The Treaty

Chapter 1

Author's note: I love arranged marriage AUs. It's super cliché but I'm not sorry. I hope you enjoy massive amounts of angst.

If you read In Cavern's Shade, I'm doing a lot of prewriting for the sequel to help me flesh out the locations, new characters, relationships, and plot points before I begin to publish the sequel. This fic was born of this process as a way for me to begin establishing the marital relationship between our favorite duo. You may see some other short fics or drabbles before I begin publishing my next long fic.

The ceremony was dull, tedious, and embarrassing, to tell the truth, Celeborn thought to himself, his teeth clenched together, a vein ticking in his temple in anger. He was supposed to be playing the part of the happy bridegroom, and of course everyone assumed that he must be overjoyed to have such a lovely bride. Their congratulations had been ringing in his ears for weeks now ever since Thingol had arranged the match.

But the truth of the matter was that Celeborn was furious. Artanis was perhaps the last woman on earth he would have ever chosen as his wife. Yes, she was astonishingly gorgeous, but everything about her personality irritated him to no end. He had no idea how he was supposed to go about living out his life for all eternity with such a prideful, petulant, antagonistic woman. And now his chances at love were effectively dead. He tried not to dwell on the thought, lest he sink into despair so deep that he would not be able to extricate himself.

After all, this was not without his consent. He had of course given Thingol his consent, just as she had given Finrod hers. The match would not have been able to proceed without it. Yet his consent had been given somewhat grudgingly. This was not what he wanted for himself but, for his kingdom, for Doriath, if this meant ensuring that war did not erupt between the Sindar and the Noldor, then he was willing to do it.

He turned back to her, taking her hands in his as Thingol wrapped a garland of flowers about their clasped hands, proclaiming them man and wife. Through a gossamer veil of gold silk, she stared at him with hateful and accusing eyes. He could hardly blame her. This hadn't been her choice either and he was sure that she was dreading tonight, just as he was.

She pulled her hands from his grasp as soon as the ceremony was over and Celeborn spent the entirety of the wedding feast trying to drink enough alcohol to prepare himself for what he was about to do but not so much as to hinder him from doing it. However; when he really thought about it, he didn't want to do it at all. They took her away first and he knew what they were doing, dressing her in the traditional garments, doing her makeup, letting her long golden hair down from the ornate braids into which it had been bound, preparing her for…that. He swallowed another goblet of wine. To delay any longer would be uncouth; he was supposed to be excited for this.

He stood, provoking a chorus of whistles and raucous cheers as he made his way from the hall. He merely grinned and nodded his thanks, as was expected, but privately he found something disturbing in the fact that all of these people were rejoicing in what he was about to do this woman, something he was certain she did not welcome.

The servants were gone, as expected, by the time he arrived, and he entered somewhat abruptly, furious with this whole situation, exhausted, wishing nothing more than to go to sleep. Artanis leapt to her feet and descended the stairs the second he entered. She had been sitting on the edge of the bed and, in the moment before she managed to pull the mask of anger over her face, he had seen fear in her eyes. Already feeling the effects of the alcohol he had perhaps unwisely indulged in, he reached for a pitcher and cup, pouring himself a glass of water and downing it.

She really was startlingly beautiful, he noted. Her lush golden hair fell in gentle waves to her hips, her eyes were azure as a mountain lake, her skin pale and smooth, her eyes had been rimmed in dark kohl, her elegant lips rouged. It wasn't just her face that was pretty, her figure was also very fine, lithe, slender, the soft swell of her hips. Her breasts were a bit on the small side, but, from here at least, they looked as though they were a very nice shape. The thin silks they had dressed her in left very little to the imagination.

He cleared his throat, trying to will his body not to rise in response, forcing himself to recall all of the things about her he despised, but she had noticed his lingering glance and wrapped her arms around herself protectively, a sour scowl twisting her lovely features.

"Listen," she began, and he could tell by her tone that this was a speech she had rehearsed, "I know we must do this. I've set my mind to it and I can manage. But I want to make it very clear that I do not intend to allow you free use of my body whenever you like it. Let us establish some sort of schedule for when we shall have…relations." She turned her nose up at the term. Prudery, another one of her flaws he had forgotten to note. "I shall perform my duties as established and I shall give you an heir, as set forth in the marriage contract. But otherwise I should like to sleep elsewhere."

