lord of the rings fanfiction
Title: Sigh No More Ladies
Rating: G (K)
Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J.R.R. Tolkien's estate.
Summary: He despised her. She could see that perfectly. So where did this new, strange behavior of his fit in? AU
~~~
“Lady.”
The familiar gruff call - a greeting or an order, it was difficult to tell - drew Eowyn sharply to a halt as she crossed the seemingly deserted, moon-lit courtyard. Looking around, her eyes lighted upon a figure seated alone before the fire in the middle of the courtyard.
“My Lord Aragorn,” she said.
“I need your assistance.”
First her eyes widened in surprise, then closed in resignation. She had been anticipating this. Ironic that the place they would have this discussion was where the...incident had occurred. When he had suddenly, vividly became aware of her. (She half-wished she could take it all back now.)
In the fortnight since that encounter, she had been on the receiving end of his black looks and hostile silences. She returned the silences in equal measure and the looks with her own cold ones, turning away quickly so he would not see the mortification which threatened to surface mixed with-
Thankful for his back facing her so as to miss the heat currently flooding her cheeks, Eowyn shook her head, pushing away that dangerous train of thought. Taking a fortifying breath, she gracefully walked towards Aragorn.
“My lord?” she asked in a steady voice, coming to stand beside him.
Without moving his gaze from the dancing flames, the man lifted the sheathed sword resting across his knees and held it up to her. “My sword needs cleaning.”
“I’m most so-,” she stopped, taking in the offered weapon. “You, your sword?” Eowyn stammered, taken aback. “I?”
“There is no one else about,” he commented.
“You desire me to care for your sword?”
He gave a single nod. “Aye.”
Eowyn’s eyes darted from his face to the sword and back again in bewilderment. What did this request - no, order, have to do... “Why-?” she began.
The weapon was thrust up to her again. “My sword needs cleaning,” impatience lacing every word. For the first time the ranger turned to her, his piercing eyes meeting her light ones, searching her face with a frown. “Take it.”
Snapping her jaw shut, her expression turned cool, and she drew herself up to her full height. “Nay!” she answered with a sharp laugh, pushing the offered sword away. “You may be a king, but I will not be treated like your personal servant. You did not even say so much as ‘please’!” she said before storming towards the doors of the hall.
She could not resist a fleeting glance over her shoulder. To her surprise Aragorn appeared sad as he stared down at his weapon. A pang of pity and regret washed over her, but she pushed them away and slipped through the hall doors.
~~~
“Lady.”
She was leaving the stables, just returned from a long morning ride. She had needed to escape the hall’s stone walls, however briefly, and to clear her mind of the strange ranger-lord’s behavior; his sadness, illuminated by firelight, from the previous evening particularly, had frequently risen unbidden in her mind.
“Lady!” she was hailed again.
Speak of the man himself. Wishful thinking to not cross his path today, the thought brushed her mind as she watched him stride purposely towards her.
“My Lord Aragorn,” she greeted with a nod, managing a polite smile. “Good morning.”
Up close, he looked almost uncertain, an expression she would never have associated with the Lord Aragorn, with his brow furrowing slightly as he seemed to have trouble meeting her gaze.
“Good morning.” He nodded, his attention now focusing on a point beyond her right shoulder. “I wondered, my lady, if you would cut my hair,” the ranger said quietly in a slightly hesitating tone. He added quickly, “Please,” as an afterthought.
She gave him a double take. For the second time in as many days, Eowyn felt like she had been swept off her feet and found herself stammering, “C-cut! But we... I, you w-want...”
Somehow she resisted the strong urge to wearily rub her forehead. The growing habit of Lord Aragorn to reduce her to bewilderment and stammering was not amusing. Why all these odd orders and requests?
She met his gaze. Something in his look - And he did say “please,” a voice in her head pointed out - caused her to swallow her negative response, replying instead with some doubt, “Well...all right I will. If you really want me to.”
