rohirrim guard. For a second, I was convinced that he was another trick of Sauron's sent to torment me, but, as my head cleared and my eyes became accustomed to the light, I realised that he was nothing but a simple messenger.
The soldier gulped and managed to find the words to tell me that Theoden king had requested my presence. He had left before I could thank him. For a while, I sat on the rude bed that I had been given, my head in my hands. I tried to forget the dream and the vision and everything else, which had terrified me over the last few months to no avail. The visions were so vivid, so real, I could almost lose the point at which reality became nightmare. It was then that I realised that the terrible visions of Arwen was not the only aspect of the dream that disturbed my consciousness, nor was the breaking of the Evenstar. What sent a chill through my bones was the fact that I had done nothing to stop it falling.
I had been perfectly capable of movement; even if I had failed and the pendant had still smashed the attempt would have been made. I hadn't even tried; I had just let it fall. I had let it go, the same way that I had let Arwen go when I left Rivendell the last and final time. I tried not to dwell on these dark thoughts but I couldn't shake the feeling that the dream, despite it cruelty and deceit, was not truly about the breaking of a trinket. Fleetingly, an image of long, blond hair and cold grey eyes appears in my mind. It is gone before it was even there.
I raise a reluctant hand to wear the pendant lies on my breast and find that, while it is still intact, it is as cold as a grave. At first I tell myself that it is because Arwen has finally let go. She has gone to her mother in Valinor and her light no longer shines in Middle Earth. But something deeper and more profound, a small voice that only speaks only the brutal, undeniable truth whispers to me then. It whispers words that I don't want to hear, that I have avoided listening to for too long now.
"Maybe you are the one that has let go."
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Still haunted, I make my way to Theoden's royal tent. I am not surprised to find that the aging king is still fully dressed - an indication that he has not yet slept. It is late, but the people of Rohan have little love of rest. He glances at me briefly as I enter and then inclines his head towards his black clad visitor. As he exits, I am surprised by the withering look he reserves for me. Theoden and I may have never been close as friends but our cause is the same and he has always been one to respect that. I wonder what slight I have made against him, how I have offended the King of the Riddermark.
I have no time to ponder this question. The figure stands and turns towards me, revealing himself to be Elrond, Lord of Rivendell and father to Arwen Undomiel. His face is grave, his eyes troubled. He looks older than any elf has a right to be. He has never been one for smiling but the inner light that he always possessed was quenched.
"I come on behalf of one that I love," he says.
Instinctively, my hand goes to the Evenstar at my breast and Elrond nods.
And then I know. Arwen has not left. She is still here, in Middle Earth waiting for me. Waiting for the man that she has left waiting for decades. She still desires to be my queen, my love. She still desires to forgo the gift of the elves for the bitter gift of men. I know then what I must do and stubbornly I hold on to that knowledge despite the endless visions of the sweet shieldmaiden that bombard me. I cannot allow myself to think of her. I must go back to the place that I existed in before I met Éowyn of Rohan, before I desired Éowyn of Rohan.
When Elrond leaves I know he can see the change in me. He says nothing but I have little doubt that Rivendell will be a place of much pleading and quarreling when he returns. He will tell Arwen to leave and she will beg to be allowed to stay. He loves his daughter and deep in his elvish heart he knows that I will be her death. I should have thought on what he said. I should have thought on the army of the dead, of Arwen, and of my impending kingship, but I don't. Instead I think of her. I think of Éowyn and how her heart will break when she wakes to find me gone in the morrow. I wonder who will comfort her or if she will even let anyone know of my desertion of her. She is strong and I think that I do not yet know her full strength.
I make my way to Brego. For some reason I cannot think of him as Theodred's horse.
He is Éowyn's, as am I.
Chapter 2
I had thought to sneak away, tell no one, leave no word but I am too slow. As I untie Brego I hear footsteps and I know that they are hers. She seems angry, yet I know she is not. She accuses me of abandoning the men, of abandoning the war. She tells me that I cannot leave the men, but she really is asking why I am leaving her.
I know the answer, yet I ask the question anyway.
"Éowyn, why have you come?"
She wavers slightly, as if this was the last question she had expected. I am not surprised. I do know why she is here. There are a million reasons and yet, there is only one.
"Do you not know?" she asks tentatively and I see that it pains her and hurts her pride to do so.