"Sleep wherever you like," he replied, setting the glass down and sliding his hands into his pockets, "so long as it is in my rooms. You don't need to worry about the rest of it. I've no intention of consummating this marriage. But you must sleep here to at least keep up the pretense we've consummated it or else this whole painful charade will all be for nothing."

"Oh…" she was clearly surprised, her eyebrows shooting up, blue eyes going wide. And then, curiosity getting the better of her, she asked, "and why not consummate it?"

"You're the last woman on the face of this earth I want to be intimate with," Celeborn replied, filling his glass with water again. A series of emotions flitted across her face: relief, confusion, anger.

"And why not?" She asked again.

"Because I can't stand you," he replied, "and you can't stand me." Silence hung between them for a few moments but Celeborn didn't mind. He'd rather not talk to her at all, to be perfectly honest.

"Do you not find me beautiful?" She asked at last, raising her chin in what could only be described as an aristocratic fashion, and he nearly choked on the water.

"Trust you to be so arrogant," he laughed sardonically as her face flushed red with anger. "Of course I find you beautiful, but I'm quite unfond of your personality."

"I had every prince in Aman at my feet," she snarled, eyes flashing with ruined pride.

"Congratulations," Celeborn drawled. "Now you're married to me."

"You ought to be grateful," she snapped. "There are many men who would absolutely kill to be in your…"

"Well I'm not grateful," Celeborn cut her off. "And besides, I don't see why you should be upset about it anyway given that you do not desire this any more than I do, unless you were hoping I'd consummate it." He'd said it to get back at her for her pride.

"Of course not!" Her face ran the gamut of a vast array of reds, her eyes widening, nostrils flaring at his insolence. "There is nothing," she lifted her top lip in disgust, nose wrinkling, "nothing in the world I find more disgusting, more abhorrent, more revolting than the thought of….of…" she paused for a while and Celeborn wasn't sure if it was because she had run out of foul adjectives and was searching for another, or because she was too prudish to say the next bit, "…bedding a…a… Moriquendi." She finally finished.

Celeborn drew a deep breath to keep from throttling her beautiful neck. Racism – yet another despicable habit he had forgotten to attribute to her. He added it to his mental list of her faults. "So you'd have no objection if only I were a Calaquendi?" He spat back, saying it only because he wanted to get under her skin. The Quenya word tasted strange to hi s tongue.

"I would have every objection!" She hissed. "I'd have every objection in the world! I don't despise you because of what you are, but because of who you are: arrogant, crude, uncivilized, crass, antagonistic, uncultured, foul tempered, ignorant…" She showed every intention of continuing but Celeborn interrupted her.

"The rest I'll give you," he spat, pointing his finger in her face, "but I am not ignorant." She seemed to judge it better to remain silent and merely clenched her jaw in anger, tapping her elegantly slippered foot against the ground. Celeborn had had enough of speaking with her and set his glass down on a table, beginning to pull of the stiff wedding robes he wore and tossing them over the back of a low settee.

"What are you doing?" She asked, words tense, as if she feared he may have changed his mind.

"Going to bed," Celeborn said, stripping down to his breeches. "And you had better come with me…"

"You said we wouldn't!" She interrupted vehemently.

"I'm not going to touch you," he growled, struggling to keep his voice low. He had completely lost his patience with her and all he wanted to do was shout, but then the servants would hear and that would raise suspicion. He reined his temper back in. "You must at least pass the night in my bed or it will cast doubt on this farce of a wedding."

"You had better not touch me," she said, enunciating each syllable with perfect clarity, her eyes narrowed in furious suspicion.

"I've no interest whatsoever in touching you," he replied, taking his crown off and tossing it unceremoniously on a chair before he mounted the stairs to his sleeping chamber and threw himself down on the bed, rubbing his hands over his face. It took Artanis a few more minutes before she appeared, sour-faced as ever, arms crossed tightly over her chest, but when she reached the top of the stairs she merely stood there, not daring approach the bed.

Celeborn sighed. "I promise it is comfortable," he told her from where he lay.

"Aren't you going to put on a shirt?" She said, a distinct undercurrent of distaste in her voice, but the faint pink of a blush colored her cheeks and she dropped her gaze, which made Celeborn wonder if perhaps, physically at least, she did not find him quite so revolting as she had said.