With a wordless nod Aragorn handed Eowyn a small pair of scissors. She trailed after him to a nearby bale of hay. Seating himself down, the suspicious hints of a smile played around his mouth as he folded his arms over his chest and shut his eyes. Waiting.
Eowyn took a moment to study him. It is only Lord Aragorn, she tried to assure herself as she moved to stand behind him, willing away the nerves pricking at her. You cut Eomer’s hair for him in the past. This is just like that. A simple haircut.
Resolutely she set to work. The first few minutes were spent with her running her hands through his dark hair, straightening it and loosening the tangles caused by the wind. It was very soft, slipping easily through her fingers. As she carefully began to cut Lord Aragorn’s hair, she caught him quietly humming an unfamiliar song under his breath. The humming eased her nervousness, and her hands grew calm and steady. Unseen by her, the worry lines smoothed on the ranger’s face and his shoulders relaxed, eased of a weight. For a moment it felt like times long past, before darkness, fear, and sorrow plagued their steps.
Footsteps caught Eowyn’s attention, and she glanced up to see the dwarf drawing near, taking in the scene with fascination. She smiled quickly at him, focusing again on her task. “Master Gimli.”
“My lady.” His gaze flickered between her and his friend. “He asked you, I see,” he commented half to himself, his eyes twinkling.
She nodded. “Apparently his hair was in need of a trim.”
Was it her imagination, or did Lord Aragorn’s body stiffen? Certainly his humming had suddenly ceased. Her ease and enjoyment vanished, replaced by a sense of awkwardness and strain.
The dwarf grunted. “You are doing well, my lady.”
Eowyn mumbled a distracted acknowledgment, her attention on the last few locks of hair that needed cutting. She missed Gimli patting the man on the shoulder, bidding them both farewell, and going off. Minutes later, she straightened and stepped back, greatly relieved to announce, “All done.”
Swiftly the man rose and moved his head from side to side, his hair brushing his shoulder blades. Aragorn swung to face her, his expression unreadable. “Thank you, lady.”
The tense atmosphere which had crashed down did not lighten but seemed to tighten around the two of them at his flat tone.
Jerkily Eowyn bowed her head. “You are welcome, my lord.”
He accepted the offered scissors from her. As she started to withdraw her hand, he caught it with his free one and turned it over. His thumb ghosted over the palm, tracing the hard lines. A frown tugged at his lips.
“So calloused, your hands have seen much labor,” he remarked.
Violently Eowyn snatched her hand back. Her temper flared. “We women of the south are not so tame, wilder in comparison to ladies of the north. I know,” she said bitterly. “Long I have known. You need not insult me. Yet I am of a noble house. I am a lady!”
His surprised expression grew blurry and Eowyn realized with horror she was fighting back tears. Of course, she seemed like nothing but a child in his eyes, being so young. A simple cold, stern shieldmaiden, as the people often described her. Why should it matter to her what he thought of her? When he disliked her? She was a fool.
“Very well then.”
It took her a moment to comprehend the words uttered and by the time she looked up, Lord Aragorn was striding swiftly away.
Without an apology, she mused absently.
Did he truly intend it as an insult though?
Eowyn helplessly shook her head, feeling lost.
~~~
Half a week Eowyn succeeded in avoiding Aragorn. She stayed out of his way. He watched her less. It both relieved and distressed her. Today she cornered Legolas with the intent to ask him about his friend’s behavior.
“Have you noted Lord Aragorn acting odd lately?”
“I have indeed,” the elf acknowledged with a knowing, embarrassed light in his eyes.
“It was uncle’s company he kept mostly, in the beginning. We barely exchanged words. Now he issues orders whenever we meet. Why?”
Legolas’s smiled faded. “I couldn’t say,” he responded quickly.
“What is he up to?” Eowyn demanded, eyes narrowing suspiciously, sensing the elf knew more than he was telling.
Looking vastly uncomfortable Legolas glanced nervously about. “You do not know, truly? Have you no suspicion?” he asked almost pleadingly.
