Perhaps the worst way to meet the most beautiful woman in the world, whom is also the woman who is married to the man you thought you loved, is to sprawl at her feet wearing a gown of homespun grey, and with hair unwashed. To look up into eyes which are bluer than the sky, which belong to a woman whom the elves called the most beautiful ever to set foot upon the earth. The face of the Evening Star herself- Arwen Undomniel, and to find those eyes (such eyes!) filled not with disdain or laughter, but rather a genuine curiosity as to whom she is.

Eowyn snatched up the pile of linen she had been carrying and hastily made her apologies. Around her she could feel the cold dispassionate gaze of the Queen's attendents- one of whom's eyes were filled with what was not quite kind laughter, the other two remote as though they could not imagine whom this chambermaid must be. Even in the company of these beautiful beings, the Queen shone like a jewel prized above all others. Eowyn turned to flee, praying that she had not been recognized, though she was certain that Arwen did not care whether she was a scullion, or Princess of Rohan. She ignored the words that Arwen spoke, and fled lightfooted away.

When she was sure she was alone, she halted, and wept violently, passionately, a flood of tears beyond all reason. Why was Arwen here early? The arrival should have been tomorrow, and now she could not even put up a token gesture of resistance. Then a sudden bolt of resolve steeled her gaze, and firmed her spine. She would not be despised by anyone. She was a Princess of Rohan, and the wife of the Steward of Gondor, no-one could make her ashamed. Rising quickly, she called three gentle-woman to her, and instructed them to seek out Lady Arwen and her entourage and take them to her rooms, which had been prepared for days, and which were more than adequete- those at least she could be proud of. She told a soldier to fetch her the gate guards, and flew to her mirror. It was past four, and she told her maid to abandon choosing clothes and to bring up the cook. The cook and the guards arrived at the same time, and in the mild confusion Eowyn managed to sort things out quickly. The guards told her that the Lady Arwen had asked for no announcement, and when Eowyn had scathingly asked him, why on Middle-earth he had allowed her in then, he merely blushed, and stammered something about her beauty and grace. Snorting with contempt she dismissed the lot, and turned to the cook. "We were prepared for a feast tomorrow. Remain on standby, until I tell you whether it is necessary to do it tonight." She ignored the sympathy in the cook's eyes.

Eowyn rested her still aching head against the cool glass, and stared into the mirror, as she sought to repair the damage caused by her crying bout. Her maid braided her hair quickly and expertly, in such a way that its unwashed state could not be noticed, into a crown of gold upon her head, and she picked up an afternoon gown of pale green cloth. No accessories. She would do fine for a cursory talk with the Queen, but if the other woman decided the feast should be held tonight, then she would be in trouble. She gazed in the mirror, and touched her face with powder, then scowled and wiped it off. No. No artifice. Eowyn saw a plain woman clad in unflattering green, whose eyes were too large and tired, and whose face was drawn and ugly. Her attendant saw a woman who should be Queen.

A subdued knock sounded at the door, and Eowyn knowing it would be the maids asking for more orders, told whoever it was curtly to come in. She looked up as Aragorn's wife, let herself silently into the room, closing the door behind her. With one furious look, Eowyn gestured her maid to leave, which she did instantly. "My Queen," she said. "Forgive me," she spread her skirts in a deep curtsey.

Arwen's cheeks coloured, and she curtsied herself. "Forgive me Lady Eowyn, for such rudeness as to arrive early. I beg of you not to change any arrangements." Eowyn murmurred some polite denials of trouble, and waited for Arwen to explain why she had come early. Then rememembering her own manners, she hurried to the next room, where a cheery fire was built up, and comforting chairs lay scattered about, and gestured for the other woman to sit. Arwen sat, as gracefully as she did everything else, and Eowyn took this moment to survey her rival. Or rather the woman who had beaten her. Tall. Taller than Eowyn by at least a handspan, and slim as a willow wand. She wore no crown, but her dark hair, and that tumbled down her back in a fall of night. She was clothed in a blue gown of material that swirled around her slender form, picked out with silver threads, and by the standards of all the beautiful things that had ever been made, she was exquisite. Oh how Eowyn hated her. But she concealed that hatred behind lowered eyes.

"Would you like tea?" Eowyn asked.

"I would love that." Eowyn stood and walked to the door, where she was sure her maid lurked, and with one look sent her scuttling to look for tea. Then she returned and waited for Arwen to speak. The other woman seemed nervous. "You must be wondering why only I am here. Aragorn will arrive with the rest tomorrow as planned. But I wanted some time to talk to you. Woman to woman," her eyes did not falter before Eowyn's sharp gaze.

Eowyn grudgingly replied. "You are always welcome your majesty." Arwen's smile, indicated she knew the real thought behind that carefully worded pleasantry. Her gaze seemed to strip away every layer of Eowyn's soul, the dirty corners and crevices which no-one could see, and which Eowyn hid even from herself. She seemed to know that Eowyn was virgin still, untouched by Faramir even upon their wedding night, that she had flinched from her husbands touch, and cried herself to sleep. She knew that it wasn't because Eowyn had been scared. She knew that Eowyn was scared of nothing except perhaps the gentleness and trust that Faramir offered. Eowyn blinked and looked away holding her head high. She had never paid attention to her tutors, but even so she was sure that elves could not read minds. It was her own guilty conscience that imposed this odd sense of knowing. But as she looked straight back at Arwen, and took her measure coolly, she knew with a sudden certainty, that Arwen was afraid herself. Afraid of something that went beyond Eowyn's limited knowledge of her and the King's courtship. It screamed out of her eyes, and in the way those elegant hands clutched the tea-cup. And she knew, though she knew not how, that Arwen had come here for comfort perhaps even for hope.

She did not need to speak her discovery, instead she stood, then sank to the floor in front of the fire, careless of how the gown trailed. With no hesitation, Arwen sat as well, and together they stared into the flickering fire. They had reached understanding to a degree, and somehow Eowyn knew that with time more would be revealed. Hours went by, without a word being spoken, and their eyes drooped closing slowly. Eowyn was woken by a scream. They were both lying on a rug, covered by blankets by some assidious servant, and the fire had died down. It was dark outside. Arwen was hugging herself, her lower lip trembling. And suddenly the most beautiful woman in the world was no more than a frightened child. Eowyn did what came instinctively, and drew the dagger from her belt, but there was no danger. She turned to Arwen. "What is it?" she demanded.

Arwen's eyes were huge. "I saw a darkness and it called my name. I don't know where I was, but I was all alone and when I called for my father there was no answer. Then I saw him in the distance, but there was an impassable river between us, and gradually he disappeared leaving only the darkness. I opened my eyes and realized I was here."

Eowyn was hard put not to smile. "It was only a nightmare Lady Arwen."

Arwen's eyes were non-understanding. "What do you mean?" Then her gaze lightened, and she looked shamed. "I am sorry. I had forgotten. The way humans sleep is different from the elvish way."

Eowyn merely nodded and stood. Reaching out a hand, she pulled Arw upright and tugged her towards the door. "I will take you to your chamber. I should not have been so rude as to delay you from your rest. Your day must have been tiring." Arwen made no answer, merely followed. The chamber was well lit, and beautiful, a bridal chamber. The room was large and well appointed and furnished in blue and white. Heavy blue velvet curtains masked the windows, and the walls though stone were covered with intricate tapestries. Ancient carpets on the floor were heavily patterned and soft, the product of one trade delegation from the East centuries ago, and kept assidiously repaired. A small spindly table stood near the flaming fire, with steaming tea cups upon it. Above the fireplace was a bowl of dried rose petals which faintly scented the room along with the umistakable scent of beeswax, and a minature bronze of a horse. But the centre piece of the room was the bed. Mahogany posts secured the bed's canopy which like the curtains was a deep blue, but scattered on the underneath were silver stars worked into the fabric so to glance up was to look into the night sky. Curtains fell about it again worked with traceries of silver embroidery. The coverlet was pure white and covered the sack of goose down and feathers that made up the blanket, over a mattress of similar materials. It was warmed by a pan of coals, and these Eowyn thoughtfully removed. Arwen was still blinking rather stupified at the sight, and Eowyn curtsied low. "I bid thee goodnight."

Turning she quenched the candelabra's that burned candles of pure beeswax leaving one candle alight, then silently left for her own room, which was rather less magnificent, though still well furnished. She had chosen it for the location not the comforts. Bred in Rohan, bodily comforts which seemed to matter more to Gondorians defied her understanding. She had chosen a room which looked out on two views. One was half the size of the wall, and panelled with glass. The other one was smaller, but open to the elements, with shutters that could be closed during storms. It was empty of everything apart from the large marriage bed, similar in design to the one Arwen now occupied, but with no embroidery on its covers. Above the bed hung a sword, and again on the walls were tapestries. The floor had no rugs but just simple stone flags. Both her and Faramir's dressing rooms were next door. Eowyn blew out the candlelabras and undressed in silence. Faramir had not returned.

The next day her softer feelings towards the other woman had disappeared, and it was with grim purpose in her mind that she woke the next morning. She smiled as the scent of crushed mint and lavender drifted towards her. Alyssa anticipated her needs so well. A bath first, and then to battle, in a rather different way than she had ever battled before. She scrubbed hard and fast, ignoring the fact she had lost weight and that her bones were rather closer to the skin than was usual, then wrapped herself in a towel, and poured the water over her head. Alyssa combed out the knots, teasing them gently with the comb, until her hair resembled a golden cloud. She dressed again plainly in a grey gown. Tonight would be her tonight. Until then she would lie low, and watch.

She hastened down the stairs and to the kitchen. Three ladies had arrived with Arwen, so she ordered a light repast for five. She must join them even if only for a short time. Practically the whole court would arrive with Aragorn, and there would be a grand feast tonight. She supervised the preparation of smoking hams, white bread, crystallized honey, jams, fruits of the season, a pat of butter, rashers of meat and various delicacies for the delectation of Arwen and her companions, and the setting of the table with white cloths and silver cutlery, as befitted an intimate ladies breakfast. She watched the cuts of meat which were soaking and roasting in preparation for tonight, and the labours of the cooks in the making of fantastical pastry confections, with the mixing of confits and compotes, and herself mixed the glaze of honey, bacon grease and cloves that covered one of the whole pigs. Alyssa appeared at her elbow, to tell her the ladies had awoken, and that the breakfast table was laid and ready.

Eowyn played the part of the gracious hostess, and poured tea. The conversation was polite pleasantries roaming around the topics of the weather and furnishings, and Eowyn took this opportunity to covertly survey her company. There was actually only one elf apart from Arwen. She was introduced as a woodland elf, and her hair was dark brown, and her eyes were as green as spring. She was clothed in dark green meshed with yellow, and Eowyn was almost sure she saw a knife protruding from her boot. She was obviously no kindred of Arwens, there was no family resemblance, and she seemed both sturdier, and less mystical, almost plain by comparison to the Queen's ethereal beauty, though by any mortal lady's side she would have been both delicately built, and outshone most beauties.

The lady to her left (Arwen sat on Eowyn's right,) was young as well and beautiful. Black hair almost as dark as Arwen's was swept back in a crest from her brow, and her eyes were black as shadow. Her nose was high arched and proud, the nostrils almost flared. The lips were firm, and her skin flushed over the cheekbones. Animated her face was, and spirited, her dress was flushed rose. It was obvious however that she was but a minor noble. Eowyn could not have told how she knew this, but it was like looking at a horse and knowing if it was of good breeding or not, and the ladies beauty was almost more of a peasant than a gently bred lady. Probably from a minor holding, where there were few servants, and they would all have to work come harvest time. To compare her to the Queen was to compare one of the Easterner's finely spirited horses (some of which had been captured, and used as new bloodlines for Rohan stock,) to a sturdy hunting mare.

The third woman provided a contrast. Of middling years- certainly much older in appearance than the others gathered, her face was lined, and her hair grey and pulled back tightly, with small strands curling out, and she was dressed sedately in a brown gown. Motherly was the only word which could be used to describe her. Eowyn then glanced at Arwen, noting despairingly that no matter what she wore she was still breathtaking. She merely picked at the breakfast, then escorted the ladies to the solinarium, where the few books the castle had were housed, and the most comfortable chairs. She noticed that all four ladies had come supplied with needlework, and judged it would do well enough to leave.

Hastening back down to the kitchen, she made sure everything was in the right stage of preparation, and then went on a tour of the rooms, each of which had been aired, and supplied with fresh bedding and candles. The soldiers barracks had been cleaned as well, and there was a group of washer woman hard at work in the main hall. A soldier hastened to her side, and told her that the expected people were coming. She looked for herself, and sure enough a large group of people approached on horseback. She stared wildly around her, and Alyssa as comforting as always was there with a fresh gown, to replace the gravy spotted one, and to brush her hair quickly. Eowyn had still not got used to idea of someone doing these tasks for her, but she had to admit it was a weight of her mind, to know her capable maid had her appearance in control.

Faramir greeted her first with a kiss on the cheek, and then Lord Aragorn bowed low. She curtsied deeply to him, but was saved from having to say anything by the arrival of the other vassals, and of Lady Arwen herself, who similar to Eowyn was greeted with a salute on the cheek by Aragorn. Servants led all the people to their alloted rooms, and Arwen was taking Aragorn.

