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rosa_cotton…a Lord of the Rings fic for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
inwe_elensar and cularien
Warnings: Anti-Arwen ahead.
~~~
Released
“Where are you? You seem so far away these days,” Arwen says, coming up behind Aragorn.
The ranger sits on the bank of the lake. He does not turn to acknowledge the elf’s presence or answer her question. His gaze thoughtful, he watches a group of swans swimming on the water.
Gracefully, Arwen sits down beside him. For a moment she studies his face. Every time they meet, Aragorn seems grimmer in her eyes. He has taken part in many battles and quests and has seen many things. He has changed greatly from the lovesick, naive youth she first encountered so many decades ago.
Back then, he had been insecure, troubled and overwhelmed by the revelations regarding his lineage and awaiting destiny. She had then stepped into his life, distantly related, of a greater lineage than he; she was the loveliest elf to walk on Middle-earth. Here was a chance to join the races of Elves and Men in a powerful alliance that would be long remembered and honored.
Aragorn had not thought anything of alliances. Here was the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld. To have her by his side as his queen… He was relieved she accepted his advances. Suddenly his future no longer seemed as lonely and uncertain.
On her part Arwen was very keen to the idea of becoming Aragorn’s queen. Often her beauty was compared to that of her ancestor, Lúthien, daughter of Thingol and Melien. And she would continue to follow in her footsteps by giving up her immortality for Aragorn.
But things have not progressed as she expected. Her father, Elrond, sent Aragorn away into exile, claiming he was not worthy of Arwen’s hand until he became king. While sad at Aragorn’s absence, she secretly agreed with her father.
It was twenty years later when Aragorn and Arwen met again. He seemed as captivated by her as ever, and she glimpsed in him the greatness of kings in his noble face and rich clothing. They had spent many happy days together walking barefoot under the silver, shimmering trees of Lothlórien. Yet when he departed to join his fellow rangers, there was no understanding between them. Aragorn did not proclaim his love or ask for Arwen’s hand; thus she did not confess she would bind herself to him and choose a mortal life.
They have met only a few times since that second meeting. Aragorn does not stay long in Rivendell, now feeling smothered in the ethereal haven full of protocol and formal manners where he sleeps in a soft bed with a roof over his head instead of on the ground under the starry night.
He has come to embrace his life as a ranger, traveling through the wilderness, hunting for food, hardly sleeping in the same place twice. It troubles Arwen how much Aragorn loves this lifestyle which she shuns.
What troubles her most is how, when last they met, just before he was to meet up with his fellow rangers, Arwen had at last declared her feelings. She told him she loved him, had always had, and would become mortal and be at his side as his queen.
Since his arrival at Rivendell three days ago, he has not sought out her company as before when they took walks through the gardens. He was now almost simply formal, too respectful towards her. At times Arwen had caught him watching her with an intense, searching look that she often turned away from, unable to hold his gaze. She did not understand and lacked the courage to ask him about it.
Arwen follows Aragorn’s gaze to the swans. She admires how graceful they are as they stretch their long necks.
“Swans are beautiful, graceful, proud birds. They can appear deceptively tame, yet they are creatures that should live wild and free.”
Aragorn’s soft words hang in the air. A light frown creases Arwen’s forehead as she ponders over his words. She glances at him. His gaze is fixed still on the swans. Suddenly they flap their wings and honk, something exciting them. Like a cloud, the flock rises out of the water, the sound of their wings beating the air. Their flight is dazzling as they pass across the bright full moon. The swans’ honking slowly dies away as they disappear into the night.
“But they may be tamed when they are cared for and loved,” Arwen says at length, gazing after the swans.
“Once caged, do they give up thoughts and hopes of freedom?” the ranger asks.
The elf brings her gaze to Aragorn to find him looking on her. “You are speaking in riddles tonight, Estel,” she comments with a light laugh.
He does not laugh or smile but continues to gaze at her, his eyes becoming thoughtful.