I look at her, she is radiant, undoubtedly the most beautiful creature in Rohan, and I sigh. I sigh for the laughter and the joy on the plains of Rohan, for the passion at Helms Deep, for the look in her eyes in Meduseld.
I know I was wrong now. Wrong to give her hope where there was none. Wrong to seek her out after the battle of Helms Deep. Wrong to feel the relief that I did at seeing her unharmed. Wrong to pull her slender form against me and stroke her hair. Wrong for wanting nothing more than to hold her all night long to make sure that she was safe from both waking, and sleeping, nightmares.
How could I have made so many mistakes, Éowyn? How could I have fed the flames of your desire, our desire, so thoughtlessly, so recklessly? Yet, somehow what I know were mistakes don't feel like mistakes. I can't stop the wave of tenderness and relief and yes, lust, that I feel washing over me when I think of how I held you on the bloodied, filthy steps of the Hornburg. You were dirty and you dress spattered with macabre decorations of orc blood, but to me, you never looked more beautiful, more desirable. Can I honestly say that it was nothing more than elation for a battle won and friends saved? No, not honestly.
I could hide from the truth and pretend it was so, but what about the tension and the anticipation I remember feeling when you approached me bearing the golden cup of kings at Edoras? Your blue dress matched your eyes and your hair glimmered like flames in the firelight. Your beauty was captivating, but it was more than that. Your innocence and determination coupled with a heart as pure and delicate as the symbelmine took my breath away. I wanted to kiss your tiny hands as I brought the cup to my lips but there was no way that I could feign such an accident. Afterwards, I wondered why I hadn't. It seems that I have the reason now. And yet still I am not satisfied, still I would not change anything I have done. I remember watching you sleep in the golden hall of Edoras. You looked peaceful yet your dreams were filled with horror. A great dark wave, you said, a great dark wave that washed over green lands in an inescapable darkness. I wanted to comfort you lady, I wanted to hold you and stroke you hair until a dreamless sleep took you, but I didn't. I could not. Somewhere I knew that old commitments were resurfacing, somehow I knew that I could not let you know of my feelings.
So, my answer is "no" then. I cannot honestly claim that you misinterpreted my actions, I cannot go back in time and change things so that you don't love me…and I you.
So I tell you the only thing that I can tell you, maiden of the Rohirrim, white rose of the north. I tell you that you are wrong, that is a shadow and a thought that you love. That I can never give you what you seek. It is the only lie that I can tell you that you cannot dispute, a lie that tells of one person's perception and leaves no room for debate. It would humble you to have try and explain how you love me. Your pride would never allow it, especially in the face of one who had just cruelly rejected you. And I use that; I use the inborn pride of Éowyn, princess of the Riddermark, to mask my own cowardice. To avoid a conversation that I know I cannot win. A conversation that will lead nowhere but to my declaration of love for you. So I lie. The words are heavy and difficult to form. Deceit has a bitter taste that chokes me and tries to stop my voice from escaping my mouth. But I say them. I damn us and our love to another plain that we will never know. It is a relief to finally get to the only truth I have spoken to you this night. The truth which says that I cannot give you what you seek, not now, not ever.
I can hardly bear to look at her after my words are complete, but I know if I don't that she will see the lie for what it is, so I force my eyes to her face. She recoils from me, and it breaks my heart to see the horror in her eyes. Her trust is gone as is her belief in me and I hope that she will save us both further pain by leaving me. Yet she does not, nor does she turn from me as her tears begin to fall.
I know then that if I can remain strong through this time, this brief moment then there is nothing that Sauron and all the armies in Middle Earth can do to break me. No threat of pain, torture, or death can move me. I feel as if I am invincible and, at the same time, like I am dying. Yet, somehow, even through tears, she remains strong, she remains poised and proud. The tiny droplets are the only outward indication of her breaking heart.
I cannot leave her like this. My will is strong but my love is stronger and I know that even if I defeat Sauron, become king and husband to Arwen, and save all the innocents of this war torn land, I will never forgive my words this night. I touch her face, so beautiful in the moonlight - so indescribably beautiful as if it were carved by the Valar. I want to kiss her, her hands, her cheeks, her lips, but I know if I do, I know that if I were to let myself give into those desires that are buried deep within my heart, I will never be able to turn back.
Éowyn, my lady, it takes a hardened heart to leave you now, but it will take a cold heart, a heart consumed with bitterness and hate to leave you afterwards.