She frowned, thinking hard, disregarding one possibility after another. She shook her head.
Legolas swallowed hard, appearing to have an internal struggle before confessing in a low tone, “He is courting you!”
“What?” the word came out a bare whisper as she stared up at him, astonished, her ears pounding. Of all the possible explanations, this had never crossed her mind. “Courting me? But why?”
Whatever Legolas’s reply, it went unsaid. Something over her shoulder caught his attention and he froze, looking like a child caught red-handed rummaging for sweeties.
Hoping against hope, Eowyn slowly turned around to face Lord Aragon, standing stiffly several feet away, arms crossed, the portrait of calm, his grey eyes stormy. She sensed Legolas take a small step away from her.
The elf murmured something in elvish.
“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Aragorn said lightly (though he did not sound apologetic at all), “my friend, but Gimli is seeking you. I last saw him in the armory.” A veiled dismissal.
Eowyn frowned, while Legolas simply said, “Of course. Thank you, my friend. Good day, my lady,” (accompanied by a nod) before he went off.
Now alone with Lord Aragorn, and Legolas’s unexpected, new revelation still leaving her in shock, she felt at a loss for how to proceed; a rare shyness made it difficult for her to lift her eyes up beyond his boots which advanced to less than an arm’s length away.
“I was unaware you and Legolas were close.” The unexpected statement and gruff tone in which it was delivered caused Eowyn’s eyes to jump up to his own. His expression was of one making an unpleasant discovery.
“Close?” she repeated.
“Do you often exchange confidences?” he now openly scowled at her.
“Oh! No, no. Nothing of that sort,” she denied quickly, forcibly shaking her head.
“Good. Good,” he muttered under his breath, the tension in his stance relaxing.
Overhearing, Eowyn retorted, “I do not see why it should matter to you whether that is good or not!”
Aragorn lifted one eyebrow at her outburst and held her frustrated gaze. “Do you not?” he said.
For a moment she hesitated. Gathering her courage she lifted her chin.
“Before, no. But now...I know exactly what you are doing,” she replied slowly, her lingering disbelief seeping into her words.
There were no hints of shock, anger, guilt, denial, or embarrassment in his expression as she had anticipated would follow her answer. Instead, what could be interpreted as a mixture of acceptance and confidence settled on his face, and he took a step towards her. “Do you, lady?”
Really, his calmness and referring to her as “lady” was getting more and more on her nerves!
“Yes,” her answer came out shortly. “Yes, I do.”
“Yet you did not indicate rejection or acceptance - why?” Again, that serious, calm tone.
She waved her arms about. “Because I did not know, before I mean! I do not understand why you are doing this since you despise me--”
“Despise!” he exclaimed. Aragorn’s calm demeanor changed to shock, and he gaped at her.
She nodded, feeling a secret sense of accomplishment at his stunned reaction. “All your black looks and hostile silences - after that night when...I injured your arm.”
“My - it was only a light wound. And I did not, nor currently do, hate you because of that. You were mistaken.” He shook his head in growing exasperation “As a matter of fact, the duel confirmed my decision to pursue you!” he declared.
His words stole away her breath, and hundreds of butterflies fluttered in her stomach. It took her some time to find her tongue. “Why me? With all the countless maidens you’ve encountered over the decades? I know at first you viewed me a child, barely noting me at all,” she accused.
“At first,” he acknowledged with a slight nod. “But we have more in common than you think. The more I watched you - before that fateful night - I realized you were not like the others.” His eyes flashed, and his voice grew intense, “The fair maids who crossed my path only a crown would have suited, scorning the ranger wandering in exile. But, lady, in you, with your fierce spirit and beauty, eyes that have seen both light and darkness, I felt I found someone who saw and accepted me not only for who I will become, but who I am. And, besides, I had thought...,” he trailed off, his gaze turning quizzical.