That night, Eowyn stood in front of the mirror with purpose in her mind. She bathed quickly again, taking care not to wet her hair, and then stepped into the delicate dress held out for her, admiring it even as it was fastened. Silver cobweb bodice clung tightly to her, and the skirts were similar silver foam, over red lace. It was so fragile it could be damaged even by a stray sharp fingernail, and Eowyn sucked in, as her maid pulled the strings that forced her already slim form, into the required shape. Silver shoes were slipped on, and a necklace of garnet. Eowyn's ears were not pierced so the accompanying earrings were useless, but with remarkable ingenuity Alyssa managed to tie them on somehow, so really they looked quite perfect. She pondered her hair-down like a shieldmaiden of Rohan would wear it, or in an elegant twist. She decided that it would be worn down, but that the silver circlet would hold back errant hairs from escaping. Finally she touched her lips with coral, and her eyes with kohl, and for the thousandeth time cursed Arwen's dark hair and its natural drama. When she finally looked up from her ministrations she gasped. The woman in the mirror was a stranger to her. In her oval face she could see for the first time, what a properly brought up young maiden would look like. She realized with a queer dull ache, that she was eighteen. Only eighteen, and yet she felt forty. She stood, her natural balance enabling her to walk in the unusual shoes. She turned to meet her maids eyes, and found awe, and it was that which bolstered her to take her place at the table. She was late, and they were waiting for her. She straightened her back, and with small slow steps walked down the hall, oblivious to the gasps she provoked amongst the assemblage, the raw envy in the eyes of the women, and the untamed want in the mens.

Ever the perfect gentleman, Aragorn stood and moved her chair out for her. She murmurred a thank you, and slid in. Her breathing was a little constricted, but she was determined to get through this. She saw confusedly that to her right sat Arwen, and to her left Aragorn- beyond him was Faramir, and at the far end was Legolas, while to Arwen's right sat the woodland elf lady. With a muted gasp, she reviewed the seating arrangements, and cursed. Because she was not here, they had made a social embarassment of the seating, creating such a centrepiece that it looked as though Aragorn and she were king and queen. She could do no more than glance at Arwen's costume, seated as she was, and at that moment eating commenced. The talk was general, but the remarks Aragorn made to her, became cues for flirting. Nothing obtrusive or obvious, nothing indeed that could be misconstrued. Faramir looking on, wondered whether she even knew she was doing it. Course after course came and went, -the meats, venison with a pepper base, pork marinaded in the honey and clove liquid, beef roasted in its own juices, with bitter leaves to set off the taste, a whole swan filled with bitter parcels of lamb and herbs, partridge stuffed with onion and garlic stuffing, and all manner of delicates that came and went before her vision. The fish course- turbot fried in an unknown spice from an Eastern caravan of goods, grilled cod, almost raw salmon, the soup course, finely chopped vegetables. The wine's were varied, sweet, rich, fruity, strong, delicate, spiced, and ale and mead were also passed. It all swam before her eyes. The cheeses thick and pungent, aromatic and tastefilled. And then the sweetmeats, pastry sculptures of almost any mythical creature dreamed of, tarts filled with the sweetness of jam, a bowl of cream that fell in whipped peaks, the raspberry cake, layered with cream, the Rohan specialities that Eowyn herself had baked- honey filled pastry parcels baked, the treacle drizzled cakes filled with preserved apples. Eowyn had never attended such a feast before, had never believed that such a meal was possible. Yet only morsels passed her lips, and her conversation was almost mechanical. When all was cleared, and the dancing began, she dimly realized that she and Faramir, Arwen and Aragorn were expected to start the dance.

Her husband's arms went around her, and she danced well in time to the music, gradually coming out of her daze, and enjoying the motion of moving so lightly through the air. Then he let go of her hand, and she seized Aragorn's for the next figure of the dance, as Arwen danced with Faramir. Again the parting of hands, and Faramir and Aragorn stood back, as Eowyn and Arwen joined hands then curtsied as they moved. For the first time Eowyn assessed the dress, her rival wore. Blue again, Arwen seemed to like that colour, but this time dark blue. Her hair was up, but she wore no crown nor circlet. Scattered through her hair were a number of gems like stars in the sky. Eowyn compared them objectively, and even she had to acknowledge that Arwen might be the most beautiful woman in the world, but for tonight at least Eowyn was giving her a fight. Then they both curtsied to their partners, and waited for the dance-proper to begin. Legolas was there, his face familiar to an extent, more as an adjunct to Aragorn than because she had spoken much with him. He took her hand, and slowly moved her around the floor. His face was cold as stone, and twice as impassive, and because of this Eowyn was taken by surprise by his first question. "What are you doing?"

"What can you mean Prince Legolas?" she replied, genuinely puzzled for a moment.

"The little game you play with Aragorn and Arwen. Perhaps you do not realize precisely what you are trying to do." She made no reply, her face almost as cold as his own, and he took that as his cue to continue. "Aragorn has loved Arwen, and she has loved him since the first time they met. They have waited longer than you would think possible for this union, and you cannot entice him from her. You would merely shame yourself in trying. You cannot imagine, cannot grasp how much Arwen has given up for him. What could you give that she could not?"

She turned her head away, and the words spiraled through her head. I could give him my freedom. My love. As though he had read her thoughts he continued speaking. "You are beautiful Lady Eowyn and brave. You are human, flawed and exquisite, yet you cannot rival her. It would grieve me to see your heart broken, shattered on the rock of their love. You deserve so much, but perhaps you do not see what I see." He smoothly turned her until she was faced with Faramir who was dancing with Arwen's elven attendent. Legolas's breath was cool beside her ear, as lightly he held her waist. "A handsome husband, great renown, a castle, mayhap children. Are these not enough for you?"

She did not know how she knew what to say what she did. "And what of you then? Are you happy Prince Legolas. You too have won renown in your own right, you are the son of a king and so therefore you are rich. I am sure you love some beautiful elven girl, and will have children." Bitterly she threw his words back in his face, and satisfied watched it blanch beyond his accustomed pale hue. "You see Prince Legolas. We strive for what is beyond us. My head knows I should be happy with a handsome and kind husband," whom I can't bear to touch she thought silently, "with the prospect of children to come," which sickens and fills me with horror. The thought of something alien and foreign living within her body, thickening her shape, turning her into nothing more than a broodmare, sickened her beyond belief and she tasted bile in her mouth, but she continued. "Oh how happy I should be."

He gazed at her sombrely. Then struck the final blow. "Is it even Aragorn whom you want?"

The dance came to an end and they bowed and curtsied respectively. Legolas moved away, and took Arwen's hand in preparation for the next dance, while court gentlemen sought to secure the honour of Eowyn's hand for the next dance, until Aragorn begged the honour as kindly put it. They did not talk as they danced, and she looked over his face, every inch of it, seeking to quantify her feelings. His hair was dark as his brides with a sprinking of grey, his features strong and wise, eyes open and candid. Laughter lines around his mouth were plain to see, and written round his eyes as well. His body was stalwart and strong, and for the first time Eowyn wondered what it would be like to lie with him. She was no child, she knew what happened when a man and a woman lay together, knew there was supposed to be pleasure for both, and yet she could not imagine herself doing it. Her body was... she did not know why it shrunk from the thought, and even from Faramir's gentle kisses.

Her thoughts turned to her husband. Handsome, gentle, kind Faramir, who had never once reproached her over her unwifely conduct in the marriage bed. Who had held her as her mother might have held her in the depths of a fever, through long nights of healing. Patient and loving, and she hated herself for not being the wife he deserved. She smiled at Aragorn, but he was not looking at her. His face was puzzled and thoughtful, and when she followed his vision she realized he was frowning at Legolas, who was standing near the wall, pointedly ignoring the group of young ladies around him. He looked back at her, and managed to summon a smile. "How art thou lady?" he asked formally, and Eowyn cast her eyes down.

"Well my lord, and you?"

"I also am well, and much refreshed by the great hospitality you are showing us. My lady begs me to pass on her compliments to the cooks, and says it is long since she tasted such a fine meal." He smiled at her mischeviously. "She never told me she didn't like the food in Gondor!"

Eowyn smiled back politely. "It is my honour to offer you my home your majesty."

Aragorn was silent and then continued. "My name is Aragorn, Lady Eowyn." He smiled at her expression as he gently lifted her from the floor. "Do you like the Queen?" he asked suddenly.

Caught off guard, Eowyn fumbled for an answer. "Very much my lord." What else could she say- I hate her for having you?

His whole face was suddenly happier. "I am very glad. She has expresed a great liking for you, and it is good that she is forming connections. I have a large boon to beg of thee Eowyn." He paused and carried on. "I must be away some months, scouring out the remnants of evil that still lurk. Naturally my bride cannot accompany me, but I am loathe to leave her in Gondor, amongst people who though they love their Queen, cannot provide the companionship she needs. I ask of you, if she could remain here amongst your household until such a time as I return?" Then quieter. "I would that she were not to be left so short a time after the sundering of her kin, but the need is great. May I ask your assistance in this matter?" He had stopped dancing and held both her hands firmly in his as he asked.

Like a dream, Eowyn heard her voice. "Of course... Aragorn. It would be both an honour and a pleasure, and I shall look after her as well as I can." She had no defences against the pleading in his eyes.

So it came to be that when the household of Gondor returned, and the respective minor lords and ladies scattered to their holds, that Arwen remained within the house of Eowyn.

The company was to stay for some few days, after the banquet; primarily so that the Lady Arwen could grow accustomed to her surroundings, and partly for reasons of conviviality. In this time, Eowyn walked as though in a dream, replaying in her head the conversation she had had with Aragorn. And into her mind came a wild fancy. She would beg her husband, would throw herself on bended knee before the king, to be allowed to accompany them. She would bow the head which had never known mastery, before a greater need, a more pressing desire. And if that failed, and their masculine implacability did not cease before her importuning, then she would return to the home which had borne her, would leave this place of fear, this prison. This cage.

She examined her resolve, and did not find it wanting. Gazing at her plain work-dress, she moved to her own dressing room, and there she rifled through the clothes she possessed. Most were new- commissioned by Faramir to be made to her measurements, but she ignored these, and passed to the scanty amount of clothing she had brought with her as a bride. There lay the masculine clothes she had worn as Dernhelm, the plain work dresses, and shifts that were the lot of a princess whose interests lay outside the palace. Not for the Eowyn of old, the clinging dresses, the restrictive skirts of silken cloths, rather her riding clothes and her rough tunics fashioned from heavy wool. She hesitated when dressing herself over whether to wear men's clothes to illustrate her resolve and her purpose, or women's to demonstrate that she was not ashamed of her . She finally chose female clothing, since it would do nothing to help her cause, if they merely viewed her as dressing up like a child who could do nothing to change its own fate. She was careful though to pick the most masculine clothing- the split skirt suitable for riding astride, the heavy woollen cloak to drape shoulders, and make their delicate width appear wider. She pinched her pale cheeks to rosy them- if she looked sickly it would be bad, and likewise she braided her golden hair back from her face in a severe warriors braid. Belting on her sword and knife, she pulled on heavy boots lined with fur. She noticed that the calluses on her hands had started to fade, since she had not done so much work with them, and on impulse pulled on riding gloves.

Thus equipped, she sallied forth to find her husband and the king. They were as she had expected within the counsel chamber, heads bent over maps. She had not expected Legolas or Arwen to be there either, and at the sight of them blind fury seemed to fill her veins, and give her, her own deadly implacability. They had the nerve to exclude her from matters of war? Had her days in the kitchen and the accounts room caused Faramir to believe that she knew her place as a woman now, and would be submissive to his command? The hot that filled her veins, even as it filled her brothers and uncles rose at this insult. She was not aware of what a picture she made as she strode in. Even in maid's clothing, she looked a warrior- every stride was a warrior's arrogant strut, and her head was tilted in a manner that should have warned Faramir, even before he opened his mouth. She did not notice Arwen's assessing gaze, nor the spark of admiration that lit in the other woman's eyes. She did not even notice Aragorn's puzzled demeanour. All she focused upon was Faramir's face. Unfortunately, her husband pre-occupied with matters of state, did not see the warning signs, and smiling distractedly, he enquired as to the matter. When she did not reply, he looked at her enquiringly.

"My dear what ails thee? Is something amiss in the keep?"

These words however innocuous made visible Eowyn's wrath. "My lord," she enquired demurely, even sweetly,- and yet still Faramir failed to perceive her rage. "My lord," she repeated, "am I a scullion?"

Faramir straightened, at last perhaps seeing something was wrong. "Of course not."

"Am I a seneschal, or bailiff? Indeed am I a housekeeper?"

"Eowyn, no," he replied.

She looked at Aragorn and Arwen briefly. "I crave a moment alone with my lord if you please." The words were a dismissal that was almost rude, and the 'my lord' was venomous rather than respectful. Yet neither Arwen nor Aragorn made a move to leave, though their manners were usually so exquisitively perfect. Eowyn took no further notice of them, but continued on what she had begun. "Then how my lord, if the answer is no, am I expected to know the intricate details of house-keeping? Indeed why expected to report to you, those details, or remedy them if matters fail? But I do not argue about my role within your household. That I accept as my duty, as your wife. What I do quibble upon though, is that you see fit, to hold what is obviously a council of war, without my presence. I also question your effrontery in assuming that I may not accompany you on this doing."

