Disclaimer: I have written this fanfiction for pure entertainment. I have not made any money off of it and I do not intend to. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: I would appreciate any reviews for this, including those containing constructive criticism.
Dedication: To Eilianu,my fellow Éowyn fan, whose advice has helped to improve this fanfiction (and who could probably have written this same vignette ten times better than I.)
"It Was a Dream"
Éowyn's unrequited love for Aragorn, from her point-of-view. A one shot, movie-based vignette.
I hear the sound of someone readying a horse. Curious, and somewhat alarmed, I peek out of my tent. I am shocked and even more distressed to discover that it is Aragorn. It is obvious that he is preparing for a journey at this unearthly hour.
"Why are you doing this? The war lies to the East. You cannot leave on the eve of battle." I pause for a moment. "You cannot abandon the men." You cannot abandon me. My voice becomes feebler as I continue to speak. "We need you here." I need you here.
"Why have you come?" he asks me, somewhat sadly.
"Do you not know?"
He sighs, and regards me for a few minutes, as if he wants to choose his words with care. "It is but a shadow of a thought that you love. I cannot give you what you seek." He looks at me regretfully for a moment before he rides away, but I do not pay attention to many other details. I step backwards as his words gradually make their full impact. It is like lying down and having something heavy thrown on top of me, and then something else, and another thing on top of that. At first, I feel the smothering, aching burn of my heart, and it increases until I think I can no longer bear it. At length, I am crushed.
I fear neither death nor pain, I said to Him once. I spoke somewhat inaccurately. Surely, I do not fear pain that can be induced by sword or bludgeon, and I do not shy away form the possibility of physical death. But this emotional suffocation, this anguish, is tantamount to spiritual death, and indeed, it is beyond my ability to withstand.
Even so, I do not cry. I cannot remember the last time I did so, for tears of self-pity are for the very weak and very young only. If one is to cry, it should be for another's sake; if one's dearest relative has just died, for example, those are justified tears. Still, even though I am not crying, I stand idly for a long time. My brain feels numb as if it hurts to think. I stare out blankly into space as I watch the sky near the horizon pales with the slowly rising sun.
I cannot stand here forever. I cannot spend the rest of the new day wallowing in self-pity; I must be strong. The sun is just starting to rise as I go to seek out my Lord and uncle.
I cannot allow selfish musings to run rampant in my mind as duty calls; I put all thoughts of Aragorn aside as Théoden and I speak. It is what Aragorn would want me to do.
"I have left instruction. The people are to follow your rule in my stead. Take up my seat in the Golden Hall. Long may you defend Edoras if the battle goes ill," Uncle says.
It is a sobering thought, even for an average subject, to hear that the King has just assigned his successor, and thus believes that he might die in the imminent battle. It is even more sobering if one is the King's niece as well as said successor. "What other duty would you have me do, my Lord?"
"Duty?" Théoden turns, shakes his heard, and takes my hands in his as he approaches. "No… I would have you smile again. Not grieve for those whose time has come. You shall live to see these days renewed. No more despair."
As he says that, my expression remains grave. I do not smile because I can no longer smile. I forgot how to a few hours ago, when two seemingly simple sentences shattered all my dreams. No more despair. I wish Théoden's hope for me were a prophetic reassurance.
I realize that it will be useless to ride into battle on a day after I have had a sleepless night. Though it is early and almost time to rise, even a few minutes' sleep will be better than nothing. I flop down on the makeshift bed in my tent. I am fully dressed in my daytime attire, and I lie in an awkward position. Nevertheless, my exhaustion and grief supersede my lack of physical comfort, and I drift off into a tentative sleep.
>
I gave my sword a few experimental swings, knowing that I would need the practice before we parted for Helm's Deep. After a few seconds, a figure stole up to me from behind. Wide-eyed, I whirled around to see that it was Aragorn and brought my weapon up to meet his.
He looked impressed at the parry. "You've some skill with a blade?" He asked as we each slashed our weapon from the other.
"Women of this country learned long ago those without swords can still die upon them." I sheathed the weapon. "I fear neither death nor pain."
"What do you fear my lady?"
I contemplated that for a little bit. There was very little that I feared. I knew not that I feared rejection, for I had not yet crossed that bridge. So, I replied, "A cage. To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them and all chance of valor has gone beyond recall or desire."
Aragorn shook his head, once again looking impressed, in a respectful way. "You're a daughter of Kings. A shield maiden of Rohan… I do not think that will be your fate." He bowed as he parted. I watched his receding figure, amazed at his insight and wisdom and encouraged by his soft words.
>
"It's true you don't see many dwarf women," Gimli recounted. "And if fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance that they're often mistaken for dwarf men."
Somehow, my first impulse was to look back at Aragorn.
"It's the beards," he whispered, and I tried to hide my laughter.
Gimli continued, "And this in turn has given rise to the belief that there are no dwarf women, and that dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground!" At this absurd theory, I had to laugh; Gimli chuckled along with me. "Which of course is ridiculous." He let go of the reins to make animated gestures that accompanied his story, and in doing so, he let go of the reins. As a result, he tumbled to the ground. I let out an astonished gasp, but once I saw that the hearty dwarf was not at all injured, I simply rushed forward to help, still laughing.
