dear_mun | reserved @ ataraxion.

[ A rustle of sleeves on walls, on tables. Aragorn lifts his head, and he looks at Arwen for a long moment before he speaks. ]

Long have I wished to see you, my lady. [ He aches to ask of home, if Sauron has been defeated- if she is truly well. ]

Yet 'tis a dangerous place I am in, and no selfishness permits me to allow you to come to harm just to be by my side.

[ Has she, he wonders, taken the ships? Is this but a mere ghost of the past, one that he cannot walk towards again? ]

( She searches his face for the signs of the grave man who left Rivendell with a heavy heart and a heavier burden - and whatever she sees, she will not forget. )

Through the darkness that crept on the skies of Imladris, through the evil sweeping through the west, I longed for little else but to be able to see your face again. I fear no danger, or pain, or evil, or death - only that I be parted from you for too long that you become no more than a memory.

( She smiles at him, beatific, a star in the velvet night that shines brighter than all others that come and go in time. )

Whether I am here, or there, or home, I will be by your side. No amount of danger or threat shall make me otherwise.

( Heed her words, Estel: she will not leave you, not now and not ever. )

[ Her words ease him in a way that he cannot pinpoint. Trust in this, trust in us, she had told him still, in a dream that feels so real that he still remembers the taste of her lips, the warmth of her skin beneath his callused hands. He believes in it; believes in the truth of her words.

Now he cannot speak. He only closes his eyes, for the burdens on his shoulders seem to weigh greater on him every day. Reaching out blind, he tangles his fingers against hers even as he leans forward, their foreheads together. ]

I know my duty dictates I should dissuade you from your path, [ his voice is soft, words barely murmured, ] for I hold no crown still, and your Lord father's decree separates us without it.

But your presence give me such warmth, Arwen, and only fools chase away a fire's heat in times of winter chill.

Perhaps here, you do not, but here - ( she lifts her free hand and presses it to his chest ) - the glow of the Elfstone does not fade. And how brightly it sparkled, for it showed my kin and I the way to the land of your people.

( Is that a twinkle in her eye? Perhaps. )

Then I am glad, for even in the height of summer's warmth, this fire will not cease to burn.

Edited 2012-06-26 05:32 (UTC)

[ The light of her eyes eases the weight on his heart, and Aragorn's breath comes easier immediately. It should be strange, how much effect a single smile has on him, for he is the Man who would be King, and he should know the values on objectivity. Yet- yet at the same time, Aragorn cannot help himself, for he has loved her since his twentieth year, and it does not seem that he will ever be able to stop. Not even if his life ends.

He tucks his head down, and kisses against her knuckles, dry lips against the soft, smooth skin. ]

Aye, it does not fade. [ And he lets go of her hand for but a man- time enough to close them around her jaw, gently, for though he knows her strength he cannot help but think of her as the most precious and well-forged of porcelains, and he holds her as if a strong touch will splinter her skin.

Gently, he leans forward and kisses her. ]

( A kiss may last but a moment, but Arwen feels it, straight to her heart and soul, and she knows that she has made no mistake. She forsakes the gift of her people for another, more precious one, and through her own wisdom, she knows that her selfishness, her want to keep what is given to her, is not a fault here.

She reaches for his hand, feels the callouses on his fingers that graze her unmarred skin, and thinks that his is a hand of a king, strong; and a healer, careful; and a lover, gentle.

She leans back a little, though her forehead still touches his, and she whispers, softly, and laced with some mild mischief. )

'Tis all the better, I think, that you worry less of my well-being and more of yours, my love. It saddens me to think of any hurt befallling you, or of you carelessly working to help others in need without resting yourself.

( A pointed jab. Don't think she doesn't know these things. Her Elven ears hear everything. )

[ Strong Elven ears indeed, and Aragorn starts slightly- and he thinks with no little wryness that there is none who is as good at taking him aback as she. For no matter how well he knows her and how long he has loved her, she has always managed to surprise him.

He strokes against her cheeks slightly, and his smile is more than a little sheepish. Amongst the Elves, he has always felt more like Estel, the young child fostered with them and whom they had watched grow, than Elessar King or even Strider, the Ranger of the North. ]

Only in times of great need. Naught else, my love.

[ He tips his head and grazes his lips against her temple. ]

Perhaps 'tis no boon that you will be on that strange ship, for between Frodo, Legolas and you, milady, I will have no rest for the worrying.

[ He teases, really. ]

'Tis a promise, or a forfeit, my Lord?

( She, too, teases. It isn't often for them to do such, since Aragorn has his duties and she hers, and the darkness loomed over them, a tickling clock. Yet for all of those things, he is naught but Estel, the one whom she pledged her love to, and plighted troth with.

She smiles at the mention of their friends, and though she does not know them the way Aragorn does, she still prays for their safety in her heart. )

Then, between Frodo, Legolas, and I, we will seek to prove you wrong. Never shall there be greater folly than one made by the King of Gondor, when he dared not cease the worries that rest upon his brow.

( But those are mere words. She knows he will not stop worrying, and neither will she. )

Edited 2012-06-26 09:40 (UTC)

[ The King of Gondor she calls him, and Aragorn breathes out and the tension on his shoulders is heavy again. He opens his fingers and lets her hand go, taking a step back and turning away from her, moving towards the great windows that surround this place. It's a useless endeavour, for there is naught outside but great smog, but Aragorn minds not.

He looks into it so as to not look at her. ]

I am no King, Arwen. [ His voice is quiet, and he turns around and looks at him. ] I do not say so for fear of my heritage . The White Tree blooms, and Gondor has accepted my rule though I am crownless still. Yet...