Faramir's face was tired. "Eowyn this is not a matter for women."

Eowyn's voice quivered with strain. "And where my lord is a woman's place? In the kitchen, or perhaps on her knees scrubbing, or tending to the children. I am not that woman, nor shall I ever be. s I have not, and my world has not yet shrunk to these walls. You assume, that you are the only one with any vision. You dare to presume, that I will obey you in all matters great and small, with no heed to my own judgement." She looked at the three spectators, face tight and drawn. "Again my lords, my lady, I would urge you to leave." When they made no sign of compliance, she walked to the door, and gestured to Faramir. "I would fain continue this discussion elsewhere." When he did not move, she raised her elegant eyebrows. "Do not think, that the presence of others will restrain my words," she said coldly.

"Eowyn you do not understand. I need you to remain here, not only for your own sake, but for the castle's safety and that of Queen Arwens as well."

"You mean my spirit is not broken yet, dear husband? I am not yet inured to the tragedy of common life. I daresay her majesty could defend herself if necessary. And if you care so much about the castle, then why do you not remain here yourself? Are my arms not strong enough or is my mind too weak mayhaps to bear the burdens yours can?" Her sarcasm was palpable, even to Faramir's ear.

"Eowyn," he said wearily. "I did not wish to trouble you in mind or spirit, by talk of war, when you so recently chose not to pursue that life. I believed it would distress you, to hear others talk of what I believed, no longer interested you. "

Eowyn paused her tirade, for a moment to think. How could she say to this good man, that when she had told him she would no longer be a shield maiden, that she had not spoken in peace but in bitterness. That she had said those words in sickness not in health, in despair not in joy. For truly his love stifled her. She knew now with a sudden clarity of vision that she should not have married, and yet she had not known what else to do. Eomer was King of Rohan now, and though he loved her dearly, an unmarried sister would be little but a fruitless burden to him, though she did in truth possess lands of her own. It had seemed so simple at the time. To put away hopeless dreams of glory, to encase them within the hard shell of marriage, children and cares, and yet at heart she felt too young to do such a thing. The security and safety that Faramir offered her, were not what her heart craved. She did not desire a love born out of hearth, home and familiarity, she wanted one that was conceived in the blaze of two minds and hearts meeting, a fire kindled by one look. She wanted a love from legend to strike her. It did not even have to be love at first sight, it just had to be something at first sight. Connection, even loathing or dislike. As long as she felt deeply about it. When she had first met Faramir she had not even noticed him, and when they had spoken, she had thought no more about it. He had been a handsome and kindly figure indeed, but there was nothing there that she could fight against, merely a solid wall of empathy and quiet adoration, that stifled her until she felt she could not even breathe.

"Faramir," she said more quietly. "I have deceived you. I cannot express the sorrow I feel, in not being the wife you deserve and want, but I cannot deny my own impulses. I am too young to begin bearing children, to begin a life of placid domestication, where even if I ride, it will be upon a fat dappled palfrey, where my sole interest is in whether the gooseberries are ripe yet, and if it is time to bottle the redcurrants. I come from a race, where the women are as fearless and hardy as the men, and only a few generations ago, rode into battle along side of them. What is more, I am a scion of its royal race, and even though it is neither as noble nor as ancient as your line, it is deserving of respect in its customs and ways." She paused and said sadly. "But you are a man you can not understand me."

A skirt rustled. "But I, Lady Eowyn am not a man, and I am in some small part able to share your understanding if not your reasons. I am not, and never have been a creature of war. I have not marched into battle with a banner, nor sounded the triumphant battle hymn, what little fighting experience I have, has been gained in skirmishes. But even so I know what it means when your heart beats to a different rhythm than those around you would have it beat. And so I ask you as one woman to another to remain here with me. Not in cowardice, nor love of home, but in simple understanding."

Eowyn's voice weakened. "My lady, I would fain do as you ask, would wish to please you in all but this. I cannot sit at home, and sew at a sampler, when I know there are deeds to be done, and names to be made, no more than a gently bred doll."

"Then I shall ride with you by your side, a sister in war."

Aragorn's response was immediate. "No Arwen,"

His wife turned on him almost angrily, her long dormant fighting spirit roused and ready to do battle, but before she could speak, Eowyn's voice cut in. "Peace, I bid you. I shall stay." Her shoulders stooped, and all the light and fire that had been in her voice and gaze was ed. She had seen the genuine agony on Aragorn's face when his wife had announced her intention to ride with him, and remembered that she had promised him to look after Arwen. They did not know that they were crushing her spirit between merciless hands, that she could see light and freedom diminishing into the distance even as they spoke. She sank down, suddenly wearied onto a chair. "I shall stay," she said lower, and burying her face in her hands she wept.

They had the decency to leave then, to leave her to the small comfort of salt tears, and despair.

The next morning, before she had properly awoke, they were gone. Faramir had kissed her cheek as she lay curled on her side in the bed, exhausted from the emotion of the previous day, and moments later they had ridden off, leaving her behind. She stretched, and stood somewhat later. She had told Alyssa that she would choose her own clothing today, and in bitterness she strode towards the small room that housed her clothes. Something to match her mood. Grey. Almost her favourite colour, the colour of tears and rainy skies. The colour of both her and Aragorn's eyes. Sea-grey, storm-tossed cormorants circling to find land. It fitted sleekly like a glove. Breakfast was served late, for Arwen had not risen early either, and they ate in silence, avoiding each other's eyes. Out of politeness, she asked Arwen her daily amusements, though her interest in the answer was non-existent. The first reply merely confirmed it. "Now I sew and I read. Before it was different. When I lived with my father, I rose early and ordered the household, then I would go riding. I had an interest in medicine, and on long rides abroad would often find useful herbs. Somedays perhaps I would train with the warriors, others I would spend with my father talking and learning." Despite herself, Eowyn found herself growing interested. It sounded so different from her own childhood. Her mother had died early on, and as a child both Eomer and herself had run riot. They could go for days without being washed or combed, and Eowyn as the younger, had stuck like a burr to her brother, copying him in everything. When he had begun to train with the older boys, it had struck her as entirely right and fitting that she should also, and apart from some friendly teasing no one laughed at her, pitying the motherless child.

Entirely on an impulse, she asked Arwen if she could teach her a little elvish, and silently cursed the words the instant she had said them. Eowyn had been no hand at schooling when young, and had often played truant from her tutor, with the result that the quick mind, which could remember the name of every man in her uncle's army, knew every piece of equipment in the treasury, and when given any mathematics problem dealing with army supplies could solve it in an instance, was woefully unschooled in the more prosaic of instances. But Arwen's face had lit up, out of all proportion until she appeared breathtakingly beautiful and alive. Eowyn had never noticed before, that in repose Arwen's face was sad. Arwen had assented immediately and even proposed that they start right away. Eowyn excused herself, with pleas of house work. Arwen insisted on accompanying her on her rounds, making Eowyn feel awkward and careless merely by her very presence. Beside Arwen she felt diminished, she even could feel herself shrinking in comparison. If Arwen noticed her companion's unease, she made no sign, but just before lunch, she excused herself to go to her room. If when she came back her eyes were slightly reddened, Eowyn also made no comment on it.

Meals were conducted in silence mostly, Eowyn wishing she could bring her accounting books, and lists to the table, but not wanting to appear an ill-bred boor, before the always self possessed Queen, she was forced to make polite conversation. It was after their simple dinner of partridge, that Arwen inquired as to where she could find writing implements and paper. Eowyn gave her a stack of the heavy stuff she used for list making, and some pens. Arwen immediately cleared the table herself, sweeping it aside, and seating herself next to Eowyn. Her perfume was unobtrusive, almost non-existent, a delicate flower scent that seemed to emanate from her very being. Eowyn's only perfume, was the rough soap she used for washing. She spread the paper in front of them, and opened a book before Eowyn. While she bade Eowyn leaf through the book- though the only thing Eowyn understood was the illustrations (the writing was in an entirely different language and script,) she herself wrote in a rounded, pretty hand some incomphrensible words upon the paper in front of her. While Eowyn stared unseeingly at the painted horse in front of her, Arwen finally finished her preparations. "This," she said brandishing a piece of paper in front of Eowyn's eyes, "is our alphabet. It is different from yours, we have some letters where you have none, and you possess a couple of letters which we have no equivalent for." With gentle hands, she picked up another book. "This is the only book I possess which has in it a translation of elven speech, into your tongue. It is neither a learning-book, nor easy, but it is the best I can do for you." Eowyn opened it, and her eyes flickered over the first words which were printed in elvish, then to the opposite page, where the equivalent was written, and read the first few words aloud.

"It's poetry," she said surprised. Arwen nodded.

"It was given to me by a very dear friend. I believe you had some doings with a compatriot of his Meriadoc Brandybuck."

Eowyn nodded. "Merry was indeed a friend of mine, and one of the bravest souls I have ever met." She looked at the title page, which was richly embellished. The Elvish book of Poetry, by Bilbo Baggins. Then she looked at the inside cover. A wavering hand had written the following words. 'To my dear Arwen, the most beautiful of all the elves, on her wedding day. With all of my love and regard, Bilbo Baggins.' There was a short inscription in flowing runes beneath it. She read the first short poem within it, and said in surprise. "Why it's beautiful!" She had never read poetry before, disdaining it as something idle women did to pass the time of day.

Arwen merely nodded. "But if only you could hear it as it should be read, in its original language spoken by a talented tongue. I can only give a poor approximation of such a feat." Eowyn merely leaned her chin on her hands, ready to listen. Arwen flicked through the book, until she came to one near the middle. Then her low, beautiful voice began to chant. Silken words flowed past her lips, and though Eowyn did not understand a line, she still felt it pull at her heart with grief. The refrain spoke of Elbereth and Gilthoniel, and the grief tore at Eowyn's heart for reasons that she could not understand. When it ended, she did not speak, for to speak seemed too mundane. "Like I said, I have but little talent," Arwen excused her performance.

Eowyn shook her head, still wordless. Then, "What was it about?"

"It was a lament," Arwen said simply. "A lament amongst my people," she did not elaborate and Eowyn did not press the subject, though one thing nagged at her mind. Arwen had spoken of her people. But surely she was not part of them anymore?

They returned to the lesson, and Eowyn bent her considerable powers to perusing all that Arwen laid in front of her. Arwen had constructed an alphabet, a simple list of grammar and pronunciation points, and Eowyn set her mind to memorising them. Though she was well aware, that eighteen was old to begin learning a language, she put her mind and will into it. This was something at least she could do for Aragorn.

Days passed in this way, all following mostly the same pattern, culminating in the language lesson at the end of the day. Arwen seemed to cherish this time, for she never got impatient with Eowyn for failing to pronounce something properly, or to remember a word that she had been told many times. She praised extravagantly, that which Eowyn did manage to achieve. Outside of their lessons, they said nothing to each other, that perfect strangers might not have said, commonplace pleasantries on the weather and food. Never did Eowyn let the unspoken words pass her lips why does he love you so passionately and me not at all? Nor did Arwen utter why can you not love what you have already? What is it in you that makes you yearn for the impossible? Gradually as days and weeks passed, Eowyn became more proficient, her mistakes fewer and her accent less thick. Still she struggled though to read fluently and gracefully, or to speak without halting, and one day in frustration she pushed the book from her. "Why can I not see it as connected?" she asked Arwen.

Arwen ruminated a moment. "It's like being in love," she said softly. "The words do not have to be thought over and pondered, they merely spring to your lips like poetry." Eowyn could have shook her. She wasn't in the love that Arwen meant, poetry could no more have sprang to her lips, than she could spout wings and fly. Suddenly the words looked senseless to her, and she could not understand it. Arwen seemed to understand her mood, for she too pushed away her book, and they sat there in silence. What could have been minutes or hours later, Arwen rose and bade Eowyn a soft goodnight.

Usually Eowyn followed straight up the stairs and to her own bedroom, not seeing the point in staying up late, when she had to rise so early, but tonight, she sat close by the fire and thought. As if in a dream, she walked to the table and opened the book, turning to her favourite poem, and for the first time attempting to read the elvish translation. Her dreamlike state seemed to enhance the words, and the difficulties to fall away, as she read softly out loud, almost without mistake. It was as Arwen had said, the words were more beautiful in their original language. Afraid the moment might be broken, she replaced the book carefully on the table, and walked up the stairs. As she walked past Arwen's room, she stopped. She was almost sure she had heard a whimper. Listening carefully, she was sure. A small, cruel part of her urged her to walk on past. But then she remembered something. Arwen was afraid of the dark.