Against her will Eowyn blushed hotly. She had thought she had done quite well at concealing her growing affection for Aragorn from all eyes, even her own for a time.
“I did not know what to think. Your ways of courting are not how we practice courtship here in Rohan.”
“Pray what are your customs?” he asked curiously, moving forward two steps.
Her heartbeat quickening at his close proximity, Eowyn tried to recall a discussion she once had with her cousin Idis during her courtship. “You- you request permission from the woman’s father first. You ask her to go horseback riding, invite her over for the midday meal, exchange tokens, act kind and romantic,” she ticked off each item with a finger, resisting the impulse to reach up and brush his beard.
He took a minute to digest this information. Frowning slightly, he asked, “You wish me to be romantic?”
Her gaze flickered over his frame. No, he would not strike someone as being quite that.
“You did not indicate rejection or acceptance...”
“You could try,” she answered, wistfulness underlying her words.
His gaze snapped to hers, and she saw understanding and warmth fill his grey eyes. His boots reclaimed her interest. She sensed him shift closer, old leather and earth filling her nostrils, and a callous yet gentle hand touched her warm cheek before he kissed her softly, briefly. And suddenly she could picture herself by his side, always.
“Lady, is that romantic enough?”
His hoarse voice called her to open her eyes. They searched each other’s faces.
“Aye,” she confirmed breathlessly, one corner of her mouth tilting upward.
His smile was the first genuine one she had seen from him, lacking shadows, burdens, and cares, reaching up to his sparkling eyes. He leaned toward her again. Swiftly she brought up a restraining hand.
Before his eyes could cloud over once again or he asked, she blurted out, “Would you use my name, please? Always being called ‘lady’ is so formal and irritating!”
He grinned. “Forgive me, Eowyn,” he apologized, his hand moving up to brush her hair.
“Thank you, my lord.” Her own smile was brilliant and wide.
“Aragorn,” his voice grew quiet.
Her hands came to rest on his chest and she looked up at him. “Aragorn,” she amended softly before his embrace surrounded her.
THE END
Rating: G (K)
Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J.R.R. Tolkien's estate.
Summary: He despised her. She could see that perfectly. So where did this new, strange behavior of his fit in? AU
~~~
“Lady.”
The familiar gruff call - a greeting or an order, it was difficult to tell - drew Eowyn sharply to a halt as she crossed the seemingly deserted, moon-lit courtyard. Looking around, her eyes lighted upon a figure seated alone before the fire in the middle of the courtyard.
“My Lord Aragorn,” she said.
“I need your assistance.”
First her eyes widened in surprise, then closed in resignation. She had been anticipating this. Ironic that the place they would have this discussion was where the...incident had occurred. When he had suddenly, vividly became aware of her. (She half-wished she could take it all back now.)
In the fortnight since that encounter, she had been on the receiving end of his black looks and hostile silences. She returned the silences in equal measure and the looks with her own cold ones, turning away quickly so he would not see the mortification which threatened to surface mixed with-
Thankful for his back facing her so as to miss the heat currently flooding her cheeks, Eowyn shook her head, pushing away that dangerous train of thought. Taking a fortifying breath, she gracefully walked towards Aragorn.
“My lord?” she asked in a steady voice, coming to stand beside him.
Without moving his gaze from the dancing flames, the man lifted the sheathed sword resting across his knees and held it up to her. “My sword needs cleaning.”
“I’m most so-,” she stopped, taking in the offered weapon. “You, your sword?” Eowyn stammered, taken aback. “I?”
“There is no one else about,” he commented.
“You desire me to care for your sword?”
He gave a single nod. “Aye.”
Eowyn’s eyes darted from his face to the sword and back again in bewilderment. What did this request - no, order, have to do... “Why-?” she began.
The weapon was thrust up to her again. “My sword needs cleaning,” impatience lacing every word. For the first time the ranger turned to her, his piercing eyes meeting her light ones, searching her face with a frown. “Take it.”
