tampered | Log; ongoing

Log; ongoing

When; August 17
Rating; PG
Characters; Arwen

consecrat and Aragorn

somanytitles
Summary; replay of the infamous meeting~ ♥
Log;

The trees are dead.

Though she may have her likeness, she is no Lúthien to be singing sorrowless in the forest 'til the end of days. It brings her pride to be named so, for Tinuviel was called the Beloved for her beauty. Yet she has made it known to any who dare call her by that name that she is no songbird, loved only for twittering and frolicking. There is no sense in singing amidst trees so silent and cold. Their barks are colder than stones in a cave deep under mountains.

She shivers at the thought.

Still, the trees whisper though she knows the language not, and pressing an ear against the rough skin, she listens and tries to understand. They are her only companion, and perhaps they will mourn the passing of the Elves; of all that is good and fair in the world.

Her face, flawless and perfect against the skin of the tree, is devoid of emotions. There is an edge to her translucent eyes but it is wan and distant. Her beauty is great indeed, but the graveness of it is no less greater. How long has it been now since she laughed with mirth?

The years has not passed by her unnoticed, the weight of them are like stones upon her shoulders. Like a scream from a distance, Arwen lifts her clear voice against the low rumbling of the trees. Her soft voice rises into the tall branches, caressing the leaves, but there is a nameless sorrow dragging it always down. Undómiel, they call her, Evenstar, but she reflects only the cold light of the moon.

In the middle of a phrase, she stops. The song drifts away like a tendril of smoke.

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He had been searching for some time now for a way to leave this City. Aragorn had only been here a short time but even that long away from his duty seemed like an eternity. For a man like him, duty was all that he had. Duty, honor, and obligations. Not that he was unhappy with his life or that he wished for another. But sometimes Aragorn wished for more. He could not even say what it was that he wished for, exactly, but just for more.

It was in such a mood that Aragorn found himself moving through the forest, less looking for an exit and more pondering his situation here. It seemed less and less likely that he would get home of his own doing. Already he was missing the familiar trees and his companions that he imagined he could hear the fair voice of an Elf singing, their language a pleasant reminder of home to him.

It was not until the song ceased that he realized he had not imagined it. It had been the voice of a woman singing, a voice unlike any other he had heard in this world or his and hearing it made him want to weep with sorrow and joy.

He quickly found himself moving towards where he had heard the voice, desperate to grasp to any remnant of home. Aragorn was not prepared for the site that he found though, surely this was the most beautiful elf that had ever lain eyes on. For a moment, he could not breath, let alone speak. When he finally found his voice his words were soft and low.

"I wish that you would not stop, my lady."

Arwen looked up. It was rare that anyone, let alone a man, could walk so close towards her and not have her noticed them. Was she so caught up in her reverie?

His features seemed familiar, though it was almost always so with men. His garb was soiled as would be for one who had traveled many miles in many years, but she could see that he was no mere vagrant though she knew not who he was. Yet he was very tall and she saw now that there was a living light dancing in his eyes.

She smiled in reply, though the smile was quick to disappear. "I am afraid the words have escaped me." And so have the song, she thought. It came to her then that there were fewer songs now that she could sing, and no song now ever comes to her unbidden. She wondered if she would become silent ere the end. She wondered if it were so for all the Elves in exile.

"But come, perhaps you could teach me a song instead." It seemed to her then that she would be cheated if she did not hear a song from him.

"I know a song," he said, his voice somewhat hushed, as Aragorn was a bit awed in her presence. Not even Galadriel was so fair or so beautiful as the woman he saw before him.

There was something sad about her though, that made his own heart mourn a bit. It seemed a travesty that one so beautiful would be so sad, as if a sunset or a perfect, starless night could be sad.

"It is of another man who wandered a forest and came upon an elven woman who was more fair than any other thing in all of Arda," Aragorn explained. "But I fear it may be presumptuous of me to sing it."

It should be a surprise, of course, that finally now she found another who came also from Middle Earth. It should be an even greater surprise that this particular man should know the tale of Beren and Lúthien. Even more, he seemed to think her like to Tinuviel.

Arwen smiled, out of courtesy, though there was a strange gleam in her eyes. "Why would it be? I am not Lúthien nor any close kin of hers, though I am still of her blood."

