The White Mountains

White light beat in Arwen's eyes. Blinking, she saw through tears a moving blur - ivory against ice - as Eowyn's horse descended the slope ahead.

Old fears always rode with her on these trails. Spots flung in her vision by the dazzling snow too easily became dark smears on it; but Eowyn turned her wind-burnt face encircled in white fur and smiled. Arwen could feel her warmth, that mortal fire she'd sensed first in Aragorn. It is no marvel she was drawn to him; in so many ways they are akin. In this too - I love them both.

[For Makamu, who wanted gen Arwen & Eowyn.]