Chapter 2

I sat at the head of a long oak table, which groaned under the weight of the culinary delights prepared in my honour. Arwen sat at my side, eating little, the perfect lady. My people are truly celebrating, taking full advantage of the free food and beverages. I tried to smile; I tried to keep up appearances. The people should not see their king looking downcast so soon after being named. But it is difficult. It is difficult to smile when inside your heart has turned to ash, when you have lost any will to carry on. Éowyn, I now know your pain, I know your anguish. I know what it feels like to be caged in a prison of someone else's making.

My anguish was complete when a familiar voice caught my attention. I looked over to where Merry and Pippin were dancing on a rickety table, which looked ready to be overturned at any moment. As usual the two of them were singing some bawdy song about pretty girls and pipeweed. People clamoured around them, laughing and clapping, and, in the crowd, I caught a glimpse of shining blond hair.

I had not seen Éowyn since the coronation. I think that somehow she had been adroitly avoiding Arwen and myself. Faramir had also been conspicuous by his absence. I had thought that they had already left as neither had fully recovered from the wounds they had sustained. But there she was, in all her resplendent glory, standing amongst a group of soldiers, Faramir close at her side. She looked radiant, more beautiful than I had ever seen her look before. She had changed her clothes from her heavy gold coronation gown and she was now wearing the same beautiful white dress she had worn that fateful night at Dunharrow. She was listening intently while one of the soldiers gave an account of destroying one of the Mumaks on the Pellenor. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but suddenly Éowyn broke out in peals of laughter. The men laughed with her and Faramir used the moment as an excuse to put his hand on her shoulder. She looked at him, and, for a second, I thought that she would move away. Instead, she smiled and turned her attention back to the men.

She fitted in so well. She looked so at peace with them, as if she had known them all her life. And the men, they seemed to accept her so completely. Not at all how I would have thought they would react to a woman in their midst. I think many were struck by her loveliness, but more so, they respected her. They respected her as one of them, the wild shieldmaiden from the north, the princess who had disguised herself as a man and rode into battle with no thought of the danger to herself. And, despite everything, despite her small stature, her lack of battle-hardened experience, she slew the Witch-King, first and foremost servant of Sauron, something no man could have done. This was a woman to be revered, this was a woman to be venerated above all, and there she stood, one of the boys, and they all loved her for it.

I wanted to go to her. I would have but I was loath to leave my bride alone. I turned to ask Arwen if she would care to accompany me, but my attention was drawn back to Merry and Pippin whose song had increased in volume and bawdiness, exponentially. To my surprise I saw Faramir aiding Éowyn to climb up onto the table next to them. Merry took her free hand and, together, the three of them finished the song. Much clapping and laughing followed and, as Pip is wont to do, he began dancing a little jig, thumping his feet loudly on the wood.

It was bound to happen. The table was already rickety and Pip's jumping was too much for it to bear. The wood splintered and crashed, and the table tumbled to one side. For a moment I thought that Éowyn would fall, I even began to stand, hoping that somehow the laws of physics would not prevail and that I would get to her in time, but, just as she began to topple, strong arms grabbed her and pulled her away from the fractured wood. She threw her head back and laughed, her golden hair cascading around her as Faramir swung her around. He was smiling, his face flushed with the type of joy that only love could bring. I ached at the sight of his hands on her waist, her arms entwined around his neck. I had not known that I could harbour such intense jealousy, especially for one who would be so close to me. My own steward, the man who I was to rely on for almost everything. How could I feel such animosity towards him? How could I covet what he most wanted, especially when it could have been mine?

They were both still smiling as he lowered her to the floor, when suddenly the mood changed. Even from my distant position, I could see it. One minute the only emotion was happiness, the most intense joy and the next it was undercut by something else, something far deeper, something less tangible and far more important. They stared into each other's eyes in a moment that seemed to last for eternity and then, slowly, uncertainly, Faramir bent down and brushed his lips briefly against hers. When he drew away, she smiled and touched his cheek. She was almost glowing, she looked so happy.

I had seen this. I had seen Faramir's attentions towards her, but I had thought that it would take some time. I had thought that she would be hesitant to move forward. I had thought there was still time.

