Title: Visions of a Nightingale
Author: The Converted
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Angst
Summary: Arwen and Aragorn recall a winter day they spent together in Rivendell, and Arwen has a serious conversation with her father. Aragorn has a "slightly" less important conversation with himself. (Touch of humour.)
Disclaimer: I am not Tolkien… nor do I claim to be.
The lullaby Arwen sings is from The Hobbit (Chapter 19: The Last Stage). Some pronouns have been slightly modified to relate to the story.
A/N: This was originally written for the Telumendil Challenge, but due to forces beyond my control ::cough, evil vindictive mother, cough:: it was not entered in time. It was however required to contain the following elements:
A candle, a broken vase, Éowyn's cooking, a sunset, a Snow-Man/Elf, a night shift, and a lullaby.
This story is dedicated to Sadie, Jenny, Kayleigh, and Sevan for their continuing support, inspiration… and scones, mustn't forget those.
Visions of a Nightingale
How did I come to deserve such joy?
Arwen pondered this as she watched Aragorn hard at work building, what he deemed, "a masterpiece to rival Lúthien." It was the first snow of the season, Aragorn was back in Imladris, and she had him all to herself.
The question was, how long would it last? How much longer would he remain with her, before they were once again torn apart?
Aragorn turned to her, a triumphant smile plastered on his handsome face, "What do you think meleth nin?"
"I think it is the most attractive Balrog I have ever laid eyes upon." In truth, it looked nothing like a Balrog, nor did it look much like anything.
"Perhaps her beauty has blinded you. Do you not see the resemblance?"
Scrunching up her nose, Arwen studied the mass of snow in front of her. "Estel, I can say with all sincerity that the Snow-Elf of which you refer to looks nothing like me," then after a pause, "After all, my ears are not lopsided."
"Ah, but there is beauty to be found in imperfections."
"Do you find me imperfect Estel?"
Unable to tell if the question was made in jest, Aragorn placed his hand under her chin, guiding her face to his. She gasped almost inaudibly as his mouth claimed hers. Gently stroking her cheek with his thumb, the fingers of his other hand tracing arbitrary patterns on the back of her neck, Aragorn released her and smiled. "Does that answer your question?"
Resting her head on his chest, she instinctively looked west, towards the setting sun. "Nay Estel, you should know that I need more proof than that."
"Then I shall have to take you up on that offer."
He pulled her into another searing kiss, hands sliding down her arms to wrap around her slender waist.
Immortality had made life an endless stream, days melting together, weeks indiscernible from months, until Arwen could no longer remember where the day ended and the night began. But with Aragorn, she could recall every kiss, every caress, every second they were together… and every second they were not.
Arwen slid her hands up his back as he deepened the kiss, her Elven composure replaced with the more mortal tendencies he seemed to stir in her.
And from far away, as if someone was calling from Valinor itself, she heard her name.
"Arwen?"
:
:
The familiar voice pulled her from the memory. The snow faded, replaced by the suffocating loneliness of night. She was once again a Lúthien without a Beren. A nightingale with no cause for song.
She did not even turn to face her father.
Elrond looked towards her empty room, a solitary candle flickering on the balcony. The ring of Barahir hung from a green ribbon at its base. It was a candle to guide him home, to protect Aragorn from what was sure to befall him.
How am I to protect Arwen from this fate, when I myself am unsure of the outcome?
He was hesitant to continue, but knew if he did not speak now, the opportunity would be lost. "Arwen, what are you doing?"
"Moping." Her voice was bitter, and he found himself unsure of how to respond. If there was one thing he did not want to do, it was to cause her anymore unneeded pain.
Walking to stand in front of her, he noticed the intense light in her eyes, as if they were going to flare up before finally burning out.
Arwen readjusted her night shift before speaking. "If you wish to say something Ada, simply do so."
Looking into her eyes, he finally found the words he was looking for. "I am worried about you Arwen. All your time is spent in the gardens, wishing for something that will never come to you. Why do you linger here, when there is no hope?"
"There is still hope. Im meleth Estel."
"Love cannot save you Arwen. There is nothing for you here." Elrond's words were harsh, but to save his daughter he would also have to hurt her.
"What do you know of love, Ada? You lost it when Naneth left." As soon as the words left her mouth, Arwen wished she could take them back.
His eyes grew dark as he recalled his wife's suffering. The fevered cries in the night, the way she recoiled from his touch, her blank stare. She had seemed to Elrond, a wraith of her former self.
"Forgive me Ada. I did not mean to upset you, for I fear for you as well." She watched his face soften. "Sometimes I wonder what happened to the Elf who would sing me to sleep at night, the adar who called me his Tinúviel."
"Then wonder no more, for he is with your naneth in Valinor, along with my heart."
When Arwen broke her mother's vase as a child, she was so distraught that Elrond had to sing her a lullaby just to silence her cries. It was this song that entered Arwen's mind as she heard her father's words.
