It had not been an easy afternoon. After telling Éowyn and Merry that he would be joining dinner, Aragorn had seated himself in Frodo's room, replenishing the athelas, but mostly staring into the distance, arrested by his thoughts.

The pit in Aragorn's stomach had not abated since his clandestine meeting with Faramir. In fact, it had gotten far worse, because he knew what awaited him that evening.

The truth awaits you, he thought, it will free you from the binds of their sorrow.

Aragorn had repeated those words to himself but they never quite sunk in. Faramir's forgiveness had taken some of the sharpness of his pain away, so much so that he'd even started letting himself give in to the connection he now felt to the young Steward. The connection was soothing, and he knew there would be times that he would actively seek their bond out. And Faramir's command of the first council meeting had solidified it for him: he would ask Faramir to stay Steward. Faramir would not refuse him, but he hoped he could make the young man see his own genius in the role. Two Rangers coming in from the wild to run a country.

But when Aragorn thought on Faramir, his mind now lingered also on Éowyn. Her sorrow haunted him, but there she was, walking out of the shadows she'd left in his soul, glowing with warmth and love. In all her memories, he had not seen who she was, only who she was afraid she would be. He had not seen her ruling Rohan while taking care of her uncle and fighting off Wormtongue. He had not seen her steadfast determination, so strong it destroyed a Wraith. He had not seen the love she so clearly glowed with when she looked at Faramir. He too had not seen her humor in those shadow dreams. A woman not intimidated by a King, even a King who nearly broke her, and would wear a spoon on her nose even as everyone else removed them. He wanted to know Éowyn too, he wanted to speak to her, to tell her the depth of his despair over what his indifference had done to her. He wanted her to feel his contrition. He wanted her to understand that his days of underestimating her were over, and she would be as much a part of his circle of advisors as her brother and Steward were. But first, they had to overcome his violation, however unintentional it had been.

Aragorn had already decided that he would rather tell Merry first, before dinner, so that at least he could properly apologize once. He had no doubt that Faramir would make sure Éowyn knew, so that she walked into that dinner emotionally prepared for the confrontation that had to be had.

"Merry?" Aragorn stepped back into Sam's room, "can I have a private word with you, in the garden?"

Merry looked puzzled, but intense, and nodded. As the little Hobbit followed Aragorn through the House of Healing, he tried to imagine the words he would speak. He needed to convey it all, that he had invaded Merry's thoughts, that Merry's own light had warmed the chill from saving Éowyn. Before he had even composed his first sentence, he found himself on the east-facing wall, Merry looking up at him.

"What is it Strider?" the innocence in Merry's voice belied something else. Aragorn could feel protectiveness and challenge in him.

"When I drew you from the shadow, I… I experienced your sorrows as if they were my own," Aragorn said, having decided direct was the best way to start, "I… didn't know that it would happen. I'm sorry for not telling you Merry."

Merry's eyes held steady, without surprise. Aragorn could feel his understanding. Had Faramir told the Hobbit as well?

"Thank you for telling me Strider." Merry turned his head from Aragorn then, looking out toward the mountains, "Please don't tell Pip… how much it hurt. When the Uruks had me. Don't tell him… how much I… wished for death."

Aragorn could feel a tear forming in his eye. Merry, having found out that he had seen his thoughts, requested that others not feel more pain.

"I wouldn't dream of it Merry," Aragorn put his hand on the Hobbit's shoulder.

Suddenly, he felt Merry twitch.

"When you say all our sorrows, you speak of Faramir, me, and Éowyn, do you not?" Merry's eyes were back on Aragorn, studying him.

Aragorn sighed, "I do."

"Have you told them as well?"

Aragorn took his hand off of Merry's shoulder. He had hoped that the Hobbit would not inquire.

"Faramir confronted me this morning. There's a text… that explains the process." Aragorn felt ashamed admitting this, ashamed that he himself had not told them the moment that he was back from the host and able. This should not have been a secret allowed to fester.

"Did you know what would happen when you drew us from the shadows?" asked Merry

"Not when I drew Faramir forth. But after that, yes. Even knowing beforehand, still I would have done it," Aragorn replied. He would never apologize for saving their lives.

"So you know all of our sorrows?" Merry was pressing for something.

"I believe so, though only if we sat and talked long would I know for certain," Aragorn replied. What was Merry trying to understand?

"So that must mean… you know what hurt you caused Éowyn." Merry's statement was final.

Aragorn shuddered. He could feel the little Hobbit's pain. Merry knew about his indifference. Éowyn had shared her pain with him in the House of Healing.

"Yes." Aragorn could say no more. He was spent. And yet he knew this was likely going to be the easiest of his conversations.

"I still don't understand what caused you to do it," Merry was pained as he said it, "I thought that you were different, able to see what was under the surface, in people's hearts."

"I didn't trust her words," Aragorn finally said, "And I didn't trust her heart."

