Author's Note: I apologize for the late update, but this chapter just did not work out the way I wanted it too, so I had to rewrite, rewrite and rewrite. Sort of a continuation from the last chapter, but can stand alone as well. So read, review and enjoy.

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and it's universe, and any recognizable characters mentioned, are not mine. They belong to Professor Tolkien.

The first time Eowyn wept after she became Queen of Gondor, was when the men of Gondor returned to the White City, considerably lesser in numbers.

She stood waiting at the gates; praying, hoping that not too many would be sacrificed. She wasn't that naïve to think that no man would fall, but still, when the men came back, nearly halved in their numbers, she wept.

She wept seeing the bodies of the dead-the few that they could find- being carried home, seeing their wives and daughters and sons wail in despair at the loss of fathers and husbands and sons. She did not care that she was in the middle of the pathways of the gate, that everyone could see her sorrow and anger. The people stared, having never before seen their White Lady weep with such pride and melancholy, with her fair hair whipping about in the wind and staring blankly at the carts bearing the dead.

At the end of the solemn march, Aragorn wearily trotted up, removing the heavy weight of his crown as he did. His forehead crinkled up to see his wife standing there, despondent, unmoving. Dismounting, he reached for her and pulled her shaking frame in his arms, holding her tightly. He had not seen his brave wife break down ever; not since his harsh parting of her at Dunharrow.

Eowyn clung to him, held onto him as a wayward ship holds on to the light in the dark; mourning the loss of Gondor's proud sons. Aragorn, hearing her heart-broken sniffles, held her even closer as he gently stroked her fair hair and murmured soft whisperings into her ear; calming her, bringing her back from the midst of the storm of her grief.

Aware of the people gawking unabashedly at their monarchs, Aragorn swiftly tugged his wife up onto faithful Brego, who neighed and nosed his master's love with concern in his big, brown eyes. Eowyn let out a soft laugh and softly stroked his velvety muzzle, muttering a quick thank you to the noble horse. Swinging up behind her, Aragorn turned Brego back out of the gates and once more they galloped across the green wide plains that lay between Minas Tirith and her sister cities.

Burying her face in the coarse, thick mane of Brego, Eowyn tried to block out the sight of the bodies and the women and children who mourned the brief candle of life that out with but a blow. She did not see where they were heading towards, nor did she care. All she knew was that her husband was here, with her and he would pull her through this, just like always.

Finally they stopped in the middle of nowhere. Birds were trilling and flitting from tree to tree as if welcoming the King and Queen to their home. Slowly, Aragorn helped a still shaking Eowyn down to the ground, catching her as she stumbled slightly and slipped a firm hand around her waist. He smiled as he caressed the little bump that was the only evidence of his wife's pregnancy, kissing the top of her golden head as he helped her sit on the lush, rich earth.

Eowyn sighed, leaning against her husband's strong, broad chest as she curled her feet beneath her. It had been a long time since she felt the grass beneath her bare feet. She loved Minas Tirith and Gondor; it was her home now, but she still missed the carefree ways of living the Rohirrim practiced. Glancing up at his rugged face, she fondly traced the worry lines that had been present on his forehead since the news that Rohan was being attacked by orcs reached them.

He leaned tiredly into the comforting touch of his wife and lightly kissed her palm as he caught her small hand in his own. Brushing the stray tears that were still stubbornly caught in her beautiful grey eyes, he gently tugged her trembling body closer to his and tenderly combed through her hair. 'It is all right my love, let it all out, for none but the birds and the silent wood guardians shall bear witness to the tears that you weep today for our people.'

Safely enclosed in Aragorn's larger frame and away from the prying eyes and gleeful whispers; oh how she detested those womenfolk who foolishly thought that their common-born daughters would be more worthy of the King, the White Lady of Rohan and Gondor finally broke down completely. The strong barriers that she erected to conceal her grief were tore down at that moment by the insistent pounding of Death's cruel taunts and shouts of victory as He claimed the lives of brave men; their brave men. She shook and sobbed and mourned as she held on tightly to the safe harbor in the storm that was her husband.

Her salty tears soaked Aragorn's bloodstained and travel worn tunic until no tears would rush down her pale cheeks anymore. Neither spoke a word, for there was no need to as Aragorn silently bore his heartbroken wife through her storm of grief. Eventually, Eowyn cried no longer and as she slowly sat up and stared into the weary gaze of her husband, she realized that perhaps she was not the only one in need of comfort.

Gently gripping his beloved face in her hands, she kissed him. 'I am sorry, my love. In my haze of despair, I selfishly ignored that you as their King too mourn their loss.' Kissing him once more to silence the protest she knew was on his lips, she hugged him, burying her head in the crook of his neck, not minding at all the sweat and dirt and grime that covered his skin still. 'Let me be your rock now, love, as you grieve for their lost lives.'

Closing his eyes, Aragorn thickly swallowed the tears that threatened to burst forth from its cracked dam. He pulled Eowyn back a little and gazed into those clear, strong grey eyes that mesmerized him even when he saw her the first time standing at the top of Meduseld, calling to him, daring him to be entangled in the wildness that was her. Finally letting go, Aragorn lost himself in the comfort of Eowyn's soft, caressing touches as he shed the burden of leading his men to their deaths, and of being the dreaded messenger of death to their widows and children and parents.

For a long time, which could have easily been minutes or hours, as the blue sky started to blush prettily with a lovely rosy pink hue, the two legendary heroes of Middle Earth held each other close as they rocked through waves of despair and grief, with the birds of the wild staring rather curiously at them.

And though it was time for Aragorn and Eowyn, King and Queen of Gondor to straighten their clothes and hair and crown and retain their dignity and composure as they returned to their duties, and though this time, they would be the ones to give comfort to their mourning people, both felt infinitely warmer as they rode slowly back to the White City, fingers intertwined lightly as they gently touched and danced around each other.

And in the end, it was just another normal day in the lives of the beloved monarchs of Gondor.