"It's all right, it's all right," the Dwarf insisted. "Nobody panic. That was deliberate, it was deliberate."
I looked back at Aragorn again; he appeared amused as well. And I found that I could do nothing but smile back as long as I looked at him.
That's when I knew how I really felt about him. It's strange how sometimes the seemingly most unimportant events awaken one to his or her real feelings.
>
"So few… so few of you have returned," I greeted my uncle, downcast, as he and his warriors retuned form their fight with Saruman's riders. I looked for Aragorn but did not see him. I was sure he would arrive eventually, for he was a great warrior.
"Our people are safe. We paid with it for many lives," said Uncle after a moment, and now I could tell he was being a little evasive about something. Then I started to worry.
"My lady." I looked down to see Gimli standing in front of me, looking disconsolate. I knew that even the greatest fighters fell sometimes, and I could already guess what Gimli was going to tell me. I braced myself before asking, "Lord Aragorn… where is he?"
"He fell," came the simple, tremulous reply.
I looked over at Uncle. Surely, he knew. Why hadn't he told me? I would rather have known up front. He gave me a rueful glace before vanishing out of sight.
The need to console the other women distracted me from my grief. But in the quiet moments in which I was not preoccupied, I was alone in the silence with my grief.
However, that did not last long. Aragorn entered hours later, apparently just a little delayed, and I was utterly relieved. After the battle, I found Him standing safe and sound, though slightly scarred and bloody, with his victorious army. I ran to him and felt his face, making sure that he was real, and then I enthusiastically embraced him. In that time, I had naively assumed that he was attainable for me. But I had never stopped to think, had never bothered to question how he'd returned from the fall. I also failed to remember the time that I had asked him about his love.
"Where is she… the woman that gave you that jewel?"
"She is sailing to the undying lands, with all that is left of her kin," was the verbal response, but it should have been clear how easily his thoughts had drifted to her. The implied answer was that She was in his heart forever, no matter what would happen, no matter how much land and space would come to separate them. It should have been obvious even to a casual observer… Her pendant still hung on his neck.
>
A Lady appeared, and I instantly became envious of her extreme beauty. She was taller than I, her face fairer than mine, and her hair longer and darker. "Sleep," she whispered as she kissed the lips of the man underneath her. It was Aragorn… and, oh, how I wished I were she!
"I am asleep… this is a dream," he whispered back.
Then the scene switched. Instead of the lofty terrace that overlooked a waterfall plummeting into a valley, the two stood in a simple garden. The bright atmosphere had darkened, and it was difficult to see more than that.
"You have a chance for another life," Aragorn told her, "away from war…grief…despair." He was so loyal to her, willing to give her up if it was in her best interest, like any good man would do for the woman he loved. And He truly loved Her.
"Why are you saying this?" The Elven woman whispered incredulously.
"I am mortal; you are elf-kind. It was a dream, Arwen. Nothing more."
>
I wake to find that I slept little, as I had expected, so it is surprising to me that I have dreamed at all. The pleasant moments that Aragorn and I shared now flood my mind as a result of last night's dream. I take a deep sigh as a wave of longing rushes over me. My mind reverts to the state that it took up last night – I sit and stare into nothing, my mind's eye seeing nothing but His fair face. Then everything seems wrong. I wish that he loved me, but that would never be. I simply wish he were here, but he rode of into the evil of the dark mountain above us for a reason unknown to me. I wish I had the strength to forget about my dreams to be with him, even though I know I would never forget him under any circumstances.
Most of all, I wish that I had never dreamed of him. Actually, it seems more appropriate to call the 'dream' a nightmare. It has done nothing but torment me by reminding me of what I cannot have. Just as I had begun to think that I could possibly cast all thoughts of my love aside, this nightmare came to me as a true test of my strength. And I failed that test.
In truth, I have been failing all along, I think to myself. Undoubtedly, it was because of my inadequacies that Aragorn didn't love me in the first place. I should have known that he was far too great a man for me. As he had said it was his dream to be with Arwen, so it was my foolish fantasy that I could be with Him.
From this day forward, I will swear never to believe in dreams. The word has but two feeble meanings. One signifies a nonsensical vision that the mind conjures at night. The other meaning is not much different than the first, except that it is done during the day when the mind in conscious. But it is no more than the wistful imagining of the one who thinks of it, and then it passes on like a dream at night. From this day forward, I will not succumb to that mindset. I must not revel in an imaginary world, for it leads to instability and doubt. I must concentrate on my realities and my duties.
In light of this, I must forget last night's 'nightmare', as I have called it, for it existed for a brief time in the past and is gone now. It was, in essence, only a dream – a feeble dream.
I must also throw my love to the wind. The moment I do, it all seems so surreal that I become convinced that none of it happened. Maybe, like the nightmare, the entire thing was merely the hyperactive imagination of my mind at night, one of those intangible and wistful thoughts that comes and is gone the next day, leaving only a faintmemory.
Yes, it was a dream… nothing more.