"You sure were a fool Strider," Merry agreed, "She has a good heart, and she found the love she deserves. So stop beating yourself up and apologize."

Aragorn kneeled and gave the little Hobbit a hug. Merry did not hug him back. It saddened him.

"I needs must get back to my kinsman and Sam," Merry coughed, "Thank you for saving my life Strider. See you at dinner."

With that, the Hobbit turned away and Aragorn was left on the eastward wall. Alone. Merry's response wasn't all he had hoped for, but it gave him cause to hope. Merry was more upset over his treatment of Éowyn than he seemed to be over the shared secrets. Aragorn let himself exhale, and stood, looking out over the plains. The same plains that would become his to rule, whether Arwen came or no. Aragorn could feel his own despair seep to the surface. He became a King so he could be with her, and he did not yet know if she would come.

Word had reached Gondor that Rivendell had been attacked by Moria and Mount Gundabad Orcs, along with Lothlórien and the Woodland Realm, and he knew that they were victorious. Arwen was unscathed in the conflict, further to Aragorn's relief. But would she come? It was almost ridiculous that he had spent most of his adult life on a quest for the purpose of claiming a woman. It left claiming his birthright hollow, as if a consolation compared to winning her. He was not even sure he wanted the birthright, but at least he was sure of his love for Arwen.

Aragorn's thoughts then snapped back to the present, to Gondor. There was nothing he could do that had not already been done to bring Arwen to him. The decision now laid with her. All he could do was look at what was ahead of him. What he would become to this Kingdom. There were but four weeks before his fate was sealed. Four weeks to become the ruling King in a time of peace. He could start by making amends for the hurts he caused; to start the process of healing.

Aragorn sighed and headed back down through the city. He found his way into his favorite garden. It was enclosed, but had a view of the Pelennor fields. The Dol Amroth party had made it to the lower gates, laden with both supplies for his coronation, as well as with Imrahil's ecstatic children. Aragorn smiled. There was at least one family that had not been decimated by the cost of war. But that was not entirely true: the Amroth children had lost their uncle Denethor and their cousin Boromir.

Aragorn remembered Boromir's confession in those final moments, that he had tried to take the ring. He remembered the grief on Boromir's face. And he remembered comforting the man and helping ease his passing. Boromir had called him his King in that moment too, and Aragorn let the tears come to his eyes. Here he was, pining for the Elven maiden when a man pledged his allegiance to him while dying in his arms. Once he chose to be King, Gondor's fate fell on his shoulders. He had chosen that responsibility, whether or not Arwen was by his side.

Aragorn sat for most of the rest of the afternoon in that small quiet garden, thinking. He thought of Frodo and Sam. He thought of the machinations of Gandalf, Galadriel and Elrond, and of playing his part in the grand game of defeating Sauron. He thought of his Rangers, the men and women who put their lives on the line to assure the safety of old Arnor's inhabitants. He thought of Faramir. A Steward before his time with wisdom far surpassing his age. He thought of Merry, fighting quietly from the back of an Uruk, then overcoming his fear and attacking the Witch-King. He thought of Éowyn then too, standing up and laughing in the face of Fear, then slaying a foe beyond the skill of any man. Weak she is not, Aragorn thought. Underestimating her was a mistake he would never make again.

The sun was setting, and bathed the mountains in its golden light. It was now time to face them. To share their sorrows together, openly. And to hope that he could make amends with the one he hurt the most. Aragorn squared his shoulders, took one last longing glimpse at the garden, and headed toward the Steward's House. Aragorn let his feet drag and he took in the city around him as he walked. His city. A city that pledged itself to him the moment news that the King had returned reached its ears. Tonight he would take the first step to be worthy of that city, of Gondor, of Arnor, by recognizing his mistakes with those he had harmed, and hopefully building trust with them. He knew in his heart that both Faramir and Éowyn would be integral to rebuilding this land in the wake of the new Dawn, and he wanted their partnership to be that of trusted friends, not that of a King and subjects.

Time to enkindle that trust, Aragorn thought as the Steward's House came into view. Aragorn stopped. Just a few more strides and he was there. Was he ready? It didn't matter. He would be ready. One last breath and Aragorn completed his journey, then knocked on the door. He could hear footsteps, then the door opened and he faced Faramir. Faramir's face was pale, but composed. He nodded, and Aragorn followed him in. In the sitting room, Aragorn saw Merry, who looked gravely at him. A chess board sat in front of the Hobbit, its pieces showed that he and Faramir were in the middle of a game. Faramir then stopped.

"She's in the garden," Faramir looked intensely at him, "We will wait."

Faramir then turned and sat down in the chair across from Merry without another word. He picked up a chess piece and moved it. Aragorn swallowed. This was a house where he was not King, but instead merely a man, asking for forgiveness. Aragorn then looked out into the Steward's garden, and willed his feet forward.

