Author's Note: Alternate reality. This isn't a happy A/A piece. I don't know what it is but for me, those two never worked. They were just to static, to perfect. Yes, she gave up her immortality for him, but I don't find that very romantic. I just don't think it is any big deal. So, if you are expecting happy, wonderful A/A stuff, I suggest reading someone else's work, cause you won't find it here. This is a p.o.v. piece. Constructive criticism will be welcomed. Flames will feed the Balrog.
Again, this is an Alternate Reality Story.
Turn back now if you want cannon.
This is your last warning.
Let the story begin.
After the War.
Gondor.
I sit alone sewing on this seat in the garden. The trees around me are planted in perfect succession but that is no surprise, Legolas supervised the work himself. He took great pride in showing them to me, as Gimli did in showing me the work done on the walls. None of that matters to me. The one I want to please most, is gone. I do not mean that he is dead, far from it.
Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King Elessar of Gondor. He is my husband. Therefore, he must be here. And he is.
In the flesh at least.
His soul, while still somewhat mine, is gone. The spark that gave him life seems to have dissipated in peace. I do not see the man I fell in love with anymore. I do not see the man I gave up my world, my immortality for. And I do not know how it happened. Galadriel said he was still mine, but she knew something. I know she did.
This I know, the man I knew, the man I loved, would keep no secrets from me. This man that I married, though he bear's his face, is a stranger to me. There is a difference in his eyes, a coldness. A distance too were once before no distance existed. His walk is more assured but sadder. And though he be surrounded by friends and laughter, there are flashes of a deep pain.
Pain I know for he has lost many dear ones. People his healing hands could not reach in time, he bears those scars and carries them close to his heart. And this to is different for my love would've shared that burden. Unwillingly yes, but he would have shared it with me. I know, for I have seen with my own eyes, the deep pain in his eyes when he looks at Merriadoc Brandybuck and his faithful steward, Faramir.
There is something that I am not being told. But like a good queen, I remain silent and still. I will find out soon enough. No mortal man can keep a secret for long-even if he was raised among us.
My husband has more resilience than I had thought. I have been waiting patiently for months now and yet, nothing rewards me. But something is going to happen. I can tell by the way Aragorn stares off into space for hours and looks guilty when caught at it. As I stitch a new blanket for the house of Healing, I see my husband emerge from the palace and walk towards the Southern Wall. Curious, I put aside my work, rise, and follow him. He didn't notice me behind him. This to is different.
Once, he would have known that someone was there. Now, he does not. Is this a result of living in a city? Will I soon lose my abilities to move silently, to be one with nature, as well? He pauses and I draw into shadow, watching him intently. Eomer meets him and as one they walk on.
I have never been to this place of death, it makes my flesh crawl. But I must know why they are going and force myself to keep walking. They stop and are joined by Faramir. Moving on, Legolas and Gimli seem to appear at their sides. Curious. Again they stop and wait, I try to remain hidden but have no fear of discovery. Merry and Pippin join them and it seems to me that their little group is complete.
Following after my husband, they walk under a large tree whose branches and leaves cover and hide a cave. I wait, then quietly enter. After walking for a while, a cool breeze fills the tunnel and I realize that we are leaving the city behind us for the open area beyond the walls. I hear voices and press myself up against the wall, descending ever so slowly.
They have come to a stop and are talking around what seems to me to be an unremarkable piece of ground. Part of me wants to demand what is going on, but another part wants to turn away. I feel like I am invading, I do not belong here. But it is too late for me to leave. For all my elven cunning, they would see me if I did.
Legolas already suspects something, I can tell by the way he's covertly studying the area around them. Or am I being paranoid for no reason? The blonde prince seems to be satisfied that all is well and turns his concentration back to the conversation. I am at a loss of what to do, so I wait.
One by one, they depart leaving only Aragorn and Merry behind. Suddenly, the king drops to his knees and I can tell by the way his shoulders shake that he is sobbing. Merry stands awkwardly by his side, tears coursing down his own face. The hobbit tentatively rests his hand on the king's shoulder, offering what little comfort he can. He leans into the touch, grateful. Again I feel that sensation of being an intruder, of having no place in this.