Pushing open the door, she walked into solid darkness, with a lighter square where the window was. Lighting the candle on the table, with the one she carried, she looked towards the bed, face wrinkling and puzzled as she realised Arwen was not there. Then a soft whimper came from behind her. Arwen was curled up in the corner, her nightdress rumpled, showing pale, slender legs to the knee. She was crying, but when Eowyn called her name she did not awaken. She was asleep, yet dreaming. Eowyn knelt and attempted to lift her. It was difficult, but eventually she managed to half carry, half drag Arwen to the warm bed, and ease her between the covers. She winced as she pulled away. Arwen's hands were entangled in her hair, and she was still crying, her eyes now open, though unseeing. She began to speak. "I'm so cold," she murmured. "Mother, please, where are you? I am so cold, and where has father gone? It's all so dark." The words trailed off, and sobs shook Arwen's thin frame. Eowyn considered, then lifted up the covers enough to slip between them, fully clothed in her workaday dress. Arwen immediately quieted, the warmth obviously calming and soothing her. Eowyn had kicked off her shoes, and stretching her feet down to the bottom of the bed she felt Arwen's feet which were cold as ice. Though she planned to stay only until Arwen was quieted, she felt her own eyes drifting shut, as she pondered the mystery of the elven princess. A woman who during the daytime was the calmest, and most self possessed woman that Eowyn had ever met, and yet who at night was reduced to a shivering little -and without even realising it.

In the morning Eowyn woke first, her eyes drifting open slowly. She had never woken like this before, so pleasantly warm and full of lassitude. Nor indeed had she awoken in the arms of another. Though Faramir shared her bed, they occupied different sides, and from their wedding night to this day, that was how it had stayed. Looking down, she tensed a little bit. It was not Faramir she embraced but Arwen. The other woman's head, shared the same pillow, her rounded arm thrown over Eowyn, tear stains still on her cheek. Eowyn tamed the instinct to rise immediately, instead looking on the other woman curiously. Arwen breathed deeply and regularly, but it was obviously a mortal sleep, not the trance into which she had once seen Prince Legolas fall. Dark lashes, still slightly thickened from tears, lay on the porcelain cheek, and half despairing Eowyn gazed at her. She could not compete with this.

Slowly, gently she eased herself away from Arwen. From the looks of things it was still early morning- the castle was quiet, not even the maid-servants up and bustling, preparing the bread to be baked. Arwen did not awaken, merely curled tighter in on herself, conserving the warmth Eowyn had left behind. Eowyn gazed at her for a moment, bewildered, then let herself out softly. After sleeping in her dress it was rumpled and she felt unclean. Walking softly into her room, she had a sponge-bath in cold water, and changed into a fresh clean dress of dark blue cloth. Sitting in her room, she soon heard stirrings, and walked down to the kitchens to join in the task of baking the household bread, and to set everything in order for the day. Though few people inhabited the castle main, apart from those nobles who had sent younger sons to do their duty, and of course Eowyn, Faramir and their retinue, there was still an entire garrison of soldiers to cook and clean for, and that required a large amount of servants- who also needed to be fed. Eowyn brought up in the rough and ready court of Rohan, had never been a stranger to working, when there was work to be done, and as such she took an active part in the castle's running,

Arwen rose some little time later, and Eowyn turned to her, ready to explain everything. But Arwen made no mention of anything untoward, and Eowyn realised the other woman had no memory of the incident. She didn't know if she was grateful or annoyed for that, but finally settled on grateful. It would be too difficult to explain things to Arwen. The other woman had matter of factedly started to help in the kitchens, and around the castle, once it had become plain to her, that this was how Eowyn spent her day. She seemed determined not to fall short of whatever standards Eowyn set, and Eowyn had to scold her, when she found Arwen attempting to scrub clothes. Eowyn pointed out that she certainly didn't wash clothes, and that it definitely was not Arwen's task to do so such a thing. Yet no matter how she tried, Eowyn could not restrict the other woman to things that befitted a queen. Arwen's acquiescence was only skin-deep, her most powerful weapon her mute implacability, the strength that lay under her fragile appearance. She appeared determined to befriend Eowyn, either by sharing her duties, or teaching her the more gentle arts.

There had been no news for the last two weeks, though Eowyn viewed this with no surprise, it was natural they would be forgotten after all. They were but women, and could not compare to the delectable intoxication of warfare. She should know. She had always been happier dressed as a man, doing brave deeds, feeling the thrill of war, and if she was honest of killing. Nothing quite compared to that rush of blood, the surging of it in her veins, so loud she could hear nothing else, so fast it almost filmed her vision, tainting her perceptions. The heavy weight of a weapon in one hand, the swift muscle of a horse beneath her, the taste in the air of mist, cool and thin on one's tongue, the scent that belonged so exclusively to men and war, the rich smell of leather, horse, wine and sweat, hanging thick in the air. The rough rasp of her helmet, the exhilaration of being borne along by a thousand comrades to death and glory.

She realised she was standing in a reverie in front of a blank stone wall, and sighing she looked away. Those days were gone forever, much though she might wish to reclaim them. Shaking her head, she tried to block out the memories of those she had scandalized in Rohan with her conduct. As a child, they had tolerated her learning weapon skills, excusing it on account of her having no mother. When she got older, the whispers began, mostly women, just loud enough to hear, but not loud enough to confront. Whispers about her masculinity, from those jealous of her freedom to be herself. Spiteful rumours, that she had done her best to ignore, and yet could not.

Maybe that was why, she admitted to herself, that she was so jealous of Arwen. Arwen possessed everything a man could want, everything a man did not have of her his own, at least not if he didn't want to be mocked. Beauty, grace, softness, fragility, perfection. Innocence. While Eowyn was more man than woman, her beauty was a man's beauty, hard and harsh as the winter sea, her grace a warrior's grace, not a dancers, her fragility merely a facade over strong muscles and a stronger mind. And innocence. Innocence had fled a long time ago. Not technically of course, the niece of the King of Rohan, would never be propositioned by anyone, but living with men, and amongst men had inured her to even the most blatant suggestion.

And Eowyn wondered, really wondered for the first time in her life, if it was worth it. Would she have been happier, clad in maid's clothing, with a babe or two at her knee, and an adoring husband, rather than fighting in a battle, which had beaten the last bit of softness from her character? She had to concede no. She a woman, had been the turning point of that battle. She had slain a Nazgul, and faced down the Witch King of Angmar. She turned impatiently. That was past, her future lay here. It was time to stop thinking of old memories, reminiscing of old times. The pain was too great to bear, if she was honest. Raw weeping anguish, just barely healed, when even a sudden movement could break the scab of the wound. She would not look at it. That way madness lay.

Arwen was currently replenishing the candles in the dining room, where they usually conducted their lessons, and Eowyn nodded to her, as she began to polish the holders. Bent for a minute in this companionable task, Arwen summoned up the courage to quietly ask Eowyn, if there had been any news. Eowyn shook her head briefly, and Arwen nodded, her face fallen. Eowyn did not know why, but she hated people crying, or even looking sad. It opened unwanted reservoirs of pity within her, reserves she wanted to keep hidden, for fear of appearing weak. Uncomfortably she looked away, but Arwen was too strong, to give into tears at such small provocation, and certainly not in front of Eowyn. Eowyn wanted to see if last night was remembered at all, so she started a new conversation. "Do you ever dream Arwen?" she asked casually.

She could not be certain, but she though she saw the other woman's posture tense, as in dismay. No hint of it appeared in Arwen's smooth voice. "Before, I dreamed, though you would not recognise it as dreaming. Now however, I have no memory of any dreams at all. The night is a blank. Do you dream Eowyn?" At some point without either of them noticing, they had become on first name terms, the excessive formality of titles laid aside.

Eowyn paused to think about it. "Sometimes. My uncle always said I didn't have enough imagination to dream." That sounded a little bitter, and she sought to remedy it. "He meant I did not read enough for my mind to be influenced. But I do dream." She fell silent, remembering those dreams. Always the same one recently. She was lying in the dark, and she was dying. She knew this in the dream, though how she knew she could not say. Then a miraculous feeling would come over her. A feeling of being loved and cared for, warm and wanted, and she was brought back to the light, into the embrace of ...someone. She did not know who. The feeling was entirely platonic, as though the mother she did not remember was looking after her. It reminded her, of what being healed by Aragorn had felt like. That certainty that she was precious, the warm pressure of his hand and the gradual coming back to her surroundings. "Yes, I dream," she said softly.

Arwen continued to polish the candlestick she held, with one of Eowyn's cloths. "I don't understand," she said quietly.

"Don't understand what?" Eowyn asked, her mind still on her dream.

"How humans love." Arwen's voice was calm and placid, but beneath the surface was confusion and perhaps even despair. She turned to Eowyn fiercely, skirts rustling, her smooth hair tucked in a net behind her ears, every inch the respectable woman, except for those eyes. Arwen's eyes were her most beautiful feature, not even the heavy mass of hair, the slender frame, or the symmetrical perfection of her face could rival them. Now they burned brightly in her face, with shame and bemusement. "I don't understand, she said, her voice tightly reined in. "How can you, we," she corrected herself savagely, "love more than one person?"

Eowyn stilled, a cat's instinctive movement. Arwen had broached the one forbidden topic. Love. And yet somehow Eowyn felt the torment in Arwen's eyes was not caused by Eowyn's love for Aragorn, that she wasn't even thinking of that, but of something entirely different, something alien to her understanding. "Of course we can," she replied puzzled as to what Arwen meant. "We love our families, our husbands, in different ways perhaps, but we still love them."

"That's not what I meant," said Arwen, with the first hint of impatience Eowyn had ever heard from her. "Wait for a moment," she vanished from the room, then returned holding a thick heavy leather book taken from Faramir's study. Eowyn never read any of the books contained within, having no interest in what so fascinated him. She flicked through it, and read out the title contained within. Aeyn and Hirold, and looked at Eowyn in expectation.

Eowyn shrugged, not comprehending Arwen's point. "Everyone knows the tale," she said. "Aeyn is in love with her husband Hirold, who passionately loves her, but she also loves a man names Oliral, who just as passionately loves her. Yet she loves them equally, and unable to choose between them, remains forever poised unable to decide." She could not prevent a slight sneer from crossing her face. Romantic nonsense.

"Precisely," Arwen exclaimed. "Even if the tale itself is not true, you still have the concept of loving more than one person." She searched Eowyn's face for understanding. "Elves only love once," she said quietly. "Once, and more deeply than is thought possible by any other race. The act of intimacy, usually seals this love. Not always, sometimes, very rarely it is not a lover to whom this love is fastened, my twin brothers for example, could never marry, joined as they are in the soul. I did not understand this," she said with quiet dignity. "Just as my race can not imagine marriage without love. But now I am human as well now. Does this mean I too possess the capacity for love, love that embraces more than one?" She dropped her eyes absently to the candlestick in her hand. "I never understood humans," she said quietly again. "The act of intimacy does not have to be tied to love for you. Love can be felt without it, and it can be performed with no love. It was not like that for me, and yet now my heart is changing, and I cannot fathom how or why. I realised for the first time, that all humans bear this capacity of love for more than one. Including my husband."

For a moment, Eowyn's heart stopped beating it seemed to her. Arwen meant Aragorn loved her, Eowyn, she thought wildly, and unreasoning joy swept through her, before she noticed Arwen's face. It was anguished, but the anguish was not aimed at Eowyn. And the flames in her breast died down. Arwen did not mean her at all, or why would she be even talking about it to her. For that reason why was she telling Eowyn any of this, most intensely private thoughts and feelings, when Eowyn had brushed her off so coldly, had hated her so intensely?

The answer was very simple. Arwen was so lonely for any companionship, that even the little bits of kindness and attention, that Eowyn had dropped unthinkingly, had become lifelines to her. And Eowyn was suddenly ashamed of herself. She had treated the other woman badly, unkindly, taking out her frustration and spite, on someone utterly alien to her culture, someone thrust into her company. And with sudden intuition, she knew that Arwen was the sort of person who would forgive her without a moment's thought on the matter, because Arwen was just naturally good and decent. Qualities which Eowyn had to cultivate, were fully blossomed in Arwen's person.

Motivated for possibly the first time in her life, by tenderness, she held out her arms to the other woman. It hurt, the hesitation she saw in Arwen's eyes, as though Eowyn might suddenly hurt her, push her away, but the other woman crept timidly into the embrace. Though Arwen was taller than Eowyn, her frame was so slender, that Eowyn could easily embrace her, press the dark head into her shoulder, stroke the soft hair, and murmur words of comfort. "He loves you," she whispered, thrusting away her own hopes and dreams with that sentence. "He loves you so much. It shines in his eyes, and in yours. You were made for each other, even a blind man could see that," or a woman in love with your husband, she thought silently, but did not add. "I don't know where you could have got that foolish idea, that he loves another as well." The sound of gentle sobbing was her only answer, then Arwen spoke.

"I lied," she whispered, her head cast low. "I do remember dreaming. I dream every night, the same dream. I am so cold, it is as though being mortal means loosing all warmth, and I shiver unceasingly. In my dream, I am walking through snow, barefoot. I'm searching for something, something I have lost. Then I see my mother, my beautiful mother Celebrian. I embrace her, and for a moment she is warm, then I realise in my dream that I am hugging an ice covered tree, whose stooped trunk looks like a woman. I walk onwards, until I come to the sea, and it is frozen over. I begin to walk as far as I can across the ice, until I am faraway from land. Then I see my father walking towards me, and his eyes are so happy to see me, his hands stretched out in greeting, and I run to meet him. He walks straight past me, and at that moment I fall through melted ice, into water as cold as death. He does not notice, but then a hand grips mine firmly and lifts me out. Legolas hauls me out of the water, and wraps me in a cloak of steel links. Taking my hand he puts it in Aragorn's, then follows Elrond, where they both vanish. Aragorn is made of stone, but my hand is trapped in his, and as I try to pull away, it will not let go. Then I awaken, usually in the corner of the room, and bitterly cold."