So I content myself with touching you, running my roughened, ranger's hand down your smooth porcelain cheek. Briefly, I consider touching your hair, but I know that would be too much. Too much pain, too much need, too much said and too much left unsaid. My fingertips brush at the wetness of your tears that sparkle in the starlight. It takes a great grief for any shieldmaiden of Rohan to cry and those tears are never shed lightly, never without cause or a breaking heart. And yet, here you are not hiding behind the mantle of a princess or the sword of a warrior. You have thrown your pride and your cage to the shadows, and done what I had feared to do. I know that you think your tears do not move me, I know that you feel you have risked all that you have and to no avail, but, my lady it is not the truth. Therein lies no more truth than that which filled my harsh words to you. It is my hope that you know this, that somewhere beneath your wounded pride and your pain, you will not believe the lie, you will know that I hold you above all others, a high and beautiful thing. Something that I cannot leave in pain and despair, so I try and soften my words.
"I have wished you joy since I first saw you."
For a moment I think she will turn away, that she will leave me standing there, a stone statue in a Dunharrow clearing but she does not. Instead, she lifts her face towards mine.
I am aware of your eyes on me, beautiful blue-grey eyes that glisten with tears unshed and I know that I have lingered too long. I know that already you are seeing through my deceit. I move away from you, too quickly for both of us, and walk to Brego. He stands there silently, although I am sure that if horses could talk he would be cursing me for the pain that I have wrought.
I lead him off without looking back, because I know to look back means I will never turn away again. Not from you, Éowyn. Not from your laughter, your tears, or your love. Already, I can barely face the thought of not seeing you in the morrow, not hearing your voice, not catching a glimpse of your bright hair or your sad eyes. Already, I know that I am lost and I will never be the husband that Arwen needs or desires. Maybe I can make her happy to some degree, maybe I will spend my life trying, but I know that I can never give her my heart fully and completely, not the way that she has given hers to me. Not the way you have given me yours. I love you, Éowyn. I love you more than you will ever know. But it is not meant to be. We are not meant to be.
So I leave for the Paths of the Dead and I hope that you can find some peace my shieldmaiden. I hope that you can etch out a little place of respite from this world. A place where you can be free and roam the plains of Rohan like the wild creature that you are. A place free of pain and terror and shadows, a place that is free of me. I will look for such a place too, a place that is free of you, although I hope not to find it. You are young yet, my lady, young and powerful and beautiful and you will find your path with another. Another who will love you as I cannot, as I will not. And although, the thought of it burns me like some wild poison of Mordor, I can somewhere find it within me, to hope that he is everything I am not. That he can make you forget me and this time that we have shared. That in his arms you will forget mine and in his eyes you see a love that is not tainted and burdened with promises decades old. The thought comforts me as much as it enrages me.
I pass Legolas and Gimli. In the darkness I hope they cannot see my face when I tell them that they cannot come with me this time. They respond as I know they will. I consider making some idle threat about how when I am king, they will be forced to listen to me if they wish to escape the gallows, but I know that the words will come out wrong, all wrong. Already, Legolas' sharp elf eyes are seeking me out, trying to fathom the new burden that has now been laid upon me. If he knows, he says nothing, although he looks towards the clearing from which I have come and what he sees there seems to answer his unspoken questions. We ride in a tense, yet sympathetic, silence and, as I see the great cliffs of the Dwimmorberg looming ahead of me, I know that there is no turning back from the path I have chosen. Even if Arwen were still to leave, something I have little trouble believing she might do, there was no going back for me, or for Éowyn. All the sweet moments reserved for us in this harsh world have been used up.
There was no way to undo the damage that had been done this night. If I could not find it in my heart to forgive myself, Éowyn certainly could not be expected to.
I try to make my peace by telling myself that it was for the best, that being my queen would be trading one of Éowyn's cages for another. That my path is with Arwen as it always has been and always will be. That my life was full before Éowyn and will be full once again now that our love has been laid to rest. The words don't ring true though. Her tears and her pain rings true. The damage I have done rings true. As we ride further and further away from Dunharrow and from Éowyn, I know that I will never be at peace after this night, never truly. In the end there is no way that I can justify my words this night and my actions since I first laid eyes on the golden-haired shieldmaiden of Rohan. They will haunt us both until the day we die. There is no escape and there is no respite, there is only the small contentment that comes with knowing that Arwen's sacrifice and her shattered Evenstar, will not be for nothing.