Oh Éowyn, my love, when did this happen? When did you fall from me? When did I fall from grace in your sights?

Was it when I stood before the Black Gates of Mordor believing you to be safe in my city? Did you and Faramir stare out across the ruin of the Pellenor, clasping hands as those seeking comfort in the times of the greatest darkness and distress, do? Was it before then? Did you somehow meet Faramir when you rode with the Rohirrim? Before Denethor burned? Did he lie in the Houses of Healing thinking of the beautiful shieldmaiden fighting for king and country on that harsh, unforgiving plain? Was it he wishing he could be there, not for his country, but to protect you? Did he see what I should have seen?

Or was it before then that I lost you? Decades before? Before you even took your first sweet breath in this world? Before your mother held you to her breast? Before your father even saw the beauty that was his daughter? Was it before then? Before Theodwyn and Eomund had even met? Before the creation of Éowyn was even a thought? Was it then, Éowyn? Was it when I made reckless promises to a woman who can never know that she does not love as I do? That she can never live and laugh and love as a human? Was it then, when I was so awestruck by the ethereal beauty of the elves that I lost you? When I was young and headstrong and didn't know that you were to become a part of my life?

But no, I cannot blame Arwen for my loss, nor Faramir. My loss is his gain - and such a loss it is.

I know when I lost you, my love. It was not on the Pellenor, nor at Cerin Amroth. It was not in the Houses of Healing, nor at my coronation on the pinnacle of Minas Tirith.

I lost you when you came to me that night. The night when I left you grieving and ashamed at the camp of Dunharrow. That night, when you came to me, in innocence and love and begged for the plight of your men, your people. I lost you then. My words were cruel and my mind was set on some unattainable goal. You were not taken from me Éowyn, I sent you away. I told you lies when you only gave me truth.

It was a shadow and a thought I said. Did I really say those words? I can barely believe it now. I cannot believe that they came from my mouth, intended for your ears. I told you it was not real love you felt for me. I dismissed your feelings as if they were those of a young maid, not yet in full bloom. I was wrong.

What of my feelings? Were they not touched with the impetuousness and immaturity of youth? My endless declarations of love for one I had just met? For one whose enchantment lay in her beauty and her grace and not her soul? How could I dismiss you, my love? How could I lose you in that one terrible moment? How could I be so cruel? So callous? So untouched by your words? I lost you then, Éowyn, in the moonlight, before the mountain of the dead. I lost your bright eyes, your golden hair, your radiant smile. I lost the touch of your small rough hands, your body pressed close to mine on the stairs of Helms Deep. I lost the beautiful sound of your rich, clear voice, the hard defiance of your stance. I lost everything that night, everything because of a few foolish words. Was that when Faramir's happiness set in stone? The same night that mine was washed away in the currents of the Anduin? Did my future become cold and grey no matter what I did thereafter?

As cold as the exquisite woman who sits by my side, as grey as evil mountains of Mordor? I look to Arwen, she is every bit a queen. She has waited for this for thousands of years, she has lived even longer and still, still she knows nothing of life and love. She has spoken to no one all night, save Gandalf and Frodo. The people do not approach her. They seem fearful, as if she is some otherworldly being that they will never fully comprehend. She will always be a queen to them, never a friend. She will spend her days wandering the halls of Minas Tirith, never finding what it is that her heart seeks. I will be all to her, for she will never allow anything else close to her. The people will know her through me and, I fear, that they will not like her.

My worries were confirmed when a serving girl, bearing a plate of delicacies, approached my table. Curtseying low, she held it out to Arwen. For a second, it seemed as if Arwen was considering, but she dismissed the girl with a brief wave of her hand. No kind word left her lips, no smile graced her beautiful features. The girl scuttled away quickly and I could see relief written across her face.

It was then that Arwen looked towards me. For me she smiled sweetly and once again her beauty took my breath away.

"Estel?" she asked, using my royal name.

I smiled, "Yes, my love?"

"Estel, who is that woman over there?" she gestured towards Éowyn, who was, once again, sharing war stories with some of my soldiers.