"Did you last night?" Eowyn can not resist asking.

Arwen shook her head. "No," she said puzzled. "I awoke warm in my bed, wrapped in blanket, with a light burning in the corner. But you see now, why I cannot let Aragorn go, or understand the love he can give to many. I have given up everything for him. I will not even meet my family after death, so how can I give up the man for whom I gave it up?"

"You can't," Eowyn said fiercely. Then softening a little, she asked the question. "Who is it, whom you think he loves?"

Arwen's eyes were tormented still. "I cannot tell you," she answered. "I know it is not in the same way he loves me, in the same depth, or even the same manner. There is nothing physical about it, yet I am jealous of his regard and his love. The love he bears this other person, is platonic, yet still it causes me to ache. Covetous almost, I wish for him to care for only me. And yet I could not even mention it to him. There is such a large portion of his life from which I am excluded, all matters of war. He treats me with gentleness, as though I were incapable of understanding such matters, though he will talk with me on all else." She cast herself free of Eowyn for a moment in agony. "I cannot understand," she said through muffling fingers. "He loves me, yet..."

Eowyn pulled a chair out from the table, and carefully sat Arwen in it, sitting herself, across the table from her. Arwen clung to her hand, as though needing the reassurance that Eowyn was there. "He loves you," she said again, with conviction in her voice. "More than anyone else. I have never seen a man worship the ground on which a woman walks, as he does with you. Men are strange though, they can separate things as most women cannot. I can," she added a trifle bitterly, "and look where it got me."

Arwen did not appear to have heard. She held Eowyn's cold hand to her cheek as though to warm it. Eowyn could feel the wetness of tears, and with a moment's hesitation she wiped them with her sleeve, as though Arwen were a child. "Thank you," Arwen said softly. "For everything," and kissed Eowyn's hand, as though in obeisance. There was nothing forced about the gesture, merely one of gratitude, and Eowyn leaned her head forward, until it met their joined hands. There, across half polished candlesticks, they reached an understanding, that neither of them had imagined possible. One of peace and hope, and perhaps shared experience.

That night, as they did their lesson, Eowyn could suddenly see as she had the night before, the beauty and the passion of the words, and though she still needed to check vocabulary, and stumbled over words, she could now comprehend the beautiful whole. Arwen smiled, a wonderful, joyous smile, one of delight, that Eowyn could now understand how Arwen lived her life. Then as though the thought had just occurred to her, she mentioned that she planned to visit her father, when Aragorn returned. "Would you like to come with me?" she asked. "The Last Homely House brings peace of mind to those who wish it." Whimsically, she laughed. "Lord Glorfindel would love to meet you."

Eowyn raised her eyebrows. "Lord Glorfindel?" she enquired.

"He is an elven lord, very great amongst his kind." If Arwen noticed she said 'his' rather than 'our,' she made no mention of it. "A warrior above all others, and very skilled in many arts. You remind me of him," she said thoughtfully.

Eowyn laughed. "I doubt that," she said. "From what little I have seen of male elves, they are beautiful and remote."

"You are beautiful," Arwen said quietly. "You cannot see your beauty, just as he can not, or if he does, he takes no heed of it, and remote as well. Sometimes I thought I would never understand how you thought."

"Just the opposite," admitted Eowyn. "I felt you saw too clearly, and it frightened me. What does Lord Glorfindel look like?"

Arwen pondered for a moment. "It is as though he glows," she said softly. "He has golden hair, and eyes the colour of the sea, and his face looks as though it is carved from rock, an immutable stony facade. He is great, and terrible, even amongst a race different from men. A remnant from another age, along with my father, and a scattering of others."

She shook off her thoughts. "If you come with me, you shall see him soon enough."

"Is such a man not attached?" asked Eowyn curiously. He must be thousands of years old, surely in all that time he could have found a mate.

Arwen nodded sadly. "Yes," she said. "He is, but I can not tell you anymore. It must be his story, if he chooses to tell it. Or if the one he loves chooses to tell it. Now," she said shutting the book. "I am going to go to bed." Eowyn pondered for a moment, then smiled.

"If you awake afeared," she said, "you are more than welcome to wake me. You can sleep in my bed if you wish, or we shall sit and talk through the night. There is no use in suffering in silence."

Arwen looked as though the sun had come out of the clouds. She nodded, "thank you," she whispered, and disappeared through the door, leaving Eowyn leaning on her elbows, staring into the fire. And for the first time in many weeks, the face she saw was not that of Aragorn or Faramir, taunting her with worries and doubts, but a softer one, with a smile that lingered like spring.

That night, Eowyn sat up again, basking in the warmth of the fire, and the unaccountable feelings that swept through her. She was glad. Glad that Arwen had deemed her worthy to share the innermost secrets of her mind. She did not know that the first thaw had touched her cold heart truly, as none other ever had, the simple warmth and confidence Arwen had gifted her with, and the strength.

Then a thought came into her mind. Arwen had honoured her, trusted her, should she not repay the favour? Her proud nature would not let her do anything else indeed, and she wished to share some secret. Even when young, Eowyn had not been a little girl, whispering childish follies and fancies to a group of other maidens. She had never shared the companionship and friendship possible between her sex, had scorned such bonds as unwarriorlike and weak. Now she wondered, if she had missed out, if the girls could have taught her something about friends that male company could not give, or even understand.

Deep at heart, Eowyn was a woman with nearly all the urges and instincts of one, though she had successfully muted them for so long. Perhaps it stemmed from a deep-seated fear of what it would reveal in herself if she ever softened, what horrors would come spilling forth. It had been easier to hide, to assume the shield of male clothing and attitudes, than face the peculiar power of her own feminity. She had despised it for so long. She had blossomed early, maturing soon, hating every moment of it, her changed body and perceptions, and her love of male clothing stemmed from this time, since it covered, rather than revealed the sight which frightened her.

Arwen so comfortable in her body, so assured, had brought forth every worst instinct in Eowyn, the urge to maim and kill such confident beauty, of one who possessed in such richness what Eowyn did not dare to claim. Who did not flaunt it, but was not ashamed to wear clothes that enhanced her figure, showed the white swells of breasts she did not try to hide, and clothes that hung seductively close to her hips, who walked with a tantalizing movement she was not aware of, that made every man stare after her. The unapproachable beauty, the unassaliable position of the Queen of Gondor melded with the force of Arwen the woman, to create an irresistable combination. No wonder Aragorn loved her, and for the first time Eowyn's thought was not bitter.

She banked the fire, snuffed the candles, and drained the nearly empty wineglass, relishing the sweet, tart taste on her tongue, staining her lips red. She knew even before she walked past Arwen's chamber that she would be needed, and going to her own room she changed into her nightclothes. A long white robe, that hung to her ankles, so only her bare feet could be seen. Then like a spirit, she slipped through the castle, bearing a light before her, walking swiftly on silent feet. She had unbraided her hair, and it fell in a shower of gold around her, reaching further than it ever had. She found herself rejoicing in her body for once, the sensation of her smooth skin against the coarser cotton of the nightrobe, the slenderness of her body. She had still not come to terms with it, but for a few charmed minutes, she and it worked in tandem.

She was just in time, when she entered the room, the candles had extinguished themselves, and Arwen had begun to twitch restlessly. "Celebrian, mother," she cried quietly, and that decided Eowyn. She clambered into the bed, warming her feet on the area heated by the warming pan. She flung a companionable arm across Arwen, and shared her body heat freely. Almost instantly, Arwen stopped moving, and the little line between her eyes vanished. Her breathing was regular, and warm, and she turned in Eowyn's embrace, an arm stealing more firmly around her neck. Eowyn found she did not dislike it, the warm breath on her collar-bone was relaxing, and Arwen's hair was soft. Eowyn could smell the distinctive perfume, that attended Arwen always, a delicious intangible fragrance that seemed to emanate from her hair, and body, and she wondered drowsily, how Arwen concocted such a scent. One hand moved with a caress through the tumbling dark locks of hair, so different from Eowyn's own, and with a sigh Eowyn surrendered herself to sleep.

The next morning, Eowyn woke early again, well rested with no dreams to haunt her waking eye. She stared down with affection at the form of the other woman who had begun to stir as Eowyn had. She felt no unease or embarassment at being thus in the other woman's bed, only a shy kind of delight that she had never felt before, at being the one to bring comfort and sleep. Arwen stretched, her delicate white arms causing the sleeves of her white robe to slide back, and Eowyn shifted as though to leave the room. Arwen sat up, and looked at her, a smile gracing her lips. "Why go?" she asked. "We have hours until the cock crows, and the castle is awake." Eowyn could find no reason, and lay back on the downy pillows absorbed in her own thoughts, and the pleasant warmth Arwen exuded.

"What would you like to do today?" Eowyn asked suddenly, inconsequentially.

Arwen looked at her curiously. "Is there not work to do?" she asked.

A laugh pealed out through the air, and Eowyn smiled mirthfully. "I apologise Arwen," she said whimsically. "Since you have stayed all we have done is work, and organize things. The castle is not in such a pass, that we cannot take a day to follow our own inclinations. I should not put you to such work."

Arwen considered her, "I am used to work. In my father's domain Imladris, there was work to do, and my blood did not preclude me from a share in the common labour. I have even scrubbed pots and pans before, though usually I swapped that chore. It is not that which interests me though. I have never seen you laugh before."

Eowyn dismissed the laughing comment. "Well what would you like to do?"

Arwen considered the matter carefully. "I would like to ride," she said quietly, "ride past the walls, spend the day away from here. Perhaps bathe in a cold stream, collect flowers and herbs, and I would like to talk." She looked up and met Eowyn's eyes honestly. "I would like to talk to you."

For a moment Eowyn ceased to breathe, then she nodded. "We shall do that then," she whispered, and took her leave of Arwen to allow the other woman the privacy to get dressed. Back in her own chambers, she combed out her hair, now sadly tangled. If they were quick about it, the only person they would encounter would be the night-watchmen who was not changed until dawn was truly on the horizon. Braiding her hair back, she dressed in riding clothes, the same as she had worn on her visit to see her husband, and beard him on going to war without her. Leather gloves, rough cloths, a jar of soap, a basket of pilfered food were assembled by the time Arwen joined her, and with a brief hesitation and after wrapping it well, she packed the book of poetry as well that Arwen had lent her. Belting a long sword about her waist; she was not unmindful of the dangers still, she made her way to the stables where Arwen was waiting. The other woman was clad almost as Eowyn was, her clothes dark blue, rather than the browns and blacks that Eowyn favoured, but similar all the same.

Arwen may not have been an elf anymore, but her hands retained their skill with horses, and she rode well, her seat as good as Eowyn's, and her hands even better for their gentleness and pliability, as they held the reins firmly. Arwen rode a strawberry roan mare, and Eowyn a black gelding, since her faithful warhorse was recovering from a stone in it's hoof. With a brief word to the watchman they were allowed past, and leading the way Eowyn cantered some distance. By the time they had made it to the spot she was thinking of, the sun had risen, the horses thirsted for a drink, and hunger rumbled in her own stomach. It was well worth the ride however. The glade was small and green, surrounded by trees, with a lake of clear cold water in the middle. A small water fall cascaded down one side, and a flat stone suitable to build a fire upon rested on the ground. Eowyn risked a glance at Arwen. The other woman's face was filled with joy, similar to that when Eowyn had told her she would like to learn elvish, a strange kind of wonder at the beauty of nature. It was mid-summer, and the hottest days were just beginning. Today, was warm enough already, and Eowyn shed her cloak, as she began to lay their food on a stone. She had brought enough for breakfast, and lunch, though neither of them were hungry at present.

She had gone to check the horses were fine, when she heard a low ominous growl. Every sense in her body sprang to full alert. That was a wolf. Her mind fought to comphrend such a thing. A wolf in summer, in this place? Surely that was impossible. A dozen reasons flashed through her head, it had been driven this way, it had lost its direction, it had come here to search for food, but in the end it was the second growl that broke her out of her paralysis. The wolf was preparing to take a leap at Arwen, who white faced was staring at it. With a shout, Eowyn did not recognise as her own, she drew her sword, unused for so many months, and drove straight at the creature, running it through once, then twice, and a third for luck. She stood for a moment, heaving a deep breathe. Arwen with the presence of mind of the hungry had thrown a cloth over the food, but the blood was smeared on Eowyn's arms where she had rolled up her sleeves, her face and her dress. She stared at Arwen, and the other woman stared back in amazement, before suddenly they were both laughing, high hysterical laughs, that bubbled up.

Arwen shook her head. "Warrior maid indeed," she said admiringly, and then in a scolds tone. "But you are filthy! Next time you kill wolves before breakfast, please be a little neater about it."

