Summary: Aragorn and his children attend Eowyn's funeral. Rated K+ by Savannah (Aragorn & Eowyn)

Year 10

Stars glimmered in the velvet sky, a thousand tiny lights. Beneath them, hundred off torches and candles glowed back in a mirror to the sky. Aragorn stood beside Eomer, his arms hanging limply at his sides. His children stood on the other side of him still as statues. He looked at their faces, at Eldarion's blue eyes and blond hair; Awena's dark curls and grey eyes that looked so much like his own. Her nurses had woven silver threads into her soft hair which sparkled in the soft light. Aragorn watched as a tear slipped down the small girl's cheek, he felt his heart break inside him and he wished he could take her in his arms and comfort her, but instead he turned back to the courtyard.

The musicians started to play a slow low song, soon the yard would be full of people from the highest of officials to the peasants from the lowest level of the city. All had come to pay resect to their queen. Aragorn let out a long low breath that bordered on a growl. None of these people had even known Eowyn, not like he had. They didn't know the untamable maiden he had met those years ago; didn't know the playful, irreverent, fierce woman he had rode beside as they fought to save the common farmer and villager. They had heard stories of how she had ridden into battle, defeating the Witch King, but to them they were just stories.

Aragorn had been there to piece her body and mind back together after death and loss had shattered it. He had been with her through everything, and she with him. To the people she was a beaming golden light by his side, the sun that lit the white city. Aragorn let his head hang, staring down at the stone pavement under his feet, but she had been his light and now he was plunged into darkness.

His eyes flicked to the stone memorial that now stood under the white tree in the heart of Gondor. The artist had cut her form from stone as if she lay on the slab before him. A circlet of stone rested on her brow, a sword clasped in her hands, its blade running the length of her body. The stone rippled around her body as if a shroud covered her. It was beautiful, an honor usually reserved for kings. But Aragorn could only think of how she looked in life; the way her eyes sparkled, how her cheeks flushed, how she walked. He tore his eyes away from the body of stone and stared out into nothing.

"Aragorn," Eomer said softly.

Aragorn turned to his brother-in-law, for once he looked like a king; he had trimmed his beard and his long blond hair was brushed and pulled back, his crown rested on his brow. But his broad shoulders slumped slightly and his blue Rohirrim eyes were dull. Eomer motioned with his eyes to where Faramir was walking toward them at the front of a long line of highborn lords and ladies. Aragorn sighed and blinked hard, trying to clear his head.

Eomer looked down at Eldarion and nodded to him. The boy looked up at his uncle, the man every said he looked like, and swallowed back his tears, trying to be a man. He looked at his little sister, at the tears that shone in the warm light, and smiled at her encouragingly. He looked to his father, waiting for the smile he knew so well, but it never came, his father's face was made of stone.

Aragorn watched as Faramir walked up beside the stone, his eyes shining as he stooped to place a single white lily at the base of her bed. The two men looked at each other for a long time at a loss for words. "She will be missed by many," Faramir finally said, but his words felt hollow and lacking in his own ears. Faramir walked down the line, offering condolences and sympathies.

Next came all of Aragorn's advisors and officials, the men saying few words, the women afraid to meet Aragorn's eyes. Aragorn barely heard their words and their faces passed in a blur, instead he looked at the stars.

The pile of flowers at Eowyn's feet grew. When Aragorn looked down, the servants were clearing away the flowers, making room for more. People poured through the yard. Tears flowed freely as he watched the people of his city walk past in a slow procession, most bowing slightly and placing flowers or small lit candles in the grass surrounding them. He looked past Eomer to Awena, her small cheeks were no longer wet with tears; she stood still, staring at the people that walked past her. Aragorn looked away, cursing under his breath. Whose idea had it been to make them stand here?

Aragorn could still feel Eowyn in his arms. He had relived the night of her death over and over in his mind. She had been so calm in front of their children, smiling at them through the pain. Aragorn could feel her clutch his shirt, heard her cry out his name. He could see her body relax into his as her dying breath left her. He felt his stomach flip and he felt light headed at the thought of never seeing her again. Grief, immense grief, washed over him until he felt himself falling. A hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back to his feet.

Eomer looked at him, concerned. "You need to rest," he said. "When was the last time you slept?"

Aragorn looked at him. "Not since we let Rohan."

Eomer raised his eyebrows. "I will stay here. Take the children and go rest."

"No," Aragorn answered, pulling himself back up. "I need to stay. My people have come to say goodbye, I should be here to see them."

Eomer's brows knit together. "They have lost their queen, she was well loved but she was but their wife, their friend, their lover, as she was yours."

Aragorn nodded slowly; he knew Eomer was right, but he only stood, rooted to his spot.

"Stay if you must," Eomer said finally with a sigh. "But they do not deserve to stand and watch a city mourn." He pointed to the children, angering tingeing his words. Together, Eomer and the two children began to walk away.

"Father?" A teary eyed Awena asked, looking over her shoulder, but Aragorn didn't turn from where he stood."

"Shh," Eomer soothed, scooping her into his arms. Awena buried her face in his neck, looking over his shoulder at her father's slumped back growing farther and farther away. Eomer turned and looked over his shoulder to the stone, the mountains of flowers and Aragorn standing alone. Then he walked away, his hand on Eldarion's back. Aragorn could feel Eomer watching him. He pushed down his feelings until his mind was numb.

..::..