I was taken aback by her question. She had not shown any interest in any of the humans so far. Guilt choked my voice, "That is Éowyn of Rohan, princess of the Mark and sister daughter to King Théoden," I paused and considered, "sister to King Éomer."

She nodded slowly, as if absorbing the information, "Ah, so this is she then. Word has it that she destroyed the king of the ringwraiths," she looked to me again, "Is it true Estel? Did she destroy the Witch King?"

"Yes, my lady. She rode from Dunharrow with the Rohirrim, disguised as man and, in trying to save the life of her uncle, she destroyed the lord of the Nazgul and his fell beast," I hoped that the admiration in my voice was not too obvious.

Arwen was looking at Éowyn again and I wondered what was going through her mind. She seemed to be coldly assessing the shieldmaiden of Rohan, as if slowly adding up her worth according to some mysterious formula.

"Why, I wonder," she said startling me, "why would a princess - shieldmaiden or no - take up arms on a battlefield?"

Guilt consumed me. I knew the question that Arwen was asking was one of practicality. She didn't truly want to know why Éowyn had done what she had. In truth she was asking why anyone would want to leave a life of comforts and luxury when they did not need to. She did not know that Éowyn, bereft of any hope or trust, ashamed and frustrated at her plight, had gone into battle because of me. Because of my harsh, unforgiving words, because she thought I had died and she did not wish to waste away like her mother. She had gone for love, for hope, for glory and for defiance of everything she had ever been told. How could Arwen ever understand that? How could she ever know the passion and the pain of Éowyn?

"She was trained as a shieldmaiden of Rohan," I answered, "she could not face a fate where she would be caged, lost under the harsh rule of Mordor."

Arwen looked at me directly, meeting my eyes with a piercing stare. "You know much about her, this Éowyn."

It was not an accusation but there was an audible catch in her words, a catch that belied her true feelings. I took her fingers; they were small and soft and felt strange in my big calloused hands.

"I spent much time in Rohan when we fought for Helms Deep. Éowyn and I became... friends." I squeezed her fingers slightly.

"Friends?" Arwen raised an eyebrow at me, but there was good humour in her eyes.

"She spent many moons fighting off unwelcome attentions from a spy of Saruman." Somehow it felt wrong to be telling Arwen of Wormtongue and his lust for Éowyn, so I quickly changed the course of my words, "she never really had anyone that she could talk to and, I think, that she saw me as a confidant."

"Well, it seems she may have a new confidant now," Arwen countered, gesturing towards Faramir, "that soldier seems very interested in your lady of Rohan."

I nodded. "That soldier is my steward, my lady. His name is Faramir, brother to Boromir."

Her lips formed a perfect O as understanding dawned on her, "he is a noble man then."

"Yes," I agreed, "he is a noble man."

"Her joy is assured then," she said, smiling, "as is ours."

She stood up, surprising me, "I must go, Estel. I am tired and the party too raucous."

I rose and took her arm, "Of course, my lady. Should I show you to your chamber?"

She waved me off, "No, my love, that could lead to unsavoury rumours winging their way around the city. One of the servants will show me. Bid goodnight to my father should you see him. Tomorrow, my king."

With that she placed a chaste kiss on my cheek and left the hall. For a moment I felt at a loss. I felt deeply saddened for Arwen. She did not realise the magnitude of her choice, the consequences of her actions. She would never fit in here, here in the world of men. It was through no fault of her own. She, like all the other elves, with the possible, although not probable, exception of Legolas, could only see the weaknesses of man and the superiority of the elves. She had been raised her entire life for this. She could have no other future.

I brooded on these dark thoughts for a while longer and would have stayed so for most of the night had I not heard Pippin's voice telling some outrageous tale about how he and Merry had bested a cave troll in Moria, while Legolas, Gimli, and myself ran in fear of our lives. Looking to Pippin, I saw that Éowyn was still there and, unconscious of my actions, I found myself walking towards the group. As I approached the men immediately took a few steps back to make room for me, a hush descending upon them.