Snapping her jaw shut, her expression turned cool, and she drew herself up to her full height. “Nay!” she answered with a sharp laugh, pushing the offered sword away. “You may be a king, but I will not be treated like your personal servant. You did not even say so much as ‘please’!” she said before storming towards the doors of the hall.
She could not resist a fleeting glance over her shoulder. To her surprise Aragorn appeared sad as he stared down at his weapon. A pang of pity and regret washed over her, but she pushed them away and slipped through the hall doors.
~~~
“Lady.”
She was leaving the stables, just returned from a long morning ride. She had needed to escape the hall’s stone walls, however briefly, and to clear her mind of the strange ranger-lord’s behavior; his sadness, illuminated by firelight, from the previous evening particularly, had frequently risen unbidden in her mind.
“Lady!” she was hailed again.
Speak of the man himself. Wishful thinking to not cross his path today, the thought brushed her mind as she watched him stride purposely towards her.
“My Lord Aragorn,” she greeted with a nod, managing a polite smile. “Good morning.”
Up close, he looked almost uncertain, an expression she would never have associated with the Lord Aragorn, with his brow furrowing slightly as he seemed to have trouble meeting her gaze.
“Good morning.” He nodded, his attention now focusing on a point beyond her right shoulder. “I wondered, my lady, if you would cut my hair,” the ranger said quietly in a slightly hesitating tone. He added quickly, “Please,” as an afterthought.
She gave him a double take. For the second time in as many days, Eowyn felt like she had been swept off her feet and found herself stammering, “C-cut! But we... I, you w-want...”
Somehow she resisted the strong urge to wearily rub her forehead. The growing habit of Lord Aragorn to reduce her to bewilderment and stammering was not amusing. Why all these odd orders and requests?
She met his gaze. Something in his look - And he did say “please,” a voice in her head pointed out - caused her to swallow her negative response, replying instead with some doubt, “Well...all right I will. If you really want me to.”
With a wordless nod Aragorn handed Eowyn a small pair of scissors. She trailed after him to a nearby bale of hay. Seating himself down, the suspicious hints of a smile played around his mouth as he folded his arms over his chest and shut his eyes. Waiting.
Eowyn took a moment to study him. It is only Lord Aragorn, she tried to assure herself as she moved to stand behind him, willing away the nerves pricking at her. You cut Eomer’s hair for him in the past. This is just like that. A simple haircut.
Resolutely she set to work. The first few minutes were spent with her running her hands through his dark hair, straightening it and loosening the tangles caused by the wind. It was very soft, slipping easily through her fingers. As she carefully began to cut Lord Aragorn’s hair, she caught him quietly humming an unfamiliar song under his breath. The humming eased her nervousness, and her hands grew calm and steady. Unseen by her, the worry lines smoothed on the ranger’s face and his shoulders relaxed, eased of a weight. For a moment it felt like times long past, before darkness, fear, and sorrow plagued their steps.
Footsteps caught Eowyn’s attention, and she glanced up to see the dwarf drawing near, taking in the scene with fascination. She smiled quickly at him, focusing again on her task. “Master Gimli.”
“My lady.” His gaze flickered between her and his friend. “He asked you, I see,” he commented half to himself, his eyes twinkling.
She nodded. “Apparently his hair was in need of a trim.”
Was it her imagination, or did Lord Aragorn’s body stiffen? Certainly his humming had suddenly ceased. Her ease and enjoyment vanished, replaced by a sense of awkwardness and strain.
The dwarf grunted. “You are doing well, my lady.”
Eowyn mumbled a distracted acknowledgment, her attention on the last few locks of hair that needed cutting. She missed Gimli patting the man on the shoulder, bidding them both farewell, and going off. Minutes later, she straightened and stepped back, greatly relieved to announce, “All done.”
Swiftly the man rose and moved his head from side to side, his hair brushing his shoulder blades. Aragorn swung to face her, his expression unreadable. “Thank you, lady.”