No matter the risk, I turn and slowly make my way back to the garden, shaken by what I have witnessed. I shouldn't be so surprised to see Legolas waiting for me, but I am. And I knew by the look on his face that I could not pretend with him. He knew I had been there.
It was difficult to sit there and listen to him tell me about the grave. Aragorn was faithful to me in everyway that mattered except that his heart betrayed him. He had fallen for someone else, a mortal. This mortal transformed him by her example. Under her influence, he became king. He accepted that he was not an elf, he was a man. She finished the process that had begun when the Fellowship had left.
This woman turned that flickering flame inside him to a fire which made him stand against all odds. He would die among people he once feared to be among because he feared what was in his blood. She became a part of him and will haunt me because I do not know how to fight against a memory.
I was his dream.
She became his reality.
It should hurt. On some level I haven't reached yet, it does. At the moment, it has yet to sink in fully. He loved another. He became what he is now for another. Everything makes sense. His behavior, the reluctance to marry me, his continuing arguments that I leave for the Gray Havens once he's gone.
I understand.
And I hurt.
I wonder how many times he looked at me and wished for her. How many times my caresses left him cold because they weren't hers. How many times he longed for the gentle touch of his human love. These thoughts explode in my mind like thousands of pinpricks and the pain deepens.
He does love me, this I do know. But it is not the same as his love for her.
And I love him, so I will never let him know of my feelings.
Legolas is watching me carefully. I smile bravely. It is alright, Legolas. I say, he had no idea of what I would decide. I am glad that he found someone to ease his heartache and help him accept who he is.
The blue eyes stared at me, finally accepting what I had said. He bowed and went to find Gimli.
With a heavy heart, I picked up and finished my work. When Aragorn joined me later, I knew that my face must betray none of my thoughts. He must never know that I know his secret. I cannot hate him for his feelings.
But I can hate her for taking him from me. For leaving me the shell he has become.
I know that it isn't her fault.
I hate her all the same.
The End.
Author's Note #2: I based this on a remark I read in "The Treason of Isengard" pg. 448 wherein there is a note by Tolkien that mentioned 'that Aragorn did indeed love Eowyn, and never wedded after her death'. I know that there are people who will point out that he did marry Arwen, that Eowyn didn't die, but this is my take on the situation.
Again, this is an Alternate Reality Story.
Turn back now if you want cannon.
This is your last warning.
Let the story begin.
After the War.
Gondor.
I sit alone sewing on this seat in the garden. The trees around me are planted in perfect succession but that is no surprise, Legolas supervised the work himself. He took great pride in showing them to me, as Gimli did in showing me the work done on the walls. None of that matters to me. The one I want to please most, is gone. I do not mean that he is dead, far from it.
Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King Elessar of Gondor. He is my husband. Therefore, he must be here. And he is.
In the flesh at least.
His soul, while still somewhat mine, is gone. The spark that gave him life seems to have dissipated in peace. I do not see the man I fell in love with anymore. I do not see the man I gave up my world, my immortality for. And I do not know how it happened. Galadriel said he was still mine, but she knew something. I know she did.
This I know, the man I knew, the man I loved, would keep no secrets from me. This man that I married, though he bear's his face, is a stranger to me. There is a difference in his eyes, a coldness. A distance too were once before no distance existed. His walk is more assured but sadder. And though he be surrounded by friends and laughter, there are flashes of a deep pain.
Pain I know for he has lost many dear ones. People his healing hands could not reach in time, he bears those scars and carries them close to his heart. And this to is different for my love would've shared that burden. Unwillingly yes, but he would have shared it with me. I know, for I have seen with my own eyes, the deep pain in his eyes when he looks at Merriadoc Brandybuck and his faithful steward, Faramir.
There is something that I am not being told. But like a good queen, I remain silent and still. I will find out soon enough. No mortal man can keep a secret for long-even if he was raised among us.
My husband has more resilience than I had thought. I have been waiting patiently for months now and yet, nothing rewards me. But something is going to happen. I can tell by the way Aragorn stares off into space for hours and looks guilty when caught at it. As I stitch a new blanket for the house of Healing, I see my husband emerge from the palace and walk towards the Southern Wall. Curious, I put aside my work, rise, and follow him. He didn't notice me behind him. This to is different.