She was sitting on a small bench, her back to him, reading. But the tension in her muscles told Aragorn she had heard him. Now that he had seen her, he did not know what to do next. Did he walk up to her and beg her forgiveness? Did he wait until she acknowledged him? He compromised, he closed the distance between them, then sat on the ground across from her. Éowyn laid her book in her lap, then looked him directly in the eyes. Her face remained still but her eyes betrayed her fury, and her despair.

"Éowyn, I-" Aragorn started, then realized he had no idea what to say, "I… didn't know."

"What, my Lord?" Éowyn's face was still placid, but her words were sharp.

He didn't know that he would live their worst memories over and over. He didn't know that those memories would possess him and rob him of sleep. He didn't know that the careless words he directed at Éowyn would carry such deep pain. He hadn't known that the mercy and strength she showed was beyond what he himself possessed. He didn't know that seeing Éowyn, feeling the elation in her from being set free by him would cause him to retreat into callousness, afraid somehow her affection would taint the purity of his quest for Arwen.

"That I brought so much hurt," Aragorn's answer was succinct, but he hoped covered all.

"I did not know how deep your refusal to see what was in front of you ran, Lord Aragorn," her words were coldly formal.

Aragorn could sense her misery, and as she felt it, so did he. Their connection was getting deeper, and it would drag both of them into the shadowy abyss. Aragorn had to do something.

"Please Éowyn, call me Aragorn," it was a start, "I didn't know that I would experience your worst memories when I drew you from the Shadow."

"You think that this pain and hurt is because you inadvertently lived our torments Aragorn?" Éowyn let out a mirthless laugh, but then she sighed warily, "All of us understand why you healed us, even after becoming aware of the great consequence. And we all would have made the same decision. We may feel violated, but your actions gave us our lives. That much is forgiven."

"But the hurt to you runs much deeper…" Aragorn finished Éowyn's thought.

"I can't bring myself to understand…" a tear was forming in Éowyn's eye, "why you thought I deserved to be treated with such scorn. What I had done..."

"Nothing…" their intermingled emotions threatened to overpower Aragorn, her anguish and his guilt, "You did nothing to deserve my scorn."

"Yet here we are," Éowyn's eyes had turned cold again. Aragorn could feel her nausea, her pain.

What did she want him to say? The truth, all of it. You know all Éowyn's secrets, so it is time that you open up and share your own with her. Aragorn let out a shuddering sigh.

"I am betrothed," Aragorn wrested the words from his mouth, "I've loved her for 70 years, and been trothplighted for 30…"

Éowyn was silent. Her face remained expressionless, but her eyes were on fire and Aragorn's gut lurched as hers did. Éowyn broke out of her shock.

"Why did you not tell me this in Meduseld?" her voice was quivering, and he felt her anguish. But she seemed to know the answer, and it settled over her like a black veil, "...because you did not trust me. Because I was a naive maid in your eyes."

The intermingled grief, from Aragorn's guilt and Éowyn's despair, broke through, and both felt their tears spreading over their cheeks. Aragorn knew Éowyn's grief, and knew that she'd read the cruel reason for his indifference. It felt devastating, to finally be in the air between them.

"Yes," the words were barely a whisper, "Because I was afraid. Afraid somehow that feeling and seeing you would distract me from my task. Arwen would not come to me, not marry me, unless I reclaimed my birthright and became King."

"And so you now have," Éowyn's words were as labored as Aragorn's.

"I… I didn't want anything to distract me on my quest for her -"

"I was quested after too." Éowyn interrupted, quietly, defiantly, "By Gríma. Women are not prizes."

Her words gutted him. Was she right? Was Aragorn treating Arwen as Gríma had treated Éowyn? He was sick with himself. And he deserved the shame he now felt.

Éowyn stood, then started walking out of the courtyard. Before she had made it to the archway, she paused, though did not turn back toward him.

"If Arwen has given you her heart; if she loves you," Éowyn spoke, "She will come."

Without another word, she was gone.

Aragorn sat, frozen. As before, Éowyn's most effective weapon against him was a mirror, holding it up exactly in those moments he most needed to see himself through their eyes. He let himself treat Arwen's hand as a prize to be won by his valor. He had allowed the promise of that prize to turn his head away from the humanity of others. He let Arwen become a prize and Éowyn become an obstacle. Arwen was Eldar, with the knowledge of millenia, and by some miracle she had fallen in love with him. Éowyn was a warrior and steward trapped in a woman's body, with more courage and wisdom than most others triple her strength or triple her age.

Despite feeling worse than he had before they had spoken, Aragorn also felt lighter, the deep scars of the shadows were just a bit more healed. Éowyn's words cut him, but they also exposed his worst notions and most poisoned assumptions to the fresh air. She would force him to change. Force him to be a better version of himself. And now he knew he needed her more than she needed him.

An optimism materialized in him, that in time Arwen would come to him and love him, and that, in time, Éowyn would forgive him.