The tense atmosphere which had crashed down did not lighten but seemed to tighten around the two of them at his flat tone.
Jerkily Eowyn bowed her head. “You are welcome, my lord.”
He accepted the offered scissors from her. As she started to withdraw her hand, he caught it with his free one and turned it over. His thumb ghosted over the palm, tracing the hard lines. A frown tugged at his lips.
“So calloused, your hands have seen much labor,” he remarked.
Violently Eowyn snatched her hand back. Her temper flared. “We women of the south are not so tame, wilder in comparison to ladies of the north. I know,” she said bitterly. “Long I have known. You need not insult me. Yet I am of a noble house. I am a lady!”
His surprised expression grew blurry and Eowyn realized with horror she was fighting back tears. Of course, she seemed like nothing but a child in his eyes, being so young. A simple cold, stern shieldmaiden, as the people often described her. Why should it matter to her what he thought of her? When he disliked her? She was a fool.
“Very well then.”
It took her a moment to comprehend the words uttered and by the time she looked up, Lord Aragorn was striding swiftly away.
Without an apology, she mused absently.
Did he truly intend it as an insult though?
Eowyn helplessly shook her head, feeling lost.
~~~
Half a week Eowyn succeeded in avoiding Aragorn. She stayed out of his way. He watched her less. It both relieved and distressed her. Today she cornered Legolas with the intent to ask him about his friend’s behavior.
“Have you noted Lord Aragorn acting odd lately?”
“I have indeed,” the elf acknowledged with a knowing, embarrassed light in his eyes.
“It was uncle’s company he kept mostly, in the beginning. We barely exchanged words. Now he issues orders whenever we meet. Why?”
Legolas’s smiled faded. “I couldn’t say,” he responded quickly.
“What is he up to?” Eowyn demanded, eyes narrowing suspiciously, sensing the elf knew more than he was telling.
Looking vastly uncomfortable Legolas glanced nervously about. “You do not know, truly? Have you no suspicion?” he asked almost pleadingly.
She frowned, thinking hard, disregarding one possibility after another. She shook her head.
Legolas swallowed hard, appearing to have an internal struggle before confessing in a low tone, “He is courting you!”
“What?” the word came out a bare whisper as she stared up at him, astonished, her ears pounding. Of all the possible explanations, this had never crossed her mind. “Courting me? But why?”
Whatever Legolas’s reply, it went unsaid. Something over her shoulder caught his attention and he froze, looking like a child caught red-handed rummaging for sweeties.
Hoping against hope, Eowyn slowly turned around to face Lord Aragon, standing stiffly several feet away, arms crossed, the portrait of calm, his grey eyes stormy. She sensed Legolas take a small step away from her.
The elf murmured something in elvish.
“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Aragorn said lightly (though he did not sound apologetic at all), “my friend, but Gimli is seeking you. I last saw him in the armory.” A veiled dismissal.
Eowyn frowned, while Legolas simply said, “Of course. Thank you, my friend. Good day, my lady,” (accompanied by a nod) before he went off.
Now alone with Lord Aragorn, and Legolas’s unexpected, new revelation still leaving her in shock, she felt at a loss for how to proceed; a rare shyness made it difficult for her to lift her eyes up beyond his boots which advanced to less than an arm’s length away.
“I was unaware you and Legolas were close.” The unexpected statement and gruff tone in which it was delivered caused Eowyn’s eyes to jump up to his own. His expression was of one making an unpleasant discovery.
“Close?” she repeated.
“Do you often exchange confidences?” he now openly scowled at her.
“Oh! No, no. Nothing of that sort,” she denied quickly, forcibly shaking her head.
“Good. Good,” he muttered under his breath, the tension in his stance relaxing.
Overhearing, Eowyn retorted, “I do not see why it should matter to you whether that is good or not!”
Aragorn lifted one eyebrow at her outburst and held her frustrated gaze. “Do you not?” he said.