"Please," I said, "stand on no ceremony here. I am the same man who fought by your side, I am the same man who has wandered for decades in the wilderness with only the clothes on my back and the sword in my hand."

For a second, they seemed uncertain, as if they thought I was testing them and then, to my surprise, Éowyn broke the silence.

"Westu Hal, Aragorn," she inclined her head towards me.

"My lady," I answered and a moment passed between us. I'm ashamed to say that I was the first to look away. I couldn't help but remember our last encounter, her tears, her pain. She seemed embarrassed and looked towards Faramir as if hoping he would somehow save the flagging conversation. Masterfully, he did.

"Aragorn," he said as if he were testing my name and his right to use it, "could you please tell us how you managed to pass through the Dwimmoberg unscathed. There have been many rumours flying around, including one about you being a necromancer."

"Necromancer?" I laughed, "Nay, Faramir. I am no necromancer. I am simply the heir to Isildur."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gandalf approach our huddle. I continued in a loud voice, "For such silly trickery and party favours, I would ask the men to talk with Mithrander."

Gandalf gave me a good-natured scowl and I heard Éowyn laughing merrily at my words. I smiled; it had been a long time since I had made her laugh.

"Perhaps, your newly crowned king would like to give you a tally of his exploits," Gandalf said positioning himself between myself and Éowyn, "As I recall, making inspired speeches and scowling were the top two."

Our friendly banter continued and I felt a tangible thawing of the crowd. Soon, I hoped, they would see me as one of their own again, the way they saw Éowyn, despite her royal lineage, the way they saw Faramir. And Eru knows that Arwen and I need the acceptance, Arwen especially, as her status was dependent on how well the people needed me.

I heard many interesting stories that night. Some, mostly those from Pippin, I am sure were more than an extension of truth. I too heard about the bravery of my men, the courage of the women, I heard how many fell and how many still lived, how many children were orphans and how many wives were widows. I heard of the madness of Denethor, the courage and fortitude of Faramir, the bravery of Éomer and Théoden. I heard again of the wild shieldmaiden who slew the Witch King as if he were nothing more than an insect in her path.

How long we stood there, I know not. The number in our group waxed and waned until there were few of us left. Many of the soldiers had gone to find their wives and lovers, others had simply gone home and, eventually, it was only myself, Faramir, Éowyn, and Gandalf who remained. I could see that my presence made Éowyn uncomfortable, but I was willing to sacrifice her comfort to be near her, even if it was only once before I became husband to Arwen Undómiel.

Chapter 3

I approached her finally on the balcony of Minas Tirith. My heart hammered in my throat and my palms felt clammy to the touch. She was waiting for Faramir to walk her back to her quarters, but the steward had been called away to tend to some of his father's affairs. I had offered to take his place but he had declined saying that my job would be hard enough without having to worry about the mess that Denethor had made of Gondor before my return. I was grateful for this and I was also grateful for Faramir. He would be a good steward, probably a better king than I, and his counsel would be invaluable to me.

As I stepped towards her, Gandalf took my arm. "It is too late, Aragorn," he said in a low voice. "Leave her be."

I turned to him. I hadn't realised how old he had been looking. Soon he would take the boats to The Grey Havens where his life would be renewed.

"I must, Gandalf," I said. "I cannot leave things as they are."

"She is young, Aragorn. Her broken heart will mend. She will find joy in Faramir. She may not think so yet, she may believe that her life is destined for shadows and loneliness, but it will pass. The blood of Eorl, of Rohan, is strong." My wise friend's eyes were kind and bright, and I knew that he spoke the truth. "Do not wake something that has already been laid to rest."

"She is so pale," I said, "like a glimmer of light. She is grieving, Gandalf."

"This too will pass, Aragorn. She is far stronger than you give her credit for. Do not leave her forever wondering what could have been. Do not make your choice her burden," the old wizard looked towards the night sky.

"I do not love Arwen, Gandalf. I do not love her as I should."

"Love? Whoever said anything about love? Kingdoms are not built on love, Aragorn, kingdoms are built on alliances and integrity."

"So, I must forever walk in the shadow of a love that could never bloom. I must watch her from afar, never having that which I most desire." I knew I sounded like a child.

