Time Dims All
Aragorn looked at the tapestry. Over twenty yards long Éowyn had worked on it for many years, creating a work of supreme artistry and beauty. When he finally asked her why she had spent so long on it, she had only laughed saying, "The realm of Gondor does not have enough tapestries my King". 'My King' - only she had ever referred to him by that sobriquet. No other had ever dared to speak so personally to him - yet he had always felt, even in their few periods of estrangement, that it was a fitting term for the friendship between them.
* * *
Éowyn sat in the shadows, two soft lamps illuminating the tapestry board in front of her. She was thin and pale, and her deep eyes contained hints of a great sadness. Aragorn came to stand behind her, "You'll destroy your eyes my lady". A half-smile curved her lips, and she said softly, "There is no need to fuss my King, I can see clearly." He looked at her face - hauntingly beautiful, yet sorrowful in the dim light, and his heart was swollen with regret.
He sat beside her, straddling the bench on which she sat. "What is this of my lady?". Her hand moved carefully across the board, her fingers pausing to pick a loose thread. "It is a set of images of the war Aragorn. From the forming of the fellowship, to Frodo's departure". He sighed deeply, and she turned to look at him, "What ails thee Aragorn?" His hand reached up to cup her cheek, and he said, "You are wasting away Éowyn, and I cannot bear to see it. You must look to your health."
She turned her head from him and said, "You do not know the pain that tears at my heart with each day Aragorn. I have not the strength to face it - I look at my husband and I see my son, I touch my little boy and I think of Mardil. It is taking me." He could have wept to hear her words - for there was naught in her voice to speak of her pain, it was dull, as if her sorrow had worn it away.
He found the strength to say the words that had tormented him ever since the attack, "I am so grieved Éowyn. If I had not been so foolish, you would never have lost your son." She looked at him with sarcastic curiosity, "How so Aragorn, did you ride to Emyn Arnen with sword and flame?" He flushed, but said, "No but I allowed the ambassador to see how much I, how much we all care for you Éowyn. You would not have been attacked if he had not known."
She turned to look at him, and suddenly she seemed angry. "You blame yourself for this Aragorn? Was it you who fired an arrow into my body? Was it you who ordered the attack on Ithilien? Did you kill my son? No? Why then do you gift me with this burden? It is not your fault, you cannot blame yourself - and I cannot hold the weight of your absolution in my hands Aragorn." He cursed himself for ever having spoken, and watched as she buried her head in her hands. She spoke brokenly through them, "I have not spoken with Faramir in weeks. I cannot even touch him - it hurts too much. And now you tell me this. What would you have me say?"
He reached out for her, murmuring endearments under his breath. She came softly, burying her head in his shoulder. He could feel her sobs, as her shoulders jerked against his hand. Finally she straightened up, her head mere inches from his face. He stroked a lock of her hair, and said gently, "I am sorry, Éowyn". He kissed her brow, and looked into her eyes - and for a brief moment a tension bristled between them. She was nestled in his arms, her lips moistly parted, her face close to his - the seconds beat with possibilities. Her eyes flooded with comprehension, and she pulled away from him with a low cry. She stood and ran from the room. His hands were still warm from cheeks. He stared at them for a minute, trying to understand what had happened, and then stood, swearing to chase after her.
He had not found her. Éowyn disappeared that night - riding for hours in the rain, until Legolas's scouts found her. She had returned the next day, and for the first and last time in his life, Aragorn was forced to give an account of his behaviour to the elf Prince.
Once he found Éowyn he tried to apologise, but she had cut him off sharply. "There is no need my King, I understand now. It was nothing. I was just grieved, and when you attempted to comfort me, and it seemed..well it was too much. Do you understand?" He held for a moment and said, "I apologise my Lady." All she had said was, "I want my husband back Aragorn. I want to look at my children without grief. I do not want to be like my mother. I want to live."
She clutched at his arm, and looked into his face. Her voice was softly intense as she said, "You cannot blame yourself Aragorn, you cannot. You are my King, and I need, I need you to be strong. You must bear this, for me. Faramir is as broken by this as I, and Arwen does not understand. You are almost all I have to lean on, for Éomer is far away. I need you Aragorn, please, do this for me". He said no promises, but held her tighter. For himself, he swore that he he would be the kind of king Éowyn needed him to be. No tears touched her cheeks, but she was too pale, and a chill seemed settled about her.
It had taken her own strength, and the love of her husband to dispel that chill. Aragorn had breathed a sigh of relief when they had returned from far Harad, and she had been plump and full of spirits. He did not like to see her thin and pale - it brought back far to many memories, and grieved him. If any one he knew deserved happiness, it was Éowyn. He never told Arwen what had happened between them, and as far as he knew Éowyn had never mentioned it to Faramir - he was glad it had been forgotten, and that it had not grown beyond a moment. Truly Aragorn regretted that it had even occurred - even if he could not entirely restrain a slight wondering as to what it was that had been between them in that moment.
* * *
He gestured to one of the serving maids - this tapestry would be given a place of high honour in the White City. He did not want anyone to forget the White Lady, and her deeds. He did not want to forget her.
