Her choice was made and her doom appointed
Summary: And on the evening of Midsummer Aragorn, Arathorn's son, and Arwen daughter of Elrond went to the fair hill, Cerin Amroth, in the midst of the land, and they walked unshod on the undying grass with elanor and niphredil about their feet. And there upon that hill they looked east to the Shadow and west to the Twilight, and they plighted their troth and were glad.—'The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen,' Appendix A, ROTK, 386.
Four drabbles for Arwen, for being quartered on choice... and desire.
'And thus it was that Arwen first beheld him again...'
He'd seemed an Elf then indeed, but she knows to trust no Ranger's seeming. Thus all this lovesick season, ripe with wonder and waiting, she's watched him, seeking him in all his guises, 'til finally, on Midsummer's Eve, they stand poised between Shadow and an elven Night.
They pledge for the Dawn.
The sun sinks then, and they with it...
Later, as he lies, quiet, beneath her, she looks long upon him, touches the white weal here, the fading mark there, and (best of all) the laugh line just there. And she beholds him, then, neither Elf nor Ranger:
Beloved.
'...and they plighted their troth and were glad.'
And under her gaze, he grows quiet, and there's a question in his smile, though 'tis already answered: Yes.
They say love is sister to the sun, for she, too, is radiant, and in her light, a lover's sight grows clear. Insight flashes, brilliant, searing, leaves her dazzled beneath him as desire breaks like a wave at long breathless last.
"Arwen?" His voice is ragged, but day's last light is in his eyes. She shivers, smiles.
"Dark the shadow," she whispers, "and yet my heart rejoices; for you, Estel, shall be among the great who whose valour will destroy it!"
'I will cleave to you...'
She'd more than cleave to him, she'd claim him. So she does, sudden, swift, overwhelming him. Straight his back in every venture, but he bends for her.
For the storm gathers in the East; the floodcrest rises. Soon, it must sweep him away, perhaps forever. He knows this all too well. Hope, exhausted, gives way to amdir that lives still in the body seeking to trade a little death against the greater one, a new life against this poor worn one.
Yet one of them must be estel still. And so: "Sshhh, sshhh, love, not yet—there is still tomorrow."
'And she stood then still as a white tree, looking into the West...'
... and 'tis as if the world's been halved. When he reaches to comfort her, she burrows into his embrace. For this is real, and he is warm, and I—I am his.
This then is real: the heavens splendid above, brilliant in orange, scarlet, gold, purple, and deepest blue, faintly starred. The cool wind that raises gooseflesh. The rough, glad caress of the tree at her back. And him—warm against her breast and between her thighs as her legs twine about his waist.
For she loves him, she loves him; henceforth, that must be the measure of all things.
Author's Notes
What...?
I like having a multi-verse, where I can set up and play multiple versions of a single event off of each other. So this set of drabbles goes most naturally with "On Cerin Amroth," if only because it's a direct inverse: instead of the focus being on Aragorn, it's on Arwen, instead of giving a possible meaning to a possible choice for virginity, there are four alternate ways of looking at what it might mean to them and particularly to Arwen if they had decided to make their betrothal their first night together.
Why?
Call it a personal need for parity...
Citational notes
All the drabble titles are lines taken from "The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen" in Appendix A of ROTK. They are also all from the same page: 386 in the Ballantine paperback special book club edition.
From '...and they plighted their troth and were glad':
"Dark the shadow," she whispers, "and yet my heart rejoices; for you, Estel, shall be among the great who whose valour will destroy it!"–Dropped an 'is' for space and subbed an exclamation point for a period, but see "The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen," Appendix A, ROTK, also from 386.