TITLE: Love and Sorrow
AUTHOR: A. Witt
RATING: R (angst)
PAIRING: A/L
SETTING: Alternate Universe
SUMMERY: Some things are worth waiting for.
REFRENCE: Encyclopedia of Arda
DISCLAIMER: You know the drill.
LOVE AND SORROW
Minas Tirith, IV 120
"The heavens burned, the stars cried out
And under the ashes of infinity,
Hope, scarred and bleeding, breathed its last."
- Ulatempa Poetress
"Arwen, what have you done?" Elessar moaned in grief.
"Only what my heart felt was needed," she whispered.
Sitting in a rocking chair beside his wife's bed, the King held his head in his hands. His dark hair hung loose about his weathered face and pooled upon his broad shoulders.
"Do not grieve so, my love." Her voice withered and cracked from age, she pleaded softly, "For I will always be with you."
Behind him, the fire crackled and popped in the stone hearth. The sharp sizzle of burning sap occasionally sundered the large room's mournful quiet. A single wrinkled, pale hand slid from beneath the quilts. Gently, Arwen touched Elessar's dark locks. She let her brittle fingers glide over the back of his hand and eventually rest upon his heaving chest.
"I will remain in your heart for all eternity." Tears trailed down her face, following lines etched long ago by love, sorrow, and wisdom. Age had not marred her beauty, but merely changed the parameters. "I will live on in our children; in Eldarion's eyes, Celebry's playful nature, and Galadriam's gently spirit. I will always be with you."
Elessar slowly raised his head. Taking her liver-spotted hand, he carefully kissed each knuckle. Tears slid from beneath his tightly closed lids and into his dark beard.
"Why?" Weary from lack of rest, the King's bloodshot orbs slowly opened. Heavy with teardrops, his lashes glistened. "Just tell me why," he begged his beloved wife of over one hundred years.
"Because I'm selfish," she admitted. Silver wisps of hair escaped the coif upon her head. They drifted briefly, caught on the breeze entering through the open balcony doors. In time, each strand settled on the pillow beneath her head. "Because I couldn't give you up."
"I would never have asked you too," Elessar cried out. His face pale with distress, he tightened his hold on her hand.
"Because you are honorable," she murmured. "But I am a coward."
"Do not say such things, you are one of the bravest people I know." Sitting forward, the King placed the hand he held on the bed. Gently, he ran his knuckles down Arwen's cheek.
"I am not, Elessar." Her whispered words were a mere breath gasped in shame. "I know you love me, will always love me, yet I saw your eyes when he left. I glimpsed your souls when you parted ways and hands. You loved him, too."
"I..." Elessar shook his head in denial at her words.
"No!" she interrupted. "Do not deny the truth in my words, especially now. You did love him and to this day, he remains in your heart."
Dropping his head once more into his hands, he conceded. "It is true." He groaned in despair, "It was not meant to be though, we both knew that. That is why it remained unspoken."
"I know my beloved. I am a coward, because I knew but refused to let you go," she sighed. "You will mourn me, but in time you will wish to live again. Now, you have that time. I have given you back what you selflessly gave to me. Know, my Estel, that he may hold your heart freely." As her last breath escaped cracked, parched lips, she lay still and quiet.
"NO!" Great sobs wracked the King's frame as he clutched the lifeless body to his chest. Rocking to and fro, his face buried against Arwen's cheek, Elessar, King of Men, followed in her wake.
Eryn Lasgalen, IV 300
"A heart whose love is innocent."
- George Gordon Byron
A soft humming, as gentle and pristine as a brook's trickling water, drew him slowly from his dreams. Blinking the sleep from his gray eyes, Aragorn sat up. The silk sheets covering his lithe frame slipped down over golden skin until they finally pooled in his lap. Sliding his legs from beneath the soft fabric, he placed his feet on the floor. He stretched his arms above his head and closed his eyes.
Finally fully awake, his lids fluttered open. The room was bathed in sunlight. It streamed through the open windows of the large tree-house bedroom. The gossamer curtains danced and fluttered in the soft spring breeze. Dust particles and crisp leaves swirled about the room. Standing, he pulled a silken robe over his broad shoulders and synched it at the waist. The thin blue material fell to his ankles, stopping just before it hit the tops of his feet.
