I attended the wedding, make you no mistake on that mark, my friend. I danced in an elven round with the bride herself and even made a toast in flawless Elvish at the feast. I cried tears. Real tears, indeed.

            The bride was adoringly stunning, her gown for the ceremony doing nothing to enhance her marvelousness, for nothing could possibly be enhanced any further than it was already. The bridegroom wore the uniform of a royal soldier, with his own crown. All the best blessings were laid out for them both and nothing was spared. Both highly respected among their own, they deserved nothing less.

            I loosed my placid smile and let low a gentle laugh after. I shall never live to forget how that marriage, and in all my immortal days will I live down my one perfect regret.

            I sat and watched my Love in the ceremony. Given away to the chains of a life-binding. I watched my Love slip forever from my hopeful grasps of dreams and into the gently hands of someone who loved my Love enough, but not nearly as much as I could. Overwhelming happiness stirred at my heart, battling the rage of defeat and the flame of jealousy. I could not deny by the very light in my Love's eyes that They were both to be happy by this betrothal. There was little I could do to change it and if it made all happy, I was not to interrupt it. Fate is fate, after all.

            I would like to say that the two latter had won the battle, though. That I had broken their vows in the midst of it all and declared my feelings to my Love before all was final. That my Love and I had met eyes and understood and left that time of joy for one of our own. No immortality to be exchanged just then.

            However, I kept silent. My heart screamed and my eyes flooded with anguish, yet I held my tongue. I let my Love move through life, the fate chosen, and live as greatly as possible. I knew before the day that I love them that I had not a whisp of a chance, even after I that I felt and wanted.

            We had sat on the edge of a river bank, preparations for the rite being worked all about us, and I lost one final opportunity. The gentle tongue of my youth common among us, we talked of the day approaching and the bonding that was to take place. Whilst we talked, the fingers playing the pendant about my Love's neck were unmistakable. The fond and tender way my Love touched the silver, I solidly knew that this was a marriage I could not touch.

            Thus, I sat through the celebration with a smile on my lips, as did every other honoured guest had. Yet, after the tears of joy, for days – no, years… centuries – there were tears of raw, open and visceral pain. The pain of intimate loss.

            I lost my Love. I wish I could have told of a secret love between us. A bond of hearts that went unspoken. I wish with all my being that I could tell you of an affair. A simple kiss. A knowing touch. Even a guess at how we never knew who loved whom. However, this is no tale of affairs or one of a bittersweet ending. No, simply an ending. In truth, Prince Legolas Greenleaf of Thranduil's Halls stayed pure. As did the wedding of Lady Arwen, daughter of Elrond of Rivendale, and Aragorn, heir and rightful King to Gondor and Arnor.

And my Love, my heart, my Aragorn, never once knew of my heart's desire in all his mortal days.