(no subject)
Late due to no internet at home, but still from the heart:
MERRY CHRISTMAS, F-LIST, OR ANYONE WHO READS THIS! :)
I don't even have time for a banner. Hach. I'm going to enjoy returning to real Internet connection, let me tell you.
P.S.: Hobbit's still happening! ^^ And in its honour, and through reading LotR and the Hobbit again, I wrote an Aragorn-Arwen fic which I'll post as substition for a Christmas present - just give me feedback and you'll make me happy. :)
Title: Estel and Evenstar
Summary: Arwen's and Aragorn's first meeting in Rivendell.
Author's Notes: I basically wanted to give the story of Arwen and Aragorn... well, feelings. Tolkien describes it very briefly at the end of Lord of the Rings, and I simply extended it, filled it with (maybe a rather teenagish) love and this is the first part. There's more if you want it. :) Not all the accents are set correctly, I apologise, but I didn't have a copy of Tolkien's books at hand. I tried to keep a little to Tolkien's style of writing. Let's see how that worked.
“But as for Arwen the Fair, Lady of Imladris and of Lórien, Evenstar of her people, she is of lineage greater than yours. She is too far above you. And so, I think, it may well seem to her.”
Aragorn left his audience with Elrond hurt and ashamed, not by his foster-father, but his own unworthiness. Long had it been since he had felt small and insignificant because all his life had been filled with contributing to the fight of Sauron, living in Imladris and the North, protecting the innocent peoples of Middle-Earth and, lately, the firm knowledge of being Arathorn’s son, the righteous king of Gondor and Anor, one of the last Númenorer in Middle-Earth. And now, for all his good deeds and might, he stumbled in love with an immortal woman of greater worth who probably ruled him foolish, or worse, rude for singing the song of a love that was far beyond his grasp.
So his heart was heavy and above all else Aragorn desired to sleep and find forgetfulness of Arwen Evenstar; but he found that he could not, for the night was her time, when her light shone the brightest. Every time he dozed off, his dreams were haunted by her, and Aragorn thought himself weak and wondered how a woman could have enticed him like that. Little did he know that Arwen herself was awake, wandering about the gardens of Rivendell for she could not forget Strider, so different from any man she had seen in her long life. And, unconsciously her constant thought about him entered his dreams, until he finally thought he’d be driven mad and left to catch fresh air.
Aragorn was annoyed with himself, and grieved as he stood on his balcony, looking across the beauty of last Homely House on Earth. And there his eyes fell upon Arwen, as she sat on a bench close to his room, staring at her own hands. She didn’t know what was happening, because no one had ever set her off like this, or busied her mind as he was doing in that moment. How could that happen to me?, she thought, me, Undomiel and daughter of Elrond, and it’s a man who has barely been living on this life for two decades who fascinates me more than anybody or anything else?
Confused was her heart, and confused was his, so Aragorn didn’t call out to her, for he still felt shame weighting heavy on his soul and suddenly, all his bravery seemed to have left him. His heart was beating fast, and his breath was heavy as if he had run a long distance, and he couldn’t explain. Folly came over him, so eventually he opened his mouth to call her, but then didn’t dare, for he would not have known how else to name her but Tinúviel. Someone so high above him, such a fair lady, should not be disturbed by him - and at the same time he, Aragorn, son of Arathon, Dúnedain of the North, fearlessly fighting orcs and other beasts of the Dark Lord, feared her judgment.
Finally Arwen stood up and went towards the house, seemingly going inside; Aragorn’s heart wanted to call her name, tell her to just stay there so that he could look upon her a little longer, but his mind ruled out and he stayed silent. When she was just below the balcony, Arwen upped her shining blue eyes and looked straight into his, grey and beautiful, and she who was famous for her singing raised a lightly shaking voice:
“Hail, Estel, Aragorn, Arathorn’s son, Isildur’s heir, Lord of the Dúnedain.”
For that was how he had introduced himself to her in his foolish pride. His fingers gripped the rail hard as he answered, his throat dry: “Hail, Arwen Undomiel.” For nothing was on his mind in that moment but her name and the brightness of the star she was named for.
They both fell silent, then Arwen continued: “Will you not come down and walk with me under the fair light of the stars and the moon?”
That request bewildered him, at the same time that it gave him joy. “Your wish is my command, Lady”, he answered, and bade her to wait for him. When he finally joined her, Arwen smiled, and Aragorn’s heart fluttered at the sight: “The beauty of the night turns pale compared to yours, Lady”, he said, his heart on his tongue in his years of less wisdom and experience. And Arwen laughed, for she was way beyond those years, but still felt like a young, blossoming flower again.
“People have told me that I have Lúthien Tinúviel’s beauty, but there is much more to me than that.”
And they walked into the forest of Imladris, and there they talked for hours, about everything that concerned them or simply crossed their minds. It seemed normal, almost a duty to share every thought with each other. And their laughter could be heard by many of Rivendell’s inhabitants, including Elrond, whose own heart laughed and cried at the same time. But further and further went Aragorn and Arwen so that at last, Imladris’s people could find peaceful sleep, enlightened by the tender friendship blossoming between an elf and a man which gave them good dreams. Everyone was already deeply asleep when Arwen and Aragorn, on the shore of a singing stream, linked their hands. And sudden courage returned to him when Aragorn put both his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him, as close as possible. And in return Arwen covered his hands with hers and leaned her head against his shoulder.
Nothing more they did that night but stand there in each other’s arms, watching the stream jumping from stone to stone, perfectly content and rid of all fear and sorrow. And no one except for the wild animals of the night witnessed how their love was begun that day in the deepest depths of the gardens of Rivendell.