"That is the fate of kings, Aragorn. That is the choice that you made and now you must live by it." He looked at Éowyn, who was staring out across the city. I knew that she must hate it here. So cold, so stark, nothing wild and free.

"She has been through much, Aragorn. She lost both her parents. When her father was killed, her mother died of grief with no thought to the fate of her children." I felt a shiver run through me and prayed that my future children would never experience such loss. "Théoden seemed like the answer for her and Éomer, but all it served to do was put her through years of torture under Wormtongue. To this day no one has any idea of what she went through. She is cagey and quiet about it and, at times, I feared the worst. It will be a secret that she will most likely take to her grave. But I fear that she will never escape the shadow of Grima and will always see him lurking in the darkest corners of night."

He took a swallow of ale and looked back at me. His words were frightening. I had not thought of Grima in a long while and I had never thought of the extent of his obsession with Éowyn. Only now did I realise the possibilities and it made me cold.

"The banishment of Éomer and the death of Théodred, her last wall of protection. The loss of Théoden and, finally, the loss of you. What more do you think she deserves?" He put his tankard on a nearby table and made to leave. "Do not go to her unless you have something to offer, Aragorn. Her days of suffering should be over."

I watched him leave. His words had the unpleasant bite of truth to them. I would do nothing more than cause her pain, dredge up old memories that she would rather forget. I should have left her; if I had maybe I could have gone on with my life as she has. I could have made myself a true husband to Arwen, I could have tried to move on. But I didn't. I needed her more than I needed anything else. If I did not go to her I could never have forgiven myself.

"My lady?" I said.

She turned to me. She looked like a goddess in the gentle moonlight. Fair and cold as she had when I had first seen her. Lovelier than the light and more dazzling than the stars.

"May I join you?" I asked.

"Of course, my lord," she smiled, "It is your castle and therefore your balcony also."

"This is true, my lady, but I do not ask permission to stand on my balcony, I ask permission to disrupt your solitude."

She looked at me and I realised that I had disrupted her solitude a long while before.

"Of course," she said, "I would welcome the company."

I walked to the railing. The city was quiet and at peace and suddenly, I realised, I did not know what to say to her. My words, which had seemed so real in my mind caught in my throat and were lost in the night. The silence deepened between us and I realised that Éowyn was waiting for me to speak.

"Are you well, my lady?" I asked, "Is your arm healing as it should?"

"Why yes, thank you, my lord. It pains me sometimes but the healers tell me that it means it is mending," she glanced at me briefly, "I never thanked you, Aragorn... for saving me."

"It was the least I could do," I answered. "You fought for me after I swore no harm would come to you."

"It was my own fault," she answered wryly.

"No, Éowyn," I answered, "none of this was your fault. Nothing that happened could ever be your fault."

She sensed the hidden meaning in my words and a strange expression crossed her face. For a second, it seemed that she was looking for an exit, a path that led anywhere but close to me. I would have let her go if that had been her choice. I could hardly bear to be so near to her, yet so far away. But she stayed and her words surprised me.

"Where is the lady Arwen?" she asked.

I was taken aback that she would even make mention of Arwen, but had wits enough to answer her. "She retired to her chambers," I answered. "She is not used to noise and raucous parties."

"She is lovely," Éowyn mused, "more beautiful than anyone I have ever seen. It is easy to see why you love her."

I was about to answer that Arwen's looks had little to do with my feelings for her until I realised that lie that sat on my tongue. If not her beauty then what? I had promised myself to Arwen knowing little more about her. Éowyn was right, even though she did not know.

"Yes, she is lovely," though nowhere near as lovely as you, I added silently.

"It is a big sacrifice that she has made," she whispered.

I nodded and suddenly, I could stand this no more. I turned to her. "Éowyn?"

"My lord?"

"Éowyn, I have no right to ask you this. I have no right after the things I have said and done but I must know, I must know if there is a place in your heart, which does not despise me for what I have done. For the words I have said?" my heart was beating so loudly that I was sure she could hear it.

"Despise you?" she said, "why would I despise you, my lord? You have done nothing to earn my hate."