I am but a Ranger. Halbarad's hand has ruled the Angle better than I have. The Stewards have ruled well for so long, and Faramir is a wise and kind Man. [ He stares blankly at the wall, deliberately keeping Boromir's name away from his tongue, for to speak of it causes his eyes to burn with tears still. ] I know little of ruling, much less in the times of peace that I know little of.

What right have I to take away Faramir's birthright as Steward's son?

Crownless? ( She echoes, perhaps a little confused.

Despite that, however, her voice is kind, and the wisdom of and Elf who lived for so long shines in her. But there is also firmness, in that she will not let Aragorn belittle his worth, for she knows more than anyone the greatness that he possesses. )

You are a ward of my father, a friend to my kin, a Dúnedain blessed with long life, a Ranger from the North, one of the Nine Walkers who set out from Rivendell, a Captain among soldiers, a Lord among Men. In my eyes, and in the eyes of your people, of your friends, you are king.

( He is king, she tells herself, for it is Gandalf who has crowned him with a crown of white and silver, the elfstone hanging on a chain around his neck. She sees it all, and wonder why he think himself not worthy, when he has already accepted his fate? Elrond himself would not give him her hand freely, after all, if he isn't at all the rightful King. )

The line of the Stewards shall end only at the King's command, for it is the King that they serve and not their own title, for that bears only the arrogance of Men that which shall end their line. The son of the Steward is wise, and kind, as you have spoken, and he will follow the Captain who has led his people to victory.

( She traces a hand on his jaw, and urges him to look at her. )

You are not worth less than any other king, my love, with or without a jewel on your head. You will rule your kingdom with the ease and grace of a Man who is both wise and just, and you shall bring forth peace that will last until all your lives and that of your descendants are spent in this world.

[ Elendil's oath, Aragorn thinks. Her words remind him of Elendil's oath, and he tilts his head to the side, leaning against her hand as he whispers it in soft, accentless Quenya: ]

Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien.
Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar
tenn’ Ambar-metta!

[ He takes her hand and kisses it lightly again, and from her presence and her words he draws great strength, and 'tis like steel has sunk into his veins and replaced the blood, so he stands ever straighter, looking at her with bright eyes.

There is no doubt that Boromir is the first Man who had pledged his oath him Aragorn as his King, the Steward's son ceding his birthright to the Man he acknowledged to be worthy of his beloved White City. Yet Arwen has been before him in her belief, and her belief has not wavered throughout all of time. ]

'Tis a great burden to carry. Will you stand by my shoulder, milady, and lend me strength when I need it?

[ He knows they have pledged troth, but she had agreed to marry a free Ranger, and he is weighed by the many burdens of a King now. ]

Thy burden is my burden. ( And she stands tall to seal a kiss upon his lips, swift but lingering. A promise, a pledge, and a statement of a fact.

Her fingers twine against his, and she holds on tight. This is no dream, that much she knows. Yet even if it is, her answer remains the same. )

My strength is your strength. Beside you I will stand, and with you, I shall face this world, and every other world, the way you have faced the threat of the Enemy, and overcame it.

[ The words are a soothing balm to his soul, and not for the first time Aragorn wonders what he has done to earn Arwen's love, for she is strong and clever, Elven-wise and kinder than any that he has ever known. He lifts their joined hands, kissing the back of her knuckles, feeling the warmth against his skin. It's a familiar warmth, and she is a familiar love, but the familiarity has only intensified his feelings and never once dimmed it.

He reaches out and strokes against her cheek with the back of his hand. ]

No matter what Fate gives us, no matter the mountains and rivers I will have to cross, I will have the strength if you are by my side. [ He holds her gaze with his own. ]

There are many challenges in the times of peace, my love, and I will need your wisdom more than ever.

As would I. ( The memory of the curse cast upon her by the malice of the Enemy does not waver in her mind. She knows what it will be like without him, and she knows that she will fall into despair as quickly as it comes. Aragorn is a Man, after all, and should she have sailed into the West, he would have grieved, but lived on still.

She is different, for an Elf to love one is to love forever. Grief kills them as easily as a pierce of a sword through one's heart.

She holds him close, her soft hands grasping tightly, and it gives her strength. It gives her peace. She knows how that she has made the right choice to stay - she would have despaired, too, even in the Undying Lands. )

I am with you always, Estel.

( She vows never to let such grief enter her heart for as long as he lives. )

[ Whoa there sexy elf lady. ]

Many feel frightened at the prospect of a new adventure, but others seem much wiser than that.

Is it because of this...man that feel more secure, my Lady?

( But where is your beard, Master Dwarf. )

My fears simply lie elsewhere, just as my courage lies in another. As is my faith. ( She smiles. Does that answer your question? ) Do you feel wise about your own adventures, Master Dwarf?

[ He shaved it off after rolling around in a barrel for a while. ]

Master Dwarf. [ He laughs. ] Not one I've heard before. I don't know if I would say wise, however.

I call you thus for I have no other name to call you.

( She gives him a lingering look. And you know how elves are when they stare - it's very unnerving, and somewhat probing. )

You face tells of many trials, and your eyes are aged by experience. You have learned, but do not believe yourself to be wise. Is that not wise in itself?

[ Unnerving and probing sounds to be right. His eyes meet hers and he shifts, almost uncomfortable. The feeling passes through his face, but he doesn't look away. People have stared before, and they always will. ]

All of that just from my face? [ He smiles. ] I believe you might have me pegged, my Lady. You might say that, however.

And my name, for what it is worth, is Tyrion Lannister.

I have stared at the faces of many Men, Elves, and Dwarves, my Lord, all of whom have their own stories to tell.

( she smiles in return, thin but sincere nonetheless. )

It is the person who bears the name that decides what it's worth is, and you have two, my Lord. Their weight you must bear.

Edited 2012-07-03 05:39 (UTC)

reserved @ ataraxion.

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