“Sometimes it takes the wisdom of a child for a wise man to understand a matter,” he muses softly, half to himself. He looks towards the lake again.
Arwen’s smile vanishes. She clasps her hands together. “Why do you say this?” she asks with a dreading sigh.
Aragorn faces her again. His eyes sweep over her face, searching. “Why would you bind yourself to me?”
The question startles Arwen. She studies him, trying to see if he is making jest of her. He waits expectedly. “Do you not know?” she whispers. “I love you, Aragorn.”
Aragorn frowns slightly. “What is such love made of?”
“I do not understand.” Confusion clouds Arwen’s eyes.
The ranger sighs. “I have wondered if it is I you love…or the crown that awaits me?”
He goes on, overriding Arwen’s attempts of protesting, evenly holding her gaze. “It has been over four decades since we met. You never protested to your father when I left Rivendell.”
She trembles and blushes a little. “You know Father believes I cannot become your wife until you are worthy,” she says in a quiet voice.
“And I never shall be worthy of your hand.”
“Aragorn!”
“Marrying me before I become king would be a humiliation to you, your father, and your people. Even as Queen of Men, you shall be lowering yourself below your rank. The Evenstar of Elves could never live in the wilderness, wife of a Ranger of the North,” he says.
Arwen’s breath catches in her throat. She searches for words. “I know it has been hard for you…” Something, some kind of confirmation, lights Aragorn’s face. Arwen’s heart sinks. She cannot take back the words. “But I love my father.”
“So did Lúthien,” his voice is both quiet and stinging.
Deep shame washes over the elf, and the color drains from her face. She turns away from Aragorn, his piercing, knowing eyes… She stares at the crystal clear waters of the lake.
Lúthien had loved her father…yet went against his wishes and followed after her beloved Beren, a mortal. Her father had sent him on a quest to obtain one of the three Simarils and bring it back to Thingol; only then could the two wed. They went through many perils, and entered the enemy’s fortress, Angband, and came before the throne of Morgoth. Hearing of Lúthien and Beren’s great deeds and how he lost his hand with the desired Simaril, Thingol was moved and blessed their union. Beren took part in the hunt and slaying of the great werewolf, Carcharoth, to whom he had lost his hand and was also killed. Lúthien soon after died of a broken heart. In the halls of Mandos, she sung of her sad fate, never to see her beloved again, for he was a mortal and had passed out of the world. Moved to compassion by her singing, Mandos restored her and Beren to life and gave the elf the gift of mortality. She had forsaken her parents, kin, and home, and went with Beren to Ossiriand where they lived together until the end of their days and died the death of Men.
Arwen hugs herself. Behind her closed lids tears well up. What she feels – felt – for Aragorn is not as pure and true as the love Beren and Lúthien shared.
“I’m sorry, Aragorn,” she whispers brokenly.
She hears him sigh and rise to his feet, standing straight and tall, his shoulders squared, free of a long burden.
“There was never any understanding…” his voice trails off. “You can answer the sea’s calling and leave Middle-earth with your kind.”
Arwen listens as he begins to walk away from her, his steps light and firm. Her chin trembling, her cheeks wet, she opens her eyes and swiftly turns her head in Aragorn’s retreating direction. “Is there someone else?” she calls out almost bitterly. Someone who will run with you through the wilderness? Someone who will admire the stars with you before falling asleep? Someone who will love what you are and what you will become? she wonders silently.
Aragorn faces her, faint pity crossing his face as the moon reveals the glistening wet tracks on the elf’s fair cheeks. His gaze slips upward to the sky. The thoughtful expression on his face is replaced by an unfamiliar, sort of wistful smile.
She does not know if she believes him when he replies:
“No, there is not.”
He nods to her and then disappears into the night.
Arwen can only hug herself, the moon and her thoughts her only companions.
THE END
inwe_elensar and cularienWarnings: Anti-Arwen ahead.