"I was cruel. I pretended that your feelings were irrelevant..."

"But they were, my lord. They were irrelevant. How was I to know that you were already promised? How was I to know that I was competing with the beauty and grace of the elves?" her eyes flashed with passion.

"You were not competing, Éowyn."

"It matters not," she said, the bitterness in her voice belying her words, "our paths are separate."

And suddenly, I could not stand her sadness. I took her hand and was reminded of how right it felt to touch her. "That is not so, my lady. I would not want separate lives for us. I would not want you to forget our time together."

Slowly, she removed her hand from mine, "I could never forget our time together, my lord. Never, not until the end of my days when I am old and feeble. I will always remember the ranger who freed me from my cage."

"And I will not forget you my wild shieldmaiden of the north, you will forever be in my heart."

She looked up at me and understanding passed over her face. Briefly, I saw a glow of happiness, a shred of hope clinging with all its might to an impossible dream and then it was gone, forever lost as she realised that her love, our love, would remain eternally unrequited.

"You lied to me," she said softly. I did not need to ask her what she spoke about. I knew she referred to Dunharrow.

Somewhere I heard Gandalf's voice. Do not wake something that has already been laid to rest.

"It was a dream, Éowyn," I said kindly, "it was a dream that could never become a reality."

"Yet, it was still a lie."

The hope that had shone in her eyes was too much. I now understood what Gandalf had said, I now understood why I could never tell her of my passion, my love for her. I could no more damn her to the eternal hell of loving me than I could drive a knife through her heart.

"There was no lie in telling you that I cannot give you what you seek." Her face clouded. "You are a shieldmaiden of Rohan, a wild princess of the north, I would suppress you, I would cage you," I tried but the words were all wrong.

She turned away from me, a gentle breeze rustled through her hair. "I never wanted to be this free," she whispered, so softly I could barely hear her.

Nor I, my lady, nor I.

I went to her and took her hands again in my own. My heart broke and I hoped that she could not hear me choke on my words.

"There is great joy before you, Éowyn. Do not dwell on what might have been," as I will for the rest of my life, but these words I did not say.

She touched my cheek softly, "soon that place in your heart of which you spoke will too be a memory."

"Nay, Éowyn," I brought her hand to my mouth and kissed her cold fingers, "you will always be in my heart, my brave shieldmaiden of Rohan, my best friend."

And also my love, forever my hearts deepest desire the last thing I think of at night, the first thing I think of in the morning.

To my wife I give my duty, to you I give everything else.

A tear rolled down her pale cheeks and I knew that I would not be able to comfort her. The inevitable irony of a man who can motivate a ragtag group of untried boys and old men to fight against thousands and thousands of uruk-hai but who has no idea how to comfort the woman he loves.

She looked away in the direction that Faramir had gone.

"Faramir is a good man," I said, the words poison in my mouth.

"Yes," she smiled sadly, "a very good man with a good heart."

There was so much left unsaid. I cursed myself for not listening to Gandalf's wisdom. I had made things worse, as he said I would. I had not solved anything. Her feelings were hidden from me and she was unsure of mine. She must move on, she must leave what we had behind.

"Will you marry him?" I forced myself to ask the question although I had no desire to hear the answer.

She nodded slowly, "It is too soon yet to say but I think in time, should he ask, then yes, I would marry him."

I sighed. I had seen this already. My white lady of Rohan, my white rose of the north, sitting at my table, another man at her side. Knowing that she was so close yet so incredibly far away. Untouchable. I would watch her grow big with a child that is not mine, but that I would treat as such. I would watch her grow old, her loveliness fade. I would watch her husband sharing intimate moments with her. I would watch how they spoke of things, personal things of which I would have no ken. I would watch their private jokes, their moments of worry and fear, their moments of great joy. They would share these moments with each other and never again would I have any link to her. Never again would we make our own memories, share our own experiences.