The soft melody continued unabated.
Turning toward the sound, Aragorn gasped in awe. Enveloped in sparkling radiance, Legolas sat before the terrace doors. His golden locks flowed down his back and over his shoulders. Eyes closed, his lithe frame swayed as he carefully braided the long stands. The simple white, sleeveless tunic and pale green leggings only enhanced his angelic beauty. Thin lips parted, he hummed quietly, singing to the trees.
Aragorn slowly crossed the room. Lowering himself to the floor behind Legolas, he wrapped his arms around the sitting figure's shoulders. He leaned down and nuzzled one delicately pointed ear. "Morning, my love."
"Afternoon, Melda." The laughing voice chided gently. "I began to think you would never awake."
Aragorn grinned. Closing his lips over the pale era lobe, he tenderly suckled. At the sound of a moan escaping Legolas' lips, Aragorn pulled away. He ran his tongue slowly up the sharp curve.
"You wore me out. I am an old man you know," he breathed.
Laughing, Legolas turned in his lover's arms. "You are less than a fourth my age and just as immortal."
Furrowing his brow, Aragorn nodded his head, "Aye, `tis true." Leaning forward, he placed a kiss of the tip of the Elf's nose. "You're the old man."
Mock growling, Legolas pushed the Man onto his back. "I'll show you old." Pouncing atop Aragorn's bigger frame, he mercilessly delivered his attack.
Gasping between fits of laughter, the Man desperately tried to free himself from the Elf straddling his hips. Finally latching onto one guilty hand, he yanked Legolas down. The Elf landed across his chest with an indelicate humph. Occasional giggles escaped Legolas' pink lips as the Elf laid gentle kisses beneath Aragorn's parted robe.
"I love you," Aragorn whispered.
Lifting his head, Legolas nuzzled against the Man's neck. "And I you, Melda."
The End
Elessar: The name Aragorn was given when he became King of the Reunited Kingdom
Eryn Lasgalen: The name for Mirkwood changed in the Fourth Age
Melda: Beloved in Sindarin
AUTHOR: A. Witt
RATING: R (angst)
PAIRING: A/L
SETTING: Alternate Universe
SUMMERY: Some things are worth waiting for.
REFRENCE: Encyclopedia of Arda
DISCLAIMER: You know the drill.
LOVE AND SORROW
Minas Tirith, IV 120
"The heavens burned, the stars cried out
And under the ashes of infinity,
Hope, scarred and bleeding, breathed its last."
- Ulatempa Poetress
"Arwen, what have you done?" Elessar moaned in grief.
"Only what my heart felt was needed," she whispered.
Sitting in a rocking chair beside his wife's bed, the King held his head in his hands. His dark hair hung loose about his weathered face and pooled upon his broad shoulders.
"Do not grieve so, my love." Her voice withered and cracked from age, she pleaded softly, "For I will always be with you."
Behind him, the fire crackled and popped in the stone hearth. The sharp sizzle of burning sap occasionally sundered the large room's mournful quiet. A single wrinkled, pale hand slid from beneath the quilts. Gently, Arwen touched Elessar's dark locks. She let her brittle fingers glide over the back of his hand and eventually rest upon his heaving chest.
"I will remain in your heart for all eternity." Tears trailed down her face, following lines etched long ago by love, sorrow, and wisdom. Age had not marred her beauty, but merely changed the parameters. "I will live on in our children; in Eldarion's eyes, Celebry's playful nature, and Galadriam's gently spirit. I will always be with you."
Elessar slowly raised his head. Taking her liver-spotted hand, he carefully kissed each knuckle. Tears slid from beneath his tightly closed lids and into his dark beard.
"Why?" Weary from lack of rest, the King's bloodshot orbs slowly opened. Heavy with teardrops, his lashes glistened. "Just tell me why," he begged his beloved wife of over one hundred years.
"Because I'm selfish," she admitted. Silver wisps of hair escaped the coif upon her head. They drifted briefly, caught on the breeze entering through the open balcony doors. In time, each strand settled on the pillow beneath her head. "Because I couldn't give you up."
