A Time to Never Come
Eowyn stood out on the balcony of the room, or home, that she shared with Faramir. It was made of white stone, and she looked out at the city of Gondor bathed in the night. Her nightdress was colored similarly to the stone, and as the wind gently brushed at it she resembled a phantom.
And she was a phantom. She hadn't been here for a day, not a one.
She looked up to where she knew the King's quarters to be.
No, she was a phantom.
She sighed, hugging herself, and she looked up at the twinkling stars.
Up there in the heavens was an infinity that reflected an emptiness inside of her, the unmistakable scar of a love that couldn't be.
She reached out and she gripped the railing lightly, and she thought about the dreams that always came to her mind on clear, warm spring nights such as this one. Eowyn knew that it could never be, but she couldn't help but reminisce of every moment that she had been blessed with, every grain from time that she had been allowed to remember that had him in it.
Her gold hair fell past her face, and she sighed longingly, her lips forming a name: Aragorn.
He had been called to a purpose, and it had been decided millennia before either had entered existence. His path had led away from what she felt should have been. He had been called home by the clear ringing trumpets of Gondor and of destiny.
But still she thought of what might have been. She was a phantom, clinging to the Earth for the warmth of a body that she would never feel, for words to be said from a mouth that couldn't speak them.
She looked up again where she knew he would be.
And he knew that she was down here.
But their worlds would likely never cross again: it had been a fleeting moment now long gone. But it was a moment that was longer than any other; it had been a moment that she would never forget.
The white tree was in bloom.
She blinked sadly, her pale features expressing a longing that she feared would never be filled.
She had once feared a cage, of dying without a purpose.
She wasn't afraid anymore.
She was a phantom.
Eowyn looked back at Faramir lying on the bed, his locks splayed around his handsome face, and she smiled at him.
Eowyn looked back out at the city of Gondor, at the white tree, at the heavens, and finally she looked at where she knew Aragorn to be. She could imagine his face; she could imagine him being content with his life, with his wife.
She looked back again at her husband, and this time her smile was a loving one, not a wistful one.
Eowyn laid a delicate hand on her stomach, and her smile turned even warmer, her blue eyes glowing radiantly.
Some things never could be, even if they had once seemed as if they should. Eowyn could accept that now. She would never forget the Ranger that she had loved, but she would never neglect the Captain that had thawed winter's chill.
Eowyn walked back to the bed, the hand still on her stomach: Aragorn had been called to govern the race of men, but she heeded another sweet call.