~~~
Released
“Where are you? You seem so far away these days,” Arwen says, coming up behind Aragorn.
The ranger sits on the bank of the lake. He does not turn to acknowledge the elf’s presence or answer her question. His gaze thoughtful, he watches a group of swans swimming on the water.
Gracefully, Arwen sits down beside him. For a moment she studies his face. Every time they meet, Aragorn seems grimmer in her eyes. He has taken part in many battles and quests and has seen many things. He has changed greatly from the lovesick, naive youth she first encountered so many decades ago.
Back then, he had been insecure, troubled and overwhelmed by the revelations regarding his lineage and awaiting destiny. She had then stepped into his life, distantly related, of a greater lineage than he; she was the loveliest elf to walk on Middle-earth. Here was a chance to join the races of Elves and Men in a powerful alliance that would be long remembered and honored.
Aragorn had not thought anything of alliances. Here was the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld. To have her by his side as his queen… He was relieved she accepted his advances. Suddenly his future no longer seemed as lonely and uncertain.
On her part Arwen was very keen to the idea of becoming Aragorn’s queen. Often her beauty was compared to that of her ancestor, Lúthien, daughter of Thingol and Melien. And she would continue to follow in her footsteps by giving up her immortality for Aragorn.
But things have not progressed as she expected. Her father, Elrond, sent Aragorn away into exile, claiming he was not worthy of Arwen’s hand until he became king. While sad at Aragorn’s absence, she secretly agreed with her father.
It was twenty years later when Aragorn and Arwen met again. He seemed as captivated by her as ever, and she glimpsed in him the greatness of kings in his noble face and rich clothing. They had spent many happy days together walking barefoot under the silver, shimmering trees of Lothlórien. Yet when he departed to join his fellow rangers, there was no understanding between them. Aragorn did not proclaim his love or ask for Arwen’s hand; thus she did not confess she would bind herself to him and choose a mortal life.
They have met only a few times since that second meeting. Aragorn does not stay long in Rivendell, now feeling smothered in the ethereal haven full of protocol and formal manners where he sleeps in a soft bed with a roof over his head instead of on the ground under the starry night.
He has come to embrace his life as a ranger, traveling through the wilderness, hunting for food, hardly sleeping in the same place twice. It troubles Arwen how much Aragorn loves this lifestyle which she shuns.
What troubles her most is how, when last they met, just before he was to meet up with his fellow rangers, Arwen had at last declared her feelings. She told him she loved him, had always had, and would become mortal and be at his side as his queen.
Since his arrival at Rivendell three days ago, he has not sought out her company as before when they took walks through the gardens. He was now almost simply formal, too respectful towards her. At times Arwen had caught him watching her with an intense, searching look that she often turned away from, unable to hold his gaze. She did not understand and lacked the courage to ask him about it.
Arwen follows Aragorn’s gaze to the swans. She admires how graceful they are as they stretch their long necks.
“Swans are beautiful, graceful, proud birds. They can appear deceptively tame, yet they are creatures that should live wild and free.”
Aragorn’s soft words hang in the air. A light frown creases Arwen’s forehead as she ponders over his words. She glances at him. His gaze is fixed still on the swans. Suddenly they flap their wings and honk, something exciting them. Like a cloud, the flock rises out of the water, the sound of their wings beating the air. Their flight is dazzling as they pass across the bright full moon. The swans’ honking slowly dies away as they disappear into the night.
“But they may be tamed when they are cared for and loved,” Arwen says at length, gazing after the swans.
“Once caged, do they give up thoughts and hopes of freedom?” the ranger asks.
The elf brings her gaze to Aragorn to find him looking on her. “You are speaking in riddles tonight, Estel,” she comments with a light laugh.
He does not laugh or smile but continues to gaze at her, his eyes becoming thoughtful.
“Sometimes it takes the wisdom of a child for a wise man to understand a matter,” he muses softly, half to himself. He looks towards the lake again.