"I would never have asked you too," Elessar cried out. His face pale with distress, he tightened his hold on her hand.
"Because you are honorable," she murmured. "But I am a coward."
"Do not say such things, you are one of the bravest people I know." Sitting forward, the King placed the hand he held on the bed. Gently, he ran his knuckles down Arwen's cheek.
"I am not, Elessar." Her whispered words were a mere breath gasped in shame. "I know you love me, will always love me, yet I saw your eyes when he left. I glimpsed your souls when you parted ways and hands. You loved him, too."
"I..." Elessar shook his head in denial at her words.
"No!" she interrupted. "Do not deny the truth in my words, especially now. You did love him and to this day, he remains in your heart."
Dropping his head once more into his hands, he conceded. "It is true." He groaned in despair, "It was not meant to be though, we both knew that. That is why it remained unspoken."
"I know my beloved. I am a coward, because I knew but refused to let you go," she sighed. "You will mourn me, but in time you will wish to live again. Now, you have that time. I have given you back what you selflessly gave to me. Know, my Estel, that he may hold your heart freely." As her last breath escaped cracked, parched lips, she lay still and quiet.
"NO!" Great sobs wracked the King's frame as he clutched the lifeless body to his chest. Rocking to and fro, his face buried against Arwen's cheek, Elessar, King of Men, followed in her wake.
Eryn Lasgalen, IV 300
"A heart whose love is innocent."
- George Gordon Byron
A soft humming, as gentle and pristine as a brook's trickling water, drew him slowly from his dreams. Blinking the sleep from his gray eyes, Aragorn sat up. The silk sheets covering his lithe frame slipped down over golden skin until they finally pooled in his lap. Sliding his legs from beneath the soft fabric, he placed his feet on the floor. He stretched his arms above his head and closed his eyes.
Finally fully awake, his lids fluttered open. The room was bathed in sunlight. It streamed through the open windows of the large tree-house bedroom. The gossamer curtains danced and fluttered in the soft spring breeze. Dust particles and crisp leaves swirled about the room. Standing, he pulled a silken robe over his broad shoulders and synched it at the waist. The thin blue material fell to his ankles, stopping just before it hit the tops of his feet.
The soft melody continued unabated.
Turning toward the sound, Aragorn gasped in awe. Enveloped in sparkling radiance, Legolas sat before the terrace doors. His golden locks flowed down his back and over his shoulders. Eyes closed, his lithe frame swayed as he carefully braided the long stands. The simple white, sleeveless tunic and pale green leggings only enhanced his angelic beauty. Thin lips parted, he hummed quietly, singing to the trees.
Aragorn slowly crossed the room. Lowering himself to the floor behind Legolas, he wrapped his arms around the sitting figure's shoulders. He leaned down and nuzzled one delicately pointed ear. "Morning, my love."
"Afternoon, Melda." The laughing voice chided gently. "I began to think you would never awake."
Aragorn grinned. Closing his lips over the pale era lobe, he tenderly suckled. At the sound of a moan escaping Legolas' lips, Aragorn pulled away. He ran his tongue slowly up the sharp curve.
"You wore me out. I am an old man you know," he breathed.
Laughing, Legolas turned in his lover's arms. "You are less than a fourth my age and just as immortal."
Furrowing his brow, Aragorn nodded his head, "Aye, `tis true." Leaning forward, he placed a kiss of the tip of the Elf's nose. "You're the old man."
Mock growling, Legolas pushed the Man onto his back. "I'll show you old." Pouncing atop Aragorn's bigger frame, he mercilessly delivered his attack.
Gasping between fits of laughter, the Man desperately tried to free himself from the Elf straddling his hips. Finally latching onto one guilty hand, he yanked Legolas down. The Elf landed across his chest with an indelicate humph. Occasional giggles escaped Legolas' pink lips as the Elf laid gentle kisses beneath Aragorn's parted robe.
"I love you," Aragorn whispered.
Lifting his head, Legolas nuzzled against the Man's neck. "And I you, Melda."
The End
Elessar: The name Aragorn was given when he became King of the Reunited Kingdom
Eryn Lasgalen: The name for Mirkwood changed in the Fourth Age
Melda: Beloved in Sindarin