We would watch each other across my table, both raging at the love we cannot share, both trembling at each other's proximity, but there can be no release. In time, after I have seen you with Faramir for long enough, I will begin to doubt your feelings as you will doubt mine. I will think that you have put me behind you and that even if you were free you would choose Faramir over me. Maybe you would. In my more understanding moments, I will be happy for you. I have hope for you but, as always, I keep none for myself. You will think that I love Arwen, you will be right. I will love her, I will spend my whole life trying to love her as best I can, but my lady, my shieldmaiden, my fierce warrior of the Rohirrim, I will never love her as I love you. She can never be to me what you are. I will love you until the end of my days and then I can only pray that then I will be granted that which my heart desires. But, in the meantime, I will have to find a way to fill the emptiness in my life.

Sighing inwardly, I forced a smile. "Then I wish you joy, my lady," I said, "more joy than you have ever known."

"And I you, my lord. May the Valar smile upon you and give you great blessings."

They already did, my love. They already did when they brought you into my life. It was then that I received the greatest blessing; it was then that they showed their grace.

"Thank you, Éowyn."

I went to her, knowing that I shouldn't, and took her in my arms. I held her tightly, clinging to the warmth that I would never feel again. Her arms were strong around my neck, her body soft and sweet against mine. I buried my face in her beautiful, silky hair and breathed in its scent for the last time.

And in that brief moment that I held her close, I knew more passion than I had known in a lifetime and with that passion came the certain, painful knowledge that there would never be another moment like this. I knew that I would never hold her again. I would never feel her gentle caresses, her feverish kisses against my skin, her body trembling beneath mine. I would never take her as a man takes a woman. We would never share the sweetest embrace of all. Her cries of love would never be for me. I am doomed to never being able to reach for her, her warmth, her comfort, in the dark hours of night. I am doomed to the slow and sad life of a king.

The thought was almost too much to bear, the pain too intense. My arms tightened around her briefly and then I pulled away slightly, just enough to see her face, her eyes, her lips. For a second, I thought I would kiss her, just once, just to know the unknowable for a small moment in time. Before I knew what I was doing I began to lower my mouth to hers.

Do not wake something that has already been laid to rest.

I stopped, knowing that I could not do this to her, knowing that I could not throw caution to the wind for this one exquisite moment of perfection.

"My lord?" she asked, "Aragorn?"

Oh Éowyn, there is so much I want to tell you, so much that you should know. But I knew that I could not tell her what lay in my heart. This is one hurt from which I can spare you. The last chance that I have not to fail you.

"Faramir is waiting, my lady." I had just seen the steward step into the hall, engrossed in a conversation with one of the Gondorian captains. He did not see us, a small mercy, for which I was grateful.

"Yes, my lord," she smiled, sadness touching her features, her beauty tangible in the moonlight.

I kissed her then, but not on her sweet lips as I so deeply desired. Instead, I pressed my mouth to her smooth forehead and ran my hand through her hair for the last time. Then I pulled away for the last time taking her hands in my own.

"Go to him," I whispered, "he has not had much cheer in his life."

She hesitated, "Are you sure, my lord?"

No, I am not sure, my love. I am not sure that I can take the pain of losing you.

I smiled. "Yes, my lady, I am sure." I brought her hands to my lips and kissed her cold fingers. She stared at me for a moment that seemed like eternity and then, inclining her head towards me, she withdrew her hands from mine and left the balcony, the moonlight still lingering in her hair.

As her footfalls sounded on the wooden floors, I saw Faramir turn to her. His face lit up and he held his hand out for her to take, murmuring a word of dismissal to the captain. The man departed, quick as a shadow, but neither if them noticed.

She took his outstretched hand, squeezing it briefly, and allowed him to slip an arm around her waist. Together - as they would be from now on - they walked towards the great wooden door that marked the exit of the hall. As Faramir pulled at the bronze handle to allow her to pass through, Éowyn, white lady of Rohan, soon of Ithilien, turned to look back, across the empty hall, at me, one final time. Her face was passive, unreadable, and yet I could feel the concern emanating off her. I thought, for a moment, that she might return to me, but she only lowered her eyes, her beautiful, stormy grey eyes, and allowed Faramir, steward of Gondor, to lead her away.

From my moonlit balcony, I watched her, my love, my lady, my queen, walk away out of my hall, and out of my broken life forever.