And in a voice that was both mournful and beautiful, she began to sing:
Sing all ye joyful, now sing all together!
The wind's in the tree-top, the wind's in the heather;
The stars are in blossom, the moon is in flower,
And bright are the windows of Night in her tower.
Dance all ye joyful, now dance all together!
Soft is the grass, and let foot be like feather!
The river is silver, the shadows are fleeting;
Merry is May-time, and merry our meeting.
Now I sing softly, and dreams let me weave her!
Wind her in slumber and there let me leave her!
The Evenstar sleepeth. Now soft be her pillow!
Lullaby! Lullaby! Alder and Willow!
Sigh no more Pine, till the wind of the morn!
Fall Moon! Dark be the land!
Hush! Hush! Oak, Ash, and Thorn!
Hushed be all water, till dawn is at hand!
Tears threatened to form in Elrond's eyes, and he took Arwen into his arms. "Your naneth would have loved to see you again. I just regret that it is I who must tell her you are not coming."
Arwen knew it was the closest thing to permission she would ever receive from him. Yet though she should have been rejoicing, she could not help feeling that Aragorn was in trouble, that he had been-
:
:
-poisoned. Perhaps my fate will not be unlike my father's after all. Perhaps my destiny was to die at the hands of one of my own people. But if I could have chosen, I would have picked the axe or sword, at least that would have been less painful than this... this torture.
Aragorn looked down at the bowl in his hands, then up at his murderer. He wondered if they could see the pained look on his face. Practically forcing the words out of his mouth, he finally managed to choke out, "It's good."
Éowyn's face broke into a huge grin at his response. "Really?" He could only nod.
The Shield Maiden may be gifted with a sword, but her culinary skills must have been honed by Morgoth himself.
She was about to continue, when she happened to see Gimli trying to sneak past her. Éowyn turned, catching his eye. The Dwarf started to run. "Gimli! Wait!" He halted, eyeing the pot hanging from her arm warily. "Would you like some stew as well?"
"No thank you my Lady, I couldn't. I really couldn-"
"Are you sure?"
Aragorn ignored the frightened look Gimli was aiming at him and walked over to his horse, placing the bowl under Hasufel's mouth.
He heard laughter behind him. "I do not think that is going to work Wingfoot. Hasufel already knows the dangers of eating my sister's cooking. You however, were not properly warned." Still laughing, Éomer continued, "Although I am not afraid to admit that I told her you were hungry."
"Then I suppose I shall to have to repay the favor."
Aragorn poured the bowl's contents out, slightly surprised that the ground where it landed did not burn.
Taking leave of Éomer, he walked past the other Rohirrim, continuing onwards until he was alone.
Aragorn sat down and took out his pipe. "Then I suppose I shall to have to repay the favor." Have I said that to someone before?
He recalled that it was not those words exactly, but they were close enough to create a certain level of remembrance. Closing his eyes, he drifted back to Rivendell.
Arwen was resting her head on his chest, her face pointing towards the sunset. "Nay Estel, you should know that I need more proof than that."
"Then I shall have to take you up on that offer."
He kissed her with more passion and fervor than he had previously, her hands sliding up his back, torturing him.
Aragorn knew that he would have to keep his desire under control, but the savage way in which she was clinging to him was maddening.
His hands flew to her hair and Arwen pulled away to look at him. He could see the wanton look in her eyes, and she could see the desire growing in him, although it was not Aragorn's eyes that gave him away.
There was a smirk on her face as she took note of this. "I wonder Estel, are there any parts of you that I will find to be imperfect?"
"Only one Undómiel." Her grey eyes looked up at him questioningly, worry knitted in her brow. "My heart. For there is not enough room to contain my love for you."
Aragorn put his pipe away. "And there still isn't, Undómiel."
:
:
Elrond stood beside Arwen's bed, watching the rise and fall of her chest, her open eyes fixed on the ceiling. Arwen still slept as an Elf, for she was not truly mortal yet.
"Now I sing softly, and dreams let me weave her!
Wind her in slumber and there let me leave her!
The Evenstar sleepeth. Now soft be her pillow!
Lullaby! Lullaby! Alder and Willow!"
He started to back slowly out of the room, his eyes never leaving her sleeping form. "Goodnight my Tinúviel."
Walking to his own chambers, the Lord of Imladris finally voiced what he'd been avoiding since he had learned of Arwen's decision. "No… not mine anymore."
meleth nin = my love
Im meleth Estel. = I love Estel.
Ada/Adar = Father
Naneth = Mother
Tinúviel = fancy word for nightingale (the name given to Lúthien by Beren) or 'Daughter of Twilight'
Well, sorry if my first attempt at something remotely serious was absolutely appalling to read. Hopefully it didn't give you too many debilitating side effects.