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.

Look Back at Me

It was the seventh day he had not felt the weight of the shieldmaiden's gaze on him. And the absence of it clung to him like an itch that wouldn't go away, making the world feel like it was tilting on its side. The coolness surrounding him seemed wrong, though it really should not be.

Truly, he ought to be relieved, no longer being driven almost to distraction by her stare. Because in the beginning it had made him a little wary. (The variety of jests, advice, commentary, and questions from his companions had not helped matters at all.) It had reminded him of his brief fancy on Arwen; of the countless young maidens who had crossed his path, starry-eyed and full of hero worship, dreaming of the crown awaiting him, the legend he would become.

Yet there had been none of that in her eyes, grey as the sea, when she gazed upon him whether from a distance or as they walked side by side leading their horses. No. In her eyes were age, fierceness, burdens, lingering despair and coldness slowly melting, and rekindled hope. He simply was Aragorn in her sight, a man. And that knowledge had eased something in him; he grew accustomed to her looking, genuinely took pleasure in her company, and firmly focused on the task at hand.

When she suddenly, unexpectedly stopped looking he should have been glad, able now to turn his attention fully to other matters, take heed of the threatening darkness in which such fragile things as hope and love could be crushed to dust. …Yet Aragorn was not, did not, and could not.

He had felt at a loss the first day her gaze did not follow him. A queer knot formed in his stomach the few times their paths crossed and her eyelashes hid her eyes from view. As the days passed, she became more and more distant until he now went through whole days without a hint or a glimpse of her. The absence of her stare also made him realize he missed the familiar wave of warmth which gently washed over him each time she looked at him. He had drawn comfort, peace, and courage from that warmth, her unspoken belief and support. Now he felt cold, an increase pressing of fears, cares, and burdens on his shoulders.

Worst of all, though, he did not know where Lady Eowyn was. Only now, belatedly, he realized he had assured himself of her safety through her stare. Awareness of her gaze alerted him to her presence, that she was near and well. (Akin to how he always knew where his weapon was, of Gimli and Legolas' presence when they went after the captured hobbits.) And the protectiveness that he inexplicably felt toward her would ease. For the past six days his gaze had constantly searched his surroundings to account for her whereabouts, relief flooding him when finally finding her. His eyes grew more restless, a bit frantic at failing to see her once day after day as time passed.

And now, here in Edoras following the Rohirrim's return from Helm's Deep… The feast's celebratory atmosphere… Him taking everything in gravely, eyes ever seeking… Wishing it was another's hands under his as Théoden's daughter gave him the cup and hailed him… A flash of gold and blue melting into the crowd as he drank… Lady Idis' small knowing smile before she stepped aside to let him pass in pursuit… He silently praying she would not sprout wings like an angel and fly away… He had had enough.

He found her outside, face upturned to the night sky. At his calling she betrayed no surprise, voice quiet as she acknowledged him. Stepping close to her leaning against a pillar, he resisted the strong urge to reach out and turn her face toward him so that her eyes would not remain hidden from him.

"Why did you stop?" he blurted out, tone gruff, confused.

That – finally – caused her to look at him for the first time in days, and he nearly sighed, feeling the world start slowly shifting back into its rightful place.

"Stop?" she echoed, her eyes shining in the starlight.

"You stopped…," he trailed off, heat rising in his cheeks, a rare feeling of embarrassment coming over him. Meeting her gaze once more, he nodded bravely. "You stopped looking."

"Oh." She lowered her head. "I had not realized before what I was doing until Gandalf said something. I am sor—"

"I was looking!" he interrupted her. When her startled gaze jumped up to his, he paused, the truth of what he said suddenly hitting him.

He had been looking: a quick glance to confirm she was well, of her whereabouts; observing her on the road to Helm's Deep; at times catching and returning her stare. It explained his friends' strange remarks, such as Gandalf's inquiry regarding who was winning their staring contest.

"I was looking back at you, Eowyn," he confessed, steadily holding her gaze.

He watched as first surprise, followed by uncertainty, flashed in her eyes as she stared at him. Then her expression softened, gaze growing clear and bright, a happy smile gracing her lips. Returning her smile, he clasped both her hands in his and lifted them to his lips. And when she tilted her head up to receive his kiss, he felt he had come home.

THE END