Arwen’s smile vanishes. She clasps her hands together. “Why do you say this?” she asks with a dreading sigh.
Aragorn faces her again. His eyes sweep over her face, searching. “Why would you bind yourself to me?”
The question startles Arwen. She studies him, trying to see if he is making jest of her. He waits expectedly. “Do you not know?” she whispers. “I love you, Aragorn.”
Aragorn frowns slightly. “What is such love made of?”
“I do not understand.” Confusion clouds Arwen’s eyes.
The ranger sighs. “I have wondered if it is I you love…or the crown that awaits me?”
He goes on, overriding Arwen’s attempts of protesting, evenly holding her gaze. “It has been over four decades since we met. You never protested to your father when I left Rivendell.”
She trembles and blushes a little. “You know Father believes I cannot become your wife until you are worthy,” she says in a quiet voice.
“And I never shall be worthy of your hand.”
“Aragorn!”
“Marrying me before I become king would be a humiliation to you, your father, and your people. Even as Queen of Men, you shall be lowering yourself below your rank. The Evenstar of Elves could never live in the wilderness, wife of a Ranger of the North,” he says.
Arwen’s breath catches in her throat. She searches for words. “I know it has been hard for you…” Something, some kind of confirmation, lights Aragorn’s face. Arwen’s heart sinks. She cannot take back the words. “But I love my father.”
“So did Lúthien,” his voice is both quiet and stinging.
Deep shame washes over the elf, and the color drains from her face. She turns away from Aragorn, his piercing, knowing eyes… She stares at the crystal clear waters of the lake.
Lúthien had loved her father…yet went against his wishes and followed after her beloved Beren, a mortal. Her father had sent him on a quest to obtain one of the three Simarils and bring it back to Thingol; only then could the two wed. They went through many perils, and entered the enemy’s fortress, Angband, and came before the throne of Morgoth. Hearing of Lúthien and Beren’s great deeds and how he lost his hand with the desired Simaril, Thingol was moved and blessed their union. Beren took part in the hunt and slaying of the great werewolf, Carcharoth, to whom he had lost his hand and was also killed. Lúthien soon after died of a broken heart. In the halls of Mandos, she sung of her sad fate, never to see her beloved again, for he was a mortal and had passed out of the world. Moved to compassion by her singing, Mandos restored her and Beren to life and gave the elf the gift of mortality. She had forsaken her parents, kin, and home, and went with Beren to Ossiriand where they lived together until the end of their days and died the death of Men.
Arwen hugs herself. Behind her closed lids tears well up. What she feels – felt – for Aragorn is not as pure and true as the love Beren and Lúthien shared.
“I’m sorry, Aragorn,” she whispers brokenly.
She hears him sigh and rise to his feet, standing straight and tall, his shoulders squared, free of a long burden.
“There was never any understanding…” his voice trails off. “You can answer the sea’s calling and leave Middle-earth with your kind.”
Arwen listens as he begins to walk away from her, his steps light and firm. Her chin trembling, her cheeks wet, she opens her eyes and swiftly turns her head in Aragorn’s retreating direction. “Is there someone else?” she calls out almost bitterly. Someone who will run with you through the wilderness? Someone who will admire the stars with you before falling asleep? Someone who will love what you are and what you will become? she wonders silently.
Aragorn faces her, faint pity crossing his face as the moon reveals the glistening wet tracks on the elf’s fair cheeks. His gaze slips upward to the sky. The thoughtful expression on his face is replaced by an unfamiliar, sort of wistful smile.
She does not know if she believes him when he replies:
“No, there is not.”
He nods to her and then disappears into the night.
Arwen can only hug herself, the moon and her thoughts her only companions.
THE END
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-12-16 04:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-16 04:51 am (UTC)I love how you brought all the best anti-arwen arguments into one beautiful eloquent fic.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-22 12:45 am (UTC)