Eowyn stared at her disbelievingly, wondering if she was serious, then caught the glint of mischief in Arwen's eyes, and chuckled. Making a face, she glanced down at herself. "You're right," she said ruefully. "Wolf's blood stains clothing, and is hard to get off skin."

Arwen rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "Then we shall bathe now, not later, and hope that it is warmer when we come out of the water." Eowyn nodded in agreement, then paused, a slow blush making it's way to her cheeks.

"I can't. I am wearing these clothes, and a shift. If I bathe in my shift I will be soaked to the skin."

Arwen pondered for a moment, then smiled. "Wait a moment." Eowyn turned round, as Arwen began to tug off her boots, and pull at her riding habit. A moment later, something soft hit Eowyn on the head. Arwen had stripped off a thin silken petticoat, and thrown it at her. She herself was standing in another, shivering a little bit. "Come on," she said impatiently, and turned away to let Eowyn change. Soon they were both standing at the edge of the lake, waiting for the other one to step in first. Neither of them made the first step, of moving into the cold water, and they would probably have stood there for the whole day, if Arwen hadn't elbowed Eowyn, causing her to lose her balance and tumble in. The sight of Eowyn gaping like a fish in water up to her waist, gave Arwen a hearty laugh, until she too was pulled in. The cold of the water, hit her like a physical blow, and it took her a few seconds to adjust.

Looking at the woman opposite her, Eowyn had to laugh. Arwen was clad in a silken petticoat, wet tendrils of hair sticking to her cheek, and a look of utter surprise on her face. The light cloth soaked in water, outlined her body completely, but Eowyn only stole glances from the corner of her eye, feeling guilty that she so envied the other woman, the gifts of nature. The water was cold, but as long as they kept moving, with bodies submerged below water, it didn't feel so bad. Grabbing the soap jar, Eowyn dug a little of the pellucid substance out, and began to scrub at her skin. The blood came off easy enough, and next she went to stand under the waterfall, working the soap well into her hair. Arwen waded over in interest, taking Eowyn's hair. "Let me do that," she asked, and Eowyn obliged, enjoying the tickling feel of Arwen's fingers on her skin. The woman was standing close behind her, the warmth of her body, penetrating the thin silk between them, and Eowyn unconsciously arched back towards the source of the heat. Was this what she had needed? A simple, intimate touch from a friend, to ease her loneliness and soothe her pain. She pressed her thighs a little together, feeling a little strange, a tingling emanating from between them, that she was not familiar or comfortable with, aware suddenly of raised nipples, darker beneath the silk of her petticoat. Supposing it was merely the cold, she tugged the material away from her skin, and continued to enjoy the sensation of fingers in her hair. When it was thoroughly washed, Arwen released her, and Eowyn offered to do the same. She could not quite emulate Arwen's gentleness or skill, but she did her best, rinsing gently and smoothly.

By the time they were out of the water, the air was hot, enabling them to dry themselves easily on the rough towels Eowyn had brought with her, and Eowyn having wriggled into her shift, and Arwen into the last of her petticoats. Eowyn chuckled quietly. "I don't think I've ever met anyone who wore three petticoats just to go riding," she said wryly.

Arwen smiled at her. "The habit chafes my skin otherwise. Hopefully they will dry, before we have to ride back." They were eating the repast set out before them, with such hunger from their vigorous exercise, that what should have served for both breakfast and lunch, seemed like a mere snack. Eowyn tore into a crusty bread roll, with a thick slice of home cured ham, noting with surprise that Arwen, whom she had imagined as fastidious in all matters, was just as willing to do so. Eowyn had brought with her a flagon of milk, which proved insufficent for their needs, forcing them to drink from the crystal clear stream that supplied the lake, scooping it up in their hands and draining it. When they had finished every scrap, and checked in the basket, to ensure there was no more, Arwen stretched out long, elegant legs. "It feels like being born again," she remarked out loud.

Eowyn amused herself with tickling the other woman's bare foot with a blade of grass. "What does?"

"Becoming human." The reply was soft, but considered.

"Is that a good or a bad thing," asked Eowyn, discarding the blade of grass for a more substancial twig.

"Far better than I expected. I expected darkness, pain, and the lingering futility of knowing death. What I got was a friend, a joy in life and ticklish feet." She batted Eowyn's hand away playfully.

Propping herself up, Eowyn looked at Arwen. "You expected darkness and pain? And you went ahead anyway?"

"Of course," was the soft reply. "I loved him. Loved him so much, that I was willing to give up anything to be near him, to stay for the span of a mortal life. I am far older than I look Eowyn, I am wise and old and possibly even ancient, and yet I find myself playing in water, and being tickled as though I am no more than a child, and enjoying it. Is it a sign of weakness that I can so forget what I once was?"

Eowyn looked thoughtful. "Rather a sign of strength," she murmurred. "To adapt to new surroundings, and to give up such greatness for love is truly a sign of great endurance and resilience." On a lighter note, she added. "Besides you don't look that ancient. You don't look a day over three thousand." Arwen poked her in the side, and Eowyn laughed. "Oh all right. Two thousand, five hundred."

Arwen rolled over to stare at Eowyn. "I don't know. All the wisdom, knowledge and sagacity of age that I have acquired, has not disappeared, but it seems as though it has been subjugated by this glee in life. Perhaps that is what makes mortals special. They have such short lives, that every minute is treasured, you feel things far more intensely, and wisdom and age have little place amongst you. This joy transcends me. I laugh, and play like a child, like a mortal woman with no cares."

Staring at her fingers Eowyn replied quietly. "Perhaps because that is what you are." Her eyes caught and held Arwens. "I know nothing of elves and their ways, I do not know what it means that you have given up immortality, but I can guess, and perhaps.. if there is a higher power, this is your reward, that you do not mourn what is lost. Your gift is a curse, but you have been given the strength to bear it." She pushed a hand slowly, through Arwen's hair, tucking it back behind her ear with infinite gentleness. Then as though the moment was too much for her to bear, she sprang upright. "'Tis past noon," she cried horrifed. She offered her hand to Arwen, to pull her up and they dressed quickly.

When they returned, they were set upon immediately by worried voices, all amounting to nothing more than a babel of noise. Eowyn motioned for silence, then nodded, so they could approach her one by one. "Where have you been my lady?" demanded the seneschal of the castle, a short burly man who walked with a pronounced limp. "We were worried out of our minds."

Eowyn smiled appeasingly. "We merely took a short holiday in order to show the Queen the surrounding landscape." When the seneschal made as though to reply, she lifted a warning eyebrow. "As we are well in our preogrative to do," she said more coldly, and he subsided, not daring to provoke the White Lady of Rohan's wrath.

Alyssa hurried forward. "My lady," she exclaimed. "There is blood upon your gown, have you been attacked?"

"A wolf," said Eowyn negligently. "Nothing of any matter."

The night watchman in the castle pushed forward. "I saw a ghost in the castle last night," he said. "It was a fell and terrible thing, beautiful and deadly. Its face and costume were white as cloud, its eyes were two dreadful stars, and as it walked swiftly golden hair surrounded it." Eowyn's lips twitched, which he took as a sign of fear and hastened to reassure her. "I have never seen it before my lady, and I doubt it means any harm or will appear again."

Deciding the best thing to do was not to explain and confuse everyone, Eowyn merely pretended shock. Finally all had been dealt with, and the castle restored to some semblance of order. Arwen and Eowyn exchanging amused glances as they set to work. Eowyn was surprised to realise that she had not thought once about Aragorn in his own right during the day. As she and the Queen supervised the kitchens, her mind was taken up entirely by her work, until she felt a polite tap on the shoulder. The castle seamstress stood there dociley. "I was informed I have work," she murmured eyes cast down bashfully. The White Lady of Rohan scared her.

Eowyn swept back her hair in an impatient gesture, and followed the women from the room. "I would like another dress made please," she said in a hurry. "To the usual pattern, and in grey please. She gestured to the dress that she wore. "The same as this one."

The other women did not reply, merely whipped out a measuring cord, and threw it round her hips, chest, and neck swiftly, noting the measurements. "You've lost weight," she remarked. Eowyn did not dignify that with an answer. The woman seemed to realise she wasn't willing to talk, and simply noted the sizes down. Before she left the room however, the seamstress paused. "The Queen.." she said hesitantly. "Should I offer her some new clothes. The ones she has are beautiful, and the fabric is wonderful, but she might need some more ordinary ones." She ended on a slight questioning note.

Eowyn thought on it for a second, then nodded her head decisively. "An excellent idea," she praised, and left.

That evening as they met again, in the room that had unconsciously become their meeting place, Arwen mentioned it. "A very sweet girl asked me if I would like her to make some clothes for me, as work clothes." Her tone was pleased. Eowyn nodded, concentrating on her book, lips moving as she tried to decipher the words. "Which reminds me," said Arwen casually. "I have a present for you. It should have been part of your wedding present, but it was something I wanted to give you woman to woman."

Eowyn looked up surprised. "Thank you," she uttered. All her life she had loved presents, especially feminine presents, growing up in a court, where her brother and uncle were more likely to gift her with a sword than a dress, when they remembered her birthday at all. Not that she would have preferred the dress, but it was the thought that counted, and perhaps without her knowing it, it had rankled a little that she always looked so wild, a child of the woods rather than of society.

Arwen raised her face hesitantly, and brought forward a length of cloth. "We talked of going to Imladris," she began with her eyes cast down. "And I wondered if you would like a costume such as my people wear, and of the same fabric. It would suit you beautifully," she added hopefully. She unfolded the cloth, and let it tumble from her hands. It was a garment somewhere between a dress and a robe, hooded and belted. Exquistively made, and embroidered its colours were hard to pinpoint, shimmering as it moved, mostly grey yet with blue highlights as the light caught it. "I made it myself," she whispered. Somehow they were both standing closer to each other, the robe held between them.

The reply was murmured. "I will wear it with more joy, for the time your stitches took." Eowyn's eyes never left Arwens, and her hands reached out for the dress, brushing against the white hands which held it. "Thank you," she whispered. "We will truly go to Imladris?" She had not known until she said it, how much she wished to see the place.

Her answer was a nod. "Of course," Arwen breathed. "I will show you all the wonders and delights my home holds." Eowyn's eyes softened, as she drew a shaky breath in, looking like a small child caught in the wonder of the Sea. The door opened, and the seneschal walked in. They fell away from each other, the moment utterly vanished, neither recalling why her cheeks should feel so hot, and clothes so constricting. Discreetly Eowyn pulled at her collar, seeing Arwen rest a hand on her throat as though to calm her breathing.

The man noticed nothing at all, merely seemed in great agitation. "The men are returning m'lady," he said with no pre-amble. "The messenger just returned."

There was no hesitation in Eowyn's tone. "Let the man eat first," she commanded, "then show him here. He must be famished after such a distance, and weary too. Make sure a bunk is ready for him to take his rest after his report." The seneschal bowed respectfully at her orders, and left the room, presumably to carry them out. She turned back to Arwen. "Your husband will be returning," she said stiffly, the warmth and vitality draining out of her as she said so. These precious weeks she had shared with Arwen would vanish, would become nothing but memories as Arwen left to return home where she belonged, in the embrace of a king. Would forget Eowyn, and everything they had done together, the lessons they shared, the picnic even the nights. She had never thought she would miss the other woman, that she could grow so dependent upon her, that to think of not seeing her again caused a queer ache in her stomach.

Arwen's face was somber. "And yours as well," she said gravely. She knelt by Eowyn's feet, who had sat in an armchair, and raised her face to the fire. "Would it sound terrible," she said dreamily. "If I said that I felt ambivalance about their return?" She hastened to add. "Not that I would not be terribly glad to see my husband, but that I would miss you very much."

The other woman was struck dumb. Arwen with her guileless thoughts, and utter honesty and simplicity, had said Eowyn's thoughts out loud as she so often did. Eowyn did not reply directly to the question at first. "Have you ever," she said quietly, "fought so hard to be something, and strove so hard to deny yourself that when what you fought for was taken away, you were left with nothing at all, not even what you had started with?" There was no answer, and Eowyn continued. "I hated you for being so confident," she whispered. "Hated you for having all the beauty, the grace, the perfection that I lack, and always will." She paused then took her courage into her hands grimly. Arwen had dared to tell her secret- would the shieldmaiden of Rohan lack the same? "I hated you for having him." She closed her eyes and threaded her hands through the other woman's soft mane of hair almost unconsciously.

"I knew," was the answer.

Eowyn was utterly incredulous. "You knew I hated and envied you, coveted your husband, and yet you still strived to teach me, to be kindly to me?" She shook her head in bewilderment. She had never encountered such generosity of spirit.

"Love is never evil Eowyn no matter whom we bear it for. Love can only increase the sum of love in the world. And you never hated me, you merely hated yourself, without need." She turned, and looked earnestly at Eowyn, clasping the hand that was touching her hair. "Without need," she repeated. "You have so much, and you have what I do not have." A whimsical smile touched delicate lips. "How could I dislike you?" She scrambled up, and tugged Eowyn upright again. "We are so similar. We look different, but under the skin we are the same, sisters in mind and thought. Eowyn, we are born again. You were bathed by a catharsis of blood, fire and war, and came through like steel tempered by flame, born into a new life, where you could choose to be whomsoever you wished. You are not bound by prophecy or legend, by dreams of heroic deeds or ancestors urging you to subvert yourself. I am born again through transmutation of race. I am a mortal woman. I can choose whom I wish to be, whom I love and hate. We are but babes in a new world, discovering wonders all around us." She was pacing in excitement, eyes bright, hair framing her face, white hands gesticulating. She had never looked more beautiful.