The night drew on and on until Aragorn felt like he had been standing for years. Finally, the line of people dwindled and then stopped in the wee hours of the night. Aragorn felt tears slipping down his cheeks yet again, his hands rest far apart, leaning his weight on the stone table. His head sunk down and he closed his eyes, willing the pain away, but the lump in his throat would not leave, it only grew. Now, instead of only sadness and grief, anger filled his heart.

Eomer walked slowly back into the courtyard. Aragorn stood alone, his body bent over the stone form of Eowyn. He walked back towards him, all Eomer wanted to do was go back to his room and sleep, sleep and dream of a time when he had no sorrow pulling on his heart. A hoarse scream pulled him from his thoughts; he snapped his head up to see Aragorn picking up bunches of flowers and throwing them across the ground, hot tears streaming down his face. Eomer ran toward him, closing the distance in a few long strides.

"What are you doing?" He yelled as Aragorn collapsed to his knees on the cold ground, his screams blending with sobs, flowers strewn all around him.

"She shouldn't need these," Aragorn sobbed, holding a rose in his hands. "She shouldn't be dead." He looked up to the sky, his lips pulled back as he sobbed through clenched teeth. "Don't you know how much she's given to you!" He screamed out the words, his voice broken and cracked with emotion. "You promised to take me first!" He screamed to the heavens. Aragorn doubled over, his fists filling with handfuls of grass as his body shook with silent sobs that came ripping out of him in hoarse cries and screams. "Eowyn!" He screamed over and over again into the night, as if he could call her back to him.

Eomer watched as the man he had known broke before him. As if he were a piece of glass knocked from its place, the man shattered on the ground in front of him. Eomer approached him slowly, he knew better than to touch him. The man before him was a broken representation of the man he had known before. like wounded pet who would snap, forgetting their love in their pain.

Aragorn clumped the rose in his hands then threw it away, his fists clenched, tiny drops of blood running down from his wrist from the thorns. He embraced the pain of the singing cuts, grasping at some way to feel the pain in his heart physically. He surrendered to the sobs that shook his entire frame, rage washing over him in wave like heat from a fire. The tears stung his eyes, hot on his cheeks. His jaw was clenched so tight he thought his teeth might crack. He wanted to claw his way out of his own skin and wake up from the hell he was in now.

Finally, he hung his head, tears covering his face, his nose leaking down over his lips, too numb to wipe away the moisture. "It was never supposed to end like this," Aragorn said, his voice low and gravelly, almost lost from screaming.

Eomer nodded, understanding. He had sworn to protect her and now… He couldn't bear to the face of his thought.

"We were going to grow old together," Aragorn said, his body aching with the loss of their future. "Well, older," he said ruthlessly, staring down at the flecks of dried blood on the back of his hands. "She was so young." His voice cracked over the word as he saw her in his mind.

Aragorn remembered years ago when he had told her of his wish to be held in her arms as he died. He closed his eyes and imagined the scene again, her hair white with age, her smile painted in lines on her face, her blue eyes still so beautiful as she stroked his own white hair. Their children grown, perhaps with children of their own standing near his bed. He would have been happy to close his eyes and rest then. Now he wished to rip himself apart and stumble through the dark until he found her arms, lay in the dirt with her and let their bones be together.

Aragorn felt bile rush up his throat and he flung himself to the side as the sticky yellow liquid dropped over his lips onto the grass. His head spun and he groaned, letting his eyes drift shut. Rohan had felt like a dream, the ride to Gondor passing by in a blur. But now in their home the reality of life without her beside him crushed down on him, snapping his bones like twigs, tears filling his lungs until he was drowning. In another world he felt Eomer's hand land on his shoulder.

Eomer sighed. "It is the will of the Valar," he said not completely convinced himself.

Aragorn's jaw clenched shut, grinding his teeth together. "Curse the Valar," he growled out. "They have used her for their work and taken her from me." He felt like he might be sick again, squeezing his eyes shut, he felt nausea wash over him. Arms were pulling him up, taking one of his own around their shoulder.

Eomer walked slowly out of the courtyard, Aragorn's body slumping into his own. He headed in the direction of where he vaguely remembered the royal chambers being, focused only on putting one foot in front of the other. When their feet had found cold stone hallways instead of grass, Eomer looked up and saw Faramir sitting alone in a small alcove, staring into the darkness.

"His room?" Eomer said, his voice sounding harsher than he had intended.

Faramir's attention snapped to them and he glanced over his king's slumped form, his head hanging, hair covering his face. On another night, in a different lifetime, it might have looked like two men stumbling home from a night of drinking. But Faramir knew it wasn't liquor that had turned Aragorn's body limp in Eomer's arms. "This way," he said, turning back to Eomer's prodding gaze and led them down another hall.

Eomer pushed the door open and saw the big bed in the middle of the room. He cringed away from his sister's smell that lingered in the room, glancing around the room filled with her things. He moved to their bed and laid Aragorn down. The man rolled away from his, stretching his arm out to the other side of the bed, fisting the sheets in his hand.

Letting go of a shaking breath, Eomer rested his elbows on his knees, resting his head in his hands he let his tears slip down his cheeks. Outside, the night was completely dark, the stars hidden behind storm clouds. It would rain all day tomorrow, Eomer suspected. He stood and opened one window and then another, letting cool fresh night air wash into the room. Finally, he opened the door and stepped out into their small balcony. He looked down at the garden Aragorn had built for her. He smiled at the memory of her telling him about the gift; how happy she had been, giddy like a small child, so in love with her husband. He rested his elbows on the rail and let his mind wander far away, back to their homeland, back to their childhood, back to riding across the plains together.