MERRY CHRISTMAS, F-LIST, OR ANYONE WHO READS THIS! :)
I don't even have time for a banner. Hach. I'm going to enjoy returning to real Internet connection, let me tell you.
P.S.: Hobbit's still happening! ^^ And in its honour, and through reading LotR and the Hobbit again, I wrote an Aragorn-Arwen fic which I'll post as substition for a Christmas present - just give me feedback and you'll make me happy. :)
Title: Estel and Evenstar
Summary: Arwen's and Aragorn's first meeting in Rivendell.
Author's Notes: I basically wanted to give the story of Arwen and Aragorn... well, feelings. Tolkien describes it very briefly at the end of Lord of the Rings, and I simply extended it, filled it with (maybe a rather teenagish) love and this is the first part. There's more if you want it. :) Not all the accents are set correctly, I apologise, but I didn't have a copy of Tolkien's books at hand. I tried to keep a little to Tolkien's style of writing. Let's see how that worked.
“But as for Arwen the Fair, Lady of Imladris and of Lórien, Evenstar of her people, she is of lineage greater than yours. She is too far above you. And so, I think, it may well seem to her.”
Aragorn left his audience with Elrond hurt and ashamed, not by his foster-father, but his own unworthiness. Long had it been since he had felt small and insignificant because all his life had been filled with contributing to the fight of Sauron, living in Imladris and the North, protecting the innocent peoples of Middle-Earth and, lately, the firm knowledge of being Arathorn’s son, the righteous king of Gondor and Anor, one of the last Númenorer in Middle-Earth. And now, for all his good deeds and might, he stumbled in love with an immortal woman of greater worth who probably ruled him foolish, or worse, rude for singing the song of a love that was far beyond his grasp.
So his heart was heavy and above all else Aragorn desired to sleep and find forgetfulness of Arwen Evenstar; but he found that he could not, for the night was her time, when her light shone the brightest. Every time he dozed off, his dreams were haunted by her, and Aragorn thought himself weak and wondered how a woman could have enticed him like that. Little did he know that Arwen herself was awake, wandering about the gardens of Rivendell for she could not forget Strider, so different from any man she had seen in her long life. And, unconsciously her constant thought about him entered his dreams, until he finally thought he’d be driven mad and left to catch fresh air.
Aragorn was annoyed with himself, and grieved as he stood on his balcony, looking across the beauty of last Homely House on Earth. And there his eyes fell upon Arwen, as she sat on a bench close to his room, staring at her own hands. She didn’t know what was happening, because no one had ever set her off like this, or busied her mind as he was doing in that moment. How could that happen to me?, she thought, me, Undomiel and daughter of Elrond, and it’s a man who has barely been living on this life for two decades who fascinates me more than anybody or anything else?
Confused was her heart, and confused was his, so Aragorn didn’t call out to her, for he still felt shame weighting heavy on his soul and suddenly, all his bravery seemed to have left him. His heart was beating fast, and his breath was heavy as if he had run a long distance, and he couldn’t explain. Folly came over him, so eventually he opened his mouth to call her, but then didn’t dare, for he would not have known how else to name her but Tinúviel. Someone so high above him, such a fair lady, should not be disturbed by him - and at the same time he, Aragorn, son of Arathon, Dúnedain of the North, fearlessly fighting orcs and other beasts of the Dark Lord, feared her judgment.
Finally Arwen stood up and went towards the house, seemingly going inside; Aragorn’s heart wanted to call her name, tell her to just stay there so that he could look upon her a little longer, but his mind ruled out and he stayed silent. When she was just below the balcony, Arwen upped her shining blue eyes and looked straight into his, grey and beautiful, and she who was famous for her singing raised a lightly shaking voice:
“Hail, Estel, Aragorn, Arathorn’s son, Isildur’s heir, Lord of the Dúnedain.”
For that was how he had introduced himself to her in his foolish pride. His fingers gripped the rail hard as he answered, his throat dry: “Hail, Arwen Undomiel.” For nothing was on his mind in that moment but her name and the brightness of the star she was named for.
They both fell silent, then Arwen continued: “Will you not come down and walk with me under the fair light of the stars and the moon?”
That request bewildered him, at the same time that it gave him joy. “Your wish is my command, Lady”, he answered, and bade her to wait for him. When he finally joined her, Arwen smiled, and Aragorn’s heart fluttered at the sight: “The beauty of the night turns pale compared to yours, Lady”, he said, his heart on his tongue in his years of less wisdom and experience. And Arwen laughed, for she was way beyond those years, but still felt like a young, blossoming flower again.
“People have told me that I have Lúthien Tinúviel’s beauty, but there is much more to me than that.”
And they walked into the forest of Imladris, and there they talked for hours, about everything that concerned them or simply crossed their minds. It seemed normal, almost a duty to share every thought with each other. And their laughter could be heard by many of Rivendell’s inhabitants, including Elrond, whose own heart laughed and cried at the same time. But further and further went Aragorn and Arwen so that at last, Imladris’s people could find peaceful sleep, enlightened by the tender friendship blossoming between an elf and a man which gave them good dreams. Everyone was already deeply asleep when Arwen and Aragorn, on the shore of a singing stream, linked their hands. And sudden courage returned to him when Aragorn put both his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him, as close as possible. And in return Arwen covered his hands with hers and leaned her head against his shoulder.
Nothing more they did that night but stand there in each other’s arms, watching the stream jumping from stone to stone, perfectly content and rid of all fear and sorrow. And no one except for the wild animals of the night witnessed how their love was begun that day in the deepest depths of the gardens of Rivendell.