The difference of mortal and immortal love in Master Tolkien's universe has long been on my mind, and this one-shot is my way of trying to understand its nature. (For those of you who don't know this: Elves fall in love "at first sight", and their love lasts forever, at least in my interpretation... There are exceptions, but I have well funded reasons to believe that in this case "exceptio probat regulam"/exception proves the rule. :) )

I hope my odd way of musing through a story can be thought-provoking. And if not, I hope at least that you'd enjoy it :).
If you can spare a minute, please leave a review and tell me what you thought!

Mortal Love

The hand-fasting of the Steward and Lady Éowyn was as merry an event as the people of Gondor or Rohan could ever wish it to be.

The White City was full of joy and laughter, it sparkled in the light of the clear sun, purely like the White Lady herself, the wine and food was good and plenty, the music joyous, the smiles easy.

When the King and Queen gave their blessings to the Lord Faramir and his new wife, all the spectators (even the ones who would have wished earlier to win the heart of either Faramir or Éowyn) agreed that it was the most beautiful sight they could ever have the fortune to behold.

Éowyn bowed her golden head in respect as the Lady Arwen kissed her brows, and though unlike they were to each other on the surface, for a moment it looked as if they had a connection beyond words, as if a mother blessed her daughter before letting her go.

Later that evening Arwen stood on the balcony of the royal quarters, waiting for Aragorn to finally be able to retire. She leaned against the railing and smiled contentedly watching the sparkling night-sky. Stars were no different here than in Imladris or Lórien. Whenever she felt lonely she just looked up at them and was calmed by the familiarity. They seemed to smile at her tonight, they seemed to share the joy of the people of Gondor. The joy of her people, she thought with pride.

'It was a merry gathering to be certain' she heard people approaching on the streets down below her. They were deep in conversation and though she could not see them, nor could they see her, she heard every word.

'It was. And it eases my heart for there had been a time I thought I'd never see the Lady laugh or smile again.'

Arwen recognized the voice of Meriadoc, the Halfling who had accompanied her husband and the Ringbearer.

'What do you mean, Master Hobbit?'

'When I first saw the Lady Éowyn, when I traveled with her, I was almost certain she loved the Lord Aragorn. I thought his refusal was what drove the Lady to the battlefield.'

'Really? That must be quite a tale...'

'It seems such a long time ago, and I might have been mistaken…'

The voices faded now and not even her supreme elven hearing was enough to pick out the words from general noise of the town.

„She loved the Lord Aragorn..." Arwen pondered the words with a frown. Yes, she saw pure love shining in the Lady Éowyn's eyes when she looked at the King, but that love was not the kind that could chase a maiden into bloodshed and murder.

She shivered as she thought of the Nazgúl, as she tried to imagine what Éowyn must have felt when she stood against the wraith by her uncle's body, desperate and lonely in a war that no one she knew believed could be won, save Aragorn himself.

The night suddenly seemed colder and she pulled a cloak over her nightgown. The neckline was embroidered with gold and she was reminded of golden locks as she traced it with her fingertips.

„She loved the Lord Aragorn," What does that mean? Loved? If she loved him, how could she not love him now?

'Vanimelda.'

Even superior elven senses were dulled by musings and wine it seemed… never before had Aragorn advanced on her without her noticing it beforehand.

'You escaped.'

'I came as soon as I could' he chuckled lightly, encircling her waist with his arms. 'You are so cold, love' he murmured into her hair.

'Are you certain they will survive your absence?'

The question was a harmless one, a playful one even, but Aragorn was no fool and he heard her unease beneath the jesting surface.

'Whatever is the matter, Arwen?' he turned her to face him, and his gaze was intent. She feared she would see anger or impatience there, but those silver eyes were as young and lively as ever, as loving and caring as ever.

'They said she loved you. I do not understand.'

To her surprise his smile was gentle and warm.

'You would not. Come!' he gently pulled her inside the room and he closed the doors.

'I did not tell you much about her, for some of that tale should be hers alone to tell, if she wishes so.'

'Is it true? Do not think me jealous, Estel' she added quietly. 'But I do wish to see clearly.'

'And you shall!' he took a deep breath and poured himself some water. 'It is both true and untrue for indeed she believed for a while that she loved me and yet she did not.'

'That is impossible' Arwen shook hear head in disbelief. 'Love is clearer than starlight. You can not mistake it!' she frowned at her husband who still smiled.

'You can't. The Firstborn can not. The Secondborn... we change faster and our hearts are not as clear as yours can be. An Elda can never stop loving the one she once fell in love with, but human heart sometimes grows cold, sometimes changes, sometimes a new fire can be rekindled in it... It is both sad and beautiful, a strength and a weakness.'