Once, he would have known that someone was there. Now, he does not. Is this a result of living in a city? Will I soon lose my abilities to move silently, to be one with nature, as well? He pauses and I draw into shadow, watching him intently. Eomer meets him and as one they walk on.
I have never been to this place of death, it makes my flesh crawl. But I must know why they are going and force myself to keep walking. They stop and are joined by Faramir. Moving on, Legolas and Gimli seem to appear at their sides. Curious. Again they stop and wait, I try to remain hidden but have no fear of discovery. Merry and Pippin join them and it seems to me that their little group is complete.
Following after my husband, they walk under a large tree whose branches and leaves cover and hide a cave. I wait, then quietly enter. After walking for a while, a cool breeze fills the tunnel and I realize that we are leaving the city behind us for the open area beyond the walls. I hear voices and press myself up against the wall, descending ever so slowly.
They have come to a stop and are talking around what seems to me to be an unremarkable piece of ground. Part of me wants to demand what is going on, but another part wants to turn away. I feel like I am invading, I do not belong here. But it is too late for me to leave. For all my elven cunning, they would see me if I did.
Legolas already suspects something, I can tell by the way he's covertly studying the area around them. Or am I being paranoid for no reason? The blonde prince seems to be satisfied that all is well and turns his concentration back to the conversation. I am at a loss of what to do, so I wait.
One by one, they depart leaving only Aragorn and Merry behind. Suddenly, the king drops to his knees and I can tell by the way his shoulders shake that he is sobbing. Merry stands awkwardly by his side, tears coursing down his own face. The hobbit tentatively rests his hand on the king's shoulder, offering what little comfort he can. He leans into the touch, grateful. Again I feel that sensation of being an intruder, of having no place in this.
No matter the risk, I turn and slowly make my way back to the garden, shaken by what I have witnessed. I shouldn't be so surprised to see Legolas waiting for me, but I am. And I knew by the look on his face that I could not pretend with him. He knew I had been there.
It was difficult to sit there and listen to him tell me about the grave. Aragorn was faithful to me in everyway that mattered except that his heart betrayed him. He had fallen for someone else, a mortal. This mortal transformed him by her example. Under her influence, he became king. He accepted that he was not an elf, he was a man. She finished the process that had begun when the Fellowship had left.
This woman turned that flickering flame inside him to a fire which made him stand against all odds. He would die among people he once feared to be among because he feared what was in his blood. She became a part of him and will haunt me because I do not know how to fight against a memory.
I was his dream.
She became his reality.
It should hurt. On some level I haven't reached yet, it does. At the moment, it has yet to sink in fully. He loved another. He became what he is now for another. Everything makes sense. His behavior, the reluctance to marry me, his continuing arguments that I leave for the Gray Havens once he's gone.
I understand.
And I hurt.
I wonder how many times he looked at me and wished for her. How many times my caresses left him cold because they weren't hers. How many times he longed for the gentle touch of his human love. These thoughts explode in my mind like thousands of pinpricks and the pain deepens.
He does love me, this I do know. But it is not the same as his love for her.
And I love him, so I will never let him know of my feelings.
Legolas is watching me carefully. I smile bravely. It is alright, Legolas. I say, he had no idea of what I would decide. I am glad that he found someone to ease his heartache and help him accept who he is.
The blue eyes stared at me, finally accepting what I had said. He bowed and went to find Gimli.
With a heavy heart, I picked up and finished my work. When Aragorn joined me later, I knew that my face must betray none of my thoughts. He must never know that I know his secret. I cannot hate him for his feelings.
But I can hate her for taking him from me. For leaving me the shell he has become.
I know that it isn't her fault.
I hate her all the same.
The End.
Author's Note #2: I based this on a remark I read in "The Treason of Isengard" pg. 448 wherein there is a note by Tolkien that mentioned 'that Aragorn did indeed love Eowyn, and never wedded after her death'. I know that there are people who will point out that he did marry Arwen, that Eowyn didn't die, but this is my take on the situation.