The messenger who entered before Eowyn could reply, could merely stare at the Queen and stammer incoherently, and Eowyn realised how beautiful the other woman must look to someone who had not had weeks to get used to the radiance. Finally he managed to stumble out a brief message, and give two letters, making a bow, closer to an obeisance to them both. They tore them open, and read through the brief contents in a minute. Then looking at each other, their lips twitched, and they began- silently at first, then louder to laugh. "Men," gasped Eowyn finally, wiping at her eyes. "Will they ever learn how to write a letter?" She began to read hers out loud. "Dearest wife, I am pleased to announce the success of my venture, and report I am very well. I hope you are equally well, and enjoying your rest. You would not like it here, I can assure you. We will be home very soon, and I am looking forward to seeing you. Love your husband." She waved it incredulously in the air. "This from the man, once called 'the most poetical man in Gondor.' "

Arwen looked at her. "Can you believe this," she said shaking her head. "Mine is precisely the same as yours, absolutely verbatim. It's utterly impersonal, as though its just been written out, so anyone could read it." They stared at each other confused. Arwen summed their thoughts up in a phrase. "No news would be better," she said with feeling.

A jovial voice called out. "Would your husband's presence be better then?" Aragorn and Faramir strode into the room, filling it with their presence. Eowyn felt dwarfed, and looking at the swamped look on the other woman's face, so did Arwen. Aragorn swung Arwen into a bearhug, and catching the sick little sizzle of jealousy, Eowyn turned her head away, only to be embraced rather more decorously by her husband. Their disagreement, and the torment in which he had left her seemed to be utterly forgotten, judging by his smile. "Dearest Eowyn," he said affectionately, as he kissed her cheek. It was late now, and soon Aragorn took Arwen by the hand, and led her up the stairs. Faramir and Eowyn soon followed, holding candles. They bid goodnight at the door, and Eowyn and Faramir continued to their own room. As always she changed into her customary nightrobe, and slipped into bed, pulling the quilt up. Faramir followed suit. They lay there in silence, their candles extinguished, breathing heavily. Faramir spoke quietly. "Eowyn my love, do you object to try again?"

Eowyn held her breath. It has changed she thought. It used to be do you wish, now it is do you object. She let out a shuddering breath. "If you wish my lord," she replied. He took that for consent, and rolled over, lifting her nightgown over her head, until she lay naked on the soft sheets. She could hear his deeper breathing as he removed the scant clothing he wore, until she could feel him pressed against her. Large hands fumbled for her breasts, and he kissed her, beard scratching her cheek and chin. She wondered idly what to do with her own hands, and settled for leaving them on the sheet. She felt nothing, no desire at his movements against her, no feeling from his touch on her breasts, or his tongue attempting to waken hers. There was no shiver of sensation as his hands moved down her frame, outlining her small body. She lay there, letting her mind drift back to earlier, in the water as she and Arwen had played. As she remembered the warm heat of the other woman, as against the cold wetness of water, she felt her nipples blossom into life. Faramir gave a hiss of pleasure and took one between his teeth, but his mouth did not evoke the sensations that memory could. Eowyn took no notice, merely aware of a warmer feeling. She remembered the way her own breasts had hung full, her petticoat plastered to her shape, and the tingle she had felt from soft hands on the nape of her neck.

Eowyn was an innocent in the truest sense of the word. Love-making was only known to her through the crude jests of soldiers, and their banter, or through the soft moans that men let out at night, far away from their wives and home, finding comfort where they could in each others arms. Love that was more than the brutal act itself was unknown, and she did not connect the heat in her limbs, to the memories she was experiencing. Sexual desire was almost unknown to her, certainly never awoken by Faramir's fumbles between her legs, or on her breasts. Love of women was something she had never contemplated.

Now as she lay there in the dark open eyed, as her husband attempted to rouse her desire, all she could think about was Arwen. She shifted a little to accommodate herself on the bed and he stilled. "Am I hurting you?" he asked.

She shook her head then remembered he could not see the movement. "No," she simply replied. For the first time she truly wished her mother was alive and could have explained what she now discovered. She did not have to be present for the act, as long as her body was ready and willing, her mind could be elsewhere on a warm day, picnicing with a friend, bathing in an icy lake, reading together heads bent over one book. She closed her eyes then, and breathed in deeply, feeling Faramir touch her thighs, and then feel the light brush of hair, as he pressed a kiss to her hip bone. An expert hands was between her legs now, and she fought the urge to scream and repel him from her. It was not needed. He stopped of his own accord.

"Eowyn," he said quietly. "We shall not do this tonight, nor ever until you trust me." His fingers withdrew, and he pulled away a little.

She felt aggravation. For the first time since her marriage, she had been willing to let him try and consummate it, had been determined to try her new gift of objectivity to ignore what was happening to her body. "Why?" she asked.

Faramir's voice was sad, and she realised he had hoped she would say she trusted him. "Because my love I have made love with women before you, and I know when a woman desires. You do not, that is plain. You are like a sword ready drawn, determined to conquer. You do not understand that love does not conquer. It is sharing for man as well as woman."

"But you," she said helplessly. "Surely you need relief."

His voice was fierce for a moment. "You are my wife Eowyn. If I did not love you, perhaps I would do as you suggest and use your body be you willing or nay. But marriage has tied us, and I will not whore my wife, not even to myself."

Eowyn raised a hand to her cheek. A slow hot tear had just left her closed eyes, and was working its way down. "I do not deserve you," she whispered, and she truly meant it. How could he love her so much, and desire her, and she not feel the same? She cursed her stubborness, her wilfulness in marrying him because he was safe and kind, and loved her, for she would but cause him pain.

Faramir gathered her up into his arms. "No my lady," he murmurred into her hair. "I do not deserve you. We shall conquer this weakness you and I, and our children will be beautiful." She barely heard him though, for already her mind had drifted from her bed and husband, and to the Queen. Eowyn fell asleep with that beautiful face in her mind's eye, and a smile upon her lips.

When she woke, she turned to one side. Faramir had not awoken, indeed lay dreaming still with a peaceful smile on his mouth, and brow unwrinkled from cares and sorrow. She contemplated his face for a long moment, then pressed a light kiss to his cheek before taking her leave. It was not a lovers kiss, but something different and she could not have put a name to it, except that it saddened her. It was before dawn as always, and she lightly stood, reaching for her robe. Her maid was not yet awake, and it was a personal rule with Eowyn that this time before dawn was her own. As such she left her hair down from its normal braid, and contented herself with a splash of water to her face. Then dressing herself in her customary gown of grey, she made her way from her bed-chamber. She first went to the kitchen, where only those servants in charge of the baking of that day's bread were awake, and broke a crust off a fresh baked loaf, and drinking a draught of fresh milk, a repast which satisfied her more than the most elaborate of breakfasts. Aragorn and Faramir had ridden ahead of those troops which returned to her citadel (though most had returned straight to Gondor) and she managed to seek out the most capable woman in the castle- the chief cook Sara, a forty year old widow whose lightness of touch with pastry was justly renowned, who volunteered at once to take charge of such a task.

Much lightened of heart Eowyn left the kitchens, and made her way to the sitting room of the night before. The ashes of the fire were dead, and Eowyn spent ten minutes or so, brushing out the grate, and laying in new twigs and wood for lighting later. Since this room had no windows, it was most often used at night- during the day, she and the Queen tended to use the solinarium or breakfast room to work in. But she didn't question how Arwen knew how to find her, or indeed the light touch on her arm. A genuine smile lit up her face, and she tilted her face back to meet Arwen's smiling features. Rising, she gestured towards the almost burnt out candles, in token that perhaps they should change rooms for their morning greetings. In perfect silence, they swiftly moved to the better lit breakfast room which faced East towards the sun. The view still gave Eowyn a small sharp pang deep in her heart, a sickness and melancholy that seemed still not healed, but its sting was much alleviated by Arwen's presence. Her maid Alyssa peeped in, and seeing the two silent women, brought a pot of tea and a plate of rolls and preserves, before tiptoeing silently away. Arwen spoke first. "Have you thought more upon my idea of visiting Rivendell?"

The question was utterly at odds with what Eowyn had been expecting to be asked, and she took refuge in a flurry of stutters. "I I I'm n-not sure," she replied. Then she took heart, and threw her head back proudly. "I would love to do so," she declared. Then her brow creased. "But I do not understand. You have called it variously by 'The Last Homely House' 'Imladris' and 'Rivendell?' Are they the same place?"

A smile creased Arwen's perfect lips. "They are indeed the same place. The Last Homely House is the name fiven to it by some folk- more often used by those familiar with hobbits and their works, Imladris is the elven name for it, and Rivendell its name in the common tongue."

"Can you describe it for me?" asked Eowyn softly.

"Of course," was the reply. Arwen set down her cup of tea, and rose standing behind Eowyn, her fingers beginning to braid the other woman's long blond hair slowly and surely. Her voice fell into the cadence of one reading poetry, though the words were her own and prose. "Rivendell is a place above all of peace and thought. It gives everything and takes nothing, merely requires that within its domains you heal yourself, and accept what help is given. It is a place of hidden, immense power, that of elven lords and elven rings, and yet at the same time of the smallest and most homely things, of those things which rejoice the soul, and soothe the spirit- merriment, song and poetry, simple foods, friendship and companionship. A haven for the lost, and protector of the persecuted. For years untold it was my family home, and my father Elrond the half-Elven kept peace in its halls." She fell silent, and murmurred something in her own tongue that Eowyn did not quite catch.

Eowyn gazed at her hands, suddenly, absurdly shy. "Would you like me to come?" she asked, suddenly filled with longing to see this place that Arwen spoke of in such terms. Perhaps it could help her find the peace she lacked, and heal what was still wounded.

"Very much," was the reply, and she could not mistake the sincerity in Arwen's voice.

"Then I would like nothing better than to accompany you there. For some reason my heart yearns towards what you have described, as it never has before for any place." She passed Arwen her hair fastening, and the other woman silently secured the braid, before coiling it up and securing it with an artful pin. Her fingers were cool on Eowyn's skin, and yet comforting and oddly warming.

As Eowyn opened her mouth to speak again, she was interrupted by Aragorn's cheerful voice. "You arise early." They turned, and their quiet harmony was destroyed by the intrusion of men into their room. Aragorn seemed somewhat out of place there, too big, too strong, too forceful. Arwen made no sign of discomfort, merely swept him a dainty courtesy, that Eowyn awkwardly reciprocated. Moments later, Faramir entered, and a conversation dealing with the results of the expedition began. Eowyn quietly excused herself, hurrying from the room, not aware of the worried glance Arwen threw after her.

She had felt stifled in their presence, diminished somehow, as though lessened by their achievements. She knew she still yearned in the deepest part of her, for what she could never have, what was now denied to her by the world, by propriety and morals, and by the simple suffocating love of the man she had married. Silken chains bound her to this, and yet still her spirit raged. Arwen's gentle lessons had not yet been learnt. She bit her lip until it hurt, leaving darkened imprints. She held up her head, and moved with her usual measured though swift pace, until she caught sight of a familiar face looking at her in puzzlement. Legolas, her mind supplied her with his name, though his words last time they had encountered still brought a hot flush to her cheek. What could you give that she could not? The memory of their impassioned conversation ran through her head still. How he had thrown what she possessed in her face, and how she had challenged him on the accepted conventions, defied him to tell her that he indeed possessed all that he wanted. He had told her she would be shattered on the rock that was their love. In a moment an utter stranger had broken down all her shields, had stripped her of accepted beliefs, taken away the artifice that bound conversation. The only person she had ever met able to do that was Arwen, and she wondered vaguely if perhaps it was an elvish trait.

A voice called her name, as strong and harsh as ever. Prince Legolas had always been at odds with his looks. The delicate beauty was belied by the granite hard jaw, and the cold expression, but then she supposed a man so skilled in the arts of killing really had no choice than to be stoic. She turned, and essayed a curtsey, noting his bow. "My lady Eowyn how have you been?"

"Well," she answered, and her face lightened. Last time he had seen her, she had been weeping in a chair, from despair and fruitless, helpless rage. "And you Prince Legolas?"

"It has been a most successful journey," he replied politely, and they turned to walk to the battlements.

Eowyn hesitated only a moment, then decided to tell him something. "Lady Arwen and I travel to Imladris," she said suddenly, with no warning at all. There was a subtle change in his demeanour, which perhaps none but a warrior's sharp eyes would have caught. Eowyn could not guess at the reason, but it was obvious that her announcement was garnering more emotion than she had anticipated.

When he replied however, his voice was shuttered from all emotion. "Does Lord Aragorn know of your resolution?"

