Summary: Years after their parting, King Elessar dreams of a former lover. Slash, implied at least.
Dream, on Waking
I dreamed of you last night, for the first time in years. I woke up still feeling your touch, still remembering how it felt to love you. I could not shake the memories all day. I forget where we were; it matters not. I saw you, and it felt like a reunion after long years of parting, but at the same time it felt as though we had never parted, never spent years as friends after our love affair came to an end. I went to you, and you put your arms around me, stroked my hair, my face. You eased my shirt off my back and suddenly I saw that you wore only your leggings, and your hair fell about you like spun gold against the ivory of your skin. I leaned into your touch, the familiar heat chasing along my skin after your fingers. You kissed me, and I responded hungrily, the years since we had last been together like this feeling unbearably long. We sank to the ground, intent on rediscovering each other, making up for all the time apart.
It was only at the last possible moment that I pulled away, twisted out of your grasp, breathlessly telling you - no, reminding you, for you were there, you stood as my witness, my brother in arms - reminding you that I was married now, no longer free to love you. You smiled sadly and let me go, and I felt the loss as keenly as on the day when we parted in truth. I felt it still when I awoke, and I feel it still now. I know it was a mutual decision, we both knew our love was not meant to be, but that does not mean I do not miss you.
The dream was so vivid...and I woke up with my ears burning as if someone was thinking of me. Left for love, right for spite, my mother used to say, and absently I rubbed my left ear, wondering if it was you. Did you see me in your dreams, wherever you are? Are you thinking of me with love, as I think of you?
I looked down at Arwen sleeping beside me, blissfully unaware of my shaken state of mind. Arwen. She is the love of my life, my Queen, my everything; she is perfect for me in a way that...in the way that you could have been, if things had only been different. We were too different, in the end. I was too young for you, after all.
I stand now upon the walls of my city, my eyes scanning the plain. I do not know why. I do not expect to see you riding towards me but still I look. If I close my eyes, I can almost feel you standing behind me, your arms about my waist, your chin resting upon my shoulder. The sensation unsettles me, because it wakes the old longing for you and makes me wish so very hard that things had indeed been different. So I keep my eyes open and stare out across my country, because I am happy in my life, and I know that somewhere you too are happy, and there is nothing to be gained in mourning for a love that could never have lasted.
I stand, and I stare, and if I am truly hoping for a glimpse of a white horse, a bright-haired figure, I do not admit it, not even to myself.