Author's Note: So, another AU fic that explores Eowyn and Aragorn's wedded life. Do read and review, though not flames please. Constructive criticism is very much welcome. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of The Rings, nor any of the characters mentioned, nor any aspect of Middle Earth, including Minas Tirith and her people. They belong to Professor Tolkien.

She lay on the bed, golden hair spread out, thinking.

That was how he found her when he came in; silent, pensive, beautiful.

Changing into his night clothes, he crept quietly into their bed. Pulling her closer to him, he buried his nose in her soft, silky hair, deeply breathing in her scent, that scent that was so uniquely her; Eowyn.

For a long time, the both of them just lay there, feeling the warmth of each other. Just as she thought he had fallen asleep, his soft, deep voice filled the room, 'What are you thinking of?'

She stayed silent, and he waited.

Gently rubbing her soft, small fingers against his; longer, coarser, beautiful, she thought, she turned over to face him, her face framed in the silvery glow of the moon.

He stared, mesmerized. His beautiful wife, although very much human, suddenly seemed like a wood nymph, or even a siren in that moment, calling him into her arms.

She smiled, playing with a lock of dark hair that fell into his eyes. 'Do you love me?'

Hid eyes widened in surprise. 'Eowyn..I..' She sat up, a white strap of her nightgown falling to her shoulders, and he was immediately drawn to the milky flesh bared.

In one swift movement -instantly he was reminded that she once was a shieldmaiden-, she straddled him and leaned into him. Eyes shining, she kissed him on the cheek, near his mouth, repeating her question. 'Do you love me?'

He sat up against the headboard of their bed, pulling her up against him, closer. 'Of course I do,' he breathed, 'I would not have wed you if I did not.' Kissed her, gently.

He felt her laugh into his warm, open mouth. She pulled back, still smiling. 'But had she not left, would you have still wed me?'

He flinched, her smile turned sad. Pressing a soft kiss to his now frowning mouth; strange how a kiss can seem so sad, he thought, she climbed off him and went to stand on their balcony.

He stayed lying on the bed, not going after her. How could he, when he could not even answer a simple question that he thought, thought he had the answer to a long time ago. Did he love her? The answer came easily to that first question. He did love her. But would he have loved her, wed her if she had not left?

Arwen. He had not thought of her for a long time. Not since he pledged himself to Eowyn instead. He had dreamed of her, loved her for decades that seemed like an eternity, and yet she chose to leave. He had dreamt of her sleeping by him, waking up to her legendary beauty every morning. He had dreamt of their children, dark haired, strong, powerful. He had dreamt of their wedded life every day; it was the one thing that gave him hope in his reluctant journey to become King. It was the one thing that kept him alive.

He loved her, but did she love him? She claimed that she would give up her immortality for him, and he loved her, revered her for that. But she did nothing when Elrond forbade their union before he was crowned king. He loved her, but who did she love? Him, or only the king?

He looked out to the balcony, saw his wife, his sweet, wild, untamed wife, standing there barefoot, shivering in her thin nightgown. Eowyn loved him, loved him even before she knew he would be king, loved him even as he stepped into the halls of Meduseld disheveled, dirty and bedraggled. He knew that were he the lowliest peasant in all of Middle Earth, she would love him still.

Aragorn got up, walked to her side. Reaching out, he pulled her to him, swept her small, delicate form, so deceptively weak, into his arms and carried her back to their bed. Cradling her in his strong arms, he kissed away her salty tears.

'Eowyn, my Eowyn, I love you.' He rocked her gently, murmuring his love for her as she wept, wept for all the pain she bore knowing her beloved husband loved her, and another as well. She wept knowing that even if his heart would never belong to her, she would love him still; love him till the end of her days.

Finally, her tears run out, Eowyn lay silent in her husband's embrace, golden hair blocking her face as she stared down. He felt a stab of pain seeing how he had single-handedly reduced his fierce, brave wife into a crying, scared and wounded girl. Gently, he took her face in his hands and tilted her chin up. 'Eowyn, look at me.'

Slowly, as if she feared to see the rejection she was certain she would see in Aragorn's eyes, she finally raised her blood shot grey eyes to look at him, and even then with her hair all tangled up and wild and her eyes swelled from the tears, Aragorn still thought she was the most beautiful creature he ever set his eyes upon.

Tracing her soft lips, he softly kissed her. 'I love you, and you alone. Yes, I loved her, and had I not married you I would wed her in a heartbeat. But,' he placed a finger to stop her from speaking, 'But then I met a wonderful woman who was so brave and beautiful and perfect that I fell in love with her instead. She loved me for who I am, loved me for being in the wilds and loved me for being a king. I also realized how blind I was, longing for someone who I was never really in love with. I revered Arwen, placed her on too high a pedestal for me to truly love who she really was. And she loved me because I would be king. In the end, we were never meant to be.' Eowyn stared, hope and the fear of being let down again clear in her eyes.

Lightly resting his head against hers, he breathed in deeply, trying to make her understand. 'Do you not believe me, my love? Do you truly believe that I love you less?' He looked up, desperate. 'Would you not forgive me?'

Eowyn closed her eyes, tears that she thought were long dried up once more slipping through, 'I already have Aragorn. I already have, long before you realized.'

Minutes passed, then hours, and the night sky slowly turned to dawn. The people of Minas Tirith were awakening and going on living their lives, not knowing how their queen wept in the arms of their king, not knowing how silent tears streamed down their stoic king's face as he held his love in his arms, finally, at peace.