For a moment she hesitated. Gathering her courage she lifted her chin.
“Before, no. But now...I know exactly what you are doing,” she replied slowly, her lingering disbelief seeping into her words.
There were no hints of shock, anger, guilt, denial, or embarrassment in his expression as she had anticipated would follow her answer. Instead, what could be interpreted as a mixture of acceptance and confidence settled on his face, and he took a step towards her. “Do you, lady?”
Really, his calmness and referring to her as “lady” was getting more and more on her nerves!
“Yes,” her answer came out shortly. “Yes, I do.”
“Yet you did not indicate rejection or acceptance - why?” Again, that serious, calm tone.
She waved her arms about. “Because I did not know, before I mean! I do not understand why you are doing this since you despise me--”
“Despise!” he exclaimed. Aragorn’s calm demeanor changed to shock, and he gaped at her.
She nodded, feeling a secret sense of accomplishment at his stunned reaction. “All your black looks and hostile silences - after that night when...I injured your arm.”
“My - it was only a light wound. And I did not, nor currently do, hate you because of that. You were mistaken.” He shook his head in growing exasperation “As a matter of fact, the duel confirmed my decision to pursue you!” he declared.
His words stole away her breath, and hundreds of butterflies fluttered in her stomach. It took her some time to find her tongue. “Why me? With all the countless maidens you’ve encountered over the decades? I know at first you viewed me a child, barely noting me at all,” she accused.
“At first,” he acknowledged with a slight nod. “But we have more in common than you think. The more I watched you - before that fateful night - I realized you were not like the others.” His eyes flashed, and his voice grew intense, “The fair maids who crossed my path only a crown would have suited, scorning the ranger wandering in exile. But, lady, in you, with your fierce spirit and beauty, eyes that have seen both light and darkness, I felt I found someone who saw and accepted me not only for who I will become, but who I am. And, besides, I had thought...,” he trailed off, his gaze turning quizzical.
Against her will Eowyn blushed hotly. She had thought she had done quite well at concealing her growing affection for Aragorn from all eyes, even her own for a time.
“I did not know what to think. Your ways of courting are not how we practice courtship here in Rohan.”
“Pray what are your customs?” he asked curiously, moving forward two steps.
Her heartbeat quickening at his close proximity, Eowyn tried to recall a discussion she once had with her cousin Idis during her courtship. “You- you request permission from the woman’s father first. You ask her to go horseback riding, invite her over for the midday meal, exchange tokens, act kind and romantic,” she ticked off each item with a finger, resisting the impulse to reach up and brush his beard.
He took a minute to digest this information. Frowning slightly, he asked, “You wish me to be romantic?”
Her gaze flickered over his frame. No, he would not strike someone as being quite that.
“You did not indicate rejection or acceptance...”
“You could try,” she answered, wistfulness underlying her words.
His gaze snapped to hers, and she saw understanding and warmth fill his grey eyes. His boots reclaimed her interest. She sensed him shift closer, old leather and earth filling her nostrils, and a callous yet gentle hand touched her warm cheek before he kissed her softly, briefly. And suddenly she could picture herself by his side, always.
“Lady, is that romantic enough?”
His hoarse voice called her to open her eyes. They searched each other’s faces.
“Aye,” she confirmed breathlessly, one corner of her mouth tilting upward.
His smile was the first genuine one she had seen from him, lacking shadows, burdens, and cares, reaching up to his sparkling eyes. He leaned toward her again. Swiftly she brought up a restraining hand.
Before his eyes could cloud over once again or he asked, she blurted out, “Would you use my name, please? Always being called ‘lady’ is so formal and irritating!”
He grinned. “Forgive me, Eowyn,” he apologized, his hand moving up to brush her hair.
“Thank you, my lord.” Her own smile was brilliant and wide.
“Aragorn,” his voice grew quiet.
Her hands came to rest on his chest and she looked up at him. “Aragorn,” she amended softly before his embrace surrounded her.
THE END