Title: Glimpses of White
Rating: PG
Summary: He sees glimpses of white.
Type of fic: Vignette
Disclaimer: All recognisable entities, places, things, whatever, belong to whoever has rights to them. Tolkien, et al.
Distribution: Random Thoughts and Tarnished Silver. All else, please just ask.
Author's notes: Written after having viewed the Two Towers extended edition DVD. More Éowyn! Yay!

*

Glimpses of White

He felt a brush against his side, and he reached out instinctively. A flash of white, but it slipped through his grasping fingers.

Yet Aragorn, further away, stopped what he could not. The Ranger took hold of her arm. She struggled, but in vain for Aragorn pulled her close.

He watched as her form moulded effortlessly against Aragorn's. White contrasted sharply – strikingly – beside black. He watched as Aragorn's grip tightened on her, though there was no more need for she had stilled against the body at her side.

He clenched his hand, wondering how his Elvish swiftness had failed him.

*

He stood behind her, unable to escape her scent. Nor did he want to. Clean, sharp, a hint of…something. Something floral, but he could not name it. It was something he had never experienced before. It was unique.

She took several steps towards the edge of the stone steps upper tier, and leaned forward. His heart suddenly jumped at the thought of her accidentally falling, and he moved closer to her.

She took no notice of him, her eyes only for the scene below them. Grima continued to desperately proclaim his innocence. Theodred raised his sword.

He could see her whole body straining forward, her face a cold and hard mask of stone. 'May your death end the gloom that you have cloaked over Rohan, Wormtongue,' she whispered, her voice harsh and unfeeling. 'And the shadows that have long stalked me.'

Her words sent a shudder of disgust through him, and he found himself waiting with sudden fury for the mortal fall of the weapon.

But Aragorn stopped the King with a plea for mercy. The snake was set free, slithering away through the crowd.

He turned slightly to look at her, concerned. Her eyes were closed, her brows furrowed in pain. With a breath, she opened her eyes once more. And looked down at Aragorn. A new softness intensified her beauty.

Though so much closer to her – the heat of her body warming his – she did not see him.

*

'They love you!' she shouted.

But he, like Aragorn, heard what she meant. What she really said.

I love you.

The two stared at each other. There was fear in her eyes, but also determination. She could not hide the truth, nor did she seem to want to. He could only imagine the look on Aragorn's face. Would he pity her? Or would he return her regard?

He knew that his friend felt drawn to her, hard as he tried to keep his distance he could not escape the Lady's light. None could. It was everywhere.

And before him he could see the two shades – white and black – silently clashing, blending, colliding, fusing. Unifying. Uniting.

He felt out of place, a stranger disrespectfully intruding upon private intimacies. Yet he could not avert his eyes, not from her. He could not believe that anyone could be so heart achingly beautiful. He could see her mouth move, but could not hear her words.

Finally she looked away from Aragorn and walked hurriedly past.

He felt her brush against him – and jerk away from his touch as he reached out.

'Legolas, get all these women and children to the caves quickly.' Aragorn spoke softly before turning to walk away. He was hurting.

He watched his friend's retreating back for a moment. He finally understood what it meant. What it really was. What so many died for, lived for. Love. He has seen glimpses of it. In her eyes, her face, her scent, her body.

Love was pain. Love was beautiful.

Love was white.