Author's Note
I know my flashbacks are not appearing in any kind of chronological order, but they will provide one once this is finished. Agus, níl Fionnabhair Nic Aillil is ainm dom, ach ceapaim is ainm an deas í! Go raibh míle maith agat
Aragorn looked at the tapestry. Over twenty yards long Éowyn had worked on it for many years, creating a work of supreme artistry and beauty. When he finally asked her why she had spent so long on it, she had only laughed saying, "The realm of Gondor does not have enough tapestries my King". 'My King' - only she had ever referred to him by that sobriquet. No other had ever dared to speak so personally to him - yet he had always felt, even in their few periods of estrangement, that it was a fitting term for the friendship between them.
* * *
Éowyn sat in the shadows, two soft lamps illuminating the tapestry board in front of her. She was thin and pale, and her deep eyes contained hints of a great sadness. Aragorn came to stand behind her, "You'll destroy your eyes my lady". A half-smile curved her lips, and she said softly, "There is no need to fuss my King, I can see clearly." He looked at her face - hauntingly beautiful, yet sorrowful in the dim light, and his heart was swollen with regret.
He sat beside her, straddling the bench on which she sat. "What is this of my lady?". Her hand moved carefully across the board, her fingers pausing to pick a loose thread. "It is a set of images of the war Aragorn. From the forming of the fellowship, to Frodo's departure". He sighed deeply, and she turned to look at him, "What ails thee Aragorn?" His hand reached up to cup her cheek, and he said, "You are wasting away Éowyn, and I cannot bear to see it. You must look to your health."
She turned her head from him and said, "You do not know the pain that tears at my heart with each day Aragorn. I have not the strength to face it - I look at my husband and I see my son, I touch my little boy and I think of Mardil. It is taking me." He could have wept to hear her words - for there was naught in her voice to speak of her pain, it was dull, as if her sorrow had worn it away.
He found the strength to say the words that had tormented him ever since the attack, "I am so grieved Éowyn. If I had not been so foolish, you would never have lost your son." She looked at him with sarcastic curiosity, "How so Aragorn, did you ride to Emyn Arnen with sword and flame?" He flushed, but said, "No but I allowed the ambassador to see how much I, how much we all care for you Éowyn. You would not have been attacked if he had not known."
She turned to look at him, and suddenly she seemed angry. "You blame yourself for this Aragorn? Was it you who fired an arrow into my body? Was it you who ordered the attack on Ithilien? Did you kill my son? No? Why then do you gift me with this burden? It is not your fault, you cannot blame yourself - and I cannot hold the weight of your absolution in my hands Aragorn." He cursed himself for ever having spoken, and watched as she buried her head in her hands. She spoke brokenly through them, "I have not spoken with Faramir in weeks. I cannot even touch him - it hurts too much. And now you tell me this. What would you have me say?"
He reached out for her, murmuring endearments under his breath. She came softly, burying her head in his shoulder. He could feel her sobs, as her shoulders jerked against his hand. Finally she straightened up, her head mere inches from his face. He stroked a lock of her hair, and said gently, "I am sorry, Éowyn". He kissed her brow, and looked into her eyes - and for a brief moment a tension bristled between them. She was nestled in his arms, her lips moistly parted, her face close to his - the seconds beat with possibilities. Her eyes flooded with comprehension, and she pulled away from him with a low cry. She stood and ran from the room. His hands were still warm from cheeks. He stared at them for a minute, trying to understand what had happened, and then stood, swearing to chase after her.
He had not found her. Éowyn disappeared that night - riding for hours in the rain, until Legolas's scouts found her. She had returned the next day, and for the first and last time in his life, Aragorn was forced to give an account of his behaviour to the elf Prince.
Once he found Éowyn he tried to apologise, but she had cut him off sharply. "There is no need my King, I understand now. It was nothing. I was just grieved, and when you attempted to comfort me, and it seemed..well it was too much. Do you understand?" He held for a moment and said, "I apologise my Lady." All she had said was, "I want my husband back Aragorn. I want to look at my children without grief. I do not want to be like my mother. I want to live."
She clutched at his arm, and looked into his face. Her voice was softly intense as she said, "You cannot blame yourself Aragorn, you cannot. You are my King, and I need, I need you to be strong. You must bear this, for me. Faramir is as broken by this as I, and Arwen does not understand. You are almost all I have to lean on, for Éomer is far away. I need you Aragorn, please, do this for me". He said no promises, but held her tighter. For himself, he swore that he he would be the kind of king Éowyn needed him to be. No tears touched her cheeks, but she was too pale, and a chill seemed settled about her.
It had taken her own strength, and the love of her husband to dispel that chill. Aragorn had breathed a sigh of relief when they had returned from far Harad, and she had been plump and full of spirits. He did not like to see her thin and pale - it brought back far to many memories, and grieved him. If any one he knew deserved happiness, it was Éowyn. He never told Arwen what had happened between them, and as far as he knew Éowyn had never mentioned it to Faramir - he was glad it had been forgotten, and that it had not grown beyond a moment. Truly Aragorn regretted that it had even occurred - even if he could not entirely restrain a slight wondering as to what it was that had been between them in that moment.
* * *
He gestured to one of the serving maids - this tapestry would be given a place of high honour in the White City. He did not want anyone to forget the White Lady, and her deeds. He did not want to forget her.
Author's Note
I know my flashbacks are not appearing in any kind of chronological order, but they will provide one once this is finished. Agus, níl Fionnabhair Nic Aillil is ainm dom, ach ceapaim is ainm an deas í! Go raibh míle maith agat