Eowyn shook her head. "Nay. I tell you from courtesy, and since you are an elf, I had hoped you would be able to tell me more about Imladris, and perhaps the..." she hesitated unsure of how to frame her pronouncement, "the etiquette," she said finally, unable to find the proper word. "Have you been before?"

A brief smile twitched at Legolas's face, utterly changing it for the moment it remained. "I have been very many times," was his first remark. "You will find it very beautiful I am certain of that. It is a place of great wonder and mystery, words can do little to describe it satisfactorily. I was not born there, I was born in Mirkwood which is very different, but I have kindred there so I journeyed often to its environs. There is no etiquette as such, it is merely a place where you can do what you wish- if you want companionship it is there, but if you wish to be silent and contemplative, then there is a time and place for that as well. " He fell silent, but there was a warm look in his grey eyes that she had never seen before, a spark of human warmth even of passion.

At that moment Arwen appeared. The wind blew her blue skirts around her, and ruffled the shining black hair, bringing colour to her cheeks and a mischevious glimmer to her eyes. She had eyes only for Eowyn, but the worry which had been shadowed in them disappeared almost immediately, and she looked at Legolas, a smile leaping to her lips. "Welcome Prince Legolas," she greeted him, then embraced him shortly, before standing back. "May I speak to you Eowyn for a moment?" She curtseyed to Legolas. "We shall talk soon," she promised, before taking Eowyn's hand briefly. "I'm sorry to interrupt," she said first when they were out of earshot. "I merely wished to ascertain that you were well," the meaning went unspoken- well after hearing the others talk of war. On receiving Eowyn's small nod, she smiled again. "I must return," she whispered, rolling her eyes, and tilting her head a little down, she brushed her lips along Eowyn's forehead in a comforting gesture, that seemed so natural, neither of them observed Legolas's sharp eyes. By coincidence Arwen's last words were of him. "Trust Legolas Eowyn. He has sorrow and troubles enough of his own, and much grief, and though there have been harsh words, let them be forgotten." She took her leave, as quickly as she had arrived, and Eowyn turned back to walk with Legolas.

Legolas himself was deep in thought, thoughts which Eowyn could not penetrate or guess. His eyes were once again remote. "Lady Eowyn," he asked finally, "do you get on well with the Queen?" She sensed there was some deeper meaning to his words, but was at a loss to guess what it could be, so answered them at face value.

"Very well indeed. Over the past weeks she has been a source of great companionship to me."

For some reason Legolas sighed, then he sat down on a stone bench. "Lady Eowyn. Permit me to tell you a story."

She acquiesced with a nod, and he began. "Once I knew a person, who had the very great misfortune to fall in love with somebody else. Now what he didn't realise was that though this love was shameful and wrong, and he had managed to hide it very very well, that it was reciprocated." He paused as though expecting a response, and Eowyn thoroughly bewildered replied.

"But surely it could not have been as wrong as you say? Were both parties attached already?" A painful blush suffused her face as she said those words and thought of her infatuation with Aragorn.

There was a strange look in Legolas's eyes, one of misery. "No," he said. "That was not the difficulty. The difficulty was that the young man thought it was a great deal more wrong than it really was. And so he refused to see the signs that the other bore him love as well. And when finally after a very long while mutual recognition occurred, he took fright and went away." Again he fell silent. Eowyn was extremely confused. It seemed as though he was trying to tell her something very important- his eyes were raking her face with an almost painful intensity, and at her look of incomprehension he sighed. "I am worried for you Lady Eowyn. Mortal's hearts are fragile and I fear that harm may come to you through this love. Love you do not yet know you hold."

With gentle courtesy he bowed and kissed her hand. Then with long measured steps he took his leave, leaving her on the battlements, confused and alone. The rest of the day was spent in her customary maner- doing the work which still needed to be done, whether the Lord was home or not, indeed was especially essential now. She did not see Arwen for much of it- the other woman had claimed she was indisposed by a headache, and Aragorn and Faramir remained closeted much of the day in counsel with Legolas. The evening drew near, and Eowyn excused herself from her meeting with the seneschal and bailifs, to allow Alyssa to change her dress. Out of respect for her husband's return, she declined her usual woollen work dresses, though equally her elaborate dresses were out of the question. She finally decided on a simple blue silk dress, more like a robe in the way it pooled around her, and in a colour she did not wear often, and allowed Alyssa to tie a simple silver chain around her neck. Thanks to Arwen's braiding of her hair in the morning, Eowyn's usually dead straight hair had a wave in it. Her face creased in a frown when she recalled Arwen. She had been to see the other woman earlier, but she had been sleeping at the time, and so she had contented herself with sending up herbal teas, and ordering the healer to attend her if required.

With another cup of the stuff, she made her way up the stairs to the chamber which Aragorn and Arwen shared. The Queen was out of bed, though still in her nightdress, and she looked very much better. She smiled a welcome to Eowyn. "I'm sorry," she exclaimed, "could I beg you to assist me in my dressing. I gave my maid time off, and I am in a frightful mess." Eowyn laughed.

"Of course," she replied, and set straight to work, remembering Alyssa's capable attentions. Arwen's hair was clean, and after Eowyn bundled it into a towel for her, she climbed into the freshly drawn bath, while Eowyn picked out her clothes. Arwen seemed to have such a lot, all scented, and in a range of colours- though blue as expected predominated. Eowyn allowed her hands to roam through the fabrics, relishing the deel of them on her skin, before finally picking out a dress not dissimilar to her own, but in silver instead, inset with a panel of blue on the bodice, and designed to be laced at the back. Then hesitantly in case she stumbled on the other woman's personal effects, she opened drawers until she stumbled upon the most exquistive hair ornament she had ever seen. It was a comb of some metal, and on it intricately wrought was a flower of some precious metal she had never seen before, inset with white and blue gems. It was the most delicately beautiful thing she had ever had the privilige of holding, and she could barely restrain her gasp. Indeed so caught up was she in contemplation of it, that she almost forgot what she was searching for. Reverently she placed it back into the drawer, though she almost did not have the heart to shut it away. Beside it was a plainer ornament of a silver circlet, and its matching pendant which she laid on the dresser.

Arwen entered, wrapped in her robe. "It is very beautiful is it not?" she said quietly. Eowyn busied herself sorting through the assorted pins on the table while Arwen changed before answering.

"Very." She crossed, and lifted the silver dress over Arwen's head, straightening it, before pulling the laces tight. She knew a moment of incongrousness, here she was helping to lace Queen Arwen into a dress, helping a woman the very idea of whom she had hated for so long, and who was so different from everything she had expected- better than she had ever hoped even. With gentle hands she tugged the laces closed, as Arwen drew in a breath, then with care and deliacy she placed the circlet on her head, and fastened the necklace round her throat with the most careful of touches, unsure of how precisely she had to do it. She laughed inside at the realisation that this was almost more difficult than those sword drills she had put herself through for so many years.

With a hopeful smile, Arwen turned, and an answering smile crossed Eowyn's face. Arwen rustled over to the dresser, and opened the drawer Eowyn had been looking in, taking out with gentle hands the ornament within. Walking closer to Eowyn, she motioned the smaller woman to bend, and with the regalness of her majesty she placed it in the blond hair before her, skillfully twisting it, until it resembled nothing so much as a silver flower. "It suits you very well," she said gravely.

Eowyn's hands shot up to her hair. "It is too precious," she gasped, "it's too beautiful."

Hands smoothed back a wisp of hair. "Nonsense. You are far more beautiful than it, it merely offsets your dress, and the colour of your eyes." Smooth hands tilted Eowyn's face to the light. "When your eyes catch the light just so, they are silver," Arwen said softly. They stood and began walking to where they knew their husbands would be waiting. On the way, Arwen explained her acquisition of the hairpiece. "It is made of mithril and silver. Mithril is very rare and very beautiful, and it is inset with gems. It was my mother's, my father forged it for her many many years ago, before my birth. It was a symbol of his love for her, made with his hands, and worn by her proudly. You are very like to her."

Entering the room, they noted that Aragorn, Faramir and Legolas were already seated, though they stood politely, and helped the ladies to their chairs. It was a round table, much smaller than the high table at which they had previously all dined together, with no flowers merely candles upon it. On Eowyn's right sat Arwen, on her left Faramir, while Aragorn sat next respectively to Legolas and Arwen. The talk was easy and free flowing, dealing with curiousities and quaint things that had occured, until the first course had been cleared away. Then Arwen sat up, and turned a smile on her husband. "We have not been bored," she told him, laughter hiding in her face. "Lady Eowyn slew a wolf."

The silence was sudden and immediate, and all eyes turned to Eowyn, though it was Faramir who spoke first in heavy tones. "A wolf? There are wolves near the castle? You could have been killed, what on earth possessed you?"

Eowyn replied in honeyed tones. "A wolf is small pickings, beside the band of brigands which set on us just moments later." She turned to Aragorn. "Your lady made more than a fair showing. Why she killed seven of them to my five! Though to be fair, I did pick off most of the small nest of orcs hiding in that patch of woodland." Aragorn's face was a study in surprise, and horror, and he turned to Arwen, his mouth open as though begging to be reassured.

Arwen chimed in. "Lady Eowyn is too kind to me. I did indeed kill seven, but she tackled the leader a man who was easily seven feet tall, and muscled with it. Was that before or after we rode to Gondor to rally the troops there?"

"Oh after. It was only a short trip in real terms." Only Legolas seemed to have realised that they were joking- Aragorn and Faramir were horrified, indeed stupified, that their gently bred wives had spent their days in such a way. Eowyn took pity on them. "Not really. I did indeed kill a wolf but he was the only one. The guards rode out and cut off his head after we told them. I believe it is here somewhere if you wish to see it. The skin was cured for a rug. Our days have been most sedate."

Faramir spoke first, and his voice was a little terse. "Very amusing," he said, with an attempt at a smile, that was mirrored by Aragorn's attempt. "But still Eowyn, a wolf."

A hint of ice entered her voice as was usual when she was challenged, a hint which warned Faramir not to make an issue of it- at least not before their guests. "Indeed Faramir. Need I remind you I have hunted and killed bigger prey, and ones more evil?"

Aragorn looked down at his plate, and unenthusiastically began to tackle the food on it, though the kitchens had outdone themselves. Legolas started another conversation, this time rather more conventionally. "I hear you have been teaching Lady Eowyn elvish, my lady," he addressed Arwen, and bemusedly Eowyn wondered how he had guessed- she hadn't mentioned it even to Faramir. Then she guessed his sharp eyes must have seen the lesson materials.

Arwen took a dainty bite of her venison before replying. "Indeed. She is a most apt pupil, and already excels in the weeks of learning she has had." She glanced at Eowyn, and the look was full of a meaning, which was obvious. Now was the time to broach the subject of a journey to Imladris.

Squaring her shoulders, Eowyn nodded at the other woman, and turned to Faramir. "My lord," she addressed him in her customary formal wont, and he acknowledged her start with a bow. "My lord," she repeated firmer this time, "I have planned a trip to Imladris, in the company if she should wish it of her majesty. I wished to inform you of this, so that we may plan what arrangements I shall leave for the temporary disbursement of my duties." She clasped her hands under the table to still their trembling. She did not know if she had the energy for another battle of wills with him.

His eyes lit up. "Imladris," he breathed. "Long have I wished to see that place of lore and legend, since it was mentioned in my dreams. Alas I have not been to its sacred environs. It is a good thought of yours this." As always his casual mention of scholarship cut Eowyn, making her even more aware of her fundamental untaughtness, and she replied more sharply than perhaps she meant.

"We cannot both leave the castle," she protested, hoping Arwen would speak as indeed the other woman did.

"I agree with Lady Eowyn. I wish to show her my homeland, and though I would love to show it to you, I fear your duties will not allow such an abrogation of time. As Lady Eowyn and I are merely women, our presence can be done without with more surely." There was the barest hint of sarcasm on the merely, an irony that laid clear the hypocrisy which surrounded them.

Aragorn spoke, his brow creased. "I cannot neglect my city and my country more than I have done so already in my concern for their welfare, and yet I cannot allow you to go thus unescorted, or without one I can trust by your side."

Legolas spoke then, a quiet voice from a figure around whom the light of the candles seemed to bend and waver. "I shall guide them, and escort them naturally. I wish to visit Imladris myself, and this seems the perfect opportunity."

A voice was raised in opposition. "Nay Legolas, I would that you rest in Gondor for a while before you again begin your travels."

With a smile Legolas turned to Aragorn. "You have my word on it that I shall return from Imladris to Gondor, before I start my wandering in earnest, and indeed before I revisit my settlement. Meanwhile it is clear my duty lies with the Queen and Lady Eowyn." There seemed to be palpable eagerness in his tone, and the light of warmth that Eowyn had noted in his eyes was rekindled at the thought of Imladris, without him even noticing the change.


Faramir sighed. "It seems I have no choice but to essay my consent to this undertaking." There were sharp words on the tip of Eowyn's tongue about the word 'allow,' but by force of will she held them back, bowing her head before the male need for the semblance of control at least. Looking around she realised that her effort had not gone unnoticed. Arwen's warm hand sought hers under the table, and gave it a short squeeze.

"To Imladris," the other woman whispered, and they raised their glasses in a silent toast.