A stream of unconscious thoughts and inner turmoil of self-doubt, hope and love; in the face of a beauty and an easy choice...

The story has no particular place or time though it attempts to be book-verse.

Many thanks to Authoressinhiding! This one-shot was inspired by her story "Hopeless", and she very kindly allowed me to work with her idea. Thank you again, it means a lot!

She was so innocent, despite they way she carried herself. Her white skin glowed, the silver cataract of her hair shimmered over her dark dress that shaped a slender but strong body. She was a fair maiden of Rohan, sister-daughter of Théoden King.
And she desired him.

He could feel from the tremble of her hands when they touched, he could tell from the look in her eyes.
It would not be the first time some maiden fancied him, though it did not happen for quite a while now. He smiled grimly at the thought; he must be getting old and withered. All that traveling in the Wild must have taken its toll, he suddenly felt weary. His thoughts flew to Arwen and he grimaced uncomfortably, for he knew, Undómiel would still be as beautiful as she was when they last met.

And he sighed, for things were far from over. His fight had only just begun and he might not live to see the end of it. Though somehow, even after all these years, he could not believe in failure. He was not the light-hearted fool he was once, the naïve boy who sang proudly and happily in the forests of Imladris all those years ago, filled with hope and courage. Nay, he was not Estel anymore. The delusional pride had turned into modesty and kindness, his courage transformed into strong determination, his reckless bravery into the cunning caution of a fox. His will, forged by the flames of Mordor, grew stronger than steel. But he still hoped, for hope was his gift and his curse, ever since he was born, far from here, in the desolated, northern kingdom of Men. His home.

She laughed now, possibly for the first time since they met, and her laughter was warm and musical. She was beautiful indeed, beyond the measure of most of her kin. Strong daughter of the Rohirrim, the horselords who had supported Gondor, ever since Éorl united them. Supported his people, for he considered the Gondorians his responsibility already, not possessively but in a caring, concerned fashion.
She was young, aye, her laughter showed her age more than the firm, controlled expression she otherwise wore. Pity grew stronger in his heart; what tedious and hopeless tasks forged the young maiden's mind and gaze into cold steel?

She glanced at him again, her eyes full with childish fear, waiting for approval, some form of confirmation that she was allowed to laugh.
Such a child. Lovely, strong, but a child nonetheless. He could not help remembering her mother, who was dead now. Or her father, Éomund. He knew him, they fought alongside one another. Grief suddenly pierced his heart; it was painful to let all of them go; once friend now brown earth... Éowyn turned now to Legolas who said something, and Aragorn frowned. Was that how the elf, or even Lord Elrond thought of him? Soon to be child of the hollow grave? And Arwen... Oh, curse this pain he brought upon her! He had no right to ask, nor did he ask such a sacrifice... Was he a cruel brigand to accept it of her? He should have denied her wish, the wish they both shared... He should have denied her love...

Éowyn was merry and careless now, laughing loudly along with the hobbits. The youthful expression suited her, emphasized her beauty and the sight filled Aragorn with a strange longing. She would perhaps live long enough now... His heart pained as these thoughts traced his mind. The daughter of the King of Rohan uniting with the King of Gondor, to strengthen the bond between the two nations... And she would make a great queen, that much he was certain of.
It would be easy and natural, she was the daughter of Men as he was son of Men, they belonged... And he could even grow to love her in a way, and she loved him already.

But then he thought of the one he really loved, with whom he really belonged, the one who made all his suffering bearable. The one who was hundred times as wise as this child, hundred times as wise as he himself, who was more beautiful than anyone alive, to him more beautiful than Lúthien herself... The evening star whose light still shone to him, even in the darkest of places, showing him always the right path.
His evening star who glistened through his nights, with the promise of burning again for him, with him, at the dawn of his time.
The one who was breakable like the starlight itself and yet bore the power of the Silmaril she was named after...

Undómiel-Tinúviel, vanimelda... goheno nin!* He buried his face into his hands.
To accept Éowyn's soundless offer of attraction would indeed seem easier. But long ago he made a choice and he had given his heart to another. And in return her life was placed into his hands, a gift he felt he could never deserve. But it was a gift nonetheless, and it was his to keep.
And the thought of his beloved cleared his mind again, the starlight shone through both his pity and his self-doubt... And that was pure love and pure light, not an easy choice, in truth not even much of a choice, but it was true and it cut him like a keen sword...

Éowyn might believe him a hero or confuse him with something she desired, but she did not love him. Love was what he felt. And he knew, Éowyn felt none of that. For long, she might have thirsted the hope he bore within, she might have needed it like she needed air, but now she mistook gratitude and awe for love. She deserved better.
To understand this, would hurt her deeply. His refusal might break her strong spirit. But she deserved to feel what he felt, whenever his Undómiel shone her way into his thoughts...

*Evenstar-Nightingale, beautiful-beloved... Forgive me!

Again, I would not trust my skills in any of the Elven languages but I owe huge thanks to Certh who took the time and kindly instructed me a bit! :)