"I never sleep with a shirt on," he replied. "But perhaps you should put something more on." The silken nightdress was quite thin, so thin that he could, without much difficulty, make out the shape and position of certain…things.

"Do you think I want to be wearing this?" She snapped. "I don't have anything else! They just dressed me up like I was…some…some sort of doll for your pleasure…" her voice trailed off and he saw a glimpse of embarrassment in her eyes. He felt something twist in the pit of his stomach, something he recognized as sympathy; it was the first time he had ever felt bad for her.

This was all very wretched for him but it must certainly be worse for her. At least he had the choice of whether or not he wished to bed her. Had he desired her there would have been very little she could have done about it, even unwilling as she was; but he wasn't that sort of man, and yet of course she didn't know that. She had nothing to go on save his word, the word of a man she knew hardly at all.

"Come on," he said quietly, slipping from bed and, with a rough gesture of his hand for her to follow him, padded back down the stairs. He heard her following. "Here," he reached to pick up the shirt he had discarded but, upon seeing the way she wrinkled her nose, reconsidered the notion. "Ah…. a clean one perhaps," he mumbled, pulling the largest one he could find from his wardrobe and pushing it into her arms. He mounted the stairs again, seating himself upon the bed once more, and momentarily she appeared, dressed now in his shirt, her wedding night finery clutched in her arms. She dropped the silken slip on the floor, pulling off the myriad bangles that adorned her wrists and ankles and casting them about, at last unfastening her jewels and letting those drop to the floor as well.

"You could be more tidy," Celeborn grumbled with a raised eyebrow. She shot him a look of hatred.

"I'm keeping up our façade," she spat, "as you said. Best to make it look as though we enjoyed ourselves."

"Oh," he grunted in response, lying down and pulling the covers up about him. His new wife moved to sit on the opposite side of the bed and, at last, slipped beneath the covers as well, seeming to make a conscious effort to stay as far from him as possible. Silence prevailed for a long while and then he said. "I'll have one of the other rooms in my chambers prepared for you, that's ordinary enough amongst arranged couples, but I think it would be best if you passed the night with me once every few weeks so that rumors don't surface."

She merely nodded in response. "Of course," he said, "I won't touch you. I have no intention of it." She nodded again and once more the room grew silent.

"We'll have to eventually," she said, "in…in the contract I'm obligated to provide you an heir…"

Celeborn sighed. "Maybe…maybe we can find some way to end this," he said. "And there's always the possibility I'll be killed in battle."

"That's morbid," she murmured with distaste.

"I thought you wanted to be rid of me?" He asked.

"Yes, but I don't wish you dead," she said.

"Warming up to me are you?" He tested a joke but she didn't smile. "Well if we eventually have to then we'll plan it," he told her, "so that we can both be ready, mentally I mean. And if you wish to drink yourself into a stupor so that you won't remember it then I won't hold it against you. I'll try to…get it over with as fast as I'm able." She nodded again and the conversation lapsed into silence. Celeborn rolled over and put out the candles, plunging the room into darkness.

He lay there for a very long while before he was able to sleep, his heart heavy with a profound sense of disappointment. This wasn't at all what he wanted and he couldn't think of how to go on, how he would live his entire life without love, without affection, without… well… other things. He could imagine the other soldiers mocking him for his thoughts, after all, Artanis was supposed to be some sort of much-sought-after prize. But this wasn't at all what he had wanted in a marriage… in life. He had wanted a partner, an equal, someone who smiled when he walked into the room, who yearned for his touch. And certainly he had wanted the physicality of it as well, had longed for it, and now it seemed as it that too would be a purely unpleasant endeavor.

He sighed into the silence, which was when he became aware of the fact that the bed seemed to be shaking ever so slightly. His Sindarin eyes were keen in the dark and, looking over at his bride, he saw that her shoulders were trembling and knew she was sobbing silently to herself. Perhaps this had all been a horrid mistake. But what other choice had they had? Their nations had come to the brink of war and this marriage, however miserable it might be for the two of them, would save countless elven lives.

He glanced over at her again, forced to admit to himself that he did feel quite bad for her. He was sure that no woman ever dreamed that her wedding night would be like this, but then again, he hadn't either.