-/Pains in the Heart-

I don't own the characters, just the plot. However, I do have virtual voodoo dolls with which I do evil things muhuhahaha!

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---- Minas Tirith ----

Tears flowed down Éowyn's face. She was standing at the barrier beside the Gate, behind which all the noblemen and women of the West had watched the coronation. Her heart fluttered as she realised for the first time that she was marrying the king. However, happiness was not the only reason for her tears.

It had been as the crowd spilled forwards behind Aragorn - a multitude threatening to swarm and spread across the city like jubilant bees - that she had caught the look Faramir gave her. It had scarcely been more than a glance, but it conveyed more emotion than Éowyn could bear, before Faramir was swallowed up by the crowd.

It was longing, devoid of hatred; sadness, lacking bitterness; a passive expression of purest sorrow. And that was when Éowyn remembered his words in the Houses of Healing. She realised that her love would hurt others - Arwen, Faramir... Love does not always mean happiness.

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Aragorn settled into the deep softness of his bed. It had been a long day, and his last steps had felt odd without the heavy mail he had worn all day. It had been wonderful. For almost 70 years he had dreamt of this day, and now it had passed. It was very different from his first imaginings.

For one thing, he did not have Arwen by his side. His feelings had changed; Éowyn- she had acted so oddly. She wandered the streets as though alone, even though the avenues of the City were thronged. A slight frown had rested upon her brow, and her reverie could not be disturbed unless it was Aragorn who spoke to her.

"Come in," said Aragorn, in answer to the two knocks on the door. There stood the one person who he had feared to see.

"Melamin, melamin!" wailed Arwen, almost throwing herself across the room into his arms. "How you torture me! How can you refuse me?" she said, searching his face for an answer that was not forthcoming.

"I-" the truth was harsh, but no other reason could suffice, "I have found another, for whom my love surpasses even that which grew between us."

"No!" she screamed. Her tone dropped, it was fey and she muttered, as though to herself. "It is mere jest, he is not serious, he would not snub me so... You love me!"

"Arwen!" said Aragorn, taking her shoulders. Arwen whimpered, her lip trembling, her eyes still seeking another explanation. "That is enough. You know I speak truly. It was hard enough letting you go once, I cannot bear it a second time."

He released her. Arwen stood, staring into the carpet a few feet away. She bit her lip till it almost bled, then came to a decision. The tears dropped to the floor and their trails dried. Aragorn knew not what to do with himself.

"Then do not," said Arwen at last, looking up. Her smouldering eyes bore a hole into Aragorn's brain. "You are not in your right mind, Elessar. You and I have loved each other for many years; she is but a spring bud – fair for long, but bitter at the last. You have been away from home too long."

"Home?" said Aragorn.

"Imladris will always be your home," said Arwen. "You know this, deep inside of yourself."

"No," Aragorn sighed. "I grew up there, it is true; but Minas Tirith is the home of the Line of Elendil until Fornost or Annúminas is rebuilt. But never again shall the Kings of Men seek charity from the Elves."

Arwen was too shocked to speak. "Ch-charity? Then you resent the time you spent there?"

"Of course not," said Aragorn, "but the place for Men... is among other Men."

"It needn't be!" cried Arwen. "Aragorn, what has possessed you?" She began to shake as though herself possessed. She laid her fair head against his broad chest as she wept. He stroked her hair, trying to calm her. A shoot of hope flared in the Elf's heart.

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