She offered a hand to him, gesturing for him to come closer. He seemed kind, at the least, and fair of words. "Tell me your name."

"You may be no close kin of hers but surely you are as fair as she ever was if not more," Aragorn said, carefully stepping forward. There was no hint of false flattery in his voice or ulterior motives. It was merely the truth, and he could not imagine that this was the first time she had heard such a thing.

"Amongst the Elves I am known as Estel," he said, giving her the name that Elrond had given him to hide his identity. "Though in truth, I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

The name was said with a hint of pride, not for any accomplishments he had done, though they were great indeed, but because the line that he came from was a noble and strong one. It was a line to take pride in.

It truly was, however, the first time she had heard one utter the words wholly in praise. Often others have said so to gain her father's favor or hers, or for a boon or other, or even to gain her heart. Yet this man seemed content only in pronouncing what he felt, and for all her years, it was a strange thing.

Aragorn. This is he, then, the one that others have talked of. A slight displeasure rose in her, that he was a good man but she had talked ill of him. Still, was it not his fault for spreading such rumors?

"I know you. I believe you have been living under the care of my father, Elrond the Half-Elven," she smiled, trying to be earnest, for he was one of the most honest men she has yet met. "We are kins, you and I." Perhaps the rumor was not his doing. Her brothers might have found it funny, though it seemed unlikely that they would dabble in lies.

Yet it was then that the day ended and a new day began. It was midnight.

The world stopped, as it always does, when she looked into his eyes. She remembered still all the words she said yesterday, and all her deeds. It brought her pain, but she wondered how much more it would pain him. "I know you," she whispered, and wept.

Realization dawned on Aragorn as she named her father. Kin to Elrond and Galadriel, it was no wonder that she was as fair as she was. He had heard Galadriel the fairest of all the elves that resided in Middle Earth, but Aragorn now knew this to not be true.

When she spoke of them being kin, he almost laughed. While it was perhaps technically true he was no more kin to her than a hawk was to one of the Great Eagles.

When midnight came Aragorn thought he felt his heart physically shudder, as if the absence of the one he loved was a palpable thing inside of him. No sooner had that ceased though than his heart was broken again at the sight of Arwen weeping.

Without thought, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, unsure as to what it was that could fill her with such sorry. Slowly, he pulled away just enough to reach up between them and brush away her tears.

"Does it fill you with such sorry, to know me?" he asked, smiling a little to show her that what he said was in jest.

Her wonder never ceased at what delight he found in everything, that surely nothing could ever dampen his hopes. His mood, perhaps, was often grim but she knew that he grieved only for the darkening world. When the darkness has passed, he would be filled with joy, and she too because of it.

She laughed, helping him brush away her tears. He forgave her even for this. "I am sorry that I did not love you the moment I laid eyes on you, my lord."

Her father, and so have many others, said that all things work for good. She never believed it, not truly. Perhaps even now she doubted it, but certainly she was more assured. All things work for good, even the curses that often seemed so cruel. "I wish still that I love you since the beginning of time, but my heart rejoices for I may love you until the end of it."

"A moment of your love would leave me happy for a lifetime," he told her, leaning his head in until his forehead and nose were pressed against hers as his hand gently caressed her cheek. "That I have so much more than that leaves me almost beyond words."

As cruel as the curse had been to take Arwen away from him, he did not miss the gift that had been given him. He knew that he was a better man for having met Arwen, but being able to see the true difference was a rare thing that he doubted many others who loved each other got to see.

Tilting her chin up slightly with his hand Aragorn closed his eyes and pressed a soft kiss to Arwen's mouth, as if to seal his words.

And sweeter than roses was his kiss, though that may be a gross understatement. She returned the kiss briefly, but drew slightly away so she could look into his eyes. Gray, like hers and her kin, though only from his could she not turn away.

"Though my years be many, let me never, never, outlive my love for you, Estel."

She closed her eyes and rested against him, content.

He wrapped his arms around her and did nothing more than enjoy the feel of her against him and how right that felt. That in all of Middle Earth and the West, it never ceased to astound him that this was the woman that was right for him.

"Nor will my love for you dwindle," he promised. "Rather every day it will grow stronger and stronger."

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