'But your love is not like that' Arwen whispered. Even in the room the air seemed to cool gradually, she shivered despite the warm cloak.

'No, vanimelda. But I am not entirely mortal. Most importantly however, my love is for you. I love you. That is unparalleled!'

She smiled for his sake. His words were true and comforting, she knew herself to be secure in his heart and yet, the possibility of a love that could be lost, of a heart that could grow cold towards someone it once burned for... the mere thought of it seemed to freeze the blood in her veins. How it must feel like to have the one you love turn towards another heart...

'Arwen come here, please!' Aragorn changed his clothes, his arms were spread in a wordless invite, his sleep-shirt hung loosely and openly on his shoulders.

His skin was warm against her, his heartbeat slow and steady.

'Did I frighten you?'

'Yes' she nodded. 'Quite an achievement if I think about what a youngling you are...' she smiled mischievously at him.

'Youngling? Me?! Old hag!' he grunted and he pulled her closer, so, so much closer...

o.o

Next morning she walked in the gardens alone. Aragorn was still fast asleep but Undómiel felt restless at the break of dawn and she sought peace amidst the tall trees. She did not expect to meet anyone there, but noticing Elladan on a bench was a welcomed surprise. She stood above him, smiling gently, but she felt her own smile to be a tired one.

'Up so early, nethig?'

'I am always up early, you know that.'

'Indeed Undnómiel. I can also tell that you are especially restless today. What is on your mind?'

Morning breeze whispered quietly amidst the leaves and played softly with her dark locks. She felt its icy fingers creeping under her gown.

'Estel told me something about mortals. Something that I did not know. It scared me.'

'Ahh... Human heart changes... Or was it not what chilled your soul?'

'How did you know?'

'Come, Arwen. Let us walk a little.'

He held out his arm, but instead of taking it politely like she was supposed to, Arwen leaned closer to him, resting her head on his shoulders. He was merely a few inches taller than she, and the pace of their walk was so matched, so even, they might have been mistaken for one strange and yet graceful creature instead of two walking Eldar.

'It scared me too when I first saw it amongst the Dúnedain. I see it differently now.'

'How? I still do not understand. What is the reason for a hand-fasting if one can stop loving the one she choose?'

'That is the key, sister. You fell in love with Aragorn in Lórien. You could not have helped it, even if you'd have wished not to. But mortals... they fight for love. They really, truly have a choice. Their love is not as strong as ours; not as overpowering, nor as infinite. And yet, when I see mortals grow old together in love and grace, when I watch them facing all sorts of perils and staying faithful to each other despite temptations... It makes me wonder...'

Arwen stopped now and stared at him with curious eyes. While Elladan's words were always graceful and kind, he was not known to talk much. Not even to his sister. She could not fathom the change in him now. He seemed more distant than usual as he reached out and caught one rosy petal of a cherry flower that floated in the air in front of them.

'Wonder how?' she squeezed his arms gently to pull him back to the present, but he remained lost in his thoughts. His twirled the petal gently around his fingers and Arwen mused at the softness of his moves. For one who lived the better part of his life scouting in the wilderness and fighting Orcs, his brother had quite a gentle touch.

'Whether their love is more precious than ours...'

'Why would it be?' she asked, taken aback.

'Because they earn it. We accept it, they fight for it. We endure it, they work hard to preserve it. We try to control the flames so that it would not burn us up, they keep fueling the fire so that it would not burn out. They deny temptation while we do not even know it. They fight more for each other.'

She stood quietly for a while, pondering his words. Though the entire possibility seemed strange and even unnatural to her, she began to think that her brother was not as far from truth as she first believed him to be. And yet, she had long learned that truth was never one sided.

'Fighting for something is not the only way to justify having it, brother' she whispered in the end. 'Love is simple. It is selfishly selfless, it is for itself, for its own happiness and glory. It is simply there, without demands or history.'

'For you, maybe...' he smiled at her, but his smile was still distant and somehow deeply sad. And for the very first time, Arwen really, truly understood the path her twin brothers pursued after the passing of their mother.

'It was for Naneth as well, Elladan! I am certain of it! A mother's love is always unconditional!' she said softly, and she nudged him slightly to get him on the move.

'How would you be certain, little sister?' he asked with a warmer smile this time as they slowly advanced the garden gates.

'Because I am with child, little brother!'

naneth= mother (Sindarin)

nething=sister (Sindarin)

vanimelda=beautiful (Quenya)