Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J. R. R. Tolkien's estate and New Line Cinema.

Dedicated: For lotrlover23 and Ani-maniac494.

Light the Fire Within

Aragorn did not remember the first time it happened: a babe suddenly bereft of a familiar, safe, loving presence. He could not recall how he fussed and whined as various elves attempted to provide him with care. None of them were Mama. Where was that warmth and gentleness he so loved?

The memory of the day he learned who he truly was – of his lineage and awaiting destiny, how the man he called Papa was not that – was as fresh as though it had occurred yesterday. Most saw his hurt and sense of being betrayed. Few were aware of the cold that settled deep in his soul at having everything ripped away from him.

He'd dared to hope he might find warmth in the Evenstar, with her beauty, proud bloodline, and kind words. Recklessly he ran with her through the trees barefoot, clasping her hand. Yet Arwen was akin to the cool starlight…ageless, distant; sheltered from the troubles, cares, and burdens that weighed on his shoulders. They parted. And while he knew his heart had been touched, he realized it had never truly been in danger when he stood up with Legolas and watched with joy as the elven prince and Arwen's hands were joined together.

Decades passed. As he wandered with his fellow rangers through the wilderness, he (grim, tough, grave) grew to view the cold – that which nipped at his skin, hovered over his spirit, and surrounded his heart – as a friend. Those few who won his trust and the name "friend," were kept at a distance. And the countless maidens who gazed at him with flirtatious, ambitious, or starry eyed expressions he passed without a second glance.

Aragorn's first glimpse of the White Lady, a distant figure standing like a beacon of light had taken his breath away. The hint of warmth he'd felt in that brief moment had not prepared him for the scorching heat which threatened to engulf him when his blade crossed with hers, Eowyn's eyes fixed on his. Steel blossom, cold shieldmaiden, people had whispered in his ear in answer to his inquires. This had been true, but there also was the fervent fire behind it all, recently freed, no longer hidden. It shone brightly in the lady's eyes, radiated from her being, boldly reached out to him. Morning Star, he called her in his mind.

Never had he encountered such warmth before. Heating his calloused skin, it slipped through flesh and bone to his inner core. Secretly it scared him, to be so easily embraced by it, glimpsing the things which it offered… So he avoided the maiden, cloaking himself once more in the cold. (Though against his will his eyes sought her, and his heart beat fast in the brief moments her warmth found him.) He had focused on the task at hand, helped ready for battle. There was no place for such fragile sentiments, possibilities, or longings that could be crushed to dust by the darkening storm. Perhaps after everything then he— No. Tomorrow was a promise to no one.

It felt like all light had gone out when Aragorn heard Eomer's inhuman agonizing cry and he saw the kneeling man cradling his sister's body – still, pale, cold, spirit lost to the black breath. Hope remained for all for the war had not yet been lost, the long awaited king lived. But as he walked over the fields and then through the halls of Minas Tirith, words encouraging, hands healing, the victory tasted like gall in his mouth. Cold numbness choked him, sorrow and regret twisting his stomach when he reached where Eowyn lay in the House of Healing—

A gentle hand touching his bare shoulder brought Aragorn back to the present, the tension in his body easing, his lingering fear fleeing. Sighing, he relaxed back into the bed. He gazed at the pale hand warming his skin. Moonlight spilling in through the window made the diamond in the wedding band flash brightly.

"Aragorn?"

He looked up into concerned sea-grey eyes.

"I dreamt you were gone, my Morning Star," he spoke hoarsely. Reaching up to cover her hand with his, he guided their joined hands to rest against his chest. He swallowed hard. "You were dead. I was lost in the dark, too late…"

"Then you woke up," Eowyn's voice was reassuring, tender. She brought her free hand up to his cheek and he leaned into the touch.

His eyes swept over her features, the clouds in them vanishing. Gently he drew her into his arms. "Then I woke up," he said, his lips brushing hers. "You are here. And I am warm."

THE END